J'aime les filmes...

I've been bombarded by movies over the last month, but this week's offerings were far and away the best in ages.

Serenity is quite wonderful (especially if you're a silly dork like I am) and verrrry satisfying. (I'm hoping the series comes back... and that Carnivale follows suit with a Movie And A Resurrection). And Wallace And Gromit: The Curse Of The Were-Rabbit was quite adorable. (The bunnies were funny... but they're no Shaun.)

In the meantime, was delighted to learn yesterday that Royal Bank haven't quite screwed me as much as thought. I mean, I'm screwed, but the screwness isn't as long-term as I was expecting. Which is nice, for a change. And screwy.

Me mum arrives tomorrow. Hooray!

(later...)
My official review of Serenity at ChartAttack.com is here.

A break from our usual scheduled programming

Ugh, am still swamped (as expected, got to bed well after 4 a.m., so am feeling hardly perky), but just now had a surprising realization about my choice of friends.

As one of my pals smarmily joked that there was no way I could have belonged to the tomboy club as a child (dammit, I did. I did!), I noticed something about the people I generally tend to hang about with.

Almost without exception, all of my female friends were tomboys. Sure, I've befriended a couple of the girly types, but those I consider nearest and dearest were just as inclined to hate wearing dresses at school as I was (playing in a dress only gets fun when you're older and inclined to naughtiness. But even then, it's better just to take the damn thing off).

And male friends? Again, almost without exception -- all guys that generally get along better with women. Or are gay. (While there are a few exceptions to this rule, most manly-man types I've befriended generally just want to touch my boobs.)

Huh.

Schedules schmedules

It's after 2 am. I still haven't finished my assignment which is due tomorrow. Still have to read a book, write a synopsis and back cover copy.

Brain... getting mushy... urge to sleep... getting stronger...
With any luck, will get to sleep at 4 or 5. Perhaps I'll see the sunrise. How nice. I haven't done an all-nighter in ages.

Don't expect it will improve the quality of my work, somehow.

Thatta boy...

Possibly fearing for his safety and his legs, the fellow taking on the mess next door has abandoned the mower in favour of a heavy-duty weedwacker.

Did I ever mention that I suspect the old men have buried dead animal and human bodies in their yard? All of the weeds in the far back corner -- hardy Canadian types that stay green even through the early winter months -- have all died months ago.

Either that, or the old men have taken to using that corner as a toilet, as they don't have a working one inside the house.

Three, two, one... break!

Some youngish type fella has decided to brave the dense foliage of the backyard next door (owned by scary old men who have already had problems with health authories after the whole cat fiasco a month or two ago) with a lawnmower. All I can hear is "snap!" "crack!", and the occasional struggle of the gasoline-powered engine.

He's done maybe one-eighth of the yard, and already the mower is faltering and choking. I figure a) the engine will just give out; or b) the blades will tear off, bent and wrangled, and slice through his ankles.

What is this "stress" thing about again?

Was shuffling through Word On The Street today (a very fine literary street fest thing) and came across the Canada Arts Council (or whatever they're called). Turns out that the grant applications for writers are due this week. This week! Sound much like the Toronto Arts Council grant situation early this summer -- although at least I have more than 17 hours notice this time.

Magazine subscriptions purchased today:
Outpost
Wish
Maisonneuve
Fashion

Total amount spent on magazines for the next year : $40
My father's response to this news: "Toronto is really the worst place for you to be living." I have to agree.

Trying not to think of the mound of work I have to do for Wednesday, plus preparing for a short visit from most beloved mother-lady later this week. Ack. ACK!

Not to mention a certain writing opportunity that just came up which will, should I excel at it (or at least not completely screw up) could significantly improve my writing portfolio, marketability... and even my finances. Well, a tad anyway.

But noooooo. No pressure.

(Brain implodes with a small, breathy "fwathump." The world cheers. Banks cry.)

"Well, desserts aren't always right."

Had evening of goodness last night, as attended ex-coworker's birthday soiree at a cozy watering hole. Had to fight off a few brief moments of nostalgia for my old job. Not so much the work and such, but I did get to hang out with some damn fine people.

Naturally, I'm not one of those much inclined or gifted for commenting on sentimenal things, so instead just made many jokes, drank and had a relatively jolly time. Though I will say, it's sometimes easier when you only knew a few people. I worry that I may have unintentionally snubbed people -- end up talking to friends (as not wanting to abandon them and be Snotty Social Twat), then go chat with people I haven't seen in ages. It's a fine balance. And to be honest, I wasn't in a super great mood (believe I hid it quite well -- aided by several beverages, of course. It's also much easier in the company of fun people and amusing hypochondriacs). Was feeling all nice and benevolent, and smiled at birthday-fellow who got all defensive and snapped, "What?" at me. (Just like old times.)

Am delighted with my progress on the human front. I haven't expanded my friend circle in many years. I'm very cautious and tend not to trust people overly much, but am pleased with the possibility of two (perhaps even more) new additions. This is quite an achievement, as I tend to regard all living things as unreliable and potentially untrustworthy (this is especially true of cats, spiders that lurk on ceilings and people who don't read).

Wrapped up the evening by enjoying the delicacies of Rol San (tasty Chinese food on Spadina) in the wee hours of the morning with a couple of friends, forcing ourselves past the beyond-full mark. And then, as our chopsticks plucked at the tastiest of the remaining morsels, the cheque arrived, laden with Wing's fortune cookies.

Now, it's been a while since I've gotten cryptic messages from the universe, so I shouldn't have been that surprised (who else do you know who's received an online horoscope that read, "You have holes in your soul?") when my cookie darkly proclaimed, "Depart not from the path which fate has you assigned."

My friend looked at me worriedly and said, "But your current path is rather dark." Part of me agrees, but I'm not entirely sure which path my fortune cookie had in mind.

I like to think it's referring to my new habit of making the bed every morning and keeping the floor free of laundry. But I don't suspect fate comments on domestic keeping.

Word on The Street tomorrow. Thank god -- my Outpost subscription has just expired.

Hooray for religion!

It's true... I've finally found my true religion. Flying Spaghetti Monsterism. No, really (seriously, I didn't make this up... though I wish I did).

According to Wikipedia, the religion embraces the following:

• The Universe was created by an invisible and undetectable Flying Spaghetti Monster. All evidence pointing towards evolution was intentionally planted by this being.
• According to the pastafarians, the monster created the world starting with a mountain, trees and a midget and continues to guide human affairs with his "noodly appendage." Heaven is depicted as having a stripper factory and a beer volcano. Their prayers to "Him" are typically ended by "Ramen", instead of "Amen".
• Global warming, earthquakes, hurricanes, and other natural disasters are a direct consequence of the decline in numbers of pirates since the 1800s. A graph showing the inverse correlation between the pirates and global temperatures was also provided. This component of the theory highlights the logical fallacy of correlation implying causation.

(For amusing images and more complete information on this fascinating religion, I direct you to Wikipedia.)

And pirates rule. I've always wanted to be a pirate. Arrrr. ("Ah, Squiddy, I've nothing against ye. I just heard thar was gold in yer belly.")

Bow down to grandma....

A fine evening of booze in the Bloor/Bathurst 'hood today.

Here's what I learned:

1) White Cowbell Oklahoma are a disappointment. Somewhere along the way, they decided to get serious. Around the same time, I decided I didn't like them anymore.

2) I'm old. I look old. Surrounded by university students and suddenly realized that I was 10-12 years older than most of them.

3) But I'm still cooler. Twats.

4) I have good friends. The world's teeth don't seem to be quite so sharp when they are around.

5) After many months apart, beer and I are still good chums. But mojitos still rock my boat.

6) Somehow, I must be able to channel a blog into some format that will generate income, thus enabling me to pay back my student loans.

7) The Green Room truly does have a very fine patio.

8) Moe Berg plays The Smiths at The Tap. Unsettling in so many ways...

Typical me

Fuck.

Even in a crisis, I still have to go back and correct the typos and spelling mistakes.
Sad, really.

Sick of being me.

Will likely regret posting this today, but don't expect many read it. Fortunately.

Lost it today. I mean, really lost it.
Am still losing it.

How is it that something so stupid as money can completely ruin your life? Got completely fucked by Royal Bank and their bloody collection agency. And the car. And rent. And bills, bills, bills. All the regular things poeple do, but still manage to have enough money left over for life, and are happy doing it.

"It's procedure," Royal said, oblivious to the human being on the other side of the line, who was desperately trying not to bawl outright. They've put me in a situation where they're trying to extract money I don't have... and keep charging money on top of it.

Student loans have ruined my life. It's not hyperbole. I wish I had never gone to fucking university. Or college for that matter. Or that I was stupid enough to try and make a living off something so fucking not lucrative. Jesus, I don't even know if I can make a living do this. I'm sure as hell doing a piss-poor job of it right now. Even the bloody Toronto Arts Council think I'm a useless piece of shit.

I think stupid people are lucky. They always seem to be far happier and more content with little things... or nothing at all.

I don't what else to do. Am considering running -- taking a few things, and leaving the country. Start over. New name. I don't want Hannah around anymore. I kind of hate her right now.

Me? Procrastinate?

Today, I found this handy little quiz about procrastination (conveniently located on another writer's site -- sans surprise -- which you can find here ). And, being the consummate procrastinator, went forth and did the test.

The result? 39/100

"Your overall score on this test appears to be low. It appears that you don't procrastinate very often. This is great, as procrastination can be a major setback in reaching your goals. There is still room for improvement, however, so be conscious of the times that you do procrastinate and make an effort to stay on track."

Of course, the whole reason I took the test was to distract myself from a work that's due today. But I'm so relieved to know that I don't procrastinate very often.

NEWS FLASH: The Return Of The Prodigal Rodent!

Noticed in the last day or two, while desperately procrastinating and avoiding the world in general, that something keeps scampering around the air conditioner in the attic.

It's back.
It's trying to get in the house.
And the damnable squirrel is trying to get in through the noisiest means possible.

I have a sudden fear that in the midst of our winter season, I will do something innocent like remove a DVD from the shelf (oh, Shawn Of The Dead, will you ever cease to amuse me?) -- and where the slim crack in the wall of DVDs lies, a black, beady eye will swivel around accusingly. There'll be an unnatural hiss, before the bushy tail flicks and the creature will launch itself at my unprotected head. Within the space of an hour, the apartment will be totalled as I launch a full-scale assault on the squirrel. (Note to self: clean firearms. Also dust mace.)

But today, while it scrabbled and thumped on the metal outside the window, Chris stood up and thumped the plexiglass (we've already tried asking our landlady for a proper window -- I don't think it will happen). He roared furiously at the squirrel, "I'm going to kill youuuuuuu!!!!"

Then he sat down on the couch, his face mild and peaceful, and delicately took a bite out of his pizza.

Disadvantages to working at home.... #1

Back in TO early this eve.

Immediately began doing post-vacation laundry, fired off a few quickie emails and hopped in the shower (hanging out with smokers and animals during hayfever season = boo).

Was rinsing my very nice Biolage light conditioner out of my hair when Chris popped his head in the bathroom saying, "Hon... There's a publicist on the phone. Can you take a call in the shower?" Naturally, the cordless phone was in his hand while he was talking.

I exhaled loudly. Hopped out of the shower, hastily wrapped myself in a towel, and took the damned important phone call. It was just to confirm the street date for an article I was working on. I could almost hear the smirk in the publicist's voice when he said, "Sorry I interrupted your shower."

The smartass signed off an email a short while ago with "Now go dry off." I suspect I'll forever be known as The Writer In The Shower.

I need a secretary.

So long, farewell, and hello

We said goodbye to our little '91 Hyundai Excel today. Sold it for $60, where it will have one last fling with fame as a derby car. Ciao, my little rusty friend.

And as of tomorrow morning, we will have purchased (with financial assistance, obviously) our next little shitbox: a 1996 Ford Escort. This one, thankfully, is rust-free and has a fifth gear -- and significantly less boy-crap in it. I've been told I'm not allow to drive this one to Mexico, either... though I'm hoping to have a least one or two weekend getaways with it.

But where shall I plan a trip to? Montreal? Niagara Falls? Elora? Oh, the places I'll go...

BTW, much like I expected, the casino showed us no love this evening. So I'll just have to go back to watching the post for that random cheque worth a small fortune. I wish it'd hurry up.

Oh, balls...

Well, the summer might have been OK, but fall is starting to take a comically bad turn.

Seems my little emotional outburst when our care got de-plated wasn't without merit. The bad news is that the car (not including the $200 towing fee) is going to cost at least $700 to fix, plus the additional cost of new plates, etc. We just spent $800 three months ago to fix other things.

Which means the car is no longer reliable and has turned into a money pit. And we haven't got money for a new/used vehicle.

Fuck, fuck. fuck.

I wonder if a nicely worded letter might convince some well-meaning car company to help us out...

Summer Survey Fun

I think this was written by a 12-year-old. But no one could never accuse me of being terribly mature, so off we go...

1.) What did you do this summer that you didn't do last summer?
Wrote two kids' books. Started some other books. Started writing down ideas. Oh, and I was self-employed. That was new. I also ate some steak for the first time in about a million years. Then I was sick.

2.) Who did you mostly hang out with this summer?
Me. Also the boy, and several friends who enjoy my company. They're probably sick, too.

3.) Did you go on vacation?
When you're self-employed, you can always be on vacation. Even when you're working. ("I think I'll work at the beach today. Yes, that will be quite nice.")

4.) Is there anyone that you didn't see or didn't see as often as you wished?
Yup, there's a couple. But I just assume these people now hate me and/or are attempting to slowly remove themselves from my life without me noticing. I also didn't get to see Morrissey. That jerk.

5.) Where were you mostly this summer (location wise)?
Toronto, with a little bit of east-coast touring, couple weeks in Nova Scotia, and a short while in some shiny place called Los Angeles.

6.) Anything happen this summer that sticks out in your mind?
Certainly... Oh wait, I'm supposed to share it? (though I agree with Sarah -- that Golden Dogs boatcruise was wicked fun.)

7.) What song(s) remind you of this summer?
"The New" by Interpol. "Delicate" by Damien Rice. The Radio Dept. "Happy Alone" by Kings Of Leon. Errm.... I'm sure there are others.

8.) What is something you wish you had done this summer that you didn't do?
Published a book. Made more money. Traveled (difficult with lack of funds). Camping. Got skinny.

9.) Are you excited or not excited to go back to school?
Why yes, I am excited. (Am planning to "drop in" on some UofT lectures during slow times. Naturally, I won't be paying for it, so shhhhhh...)

10.) Any serious relationships this summer?
This summer, last summer, the one before that, etc... Also bonded well with my laptop.

11.) What movies did you see this summer?
Water, The Cave, Thumbsucker, Charlie And The Chocolate Factory, The Aristocrats, Howl's Moving Castle... And a zillion others.

12.) Overall, how would you rate this summer on a scale from 1-10?
A nice, solid 8. It had a little of everything. Maybe not much for excitement, but excitement tends to accompany bad things, and this summer was mostly full of goodness.

Silly rabbit, credit cards are for adults.

Oh, but the lure of shiny new plastic... so hard to resist.

No more shopping for me for the rest of the year. And next year too, for that matter. At least until I sell off one or two books and can start living like the 30-something I am. Or rather, am supposed to be.

In other news, I watched as an autobody fellow plunged a screwdriver into the rust of our car -- cringing as the probe slid cleany into the rust on the lower panels and the wheel wells, while little chunks of old, diseased car crumbled off into the dirt. Pitiful.

One day, I will look upon this period in my life and laugh.
(Oh, who am I really kidding? I already think it's funny.)

Nuts.

It's official -- the world hates me.

Left town today as Chris began vacation, so we decided to head north and visit his parentals in Midland. As we drove down our street, I looked at the gas gauge and said, " Whoops, we need gas." Chris agreed, but instead of stopping near a local gas station, he continued on, opting to buy our gas once we were on the highway.

I thought, "Well, whether it's bought in the city or way the hell out of town, it doesn't matter. We'll get reamed on gas prices anyway." (Gas having gone disproportionately high in the last week or so since Katrina.) As we hit the 400 and headed north, we pulled into the first service station, and immediately started making bets on the cost of gas.

We needn't have bothered.

The car ahead of us was pulled over by OPP inspection (crumpled hood which didn't look like the latch was properly closed, along with broken lights). Apparently the rust on our crappy little 1991 Hyundai Excel likely made the fellow in charge of pulling over cars piss himself with joy. He practically glowed as he indicated that we should pull in, too.

Now, dear readers, our car has been costing us several grand a year to run over the last few years. I've been pushing to car retirement, and to look into options for a new car, as it's obvious our poor little Excel wants to retire and putter off to the car graveyard. Chris, however, has decided to keep it around. But, we reasoned, it's been to several service stations in the last six months alone, and has all manner of work done on it.

To make a long story short -- we lost our plates. They quite literally took the plates off our car (ones Chris has had since he was 16) and told us there was no way in hell we could drive the car anywhere. It must be towed. Well, it was the shiny, worm-eaten cherry on my sundae of money miseries.

I cried. I tried not to -- the OPP fellows were awfully nice. We could have had a $600 fine, thanks to two holes in the floor (one on each side). But I cried anyway. They took me into the trailer with a man who quite likely the nicest tow-truck operator in the northern hemisphere. As I wiped my eyes (they kept reassuring me, saying, "Really, your repairs aren't so bad" -- not understanding how that car has continually fucked us over for money, and that we're not terribly well off to begin with), they looked bewildered at the panic that came across my face at the mention of a $200-$250 towing fee. On top of repairs, new plates, new stickers...

Now, you're probably thinking, "Why don't you just ditch the car?" Really, I would love to. But the car is needed to get Chris to work, way out in the wilds industrial Mississauga.

Well, it turns out, the rest of the towing operators wanted far, far more. They wanted $450 to get us to Midland. More distressingly, they were threatening the driver who had offered to help us out. You see, it wasn't his turn -- even though none of them were willing to cut their horrifying prices to help us out.

But now we're in Midland. A little panicky, a little stressed. And a wee bit depressed. The car is currently sitting at a service centre. No plates. And I have a fucking ton of work to do. Which I must get done now.

So enjoy the rest of your long weekend. Oh, and we're going to the casino (not to worry, we rarely spend more than $40), so if you've got any pull with the gambling/luck-type gods, we'd certainly appreciate any kind words.

This money bullshit is getting out of hand. Nuts.

This Matter Of Friendship

Many months ago (or possibly more than a year ago), a friend and I once had a conversation as we walked along. It consisted of the half-serious question -- would friendships benefit from a a pre-signed contract? (My chum actually wrote a column on it, but it was a mutual idea that seems to be gaining some merit as I grow older and watch friends disappear slowly, or vanish almost instantly. Perhaps I smell bad. I don't know.)

This contract, we suggested, would not be so much as legally binding, but a sort of a moral obligation. The contract would expire at the end of every year, at which point the two friends in question would be sent a notice stating that their agreement would need to be terminated, renewed, or renegotiated.

The contracts could start out simple -- "The following two parties agree to retain an understanding of friendship and camaraderie for the period of ____________ to ____________." Detailed in the contract could be rules outlining specific obligations (such as visiting and time spent together, outlining restrictions for additional support in times of crisis, decision-making veto power, birthday acknowledgements, invitation priorities, etc, etc).

This way, should a friend desire to end such a friendship, the contract could expire with less hurt feelings, yet simultaneously indicating that the friend was no longer desirable in the other's life. There would be no misunderstanding, or leftover feelings of "where did so-and-so go?" At the same time, the friends could continue their friendship with other parties -- knowing that each was welcome in the other's life.

In fact, I'm sure there could be an entire business (or at least a specialized website) dedicated to informing interested parties of their friendship status. Should the contract need to be quickly terminated, there would be a standardized list of exceptions where the contract could be broken. And should one party wish to end the friendship earlier than the allotted expiry, there would be financial penalties (again outlined in the contract -- ie, $200 Sephora gift certificate, break-up dinner at Mildred Pierce, a new pair of Nike trainers, etc.).

Think of how much hassle you would save when meeting a potential new friend... the signing of the contract indicates their serious intent (with, of course, a three-month non-penalizing probationary period where either party could exit discreetly). Or when a friend suddenly drops out of your life, you no longer have to wonder what you did. And no awkward break-ups, or that nagging feeling of guilt when you begin to avoid someone because your life suddenly has different priorities. Or it can let a friend now that the friendship can still exist, only that the original terms must be altered to reflect changing situations (i.e. arrival of children, relocating to distant country, placement in psychiatric institution, or some such event or accident).

It would be suddenly clear.

Funnily enough, this isn't a new idea -- other people have debated on the Friendship Contract idea for ages, but only in a sense of a legally binding agreement for an indefinite period of time. In this particular mode of contract, friends would be able to retire outdated pals gracefully, or reaffirm their commitment.

Of course, this all makes sense to me -- other people might take it the wrong way. Coincidentally, I discovered that Calvin And Hobbes (fuck me, do I miss this cartoon) had a similar conversation:

Calvin: Here, Hobbes. I've drawn up a friendship contract for you to sign.
Hobbes: A contract?
Calvin: Right. It codifies the terms of our friendship. You can renegotiate in 20 years.
Hobbes: People are friends because they want to be, not because they have to be.
Calvin: That's what this fixes.
Hobbes: If your friends are contractual, you don't have any.

Humans suck.

Let me get this straight... disaster happens. Cities are essentially drowned and leveled, and a portion of the residue population reacts by looting, shooting, beating and raping?

Nice to see how calamity brings out the best in people. (Incidentally, I wonder why major corporations -- Coke, Pepsi, Microsoft, Quebecor -- don't sponsor relief efforts and actually put their money to good use? "This rescue and relief effort brought to you by Motrin..." "Cost of saving lives? Priceless. For everything else, there's MasterCard.")

My only comfort is that one day, those aliens will come swooping down, do strange strange biological experiments with Sarah Jessica Parker, Pierce Brosnan and a chihuahua, and happily destroy everyone else.