Read my lips (and also these books)

I really, really love to read.

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’d really love to know.

Dressing on the side

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.

Or a pair of men’s pants.

And I’ll think of summer.

And laugh.

Getting to know you

Last week I was lucky enough to be nominated for a few snazztastic blog awards. Thank you very, very much PageMarkerUK, WriterAficionado, and HotChocolateandBooks!

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.

Dangerously Daydreaming

Hopeful Typist

Well Fed Flat Broke

Sprocket Monkey

Mackerelskies

Fantasy Scribbles

versipellusfenris

So to finish off, of this blustery, sunny, brilliant Spring morning, as David Bowie once said –

I can no other answer make, but thanks (and thanks!)

This morning I woke up and checked my e-mail.

Then I did this:

Holy mother of pearl!

And then afterwards, I did this:

Freshly pressed! Yowza!

And then for the rest of the day, I felt like this:

Chillin. Illin. And cleaned the heck up!

Funnily enough, after work, what did I do?

I went to the gym gosh darn it!

I kind of felt like I owed it to them in a way.

It ended up being a fab, FAB workout too. I ran sprints and hills (alas – on the treadmill), squatted until my thighs were about to give out, and then did enough push-ups and pull-ups to never want to partake in another one until the end of time (or, as it more likely, for the next two or three days.)

Then I came home and got my cooking groove on with the ever lovely Mr. M.

We decided it was high time to make some homemade spaghetti sauce along with some sweet mini bowtie pasta.

We lined up our veggies and got to work:

Nommers.

There is something so calming about working in the kitchen with someone you love.

It also helps if you have similar taste in radio programmes. The CBC has been absolutely killing it with their 20 year anniversary coverage of the Seige of Sarajevo.

I’ve been brought to tears many, many times listening to their coverage. Seriously, their interviews are just outstanding in the extreme.

As we listened we chopped, woked, and boiled.

Boil it!

M was kind enough to capture much of the action.

Needs more tomatoes.

We also decided to cook up some spicy shrimp for good measure.

Shrimp it!

For a final outcome of this:

Absolute bliss.

As an end note, I would like to send a massive thank you to everyone who has dropped by this here blogspot, left a note, liked a post, or subscribed to updates, whether it be today, or the day I started up Rant and Roll.

Your support means more to me than you know.

So to all of you, a toast!

I couldn’t do it without you.

Let’s get physical, physical

I have a love-hate relationship with my gym:

Love: It’s cheap as hell. For twenty-three bucks a month I feel as though my range to complain is quite, shall we say, limited.

Hate: Because it’s cheap as hell it’s a bit of a crap box. There is zero air circulation and the exposed pipes drip like dripping things (to the point where you start to think that you’re sweating more than you actually are.) I already sweat like a glass blower’s arse and because there is zero air flow, whenever I lift weights in front of the mirror I bloody-well fog up the part of glass in front of which I’m standing.

That this makes me feel sexy as all get out is an understatement.

And is also a lie.

Love: On days where I feel like the athlete of the century it has everything I need, especially if the weather happens to be total crap (like, say, how it has been for the past seven months.) I can run, bike, lift weights, use stability balls, etc. all under one (incredibly) leaky roof.

Hate: On days where I feel like anything but the athlete of the century, my gym taunts me like a school yard foe. I have to walk by it on my way home from transit, so if I ever decide that it’s not in my best interest to workout (despite having schlepped all my gear with me to work that day) I can feel its mocking stare as I scuttle by its front doors without actually going inside.

Love: The sense of accomplishment, fatigue (but the good kind), strength, and general bad-assery I get after finishing a workout. There are not too many things that feel quite as good as a monster training session, and the gym is obviously a well equipped place to provide this feeling.

Hate: The utter dejection, fatigue (the bad kind – the kind you get after a brain melting day at work), and overwhelming urge to go home, put on your pajamas and EAT ALL THE NUTELLA you feel before you start your workout. At said gym.

Love: Days where I have the whole place to myself and no one talks to me, drops their weights, or grunts/shrieks like an obnoxious fool.

Hate: The exact opposite of everything I just said. And no Mr. Pathological Liar – I don’t give a flying flashdance about your double PhD and MMA supremacy!

So there you have it. It’s a complex relationship, but one that I am in for the long haul.

Or at least until I move to a city where the climate hangs around 22 degrees (Celsius) all year round.

Wanna come?