31 May, 2008

the meaning of life and other afternoon beverages

why is it that a cheap red or white tastes like barnyard refuse while the cheapest white zinfandel is simply delicious in its summertimey strawberry-hued undemanding way? and yes, i am having a glass of vino with dinner: it's 2:30 so it's ok.

i am listening to jazz while the speakers hooked up to my i-pod periodically make the kind of noise that makes me wonder if a spaceship hasn't landed somewhere in the vicinity, its green-tentacled inhabitants shooting neutronium-powered laser-phasers at the curious on-lookers. oh, the end of the world is nigh*.

i keep worrying that in case of an actual end of the world, or at least a dramatic decrease in quality of life due to war or nuclear attack sort of thingie, mr. monkey and i haven't got a plan of action. after all, he is often at work, i am often here. where do we go, should some generic evil ones decide to bomb edmonton (in fierce heaven-decreed punishment for the urban planning idiocy that is south edmonton common, indubitably)? where do we go should oil-hungry emissaries of some evil empire decide to take over fort mac? if we are apart, where do we meet? do we head north? south? (all other directions being impossible on account of there being only one highway in and out of town...)

families are supposed to have fire drills and i want to have a nuclear/terrorism drill. after all, i want to know where my monkey is, and i want to be with my monkey, that, in my mind, being the whole point of being united as monkeys.

need to work on this bit of strategic powerplanning.

my god, this pink girlie drink sure is strong. whee!



*i am reading a lot of douglas coupland lately and the side-effect is relentless thoughts about the end of the world, the uselessness of civilisation and a blessed sense of thankfulness that i am not lost at sea like the gen-x'ers he often writes about. perhaps having something resembling a career is selling out, but good god, what are the alternatives? losing my hearing manning a howling espresso machine at some local cafe? dusting shelves at a drugstore, feeling my soul turn opaque and sticky from my deep abiding hatred of the antisocial asshole who owns the place? slicing overpriced veal scallopini at a frou frou deli, engraving in my mind for all eternity that 1lb=454g?

been there, done that on all three counts, and while scraping calcified twinkies off people's teeth hardly seems like a step up, there is the very nice bonus of a respectable paycheque and decent working conditions. but even that is wearing thin. next job? nothing to do with people. i think perhaps i will become a census worker in antarctica, counting penguins making more penguins, once removed from the meaning of life but only once removed, unlike now...

29 May, 2008

of polar bears bears and common criminals

today i had a brilliant idea that probably will never see the light of day. still, one can dream...

being a typical bleeding heart liberal, i am appalled by the number of inmates rotting in america's jails. where they should be is getting fresh air and exercise in chain gangs, cleaning the roadsides of the trash that increasingly defines our civilisation's glorious progress.

the inmates on death row, instead of facing inhumane injections/hangings/electrocutions, should be put to good use and fed to the starving polar bears, thereby contributing something to the planet. judging by the number of death row inmates and the popularity of gun-related crime in america, the bears' extinction could be deferred indefinitely.

everyone wins.

20 May, 2008

spray-on abs: my generation's sliced bread

i did the unthinkable today: i looked in the mirror sans sucking it in. and promptly fell over in shock and dismay.

i immediately cancelled dinner plans with s, and took on a walk instead, braving gale-force winds, truck-driving assholes and apparently rabid bears, as gently implied by a gaping bear trap.

fight it as i might, the truth remains that i have entered an age wherein i must choose to either move it move it, or start saying no to myself in my endless quest for yumminess and the delicious goodness of tasty edibles.

thank god i still have my tight little superhuman ass. then again, i don't really know what kind of ass i have, seeing as it's been hanging out behind my back for the majority of its tenure, and all i have is mister monkey's word, but the word is good.

so the next time you see me eating chips* you have my permission to bitch slap me with the chip bag.


*i very very rarely eat chips (sober).

15 May, 2008

the meaning of life as taught to me by penguins

the bbc's planet earth is responsible for the deep funk i find myself in. specifically, it is the penguins' fault.

pondering the meaning of life i come across the penguins: they are cute and their lives are unbelievably harsh. they live in a shitty climate, have young, their young continue to live in a shitty climate, they have young, their young also live in a shitty climate and so on. the point being? well, just to make more penguins apparently.

so by stepping outside the true meaning of life (make more humans), by denying my procreative nature (physically, not psychologically speaking), i am losing the one meaning life has: to make more life.

sigh. if i believed in god i would have some meaning to scrape off the dried plate of my existence. if i wanted children, ditto. as it is, i sit here now and think to myself that there is very little point.

coincidentally, mister monkey is also going through an existential crisis. is this a philosophical mid-life crisis? should we buy a corvette? have an affair with a dumb hot young thang? or start tanning and wearing heavy gold chains?

08 May, 2008

flowers and bunnies and unicorns and rainbows

ok, so maybe i've been a bit of a hater. let's spread some loooove around this time, m'kay?

good things about fort mac:

1. lovely nature where nature has been allowed to continue to exist

2. delicious oil and oil byproducts to lubricate our consumerist machine (ok, a little cynical maybe but i, too, use gas and plastic and occasionally eat cool whip)

3. bears! frequently found around playgrounds! woooo! where else but in the north, huh?

4. the northern lights

5. the extremely long summer days

6. ...i'm thinking, i'm thinking...

7. naaah, i'm done.

07 May, 2008

?

why is it that so many teenyokels are impregnating each other and bringing forth more yokelings into this already filled-to-overflowing-with-a-frightening-variety-of-yokels world?

have these people not heard of birth control and abortion? have their parents not heard of birth control or abortion (well no, look at their children, all born and stuff. duh!)? these teenyokels cannot brush their teeth on a daily basis. do they not realise that babies require regular feedings? sheesh...

and lest you are shocked by my somewhat hitlerian views, let me tell you: fort mac is a veritable petri dish of what happens when a bunch of stupid ugly people decide to do the nasty and make more stupid ugly people. and then they all grow up and buy trucks.

speaking of which, today i was almost mowed down by a young yokel driving a huge pimped out truck (it always seems to be a dodge ram - what is it? a free lobotomy with every purchase?) in the parking lot of mcdonald's. i can't thing of a more ignoble death. except maybe to be flattened by a hummer in a wal-mart parking lot.

more shrimp news

the shrimp wasn't bad. it wasn't good either. but it certainly exceeded my expectations, which, in this culinary wasteland, is not that hard to do.

06 May, 2008

thoughts while awaiting the arrival of sweet and sour shrimp

blech. i am sad. no reason. cheer me up willya?

the shrimp will probably suck syphilitic donkey ass, this being fort mac and all.

just bought tix for a euro-trip that i have little desire to go on.

like i said. blech.

04 May, 2008

things i probably should be able to do but am irrevocably unable to do

1. flip pancakes

2. sit cross-legged for any length of time greater than 32.7 seconds (approximately)

3. bite into a raisin without gagging

4. laugh at mr. bean

5. enjoy seinfeld

6. listen to the news without yelling and/or shaking my fist at the heavens

7. have just one glass of wine

8. want a baby

9. say nothing when i have nothing nice to say

10. keep my middle finger holstered around hummers

11. skip breakfast

12. leave the bed unmade

13. drink coffee black

14. be understanding of people's astounding ignorance

15. be understanding of my own failings

16. continue to give a shit about the middle east

17. be quiet

18. not take pictures when travelling

19. shave my legs regularly in the winter

20. forget to pay my bills on time

21. just let it go

22. stay calm

03 May, 2008

feral slugs

i have spent most of the day listening to air. their particular brand of french electronic pop soothes my frazzled synapses and makes me caaaaallllmmmmm.

i can hear a chorus of voices arising spontaneously from a miriad of throats: "listen to air more often, woman."

amen and good night.

monkeys rock

when it comes to new zealand sauvignon blanc, i prefer monkey bay to stoneleigh, no question. and yes, i am drinking white wine. piss off!

i am also finally reading douglas coupland and although he is very self-consciously witty, i am enjoying it a lot so far. at least it makes sense. i am truly sick of novels whose authors feel that style trumps substance. not everyone can wax poetic for seven pages about the turbulent ruminations of one character without causing me to practice my newly acquired skill of Putting The Offending Book Away.

i never used to do that - if i hated it, through gritted teeth i'd read the damn thing cover to cover. must be the second half of the thirties heightened awareness of my own mortality. or, perchance i have used up my lifetime alottment (how the hell do you spell this damn word?) (not that way apparently) ok, i mean allotment of patience. which would go a long way toward explaining my recent attitude towards my job.

my job. hmmm...i used to be so bloody good at making the nervous calm, the frazzled relaxed and the scared comfortable. now anytime a patient gets shaky and tells me how much he hates the dentist, i have to force my mouth shut because what i really really really want to do is tell them about someone who has real problems. like the woman in rwanda who was forced to kill her own baby and then was gang-raped by so many men that her pelvis is crushed but because her husband was macheted to death in front of her, she is the sole bread winner for the remaining family and so, despite her severely painful condition, she hires herself out as a porter to put food on the table. oh yeah. poor you with your dentist phobia and your SUV.

and it is after noon, so i can very well have a glass of wine without earning that particular look from you.

02 May, 2008

on my floor right now

lies a copy of platoon, nestled gently next to a copy of roman holiday. one of these movies belongs to mr. monkey, one of them to me. i give you one guess.

odd then, that it was me who woke up screaming and sobbing in the middle of the night because the germans (sorry, germans, but you did do it twice already, and although i am sure you are very sorry and it will never happen again, i cannot be held responsible for what my subconscious cooks up) were bombing us and huge german cylon-like creatures with machine guns were stomping through the burning ruins and my cousin, my uncle and my husband were shortly going to be made into mincemeat, because there was no hope in hell they could survive the odds, but they were still going out there to fight for our freedom*.

i can honestly say i have no recollection of a dream that horrible and that real (ok, excepting the cylons, though god knows what with german engineering and all...) in the immediately recollectable past.

i ended up bawling about men's bloodthirstiness and the losses that women face and the horribleness of it all, and then this morning i had a very very bad headache.

can i please have my james bond dreams back?


*i do believe i need to stop watching american movies, because puh-leez! that whole "freedom with a capital F" and the flag gently waving in the background, and the sentimental music and all? i do not think that the nausea can be attributable to the migraine alone, if you know what i mean: it's like i ate george w bush for lunch and am burping up jingoism. blech!