What might have been said (in but another time, and perhaps another place):
When he slid into the seat one row over from her own, he also blocked her window. It wasn’t that Linda frequently found her speedy postcard of Vancouver and Environs all that interesting, but now scrutiny of her fellow passengers was no longer possible.
Well then, nothing to do but inspect her workworn feet and check on the increasingly alarming progress of callus A-10 -so named for its location on her left pinky toe, and its growing resemblance to Atlas the Titan. Nearby, B-9 and S-9 (Bugsy and Skittles) continued their mediocre existence, jutting symmetrically and aggressively off of respective knuckles, almost pathetic in their uniformity. Atlas, meanwhile, had made impressive progress this week, angrily burrowing against the worn brown strap of her flipflops, his broadening shoulders tapering into a tiny head-like knot.
“You have beautiful feet.”
An alarming statement considering the circumstances.
Linda turned an appropriately cool glare onto the beaming visage of Window Blocker (or WB), his boiled-turnip complexion currently accentuated by the broad gleam of his “pearlies.”
A real meathead, she decided.
No man with integrity would wear a white polo in this heat and not sweat. Thankfully, no question had been asked. She resumed her rigid concentration on the floor in front of her.
“How about going for a walk later?” This time she looked up quickly.
Who did this guy think he was? WB had moved straight from inconvenient jerk category directly into “creeper” category – in less than two sentences no less! Linda, stroking the rugose jacket covering the business end of her steel toe boots (that sat on the seat next to her), spoke loudly.
“No, dirtbag, and save your asshat overtures for your immediate relations.”
A well dressed sikh man turned slightly at this and asshat had the good grace to flush and retreat.
My sisters and I didn’t watch a lot of TV as children.
For many years our television set didn’t even pick up basic cable, so whatever cartoons we were watching came in the form of The Bugs Bunny and Road Runner Movie or The Three Caballeros (or whatever we owned on VHS at that specific time.)
One time we discovered our mother’s Jane Fonda’s Workout video and we absolutely killed ourselves laughing at the clothing/hair-dos as we danced around half-heartedly mimicking the exercises.
Every Friday night we were allowed to rent one film and goodness knows there was a period of time when we must have watched Mary Poppins for upwards three years straight. Steppin’ time is RIGHT, Bert.
Also, for what it’s worth – those Bugs Bunny cartoons still crack me the heck up. I am pretty much incapacitated by giggles every time I hear things like “What a way to run a railroad,” I’ve also started to re-populate my vocabulary with some of his saltier insults, and I have been using “should have taken that left turn at Albuquerque” since time immemorial (or you know, grade school.)
However, there was a time when we finally entered the 20th century, and procured a television set that was neither steam powered, nor cable intolerant, and I was introduced to all the magic and majesty that was the Canadian Broadcasting Corporation’s children-friendly programming.
(For only two hours every Saturday, mind you. After all there were limits on how far my parents were willing to travel into said new century.)
Still, limited hours or no, we were introduced to the brilliant likes of Under the Umbrella Tree, The Polka Dot Door, Fred Penner, and Sharon Lois and Bram – seriously folks, this stuff is the stuff of legends.
Take the opening credits to F. Penner & Co.:
DO YOU KNOW HOW MUCH I DREAMED OF FINDING A LOG TO CRAWL THROUGH TO REACH MY OWN PRIVATE AND AMAZING HANG-OUT GLEN!?
ALL OF THOSE DREAMS BELONGED TO ME.
Good grief.
I still remember my favourite episode – it was the one where he found a four leaf clover, and the whole episode revolved around teaching us kidlets about good luck and superstition.
Through song. SONG!
One of my most favourite shows however (and one that not a whole lot of people my age seem to remember) was called Today’s Special, which was set in a downtown Toronto department store, after closing hours.
You see, once the place shut down for the night, a mannequin named Jeff would come to life with the aid of his magic hat. (Oh, and someone had to say “hocus pocus alimagocus”.)
What? Like that’s weird or something?
If the hat ever came off of his head – POOF – he turned back into a mannequin.
(This often resulted in a huge number of shenanigans.)
The remainder of the cast was made of up Jodie, the store manager (and Jeff’s totally badass “human” mentor), Sam, the store’s security guard (a puppet, mind you), and Muffy Mouse, the resident rhyming rodent.
To say that I loved this show would be totally oversimplifying it.
I dug it so hard, that if I was actually going through the motions I would have made it all the way to China and back.
I really believed that magic – magic like what was needed to bring Jeff to life every night – was real. It was just up to me to find the right source, and figure out what role it should play in my life (beside of course making me invisible, giving me the power to fly, and helping me learn everything I could possibly learn about everything in the world in – oh, about a day and a half.)
As you could imagine, I was a pretty laid-back kid.
I’ve been thinking about this part of my life quite a bit – a childhood not only wrapped up in enchantment, but the never-ending search for magic – because in the past two weeks I have read Dandelion Wine and The Magician’s Apprentice, and at present I am currently halfway through The Magicians – and it seems as though I cannot stop reading about it.
I cannot stop reading about magic.
These are three (very different) books, but they are all compelling and heartbreaking in their own way.
Dandelion Wine had me shedding tears every morning as I rode the rickety skytrain into work – I felt as though my heart was going to burst out of my chest, so overwhelming was my nostalgia for a life I have never lived, but knew so well – almost as if the words themselves were already etched into my heart, punch drunk on the possibility of an endless summer, so many long years ago.
The Magician’s Apprentice is a fabulous read, but almost deceptive in its outward simplicity – much like a magic trick. But like said trick, it stays with you the long after it is finished, and you find yourself going over it, again and again in your mind – trying to figure it out, and understand it – trying to relive it.
I am not yet done The Magicians, but I am enjoying it very much. I am realizing that should I ever have had that chance to find my magic as a child, I may not necessarily have been in control of this power.
(I will keep you posted once I am finished.)
In the meantime, we sun-dipped mortals (or is it muggles?) are racing about this ball of blue, full speed, arms akimbo, waiting on the next adventure.
We found this feather on the Sunshine Coast. I am sure it has magical properties.
Today the sky is filled with sunshine, and it is glorious.
I have been a bit knackered as of late, as for most of the week I have been staying up way past my bedtime and knocking about the place like a social butterfly with vertigo.
On Monday Mr. M and I kicked some serious general knowledge butt with our friend A’s pub quiz team (otherwise known as Taking Care of Quizness. And hey! Don’t hate. With a team jam packed full of physics PhD’s, literature masters, classics keeners, and poli-sci pros, our nerd quota was so high that Steve Urkel actually showed up and put in an application to join the group.)
We ended up winning the top prize (and fifty bucks!), much to the chagrin of the Philoso-rapters, and the Sandy Vaginas.
(What a name. Doesn’t really make you want to head to the beach anytime soon, does it?)
Also, I couldn’t help but wonder if every time the former team answered a question correctly they would look at each other and say, “Clever giiiiiiiirl.”
(Before, you know, ripping that person apart, and eating their dismembered corpse.)
Erm, just in case you don’t know what I’m talking about, please see exhibit A:
Onwards!
Today I had an amazing lunch – a calamari sub from the absolutely dee-lish travelling wagon of culinary delights know as “Slingers.” It’s a food truck that specializes in gourmet sandwiches, and this offering near but knocked my socks off.
If any of you folks are kicking about Vancity in the next little bit (Ms. Audrey I am looking at you my darling) do yourselves a favour and tickle those tastes buds of yours at this here joint.
I promise that you won’t regret it.
Speaking of which, I was skulking around the hallowed halls of H&M yesterday, trying on far too many sundresses for my own good, when I came across a little blue and white number, with a fitted bodice and a hem line that wasn’t completely scandalous.
I tried it on, but wasn’t feeling it one hundred percent, so I ended up leaving the store empty handed.
Well, I woke up this morning unable to get it out of my mind. So as I threw back the blankets and jumped out of bed I exclaimed (just like General MacArthur before me), “I SHALL RETURN!”
Okay. So that didn’t happen at all. (Wouldn’t that have scared the crap-ola out of poor, unassuming Mr. M.)
But I did return, and I did buy the dress.
I plan on wearing it all weekend long, paired with this fabulous grey cardigan I picked up at Zara earlier in the week.
It has elbow patches guys. ELBOW PATHCES!
Meep.
The only ever fly in the ointment about going away (for any length of time really) is that I always hate saying goodbye to our little gal.
This is how I found her this morning before heading out to work:
Good grief, she is so adorable, I actually sometimes feel as though I grow drunk on her cuteness.
It’s a liability man! She could rule the world if only she could 1.) speak and 2.) sleep less than fifteen hours a day.
Cor. What a life.
I gave her as many chin scratches and belly rubs as I possibly could, before my elaborate love-in made me late for the train.
There will be extra snuggles when we arrive home on Sunday night.
What are you fabulous folks up to for the weekend?
Sometimes – although very rarely now – after I finish eating a meal, a little voice inside my head tells me to throw everything up.
Sometimes – although very rarely now – after a week of rest, a little voice inside my head tells me that my inactivity has rendered me ugly and powerless.
Sometimes – although very rarely now – I feel as though my skin is itself crawling the length of my body, and that none of my clothes fit my frame.
Sometimes – although very rarely now – I’m afraid to leave the house for fear of others looking at me.
Sometimes it’s hard.
Every day it’s getting better.
One foot in front of the other…
2.) I firmly believe in the importance of first impressions.
Don’t get me wrong, I also believe in second chances, but nothing leaves a mark like an awkward or obnoxious round one in, shall we say, the boxing ring of life.
And in the end, after the bell has run twice, if I still don’t warm to you, I’m probably not going to stick around and try to play-act nice.
I’ll probably just punch your lights out.
(I kid, I kid.)
I mean, I’m not going to treat you like a right-arse, or anything to that effect – I will be polite, or professional, or formal (or a combination of all three), but then I’ll get the heck out.
My cat is also incredibly picky about the individuals with whom she associates.
Plus, if I don’t dig your style, you probably don’t dig mine. It’s a mutual thing, right? It’s not me, it’s you – and vice versa.
I fight tooth and nail for those that I love (in said boxing ring of life), and I put a ton of energy into championing them and their causes. As such, I would prefer to invest my time and resources into helping those individuals.
I am finally at a place in my life where I have stopped completely wrecking myself over what others think of me (I am now known to only marginally wreck myself.)
And I’d like to keep going down this path.
3.) I love, LOVE pop music.
I sing along to Carly Rae Jepsen ALL THE DAMN TIME. On repeat.
I like Robyn.
I like Lady Gaga.
I like LMFAO.
(Seriously, everyday I’m shuffling.)
I love cheesey, dance-crazy, pump-up-the-radio-and-SING music.
(I like other music too, but come summertime? GIVE ME BEATS THAT MAKE MY FEET TAPA-TAP-TAP AND TEETH ACHE FROM A SUGARY SYRUP OVERLOAD.)
And if you ever pull up next to me in your car, at some random stoplight, betwixt the months of June and August?
I have but one summer wish for you all. It is for every single one of you to be given the chance to enjoy the hilarity and joy that is The Merry Wives of Windsor at Bard on the Beach.
Talk about an inspired performance. I was actually clutching my sides with laughter during some of the scenes.
I believe the correct words are: gut and busting.
If you can, go, go, GO! (In the parlance of Joseph and the yadayadayada, if you will.)
It will not disappoint.
I have been spending as much time outside as possible, in an aim to soak up all the golden goodness that the weather gods have finally unleashed on our fair land (after much coaxing from us mere mortals let me assure you!)
This weekend M and I are off to the cabin for one last solo hurrah before all the friends and family you can possibly imagine descend upon our humble abode until, well, basically the end of August.
We shall be whooping it on the hiking trails, running the hilly roads, and swimming like wee fishes in the cool and briny deep of the ever mysterious Pacific Ocean.
Actually, one of my most favourite things do to in the whole wide world whilst up on the Sunshine Coast, is to go for a run in the early morning and upon my return, fly down to the dock, strip down to my unmentionables, and plunge straight into the bay.
There is nothing quite like hitting that water, the sweat and salt sliding off of your skin, wriggling, diving, turning – legs a cool grey-green just below the surface, refracted by the suns bright rays.
This, this I promise you.
Plus the folks in the neighbouring houses who watch think me to be abso-bloody-bonkers.
Which, of course, I love.
Speaking of which, here are some photos from this weekend past:
Amazing noms.
Meat platter for M. Feta, black pepper, and parsley fries for me.It’s always a good time for gelato.Homemade greek salad. Pellegrino. Book. YES.
Shake(speare) your groove thang.
The entrance to Bard.
Sweatin’ to the oldies.
Though I love the heat, it makes me perspire like a mad-woman when I run.
Views for the ages.
English bay.Duck armada.Sunset from our balcony.
Et tu, Brute?
The classic Canadian Caeser + NYT Crossword? Oh yeah baby.
Tonight M and I are off to a local pub for trivia with some sweet, sweet friends.
I hope they will still be sweet, sweet friends by the end of the night, goodness knows how competitive I get when it comes to games (and in particular those that revolve around the answering of general knowledge questions.)
It should be a grand time.
What did you fancy cats get up to over the weekend?
Rant and Roll 