The Queen of Wishful Thinking

It's not Larping, it's just Cosplay

2009-08-29T02:02:16Z

(Cross-posted from Pipesdreams.org)

Poor LARPers. Back in 2002, Brunching's Geek Hierarchy proclaimed the abysmal geekiness of individuals who choose to spend their leisure time dressing up as warlocks and dwarves, acting out campaigns "IRL". The Shuttlecocks weren't aiming to be cruel; they were just telling it like it is. LARPers languish in the deep netherhells of uncoolness - lower than tabletop role players, far below video gamers - they are mocked, often and hard. Even professional mockers like X-Play's Sessler & Webb, aren't above stooping to take cheap shots at these poor unfortunate souls (see: Wild Larping Kingdom for details). They are the whipping boys and girls of the geek world.

But what about a LARPer's kissing cousin, the Cosplayer? Strangely, the cultural phenomenon of cosplay (dressing up without intent to perform) doesn't suffer nearly the same degree of public stigma. Cosplayers are embraced as fun-loving jokers, beloved totems of the creative spirit found at conventions, in high schools and all over the urban sprawl of Tokyo. Recently, Felicia Day and the cast of The Guild made a joyful splash at SDCC by cosplaying as their online avatars.

All this fuss got me to thinking - in my many years of attending cons, I've never really dressed up. I found myself wondering who or what sort of video game icon I would choose to cosplay at PAX, if any. Laziness and my hatred of checked baggage instantly eliminated fun-but-bulky options like the King of All Cosmos or a Goomba. My firm refusal to expose my midriff ruled out nearly every female video game character except GLaDOS and Samus (again with the luggage problem). Maybe something subtle, something only recognizable by a rare few, something to weed out the hardcore from the n00bs. Then it came to me - instead of a character, why not dress as a notable girl gamer? Why not be Kate Libby from Hackers?

Please don't think that I imagine myself hot enough to evoke Angelina Jolie, age 18 (before her stick-figure-hexa-mom phase) without the aid of considerable props. I did my homework and re-watched the film, to see if there was a particularly iconic wearable item beyond the vulcan haircut, hinged gauntlet ring, silver hoops and white or blue nail polish. I was surprised by two things: one, the shocking lack of photos of Angie's various states of dress in this film (I thought the Internet had everything about celebs already?) and two, what an amazing job the costume artists did of building a self-consistent character with thoughtful wardrobe and make-up choices.

All of Kate's clothes stay on a limited colour palette of white, black, silver, sky-blue and orangey-red: bright, confident, decisive colours with clear limitations. No blending, no softness, no apologies. The materials and style are entirely geared towards showing aggression, activity, sexuality, and an alien, unattainable quality. Kate wears slinky leather motorcycle gear, tight spandex surfer shirts, oversized hockey jerseys. She has outfits with straps, buckles and zippers in inappropriate places, kimonos and a dress with an obi. She's basically flipping the bird at Trinny and Susannah.

Given the advent of Ebay and Etsy, I thought it would be easy to track down at least a few of these items. Again, I overestimated the webs. The only item that could be had on short notice is her New Jersey Devils hockey jersey. The red/white/yellow/black Suzuki Icon motorcycle jacket she wears is impossible to trace. I couldn't find a reasonable facsimile of her black & white raglan shirt with the white-on-white skull & crossbones and legend "Too fast to live / Too young to die", anywhere. The black & silver short v-necked satin kimono dress with black obi must have been custom made. And Quiksilver no longer has anything like a shiny blue low-turtleneck ladies surf shirt with their logo on the front, with or without a checkerboard flower pattern. I can only speculate as to which brand of club gear made the red and white jumpsuits (Snug? Kitchen Orange? House of Spy? FDCO? Tripp NYC?), or the wide-lapel silver pleather short jacket with long sleeves and exposed seams. Sigh. Better luck next time, Gadget.

In the end, I decided to use Ms. Libby as a muse for my new haircut, rather than as a model of fashion to imitate. Probably for the best - I doubt anyone would have caught the inside joke if I'd shown up to PAX wearing Kate's club gear: a skin-tight white turtleneck and white pants with white plastic knee-high boots. Even your above-average geek would assume I was just doing a shitty job of cosplaying as a Stormtrooper with no helmet and no armor. Possibly due to my hatred of checked luggage.

Tell me, dear reader: who would YOU cosplay as?

Happy New Year!

2009-01-05T08:21:51Z

Happy new year, everyone! A little belated, I know, but I've been enjoying some time away from the Internet for the past few weeks, with the exception of my recent Twitter addiction.

JAN - was in England, Germany, Russia with Philip, came home to Canada after 6 months away, learned that tenants wanted to leave Bloor apartment, learned that Justin was having a baby and moving to Ottawa to be with new girlfriend, had crushingly sad last meeting as a friend with Chrissy
FEB - moved from Mum's back into Grenville condo, got my things out of Josh & Al's basements, worried about Lena, Philip posts about us on LJ, much drama, long talk with Bastion, attend Sara's stagette
MAR - Lena goes to NYC to visit Dave, Philip visits from England and we endure a painful breakup, failed spectacularly to file tax papers due to emotional distress
APR - saw Tchaikovsky @TSO with Lena, Heather visits from Boston, gets tour of Distillery District, Viking Boating begins, apply to FIS, apply to CO job, Dave moves back to Toronto and in with Lena
MAY - attend Free Comic Book day with Edwud, consider taking on James & Edwud as roommates, Muzzy visits from Wales, gets queer tour of Toronto, Sante wine festival a success, renovated Bloor condo floors and painted walls, balcony with help from Alice and Susan, Christie & Amy buy their house
JUN - went to Melly & Petar's Canada Day BBQ with James, interviewed for and got new job at CO, turned down residence job at UC, decided to attend FIS for Master's #2 in the fall, had stupid fight with James (now resolved, thank heaven), finished recording Persuasion, Areopagitica, rowed in Viking Boat regatta, saw Luminato festival & jazz at Rex with Nona, buy a new cell phone from Telus and promptly have it stolen on the train to Ottawa
JUL - Caius's son is born, Keira stopover in Toronto, rented Bloor condo to Edwud, bad idea, awful falling out (still unresolved, dammit), Mum retires from working, moves into new townhouse
AUG - went to Shambhala in BC with Bastion, ate at Salt in Van with Keira, saw Brendan and aunt and Caius's new baby, went to a Jays game, ran the 10K Nike Human Race, Scion gaming night with my boys
SEP - sold Grenville condo, sold furniture, went apple picking with Liz, saw movies at TIFF, Butler comes to visit, lots of packing with help from Mum, Christie, Amy
OCT - James helps me move into Bloor condo on night of Nuit Blanche, voted in elections, tried Grocery Gateway, climbed the CN Tower, celebrated Samhain
NOV - Obama elected! Attended Toronto web 2.0 summit, learned TTC will be on Google Transit in a few months, Lena & Dave get engaged, went on successful date
DEC - attended #hohoto party, went to a Raptors game, held 30 redux birthday party at Bloor condo, sang Messiah at Massey Hall, decorated tree with Mum, decorated tree with James & Brett, saw Keira and taught her how to knit, bought my first Mac computer, visited new AGO, decided to withdraw from Master's at FIS to maintain sanity

My "Books I Read in 2008" list is abysmal.
I was too preoccupied with affairs of the heart and school part three and real estate to pay proper attention to fiction last year. Here's what I did manage:
Salman Rushdie – Midnight’s Children
Neil Gaiman – Murder Mysteries
Marjane Satrapi – Embroideries
Dorothy L. Sayers – Murder Must Advertise
Agatha Christie - Murder of Roger Ackroyd
China Miéville - Perdido Street Station
John Gardiner - Grendel
Madeleine L'Engle - A Wrinkle in Time
Christopher Moore - Fluke
Christopher Moore - Lust Lizard of Melancholy Cove
Jhumpa Lahiri - Interpreter of Maladies
Jane Urquhart - The Stone Carvers
Neil Gaiman - American Gods
Elizabeth Gilbert - Eat, Pray, Love
Daniel Quinn - Ishmael
Neil Gaiman - Neverwhere
Josephine Tey - The Franchise Affair
Jane Feather - The Silver Rose (mathom)
Michel Faber - The Crimson Petal and the White
Stephanie Meyer - Twilight

And now, looking forward... Things to do in 2009:
TRAVEL - visit Stephen & Skye in Japan; get out of Toronto to do minibreaks (maple sugaring, wine tour, hiking, visit Jana in Montreal, visit Heather in Boston, etc); go on a "relaxing" vacation; visit Mum more often / take her to Vegas to see Bette Midler
FINANCE - file taxes for 2007 and 2008; achieve zero debt; put at least $5000 in savings account by end of year
CREATIVITY - complete at least 2 current LV projects (Emma and Roughing It); finish at least one painting; make a quilt for the 2009 Quilt for the Cure charity; do Baudelaire illustrations; finish Sonnet project; write a blog at least once a month
CULTURE - read at least 12 good books; eat out at at least 10 new restaurants; go to the symphony, and do Messiah again
ACTIVITY - run at least 2 times a week; go rock climbing at least 10 times; go to yoga at least 10 times; help Mum with her garden
CAREER - make some solid, long term career plans
EDUCATION - consider alternative education (TESOL, yoga teacher training, dance, OCAD sewing course?); try to get back into archery
EMOTIONAL - be more calm and steady in personal relationships; stop feeling guilty about everything

December Insanity

2008-12-11T04:06:58Z

Well, December rolls on apace and I am multiply overbooked, as ever.

This is my last week to submit my overdue papers to the iSchool (brace yourselves for my inevitable withdrawal from the program - I'm not usually a quitter, but I can see no purpose in proceeding, really). Last night I was going to dutifully write my final 1230 management paper at least, but was shanghaied to celebrate Dave & Lena's fabulous news (they're engaged! hooray!).

Tomorrow is the CO staff Christmas party, which I'm ducking out of early to go see a concert at the newly renovated Royal Conservatory with my friend Adam and a small crew of special lady friends (Casey's having a post-party at the Beast, but I feel I will be beyond exhausted at that point).

Friday is a celebratory, "Yay! Christie's finished her MBA!" celebration at a murder mystery dinner theater, then, if I have any juice left at the end of the day, I've been asked to join Alastair and Pastor Marty for an evening of dancing to Big John Bates and the Voodoo Dolls at the Reverb.

Not sure what the weekend holds, but Monday next is the #HoHoTO party at the MOD club. Tuesday is Amy's birthday dinner... the list goes on. Worst of all, it's my birthday party next Friday, and I haven't planned a damn thing, other than asking Casey to DJ. No idea what to serve re: food, drinks, haven't sent reminders, haven't planned anything at all. Just asked some folks if they'd like to stop by.

And of course, this evening, I'm starting to feel a bit sick. Throat sore, etc. Not good timing.

Work is also, uh, a wee bit busy at the moment. That's the understatement of the year, but I won't/can't elaborate. On top of all this, I'm trying to go home to visit my Mum as often as possible to soak up the festive spirit of having our first Christmas tree in years.

Speaking of Mum, I asked her to find me a few Christmas sweaters for me to take in to work for our Christmas party tomorrow. She is an absolute marvel at hunting things down. Look at these gaudy gems! How does she find these things?

Kamikaze Cookery = Procrastination Crack

2008-11-30T16:48:25Z

Remember the final week of school before winter break? Remember how every second spent doing something that was NOT writing your papers or studying for exams was pure ecstasy? How even the most mundane household task - scrubbing the toilet, sewing up holes in your kitchen towels, bleaching the porch steps - took on new thrilling dimensions of fascination simply because it didn't involve reading about how clever Michel Foucault was?

If you do recall the special thrill of illicit exam week activity, you can doubtless sympathize with my current situation. I'm working full-time at a demanding job AND taking 2 grad school courses at night, so every second of stolen leisure takes on the heightened sensation of having procrastination crack cooked into it. For the past two days, my time-wasting drug of choice has been Kamikaze Cookery.

I admit, I'm a latecomer; brought in along with the herd of yahoos who migrated following their mention on BoingBoing. But I've latched on to the show with particular vigor because the three characters who run it remind me fondly of the many British geeks I know and love. I passed the link on to sanity_clause and philipispdr, and I think James hit the nail on the head when he said it was like watching a mashup of Brendan and Edward with a bit of my cousin Caius on the side. I enjoy how James excludes himself from this geek + chef equation. ;)

Although they're still finding their voice and learning about the medium of video, working rough and tumble without too much scripting and experimenting with what to film, where to film and for how long, using handheld cameras in kitchens with minimal space and less lighting (except Paul & Jehane's kitchen, which has a bit too much light), I have high hopes for these guys. Season Zero is a big learning curve for them, although I worry that making one show per week is going to strain their resources, since there have been a few duds (*cough*HealthGrills*cough*) since the first, most excellent "How to cook a steak using a vacuum and blowtorch" video.

Disclaimer: I recognize the lads are doing this purely for the sheer joy of the thing and don't need or want any of my unsolicited, unwelcome advice, but I can't help but pick this apart a little - analyzing social and viral media is what I do at work (and, sort of, at school), so my brain won't shut up until I write all this down.

Here's what I think they're doing right:
* Crowd Sourcing! Open comments on all videos and blog posts means a community is building on their site. They're doing a great job of listening and responding to what their viewers are saying, and incorporating as much constructive advice as possible into the show. This is how to launch pilot projects; you'll never get more honest, valuable feedback than from an audience who can contribute at the click of a button, and who never have to meet you face to face for a potential slapping.
* Honesty! Unshaved, unabashed, often unsober, the feckless confidence and bravado of these geeks is one of their most lovable aspects. No shame! They admit ignorance, they mock one another, they swear, they wear cloaks, they show readers shots of their overflowing bookshelves and untidy kitchens. They are really and truly *genuine*. You can't fake this stuff, and it creates a terrific bond of ambient intimacy with the viewer.
* Fun! Love the amusing and irreverent graphic animations that describe the scientific concepts they're exploring in each episode. Eisenstein must be rolling in his grave, but I think they're fast, funny little mashups.
* Community Involvement! Great use of guest hosts, especially the ladies and Johnny; Morag and Jehane are feisty, fun and play well with the boys, delivering the perfect degree of mocking abuse to offset the male ranting and/or awkwardness. Nice to know that the show is queer positive and feminist, as well as geeky. Johnny was also a good guest chef with excellent dry comedic delivery; should win an Oscar for best hungover performance.
* The Queen's English! Comments, titles and blogs by all three presenters are blissfully free from excessive typos. Rules of grammar and proper punctuation are in place, and although there's a fair bit of l33t, lolcat and other geek languages being referenced, they try their best to keep it to win/fail type popular webspeak for non-nerd viewers.

Here's where I hope they improve:
* Framing! Shooting people from below, exposing chins and nostrils, is NEVER flattering. Sometimes, if you do it from too close, it's actually quite scary. Buy a tripod or find a taller videographer.
* Editing! Hai, establish a set episode duration plsthx. Ranging from "mini" 2 minute episodes to epic 14 minute episodes, a tad more scripting is required to get these down to a nice consistent 8-10 minutes each. Save the rest for the blooper reel.
* Rants! Yes, the Internet is built for ranting, cooking elicits ranting, and it's fun to take the piss and attack celebs, but I think perhaps some of the celeb chef episodes go a bit overboard in their vehemence. I cringed a bit: my preference is for a lighter, more mocking tone with a smidge less hatred. I'm sure these rants come off brilliantly in person, but don't translate well to video. Aim for Lenny Henry in Chef, not Gordon Ramsay.
* Mimickry! If you're going to say you're like Top Gear, really think about what that means. Yes, Top Gear's recipe for success is built on the playful camaraderie between three very different male characters with obstinately-held differences of opinion. But their formula also includes testing a mix of showcasing unobtainable dream material (foie gras) and affordable daily grunge (dried pasta); doing speed trials (?); competition between the 3 presenters to see whose choice or performance is best (haven't tried this yet) and lush cinematography of the product in question (why no pr0n of the steaming, juicy finished blowtorch steak?). Can't figure out which of Alex, Paul & Hugh are supposed to be James, Clarkson or the Hamster. Wait, does this make Jehane the Stig?
* Marketing! I know part of the fun of this show it its made-in-my-garage aesthetic, but the trick is to keep that devil-may-care attitude in the show's production, while branding the living crap out of one's online presence. These days you have to spread your image out across the Interwebs on multiple platforms (Facebook, YouTube, Twitter, etc). The KKCookery guys need a simpler, cleaner, sexier, easy-to-read and recognize logo (current logo looks like it says "amikaze oikery" due to font/image overlap and bad black/grey/blue colour contrast), and to take some time crafting their social media outreach into a more unified, integrated marketing campaign. YouTube channel and Twitter page should be wallpapered to mimic website, logo should be everywhere, etc.

Enough blather. Now I have to return to the dreadful task of writing my dreadful papers on project management for the web (oh, the irony!) and information and communication technologies and how they're revolutionizing the world (aren't I getting paid to do just that at work?). Why did I decide I needed a second Master's degree again? Boredom, was it?

ps - Should mention that Kamikaze Cookery also has their own LiveJournal feed and Facebook page.

Sartorial Spend-a-thon

2008-11-28T07:17:05Z

Ever since leaving the Attorney General's somewhat formal office environment (black suits, grey suits, pant suits, twin-sets) for the significantly more eclectic atmosphere of Cabinet Office New Media, I've been feeling the pain of the bureaucratization of my wardrobe.

At the height of my funkiness, circa my Silver Snail Comic Shop employee days a few years back, my dresser was crammed full of graphic tees embellished with interesting ribbons, hand-sewn patches and funky bias-cut necklines. Pink and black skirts sporting a shameless quantity of taffeta were hung next to purple velvet blazers in the closet. The clothes may or may not make the woman, but I was definitely kicking my own style.

From my former technicolour splendour, I have sunk into a monochrome abyss of black pinstripe and grey tweed. Given my blindingly caucasian skin-tone and dark hair, most days I feel like I could blend into the set of Pleasantville with little or no effort. I'm sure my coworkers would be quick to remind me of my experiments with striped and lime-green tights, but the fact remains: the situation has become dire. My clothes suck.

Today was the breaking point. I went to U of T's Rotman School of Management for a really excellent talk by Rahaf Harfoush (a New Media strategist who worked on the Obama campaign) and naturally, what with Rotman being a business school, there were suits, suits, everywhere, as far as the eye could see. Being a keener, I sat in the front row, which put me at eye-level with Alexander Manu's feet. When he sat down for the after-talk discussion, I noticed he was wearing one orange sock and one green sock. Brilliant! A splash of irreverence, of creativity, of colour in an otherwise crisply professional facade.

On the way home from dinner after the talk, I was drawn into a local clothing store. I can't really say what happened while I was in there, but I walked out with $300 worth of stuff. There's a lot of polka-dot and corduroy action happening in that bag. There's also a pleated dress that looks like it might have time traveled out of the 1960s. And a green and gold striped sweater with a cowl large enough to conceal a parachute pack, if I ever wanted to carry such a thing surreptitiously on my person.

The insanity didn't stop there. Never forget my awful addiction to the Internets. When I got home with my loot, I paused to check my e-mail. Lo and behold, a message from Glarkware. They're having a "Black Friday" sale: all t-shirts $5 and all hoodies $10! Sign me up! Another $50 later, and I'm the proud new owner of a large quantity of absurdly nerdy t-shirts, some featuring sock monkeys.

For now, the beast is sated. I will rest my poor weary Visa for a while, and absorb these new pieces into my closet, hopefully rejuvenating my tragically deflated sense of personal pizazz. But the hiatus won't be long - it's winter, and baby needs a new pair of snowpants. Not to mention a crazy Christmas sweater to wear home for Mum. Perhaps some new boots. And some dark red gloves, to match my glasses...

Getting Toronto on Google Transit

2008-11-13T04:51:06Z

EDITED TO ADD! Joy! At Web 2.0 summit today (November 26, 2008 circa 1pm) in Toronto City Hall, Mayor David Miller committed to putting Toronto on Google Transit by mid-2009!

As of today (November 12, 2008), the Hamilton, ON Hamilton Street Railway has become the fifth Canadian city to feature route planning on Google Transit, joining Ottawa, Montreal, Vancouver and Fredericton in beating out Toronto's glacial progress in this area by a wide margin.

According to our TTC Commissioner's Office, Toronto is "in discussion" with Google and "working towards" a solution, and we can expect to get this service sometime next year. But these discussions have been underway for five years now, so I'm not holding my breath for 2009. AAARRRRRGGGHHH!!

Direct quote from the TLCHamilton blog article on this: "Hamilton is the fifth city in Canada to receive this treatment. Ottawa, Montreal, Vancouver and Fredericton were first. How did Hamilton get the service before Toronto? Google spokesperson Tamara Micner says the city of Hamilton was "very co-operative" in the partnership."

See the fruits of my prior expressions of frustration on this subject, below. WTF, TTC?

********************************************
Sent: Monday, October 06, 2008 5:11:03 PM
To: TTC Chair; minister@mto.gov.on.ca
Cc: mayor_miller@toronto.ca; mintc@tc.gc.ca; msnider@globeandmail.com;
torontonewsdesk@metronews.ca
Subject: Please get Toronto listed on Google Transit!

Dear Mr. Giambrone and Minister Bradley,

I am writing to you as a citizen of Toronto, a citizen of Ontario, and as someone who uses Toronto Transit and GOTransit every day, to ask you to take action and get our city - and eventually our province - listed with Google Transit.

This resource would be a revolution for Torontonians in finding the best TTC routes to get where they want to go, and would make our city instantly more navigable for tourists and visitors of all kinds. Not everyone knows where to find the TTC website, or how to use it, especially if English is not their first language - the whole world knows Google.

For GOTransit riders in the province, an alternative to the existing, extremely hard-to-read GO train and bus schedules would be a welcome change.

I read the Staff Response to the Commission Inquiry about Google Transit Trip Planner put forward in December 2005, and can see that the obstacles to participation were "costs incurred by the TTC to prepare the back end of the data conversion / ongoing link to ensure that the latest information is being made available" and that the TTC was waiting "until Google is in a position to provide the system requirements to the TTC" and that at that time Google Transit was "still a work in progress".

These objections have since been answered - Google has made it infinitely easier for cities to participate with their Transit FeedSpecification toolkit . Just follow the instructions, fill in the blanks, and voila! You have a Google Transit feed.

Private citizen efforts to map our transit onto Google, such as those by Ian Stevens and Greg Smith, started in 2006, which makes me wonder why an "official" version of a Google Transit map wasn't immediately forthcoming.

I am not alone in feeling this way: the online conversational thread on the Google Transit group page expresses some fairly negative and despondent views about the responsiveness of Toronto Transit to the desire of its citizens for this online resource to become reality.

In Canada, Vancouver, Fredericton, Ottawa and Montreal have all joined in to link their city's transit options to a Google Transit feed. Why is our city not participating in this amazing project? Has any progress at all been made on this file since 2006?

Vancouver, BC TransLink
Fredericton, NB Fredericton Transit
Ottawa, ON OC Transpo
Montréal, QC AMT, STM, RTL, STL, les CITs

Please let me know what the current status is on this project, as I would like to see both our city and our province take advantage of this incredible opportunity for global marketing and service improvement to private citizens using web technology.

Thank you.
****************************************

Responses to date:
1. From Councillor Giambrone
Date: Thu, Oct 16, 2008

TTC staff have been in discussion with representatives from Google and are working towards incorporating the TTC into Google Transit. Simultaneously, TTC staff are in the process of preparing our own trip planner which will be incorporated into our new website. This feature will not only provide route directions, it will also include the estimated length of time for travel along the route specified and updated information if there are route diversions or delays.

2. From Ministry of Transportation, Transit Policy Branch
Date: Mon, Oct 27, 2008

(No mention of Google Transit here whatsoever)

Thank you for your e-mail of October 6, 2008, addressed to the Honourable Jim Bradley, Minister of Transportation, and Adam Giambrone, Chair of the Toronto Transit Commission (TTC), regarding Google Maps’ public transit trip planner. I am pleased to respond on behalf of the Minister.

I have read your comments with interest, and believe you may want to hear about an initiative being spearheaded by Metrolinx – the regional transit agency created by the ministry to develop a transportation plan for Greater Toronto and Hamilton Area (GTHA), and eventually be responsible for GO Transit.

Metrolinx is planning to collaborate with GO Transit, TTC and other transit and transportation providers across the GTHA to implement a web-based integrated transit trip planner. The trip planner will allow transit riders to key in an origin and destination point, and access departure and arrival times, connection opportunities, fares and route maps.

I have taken the liberty of sending a copy of your e-mail to relevant staff at Metrolinx, so they will be aware of your concerns.

3. From Councillor Giambrone's Office (Special Assistant)
Date: Tue, Oct 28, 2008

I agree with you that trip planning is an important function for many TTC patrons.

I am pleased to let you know that the TTC is currently developing a trip planning feature that will be available on the TTC's website mid-year next year. This trip planner will be able to provide riders with available routes as well as the amount of travel time expected on a given route. Additionally, the trip planner will provide information to riders if there is a significant delay or route diversion that will impact their trip.

At the same time as TTC staff are working on the trip planner, we are also working with Google to incorporate the TTC onto their Google Transit site and expect that you will be able to use Google Transit for trip planning on TTC routes next year as well.

***************************************

Double "booked"... ha! Get it?

2008-05-04T12:48:28Z

The many years of lazy weekends as a student are now just a fading memory as I plunge into the ever-more-hectic reality of adulthood. Yesterday I spent the morning with pipes_mum, cleaning the accumulated decade's worth of dirt off of the balcony and behind the appliances in the kitchen at my rental unit, a job which after almost 4 solid hours of work is still not complete. There's still a depressing amount of furniture which needs to be removed, but we're making progress.

After that, I did a Bloor-only nod to Free Comic Book Day, and despite the pouring rain managed to get edwud to join me for a stroll in the soaking wet. I partook of the free Hellboy and indy comics on display at Labyrinth, then he and I moseyed along to the Beguiling where I had a nice chat with Peter about French comics and briefly saw Cassidy and the ever-growing, ever-adorable Momo (who was sporting a pretty sweet set of wellies on her tiny feet). Edward chastised me for looking at the latest Guarnido in hardcover, then softened the blow by sending me home with a new Neil Gaiman hardcover that I'd never seen before.

We then went for brunch at Insomnia, I suffered a massive asthma attack, phoned Aly to keep myself from passing out, then decided that given the lack of oxygen all I could handle for that afternoon was Disney. I stopped in at Bay Street Video, had a nice conversation with the cashier (would it be so wrong to apply for a part-time job at Bay Street Video?) then took home Enchanted, which was warmly recommended to me by several people, including my friend Phil Westoby who is generally speaking a Disney-hater.

I watched it, and although the scene with the dancing cockroaches was amusing, I just can't get into films where there's a partner "swap". I didn't like it in 'You've Got Mail' and I didn't like it in this film either. I don't care if she ended up with Prince Charming; if I were the girl Patrick Dempsey was about to propose to, who he then dumped in 2 days for Giselle, I'd be pissed. That's the patented Disney twist, I guess: all happy endings, and no litigation.

Today I face the young urbanite problem of too many commitments, not enough weekend. I'm double booked. Literally and figuratively. I am a member of two book clubs - a recently formed one with my university peeps where we're reading 'The Stone Carvers' by Jane Urquhart (I like) and another that I've been in for years with my high school girlfriends, where we're reading 'Everything is Illuminated' by Jonathan Safran Foer. The problem being, today is the day we're supposed to discuss 'Everything Is Illuminated', but I'm supposed to be taking birthday boy Brett out for brunch and then escorting him to his surprise birthday party this afternoon.

Clearly Brett's big day takes precedence, and although I'm bummed out about not seeing my people - I don't get enough opportunities to hang out with cwf, furrypinkcowgrl and ladyinred88 - I'm not terribly sad about not being able to discuss the book. It should have been good, but somehow wasn't. I love comedic writing, but this felt like a bad mash-up of David Sedaris's 'Me Talk Pretty One Day' and Sasha Baron Cohen's Borat character. Maybe I'm missing the point, but the machismo attitude of the narrator/translator and his fractured misuse of English failed to amuse me.

Okay, now I'm getting worried... pipes_mum was supposed to be here at 7:45am so that we could go take a second crack at cleaning the other apartment, and she's over an hour late. That's very unlike her, and I've left messages on both her home and cell phones. She never sleeps in. Hmm. I guess I'll just make some tea and wait.

Signs of Spring

2008-05-02T23:29:03Z

All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy. It also makes awful travesties occur, such as my kitchen turning into a propagation patch for new vegetables. Eww.

I'm fascinated by the way the sweet potatoes sprouted. They don't grow "eyes" like potatoes, which are essentially just roots; they sprout actual runners and leaves.

This is a very good indicator that a) I am not cooking at home frequently enough, b) I have been working too many hours of overtime and not paying enough attention to household chores, and c) I need a vacation.

Sadly, vacation is not happening until August. On the plus side, I'm flying out to British Columbia on August 1st, returning August 16th, and I do love relaxin' on the west coast.

This trip has three purposes:
1) to visit my cousin mindriots, who I haven't seen since Hong Kong last March;
2) to see the newest addition to our clan and the first baby born on my father's side of the family in almost 30 years, Caius & Cait's wee one, due sometime at the end of July;
3) to attend the Shambhala Music Festival in Salmo, BC, which is happening from August 6-11, so I can hang out with caellum for a few days as we won't be revisiting the Muddy Buddy this year.

It's going to be hard to squeeze in time enough between Vancouver, Victoria and Salmo, but I think I can make it work.

Now I have to go work on finishing a long-term knitting project, an entrelac scarf that is taking me an eternity to complete. Then, the new episode of BSG at Zeena's at 10. Time for cylons!

My new kitchen garden
While admittedly revolting, there's a certain aesthetic value to these sprouting things when you capture them in a nicely framed photograph. Sadly, all such charm is lost when confronted with the cold, harsh reality. They smell weird AND they're creeping me out by reminding me of the science fiction of John Wyndham (author of 'Day of the Triffids' and 'Trouble With Lichen')

The Great Tenant Move-Out of Zero-Eight

2008-05-02T05:15:01Z

After nearly a decade of renting my apartment on Bloor, my corporate tenants decided to say "Sayonara" and have headed back to the Land of the Rising Sun.

A Japanese English-teacher recruiting firm, they no longer had a Toronto executive to fill the suite, so my other apartment is now open and available. Anyone looking for a one-bedroom with jacuzzi in Yorkville?

I'll be renovating it during the month of May - painting the walls (volunteers welcome! beer incentives provided!), getting the carpet torn out and laminate flooring put down, etc - and all this means that the furniture has to go.

If you are looking for "pre-loved" furnishings, from 80s dressers to 50s sideboards to 70s sofas, I may or may not be able to help.
Check out my lacklustre, half-hearted Craigslist posting for more details: http://toronto.en.craigslist.ca/tor/fur/664433673.html

Feel free to lowball me on prices if you see anything you like. By lowball I mean "$10 and a case of beer". I am also willing to accept barter for furniture, and in some cases possibly services, if those services include massage, cooking and/or butlering for me, or a really solid tarot card reading. Seriously, this crap all has to go within two weeks and I don't own a van so I can't drive it to Goodwill. Help me out here, people.

Getting back to my original story: my Japanese tenants left, but they didn't quite clear everything out before they handed back the keys. Here are photos of a few things I found around the apartment today when I was cleaning out drawers and cupboards. Some of them are familiar to me. I grasp their purpose, even if I can't read the packaging. Some of these items alarm and confound me. I have no clue whatsoever as to what they do.

I would be very happy if anyone with experience reading Kanji could help me to understand what the hell some of these packages are all about (ahem, robertsoncrusoe, this means you).

	Ramen Noodles A selection of random deep-fried noodles.
	Miso Soup Mix Two packages of miso soup mix, with freeze dried spinach packets. Looks like space food for astronauts.
	Creepy Blue Bobble Head Creature I do not know or seek to understand what this creature's purpose is. I simply wish it would stop slowly rocking its head back and forth inside its packaging. I don't even think it's battery operated, although the packaging is all in Japanese so I can't be sure. Which means, clearly, that it is SATAN POWERED!
	No Freaking Clue Glue? Nail polish? Salad dressing? I just don't know. I can't translate a single word on the bottle except the number "90" shown on the front. I have sniffed it - the scent is innocuous, totally inoffensive and unidentifiable - and will say it's not very viscous. That is to say, it's runny like water, not thick like glue.
	Cleaning Product? Either these are small, ineffectual rags for cleaning my toilet, or I'm supposed to use them to make diamonds erupt from the porcelain bowl. I'll never know until I try. Which will be never.
	Burning Demon Bunnies? Um, yeah. So this has rabbits on it. And their eyes are red. And they appear to be melting into a bed of hot coals. And they appear to be enjoying the sensation. Rabbit Dad is wearing glasses; I guess he's myopic. Rabbit Son is giving us the "thumbs up!" The grotesque amount of plastic packaging encloses what appears to be a rag not unlike the one I can use to summon my toilet genie. There is no English of any kind on the packaging. Puzzlement grips me.
	What you MUST NOT DO with Dandan! This is the back of the Dandan package, which outlines, with clear and helpful graphic depictions, when and how Dandan should not be used. Do not use your right hand to operate Dandan. Do not open the Dandan package from right to left. Do not use Dandan while sitting at your desk. Do not use Dandan while asleep in your bed. Do not allow 3 dots and a square hovering above a bed of three parallel lines come anywhere near Dandan.
	Dandan, made by MyCoal Well, I'm stumped. It has English on it, sure, but I have no clue as to the purpose of Dandan. I know it's made by MyCoal. I know something happens to it at 68 and 53 degrees celsius (which is pretty damn hot, come to think of it). And I know it is 13cm x 9.5cm. But as to which orifice you should insert it into, or what household object you can polish with it, or how you add it to a meal as part of a daily balanced diet...? I am Lost in Translation.
	Miso Soup Bowls An excellent accompaniment to the freeze-fried miso soup packets. Also, very attractive; I like the dark red colour and gold smudges on the covers.
	Rice and Rice Cooker This brings me great delight. I've always wanted a rice cooker, since I consistently FAIL at cooking rice in a pot. And having one reminds me of living with my beloved ex-roommate clodia927. Also, hey, free sushi rice to put in it. Now all I need is an industrial-sized vat of pickled sushi ginger.

All-Time Top Five Dream Jobs

2008-04-29T04:45:10Z

It's typical in an interview situation for the interviewer to question why you want the job, and where you would eventually see yourself ending up in the business, as a natural gauge of your motivation and ambition. But in an interview I went to last week, my interviewer phrased that question as "what do you want to be when you grow up?"

This is a question I've been asking myself a lot lately, but nobody has really stuck it to me that directly since I graduated from university. What does one do with a Master's degree in English? There's certainly no prescribed career path for "person who likes to read a lot".

Her question brought to mind Nick Hornby's High Fidelity. Specifically, the part where Rob Fleming, seedy anti-hero and record store owner, makes a list of his top five dream jobs.

Here's Rob's list:

1. NME journalist, 1976-1979
Get to meet the Clash, Sex Pistols, Chrissie Hynde, Danny Baker etc. Get loads of free records - good ones too. Go on to host my own quiz show or something.

2. Producer, Atlantic Records, 1964-1971 (approx)
Get to meet Aretha, Wilson Pickett, Solomon Burke etc. Get loads of free records (probably) - good ones too. Make piles of money.

3. Any kind of musician (apart from classical or rap)
Speaks for itself. But I'd have settled just for being one of the Memphis Horns - I'm not asking to be Hendrix or Jagger or Otis Redding.

4. Film director
Again, any kind, although preferably not German or silent.

5. Architect
A surprise entry at number 5, I know, but I used to be quite good at technical drawing at school.

It has traditionally been very difficult for me to mentally divorce my desire for personal fulfillment in my work from my more material needs for money and my disinclination to spend 6 years on a PhD. But in the spirit of Rob Fleming, here is my current all-time, no holds barred, top five dream jobs. (list subject to change without notice)

1. Professor
I like the idea of lecturing to eagerly attentive students and having summers off work. Conferences and travel for "research" purposes sounds like a pretty sweet deal, too. Main obstacle to this being my lack of a doctorate. Teaching at a college or private secondary institution might be acceptable as well, but again, no teaching degree.

2. Writer
Fiction, preferably Giller and Booker prize winning adult contemporary fiction. I would also be extremely happy to produce popular mystery, fantasy, romance or children's books. The promotional tours; the quiet, sedentary, reclusive work periods; the immortality in print. Yum. Downsides: years of obscurity, poverty, and near-certain alcoholism as a result of excessive self-reflection. Also, actually sitting down to write is a bit of a bugger.

3. Cantankerous bookstore owner
Used or new, with wooden aisles full of mystery novels, bought cheap and sold dear, books to the ceiling and in inaccessible places, sliding ladder on a brass rail attached to the bookshelves a must, spiral iron staircase a bonus. Downside: the business aspect. I hate doing taxes, accounting, etc. and the reality of shoplifters depresses me.

4. Comic book artist
It's a niche market, I know, and hard to make any kind of living in. But how cool would it be for me to make another strike for women in this predominantly male industry by winning a Xeric award and self publishing my weird little book about the history of safety or chemistry or mermaids and then have it become a cult hit and get mobbed while trying to go incognito at cons. Bonus: might also lead to meeting Simon Pegg in person one day.

5. Audio book recorder
Having my voice and storytelling ability preserved for all eternity and getting paid for doing it. Narcissism is a problem for me, yes, but I also really enjoy reading out loud. Fortunately, I have a recreational outlet for this desire through LibriVox, where I am currently recording Jane Austen's Persuasion.

All this woolgathering aside, I am seriously evaluating where I want to be, personally and professionally, in the next 2 to 5 years. Wedding bells and baby making don't seem to be on the books, so it's time to buckle down and get serious about work. Plus, career advancement means I might be able to afford a visit to Stephen and Skye in Japan and be able to go to Peru next year without having to live in a box and eat pasta every day for the foreseeable future.

There is a job posting at Cabinet Office right now that really intrigues me, but I have to decide in the next day or two if I'm going to apply. I think I will, but I have certain trepidations about the disruption of the delicate work/life balance that we all struggle to maintain being tipped deeply towards the "work" end of the scales, involving weekends and evenings camped out at the office, dreaming of checking e-mail while I am asleep, etc.

If nothing else, having applied for a part-time Master of Information Studies program at U of T in the fall (librarian studies) is a way of keeping my options open. I'll know in a few weeks if I get in or not.

Oh my poor, dead, darling LiveJournal

2007-10-05T18:07:43Z

I feel terrible.

This is true in both the literal and metaphoric sense. In the less physical, stoically-enduring-the-plague sense, I am drenched with guilt at having shamefully neglected my diary. Yea though I am traveling through many exotic foreign lands, and have accumulated a treasure trove of interesting stories to relate to my readers, many of whom doubtless think I am dead, I just haven't taken time to write. Sorry about that - travel stories will be a bit out of sequence, but if you can just bear with me I will eventually spew out the content of my brain once I'm settled somewhere. This may not be until I return to North America, FYI.

So, back to the plague. I'm currently in Budapest, Hungary and am suffering a real whiz-banger of a head cold, replete with ample mucus, wheezing lungs, et al. In a test of my youthful assertions that I am one of those intrepid health-conscious people who spurn antibiotics and pissy litle pills that do nothing to actually address the *root* of the problem, but simply mask symptoms (ineffectually), I am now trapped in a city where I am so far removed from comprehension of the language that I can't even mime my way into a decongestant.

This is very bad news, since I'll be boarding a plane for Istanbul in about an hour, and there is a distinct possibility that my eardrums will enjoy the novel sensation of barotrauma (def: they will bloody well explode) as a result of pressure in the cabin being unequal to the pressure in my middle ear.

If I do suffer a ruptured eardrum (which is pretty likely, honestly), I can look forward to:

* Sharp, sudden pain
* Clear, pus-filled or bloody drainage from my ear
* Hearing loss
* Loudly ringing bell sounds (tinnitus)

You should not believe that I am resigning myself to this dreadful fate humbly. Oh no. I will not go gentle into that noiseless night. I got off my bedraggled, sick ass today and strode, bleary-eyed and sniffling, up to the drugstore on Josef Korut, questing for medicine with which to cure my sinus woes. However, there were some obstacles along the way. I like to call those obstacles, "words".

Here is a rough transcript of today's Actual Exchange between myself and what I presume was a Hungarian "pharmacist" (Pure speculation as to the job title, I may have in effect been speaking with the bin collector - maybe they wear white coats here? Anything is possible):

Me: Hello! I am SICK.
*pointing at face, sticking out my tongue, making wild rolling eyes, faux coughing, faux clawing-at-throat, waving at self to intimate hotness from fever*

"Pharmacist": Megismételné, kérem?
*looking puzzled and apologetic, shaking head*

Me: Sorry, sorry, terribly sorry, I don't speak ANY Hungarian. I need DRUGS. For my COLD.
*more wild gestures towards face, blowing nose, pointing at sinuses, coughing*

"Pharmacist": Nem értem. Leírná, kérem?
*looking like maybe he thinks I'm hallucinating, probably a foreign crack addict trying to stick up the pharmacy without a visible weapon, gesturing sternly at paper and pen on desk*

Me: Oh, certainly! I'll write it down. Brilliant!
*grabs pen, scribbles on paper "Sick! Need drugs!"*

"Pharmacist": Hívja a rendõrséget!
*gesturing vigorously at the door with alarm and anger in his voice, waving phone receiver in my general direction, brow furrowed, shaking clenched fist*

As you can imagine, I departed in haste, without anything useful for my pounding sinuses. I did manage to quietly procure some German vitamin C tablets, a box of what I think are echinacea candy based on the pretty purple flower on the box, and a very sexy eucalyptus inhaler which is driving the single young men of Hungary wild with desire every time I jam it into my nostrils and making a strained sucking noise like a wet-vac trying to clean up a rather nasty spill. Oh yeah, I am one hot mama today people.

So, if you could all pray that my eustachian tube does its damn job and keeps that membrane in one piece during takeoff and landing, that would be fantastic please and thank you.

Hoping you are all well, wishing I could hear all of your voices one last time before the curtain of silence is pulled over me, possibly forever.

Melodramatically yours,
Moira
----------------------

EDITED TO ADD: Am now in Istanbul, totally deaf in right ear. Seriously. Oh well, I guess one ear is better than none, right? Right? What's that? SORRY, I CAN'T HEAR YOU, COULD YOU SPEAK UP PLEASE? *sobbing*

Utah and Arizona Road Trip: August 12-17

2007-09-07T16:27:04Z

So, now I'm on the bus heading back to London from Wales, and as breathtaking as the scenery is, there are only so many grassy green fields and cows and sheep one can look at before one needs to cut it out and stare at a computer screen instead.

At least, that's how things go when "one" is me, because clearly office life has broken my soul into a million tiny pieces and no amount of travel or love can glue it back together again.

Ahem.

As I was saying, I've been productive during my 3 1/2 hours in transit, cleaning up the next section of diary notes from my southwestern US road trip. Here are the rambling, long-winded results. You should probably pull up a comfy chair and make some tea before embarking on this novel-length multi-day journal entry. Enjoy!

Sunday began with a serious consideration of what, exactly, we needed to pile into the car in order to ensure the success of our camping trip. Toilet paper and slim jims were obvious essentials, but what about fruit roll-ups? International Foods hazelnut-vanilla instant coffee powder? Burritos? Gatorade? Bandanas? We boldly forsook towels, shampoo and detergent, eschewing cleanliness in favour of authentic camp stench.

In a nearly imperceptible nod to hygiene, we packed wet wipes, contact lens solution and about 19 gallons of spring water, most of which Frank dumped out on the dead embers every night, “just to be sure”. The man suffers terribly from nightmares of Smokey the Bear riding his hump about preventing forest fires.

A morning trip to K-Mart yielded Tupperware, paper plates, millions of candy snacks, pepperoni sticks and granola bars. I sliced fruit and packed breakfast foods, Frank cooked delicious lime and cilantro pork and chicken burritos, we packed the car with all of Aaron’s stuff (tent, stove, mattress, water purifier, etc) and set off at around 2pm.

Frank did the first leg of driving that got us to Arches by sunset, where we camped on Goose Island. The bargain price of $10 bought us parking and a camp site next to a river and between two imposing red cliffs with basic toilets, potable spring water just down the road, a fire pit and “free” firewood (karma was good to us on this voyage).

We set up camp in the dark at 8pm, cursed the midnight light show illuminating the cliffs for the benefit of the loud-ass riverboat tourists, spat obscenities at the dreadful Hummer tour with its 20,000 watt rack of hunting lights, made a fire despite the painful heat, ate mango chunks and looked at the constellations in the night sky. The Perseid meteor shower gave us a dazzling display of shooting stars to ooh and aah at. Eventually, we surrendered to exhaustion and retired to the tent, where we sweated profusely on top of our sleeping bags until sleep finally delivered us from consciousness at around 3am.

On Monday we made our first, short hike through Arches National Park. After a delicious breakfast of boiled eggs, berries, melon, granola bars, and tea/coffee, we drove into the park past Balancing Rock and hiked up to see the North and South Windows. Snapped some photos, ate some Skittles, then embarked again on our pilgrimage towards Arizona.

We switched off driving: I took the early shift from Moab to Mexican Hat(!) in Utah, where there was actually a gigantic balanced rock shaped like a sombrero. For many miles, the one-horse towns that clung to the side of the highway like lice to a dog were too scary to pull into, no matter how dire our needs for gasoline or urination. This stretch of America makes the “Hills Have Eyes” movies look like a series of documentary films. The phrase “we can’t stop here, this is bat country” was said nervously, more than once.

Frank drove on to the Navajo nation where we ate frybread, tacos and stew and I entered my first ever Trading Post. I desperately wanted to exchange a nugget of gold for some flour or linen, but these days it’s all native carvings and jewelry. Rusted out classic cars from the 1930s and 40s were littered around the reservation, decaying beautifully.

I took the wheel from Navajo to the Canyon, past the painted cliffs and numerous signs telling us we were headed straight for “Cave Dwellers”. The MST3K movie? C.H.U.D.S.? No, it was a place were some enterprising lady tourist in the 1930s had her car break down due to the gravity-fed fuel line malfunctioning on the steeply inclined road, and avoided heatstroke by taking refuge in local rocks with natural hollows in them. She liked her makeshift stone hotel so much, she bought the land and offered it as a place with free accommodation to other travelers. After examining the digs, we resisted the temptation to sleep in a cave and rolled on towards Kaibab National Forest.

As usual, camp set-up happened in the gathering dusk at around 8pm. I almost cried with joy at the blissfully cool elevated air (60 degrees!), scented with pine and juniper. It was like a little slice of Canada. Our campfire was magnificent, with a tall wall of white stone built by Frank, whose neurosis about extinguishing every last smoking twig was legitimized by the acres of silent, blackened timber we drove through on our way into Grand Canyon National Park the next morning.

It was windy on the high peak where we camped, and wild, with no other campers nearby. Mysterious rustling in the night woke us up, and there was light rainfall in the early morning, but no sign of animals, although Frank swears he heard a coyote poking about out tent in the early morning. I slept through all of it, in the deep peaceful sleep of cold weather.

Tuesday was our first day at the Grand Canyon National Park. After another magnificent egg, fruit and granola breakfast we drove the few remaining miles to the north rim, feeling great. Weather was perfect, sun shining in a cloudless blue sky, and the road surrounded by wide stretches of verdant grassland curving gently into hills cloaked in conifers, white birch and deer. The only sad note were the signs posted at regular intervals pleading for motorists to please not drive on the meadows. What kind of asshole would veer off the road and drive on pristine meadows covered in grazing deer?

When we arrived we filled up our water bottles, strapped on our hiking boots and set off down the trail. Frank took a few minutes to loudly mock the pathetic Bright Angel trail, marked “easy” at a mere 0.25 miles. “Only for fatties! Damned obese Americans and their car culture!” he lamented. So instead, being fit young things, we challenged ourselves with a two-part hike: first, a gentle and winding dirt path with a few steep stretches that meandered around the mouth of the canyon, (Trevelyan Trail?) that took us 1.5 miles away from the visitor’s centre. When we reached the end of that, we opted to venture another 1.7 miles down the North Kaibab trail, past Coconino Overlook and a little more than half way to Supai Tunnel.

The challenge of hiking the canyon is that it’s all kittens and freaking rainbows on your way to the bottom, as you merrily skip past the poor, panting bastards clawing their way back to the top, clucking your tongue at these tragic victims of heat exhaustion and dehydration, certain that this will not be your fate. Then karma kicks in, and once you’ve gone as far down as you can comfortably go in the baking heat of the midday sun, lo and behold YOU become the panting, gasping unfortunates being given pitying looks by the mule-mounted fatties ambling down the sandy slope as you force your oxygen-deprived, lactic-acid laden thighs to continue pushing you back up, against gravity and heat and the will of the Gods.

Of course, being me, I managed to survive the hike relatively unscathed except for a nagging blister on my left heel, until I was back on the very smooth even path back to the trailhead, where I promptly sprained my right ankle. Typical. At the end of the hike, I went to have the Most Glorious Shower of My Life, while Frank shopped at the grocery store for moleskin for my bloody left heel, and a bandage to wrap my sprained right ankle. He’s going to be a great doctor one day.

We then made reservations at the lodge for a fancy dinner the next day, and drove off in the torrential rain to find a campsite IN THE DAYLIGHT for once, hoping to stake our tent closer to the canyon somewhere dry and cool. Just 10 miles outside of the park, there was (as promised by Lonely Planet) a long, winding dirt road that lead us to the top of a small mountain, with pine tree cover from the wind and rain and a soft coating of pine needles cushioning the ground beneath our tent, and a number of old campfire pits made from scattered rocks.

The night previous, I’d been moody and fussy about Frank hogging the fire-building fun thus far (I was pre-menstrual, and we’re both pyromaniacs – this conflict was bound to happen eventually). Frank graciously allowed me to set up the tent, construct the stone pit AND build the fire, while he engineered a complex tarpaulin rain cover involving pulleys and scaffolding. After my exciting discovery that all of the rocks around us held fossils, which sent him off scrounging in the bush looking for a fish skeleton or a nicely preserved mollusk, I was crushed to learn that after a rainfall, armed only with damp branches, matches and no combustible liquids as an accelerant, I could not actually get the fire going. Lots of smoke; no flame.

Frank came back and totally cheated by taking shavings from the dry firewood in the car (I would not stoop to such low tactics) to start the fire. So we had a lovely roaring fire, in which we cooked our burritos. I sat by it for warmth and light and read the last few tense chapters of Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, while Frank continued his frantic quest for ancient sea creatures preserved in stone.

I read well into the night, weeping silently in the emotional grip of Rowling’s horrible plot twists (remember: pre-menstrual), causing me to try and poke Frank awake at 2am for a hug. He gallantly patted my arm and said “s’okay… Harry zz okay…” then snored harder, drooled, and rolled away from me in his sleeping bag. So comforting, the Frank.

Wednesday we awoke to grey skies and cool breezes, determined to conquer the canyon. Despite my destroyed left heel and rapidly swelling right ankle, I strapped on my hiking shoes and Camelback and off we went.

I can’t recall much of the hike proper – it’s all a haze of red dust and mule poop and sun and heat and pain – but I do remember getting my period halfway down at the Supai Tunnel rest stop (thanks, uterus, I hate you too) and gripping white-knuckled onto Frank’s backpack as soon as the trail got so narrow that my lemming urge all but compelled me to abandon hope and hurl my bones over the precipice straight down to damnation below. This counter-productive instinct fascinates me: what evolutionary purpose can it POSSIBLY serve? How am I supposed to make babies and pass on my genetic code if my gut wants me to jump every time I'm too close to a high ledge?

We made it down from 8,250 feet of elevation at the top to just under 5,000 feet down at the Bridge – halfway to the bottom. It was a damn good hike, and the desire to keep on trucking to the Falls was strong, but we decided discretion was the better part of valor and reversed direction. 35 slim jims, 4 gallons of sweat and 52 pauses in pockets of shade later, we were back at the top and ready to wash up and eat some grilled meat.

Ahh… there’s nothing quite like having a shower after a long day of dusty hiking. I cleaned myself head to toe with a bar of Irish Spring soap and washed the dirt out of my now openly bleeding left heel. I rinsed out my tensor bandage and beat the dust off of my shoes. We did two loads of laundry at the North Rim Campground Laundromat and went to the Saloon for a cup of coffee and some quiet time. I started in on Neil Gaiman’s “Smoke and Mirrors” while Frank scribbled his private thoughts down in runes. We took our stuff out of the dryer, drove back to the North Rim restaurant, and ordered rare steak, asparagus and a well-deserved glass of Shiraz each. Bliss.

Leaving the Canyon on Thursday was heartbreaking – still so much to see! So much further we could have hiked! But we needed to get the car back on Friday, run the Muddy Buddy on Sunday, Frank had to start teaching on Monday, and I had a plane to catch on Tuesday. Much as it was tempting to just take Malibu Barbie on the road and keep heading on to all the national parks we passed or missed on the way (I’ve never been to Yellowstone), we are slaves to our agendas and responsibility called us home.

In the Big Rock Candy Mountains all the cops have wooden legs
And the bulldogs all have rubber teeth and the hens lay soft boiled eggs
The farmer's trees are full of fruit and the barns are full of hay
Oh, I'm bound to go where there ain't no snow
Where the rain don't fall and the wind don't blow
In the Big Rock Candy Mountains

I drove us up up and away from Arizona into liquorless, Mormon-ridden Utah, and just kept on trucking until we hit the Big Rock Candy Mountain. Frank expressed doubt at my assertions that any mountain with such a name must be a massive, glittering mound of pink sugar with a whipped cream peak and gummy bears grazing on Swedish fish in corn syrup streams that wound down its delicious, licorice-veined slopes.

But I mean, come on, the song says…
In the Big Rock Candy Mountains you never change your socks
And the little streams of alcohol come a-trickling down the rocks
The brakemen have to tip their hats and the railroad bulls are blind
There's a lake of stew and of whiskey too
You can paddle all around 'em in a big canoe
In the Big Rock Candy Mountains

I admit, it was a bit of a let-down in person: a big pile of yellow rock, which does at least bear a passing resemblance to the Scots treat known as “sponge candy” (essentially what makes up the inside of a Crunchie bar). I regret to inform that there were NOT, as promised in the classic song, “cigarette trees” or “lemonade springs”, although there was certainly no rain or snow and the wind didn’t blow, so it’s not like the whole song is a lie.

I can’t say for sure that the locals don’t sleep all day, since I didn’t see anyone while we were there. It’s entirely possibly that at some point “they hung the jerk that invented work”, but it would be pure speculation for me to say so as there were no strung-up corpses in evidence. Personally, I think there’s an amusement park that needs to be built here, based on the exceptionally catchy lyrics of that tune, except I doubt prohibitionist Utah would grant a license for a lake of whisky. Damn, I’d pay to visit that, though.

Nonetheless, I bullied Frank into taking a series of photos of me licking the mountain (he looked like he was going to gag) and also of me posed in the midst of a staged scavenger-hunt where I found packets of Junior Mints and Fruit Roll-Ups among the gravel.

Goblin Valley State Park is close enough to Arches on the I-70 that we were fairly confident that we could tour about and then stop at our first campground again that night. It’s off the beaten track, to be sure, but it was well worth the detour. Aside from the natural splendour of these timeless sandstone creatures, formed by wind and weather, filling an otherwise empty valley with an army of anthropomorphic rock, there are the sci-fi references to consider.

Frank and I took several posed photos with me as the Doomed Red Shirted Ensign and him as the Melodramatic Gold Shirted Captain, perched on the alien-looking landscape. The “Khaaaaaaaaaan!” photo turned out brilliantly. We also did a number of “Where’s Waldo?” style pictures of us hiding in the rocks, and took about a million pictures of random formations that looked vaguely sort of like they might have been parts of the gigantic Stone Monster from Galaxy Quest. The phrase “rudimentary lathe” may have come up a few times. Ahem.

Friday was our last day on the road with Malibu Barbie. Saddinpants.

For once, we actually did as we said and woke up really early. At 7am, we packed up camp and drove into Arches, hiked up to the high viewpoint to see Delicate Arch at sunrise (it was already swarming with a busload of tourists, surprise, surprise). We hiked to the elevated viewpoint where Frank set up his trusty tripod and I ran back to the car screaming as I was being eaten to death by mosquitoes.

Note to travelers: if you have sweet, tasty O+ blood, DO NOT TRAVEL with someone who has bitter, rank-tasting AB-. The mosquitoes know where the gourmet liquid treats are, and those treats are IN YOUR VEINS O POSITIVE PERSON! RUN AWAY!

We drove back to the visitor’s centre, made tea and oatmeal in the parking lot and had a complaint registered against us to the park rangers - apparently in this new age of terrorism American tourists think it should be made illegal to operate a small white-fuel pump stove in a public parking lot - then Frank took the wheel to get us back to Colorado.

We took a scenic route through Evergreen and ate at the Little Bear saloon – a known dive and biker bar with some pretty impressive layers of carved graffiti on every possible wooden surface, including the tables, benches, walls and ceiling. I saw Frank's lovely dream house and then we proceeded back to Denver central to dump everything out of Malibu Barbie, kiss her goodbye, and return her to her home, the Denver International Airport.

On the way back from the airport, we stopped at a Best Buy, where I went nuts buying DVDs (but I *needed* ALL of them!) including the essential classics 'Galaxy Quest' - had to after Goblin Valley, you understand - 'Ghostbusters' 1 & 2, 'Empire Records', 'Aqua Teen Hunger Force: the Movie', and 'The Mummy' box set. We returned home, Frank cooked another incredible gourmet dinner, we had some scotch and dyed one another's hair like the girls we are. There's something incredibly relaxing about sinking into a cushy sofa, eating a hot meal, drinking 10-year-old Balvenie while peroxide burns your scalp.

Here endeth the tale of the road trip to the Grand Canyon.

Wales: A Country Named After the Fish with the Biggest Dick in the Ocean

2007-09-05T03:59:19Z

This pretty much sums up my trip to Wales.

Denver, Colorado, pre-Road Trip: August 7-11 (better late than never!)

2007-09-03T10:34:11Z

I started writing this diary of my trip to Colorado, Utah and Arizona back on August 21st., but then a weird pre-travel writing coma possessed me and I left my unpolished notes languishing on my hard drive.

So, now that I am in London, painfully listening to some dreadful bastard murder “No Woman, No Cry” downstairs in the lounge on what would appear to be karaoke night, I will take this opportunity to calm myself through reworking my journal entries for your entertainment and delight. If you think I should be sleeping, think again – they just butchered “Margaritaville”, and I sense that “American Woman” will be next.

I will make extensive use of the “cut tag” feature so you can read only what interests you (if any) and skim the rest. I’ll also break it down into 3 entries: pre-road trip, road trip and post-road trip. If it all seems a bit like stale news, too bad. You’ll have to wait until I’m in Cardiff before you get anything new, sportsracers.

So let’s see, where did I leave off? Tuesday started with a long bike ride, a tourist walk and an art gallery crawl. Once the boys got home, we then headed over to Broadway and proceeded to get wicked drunk at Sputnik, which features a delicious ginger-headed bartendress in a sexy striped piratical sweater, wheels of steel that were being aptly spun by a local DJ, and most importantly of all – a photo booth. Yes, this is the bar of my dreams. I need never drink again. I will, of course, but I no longer NEED to do so.

Although the ranks of the party swelled enormously over the course of the evening to include more than a dozen friendly Denver locals, two of the more significant meetings were my introduction to the legendary Heather B, Lady Scientist (it was love at first sight) and also Monique B, Frenchie Extraordinaire.

Heather and I were the first two girls there, so we sidled up to the bar and got very girly martinis to start the evening off, while Frank and Aaron sipped moodily at their beers. There was much giggling and pulling of hair and whispering about boys.

The four of us decided to wait until we were all appropriately inebriated to squish together and get our photos taken. We may have waited a bit too long. The first set were ruined as Frank and Aaron failed to adjust the seat properly, causing every single picture to demonstrate how we would look if grotesquely decapitated, eyes and ears and scalps missing. We tried again, with more success, except that Ari Stiller-Shulman (first place prizewinner for most Jewish name of all time) stuck his massive head into the last frame.

The damage: Heather purchased me at least one, possibly two chocolate espresso martinis; some lovely drummer fellows with muy bueno facial hair bought me two pints of local brew and then that ginger fiend, Aaron “Handsome” Ransome, decided we all needed tequila shots. Ah, Patron. You blind me.

I only vaguely recall the staggering walk home in the pitch blackness. Due to my poor night vision and total inability to handle cactus-based boozeahol, I required Frank to be my Sherpa and maneuver me through the potholed sidewalks as I tottered about on my kitten heels in the dark. We took photos of beautiful sidewalk stencil graffiti on the way home, using my poor, scarred gams as a prop.

Wednesday was extreeeeme! We all woke up with outrageous hangovers, naturally. Aaron went to work, as Frank and I ran a morning errand that restored some of my faith in American society. Then I got dropped off at home where I spent several hours curled up in the cozy oubliette of bed, moaning softly in pain, while Frank solved complex scientific problems at the lab with his large, damnably imperturbable tank of a brain.

By the time evening arrived, I was feeling energized enough to wash and dress myself and move around slowly, like a recently reanimated corpse. Despite my zombie-state, Frank and Aaron trundled me into the car and drove me to the Denver Zoo. Yes, after nearly 30 years of no zoos, I had my second zoo experience less than a month after my first. This time, there were penguins! And mountain goats, and porcupines, and giraffes and polar bears…

The Denver Zoo is a lot more compact and easily navigable than the Toronto Zoo, so we accomplished more animals in less time. As an added bonus, we didn’t have to pay for admission, there were free hot dogs and hamburgers and pop and brownies, and I got a fun foam hat in the shape of a zebra, since it was a corporate day for friends and family of the place where Frank works. Hangover be damned, awesome was the only word for it. I couldn’t even hold on to my mild disappointment at missing out on the carousel.

We left the zoo at around 9pm and drove home to change into reflective goggles, feather masks and leather or rubber headgear for the second outing of the evening, to revere the performance phenomenon known as Mr. Pac Man in concert at the Hi-Dive, conveniently located right next to Sputnik (where we got trashed the night before). Indeed, the two bars are connected at the hip like Siamese twins.

Mr. Pac Man is a local Denver bitpop/gamewave (or as the band calls themselves, "8-bit hero gangsta rock") band/performance art project. Mr. Pac Man's live shows include martial arts fighting with monsters, outrageous 1980s-style retro-futuristic outfits, and their signature Commodore 64-inspired electronic music with a rock attitude. Mr. Pac Man uses a SidStation, controlled by his “keytar”, live on stage, and the Silver Ghost uses a Commodore SX-64 as a bass synthesizer; many of their songs are based on melodies from classic video games, such as the Mega Man series.

I did not get drunk or play pool or eat a corn dog, but despite these minor complaints, it was a bloody great night out on the town. Five stars.

Thursday was all about chillaxing. I didn’t venture far – Frank and I went for coffee at Café Europa and drank in its wonderful, exposed brick and local art-adorned walls. Later in the day I had a massage booked at the local Back Solutions clinic with a therapist called Juliette who did a fantastic job working on my ilio-tibial bands. So relaxing, mmm.

I had a sore throat and aching uterus so I skipped Monique’s Frenchie partie in the evening to stay home drinking medicinal beverages containing vitamin C and peach vodka, and watched ‘Hot Fuzz’ and ‘SuperTroopers’ with the lads.

Frank cooked an unbelievably delicious dinner involving stuffed mushroom caps, summer squash and grilled chicken to go with one of the bottles of Ontario Cave Springs Riesling I’d brought as one of my many alcohol-based house gifts. It was a pleasantly lazy evening in preparation for the week of roughing it and hiking that lay ahead.

Friday I decided to see how fast I could locomote after a week of getting used to altitude. I ran the 3 miles to REI at Confluence Park along Cherry Creek. I won’t say I ran the whole way – there were several walking breaks in there – but I did it the distance in about 42 minutes, which was slow but a damn sight better than my first attempts. Looked for a sleeping bag and air mattress at REI but was overwhelmed by selection and everything cost millions of dollars, so I bought a chalk bag and a Starbucks coffee and skedaddled.

On the walk back, I took some photos, ducked into the library to avoid the torrential downpour and hail(!) that came out of nowhere, popped by the museum and generally took the long way home. When I got home the air smelled freshly washed by the rain, so I grabbed a bike and headed to Broadway again to see what it looked like in the daylight. I paused at the really cool store on the OTHER side of Sputnik, called Fancy Tiger, which met every single retail need I have that wasn’t already met by magical Sputnik with its food and booze and photo booths and the Hi-Dive with its musical entertainment and pool table. Three stores in a row = everything I desire.

So, Fancy Tiger. Let’s see. Silkscreened clothing and saddle bags, felt and homespun wool and knitting goods, 1930s quilt fabric squares, old buttons, craft nights, sewing paraphernalia, handmade jewelry, iron-on decals, embossed hand-pressed notepaper, dee-jay classes… everything is unique and groovy and dripping with hipness, but not the nasty “too cool for school” exclusionary kind of hipster crap you see in Toronto. This is open, friendly, try-it-you-might-like-it kind of hipster stuff.

As soon as I walked in the door, Matthew engaged me in conversation, giving me space to browse and poke about but also making me feel welcome and at home. Jaime was a bit more shy, but once I started talking to her about the Toronto knitting scene she opened up and was really inviting. They almost had me talked into attending their spin night at the Walnut Room, but alas, we already had plans for the evening.

After blowing $40 at Fancy Tiger, I biked on to the local K-Mart where I purchased 2 sleeping bags and a pillow and some nail polish (what?! I like having my toes painted, WHY MUST YOU JUDGE ME?) Then home through a very nice little neighborhood where I resisted the siren call of many, many adorable brick homes for sale.

The evening’s entertainment was at a bar in the north end of the city, near the Platte River, called Forest Room 5. The décor was excellent – they had a projector showing “La Dolce Vita” on the wall of an apartment complex opposite the patio, which also had a little stream running through it. Inside the bar there were booths and private rooms, all snug and intimate with retro 1960s bucket seats, dark wood wainscoting and log-shaped stools.

The stools caused an amusing misunderstanding at one point in the evening when Frank asked why I was suddenly shorter, and I told him I was sitting on Aubrey’s log. Raised eyebrows all around. Ahem. Not like that. Heather was there with many others, including a very vivacious woman named after an Indian goddess who tried to get both Frank and Aaron to touch her boobies. We had a few drinks and then heartlessly tore Aaron away from some hot young blonde thing who was trying to get his phone number and was very confused about my position in the boys’ household, and rode our bikes drunkenly home.

I say drunkenly, not because I was cycling pissed (stone cold sober, me). Frank, on the other hand… Aaron and I were pedaling/motoring sedately along, being cautious in the dark of the bike trail, while Frank careened wildly toward the creek, yodeling at the moon and at one point trying to look backwards at Aaron and I, which only succeeded in causing him to tip over sideways and make acquaintance with the pavement. It brought back sweet memories of his face-first encounter with the sliding glass door in Chrissy’s apartment on NYE. We laughed and laughed, checked for blood, then biked homeward.

Saturday: the last day before leaving on our road trip. After a whole week of being waited on hand and foot in the kitchen, I was feeling guilty about being fed and not cooking myself. Sure, I cleaned the stove and washed down some kitchen cabinets and came bearing single malt scotch, but really, what else had I done to contribute?

In penance, I rose at the crack of dawn on Saturday and biked to the grocery store to get rations for the camping trip and staples for breakfast, including bacon, eggs, OJ, the makings for pastry, potatoes, sausages, fruits, and cheese in a can. The morning meal was a mad overindulgence of my sick breakfasting desires. Coffee, tea, juice, greasy meat in abundance, hot buttery baked croissants pulled fresh from the oven, sliced melon, berries, eggs done to everyone’s personal specifications, and Frank’s crispy Cajun hash browns. Heaven.

While digesting this heinously supersized repast like a cobra who has just gulped down one too many bunny rabbits, I fell into a deep slumber. I awoke hours later to Frank standing over me, holding a pillow inches from my nose and mouth, his face contorted with rage, whispering “Riiiiise and shiiiiine, princess”.

Not really. That was just a nightmare I had before waking up to Frank steamrolling me and yelling “Hurry! The beeeeeer tooooour!” My nap had almost made us late for the all-you-can-drink tour of Hunter S. Thompson’s favourite brewery, the Flying Dog.

Frank, Aaron and I hurtled across the city in strict compliance with all speed limits and signage (Frank was driving) and got there just in time to suck back three pints before walking through the granary and tank rooms, guided by an angelic looking blonde waif whose passion for malted hops was palpable. After the beer tour, came the tour of the Colorado Whisky distillery next door. The barrel room smelled incredible: woodsy and musky and rich. We each had a shot of the good stuff, then returned to the bar where Aaron and I got shitfaced while sober Frank, as our designated driver, looked on with mingled yearning and disgust.

On the way home, Frank asked the magic question: “Hey, when are we supposed to pick up the rental car?” Eek. The correct answer “at noon” was now a moot point, as by now the rental centre had been closed for hours. Also, it was closed Sunday. Not good. I began frantically calling other car rental centres and a few hours and a few hundred dollars over budget later (Note: when traveling ALWAYS call your credit card company first to tell them exactly where you’re going), we had wheels.

In fact, we had Malibu Barbie.

Here endeth the tale of the pre-road trip time in Denver.

My heart, the water-balloon

2007-08-08T03:33:53Z

Well, I've been off work for less than a week and already it feels like the natural way of things. Sleep in until the cats wake me up. Eat when I want. Go where I want. Do what I want. Love it.

My last post was written as I was frenetically packing for Denver, so I'll pick up from there. No troubles with the flight, not even when we flew into a massive storm. We've had rain every day this week, to my great joy - I love thunder and lightning and it keeps the temperatures reasonable (a cool 18 degrees Celsius at the moment). I eventually found my luggage, tumbled into caellum's trusty green car, and got my first taste of Denver by night, which included a mini-party where I was fed mouthwatering steak, quite a lot of red wine and enjoyed fabulous conversation on Caellum's front lawn with the legendary Soo and Johnny. These kids will be our cheerleaders when we race in Boulder in 2 weeks, plus Soo is taking me out for a tour of the city and a batch of homemade pudding soon so I am surrounded by good company. Yay!

From the outset this place has reminded me a little of Vancouver. Part of it is the mountains, even though these ones are missing the pristine white snow caps that I'm used to seeing in BC, and of course the rain (although I'm told this much precipitation is unusual). The city has a stunning central area at 14th and Colfax where you'll find one of the sexiest public libraries I've ever set eyes on snuggled up next to a big, shiny art museum. There is also a golden-domed state capitol building and a huge amphitheater encircling a lovingly tended civic center park that is bursting with blooms.

Today I explored the core tourist areas by walking the entirety of the busy pedestrian-only 16th Street Mall, biking north along the Platte River, pausing to check out budding young hoodlums at the Skate Park and the Denver Coliseum. I rounded out the afternoon by doing an art walk along the many small galleries on Santa Fe Drive, including a little jewel called Limited Addiction where there were some incredible pieces by an artist called Reuben Rude. It's a shame (or maybe a blessing?) that everything he had on display was already sold, because I would have bought any one of those pieces in a snap.

Of course, I'm not just here to shop and sightsee: no, I am a woman on a mission, and that mission is to train for and dominate at the Muddy Buddy. In preparation for my 6 mile athletic extravaganza, I boldly went running after less than 24 hours at altitude, just to see how this new "low oxygen air" would treat my lungs at speed. Let me tell you, it sucked.

The first ten minutes of running are always a challenge. Usually I get sweaty and red and feel some tightness in the chest and leg muscles as I'm warming up. This time, my heart felt like a water balloon that has been filled slightly beyond what the plastic skin was made to hold, and then squeezed tightly in someone's fist so that parts are bulging out and straining to accommodate the increased pressure. It felt like total shit. The craziest part was that I was running on a slight downhill slope. On the way back, the incline was just too much and I openly panted like an asthmatic dog that has been locked in a car with the windows wound up on a hot summer's day with a chain smoker. Ridiculous. I had to walk most of it. 30 minutes got me a pathetic 1.6 miles. Argh.

The next day was better - I decided to shelve running for a bit and try biking, which was much more successful. There is a beautiful bike trail that runs straight through the heart of the downtown, just below street level along the embankments of the two rivers. Thanks to the recent wet weather, Cherry Creek is fat with rain, churning over the rocks and making dozens of picturesque white waterfalls. The creek is named for the chokecherry trees that grow alongside it, which are heavily laden with their ripe, dusky red fruit. Best ride ever (thanks for the loan of the mountain bike, Aaron!). After about 4 miles, I came to the junction where Cherry Creek meets the Platte River in a jumble of rapids, and biked across a wooden bridge to visit mecca, aka the gloriously well-stocked flagship REI (the original MEC, for us Torontonians). There I purchased my new toy, a Camelback, to keep me hydrated as I ride.

I biked for a solid 5 hours today, with a brief stop to eat some fish tacos, so I think I'm getting acclimatized. I should also mention that Aaron, in addition to loaning me his mountain bike, also let me try out his wicked hand-engineered motorbike yesterday and even after just riding in first gear for a while I now want to start using my motorcycle license again very badly. Vroom vroom!

Most of this outdoor adventuring and exploration has consisted of solo trips done while Caellum is in the lab, playing with rats and bacterial cultures and whatnot. He's been doing his part to help with the athletic prep by feeding me steak and spinach to get my hemoglobin up to snuff (take that, anemia!). Once my bone marrow starts producing the goods and I have an extra pint of blood to shuttle that oxygen around, I'm going to come home to sea level feeling like an Olympian. Tomorrow we're going to work on improving my hemoglobin with pastries at the Devil's Food bakery. Mmm. Croissants = new, fatty, strong blood cells.

What is *not* helping me to get in shape are the eleventy billion local microbrews available, and the Xbox in the living room with the Live account and Halo2 on offer. Gah. So much beer! So many aliens to kill! I've been caught twice now, hypnotized, paralyzed by choice in front of the refrigerated beer section at various liquor stores around the city. So far I've sampled three, but we're actually considering leaving the house to go to a local bar tonight so I sense more are on the horizon.

Really, the only downside to my trip so far is that I keep locking myself into Caellum's bathroom because I can't figure out which way to turn the damn doorknob. It wouldn't be so bad, except the boys can hear me rattling the lock from the other side of the house, and their mockery is loud and embarrassing. Also, it looks remarkably like a monochrome level of Castlevania in there, so I start to freak out if I can't escape when I want to.

Our road trip next week is shaping up nicely, and we should be stopping to camp in Utah at Moab and Zion and then in Arizona at the Canyon. I will take photos then, I promise, I just haven't been in the mood yet. Content yourselves with my word-pictures, dammit!

Love and smooches to all from rainy Colorado,
Pipes

Mile High City

2007-08-04T19:29:44Z

I've been packing all morning, with a brief break to go visit Dad and feed him lunch. My mom insisted I buy my first ever real suitcase (previously it's always been a big backpack and a gym bag for classy old me), but it seems really bulky for just three weeks. I blame the fact that I have to pack running shoes, a helmet and gym clothes.

About to leave for the airport to fly to Denver (current temperature is around 30 degrees, much like here in Toronto), where I have no doubt that the raging thunderstorm the weather network is calling for will delay my flight horribly, leaving caellum sitting at the airport twiddling his thumbs, or possibly playing some amusing made up game that involves punching and spitting with paintball-spattered birthday girl Soo.

Off to the airport. Two hours of customs then four hours of flight and however many hours in a holding pattern waiting for lightning to disperse, and I should finally get to see Colorado. Yay!

Happy Birthday, Mum!

2007-07-11T19:06:42Z

A very happy birthday wish goes out from me today for the long-suffering pipes_mum.
Still fabulous, feisty and far more tattooed than your offspring at 64.
Only one year left to retirement, you lucky goose!!!

There will be fresh cake for you tonight, with delicious icing. There could be flowers also.
And eventually, in a few months, a luxurious hand-knotted rug to be mailed to you from Turkey.

Love always,
Your favourite daughter, Pipes

Finally, someone who understands

2007-07-06T20:26:27Z

Canadian Shield = 2, Moira = 0

2007-07-03T14:25:45Z

I have to begin with an apology to lostvoice and godeater, for missing their legendary Canada Day BBQ in favour of heading north to Georgian Bay this past weekend. I heard your party was amazing and fully attended, so the loss is all mine, but I remain sorry for changing my RSVP at the last minute. We will party together soon.

Other than that, I have no regrets - absolutely the best Canada Day weekend ever, complete with smores, burgers, beer, a bonfire by the lake, kayaking, rock climbing, speedboating, hiking, sunbathing, a full moon and mild nudity. 100% pure cottage goodness.

Thanks to the kind hospitality of my friend Matt, whose family owns a large chunk of rock on Smith Island (south of Bone Island and north of Honey Harbour), I got to spend a few days with some of my most beloved boys from residence - Adam, Casey, Stephen, Todd and Will - and quickly girl bonded with Matt's ladyfriend Jessica, who makes a damn fine Lemon Square.

I met Matt early on Saturday as we scrambled about buying graham crackers, marshmallows, burgers and other camping essentials. On top of our excessive amounts of food, we squeezed a tiny barbecue and large bag o' charcoal into the car, along with four passengers and their luggage. Then the long drive north through Barrie and weekend traffic, where we debated nanotech, engineered food, and whether spiders or mosquitoes are "the real enemy". Casey made my favorite quote of the trip, saying that mosquitoes are street thugs, looking to mug you for your blood, but spiders are criminal masterminds, plotting for world domination. So true, Casey, so true.

After loading the boat and ferrying folks and supplies over to the island, Todd prepped his sexy brushed steel cooler with ice and beer, Will did a brilliant job of building a coal pyramid and firing up the grill, Casey assembled his delicious chicken kebabs with strawberry and pineapple, and Stephen hauled wood for our big bonfire. Jessica and I sat around and looked pretty, and Adam made scintillating conversation in both official languages. That evening, what we lacked in fireworks, we made up for with singing and a very fine single malt scotch (thank you, Adam).

As the evening wore on and the scotch worked its magic, I became more and more reckless in my decision making, leading to rock-climbing in the pitch black with no flashlight that resulted in large, nasty scrapes on my shins and feet and knees that I found in the morning. In retrospect, maneuvering over the Canadian shield late at night, drunk in the darkness was perhaps not the wisest choice, but it seemed like a great idea at the time. The moon and the dying embers of the campfire were a beautiful setting for my pain. At least I didn't fall in the swamp.

Sunday was adventure day, where we pitted our bodies against nature. As usual, I fail at the outdoors. Matt, Stephen, Jess, Todd and I went out on the boats and paddled around into a beautiful lagoon full of waterlilies. There were painted turtles lazing about among the weeds and dragonflies and frogs on lily pads. The weather was perfect and the water was warm, so Jess jumped out of the canoe for a swim while Todd and I took off for an extended kayak trip that turned into a Gilligan's Island-style "three hour tour." We got hopelessly lost in the endless chain of tiny, identical islands. Fortunately Todd had his cell phone on him, and there was just enough reception to call for help with directions. Two hours and one slightly sprained left wrist later, I made it back through heavy headwinds and choppy water to dry land. Kayaking is a fabulous way to spend the day and I would buy one if only I had anywhere to paddle it. Lake Ontario, you say? Not so much with the lily pads and blue herons, sorry.

Four of the boys took off Sunday afternoon up to Sundridge for a birthday party at Blackwell's, and the other four of us stayed behind to do a little more relaxing. We took the speedboat out for a tour of the area, and went to a rock climbing area that bridges the cottages and the national park. On the way, we saw a shipwreck. A large yacht was almost completely submerged in the bay, with several small boats clustered around, waiting for a rescue barge. It was an evil omen - moments later, we experienced the reality of shrinking water levels in Georgian Bay ourselves, as we bumped jarringly into a submerged, unmarked rock. The hull of the boat was fine, just some scratches to the paint, but the sensation of ramming something solid in the water, even at low speed, made my heart stop for a moment. Butler subsequently informed us that he had calculated a 50% chance of such an event occurring in that waterway, which sparked a barrage of statistical mockery for the remainder of our trip.

We continued on to the scenic viewpoint and I flirted with death again as I followed the 6'3 man, 6'1 man and 5'11' woman (I'm 5'4 at best) in leaping over several feet of white water rapids to get to the rock we wanted to ascend. Odds of me falling in the water, 25%. Odds of Casey's camera phone falling in the water, 47%. The adrenaline served me well in scrambling up to the top of the 80-foot cliff, overcoming the sickening "oh god, I'm going to die, where is my f&#%ing harness?" gut-fear reaction. We paused for some photo ops, watched a bit of the sunset and I resisted the lemming urge to take a running leap off the edge into the deep blue water below.

When we arrived back at the cabin, we built a stove fire, cracked open a bottle of wine and toasted Canada's birthday and Matt's birthday. Then we foolishly cracked Casey's evil bottle of hellwater (Sambuca) and toasted James Earl Jones for his voice, mammals for beating reptiles in the game of evolution, the Canadian shield and possibly a few other items but I'm afraid I forget what. A slow amble to the water's edge ended the evening with Matt cursing the harvest moon for ruining his view of the stars and the rest of us listening to the bullfrogs and loons and crickets and seeing our faces glow in the pale white light.

Monday I started the day with yoga on the rocks and Casey and I cleaned and cooked breakfast for the birthday boy. Jess whipped cream and sliced fruit for my five-star gourmet challah french toast with cinnamon, strawberries, mango and maple syrup. Casey opted for the Breakfast of Champions, two large glasses of Coca Cola with lots of ice. Mmm. Breakfasty. We left at 2pm and miraculously made it back to the city by 4:30, even with a pit stop for Wendy's (none of us ordered the "Baconator", but mad props to the marketing genius who came up with that campaign).

So, the damage count for the weekend is just my torn-up leg flesh and a sprained wrist.
No burns on the campfire, no "beaver fever" from drinking bad water, no tipping my kayak and drowning under it, no sunstroke, no disgusting tick-burrowing incidents (ticks = arachnids with exoskeletons and proboscis that drink human blood = Satan's minions). The shield was kind.

I love you, Canada. Happy birthday!

Travel plans so far for August - November

2007-06-27T12:42:46Z

Here are my travel plans as they currently stand for my six months off, for folks that want to meet up with me in foreign lands, or who just want to keep tabs on where I'll be.

Flights and times are booked/confirmed, unless there's a question mark:

August 4th - Fly to Colorado, meet caellum
August 13th - Drive to Arizona, hike Grand Canyon
August 19th - Race in the Boulder Muddy Buddy
August 21st - Say goodbye to Bastion and Soo, fly home to Toronto
August 25th - Compete in Canadian National Wife-Carrying Competition finals with Butler?
September 1st - Fly Toronto to London
(While in England, will stay in Oxford with robertsoncrusoe & Skye; visit Robin in London; see my Aunt Elsie, Uncle Ken, Cousin Kathryn and 2nd cousins Emma & Heather)
September 16th - Meet themusesbitch at Gatwick, fly to Rome
September 28th - Say goodbye to Chrissy, leave Rome, travel either by ferry via Greece or train via Austria/Hungary/Romania/Bulgaria to Istanbul
October 3/4th? - Meet Jen in Istanbul
October 18th - Say goodbye to Jen, fly Turkey to Egypt (Cairo)
November 8th - Fly Cairo to Morocca (Casablanca), meet Zeena?
November 23rd - Fly Marrakech to London
(Possibly fly or take train to Geneva to visit Brett while he's preparing for the opera?)
November 29th - Fly home to Toronto
December 19th - Celebrate 30th birthday!

Will post more detailed travel plans when I know what they are. The Egypt and Morocco portions of my trip are with GAP Adventure tours, specifically:
- the Absolute Egypt, which takes me through Cairo for the Pyramids, Great Sphynx and Tutankhamun's tomb, into Aswan for Nubian food, the temple of Philae, the unfinished Obelisk and Abu Simbel where I will see what section2's family members and ancestors worked on, a felucca trip down the Nile, a donkey ride to the Valley of the Kings in Luxor, the oasis at Dakhla, the White Desert, Baharia, the oasis at Siwa and the library at Alexandria, and;

- the Highlights of Morocco, which takes me through Casablanca, Rabat, Keknes, Volubilis, Fes, Merzouga, Tineghir, Todgha Gorges, Dades, Gorges, Ouarzazate, Ait Ben Haddou, Imlil, Aremd, Essaouira and Marrakech. I'll visit the Atlas Mountains, the coast and remote desert regions, the Royal Palace, the Oudayas Kasbah and the Marrakech spice markets. Really excited about riding a camel out to see the 150 meter sand dunes in Merzouga (highest dunes in North Africa, apparently).

Suggestions on things to see and places to stay while in Turkey or adjoining lands welcome (clodia927, I'm looking at you here!)

Pirate Planet = Star Wars?

2007-05-14T01:51:13Z

Wow, you can totally tell this show was filmed in 1978, with Douglas Adams cracked out on the heavy influence of "A New Hope". There are Star Wars references ALL OVER the goddamn script and some of the visuals are similar as well. I don't have time to write them all down for you, you'll have to go rewatch both and make your own notes, but here are a few stand-outs. I'm sure we can all agree on some general plot parallels involving a part-mechanical, helmeted megalomaniac who wants to destroy planets being used as a puppet by a more powerful, shriveled malevolent overlord. Can't we?

1) The grey uniforms on the Captain's men look a lot like those worn by Imperial Army Officers.
2) The flying cars and cityscapes look really familiar. Wish I could find a screenshot, but you'll just have to trust me on this. (I do love how the Doctor lures the guard away from the flying car with a trail of Bassett's licorice allsorts. I also enjoy the many references to his love of candy, wine gums, etc. in this episode.)
3) At one point, K-9 is tired and says "batteries mine exhausted nearly are" and "recharge I imperative it is". Hello, Yoda-dog!

Looking forward, Part Four features a scene in the Tardis where the Doctor is explaining his fantastic plan to Romana, and there's an image straight out of "Ringu" on the monitor behind them.

Semi-relatedly, my favourite Tom Baker quote (about "The Talons of Weng-Chiang"): The BBC is very good at period drama but not very good at giant rats. Truer words were never spoken, Tom. They're not so hot at green bubble-wrap insect beasts (Ark in Space) or yellow psychic trippy brain waves and force fields (Pirate Planet) either.

Also semi-relatedly, Douglas Adams' first cameo appearance in "Monty Python's Flying Circus" (episode 42) is remarkably similar to joseph_obrien's cameo appearance in "Robocop: Prime Directives". Observe:

Gimpy

2007-05-13T19:23:38Z

Well, I ran my first half-marathon this morning. I'm sad that my time wasn't better - I finished 21.5km in just over 2:20 (I think: chip results aren't in yet, so that was just my iPod's estimation) but my left thigh injury is really quite bad, so I'm happy to have finished at all.

I started to feel a distinct twinge in my left hip about 14km into the race, and it just got worse from there. The last 3km saw me crying all the way to the finish line. There was a genuine sense of kinship with Terry Fox as I limped my way home. I am now in bed with an ice pack, rather than joining my Mum for her mother's day brunch. Oh, the guilt. Still, she's out wearing my medal, so a little bit of me went with her.

I thought I had ilio-tibial band tendonitis, but the more I read about injuries on the web, the more I think it's one of the following three things, based on location, duration and strength of pain: 1) hip bursitis, 2) labral tear, or 3) stress fracture of the hip. Although the last option is the worst, they're all bad in terms of recovery time, which ranges from 6 to 8 weeks with little in the way of therapy options beyond rest, icing and stretching. Where are my miracle cures? Come on, people, I can't stop running for two months! Plus, I have viking boating starting tomorrow! I need legs for that!

In other news, yesterday was the Sante wine festival, which was a blast as always. There were about 15 folks out and about, enjoying the goodness of the grape, including very few "regulars" (curgoth was one of the few and the proud), but lots of newcomers this year: themusesbitch, my friend Butler, several of totally_psyched's Waterloo buddies, and my mates Alex and Josh, who brought along their friend Chris, who quickly became the life of the party. Some would say Chris was offensive, but I considered the butt-grinding, hair-sniffing, remarks of dubious taste and repeated photos of my cleavage as just his personal expression of enthusiasm for the event. Different strokes for different folks. Much wine was had by all, and many amusing photos were taken. I really need to do some photo updating for the poor LiveJournal - everything is on Facebook, but that's no help to you now, is it?

I also see that I neglected to blog about last weekend (have been very strung-out about this thigh injury, especially since I've got a planned two-person race in late August and am currently experiencing difficulty hobbling to the toilet). Last weekend was also raucous and totally awesome. A big two-birthday evening on Saturday, with tapeheads's big 4-0 celebration where I got to see joseph_obrien's beautiful, funny and touching video celebration of his girlfriend/baby momma - a labour of love, to be sure. I also got to play with Attila and Cass and baby Momo, which was great fun. Did I mention there was a chocolate fountain at that party? Yeah, C. and I spent a LOT of time dipping things in the fountain. Anything, really. I know for sure I had at least one chocolate-dipped baby carrot, but I may have eaten someone's finger or a chocolate-dipped barbie doll without realizing it.

Later, after about 4 hours at J&J's, when the birthday girl was looking a little overstimulated and ready for a nap, we nipped out and got a cab to Chris's sketchy warehouse/home for Josh's big "30 is the new 40" party until about 3am. Sunday was the start of the kickball season, so I hung out with themusesbitch and section2 all afternoon, listening to Amy Winehouse and buying hysterically matching sweatsuits from American Apparel to look ultra-nerd-coordinated for our inaugural soccer-baseball game.

That's about all for my news at the moment. Still trying to get my 6 months of travel planned. Have decided to move my trip to North Africa back to October/November since section2 has advised me that I will "evaporate and die" in the heat of Aswan in September. I have also been roundly mocked and jeered at by my friend Darcy for my planned trip to see the Grand Canyon in August, where he states unequivocally that the soles of my shoes will melt to the cement sidewalk, but what the hell, I've already bought that ticket so too bad. September will now be Italy/Greece, and October is firmly plotted for Turkey with Jen.

I've been given raised eyebrows for going to Turkey during a period of protesting and apparent "civil unrest" due to the threatened military coup in the event of a non-secular President taking over the government, but honestly, given that this is a country that borders 3 seas, 8 countries (two of which are Iran and Iraq), and is a predominantly Muslim nation populated by Kurds, Circassians, Roma, Arabs, Greeks, Armenians and Jews, I'm satisfied that their largest political concern is about remaining secular. Absolutely! Stay secular! Keep religion out of state matters! And how can I not want to visit the Celsus Library in Ephesus, the Hagia Sophia in Istanbul, or witness the chimaera fires that dance eternally about the Lycian Way on the hillside above the Temple of Hephaistos? How often do you get to see the breath of a creature that's part lion, part python and part goat spew out of the rocky ground? It's a must-see.

Hope you are all well. Will post more now that I'm gimped up in bed with a terribly sore leg and no entertainment but my laptop and Doctor Who.

Me Resurfacing, Too

2007-05-02T04:50:19Z

Dammit. It's 12:45pm and I should definitely be asleep, but Chrissy has me feeling guilt at my lack of posting since she has finally also rejoined the LJ universe. So, an update!

The past few weeks have been a mix of terrible and great news. Three good friends have had close family members pass away, one very unexpectedly, two not so unexpectedly. Death is a private pain, so I choose not to disclose names, but you know who you are and I have been grieving for all of you. In the midst of all this loss, I've heard both good and bad baby news from several other close friends - two have just discovered they are with child (again, not my place to say who: they'll announce in their own good time) and two have found they no longer are, alas.

I'm working a lot of overtime, and trying to make it out to birthday celebrations and other get-togethers as well. A lot of running fills in any random gaps in the schedule.

The Mississauga Marathon, where I hope to be running my first 21.5km half-marathon is in 2 weeks and I managed to injure my left hip somehow on last Sunday's prep run on the course. After completing around 21km in 2hrs17mins, I've pulled or cracked or sprained something and am now going to see a sports therapist for physio on Friday. Was also persuaded by totallypsyched to join her Viking Boating league for the next two months (No, this is NOT rowing. No, I will NOT be "erging".), and am joining forces with section2 to get themusesbitch on board for Toronto Kickball to fill in my Sunday evenings this summer. Am also buying myself a new mountain bike this week, because the one in the garage appears to have died horribly over the winter.

Had the pleasure of several visitors from afar this weekend, including the impulsive yet intrepid Dave who flew up from New York on two days notice. I'm glad we got to spend a bit of Sunday afternoon together, reclining on a grassy knoll together with Lena, having a quiet, sunny picnic on the waterfront. I needed that time away from bad news and computer screens badly.

Have also begun to more seriously plan my 6 months off. So far, the schedule is shaping up like so: August - see Grand Canyon, Rockies then off to Casablanca, Morocco; September - from Morocco over to Egypt; October - to Turkey to visit Jen and see the Hagia Sofia, then over to Greece; November - possibly run the Athens Classic Marathon on November 4th, then rest up and get to Rome to meet Chrissy for a tour of Italy; December - over to Geneva to stay with Brett while he's performing Mozart for Opéra de Genève in Switzerland, then home for my birthday on the 19th. January - hopefully sequestered away somewhere mountainous (BC?) to write and think before returning to work on February 1st.

So, that's my life in brief. Sorry to have been away so long. Will post photos soon showing the last few weeks for folks that aren't on Facebook so you can see where I've been and with whom.

Condo for Rent - Bay & College

2007-04-19T15:47:04Z

Hey, kids, my tenants at Bay & College are moving out June 1st, so if anyone is interested in renting a posh condo, let me know. It's an 825sq/ft one-bedroom, one-bathroom unit with an open concept kitchen, dining room living room area. Central A/C, 24-hour concierge, gym, pool table and whirlpool in the building, hydro and cable TV included. Ensuite front-load washer and dryer, dishwasher, nice tub, good water pressure in the shower. Comes fully furnished with queen size bed, endtables, desk, dishes, pots & pans, TV, most comfortable sofa in the universe, bookshelves, dining table, etc. Southern exposure with lots of nice windows. 60 second walk to College subway station, streetcar, 24-hour grocery store (Dominion). E-mail to ask me about rent.

Long Overdue Hong Kong Report

2007-04-19T02:49:17Z

I am so painfully far behind in my blogging. Argh. I have failed utterly to blog or upload proper photos of my Hong Kong trip. So sorry. Options available to you: make do with 100 uncaptioned photos on my Google account, or you can join Facebook and look at the 60, properly captioned selections in my album there. Your call.

Instead of writing the very lucid travel journal I had started to outline before I caught the deadly avian SARS flu or whatever the hell it was that laid me up in bed for a week, you'll have to make do with the following disjointed feverish notes. Maybe it's more fun this way?

NOTE ON FASHION AND CUISINE
If you’ve ever wondered what it must be like to have body image issues, I mean serious anorexia or bulimia, I recommend an eye-opening visit to Asia. Body image nightmare. In tiny asian sizes, I am an XXL. No trying clothing on in the changeroom. Frustrating. No idea how the people who live here remain so tiny (and yes, I am stereotyping). The foodstuffs available are not exactly diet-friendly. There are bakeries everywhere selling egg tarts and wife cakes and croissants and sticky rice buns. Bakeries in the subway stations, on every corner, in every suburb and on all major avenues. It’s as though the bakeries are in a territory war with the 7-elevens to see who can fill the locals with the most sugar-based carbohydrates. KFC and McDonalds are in wild, untamed abundance, and the restaurants that purport to be selling “Chinese” cuisine are serving up noodles bathed in a sheen of hot oils, deep fried rolls and steamed dumplings that are white flour cocooning a mash of fatty ground meats. It’s a calorie-counter’s nightmare. The Spaghetti House and Charlie Brown Café are both foreign-sounding establishments that I've never seen anywhere else, but that are also ubiquitous in their presence on every major street in Kowloon. Body image is a two-way street, however. Much as I might envy the petite physiques of my Asian sisters, they are pining away for my complexion. Every drug store has a complete aisle full of skin-whitening creams and cosmetic lightening scrubs. Creepy.

NOTE ON WEATHER AND AIR
Despite the insane cement onslaught of the downtown core of Kowloon and on Hong Kong Island, there is abundant greenery here as well, and the air is soft and warm and doesn't carry a hint of that thick, polluted viscosity that New York air can sometimes feel like in your lungs. Always thought the grey fog was pollution, but it really is just water suspended in the air. My glasses fog up each time I go outside. Humidity is extreme here, creating an amazing frizz in my light Caucasian locks. Frizzy doesn’t begin to describe the situation. For my compadres with curly hair, I recommend a hat, shellac, or investing in an inexpensive wig from the night market to keep the frightening white afro at bay. The rain, when it comes, is heavy and soaking, big full drops - if you're lucky, it can be warm as well, like a shower from heaven. The smell of the air was instantly familiar to me – salty and perfumed and wet, like expensive oyster sauce spilled on a hot plate. It was the smell of my aunt’s suitcase when I was little; the locks would pop and a gust of imported air would escape, stolen from this place. Now it's my luggage that will smell that way when I get home.

NOTE ON GREENERY, CLEANLINESS, TRANSIT
Bougainvillea, tulip trees, banyan trees with their long, straggly vine tendrils hanging like Confucian beards. Palm trees, plants with fleshy rubber leaves and vibrant pink, orange and yellow flowers. There's also a complete lack of litter. Such a clean city, given that 7 million people are living in such close proximity to one another. The MTR (mass transit railway) is so unbelievably clean you could practically eat off the floor. Absolutely high-tech with air conditioning, light-up maps, glassed in platforms to prevent jumpers, fully automated computer-driven nav systems. At the museum of natural history there were outdoor escalators, which I haven't seen since Barcelona. Our Canadian health and safety rules have been revealed to me as stuffy trappings of a restrictive society. Here, within minutes of arrival, we saw a bus driver actively engaged in operating a double decker monstrosity, maneuvering it through the heavy traffic to the city over the bridge from the airport, while smoking a cigarette and talking on his cell phone at the same time. Awesome.

NOTE ON CULTURAL IGNORANCE
Visiting the Avenue of Stars was a revelation in cultural ignorance. Out of the dozens of names emblazoned on the pavement, over which many local tourists were oohing and ahhing, I recognized six or seven. Bruce Lee, Jet Li, Stephen Chow, Chow Yun Fat and Wong Kar Wai were the ones I recall. I’m proud to report that my hands are the same size as Michelle Yeoh, but much smaller than Jet Li’s. I used to consider myself as someone who appreciated Chinese cinema, on a limited level, but now I understand that I am nothing but a deluded dilettante. If you know who Li Tit is, or can even read his/her name without giggling, you are a better person than I.

NOTE ON SAFETY
There’s a comforting police presence everywhere and I personally made it through my visit unscathed, but one can’t help but imagine that in a city with a population density second only to Monaco and Macau, no unemployment and no minimum wage, there have to be some bad apples among the bunch. How much is that poor woman handing out pamphlets being compensated for her day’s labour? How many mouths does she have to feed on her meager income? What’s her rent? When will she, or one of her dependents, reach a point of desperation? But these are just the ruminations of paranoia, and as I’ve said, they pass in a few moments after you’ve walked a city block of two and can finally stop panicking every time someone reaches out to you asking “copy watch?”

That's all for my notes on Hong Kong. General update coming next.