formerly the bus blog

free! Sharon! art.

2007-09-16T19:00:00.000-07:00

Lately I've been having a lot of surfing dreams. It's a bit weird considering i've only actually surfed three times in my life. I've paddled on a surf board a lot more than that thanks to my buddy James. On labour day weekend when we trekked up to LJ's cabin, he brought his long board and LJ's fish up so I could practice paddling and my overall feeling for being on the bloody things. I'm not sure what the muscles that run along the side of your ribs/back are called but it seems to me that their fitness is directly correlated to my ability to stay on a board - vertical or horizontal. Perhaps part of my training program is dreaming about surfing. In my dreams I'm really good. Hopefully if my travel plans this December take shape, I won't need to dream so much any more.

This weekend I received two free CDs. Have I ever mentioned my genetic disposition to all things free? This is why I still have rave flyers from 1999-2001 that I thought were particularly beautiful (and frameable), a six inch pile of promo mix CDs and a collection of coupons for the Denman Place gym that I'm building up the balls to use. If it's free I'll take it. So will my mom, her mom and probably my great grama too. We love free stuff. Costco samples - yes! Free stinky-ass perfume sample, why thank you. Weird acme kitchen untensil that I'll never use, yes please! This coupled with my inherent leaning towards extreme nostalgia, packrat decorating habits and bachelor apartments equals no bare surfaces. Ever.

I bought two pieces of art this weekend. I shouldn't have, but it's hard to resist your impulses when there's cheap red wine involved. I'm not sure why all stores don't offer free and/or cheap booze on Friday nights. Their profits would soar. My purchases were prints, so all my grocery money isn't gone. You find the artists here and here.

I've decided that Sharon Stone is my new semi-style-icon. Especially circa Casino, not necessarily Basic Instinct 2. I'm not sure why. Maybe because I think it's time to go blonde after a 5 year hiatus or maybe it's her natural, Idon'tgiveashit cougarness. I bought a new shirt from Winners today with big green wingy sleeves straight outta 1971.

summer: here for posterity

2007-09-12T14:39:00.000-07:00

on my little brother's YVR hip hop debut (Del the Funkee Homosapien)

Zedeo: I'm not sure if M's fake ID will work.

me: Well I guess we'll have to try...

M: do I look older in these high heels?

me: let me accessorize you girl.

later...

me, to a random: this is my little bro's first hip hop show!

random: he's your little bro, I thought you were his mom.

me: hmmmph.

On surfing in Tofino:

"Paddle. Paddle. Paddle."

on the little things in life (Vancouver):

me: you're drinking my beerlini! (1/2 beer, 1/2 bellini slush)

bf: yes.

me: don't do that! That drink's the happiest moment of my life - in a jug! You're drinking the happiest moment of my life away!

On being mobile:

Jeets in Nelson: I really want to put a little cocktail umbrella in this drink. Do we have any?

Jeets' roommate: Nope.

Jeets: I know, I'll ask Miranda. (Runs over to me in her living room). Hey Mir do you have any little drink umbrellas?

me: No. What do you think I am a travelling f*%king tiki party?

Union Bay:

me, pearl, mel, eventually Molly: "I want my money!"

messages from NYC to YVR:

from E, 06/07: Caramel rice pudding with pound cake croutons. xo

from E, 06/10: Watching some of the SNL cast improv. What's up? xo

from my fave WestEnd dancing partner:

from Condon, 06/08: U still up for gettin down?

Finally over: JJ

Finally into: Xavier, Damien, Phill

more Madiba

2007-07-19T11:19:00.000-07:00

Stephanie Nolen, hands down the Globe and Mail's best journalist, wrote a moving cover piece on Mandela's newest humanitarian foray: the Elders. You can listen to Peter Gabriel's Biko here. I love the use of the word gooey.

pa Afrika

2007-07-18T10:01:00.000-07:00

Happy Birthday Nelson Mandela!

Today is one of my favourite days of the year. If you ever have the opportunity to be in South Africa on Madiba's birthday, it's a humbling experience. The love that South Africans feel for this man will warm the coldest heart of the most cynical political pundit. In Canada, the closest we have may be our feelings towards Trudeau or Pearson. Mandela's one of the few leaders the world has. All of the icons are gone, but he still stands - fist raised, 1000 watt smile beaming across his grandpa face.

In other news, Wooster reminded me of a crazy email forward I received a couple years back. The email subject was "I love Africa" and had a bunch of photo attachments depicting every day African life: donkeys pulling half trucks, petrol stations closed due to gas shortages and dudes taking their hyenas for a walk. Check out Pieter Hugo's exhibition for more hyena action.

mr sun sun, mr golden sun, please shine down on me

2007-07-12T09:34:00.000-07:00

Summer's finally here. Yum.

I knew it was coming when I went to the beach with my grama on Canada day. We oild up with Hawaiian Tropic and talked about travelling. Then, she accidentally flashed her boobs while trying to get a strapless tan. She's leathery, I'm on my way. I have a lot to look forward to.

Or maybe its the permanent scent of coconut, spf and BBQ wafting through English Bay.

Or maybe its the colony of freckles sprouting on my shoulders, belley and knees.

Or the crazy temperature surge.

Perhaps it's the fabulous afternoon I spent at 3rd beach with Elly. The water was cold cold cold. It's also cloudy, filled with seaweed and floating log remnants but gaddam its refreshing. The lady that passed out at the concession should've spent more time in the dirty old Pacific. The boy swears there's sewage in the water at 3rd beach. That won't stop me from going today.

I sold a story to our national newswire and now it's in Thunder Bay.

Only 15 more days until surfing in Tofino!

summer spiderwebs

2007-06-26T09:19:00.000-07:00

Summer update:

Discovering that my 5 year old sporty bathing suit has developed spiderwebesque see through bits in the bum area. Luckily I discovered this on my way to the second beach pool, not climbing out of it. I wonder if public pool humiliation is hereditary? Email me for the full spiderweb story.
Listening to him, her and this. Cheese please.
Savouring Isabel Allende.
Growing addicted to and anticipating cat fights in Age of Love.
Planning my trip to Tofino.
Attempting to get tix to see Del with my little brother.

bridge and viaduct crowd

2007-06-21T07:10:00.000-07:00

Every single trip over the Georgia Viaduct or the Cambie, Burrard or Granville bridges I feel like I'm in a big city. Does anyone else feel that way?

Whether I'm in a car or on foot or on a bus, I always feel so cosmo zooming over their expanse. I know - it's a little sad that I associate large concrete roadways over polluted little False Creek as vanguards of Vancouver's metropolitaness. I think this association is left over from living in Johannesburg. Flying over that city, the view is nothing but a mess of curly over passes and six lane, circular roads. The Nelson Mandela Bridge isn't so bad either. If I'm going to fall in love with Vancouver finally after all these years/months, I might as well heart its uglier parts as well as it's pretty ones (namely, what I refer to as Vancouver's tits and ass: our mountains and ocean.

Next week I will volunteer at my 4th BEST pancake breakfast. If any Vancouverites who ride, walk or skytrain to work want to nosh on free pancakes, organic coffee/maple syrup then join me June 27. The breakfast happens @ the 200 Granville Plaza right near the Waterfront skytrain station. I'll be there early with bells on and pancake batter smeared across my shirt no doubt.

Pssssst. Summer's here. Go for a picnic. Make out on a bench. Pick some flowers. Take road trips south.

learning to strum the chords of chivallry

2007-06-19T09:28:00.000-07:00

Just back from Alberta and all things flat and green. I spent the weekend in the praries with family in one of Calgary's illustrious bedroom communities. I haven't visited Alberta in the summer since I was 3 years old. Each one of my east-of-BC experiences has been in the biting cold of winter. So I was completely floored at the green, slightly pretty boy that Calgary transformed into during summer.

After 2.5 days straight in small town 'berta I made a break for Calgary to visit some old friends and new. Old = Rotary Exchange buddy, fellow UVic alumni and of course C-town's newlywed power couple. New = friends met at said power couple's wedding in that place I would now love to frequent yearly and chronicled below.

My day/night in stampede city was spent drinking too strong homemade Mai Tais, attempting to dance jive to house music, playing Guitar Heroes (miserably) and catching up on post-Maui life, gossip and photos. And we went for lifesaving, hangover-stopping dim sum and later a hearty amazing potluck. THANKGOD because I really did feel like a pirate on Sunday: my head throbbed, my leg felt like a peg, my hair was natty and only one of my eyes was working.

Speaking of the biggun above...ever noticed the flatter the land, the more the more spirals pointing skywards. Alberta is extremely churchy. I wonder if this is a correlation for the amount of chivallry that exists there. All weekend I thought about one Elaine's May 29 blog about chivallry. It seemed everywhere I turned doors were being opened and people smiled and did something nice, unasked for. At first I thought it was just my friends and family, but nope it's Calgary in general. Everyone is so bloody friendly, polite and nice.

Is it economic? Is is social? Is it religious? I'm not sure, but if folks want to open the door for my mom on crutches or let me jump a grocery queue because they're lovely, swell people then I'll go with the flow of human kindness. I've decided to recant at least 1/2 of the bad things I've ever thought about our neighbors. Now if I could only mimic their manners a little more.

hella buses worth seeing my old friend

2007-06-07T23:13:00.000-07:00

Vancouver Island + Mir + Mel = 42 hours. Visiting the indomintable Mel right now - friend of a gazillion years and at least as many laughs, good times and bad. I've been feeling fairly rubbery and "whathefuckamIdoing" since my Maui return. Mel always makes me feel strong and fun and has done so since we were about 12 years old. She lives near Courtenay with her uber talented boy Jamie and their cutie patootie daughter Molly. Jamie provided my Maui beach soundtrack for the duration of my trip with his "Somewhere Down in Royston" (SDIR) mix here.

It took a longer to get here today than it did to go to Maui. I started travelling at 12noon and arrived at 8:30 after an attempt at a standby flight with Harbour Air, a walk across downtown with my gypsy friend Sarah, two bus rides and one ferry trip. Courtenay is beautiful and near Fanny Bay. Who doesn't love Fanny Bay oysters? Has anyone ever had a Fanny experience with someone from down south. No, not that silly. I mean saying the word fanny in front of anyone from South Africa, Oz or NZ elicits an entirely different response than here in the great white north.

It's great to be on an island once again. I swear to god the stress and craziness of Vancouver sheds off my shoulders the minute I touch ground here.

where trouble melts like a lemon drop

2007-05-31T23:36:00.000-07:00

Everytime I go through the photos of Chris and Gayle's wedding I'm struck by two things: their big love and their big group of loving A-type friends. To say the least, my trip to Maui was fanfuckingtastic and needed. Weddings are usually slightly bittersweet (and too short), at least that's how I feel as I get older and more nostalgic. Like when oh when will I be the girl in white (common ladies, admit it, you think this too). Or damn, I've had too many shooters. Or wow, that person is awesome, why can't we be friends in the same city, for more than 6 hours?

But the big advantage of this wedding wasn't only the hot and beautiful location, but the intense amount of time we all spent together. The wedding itself felt like it was all week, not just the ceremony day. Not only did I take 3 weeks off from my life, but I parachuted into my old friend Gayle's for as long. So rad. We hadn't hung out this much since 1st year university. I was also lucky enough to stay in the 'wedding house' or Hale Lele. Staying in such a large, immaculate villa with 17 other people and a constant flow of family, children and Calgarians was a total privilege. It was also like a cross between summer camp and MTV Cribs. Every day someone organised some sort of activity. Since we were right across from the beach and everyone had varying levels of sun tolerance, I could always find someone to come grow melanoma with me at least once or twice a day. I can't wait to see all of my new friends when I hit cowtown in June or when they come to Vancouver in the future. Chris, Gayle, can I poach your friends and family?

Me with the newlyweds.

Both before and after the wedding week, I travelled solo, with friends, new and old. This marked my 4th big journey with the Jeetsinator. As ever she was the most fun and faithful friend I could've had in the passenger seat. I was so sad to see her off at the airport. We're already talking about our next trip (dirty 30 in Maui, girls?).

Other highlights, not photographed but etched in my brain forever:

Sunset on Olinda road with a Swisser, a Cana-merican and Frenchman. We packed up some red wine, cheese and apples to watch the sun set over the west part of the island. The sugar cane fields of Central Maui streched before us. So did rolling cattle fields and the north/south shore. A stellar 180 degree view for sure.
Snorkelling in Makena - both with Gayle and Tanya, Stephanie (my apologies for the disatourous brevity of our session) and Eric. Lava and corral go so well together. learning to suf with Jeets - can't wait for our Tofino trip at the end of July!
the road beyond Hana - Kipahaulu bulls and all (see above).
Falling 4 times - none of which due to any athletic activity, unless you count hiking to a nudie beach, rolling on my already swollen ankle in reaction to naked surfers.
Devon's modified version of JBJ's "Bed of Roses" and right as rain version of Israel Kamakawiwo'ole's 'Somewhere over the Rainbow'. (Listen here)
Sangria times at Hale Lele and the Rainbow's End Surf Hostel.
The sound of crickets and geckos at night.
Kimo's Mai Tais with the girls in Lahaina (see photo below).
Falling in love with Jack Johnson all over again.
Watching parts of 50 First Dates at the hostel (and becoming obssessed with aforementioned ukelele version of "Somewhere..."

I promise this is the last of the Maui blogs for a while.

mmmmmmaui

2007-05-30T16:07:00.000-07:00

Maui yum!Some photos from my trip below (above: giving the geckos a cheeky bum tickle, Paia). It's been a week exactly since I returned and not a drop of rain here in Vancouver. Summer's in bloom and so are the lilies that Elly just bought me! Top to bottom: The view from Hana Lani treehouse (aka bug bites bungalow), euphemism of the year award goes to this sign from the Kekehili 'Highway' on the Northwest coast, fire dancers from the naked hippie drum circle at little beach, getting godly in Lahaina.

dropping in

2007-05-15T13:46:00.000-07:00

Now I know why people live like paupers and travel to corners f the earth to catch waves. Yesterday for an early birthday pressie Jeets purchased us a surf lesson. It rocked. James I now understand you. Well, a little bit.

Anyone want to surf sister it up on July long weekend. Jeet's is hooked. She was the star pupil, standing every time and even carved. I with my grace and poise fell usually after gliding for about 7 feet max. BUT I'M OKAY WITH THIS. My biggest feat was catching two waves on my very own lonesome with out the instructor's push. Dropping in they call it. My brother Braede would've been proud of his big, clumsy sister.

The wedding kicked major ass. The bride and groom were amazing as was their house, ceremony, flower children and Nelly Furtado's Maneater dance routine (look for youtube soon).

Back to the beach....

hugging corners

2007-05-04T19:06:00.000-07:00

The Miranda Maui tourism checklist:

X Sunburn (forearms, backs of calves)

X Afternon beers

X Sand in eyes

X Snorkeling with Las Vegas-brite fish

X Hike to waterfall

X splashed by big ass ocean wave on the edge of a lava field

X Rendezvous with generous canadian friends of friends

Today marks the 10,570 day of my life (29 years less 15 days). I celebrated this day by doing a few things I normally wouldn't/shouldn't. I'll start with the first 'shouldn't': the drive from my hostel in Pai'a to Kapalua, Maui (USA) along the Kahekili (Kah-hay-kee-lee) highway.

So far, Maui is treating me swell. I've bathed on his shores, snorkeled in his bays and gotten a slight spanking from the sun. I've wandered the streets of Kihei, Wailuku, Paia and Haku welcomed, aloha'ed. Freshwater waterfalls and chubby southerners have shown me hospitality unique to the 'world's greatest nation'. Sometimes, if ignore the Americans, it feels a little like South Africa. The flora is that similar.

But today I pushed it. I started a journey without consulting a local or my guide book or my rental car insurance policy. I drove Highway 340 between Kahului and Kapalua. I will never do this again. The road was nothing short of horrific and basically a cow trail along the side of a moutain with a little asphalt on top. It was about 20 miles of hair pin hell. Most of the time the road was single lane, with the tiniest of shoulders. Often there was not shoulder and nothing but a small cactus or wispy chinese fan palm tree between me and vertical jungle. Maui is full of lush gulches. Which is fine, if you're not trying to navigate them in a car.

When I finally finised my journey just outside of Kapalua, I checked the LP. It' said that they highway was usually left off a lot of tourist maps due to it's treacherousness. The LP'ers also noted that most rental car companies forbid their renters to drive it. Including mine. Oi.

So I rewarded myself by downloading my hell drive on a Korean keyboard in an air-conitioned cafe, drinking capuccino. As if I need any more of a caffeine kickstart today.

In all Maui is fabulous. Paia has been my home for the last few days. I've met some quiet Norweigans, graceful french windsurfers and the odd, old horny Californian. Kihei will be my base for the next few days. From what I've seen of it, there are a lot of GC lookalikes roaming the pristine beaches. (Slightly bloated, licorice red sunburns and goofy half-drunk smiles). I'm stoked to join them.

beat me to it

2007-04-16T14:12:00.000-07:00

This guy beat me to posting a Zach Braff inspired spoken word video, so fricken funny. Check it out.

Caught up on some serious Lost this weekend with my very own ZB, aka the boy. I managed to not cry through some very emotional back episodes. I think my hormones are leveling out.

I picked up my Maui guide book from the library this weekend and booked my return ticket. 3.25 weeks in paradise, coming up. Now I just need to book some accommodation. Can you say last minute? (L&J - I'm not disorganised, just a procrasinator).

In other news my space bar is working only about 61%of the time so typing (and writing) is a pain right now. I may have to start doing thumb push-ups so I can pound the bar hard enough to make it work.

John Candy would've been proud

2007-03-24T17:33:00.000-07:00

It was a trip of planes, trains and automobiles.

I travelled to Ottawa and Montreal last week on some official business: a job interview, a royal Air Canada f*%k up, an oka cheese pilgrimmage (thanks Holland!), and of course eating/drinking/dancing with old friends and new. I shared lunch with two friends-of-friends in Ottawa. It was a bit like going on a blind date but super fun nonetheless. Local knowledge and POV is much better than a guide book. I'll put up a more detailed post later. But for now some photos...

The only flowers in Ottawa come March: the floor of the Chateau Laurier ball room.

A Montreal institution in the heart of downtown Ottawa. I clocked into the bilingual part of the country at 4:42 hours before I was chowing on smoked meat, kosher pickes and coleslaw. A record for sure.

St. Paddy's Day in Montreal: 10:30am before the epic 'dig the car out of the snow bank' game.

J'aime le metro avec l'arts de 1960s.

This ramp at the Ottawa train station reminded me ever so slightly of the Guggenheim.

l'hermitage

2007-03-09T23:36:00.000-08:00

I have a good case of the hermits this weekend. As in I want to do stay in, in, in. I'm saving myself for next weekend. Spring is here and I'm getting the itch. I'm super lucky to venture for a mini-vac to scratch it next weekend in Ottawa/Montreal (Simon's look out!).

So some of you are looking for different updates on la vida loca de Miranda. Not so loco I'm afraid.

My friends the McCue-lums (Mel &Jamie) and their wee Molly were in town last week. Molly is the cutest and can store large amounts of yoghurt in her cheeks as you can see here.

Have I mentioned that I'm off the booze for 40 days and nights? Once a year I resemble some sort of Catholic and like to give something up for lent. This year it's wheat and booze. The booze program is way easier than wheat. I crave burgers and fluffy pancakes way more than a glass of shiraz. I've forfeited glasses of Moet for a bite or two of tiramisu. That's why i gave up two things - I knew/hoped I'd steer clear of at least one vice.

Despite the sobriety, I considered kidnapping the lead singer of Rascal Flatts for Mel K last weekend. After work last Saturday night I drove to East Van to a house party and drove by at least 8 tour buses and 5 big rigs for equipment all belonging to Rascal Flatts. (That band alone is responsible for the hole in the ozone hole forming over the Patagonia or hurricane Debbie. I hope they're doing some sort of carbon-off set by sponsoring some sort of eco-country guitar camp in Ethiopia). I considered stopping, seducing a roadie and then nabbing the lead singer or the drummer for Mel. And then I shook my head, stopped rubber necking and continued to drive. Mel, I loveya but I just couldn't bat my eyes or flash some of my fab bosom so that you could make out with a 'new country' star with frosted tips.

I've found a new televised addiction. HBO's "The Wire". I've been looking for a tv series to latch on to and boy this is it. It has everything: Baltimore, drugs, hot black men, big SUVs, drunken cops and lesbian dectectives. What more could you want from a cop drama? Check it out if you can. My favourite character so far is Omar, the vigilante-gay-crack-dealer who's lover is shot, mutliated and displayed in his opponent's territory. Now this is good television America. I had no idea Maryland was so liberal.

Some movie reviews for the last two weeks:

Daddy's little girls - pro: Idris Elba con: add-cliche-and-stir script

The lives of others - pro: the main character, super spy Weissler bucks German stereotypes. Con: some pale pale wintery nudity

Shut up and sing - Pro: Natalie Maines staring at the camera "You're fucking stupid" referring to Dubya Con: none, except if you count the $14 I'm about to spend on their album because I luuurv them now.

Angola club music

2007-02-28T13:38:00.000-08:00

Africa is on my mind these days. I have an impending job opportunity simmering on the backburner for some possible work back in the motherland. Fingers crossed.

In the meantime I've fallen for Kuduro from Angola. It reminds me of Kwaito on fast forward, wrapped in a warm sheath of house and dipped in Portuguese. Then it's all chopped and mixed like diced onions. Or at least when Diplo plays it.

An interesting article about Kuduro here. Listen to it on Blentwell here.

my CanCon weekend

2007-02-25T23:35:00.000-08:00

Last Thursday night I was out for dinner at the Fairmont YVR with some girlfriends. I had a total 'journalism groupie' moment at the end of the evening. As we were leaving the "Globe" dining room, who was checking in but Naomi Klein and Avi Lewis. I started gushing to my fun girls but they didn't have a clue who either of them were. I almost ran up to them both to shake their hands and say, "Wow I really admire both your work. Avi - your dad is amazing." But I didn't because they are not Sting, or Bono or Joey Lawrence.

For the next 24 hours everyone I gushed to about my Naomi/Avi sighting had no clue. It was so dissappointing. Two of Canada's strongest lefty voices and none of my friends knew who they were. Some didn't even know who Stephen Lewis (Avi's dad) was. I was beside myself.

Do my friend have access to radio (ie CBC)? Free television channels (ie CBC)?

Do they not know about 'No logo' and Naomi Klein's one woman campaign against nasty capitalists and their sweatshops?

Have they never heard of Stephen Lewis' campaign against AIDS in Africa?

But then I told Leah and Elly - my journo gals. The great shining hopes of knowledge and all things globe and mail. There was also Brian - a high school teacher and former Toranta resident. I think I just gushed to the wrong set of friends.

Then on Friday I saw Michael Buble down at the seawall at a photoshoot. He was wearing roller blades, a navy blazer, surprisingly well fitted dark jeans, a grey shirt and his trademark impish smirk. He was doing some hockey-like moves with a hockey stick while a leggy brunnette took video/SLR shots of him. I nearly drove off the road. Oh how I wish my South AFrican friend and former neighbor Jacques could've been there.

Jacque introduced me to Mr. Buble. He did this by stomping around his kitchen singing to Buble at the top of his lungs at 9am saturday mornings. My room mate Manon and I were usually ridiculously babalas and could hear every octave because our house was 2.5 metres from Jacques'. Manon and I took Jacques and his roomie Reno to see Mr. Buble at Carnival City in 2003. It's by far the cheesiest casino development in SA and is under a giant circus tent building. The entire things screams CIRCUS!!! Even the poor bloody parking attendents are dressed like clowns.

If he was with me last Friday, Jacques would've screamed like I did in 1990 at the NKOTB concert or like he did in 2003. (Of note: the Buble concert in SA was attended by 99% white, middle aged Afrikaners who probably had never seen two flamingly gay men perform as Jacques/Reno did every time Buble finished a song. AHHHHHHHEEEEEEEEEEE! Just like 12 year old girls.) After the sighting I promptly texted friends in the know. I'm still searching for Jacque's cell #. Int'l text charges be damned.

wandering eyes pay

2007-02-01T23:49:00.000-08:00

I love this little piece of news. As in, 'If you're gonna look at those other bitches my hubby, you gonna pay. On the front page of the national paper at that. Or no poon for you forever." Ha. I think I want to be an italian socialite in my next life.

I also laughed my ass off at this today. Which girl would you be? I think I'd be the camera girl - her remedy for the entire situation is "Get her to drink more champagne." Sensible solution in my books.

Life is speeding up on the freelance train. All the lines I've cast in the last little while have attracted some nibbles.

Now if only my BFF would forgive me for being sensible and not jetting off on an impromptu holiday.

professionalcrastinationitits

2007-01-16T11:54:00.000-08:00

So this week I'm semi on deadline for a story. It's a difficult one to write - lots of research and asking people from my hometown really personal and delicate questions. I don't think I could ever be a scrum reporter. As in:

"Lindsy, Lindsy. Is it true Miz. Wintore knocked you off her invite list because of your schnaff problem?"

"Gordo, gordo. Is it true that single moms are worse off now than they ever have been under your leadership?"

Or whatever a real reporter asks.

So instead of researching my article like a good girl I'm listening to Carl Craig's newest mix on Samurai and reading Dooce. Or I'm walk through Stanley Park to gawk like pervert at the clearcuts with She wants Revenge wailing in my ears (BTW - I've managed to 'discover' this band within a 8 months of their album release, bandwagon look out!). I also like folding laundry while watching Russell Peters on Youtube. So productive.

One of my nobler procrastinatory techniques is to compile my portfolio, upload content like a mad computer geek shrew on my soon-to-come website. For the last week I've searched for soft copies of some old articles from continents away. The forward thinker I am, I cleaned out my hard drive about 6 months ago and accidentally erased one of my best feature stories on an AIDS activist/health care pioneer in Pretoria.

Back to non-procrastination land.

dude - who dialled my phone?

2007-01-09T23:27:00.000-08:00

Have you ever slept walked? What about sleep walking and dialling? I'm famous amongst one of my groups of friends for the drunken dial. I do it with exes. I do it with my current. I dial from night clubs. I dial from bathrooms. If there is a breathalizer for drunk'n'dialling my limit is about 3 glasses of red wine or 4 G&Ts.

Pathetic I know.

But last night I topped myself. There are two versions of this story. The 'conscious' as remembered by me. The 'unconscious' told by my BFF this morning @ 8:20.

Conscious - or so I think.
I went to bed at midnight last night. I was totally tired. Long night of obsessively looking for the perfect job and reading my favourite blogs. I flopped into my awesome, princessandthepea, firm bed. Then at what I thought was 6am, I wake up to my phone ringing. I can see the screen light from across my bachelor. I got out of bed and staggered over to the phone on my desk. The ringer isn't very loud because I have a head set plugged in (I'm not a geek, I was doing interviews yesterday and dishes.) I picked up my phone and my BFF's number is illuminated. The time read: 1:43 am. I was totally bewildered. I drank some water, went pee and flopped back in bed, thinking, 'I should call her in the morning, something might be up....zzzzzz".

The crazy unconscious version
When I woke up this morning I kind of remembered the whole phone thing. I was worried about my BFF as she is NOT a drunken dialler like her buddy. Just as I was checking my 'missed call' history (she called 3x!) she called. She was all scratchy throated, groggy at work. "Miranda are you okay? You called me FOUR times last night." I said, "What you called me?" She said that no I called her at 1am, which she let slide. Then I called her again 3 times in a row at 1:40-1:43. I apologized and she of course being the BFF that she is was all good. I checked my dialled calls and she was right.

Whatthefuck?

So my conclusion: I'm a crazy sleep walker who uses her cell in her sleep. OR there's a ghost in my apartment. Oh yeah and my phillipshead screwdriver was on the counter this morning. I don't remember it being there. Hmmm.

I'm closing my laptop tonite just incase I'm a sleep-emailer. I'm also turning off my cell.

christmas shopping

2006-12-21T00:24:00.000-08:00

A friend sent me the best you tube today... Boys go here for that special xmas gift idea. I'm hoping they're all out when the boy goes shopping for me.

merry ho ho ho and happy mulletous hannakuh.

I heart the West End

2006-12-18T13:38:00.000-08:00

Only in the West End can I be working at my desk and here the clip clop of draft horse hooves. The horse cops just went by. I guess they're out patrolling today for Christmas bandits.

I'd trade iron clink of horseshoes on ashphalt for the sound of rubber tires on ashphalt, shitty mufflers or too much bass anyday.

gogos and grandpas

2006-12-06T20:37:00.000-08:00

The most essential gift for a good writer is a built-in, shock-proof, shit detector. This is the writer's radar and all great writers have had it.

- Ernest Hemingway

Tonite I talked Hemingway, history and provincial politics with a retired CP/Reuters journalist. It was easily one of the most memorable nights I've had this year. I love seniors. I really do. I used to work in a restaurant where the demographic was 45-80. Seriously. Most people at my current job scoff at serving the blue/grey hair set. I love it/them.

The gentleman I met tonight was formerly based in London, Montreal, Brussels and Paris. It was the annual Christmas open house in the neighboring apartment building put on by my landlord (he manages 2 properties). He had something to say about Conrad Black, David Asper, Gordon Campbell and blogging. He just finished donating a library to UVic by Wyndham Lewis, a journalist, writer and satirist. I can't wait to bump into him again.

This week I've seen two amazing documentaries about AIDS in Africa. One was surprisingly on CNN by Christiane Amanpour and was on CBC's Nature of Things. Both focus on Grannies in Africa. Both shows illustrated how the grannies are coping with raising another generation of children (and the majority of the AIDS orphans in Africa) and the resources available for this. From Kenya to Zambia to South Africa. Many women are raising their daughters and nieces and even grand-daughters' children. One of the best moments of the CBC doc is when one South African granny asks, "Are these women raising theire grandchildren for life or for the grave." Stuff like this makes my hear dissolve in a puddle of tears.

MOM - STOP reading here.

In South Africa the common word for an African grandmother is 'gogo'. Think about your grandmothers and the role they play in your life. Now imagine her raising you and ALL your cousins. Its amazing, especially when I consider the voracity of reproduction on my dad's side. I think this year I'm going to get my grandmas and moms a Stephen Lewis gogo grandma gift.

giant cement truck snowmen

2006-11-26T11:29:00.000-08:00

It snowed in Merritt last night and is it ever beautiful. Above is a shot of one of our many lakes. Before the insanity of the MMF Merritt's tourist mantra was "A lake a day as long as you stay." Where I'm staying is nowhere near this, but it is near a river.

Feeding chickens, puppies and dogs is so much more fun in the snow. Its like a fluffy salute to the end of my stay. I can't WAIT to snowboard all of the sudden. Even though I suck I'm going to try to make it down a couple smaller hills before Mel's annual Whistler trek. Interior snow is the best, Sun Peaks to be exact. Panorama is good too. The flakes are tiny, dry and fluffy. So perfect and crunchy, it's almost like fake snow.

On Friday night I spent four hours in the subzero. The 4th annual Santa Claus parade, trundled down the main street of Merritt while we shivered. My girlfriends, cousin Mossimo and I had a great time. My friend's daughter was in the parade and didn't recognize me. When she did she made the meanest, funniest scrunchy lip face and then waved. I told her later the newspaper took a picture of her like that and she may be famous for her nasty face. She made the face again.

The parade was really impressive. There were 70 floats including a cement truck transformed into a swivelling snowman and a walking float of STAAR (Students Taking Action Against Racism), an anti-racism group I helped start in high school. When I started cheering for the STAAR float they looked at me like I was crazy. I felt like an old, crazy has-been.

By the end of the night I couldn't feel my thighs or cheeks. My friend's son was so bundled he looked like the Randy Parker from, the Christmas story. You know the little brother that can barely walk.

dognapper/tourguide

2006-11-24T08:52:00.000-08:00

I've fallen in love with my brother's dog, Max and may kidnap him. Hopefully his cowshit eating problem will resolve itself in the city. This week I introduced an intrepid reporter friend to the charms of my stomping grounds. We attended a Barra McNeill's show in Ashcroft at a refurbished opera house with my grama and former choir teacher. Celtic music is not usually my thing but they reminded me of dancing around my dad's kitchen with the whole family at Christmas time. The valley is rimmed by a dusting of icing sugar snow and the trees look dark green/blue because of it.

My cousin, 'Mossimo', came for dinner and is doing great. Both sets of grandparents are feisty as ever. The puppy has officially put a hole in my jogging pants making me realize it's probably not a good idea to wear jogging pants for 80% of my waking hours. I will now reconsider renaming my little self employment foray from 'stretchy pants consulting' to 'bite free denim contracting'. The chickens are all still alive despite two cunning escapes. The water here is clear and drinkable - I'm not looking forward to returning to Vancouver. And I'm now addicted to the smell of wood fires and the hug of electric blankets.

Oh and thanks to my brothers' superior downloading tastes I've burned a CD called, "If I was 17 again" with tunes by these guys, this girl, this group. Once again I'm behind the trend curve. My brothers used to look up to me but I'm in awe of them now - just as the cool genes in me are withering, they're taking the torch and running with it.

nostalgia 1; change 10

2006-11-19T17:44:00.000-08:00

Anyone who's known me for more than a month can tell you I am extremely nostalgic. I live for revelling in the past. I think its a hobby. The older I get the more fertile the soil for my nostalgia. It grows in my head and heart like knapweed in the Nicola Valley.

It usually goes something like this: "Remember the cider we drank ast October in Montreal. It was soo good. Soooo good." I can't wait to go have it again." (I also have an annoying habit of repeating words or phrases when I get excited but that's another blog entry, for sure. Fooor sure.)

Or
Almost everytime I see a certain high school girlfriend I run through a memory I really should let go of: "Tonya, remember when we used to drive around in your tempo with Scatman on full blast and I'd pull your ebrake going around corners in the snow!"

I'm especially like that with my hometown and my hometown friends. The older I get the rosier my past becomes. Like the first 18 years of my life growing up in a rural BC town was friggen Shangri-la. Yeah right. I'm sure a counsellor would tell me this is my brain's way of blocking the bad with the good. When I lived here I couldn't wait to get out and thought it was so backwards and hillbilly. Now, words like quaint, community, safe is how I describe the Merritt I grew up in.

Here I am 10 years after leaving and wondering if high school kids in Merritt have ever experienced a real home made donut. Not Timmy Hos up on the hill. From grades 8-11 we'd walk every lunch hour to the local bakery ran by a fantastically calm woman named Mrs. Sehkon. We'd gorge ourselves on butterhorns, donuts and egg salad sandwiches before sneaking a cigarette or attempting flirt with a crush. I also wonder if my brothers have had mom'n'pop style friend chicken, not KFC. Finally I wonder if Centennial games is still the site of romantic make ups and breakups.

Merritt has changed so much since I left that sometimes I have to rub my eyes and take a second glance at the downtown core. It's shrivelled and full of gawd awful country music murals and sidewalk stars. Its developing like crazy to the northeast of town. One day we'll be like a mini-Kelowna or Nanaimo with our strip malls.

Our franchise total:
1 Walmart (puke, barf, choke)
1 Canadian Tire
1 Lordco
1 Napa Autoparts
1 Timmy Ho's
1 Taco Del Mar (Now its for sale, $125K, anytakers. I'm sorry but I love Tex-Mex food but in Merritt? Where we have exactly 2.75 of latino descent. Where's the market there?)
1 Coopers
1 Superstore (again, why?)
1 McDonald's
What next, Starbucks?

New developments that have my stamp of approval: the Skateboard Park, the Rotary Amphitheatre, the mountain bike park (right behind the copshop, love it!), Mandolin's Cafe, Work'n'Play, 378 Boardshop and Wekusko coffee shop. Let's hope they grow like the nostalgia in my head. I want to take the city planners on a whistle stop tour of funky, awesome towns that have avoided the strip mall sprall and nurtured individual business owners to set up shop (ie. Nelson, Cumberland, Qualicum Beach).

So here I am cradling the tiny, rosey memories of what was, hoping that others are too.

Ranch 1; Miranda 2

2006-11-18T09:18:00.001-08:00

Pre-game stats:
4 dogs - 3 border collies (one 3 month old puppy), 1 manure eating cockapoo
16 chickens - Barnevelders and Plymouth Rocks, 1 nasty egg-laying bitch
4 feral kats - marmalade, black and tabby
1 herd of coyotes
1 4 bedroom house
1 fireplace - 3 wheelbarrows of wood packed/2 used

Hour 40

So far I've mopped up at least a cup of puppy pee and possess two small puppy incisor bites on my calf. Damn you Aritzia - why can't you make jogging pant weave as thick as denim. I've feed all the animals twice now and they all seem happy and healthy. I was never given direction about how much to feed them so I think they may all need to go the animal fat camp when my family returns.

My prose productivity is low low low. I'm using my stepmom's desk as a workstation. It looks out onto the lawn under the willow tree, the chicken coop, the horse field and if I crane my neck, the side porch. Oh and the awesome rolling mountains/hills of Lower Nicola. Lots of daydreaming is interupting my website rewrite due next Weds. Every time I look up the chickens are gathered in the corner of the coop closest to me, staring expectantly.

The only incident to report besides my snagged jogging pants: the first night the dogs all decided to have a bark off with a pack of marauding coyotes. I was sure the cockapoo, Max, was going to be eaten for all his arrogant woofs. Luckily his breath smells like rotten groundbeef and manure, which drove them off. My dad called that night (the night before the left Van for CR) and said that this happens every night unless the cockapoo comes in early. Not to worry the chickens and dogs are safe. Deep sigh of relief.

The internet is dial up - like organic, unsweetened peanut butter with the oil all on top - slow. But at least the water is clear and drinkable.

Score: the Ranch 1; Me 2. Ha!

here

2006-11-09T18:12:00.000-08:00

There's a lot franticness in my life lately. Lots of deadlines. Lots of birthdays and weekend shifts and other people's parties. I'm heading up to the hometown/homeranch for 10 days this month to house, chicken and dog sit. I plan to immerse myself in works of prose (mine and others') and the routine of fire stoking.

I've decided to save up to go here for a friends' wedding. Goals like will hopefully keep me focused over the wet, cold winter. Perhaps I'll finish my trip off with a stop here or here.

I'm not good with transition. Sometimes when I am stressed about my career choice - a friend calls me out of the blue to go on a hike here. Then I know I've made the right decision. For now.

by the cahones

2006-10-26T23:32:00.000-07:00

My friend Cole died on Oct 10 in Thailand in a train crash of some sort. We worked together at the MG. He trained me in the ways of the restaurant, tequila shots and kissing as many boys as possible at Celebrites (him not me, well maybe me). He covered for me when my illicit in-house romance started with the boy. He encouraged me to dance on the bar and reset tables in less than 60 seconds. He was 21 the last time I saw him and grabbed life by the balls better than anyone I ever knew. I'll miss the small part I played in his life and the future parts he'd play in mine during his visits back to Vancouver (he moved to Edmonton last year).

Today I also received a link to this story. Kevin Tillman was a NFLer who walked from a million or so dollar contract to join the US Army (2002). He died in Afghanistan in 2004 (friendly fire). The whole Habeas Corpus bill is only started to sink in now. It's not settling in very well.

Regina Spektor's helping me get through this day. I'm probably a million years behind on this band wagon, but I have found my new chanteuse. Sorry Feist. Sorry Joni. Sorry Joanna.

good burn

2006-10-05T15:08:00.000-07:00

I am so sore today I can barely stand up and sit down without yelps of pain or holding on to something to use as a hand railing. I wish my bathroom was handicapped one and that my bed was really high so I could just fall on it. Don't even ask how I'm going to get up from typing this. But it's a good kind of burn.

Last night Mel, Lindsay and I took a free boxing lesson at the Scotia Bank Dance Centre. It was awesome to feel my heart pumping and to sweat like man. There was a lot of interval training - holding super hard poses like the plank for 1-2 minutes and then punching and ducking drills. The regulars were really nice to us. They gave us tips and the instructor was super positive. We were all doofuses. I couldn't even get Mohammed Ali's "Punch like a butterfly, sting like a bee" (or however it goes) down pat. Halfway through the class I tried to sprint to the bathroom for somewater and my legs almost gave out on me. It was like the scene in "Best in Show" when Catherine O'Hara gibbles her knee. Remember how rubbery her legs were? That was me.

So fun. So painful. So bloody out of shape.

I think I'll go again.

from Brooklyn with love

2006-10-04T10:33:00.000-07:00

I recently received a copy of "Smart women finish rich" in the mail. I'm going to dive into it once I'm finished another financial planning book (ironic that now I'm making less moola, all the sudden managing it is way more interesting). A former Vancouver resident and Joseph party smoocher penned an interesting article in today's globe and mail. Apparently richer, more educated women are more likely to experience orgasm than not-so-wealthy ladies lacking post-secondary education....

Last night Miss E and I went to see TV on the Radio. It's the first time I've ever been to a completely sold out show at the Commodore. We were stage left for the first part of the show and then moved up to the balcony and then down behind the sound guy for the finale. I'm no music reviewer but I appreciated the crowd's enthusiasm for the band. Vancouver is notorious for its deadbeat crowds. There were about 1000 people crushing the actualy dance floor part of the ballroom, smushed up against each other to watch the lead singer do his thing. By half way through there was some dancing going on. A particularly tree-like fellow's hands were raised for most of the show evangelically worshipping the boys from Brooklyn.

If the $29 tix value was measured in gesticulations I'd say we got our money's worth. Lead singer Tunde Adebimpe's hands have a choreography of their own - part hip hop, part gospel and all motion. I only own their older album. I was super stoked that the show was about half older material and half new. Because I wasn't as familiar with "Return to Cookie Mountain", I was a little lost sometimes. But, being an appreciator of movement and people, I found enough to gawk at while Miss E sang the words to TVOTR's newer offerings.

visiting Kigali at the Granville 7

2006-10-03T18:45:00.000-07:00

In the September issue of Glamour magazine there was an article that was titled something like: "10 things girls do that guys just don't understand". One of them was watching movies that they know will make them cry. Bingo. That was me today.

But it wasn't only me. I went to go see A Sunday in Kigali (Un dimanche a Kigali for all you bilingual folks). I think they should rename it to: "Love in the time of Genocide" or "Being Quebecois in Rwanda 1994: Witnessing the world watching genocide and being fucking frustrated by everyone's inaction." That last title could be the name of a couple films.

Anyways it was beautiful and mostly disturbing. My favourite part was watching a snippy Canadian consulate worker get hers (not death, no) and the beautiful Rwandan actors. There were parts of the movie where the ENTIRE theatre was crying, including the middle aged guy behind me. I swear he was using the collar of my shirt as tissue. The director was there for questions afterwards but I had to boot it out of there and have a good sob in the bathroom before I went back into the beautifully sunny day on our comfy little Granville Street.

this is why friends rule

2006-09-29T11:39:00.000-07:00

One of my bestests sent me a rad link the other day. Do you ever think that your friends have friendtelepathy? Like they know the make up of your DNA or something? She usually can read my feelings like a script across mountain ranges, continents and crackly cell phone lines.

For the last hour I've been watching a live webcam from a watering hole at a game reserve in South Africa. It rocks. Even thought its all fuzzy and night visiony right now, one of my favourite trees, the acacia, is in the middle of most shots. So far I've watched two bush buck go drink from the hole or try to.

What's probably the best thing about this site is the soundtrack. If you've ever been or if you ever go to the bush in Southern Africa (or other parts of Africa for that matter) the crickets are like an orchestra and there's usually some sort of bird that calls through the night. The Nkhoro bird is the hornbill making the distinct calls throughout the live cast I think (or at least that's what the site says). If I drone out the traffic sounds of my little West End street and close my eyes, I can almost feel as though I'm sleeping in some thatched hut or canvas tent on safari....

Thanks friend. This is exactly what I needed this week to scratch my itchy feet.

warning may not be suitable for travelphobes and Harper fans

2006-09-27T23:53:00.000-07:00

Tonight I was watching a Pilot Guide travel show. Ian Wright was travelling in Chile. It was cool - I watched him get pissed on pisco, drink cocoa leaf tea and do the usually funny I'm-a-self-effacing-amiable-brit traveller routine. At the end of each commercial break OLN played a small disclaimer saying something like, "Warning this show may not be suitable for all viewers."

What?

As in traveling can be offensive and beware of the sometimes revealed, wee white Brit-man chest? I can't think of a less offensive t.v. program. I don't understand. Maybe the network doesn't understand its demographic? I can see Fox running that warning because of their audience: acrophobic, right wing, neo-cons. But the OLN?

Speaking of offensive. The Harper government just cut a bunch of Department of Foreign Affairs and International trade programs. About $64m worth. So what you say? Less fancy consular cars in places like Zambia and Malaysia? Not quite. One program in particular was less free parking and more employment experience while repping Canada overseas.

For the under-30 set out there the cuts mean bye bye Young Professionals International, a post-university program that send new grads overseas to work and ply their new skills while learning how to work in another country, adapt to other cultures and give Canada the good name it mostly deserves. I know more than a handful of really inspring people who've benefited from this program. The rallying cries are rippling through our community. Listen for my yelp, I'm pissed.

The photo accompanying today's blog is of me and Mandla Mentoor. During my YPI internship I visited his project, SOMOHO. It was a initiative that turned an old dump site into organic gardens and a community greenspace complete with community programs like bike recycling and imbizo (or discussion circles).

Free stuff

2006-09-25T15:50:00.000-07:00

If I could transport myself backwards and forwards and sideways in time and space for art I would go here, then here and then finally here. I've met Ruth Motau before when I worked in Johannesburg. She sold my employers some amazing photos for their communications materials. I also try to see this guy's work on a regular basis.

I heart the West End even more. A lady gave me this hanging attachment for a lamp I bought - for free. Who ever gives anything to your anymore for free? I'm really stoked finally hang my lamp up since I purchased it, oh, about 2 months ago and its been tripping me in my hall way for two months now.

Lastly why I love Greenpeace - cause their web cartoons are so bloody clever. Check out "gas guzzler". Not like I'm the one to talk.

the nature

2006-09-21T13:08:00.000-07:00

My friend was once riding the bus to UVic and she overheard this girl extolling about how much she loved 'the nature'. The girl went on an on about how she just loves the smell of the lumber and the nature. It's now our inside joke whenever we smell fresh cut lumber. We take big whiffs and say, "Don't you just love the nature." Eegad.

My trip to the Shuswap was all olfactory. The boy and I swung through Merritt on Friday night to hang with my family. It was fantastic. My grama cooked up a huge batch of her small, animal shaped pancakes for us Saturday morning before we hit the road. The mix of bacon, coffee and pancake smells are one of the closest things to nirvana. We picked up Miss E from her conference in Sorrento on the way to Lindsay's cabin. The Shuswap smells really earthy compared to Merritt. Maybe its the lake and the forests and rotting salmon carcasses of Adams River. Merrritt has more of 'the nature' (read: lumber mills) compared to Celista and Anglemont. Our (me, Mel, James, E, Linds and the boy) weekend was a mix of ridicularity, beer, food, bannock, games and meanders along the lakeshore. James fought the fall cold with a roaring fire of beetle wood - I do love the smell of woodsmoke in the fall.

Today on my morning trek through Stanley Park it was really reminiscent of Joburg's Zoo Lake park. I had my 25 birthday there with my Welsh room mate, my neighbor Jacques plus a couple thermoses of brandy&hot chocolate. We just lazed about the grass, picnicing, drinking and watching some half-assed cricket. I'm glad I have that option here in Vancouver. I've been wallowing a bit this week. I need to identify the glimpses of good in my life/surrounds, like Rob Brezny says this week.

how quickly....

2006-09-15T10:46:00.000-07:00

one forgets the sights, sounds and experiences of the bus. It's been a good couple months since I rode a distance longer than a kilometre in a bus. I dropped the fox off at the mechanic's this morning so she could get some new shocks and cv boots. On the way back home I took the Fraser #8.

Things I forgot about the bus:

Toothless and giggling men talk to themselves for the duration of the ride.
It smells like a cross between cabbage rolls, coffee, perfume and morning breath;
Bus seats are the best for reading.

Fall is setting in and I'm digging out my warm clothes (closed toed shoes, sweaters, hoodies, leg warmers). The cold has made me sad the last couple of days. I think I'm going to have to start visiting the vitamin D oven. I love the colours and smells and 'freshness' of autumn but man I'm a wimp when it comes to the cold. Hopefully the legwarmers and extra layer of flesh I'm cultivating will help.

morning person

2006-09-12T12:47:00.000-07:00

Allegedly there are only two more nice days left before Vancouver settles into a rainy fall. This morning I capitalized wanted to get a last dose of sunshine, so I trekked out to third beach. It's a post card day in Stanley Park. Just above third beach I discovered (not like a pioneer or Vasco de Gama or anything) a little fountain. Did you know it was there? The pool is about 2 feet deep and someone has filled it with hydrangeas. It's dedicated to an aristocratic looking lady, whose name I can't remember, that lived from 1883-1917. It reminded me of the little flowery bog I used to play in when I was about 12 and obsessed with Anne of Green Gables.

It's also a random Vancouver art day. As I was walking back along the seawall the tide was up but shallow. The visibility to the barnicled rocks and silky sand was awesome. Some small child has lost his bright blue shorts because they were just sort of rippling under water, not floating, not sinking. Like the cover of a Coupland book or a 'new Canadian artist' show at the VAG.

Being a morning person is fun.

Did anyone watch the Passionate Eye last night - the 9/11 documentary - "The Falling Man". So sad - the whole story of the twin tower jumpers was filled with so much pride and shame for New Yorkers and Christians. I don't really understand. But then again I'm not from New York nor am I a Christian.

my summer of sprints

2006-09-07T08:55:00.000-07:00

I'm a sprinter. Big energy at the beginning, medium pace in the thick of things, and then a not-so-effective burst of energy at the end. I've never won an actual real running race, but I usually get an "A" for effort. My sprinting habits pretty much sum up my summer.

(My) life has changed a shiteload since the end of June. My days are the opposite of everyone else's - I work from home about 4 hours a day and then waitress about 4 hours a night. I rely on others to recognize or utilise my uni-honed talents to make a living. I set my own schedule (pretty much) and have no more health benefits. But I'm not complaining. I'm more just sitting back and reflecting. Luckily the little person inside my head that is in charge of regret gave himself the summer off.

As a sprinter I set all sorts of goals at the beginning of summer. I was going to be a great pen pal and write letters every day (lasted about a week). I was going to have at least three articles published by the end of August. Hmmmm. Nada. I was going to start in on my fiction piece and complete a novella, rising with the sun each day to scribe inspired romance-turned-wrong BS. I made it to the second chapter - which I have rewrite now that I think about it. You see, my life and the sun kept getting in the way.

Instead I printed some tshirts and attended some weddings in fantastic settings. I hung out with my bff and fought with her too. I swam with ecoli and friends in Indian Arm. I boated with techies to Gambier Island. I hiked the Juan de Fuca trail with a lovely PE teacher and an easygoing Kootenay hippie, later that day lunched with grey whales and seals. I drank ridiculous amounts of rum with high school girlfriends - connecting with everyone after 10 years of post-high school life. Mom and I went to the beach, thrift shop, the Devil wears Prada (mini-ephiphany!). I explored Coombs and Little Qualicum falls with the boy. My skin tanned during our itsy bitsy hot snap. I ate steak with my dad, stepmom and brothers. I my families' gardens. I learned the power of early morning coffee dates from one of my fungirls from Seattle.

My summer was fab. Oh yeah, read my first article published in a long time here.

happy blogday!

2006-07-28T09:47:00.000-07:00

So my blog turned 1 on Wednesday. Trex excitement! Though I decided to take some time off from this thing for the summer, here I am back'atter. Oh well. Ce n'est pas dommage? Make sense? Dawn.

I really want to learn a second language. For career reasons. A lot of low-tipping Euros have been coming to the restaurant. We all dread dread dread serving them because of their low tips. They're not that bad really. Actually, they're usuallly the nicest to talk to and they are relaxed about waiting for their food and wine (because I am possibly one of the least organised servers in the world). But alas, they always skim over the Lonely Plant guide to tipping. So I think some French or German or Norweigan lessons may fix this. Oh yeah, one day when I get my int'l development job it'll help too.

I haven't been on a bus for quite sometime. The Fox has been taking me on many an adventure. I pretty much have vetoed taking transit to far flung destinations like Deep Cove due to the time suck. I am climate change, yes, but I do walk everywhere else. I'm looking for a little hike to do this weekend, somewhere within a half hour's drive of Van. Suggestions?

For my blog's birthday I thought I'd give it some fireworks. The celebration of light was one of my first blog topics. The boy, E (the interpretive dancer) and I attended Italy's big show the other night. Merridale Cider in my MEC bottle. Heineken in E's bag. When in Rome, right? Spectacular and crowded. I'm happy to report there was no raping and pillaging in our vicinity. Just a lot of bling, raging teen hormones and mickeys of flavoured vodka.

Happy happy.

sunshine, freckles, driving and ferries

2006-07-18T02:22:00.000-07:00

I've made a pact with myself to drink more, work less and write prolifically. So far the working less and drinking more is going really well. Summer is in full swing and I've already broke a million writing pacts with myself. But oh well. I'm still writing, just not that much. I'm not feeling much these days, let alone guilt.

The bus rides in the westend are generally faboo - tales of crazies don't compare to East Van.

Last weekend the boy and I went to Vancouver Island for a wedding. We explored Nanaimo, Ladysmith, Coombs, the Nanaimo river and Little Qualicum falls. The wedding rocked. The bride was natural and giggly. The groom was super hero-esque and nervous. The food was good and the music and setting better. The Parallels played sweet cover tunes while I attemted to coordinate my groove-moves after litres of home made red wine. The ferry rides were awesome even though we had to wait two sailings (one there, one back). Oh well. I luckily had only one little travel melt down - which in my view isn't so bad after spending more than 48 hours with the same person.

Coombs was great and full of goats, goat ball closeup photos and wannabe Hells Angels. The Crow and Gate was fantastic and full of fatty, lovely British Fair. And if anyone is within 100 miles of the Cobble Hill area I reccommend grabbing as much Merridale Cider as possible.

Summer time is for taking buses irregularly, forest getaways and attempts at (un)focusing one's life. I can't wait for more.

mad mad mad

2006-06-22T00:03:00.000-07:00

I think one of the drawbacks of living alone is that when you want to have a doozy of a tantrum there's no one there to see it. As in on your back kicking and screaming and yelping at the unfairness of it all. Kinda like when a tree falls in the forest, does anybody...

Today was frustrating, to say the least. Unfortunately it didn't involve any buses.

summer strep

2006-06-20T23:42:00.000-07:00

Ahhh. Regression. Don't you love it? How it sneaks up on you so quickly? So stealthly. So pus-ily. I have a wicked case of strep throat thanks to given'r a little too hard last week. I was out every single night last week. Not unusual for a lot of people. Not unusual for me - 5 years ago, 3 years ago, maybe even 2 years ago. But not now.

The given'r highlights that ruined me:

Monday - MG pre-summer staff party. Free drinks. Free chicken thighs and pizza (wheat = evil) and greasy bus tubs. After a few too many bellinis, I ran to the top of the stairs with a bus tub, popped it under my ass and launched myself down the stairs. A few seconds later I was using my upper thigh/hip area as a brake. The bruise is still there. Thank god I don't have a digital camera yet.

Tuesday - African chowfest with fellow wannabe foodies at Nyala. Not too much wine, but definitely too much food.

Wednesday - My 'retirement' party from my day job. My last chance for free bevvies on the company bill. You betcha I was going to drink breadth of the menu. Plus I deal with goodbyes/emotions better drunk. Allegedly. Then I cabbed to my sweetie over in Kits for comfort and more gin. He made me feel better, the gin unfortunately did not.

Thursday - John Digweed. Crazy MG coworker Django. One sweaty Austrailian. Two strippers (of the No. 5 Orange ilk). 10 Kootenay kids. Not much sleep and probably a little too much progressive house.

Friday - some tables waited. Considerable tips made. Beers drank. Sleep not had.

Saturday - Karoake at Fantacity. Highlights: Ellie's rendition of Abba. Katie and Dani's prostar voices. Yours truly having all fun and no tune to Dolly Parton and John Cougar Mellancamp.

And now folks, this is my throat.

PS Bus related note. I was supposed to attend the World Urban Forum this week. Thanks to my strep I've been mainly sleeping off my first week of 'retirement' from the day job. I have managed to use my WUF bus pass to go to the Doc's and to grab some groceries. Yay free bus pass. Boo bad conference attender. Thursday I'll be going full bore.

PPS Elaine Corden's summer playlist is out. It's a gooder and includes my lovely ex-roomie's band Cadeux.

lazy girl

2006-06-09T14:16:00.000-07:00

Does anyone know anyone from Ontario who things that Toronto time is the centre of the world? One of these people called me at 6:30 this morning. I was sleeping peacefully when someone from Time Magazine in Toronto called. I had left them a message the other day wanting to contact their ed and the office assistant called me at 9:30 their time. When she realized what ungodly hour it was for me she apologized, saying, "I hope this isn't too early." Of course it is honey, do you think I'm a farmer? Grrrr.

Friday finds:

Shepherd Pairey's new mural in LA. Check it out here. Love it. I'm not that much of a brand whore but I do love most of Obey's art. Especially my commandante Marcos bag.
#5 Robson. I was late this morning because I slept in after the early call so I took the bus to work. Lovely. Lots of Davie Street eye candy. For the most part it was a very civil (save for the over- cuddly German tourists).
Ever wonder why lazy boys weren't called lazy girls? Cause there aren't a lot of lazy girls out there. Most girls can out multi-task any guy.
Le chat Noir. I went there for lunch today. I had their eggs benny topped with hollandaise that was perfectly citrusy and fluffy. It's a slightly stodgy counter-service cafe but what broke things up was the Premier Gaou blasting on the sound system. One of the girls working the counter seemed to be West African. We were equally impressed with each other: me because she was playing one of my fave African bands, she because I knew who Premier Gaou was. It was a very Joburg/Montreal moment.

walking

2006-06-08T09:37:00.001-07:00

To keep on with the love schlep...on my walk to work this morning it seemed to take forever. Maybe it was because I was up late last night talking to a girlfriend over red wine, but the last 3 blocks felt like 3 miles. Then I remembered what its like for my mom to do lots of walking. Then I remembered that a lot of my friends and family supported her during last weeks MS Walk in Calgary. There were 9 people and 1 dog on her team. They raised over $2700 for MS research and support. Thanks guys.

PS I've inserted a photo of Teri Hatcher because she looks like my mom in this photo. Yes my mom is a yummy mummy.

neighbour; dinner; #17

2006-06-07T00:01:00.000-07:00

Tonite was my 3rd to last food and travel class. We had to do some fun exercises like write instructions on how to peel an apple. We were also given a mystery ingredient that we had to write a descriptive paragraph about (using all the senses). But we couldn't name the ingredient. We then had to read it out to the class and they guessed what it was. So fun. Guess what mine was:

"Like miniature, hard raisins this taste is essential to many foods. It's course, tiny shape is often not much bigger than a pin head but smaller than a thumbtack. Probably the second most used seasoning in the English-speaking world this hot pebble is everywhere. Freshly ground its burning pungence is instant - often sending those in the vicinity into sneezing fits. Preground and shaken it sprinkles black and light grey. The adventurous will eat it whole in bubbly stews, pilafs or jambayalas."

On the way home I took the #17 with two class mates. Turns out one of them, Paola from Colombia, is my neighbour. Lives right across the street. She wants to join our international dinner club after the course is over. We're all wannabe foodies now so she wants to continue our own little foodie gatherings. Warm fuzzies. WestEnd lurv.

lurv is in the air

2006-06-06T15:31:00.000-07:00

People are falling in lurv or proclaiming their lurv left, right and centre of me. I am in the vortex of a cushy movement of kisses, hugs, weddings, babies and fly-across-BC visits. Luckily one of us (ie. me) has her feet planted on the terra firma and am able to think rationally during this whirlwind of l-o-v-e. Rather than regale you with tales of how someone knew she was in love after one day or how love still persists after the birth of a baby, lactating boobs and years of togetherness, I'll spare you - us. Instead I thought I'd reflect on some of the kinds of love - bus or non-bus dependent- I've encountered in the last few months.

Robert Indiana's sculpture on Georgia Street. Now that I am a WestEnder I get to stroll to work in the morning. While the glorious sun showers me with UVs and the traffic puffs by I get to see the LOVE sculpture on Georgia Street (er or maybe its Pender?). It's modelled after the one I saw on my way to the MOMA in NYC (pictured).
Retail love. Contrary to the typical Vancouver shopping experience I've received some fantastico retail help lately. One girl even offered to help me put dress on at Dream during GoGastown. To bad my back is as wide as a football player's. Mind you she was tottering a bit with a glass of chardonnay slooshing around in her hand. Maybe she was just one of thos 'nice' drunk people. Then there are the Victoria boys at Complex on Abbott. They are truly the nicest hip hop boys around. Then my old party hound girlfriend at Paradise Cove in Victoria who sold me my new fave long shirt.
Belly love. My girlfriend had her annual birthday extravaganza in Victoria the last weekend of May. The birthday girl invited her belly dance instructor to come over and give us all lessons. They really work your, ahem, love muscles. I think I'm going to take some more lessons. My past experience as a wannabe bhangra dancer should come in handy.
Cell phone love. I love my cell phone. It's now my only link to the outside world since my move into my pink kitchened-bathroomed bachelorette pad. Lots of others like their cellphones too. In fact I've seen countless 15-30 year olds be on the bus, in restaurants and at the bar together and do nothing but hold hands, neck and text or talk on their cell phones but never to each other. Romantic huh?
Crack love. Refer to Commercial and Broadway or Hastings and Carrol around the middle of the month for more info.
Food love. Each Tuesday I take the #44 out to UBC for my Food and Travel writing class. I lurv it. Our instructor loves food. He's very passionate about artisan foods and travel and it makes me just want to pick up and take off. Or instead I could start an international dinner club. I used to know someone who was in one. Takers?
Video blog lurv. My fellow recent car owner friend Mel features some pretty funny videos on her blog. Check it out. Makes me want to get a life.
Bus driver love. Nothing spells compassion more when you have to run for the bus, pushing people out of the way, to catch the bus as its pulling away and the driver slams on the brakes. Opens the door. Score.
Birthday love. I had one recently. Cards, gifts, kisses, red wine (lots and lots) and food came my way. Thanks.
Adult contempo love. I discovered an Eric Clapton CD last night unpacking. Listened to it, drinking my beer alone in my new place. Felt very grownup, if not a little alcoholic.
Fug love. I am a bitch. I'm glad I'm not alone. Thanks for the hookup Elly.

That's all the love for now.

so long sucka

2006-06-02T10:14:00.000-07:00

Last night I had my last ride home from work on the skybus and the #9. It was a little bitter sweet. There were the usual smells, junkies, pushy senior citizens, drunken youths. As one close to my heart says, "the folks at Commerical and Broadway are people of distinction." As of Saturday I'll be living in trolley bus land - the West End. I finally found a sweet, mini-abode to rest my laurels until I figure out what to do with my life (ie. Vancouver: should I stay or should I go?) I'm excited, but of course a little tense. Who likes moving anyway? Luckily I've got two great Merritt exports to help me.

I'll miss East Van. I fully intend to hop in the Fox on the weekends to venture east of Ontario Street for my produce (Donald's) and moule frites (Stella's). I'll definitely be coming this way for the Commercial Drive Car Free Festival via transit, of course. Maybe then I can live my glory days on the #9. I'm wondering what to do with the bus blog. I'll be walking every where or driving since I'll be leaving spitting distance from work, friends, etc. Not much fuel for blogging.

Sorry this almost final post couldn't be more inspiring.

to thine own smell be true

2006-05-10T07:57:00.000-07:00

Yesterday was a stinker of a day to be on the bus. The legend of the stinky East Van bus experience grew into reality yesterday. In the morning on skybus on the way to work people were farting up a storm. From the Stadium stop all the way to granville (about 25.4 seconds) I pretty much held my breath. They were morning, just got up farts. Like the guy standing in front of me had got up, grabbed a quick coffee and ran onto the skybus. Yech. I guess that's what I get for going into work a little earlier - it won't happen again.

Then last night coming back from yet another dissapointment of an apartment viewing someone was releasing their own special perfume on the #99. The smell was a mix of stinky feet, wet leather, and Abbotsford all rolled into one bundle. I'm usually pretty tolerant of smells because I can be a smelly bugger myself - but not yesterday. I had to hoist open the window and sort of tilt my head towards the rushing air. I wonder if it looked obvious?

I couldn't figure out if it was the two UBC environmental studies-looking students with dirty hands, old hiking boots and gardening implements sticking out of their MEC bags. Or if it was the nuvo-hippie with her cherry-red bob, dirty flip flops and bloody heels (which I can also relate to, being a disaster in almost anything with a 1.5" heel). Unfortunately the smell was with me for the ENTIRE ride from Sasamat to Commercial drive. I would've probably pulled a David Blaine if I had tried to hold my breath that long.

bursting at the seams

2006-05-02T16:16:00.000-07:00

I feel like I'm bursting at the seams. Mega change lately. Getting a new home. Got a new car. Quitting an old job. I can't wait for the summer because I'll be working less and living more. I'm so positively chuffed with the world right now. This morning I had to wait for 5 skytrains to pass until I could hop on. It didn't bother me a bit because I walked to the intersection of hell in the sun and felt all nostalgic for my neighborhood. Oh well. C'est ca. I feel like an overstuffed pillow of glee. Busting at the hem with stupid grins. I know - cheesy. If you knew my family, especially my dad's side plus my mom, you'd know that I come from a long line of cornballs. So humour me.

Things I can't get enough of lately:

Working on the patio at the MG
My boy's new abode and his lack of gorilla room mate
Arcade fire (so 2004 I know, but so good, best quebecois export since Trudeau himself)
My fox
Zach Braff (I'm going to rent Chicken Little for godsakes just cause he's in it)
The thought of spending my birthday in Merritt with my high school girlfriends
Taking the #9 - its going to be a thing of the past very very soon.
The peacefulness, actions and folklore of babies - Molly, twins Ben (even when you're pukey) and Clara, plus my coworker's nameless baby boy who was born hours after going to a Haisla ceremonial event.
Cherry blossoms
My friends - even when I miss their birthdays and never communicate with them except for knitting emails and funny forwards and reading their blogs or on dizzying breakfast/ dinner/ art gallery dates.
Tony Bennett - yes they old coot's coming to town and I'm saving my pennies to go see him.
A Change of Tongue by Antjie Krog - her prose is poetry. Reading her soliloquies on the transformation in South Africa is like eating whipped butter on my grandma's fresh bread. It's a week overdue from the library and I can't seem to return it.
The fact that my soon-to-be-former colleagues are being extra super sweet and helpful and supportive of the fact that I'm leaving them for nothing at all except what my heart says.
The fact that I'm regressing into slightly obsessive fandom of my youth. I heard NKOTB today and almost lost it.
The sun - did I mention I'm solar powered?

the dark

2006-04-22T11:09:00.000-07:00

So I'm moving out of my East Van abode for June 1st. This weekend I'll start actually sniffing around in potential neighborhoods in earnest. The big considerations for the new abode are in order of importance:

access to a garden and/or balcony so that I can grow things
distance from junkies and/or nayerdowells who scare me (in abundance in current neighborhood)
West of Main Street and north of 30th streets
Mode of transport needed to get to work.

I'm looking around City Hall and the Ontario street neighborhoods and Kits so far. If anyone hears of a sweet bachelor or small one bedroom...

Last night I went to an art show on Granville at a store called Organized Kaos. I packed the Fox full of hipsters and tootled down to the street of debauchery. I was playing cupid between a couple of friends of mine. My boy said the guy wasn't a catch. I of course defended him because he's my friend and I try to concentrate on all of his 'good' characteristics. The girl I was trying to fix up is a super smart, sassy, gorgeous friend. What was I thinking?

The highlight of the night was seeing the dark. He's a graffitti artist (stencil/wheat paste) that lives in the downtown eastside. Sometimes he's featured on the wooster collective. One of his more noticeable pieces is on the wall at Pigeon Park - one of the lovelier of the sights I see when taking the #7 up Carral street. It's too bad none of his art was there; he probably wouldn've blown all the other artists out of the water price wise. I hear he's expensive. There was some amazing little paintings there for between $15-45. The dark's up on the talent spectrum with Zach Braff (writing), Justin Bua (painting) and Tony Bennett (singing). Don't laugh I'm serious. I was hoping some of his tortured artistness would rub off his skinny back bone to me.

Trying to be creative these days is like popping zits on a skin care model - it ain't happening. Trying to find the outlet, even more difficult.

hippies' spring eternal

2006-04-18T22:08:00.000-07:00

Last weekend was full of fun visits from one of my favourite Garden City girls, Leah. She came down to 'study', eat long meals for passover and to get right out s-faced with the posse and crew. I hosted folks for biryani at my place and then we all took the bus downtown to see the Doers and Gregg McPherson. I felt like one of those rowdy groups of 19/20 year olds on the bus travelling to cheap beer night. Leah sat on Dylan's lap. I stumbled around in my boots and Elly took photos. Oh to be a drunken student again. I'm hoping that Leah finds time to write a guest column for the bus blog as she had some pretty interesting bus times while visiting Vancity. Some of these times were photographed too. Hold you breath people the pics are on the way...

But for now I'll share my quinessential hippie moment with you. I was taking the #6 Davie into the Westend today and suddenly there were hippies everywhere. Live the magnolia and cherry blossom petal that are lining the gutters, so too are the hippies for spring. Ahhhh. Being a former redneck, former hippie, now basically a bonafide yippie, I usually consider hippies with a mixed reaction of shock, repulsion, nostalgia and warmth. These feelings are usually bound by the degrees of smelliness, dreadiness and stonededness of said hippies. The ones on the bus today were neither smelly nor too dready. They were actually so sincere and sweet I wanted to hop into the Fox and drive straight to Nelson.

I was sitting right next to them on one of the bench seats in the back of the bus, while they sat facing forward on one of the deuce seats. She had quasi-dreads and that fat nylon yarny stuff that was en vogue to tie in little girls' hair in the early 80s. The purple and blue yarn was woven throughout here fairly clean, semi-loose dreads. As she talked about dandelions and the softness of the leaves right before they bloomed her boyfriend kept giving her these wispy little kisses. He looked some one of the half-goat, half-boys from Narnia or something. They were actually unbearably cute. If one needed hippies for, say, Madame Tussaud's wax mueseum, they would be perfect specimens to pose as eternal wax statues.

What I liked about them both was how they were obviously blissed out by spring. He asked her when her ferry was leaving (to some gulf island no doubt). She replied at 6:50pm. He asked, 'In an hour?'. She said yes and they casually talked about traffic and how they would get out there. NO STRESS. No snippy comments. Total relaxation. She then went on and on to gush about how Fritz's makes the best poutine in the world. If there is one hippie attitude I could have it would be that: timeliness, what timeliness? Who cares...

beasties, blagg, and calamity

2006-04-10T21:58:00.000-07:00

I think I'm falling in love with Tod. He's a sweet, obedient and has only cost me a wee chunk of change so far in brake repairs. He's beetled me around town with minimal amounts of funny noises/gas consumption.

The transit gods are still being lovely to me. I've been blessed with a wealth of transit-only- treasures. Namely:

ipod karaoke singers - I sat across from a serious business suit rocker last week. He full on belted it out at least two David Bowie songs a couple decibels higher than a whisper. Why would I buy a nano and download music videos to watch when I ride the skybus with people like this?
unlimited over the shoulder reading. I'm a nosey person - with a mustang of an imagination. If you're reading something near me on the bus/skytrain then don't think that I'm not going to start my pop analysis of your personality, because I will. Choice reads this week have been: Aurora business magazine (50 ruppees), the Vancouver Sun business section and 'The 5 people you meet in heaven' by Mitch Albom.
the old man wearing the G-spot cap and the moment I shared with a cutie of a banker on the #9. There was this wrinkled old man sitting across from me and the banker. He was wearing a neon green/white track jacket and a navy blue hat that looked like he got it for free at some fundraiser or corporate function. "G-spot" was scralled across the front of the cap in white embroidered letters. I sniggered the whole 8 blocks between Commercial and Nanaimo, and discreetly pointing and then sharing "Does he know what his hat logo means?" looks.
Loads of bus runners. I love bus runners. People who sprint like Donavan Bailey for the bus, and make it, are like my own little olympics but weekly.
Old chinese ladies. I take the bus with the same 5 tiny ladies every week. One morning in the winter, one lady was doing jumping jacks and callestenics at our stop. Why the hell not. When you're cold, you're cold right?

Some non-bus related goodies:

I love the Beastie Boys. Look at them. I want to be like them when I'm 39. Rocking the funk and full on late 30s suave, despite the greys and the wrinkles, but still so Brooklyn. Brass Monkey, that funky monkey.

Calling all Vice Dos and Don'ts fans. Check out Alex Blagg's 'Just Don't' March 31 blogg.

My new favourite radio show. It's called Radio Free Calamity and is produced by a couple kids in Toronta. If you have obnoxious siblings (like I do, 3!) you'll be able to relate to every single digital second of this.

granta

2006-04-03T14:50:00.000-07:00

The little fox paid started paying herself off this weekend. She (underwent a sex change too) took me to North Van, Point Grey, my friend Eliane's birthday and the the Mac Grill while I worked. Having a car is bliss, somewhat. Except when I gas her up. It cost me$39.85 for about 36 litres plus a very guilty conscience. Has anyone seen Syriana? You'll know what I mean re: guilty conscience if you watched it. If you don't, go watch it. Lots of dodgy, corrupt men involved in the oil trade, never mind the environmental impacts of all that oil production. I'm going to do some research on the 'cleanest' gas I can buy, plus the most Canadian. I may as well suppport my cousins over in Alberta working the rigs. I think I'm going to buy some carbon credits off set my guilt.

Back on the bus this morning though. I've decided that I will use taking the bus as an excuse to exercise. What I consider exercise, that is. Sprinting the block and a half to the bus stop counts. So does walking the 8 blocks to Commercial and Broadway. But really, I've made a little pact with myself to walk the furthest possible each morning to work (ie. get off at Burrard or Granville Street skytrain stations or the furthest possible stop on W. Pender on the #7) and at night. First walking, then running. As in running in the morning. Soon, very soon, I'll join the legions of Vancouver runners. But for now I'll walk, thanks.

I had a loverly ride on the #7 this morning. I relish my time on that bus. There's not really a better way to start the day than digging your nose into a book for 20 minutes and looking up and you're two blocks from work. I'm reading the Winter Issue of Granta. There are some amazing essays and short stories by some super duper African/Afriphile writers. My fave fave fave Nadine Gordimer's in the issue, as is journalist Lindsey Hilsum, Kwame Dawes and Moses Isegawa. If you can find it second hand I'd recommend buying it, even if you're not into Africa. Friends in Vancouver are available to borrow if they provide collatoral like their first born or something.

the transit gods are kissing my ass

2006-03-30T23:07:00.000-08:00

So I took the plunge and forked over the last of my savings for a VW fox on Monday. He's already on the road and insured and making funny noises. I was assured by my mechanic wizzo little brother that the two things I listed over the phone to him were easily fixable. I'm hoping he'll want to come to town to visit big sister and change my brake shoes or unsqueak my fan belt. Despite the existence of Tod in my life (I've named him after Tod, from the Fox and the Hound, my ultimate favourite pseudo-gay lovers Disney movie of all time), I've decided to continue taking the bus. For the earth, for my blog, and mostly for money. Gas is going to squirt up in cost this summer to disgusting prices and my insurance was that much cheaper if I don't drive foxy Tod to work daily. So I won't. So there.

The weird thing about taking the bus this week has been the relative loveliness of it all. It's as though the bus gods are smiling down on me, trying to get me to come back to their side of transit heaven, or shall I say hell most the time. The skytrains have been relatively dumbass free. The buses frequent. The experiences grand. Take this morning for instance. I was in the zone, taking the 'convoluted' (see below) way to work when I ran into my friend Mel at the Nanaimo stop. What a nice little encounter so early in the morning. Then there was the marathon bus sprinter who sprinted two blocks uphill to catch the #3 Main as I was on my way to pick up Tod. Seriously, the traffic was just so and the driver just kind enough that the aviator, hoody clad cutie was able to actually catch the bus while navigating his way past the hookers of the City Motor Hotel and the hippies of the Foundation. Love it!

So I'll continue to take the bus.

bandwagons

2006-03-24T09:46:00.000-08:00

I wanted to recommend a very pretty blog to you all: Mini-bus diaries. Great pics of travels through South America. Vancouver designer Lyndsay Simmonds and her partner headed off a while back to tour through Bolivia, Brazil, Argentina and Chile with their toyota mini-bus.

One of my (former) favourite bus reading materials and Vancouver weekly is starting to turn to schlock. Recently my favourite columnist from the Westender disappeared from their pages. If anyone ever read 'In the City' or 'Bankgeek' you know who I'm talking about. Elaine Corden's writing was always witty, erudite and before the trend hit. The Westender is trying to go all lifestyle on us and I'm not sure it's working. Even their amazing "My Digs" columnist Carla Gillis has left and I'm afraid the homes featured on that page will be there just cause there pretty and not much else. Hmmm. Makes me sad. If anyone agrees with me that their conversion to pander to yuppie Yaletowners or middle aged Kitsilano folk with mortgages and hummer strollers, you should email them demanding that Band Geek return and that their editorial direction move back to left of centre edgy, East Vanny.

Last night my friend Elly and I took the #9 back to my place for a mushy dinner. My wisdom teeth are still healing from the yankage last week, so most food goes into a blender these days before touching my lips. Elly was making fun of me for being a 'late bandwagon jumper' (my words not hers). I become unreasonable pysched and stoked on movies and music well after they're en vogue. I kind of pride myself in this quality. How would people like Luke Wilson (Royal Tannenbaums, 2 years after release), Zach Braff (Garden State, 1 year after release), Salma Hayek (Frida, 4 years after release) make money if people like me didn't continue to watch their films once they've shuffled off the new release shelf.

Whatever. I'm a bit slow, but what I lack in speed I make up for in enthusiasm. Like my obsessive rotations of The Whigs, an amazing little band from Athens, GA that I saw in NYC. What a minute, I don't think many people have heard of them. Does this mean I'm starting a bandwagon?

Rain rain rain in Vancouver. I'm heading to Victoria this weekend to meet my friend's new baby, Molly! Finally. I hope she likes the little goodie I got her at the Malcom Shabazz African market in Harlem.

PS. I looked at the Volkswagen last night. It was so compact and cute and seemingly perfect. Good price, good clutch, CD player. I may be sold. Tonight I'm off to see the Volvo and the Subaru.

the new convoluted way to get to work

2006-03-23T15:52:00.000-08:00

This morning I was in a RAGE thanks to my trip to work. There are an abundance of retards that ride the skytrain. I'm not talking the 'politically incorrect' sense of the word or a reference to mentally handicap. No no. I have armloads more respect for handicapped, the developmentally challenged, even the odd mentally ill methhead than I do for my fellow sktrain passengers. I'm just talking textbook, archetypal dumbasses. And who knows, maybe they feel the same way about me. Fine. We're even then.

Here's the scenario....

I left home early this morning to get to work early for a meeting and to return Garden State (which i luuuuuuuurv, see separate blog dedicated to the lovely, cute, serenly witty Zach Braff). I caught my usual #9 Broadway to Commercial, zipped over to Applause Video, returned the DVD and hiked up the escalator to the platform. It's about 8:20 by this time. The trains are rolling in, as usual the people getting on crowd the doors so that the sardines inside can't get off. Commuters will form a semi-circle blocking those trying to walk out of the sky train, just so that they can push by once the poor people are done streaming out. The process probably takes twice as long as it should. Dumbasses. But wait, the people waiting for the sky train aren't the only ones who have no comon sense whatsoever.

When you look inside the train and see that there are only 1 or 2 people in the aisles, standing between the seats holding onto the overhead, handles, you have to ask Why? I could say because Canadians are shy about their personal space but then to disprove that theory I just have to look at each doorway to the skytrain to see about 20 people crowded around the entrance. Squished. Like smoked oysters, actually come to think of it that's what the skytrain smells like. Oh, and here's the kicker. There's usually Transit workers standing around picking their nose, talking on their cell phones or drinking coffee. No one tries to teach these dolts how to ride the bloody train properly.

So I waited for 3 trains and then decided to take an Eastbound train to the next stop in the opposity direction to my destination. Essentially I doubled back on my journey downtown, and travelled an additional, oh, 13 blocks out of my way to the Nanaimo stop. When I arrived there were a lot of people and I very nearly threw myself down on my knees and threw a tantrum. But, when I got to the other side of the platform one of the blue-uniformed Tranist workers had a radio-transmitter to his mouth. And for the love of god he was barking out orders.

"Stand back the next train is coming. Don't worry folks there are another 3 trains after this one, back to back. Please clear the walkway for people getting off the skytrain."

I felt like kissing him. Seriously. He was a like an angel from public transit heaven. People obeyed. It was fantastic. The trains were just as full as when they arrive at Commercial and Broadway but the process was just orderly enough to avoid the fucking horrible jostle of Commerical and Broadway. BUT! I had to battle the masses swarming around the entrance like flies to those zapper lights. When I got into the train I noticed enough space for about 4 medium-sized folks (I consider myself a large) between the single rows of seats. I said, 'Excuse me I'm just going to squeeze past you into that 10 feet of free space there." I managed to stomp on two small people on the way.

My whole life I've been conscious of my size. I'm tall, big boned and depending on the season, I have a rotund ass. I swear to you though, I can compact into a small space, comfortably, respectably when needed. But the two munchkins (who were grown up, I don't tend to trapple kids) were taking the space of two of me with their briefcases and postioning of their little bodies. Why? Maybe it's some napoleanic defiance mechanism thing. Like, "I maybe small but I can take up just as much space on the sky train as the size 42 suit over there."

After a couple of firm, "Ahem, excuse mes" pointed down at the minis I managed to claim my space. There was air, there was room for a couple more people. My largish purse was held tight to my bod to allow for others to pass. Not rocket science not even polite, just common sense. Move into the not full spaces to make room for more folks in the full spaces.
* * * * * *
To balance out all that Ranty bad energy, I've got some good news....In the spirit of "I'll have my cake and eat it too" I've managed to scrounge enough cash despite my travels south for a beater. Right now its a draw between a Subaru wagon, a Volvo Sedan or a Volkswagen Fox all circa mid-1980s. Votes?

New York/Atlantic City was FABOO. Americans know how to ride the subway. In no way whatsoever would I trade my citizenship, but man I would import some sassy Brooklyn girls and guys up here to give lessons on how to board a train in rush hour. I've started a little fiction piece based on one of my adventures at the Herald Square Station with Christopher Janney's public art/sound installation "Reach". I may let it out of wraps one day, right now its pretty lame.

butterflies in the big city

2006-03-10T08:41:00.000-08:00

Sorry, I saved this as a draft and forgot to publish it.

A quickie from New York. I lurv this town. I've been here for a week writing, art gallerying and riding the subway. I've managed to pick something up along the way a little bug in my throat. Feels like I've swallowed a couple of gonads.

On Monday, my first day of riding the trains alone I was so nervous. The Merritt in me was really kicking in. What if I get lost? What if someone kidnaps me? There's 11 million people in New York? Will anyone notice if I go missing. Manhattan is so dense and peopled, its daunting to me, girl of valleys, wide grassy meadows and forests that cover armsweeps of vistas.

I could spend a summer here exploring each subway stop's neighborhood. I've visited Strawberry Fields, Columbia University, the Financial District, Harlem (Malcom X Blvd!) and Brooklyn so far.

Amber (friend that I'm visiting - lives in Astoria, social worker, former South African travel/intern buddy) and I had the MOST amazing dinner at NYC's only South African restaurant, i-shebeen Madiba. It was so authentic - in a semi- sketchy hood, all South African waiters, almost bad service, amazing, large food portions and Felix Laband playing on the stereo. I can't wait to return.

travelling with Tank Girl

2006-02-16T22:59:00.000-08:00

So the list of ten reasons why I love taking transit is going to have to wait a while because i have a more important reason to write tonight.

My mom's dog, Tank Girl, died tonight. Tank's personality and her attitude towards the people who came into her life, like so many lovely Rottweiler/Border Collie cross mutts epidomized both love and loyalty. Whether you were someone who fed her a cookie or took her for a 'car ride' (one of her best hobbies), she could basically size you up and determine whether or not you were worthy of her love. Usually you were. The funny thing is, most people who met her were the ones who ended up loving her instantly. (Cheesy as it sounds I just sent out a group email to all of my friends and acquaintences tonight with the news, I expect a 95% reply rate on the missive.)

Lately I've been thinking alot about the notion of love. What makes people love eachother?Wh love? What makes you fall out of love? How folks love. Tank loved in a lot of ways, but once she loved you, man were you a lucky human. She cuddled like your best friend. She cleaned like your frenetic grandmother. She made messes like your most obnoxious brother. She was really tolerant and above all patient. I used to take her to raves for godssake. She had these super knowing eyes, beautiful milk chocolate brown eyes than would look deeply into yours. When you were down she'd lick your hand gently, nudging you as if to say, "Suck it. I love you. Now lets go to the park." When you were up, it was contagious and she'd be as giddy or happier than you. In my twenty some years I've rarely met many humans or been to many places that were as intuitive and natural in their affection as Tank Girl.

We called her Tank Girl after her chubby puppy figure. My mom got her when I was in grade 12. Both of us were going through our party stage - me because I was about to graduate highschool and was allowed to drink, her because she was a new divorcee sorting through the web of wasted matrimony. A couple of months before we had lost Kootenay, the 'perfect dog'. Kootenay was super smart but just dog enough to be hit by a truck on one of Merritt's major byways. Tank Girl was the replacement and it took us a long time to let go of Kootenay and love her with our hearts. It makes me really sad to think back to how we used to compare her all the time to Kootenay when she didn't house train as quickly or learn her commands in as short a time. The thing is, while Kootenay was the smart one, and loving. Tank's heart was probably twice the size and her imperfections almost made her love and be loved all the more.

So anyways this blog is about transit and travelling so I'll leave you with this little image. The year I took care of Tank when my mom went travelling she took the ferry over to Vancouver with me a few times. She was such a friendly canine that when I would leave her in the canine area in the bowels of the ferry, and would go upstairs for a hot chocolate I'd always return to Tank charming someone. Whether it was a fat faced little pug or a super yuppy Vancouverite, she entranced them in a matter of minutes with her easy smile and her engaging eyes.

Love baby pure love.

almost, finally, sometime

2006-02-09T16:02:00.000-08:00

Bad blogger. Bad. I know. Don't start. Guilt is a big part of my life so I'm not looking for it here. November until now has been a bit of a shitshow in terms of the warpspeed at which my life travels and my decreasing time management skills. Christmas great in small town Alberta with mom: $10 cowboy boots, $3 belt buckles, 10 lbs. of baking and a blender top! Followed by a whirlwind, intense 48 hours of NYE mayhem with my bitches Elske, Taryn, Chelsea and Jeets (involving vodka, I know, slow learner, parties and a couple of trashed Fairmont hotel rooms). Then there was the trip to Whistler. One of my oldest friends had a baby: welcome to the world beautiful Molly. I've also organized one failed birthday party and decided to cut back to 3/4 time at my day job so that I can write more. All this happened between Dec. 23 - Jan 31. Whoa.

One of the reasons why I've been such a bad bus blogger is that I was considering purchasing a car. A 1985 Jetta or a 1986 Volvo turbo. I had some cold hard xmas bonus cash burning a hole in my pocket and wanted some wheels. Commercial and Broadway is a wealth of diversity and activity during the day but an absolute nightmare at night. So I started trying to find affordable, comfy and stereoed cars on Craigslist. Not as easy as I thought but there were prospects. Until the voice of reason that is my grandfather jumped in and told me about my cousins' newly purchased 1985 Jetta that went kaput faster than you can say sauerkraut soon after he took possession.

So after about three weeks of half-ass searching I decided, that no, like most commitments in life, this is another one I will avoid. Instead I'm going to New York in March for 8 days to explore Manhatten, Queens and the Bronx solo. I'll be staying with my old yankee travel mate Amber who I met in South Africa 3 years ago. Good times. Who needs a car anyways...

Tomorrow: 10 reasons why I heart the bus. Seriously.

sport of bus nature

2005-11-02T09:38:00.000-08:00

Since graduating from high school athletics have really slipped from my priority list. Unfortunately my years of basketball, volleyball, swimming and running withered away into quarterly, or bi-annual occurences. Now, athletic activity usually constitutes a sprint up the stairs of the restaurant I serve at or the occasional night of dancing (which doesn't really count if you tally up all the bevvies I consume to get myself revved up) or the odd sorry tennis match (with my Aussie-schooled friend who pummels me time after time with aces).

Luckily, for my ass size I am a bus rider. I manage to keep my family's heifer tendencies at bay thanks to the misadventures I have in catching or not catching the bus. Riding the bus is a sport. Where as in university I refused to run for a bus because I was worried about my outfit getting ruined or my platforms betraying my ankles or just plain not looking cool, now I revel in sprinting for the #9, #6 or #7. My heart races (rare these days), I work up an instant sweat (rarer still) and get all flushed (not so rare, unfortunately, when I drink red wine: often). When I hop on the #9 after a sprint from my house, 20 meters, my chest pulses with pride because I actually caught as it was about to pull away. I especially take pride in my sprint prowess like this if I pull off the feat in my 'grown up shoes' or a skirt. Fuck looking professional, I'm gonna score that layup, er, I mean catch that bus as though my life depends on it. If I'm gonna sprint less than 10 times a year it might as well be for something worthy like meeting friends on time for beer or getting to work.

distance makes the heart grow

2005-10-18T21:37:00.000-07:00

Cheesier.... in the 48 hours back from my first trip 'out east' (Montreal-Fredricton-Halifax-Quebec City-Montreal) I've realised that the buses and trains in Vancouver are purdy damn great. If I got a shirt from my time in Montreal printed it would say, "I heart Montreal, but the Metro's ass."

While I dug the 'Main' and ruddy Hochalaga areas, the poutine and sassy middle aged francophone waitresses I missed good old translink while exploring Canada's 'City of Sin'. Before I start the 'why the metro sucks' list, I'll briefly outline why I'd move to Montreal in a smoked meat minute:

1) poutine & cheese plates - can you say, "Thank god for stretchy pants!" If you stay for any amount of time in Montreal you're bound to either start or end the night with cheese and lots of it.
2) the incredible niceness of being - maybe there was ecstasy in the water the days we were there but, seriously, people are back bendingly nice. Start off in your broken Western Canadian French and all of the sudden they are giving you the most detailed directions or recommending somewhere better.
3) micro-brew Quebec beer - especially the selection at "la barbarie" near little Italy on St. Laurent
4) the clothes - even the Quebecois Zellers/Bay equivalent, Simon's, is cooler than out west. Think a cheap, French winners.
5) the blatant cool Euro-Cancuck ethos - if Montreal doesn't make you proud of being from Canada, you probably still wear stirrup pants and feather your bangs.
6) Old Montreal - cobblestone streets, coffee shops, the outdoor market hints at London, Amsterdam
7) the pot - everywhere you walk you smell it. Looking for a BC surrogate? Go to Montreal.
8) the servers - there are a lot of lifers there. They're good. They're mostly bilingual and they can rattle off the menu while exhaling cigarette smoke through their nose and barking at another table.
9) the drivers. crazy. fast. - a really good excuse to not have a car and get to know the Haitian/Quebecois/Rwandan/Congolese taxi drivers of the city.
10) French Canadian cougars - go to Jell-o Bar on any given Saturday when R'N'B staple the Freddie James Project is playing and you'll see the creme de la multicultual greyhair of Montreal's cougars. Bring on the gold spandex, blonde hair extensions and boho halter tops. Oi vai - in a good way.

Now that I think of it the Metro is not that bad. Its hot and dirty. One of our hosts told us each station was designed by a different Montreal architect. I think they all looked the same except maybe for the for the varying colours and tiles of 1970s tile jobs. The turnstiles nearly killed me a couple times. All in all no elbows were thrown a la Broadway and Commercial, a minimal amount of sketchy meth heads and practically no security. I think I can stand a little Metro if it means I get to explore the belly of Montreal.

Ololoynio

2005-09-04T09:36:00.000-07:00

Last night coming home from job #2 on the Nanaimo bus I saw the ghost of an old friend. Or at least I was reminded of him. Did you know that 7-11 is now selling Kenyan coffee? I can just imagine the prices the Kenyan coffee farmers are getting paid for their increased exposure in the North America's most famous piggly wiggly.

My friend's name is Ololoynio. He's Maasai from the Maasai Mara, Kenya's Serengheti. I haven't thought about him for a while. Tall and thin as a rail, he's probably married now, actually he's probably on wife #2. He used to work in this back packers camp in the Maasai Mara and is one of the kindest people I've ever met. I'll upload a photo sometime in the future. We spent a lot of time together over my 3 day visit to the park. He took me to his village to meet his mom and inifinite siblings and their numerous wives. I drank 'Sausage beer' and met a baby that had never seen a white person. The poor child was fuckin terrified at the sight of this big boned, red hair mzungu in his grama's house. I feel really guilty that I've only thought about him until now, because every day I could if I wanted to because the bracelet he gave me (also my fave piece of jewellery) sits in my room.

bumpkins and catcalls

2005-08-31T10:09:00.000-07:00

My summer holidays to my yeha-stomping grounds and a total lack of spectacular transit experiences prevented me from posting for the last few weeks. That is until my little brothers visited and I started noticing a disturbing little trend.

Last weekend two of my three little brothers came for a visit. 'Little' is a relative word. They are lanky mofos with mopish hair and razor-sharp sarcastic wits - the trademark of my paternal family. Generally speaking, whenever I need to be knocked down to the ground a bit I just need to spend some time with my brothers. They have no problem ground my oft inflated ego. Anyways, I digress, wtf does this have to do with the bus? As we travelled to and from Slam City Jam and on my commute to work Monday morning, I realized that there are subtle nuances to taking transit that generally, only urbanites know. Revelation, no, reality, yes.

I came to the conclusion this weekend that taking transit in Vancouver if your doing it for the first time, alone could be confusing. What doesn't really help country bumpkins like my brothers is the total lack of signage. There's no signs at the stops or really obviously in the buses/skytrains so you don't necessarily know how much to pay or where to stand, or how you should move to make way of others. It was cute and disturbing at the same time watching my bros fumble through the working-class intricacies of paying for their bus rides, standing on the wrong side of the escalator and blocking empty seats as they stood on the bus. Funny. Gave me something to tease them about.

***
East Broadway besides being a vein of constantly honking, smoke-belching traffic is also the street of cat calls. The streets aroud East Broadway should be renamed: Psssst Street, Hey Baby Ave and Wooowooo Crescent to warn the poor girls and women who have to trudge to the skytrain to participate in life. I swear to god that I could be wearing loose jogging pants and a burlap sack over my head, and buffons from Burnaby and Surrey would still catcall me. It sucks and it has made me hate walking that stretch of road. Oi vai.

the oldies

2005-08-11T23:28:00.000-07:00

During all my bellyaching about the public transit system or my misadventures I forget to mention the good stuff that happens on a daily basis. Well today was a perfect example of a little moment I'd like to share.

I used to be a prolific reader. I also used to have a lot more contact with old people than I do now. When I used to have more time I would tear through at least a book a month, sometimes two. No I'm lucky if I read one every 4-6 months. Unfortunately through the course of the past year and a half I don't sit down long enough to read more than a page or two. Magazines are my bread and butter these days becaues they provide the best reading fodder for my bus trips. Luckily I've discovered the #7 Dunbar bus in the past couple of months. It takes no less than 25 minutes to trundle me to and from downtown Vancouver from my home. This is my reading time.

This month's issue of Vogue features age and women of all ages talking about their age. Yes, a tired premise but there are some pretty good articles in this issue. I was reading an article about a women named Judith Jones, who is in her 80s and still works as a editor for Knopf Publishers. A really cool quote struck me: "A tavola non s'invecchia" or 'At the table no one ever grows old. The author was writing about how food and age are connected. At that moment I looked up and the bus had stopped in probably one of my favourite spots on Nanaimo Street, near Parker. It's a neighborhood of A-frame ranchers build compact and bursting with history. Most of the residents of this area are of Asian decent, probably Chinese or Italian/Portuguese. Flashes of time spent in Joburg's various little Italies and little Portugals flooded my head. Also at this same moment a stately old man hobbled onto the bus. He was a dapper looking old Italian man, whose friends (two women in their summer mumus and a gentleman in sustpenders with a big roman nose) dropped him off. It was almost spooky. Did I mention I'm superstitious as well?

I decided to bury my nose back into the Vogue to try and finish the article before we got to Broadway. As I finished the article I panicked and pulled the cord. Again, a little serendipity. I pulled it 3 stops before my regular one. I didn't mind the walk down Nanaimo. As I strolled I ran into 2 more sets of old people. A great granny being walked by her daughter, a granny no doubt. An older man walking in his walker around the corner from where I live. Sweet man. Sometimes they all smiled and winked. (I love winking, winking is a lost art form that I feel I need to carry on as a form of communications for generations to come. )

Not a bad way to end a Thursday really.

too much vodka, my pink skirt and no volcano

2005-08-08T16:46:00.000-07:00

I think I may be regressing a bit. Lately my life reminds me of high school in a lot of ways. I'm super busy with extra-curricular activity. I feel like playing basketball, but don't have the time and I'm prone to drinking too much alcohol. Cheap alcohol....

Saturday was going to involve a trip to Ikea - that bastion of faceless cool, yeah yeah. I needed to spend my hard earned tips on some cheap furniture. Unfortunately my ride, my trusty VW- driving-friend forgot all about me, so no furniture for me. Can I have some cheese with that please? Around 2pm on Saturday there was no way I was going to haul ass out to Coquitlam to then have to turn around bring my Gkojl table and Frnu chair back. So instead I hopped on the sky train and did some time on Robson St. Good for my ego (bought a skirt in my size from grade 9), bad for my bank balance.

After work on Saturday night was when the 16 year old reared her red hair and captured my mind for about 6 hours. Saturday was a semi-shitty day for me so I decided to deal by joining some co-servers for adult bevvies after work. This translates into pouring our Bellinis into kiddie cups and crashing a very young coworker's 21st drum'n'bass birthday party. There were about 5 of us swigging a 40lber of Vodka and cranberry on the way there and then to our fave gay disco afterwards. Not pretty. Let's just say that once again I was rescued by a cab driver and woke up at 11:30, 2pm and 4:30pm Sunday feeling like an egg on a Merritt sidewalk in July.

What made the hangover double shitty was that my plans to embrace my grownup, lefty-savetheworld ego on Sunday and attend the Under the Volcano music/activist fest in my favourite Van park, Cate's park were kyboshed. I tried really hard to rally my body into hopping on the #9 to go to North Van. I took a cold shower. I even started walking @ 2:30 to cath the bus. Bikini packed, sunscreen on, stomach muttering, "Fuck you! I'll show you to drink crown and vodka piled in the back of a car with three other drunkards." I had to admit defeat and turn around back home, to the porcelain god, then to bed. So alas my weekend was a bust, save the for the cute-as-hell pink skirt that makes me feel 16 again - sans vodka blackout.

a record

2005-08-02T10:16:00.000-07:00

I swear I took at least 15 bus rides this weekend. I believe on Saturday alone I took 7 different modes of public transit and one hefty cab ride. The busier I get the more buses I take. Last night the long weekend ended with me having an inner tantrum as I waited at the hell-on-earth-that-is-a-bus-stop @ Broadway and Commercial. I just missed the #9 (which drops me across the street from my place). I fumed for about 2minutes 45seconds before a cab went by. I flagged him, he cut across three lanes of traffic to deliver me home (chivalry isn't dead!). These days, my knights in shining armour tend to drive yellow cars.

tugboats and sunsets

2005-07-29T09:50:00.000-07:00

For the past week I've been relatively homeless. Once again, I am couch surfing. My roommate is rennovating and I can't sleep in my room because the entire contents of our living room, dining room and her guinea pigs are all being stored in my bedroom. But I digress....

Luckily, a friend has voluneered her lovely North Van couch to me. I've decided after three nights there and 6 rides on the 'Sea Train' that I ♥North Van. Walking to the sea bus every morning and taking the boat is a pleasantly different experience to the crush of elbows that consitutes riding the Sky train. People politely stroll on to the boat. There are always enough seats. Everyone quietly reads their papers or watches the mountains get smaller as we drift towards Vancouver. If you're gonna fall in love with Lotusland this is the way to do it. Its not a bad way to start your 9-5 slog. Plus! This morning I found a wharf where real live tugboat dudes hangout. Now I know where to go to ask for a ride. Fuck seadoos. I'm stoked on getting a ride on a tugboat.

*****

Calling all romantics. Looking for a place to take your sweetie with a killer view to enjoy the sunset? You don't have to do the Grouse Grind, you don't even have to go to English Bay. One of East Van's best rendezvous secrets is the Nanaimo street Skytrain station. The sunset view of the city is bloody gorgeous from the skytrain platform. This spot for an ideal cheap date: $2.25 each for the Skytrain ticket, $5 for your fave mini-bottle of booze, $0 for a brown bag = under $10 for lurv on a budget.

*****
At the very same Nanaimo street skytrain station there was a guy with a really cool hoodie last night. He was probably First Nations. On the front of his hoodie it said: Got land? On the back it read: "Thank an Indian". Love it! Hopefully with the the BC gov't' "New Relationship" document the message that the hoodie carries will diminish with time as First Nations once again gain some control of their lands, title and resources. Read these two articles here and here for more info.

Fireworks and almost fights

2005-07-28T09:39:00.000-07:00

In the past 12 hours I've experience the best of bus times and the worst of bus times. Let's start with the worst, cause its always more fun describing humanity's stupidity.

Last night was the annual Celebration of Light in Vancouver. For those of you not from Vancouver or who've never ventured to Kits/the West End late July here's the scoop. Basically the celebration is a bunch of fireworks. Big ass fireworks. Hundreds of thousands (I'm not kidding here) people flock to the shores of English Bay to watch 4 different countries compete in a show of choreographed fireworks and music (symphony orchestra stuff) on four different nights. For the city of Vancouver its a total logistical headache. For those aged 15-30 its a trip to Vegas - brown baggin booze an'all. For those of us working in the West End its a nightmare trying to get home any time after the fireworks. Trying to get from point A to point P is worthless until well after mid-night or two hours after 400, 000 Surrey, Coquitlam and Burnaby residents make their tracks home. Cabs dissappear in the madness and guess what the main mode of transport is? The bus. Our first bus wasn't so bad. The ride entailed the usual standing-room-only-squishyness. I was sandwiched between two large hairy dudes and my travelling companion. Things didn't get fun unti l we hopped on the connector bus to Kitsilano. That was a doozey.

You know its going to be a good bus ride when you get on board and the smells of liquor, cologne and sand are all having a good dry hump in the back of the bus. The culprits were a loud group of middle-class, university types in the back. The antagonist was a portly guy with a shirt like this drawing attention to his, I'm assuming, smaller than usual penis. Then there was ruffle skirt girl next to him doning a tight little tee "Buy me something". But the kicker was young petal of a boy in a black t-shirt with "Vagitarian" embossed across his pecks. Just like school on Sunday, no class. The Legend proceeded to yell, brag about how pissed he was, ask me if I was Austrailian, "Because, like if you were that would kick ass." Whatever that means. The Legend ended up pissing off a drunken Brit/Scott sitting a few seats up who kept on yelling, "Shut up!". The Legend took this cue to power up his not-so-flexed muscles and yip back. Along came the camo-Scott. The Vagitarian jumped in to save the legend and Buy Me Something lost her seat off the Vagitarian's lap. Shame. We scooted off the bus at the next stop, narrowly avoiding drunken brawl debris that was sure to start flying round the back of the bus. How unAustrailian of me.

The ride to work today was dull. It was all Starbucks and Fendi bags. Beige dockers and uassuming ties. West-side Vancouver middle-class. I wondered if there were any Vagitarians or Legends in the crowd. Judging by the slightly haggard looks on everyone's faces I bet there was.
****
So someone asked me about the significance of the 'indabusblog' URL name. She guessed it was my African obsession shining through and I was adopting the Ndbele pronunciation of some words. Ahhh. I wish I was that cool and creative. Bus Blog was taken. So was In Transit. Indabus is sort of homage to being in grade 9 and the Quebecois exchange student I was friends with who used to always sing, "I missed da bus" by Kriss Kross.

The Sea Train

2005-07-27T15:33:00.000-07:00

My friend Elske always teases me because I have transit dylexia. That is I get the names of Vancouver's translink vestibules wrong. Lately, your girl-about-transit-town (aka me) has been taking the Sea bus between North Van and downtown because she's homeless. My roomie is renvoating and as a result I get to stay in lovely North Van and take yet another distinct form of 'the looser cruiser'.

I call it the Sea Train. Not to be mistaken for the Sky Bus (aka the Skytrain). The Sea Train sounds like an Earth, Wind and Fire song from 1978. I much prefer it to the Sea Bus, which for some reason draws up visuals of adults in diapers and creamed broccoli.

Speaking of broccoli...I've been meaning to start this blog for a while. I am the proud owner of a one zone translink pass. Besides work and sleep, I would say my time spent riding various forms of transit is the third largest time sucker in my life. I live in East Van, approximately a 20 min car ride from all things I like and must do (job, 2nd job, boy, Main Street, the beach) so I spend copius amounts of time on the bus. Some highlights I've been saving to share with you from my 7 months of yanking the transit chain include: gout in gastown, junkie-shit smudges on the back seat and the international campaign against home-made doorags.

More later...