Item no. 1 on my list of “Things I wont ever do on my own again once I become independently wealthy”?
DYING MY OWN HAIR:
This is not a good look.
Urg.
Can somebody please pass me a headband?
I recently announced to the world that I was thinking about dying my hair blond. This proclamation elicited a rather lack luster response, (with the outlier reactions ranging from completely agog, to shock and terror.)
Seeing as though I am giant chicken, this morning I completely reneged on this idea, and I re-dyed my hair 1.5 shades away from black.
(Does anyone really know what blackest brown even means?)
So thanks to L’Oreal, I’m back to my raven headed self.
And if I go outside, children will be afraid to touch me.
Ah well, I’m wearing a sundress, and eventually all this will be washed away.
(Especially the hair dye. In fact, I’m counting on it.)
For definitive proof, please see this photo of Mr. M’s and my wedding cake:
This may have been the best idea of my life.
Some of my very earliest memories are of my little sister, my mother, and I, all curled up together on my single bed, reading James Stevenson and Shel Silverstein.
Sometimes I would imagine that we were stranded at sea, afloat on a raft made up of duvets, plush toys, book spines and tea.
(And for what it’s worth, I still think Will You Please Feed Our Cat? is a work of genius. That and The Missing Piece.)
Nowadays, I don’t discriminate much when it comes to the literature that sits atop my bedside table.
Seriously, I’ll give anything a shot.
Canadiana, fantasy, SF (both speculative and science fiction), graphic novels, YA, biographies, cookbooks – WHATEVER.
If it’s good, I’ll read it. Heck, even if I start it and don’t like it, I’ll slog it out.
Because if I start something, I’m darn well finishing it.
I have a sometimes co-worker (he only works part-time) who, whenever he’s in the office, pops around my pad to pick up some recommendations for his much beloved kindle.
When I first started my job, we were seated together at a tax luncheon. And because I didn’t know him from Bob, and am not a tax expert by any stretch, I turned to him and opened with my one and only ice breaker:
“Are you reading anything good at the moment?”
He relayed that he wasn’t, and since I was nervous as all get out, I proceeded to talk for at least three weeks straight about all the books I had ever read in my entire life.
Luckily he took it all in stride.
And now he’s just e-mailed me to let me know that he’ll be in later on next week. So here are the 5 books I am encouraging him to read this go around:
1.) One Step Behind – Henning Mankell
I wrote briefly on Monday about my love for this author. Once again I cannot stress enough how bloody brilliant (I think) he is. Granted, I’ve never read anything of his in the original Swedish, but this is a man who has outsold Harry Potter in many European countries, so I’m going to take a stab in the dark and say his works are excellent no matter what language you’re reading them in.
One Step Behind is the seventh book in Mankell’s highly acclaimed Kurt Wallander mystery series. When we were living in Birmingham M stayed up all night reading it because he couldn’t fathom going to bed not knowing how it ended (for real he read the entire 600+ page book in one sitting.)
2.) Green Grass, Running Water – Thomas King
Thomas King is a Canadian author of Cherokee and Greek descent. He is also a master storyteller and humorist extraordinaire. Green Grass is one of the most amazing books I have ever read in my life; it weaves together written and oral literary traditions, and plays with structure and narrative in a seamless, easy, organic way – much in the same way I imagine that grass grows and water runs.
We have 1000+ books floating around the joint so I couldn't find all the books to photograph. Plus all my Mankell is in Halifax.
Rife with satire and humour, it made me laugh, pause, think, re-think, and feel. Truly, I really believed as though I could feel the book; like it I was living inside of it – and it inside of me.
Years later, I still feel this way.
3.) The Buddha of Suberbia – Hanif Kureishi
I read this in one of my second year English classes. My professor was all about pushing us to think outside of socially proscribed and expected norms – particularly in terms of gender, sex, politics, and academia. (This pretty much blew my nineteen year old mind.)
Set in late 1970s London, this book tackles all of these issues, and more.
I hear the movie version of this is pretty good. I have yet to watch it though.
There are parts of this book that I find so funny, I shake with laughter. There are parts of this book that I find so difficult, I shake with rage.
4.) Straight Man – Richard Russo
There is a part in the book where the protagonist goes on live television, wearing Groucho Marx style gag glasses and a fake nose, brandishing a terrified, honking goose he’s named Finnie, and threatens to kill “a duck a day!” until he gets his small mid-west University English Department’s budget.
Enough said.
5.) Tempest Tost – Roberston Davies
Robertson Davies is a Canadian institution.
I could easily recommend any of his books, what with him being a downright genius and all that, but this was the first book of his I ever read, and Mr. M and I took turns reading it out loud to each other, and the whole experience was simply enchanting.
Plus it has one of the best lines I have ever read in my life:
“I do not quite ante-date the telephone.”
Now, taken out of context, it might seem a bit strange, but heck, you’ll just have to read it.
…
So there you have it folks. Five fabulous feats of literary magic.
I’m curious – what has enchanted you these early Spring days? What has you spellbound?
I took this snap as I walked to skytrain this morning:
Flower power!
It’s been so cold around these parts that most of the trees that line my route still stand bare, their flowers tucked away inside their warm and cozy buds.
I am missing the vibrant colours we on the West Coast are normally treated too at this time of year.
Cherry blossoms always remind me a bit of popcorn. One minute they are nothing more than little shells, rattling about in the spring time wind. Close your eyes, or turn your head but for a moment, and -POOF!
They have exploded into multi-textured, blush-toned brilliance.
They remind me of love.
They also remind me to keep the faith that one day we’ll have two days of consecutive sunshine.
(A girl can dream right?)
Today at lunch my great friend J asked me to accompany her to H&M because she needed to purchase some tank tops for a bachelorette party.
Never one to give up the opportunity to visit my “try don’t buy” Mecca, I readily agreed.
For those of you who are new to the blog, I love to do this thing where I go into stores and try on outfits that are modeled on the mannequins to see how well they translate to a real life body.
Some ridiculing is sometimes involved.
(H&M is also one of the most fun stores to do this in. Furthermore, it’s an extra bonus because I really like their men’s clothing and have been trying on more of their stuff in hopes of finding sweet new deals.)
Pretty much as soon as we entered the store, we honed in on what would be today’s outfit to highlight:
Lady bugs. On my shorts.
I mean, can you think of anything else that says SUMMER-BBQ-FUNTIME than these shorts?
I dare you to come up with something better!
Impossible. P.S. I am wearing a shirt I promise! It's the matching shirt (that goes with the shorts) but it's about three inches long.
But then, of course, I had to try on two other fashion concoctions to prove that I am 1.) not a total crap master (to both you, dear readers, and the sad faced girl working in the change room) and 2.) genuinely interested in some of the merchandise available for purchase at the store.
So in that aim, I put on this dress:
It was all yellow.
Which I would actually love if I wouldn’t be branded a hoyden extraordinaire (and maybe just general pervert) if I ever wore it outside of the confines of the dressing room – because take my word of it, the “dress” was darn short.
Cute as heck yes, but not enough to convince me that I’m ready for a rap sheet.
The second were these pants:
Ms. Men's Red Pants to you!
I love the colour and they were super comfortable, but the crotch was hanging perilously low. And like I said, I’m just not digging the debauched vibe.
All in all, I struck out.
After J bought her goods, we walked back to the office and the perma-drizzle clung to our coats and hung from our hair.
But the memory of this morning’s flowers remains. And if things get really bad, I’ll just try on some new shorts.
This weekend Mr. M and I trekked out to the Reifel Bird Sanctuary, for an afternoon of water fowl and barnyard owls.
A swimming hole.
(Unfortunately, sightings of our flexible-necked friends were few and far between.)
We did however, espy a few swallows, a couple of herons, many, MANY ducks (mallards and otherwise), and a crap load of other birds I don’t know the names of, because who the heck do I look like people?
Ranger Rick?
Yeesh.
(I kid, I kid. Except not at all about knowing anything about the different species of birds I encountered. About that I seriously do know squat.)
A little guy.
It was a truly gorgeous afternoon – blue skies, brilliant sunshine – although the wind was a little snappish; I could feel each gust of cold sea air nibbling at my ear lobes, nose, my fingertips, and toes.
I was super thankful for my last minute decision to bring my winter coat, but even with the extra layer, I walked around with my arms speckled with gooseflesh (how appropriate for the venue, no?) for the majority of the time we were there.
However, when you’re strolling around a nature reserve, surrounded by hilarious, chirping, feathered creatures, your “problems” are put into perspective pretty darn quickly.
I sometimes have a really hard time visiting places like this because I get so over wrought with need to SAVE ALL THE BIRDS the world over.
A little gal.
(This reaction is much the same to the one I wrote about last week. See: Ethel v. SPCA adoption website.)
It’s also intrinsically tied to the paralysis I undergo every time I take out my recycling and see, once again, that the tone deaf dirt bags that live in my complex have once again placed their recyclables in the bin, in a bloody plastic bag.
For serious, one day someone is going to find my body, dead, splayed about on the ground in front of the blue boxes, empty cans in hand. I will have passed over to the other side from a complete and utter rage out (combined with a complete lack of understanding) over why someone would do this.
I mean – HOW LAZY CAN YOU POSSIBLY BE THAT YOU CANNOT JUST EMPTY THE CANS OR BOTTLES FROM THE PLASTIC BAG INTO THE BLUE BOX?
Good grief.
Yesterday Mr. M found a broken toaster in the recycle bin.
A TOASTER! AND IT WAS IN A PLASTIC BAG!
Okay, I need to take it easy. My heart probably shouldn’t be pumping this fast.
Breathe in, breathe out.
Seriously though, what the heck is the point of “recycling” if you’re not going to do it right? Wouldn’t it actually be better if they just threw everything into the trash, because at least that way they wouldn’t be buggering it up for the rest of us that actually, you know, care?
I thought about these indolent bastards as I walked about the park (but just for a little while – I didn’t want to give them too much airtime, or the satisfaction of ruining my entire afternoon.)
But then I started to think about how if the people who already inhabit the earth don’t care, what kind of destruction will the planet oversee when we have an even greater population of (I’m afraid to even imagine) people who care even less?
And then I thought about how many species of birds will be around for my children? Or their children?
Will this amazing bird sanctuary be a moot point because we’ve annihilated everything that would be targeted to live and thrive within the reserve itself?
My heart grew heavier and heavier just thinking about it all.
But then M took my hand, and we say on a bench and ate some grapes, and I slowly started to feel better.
Heron.
This heaviness I felt was gradually offset by a new set of competing factors and thoughts – indeed it became harder and harder to imagine such a dark world, because everything and everyone I was encountering at the park was the complete antithesis of that humanity and ecological peril I was fearing.
There were so many families out together – parents, children, grandparents, babies – teaching, watching, talking, learning about the different plant life, the insects, and course all the birds – calling out to the chickadees, and marveling at the swooping, circling falcons, feeding the ducks, and laughing at the geese.
There were exchange students with guide books, young couples on early spring dates, long-time husband and wife duos, and bird watching aces with camera lenses the width of my living room.
A married duck duo.
There were so many people, out enjoying the sun, basking in the beauty of the day, the park, the birds – the earth.
That it gave me hope.
And continues to give me hope.
It gives me hope that the Reifel sanctuary will be here for years to come.
Dance!
And that out there people actually know how to properly dispose of toasters.
If you have a chance, please take a moment and visit their spots – there is some mighty cool stuff a-brewing around there parts. Ch-ch-check it!
So after I blushed a brilliant red and sputtered about like a tea pot filled past its brim, I got to thinking about what are some of the strange and wonderful things I could share about myself (that I haven’t already bared outright through Rant and Roll.)
In order to make sure I don’t have people running for the hills, I’ll space out the reveals over the course of a few posts.
Ms. PageMarker was kind enough to pass on the Kreative Blogger Award nom. Acceptance requires me to tell you seven tantalizing and tyrannical facts about me. Or was it exciting? I have a hard time keeping those straight.
Let’s jump right in:
1.) I can’t whistle. I had pretty insane jaw surgery when I was fifteen to fix my bite and I’ve never been able to pretend to be a bird or let hot dudes know that I think they’re smoking since.
Bird. Birdin.
2.) At night, I walk into doors and walls. This happens far too often for my own good. In my mind I’m incredibly stealthy because I think that I know the lay of the land inside and out, until of course I rip open the bridge of my nose on the thermostat. Then I’m just incredibly, irrationally angry.
3.) Two of my favourite authors are Henning Mankell and Haruki Murakami. They, in my humble opinion, are master storytellers.
A good long read. Wind up bird chronicle is still my fave though.
4.) My top five places to visit in the world are (in no particular order): Sweden, Japan, Vietnam, Costa Rica, and Iceland.
5.) If I ever get the chance to go to Baskin Robbins, (which sadly are highly endangered species in the Great White North) I’ll taste a new flavour, but I’ll always, always, order mint chocolate chip. In a sugar cone.
6.) I met Mr. M when I was eighteen, got engaged at twenty-two, married at twenty-three. If you had told me when I was sixteen that this would be the course of events, I probably would have told you to stop smoking the hard stuff. But now I wouldn’t change anything for double the world, or more.
A moment that lives in my heart.
7.) I get creeped out by some pretty weird stuff: soup skin, cloves stuck into an orange at christmas, really graphic medical drawings of lungs in science textbooks, bamboo shoots cut too close to the ground, the thought of eating a blackboard eraser, the sound of paper towel coming out of an old dispenser – THESE ALL GIVE ME THE HEEBIE JEEBIES.
Urg. I’ve crippled myself just typing that out.
Anywho, as those classic Warner Bros cartoons were wont to tell us:
I hereby nominate the following radsters for this award. I am very intrigued and excited to see what they may share with us all.
Rant and Roll 