"Subversives"

It's a little socialist love song by a Canadian band called Lowest of The Low.

It's been one of my favourite songs for more more than a decade. Years ago, a friend married, and this was their wedding song. And I have never forgiven them for stealing it. There are some songs designed for you, and this one was mine.

Dear Winter...

I think it's time we had "A Talk."

We've been in this relationship for ages -- this on and off again thing that occurs every year. It's come to the point where I dread the time we spend together. Even the thought of seeing you taints my fall days.

I long for the years where our relationship was one of mutual affection. You snowed, and I was happy. You were the fresh air that gave depth to my hot fling with summer. Summer, who I confess I love more than anything. Summer gives me what I need... and while encouraging my nights out, still manages to keep me comfortable and happy. Exercise. Fresh food. Warm nights on the patio with drinks in my hand, or sitting on a rock by the lake.

You, however, have turned selfish. You arrived early this year. You had me shivering before I had a chance to bid farewell to fall. You dumped unwanted snow, ice and slush before even greeting me. Sure, we had a few good nights, and I can't deny the power of your beauty... though it fades to brownness only days later.

We can't continue like this. Seeing your face every morning fills me with misery. I long for the days when you leave my bedside and disappear until fall's departure forces your return. I'd do almost anything to escape your tenacious clutches for even a few days.

Let's face it, Winter. You and I aren't meant to be. So let's just call it a day. Let's admit our attraction has waned over the last two decades.

Have a talk with the money gods, and I'll do my best to stay as far away from you as I can.

No, no -- don't look at my like that. You're still beautiful and very attractive. You're just not the one for me. So let go. Please.

With significantly lessened affection,

Me.

ARGHHEEEEYARGH!!!!!!

Ah. That's better.
I figure screaming on my blog is significantly less unsettling for others than screaming in my house. Or outside.

This yet another one of those times where it doesn't pay to be inherently impatient. And I am. But I hate waiting. Hate it. HATE. IT. And I loathe the pending possibility of hopes dashed.

"Haven't had a dream in a long time
See, the life I've had
Can make a good man bad"

Ah, blogs. The last bastion of the self-involved, self-loathing narcissist...

On Cloverfield...

Before the mammoth hype gets even worse, I will say that I saw it. I enjoyed it.
It's a fun little movie provided you haven't gotten all geared up for it.

And here's a hint -- watch the ocean in the very last scene.
I'm pretty sure most people in our theatre missed this.

Frustration = grrrr

Had one of those "days" today.

I was pissy and tired and grumpy and stressed and frustrated. And I'm worried about Mr Greenbacks (or rather, his rather conspicuous absence), despite having a number of pots bubbling -- figuratively -- on the stove.

In the grand scheme of things and on a macro scale, my day of grouchiness is nothing. I'm fully aware that I'm being petty, self-involved and petulant. But really, all I ask is for some love from the karma gods.

Instead, they will send it on to Jason Schwartzman -- who made this unexpectedly great album (his band is Coconut Records and I feel compelled to admit I love it)... because all cool indie film stars who are Coppolas should be loved and feted by the fates.

I'm starting to feel as though I've paid my dues. Or at least made a healthy deposit. Or something that warrants a cheque enabling me to make my student loan payments for the last two months.

In happier news, vast quantities of white wine seems to help.

"To alcohol - the cause of and solution to all of life's problems."

Jinx

I've just done something idiotic.

After feeling antsy and twitchy all day, I confided to a group of chums that there's the teeniest chance that the publishing thing might go well -- or land itself smack in the toilet, where it will disappear with nary an audible "whoosh!"

And in my life, this always seems to be the worst possible mistake. To admit that things are afoot before the results are in. It's like announcing my doom -- and once admitted, my optimism goes sliding right out beneath my feet. Then, failure. Bitter, inescapable failure.

Now people will ask about the outcome... and I shall have to look look them firmly in the eye and say, "I buggered it up. Again."

Idiotic.

My consolation, how ever, rests within these two things: 1) The Seatbelts' "Tank!" always cheers me up enormously (ah, Cowboy Bebop); and 2) The snow falling outside -- while unwelcome, these fine little flakes have a decided sparkle about them, glittering and winking as they dance to the ground.

It's not much. But for now, it's enough.