Kaiser Chiefs – Rant and Roll

Dear diary, today was a good day.

Friends!

It’s been almost a month since I’ve last put fingers to laptop in an earnest attempt to pen the CRAP out of a blog post.

But things be happening.

At the beginning of August I traveled to the lush and magical land of Hawaii and spent eight days hiking, running, swimming, snorkeling, attending weddings, and waking up at the crack of dawn in order to witness the most spectacular sunrises of life (again, and again, and again!)

I mean, if there is one thing I can say about crawling out of bed every day at 5:30am – on vacation at that – it’s just that there are some things in life that are hands down worth it EVERY TIME.

I mean, why wouldn’t you want to get up early everyday when you’re viewing things like THIS:

IT’S JUST TOO GOOD.

Some other snaps:

Travelling home I was so incredibly knackered from all of the physical activity, coupled with the early morning beach trips, that it was all I could do to keep my eyes open as the flight attendant prepped myself and the other folks sitting in the emergency exit row. As soon as she left, I put up my hood, wrapped by arms about my body, and settled down to (what I hoped to be) a relatively uneventful five and a half hours of airplane rest.

I was just drifting off to dreamland, when another flight attendant woke me up with a look of grave concern on her face.

“Yes?” I asked.

She looked at me and loudly whispered, “I’m sorry, but I just need to confirm before we take off, as you’re sitting in the emergency exit row, that you are over sixteen years of age?”

…

Oh how I laughed (and thanked her, weirdly?)

However, I did want to clarify that she was asking due to my physical appearance and not, you know, in reaction to my general comportment.

She just looked at me weirdly and then told me that I looked young for my age.

(I probably shouldn’t have used the word “comportment.” I think it REALLY aged me.)

However, I won’t lie and say that I didn’t smile and smile as I drifted off to (my much needed,) thirty thousand foot, recycled air dreamscape.

Strangely, these early morning events never curtailed after arriving home from Oahu.

In fact, for about two months now, I’ve been getting up before work and running like a loon, mostly in preparation for my marathon on November 2^nd, but also because the weather has been so darned hot I cannot fathom leaving the office in the afternoon and belting out a 10k in 25+ celcius temperatures.

Because gross.

Also. Man. November 2^nd.

Let’s not beat around the bush here folks – that date is very soon. And what with how quickly days seem to be slipping between my fingers, I’ll probably take a long nap in a week or two and wake up on race day fretting about the fact that I’ve forgotten to pick up my race package in time.

Good grief.

OKAY. What else has been hammering at the proverbial workbench of life…

I have been doing quite a few speaking engagements and interviews for work, hosting the radio show, Big Sistering it up, and trying to get my head wrapped around the idea of sifting through approximately 400 blog posts in the attempt to MAYBE put together a book proposal based on all of these insane musings.

Because you know – everybody has to have a goal right?

Or else what the heck is the point of chewing through those leathers straps every morning!?

Since being gifted with free HD cable, Marc and I have been watching a crap ton of US Open tennis because everything else on the ol’ boobtube is absolute garbage, and the only thing that will ever get me to turn on the television is electric athletes and their incredible displays of strength and agility.

Anything and everything else? Just GTFO.

On September 16^th my AMAZING friend Alex and I are headed to the Kaiser Chiefs concert and I have all of the excitement.

Equally because Alex is truly one of the greatest people I am lucky to count as a friend in my life, and also because the Kaiser Chiefs are such tip-top groovemeisters and I cannot wait to get my epic dance moves on to their fab tunes.

The last time this band was in town I was forced to go to the concert by myself, which in retrospect wasn’t all that horrid and turned out to be quite a blast. However, in my nervous state, I drank half a bottle of wine and ended up speaking in the absolute worst British accent of all time to the teenager who wouldn’t stop pestering me for my phone number on the skytrain home.

Because I am the worst and desperately needed him to shut up, I just threw in the towel and gave him Marc’s cell phone number.

(Which I am still laughing about to this day.)

(This may also be why I am mistaken for sixteen year-olds on airplanes.)

Finally, I have been reading some absolutely excellent texts of late, including the newest Murakami (melancholy and beautiful, as always), some old Henning Mankell (that I somehow missed? P.S. I am planning a trip to Sweden next April so STAY TUNED), some Jo Nesbo (that stuff is DARK!), some Lev Grossman (TERRIBLE STAY AWAY – dude is an amazing writer but absolutely crap at storytelling and character development), some Carl Sagan (my imaginary boyfriend), much Dostoevsky and Bradbury (my two literary husbands), and will next be venturing into a biography on the late, and utterly devastatingly brilliant Alan Turning.

Like so many things in this bonkers world of ours – I cannot wait.

And I leave you all with this little ditty:

SEPTEMBER

A sept is an English word for a division of a family, especially of a Scottish or Irish. The word may derive from the Latin saeptum, meaning “enclosure” or “fold”

Ember: a small piece of burning or glowing coal or wood in a dying fire.

ERGO – September = fireplace.

And that has been your piece of monthly trivia.

Pun intended (of course.)

Down in London town, I’m dancing by myself

Hi Friends!

Well, it’s all come to pass.

We have a sparkling, new, beautiful shower, and I managed to successfully attend a concert for the first time whilst flying solo.

Kaiser Chiefs are top-notch groovemeisters, so I pretty much just showed up, danced like a mad woman for an hour and a half, and then hit the road.

2012-03-24 23.01.30 — Oh my god, I can't believe it.

(The four glasses of wine I consumed before heading downtown may have had something to do with how easy the whole thing seemed. I’m normally a two-glass max kind of gal, so take this as you will.)

The one thing I will say was that I was a little bummed out about the fact that they hardly played any of their new material (or really anything from their catalogue post-2008.)

2012-03-24 23.01.49 — I've never been this far away from home.

They have so many fab songs other that those featured on Yours Truly – Angry Mob and I had been eager for the chance to hear them live.

For instance, I was gutted that they didn’t play Man on Mars, a tune that I have been pretty much listening to on repeat for the last two weeks. Seriously, it’s the first thing that finally managed to knock The Decembrist’s Calamity Song off of my top jam list.

Ch-ch-check it:

Ricky Wilson told the audience that Vancouver was their last stop on their tour, so they were probably pretty exhausted and burnt out and didn’t want to take on anything too taxing.

But overall, I must say I had a great time period, and there is always something to be said about going to a concert where you (and every other person in attendance) knows every lyric to every song that is played.

I’d give it a solid 8 out of 10 cats.

2012-03-24 22.36.33 — Ju-on girl dancing her heart out!

On my way home, sitting on the metro, I was trying to concentrate on anything other than the dull ringing in my ears, when a very young man sat down next to me.

The fellow was just a little too eager to strike up a conversation, so my spidey senses immediately started tingling.

Because I am a crazy weirdo, I did what I am often do in awkward situations – make them even more awkward (this time by speaking in a really terrible accent.)

This is hilarious to me, but probably insanely disconcerting to the other parties involved.

If I could muster up the appropriate amount of compunction I would, but then I always ask myself, what’s life without a little flare? A little intrigue?

So, egging myself on, I sometimes try out mein deutsche, and other times moya ruski.

This time I was from jolly old England.

Bah.

[adjusts monocle.]

Unfortunately, the dude was totally undeterred.

Even after I told him I was seven years older than him, he still asked me out.

Youth these days, I tell ya.

Either deliver my paper on time or get off my lawn!

I will give him props for gumption and guts, but needless to say, I will not be seeing him again.

(Until my next late night train ride, goodness knows.)

The next morning, I was moving a little slower than usual, due to the after effects of my solo dance party, finishing the bathroom, and the eleven kilometre run Mr. M and I completed during the previous day’s afternoon.

I figured the best thing to cure my Sunday sluggishness, was homemade crepes with fresh fruit, nutella, walnuts, whipped cream, and tea, devoured on our porch, basking in the warmth of the (long lost, and now finally found) sun’s rays.

Edit: for one bloody day at least! It just makes me want to yell out: Come on Biscuit you can do it!!!

Erm.

I mean spring!

Come on spring, you can do it!

But at the time, it was, for lack of a more poetic descriptor, absolute bliss.

Bliss!

Then, M and I tore about our place, vacuuming like a vacuuming things, dusting, washing, scrubbing – wiping away all the dust that had accumulated over the course of our reno, encrusted in our corners and nestled in all the often missed nooks and crannies.

Seriously, nothing is as good as clean feels.

A friend of mine remarked, after reading my post from last Friday, that I would probably pick up a ton more traffic to my blog if I posted photos of myself doing mad cleaning in my underwear.

I’m not going to lie – I briefly considered this as I tore about our place, but in the end I decided it just wasn’t worth it.

That, like my English accent, should not be encouraged.

Not without copious amounts of wine, anyway.

Isn’t that right, guvnah?

I predict a riot

Today I arrived home from work and M asked me to help him clean out the shower’s grout lines.

Now if that isn’t sexy talk than I don’t know what is.

No?

Not sexy?

Well then. Colour me surprised.

Anywho, I wasn’t about to say no, seeing as how he’s done such a bang up job with the overall project, but I wasn’t exactly keen on the thought of grout retraction – I had a long day (and equally long week) and I was wearing one of my favourite “spring” work outfits and I didn’t want to muck it all up.

Although my overall tip top impression of my get-up took a bit of a hit when, after remarking that he liked my hair style, M told me that I was reminding him of “you know…that character from Kids in the Hall…you know the one. The one with the ponytail.”

Erm.

It’s unfortunate to say, dear readers, but I do know the one.

And it’s not good.

Not good at all.

For those of you who aren’t acquainted with Darill, please consult the below video:

Not exactly the apex of coolness.

Not exactly the look I was going for. But thanks for playing “man for whom I’ve pledged my troth for the rest of my life”!

Egads. Can’t a girl catch a break?

So after I told M that I don’t know where my self-esteem would be without such positive reinforcement on his part, I sucked up my pride, and stripped down to my unmentionables, and got down to business.

ON REMOVING THE GROUT! Get your minds out of the gutter!

Don’t think I don’t see you over there, you with your head circling that sewer drain!

Seriously though – I won’t go into much depth on the subject, but suffice to say, I absolutely love doing household chores in my undies.

Like, LOVE it.

(My neighbours I’m sure think I’m bloody bonkers, so I always close all the blinds before doing a really big clean. Then I proceed to skulk around my darkened home, brandishing cleaning supplies, vacuums, mops, and garbage bags.)

I worry that I just a couple steps away from becoming a Matthew Good music video here folks.

Anyway, I’m getting dreadfully off topic here.

What I found interesting about the process of working in the bathroom, was how just the simple, repetitive motion of removing all that clay was actually a really good exercise in winding down, and of letting the events of the week go.

Clear out the grout – clear out your head.

(I won’t lie, knowing just how stellar the finished project is going to be was also a solid motivator for not only doing the work, but doing it well.)

Almost there. We just need to grout the tile, but it looks sooooo pretty!

So now that’s it’s done, I’m able to do what I was hoping to do as soon as I arrived home – put on some of M’s old clothes, chillax to the max, and eat all the junk I bought earlier on in the day.

That’s right folks: chocolate covered marshmallows. WITH SPRINKLES!!!

Amen.

As a brief postscript to this post, can I just wax eloquent (briefly I assure you) on two things?

The first is how the television show NUMBERS is so uncomprehendingly awful. And Mr. M LOVES to watch it, despite the fact that he too cannot stand anything about the program.

It’s almost as if he’s developed some crazy perverse, car crash fascination with the whole show.

I, on the other hand, I cannot understand how anyone can watch it, perversity or not. The writing is so bad it drives me absolutely batty.

But then again, I’ve been known to watch some pretty polarizing programs myself, so who am I really to judge?

Hmmm.

Nah, I’ll still judge.

The second is that I am finally getting the chance to see one of my all-time favourite bands on Saturday night.

I’ve got a date with the Kaiser Chiefs, and I am getting my mad dance skills prepped for a night of top grooving.

The only cricket in my soup bowl is that I am going to be going solo.

Have any of you gone to a concert by yourself before? If yes, let me know, and send along any tips you may have.

I’m really not so fussed, but still a little nervous.

If it gets really bad, I’ll just show up in my underwear.

And start cleaning.