I just saw a public service announcement from the government urging us to invest and here's the twist. It's not the federal government urging us to invest in Canada Savings Bonds, it's the Ontario government urging us to play the stock market! What! I can't decide if this is really smart or really diabolical.
I gotta tell you though, I love Dalton McGinty's new campaign - the effortlessly earnest urban left wingers, the 21st century yuppies looking you in the eye and telling you a heart warming story about some good deed performed, apparently, by Dalton McGinty personally; telling us how the personal is affected by the political. And you know what? I want to believe them so badly - I really, really do. If for no other reason than that I'm tired of always having to guess if people are telling the truth or not. I really want to believe that these people, these sincere people , people who could live next door to me, people I know, people I respect...I desperately want to believe that the things they are telling me are not just true, but that they actually matter! That they are outward spreading ripples on a pond. That we won't all regret this in a few years.
Sunday, September 30, 2007
Saturday, September 22, 2007
Catalogue Shopping
Catalogue shopping is not what it used to be. Today, everything is specialized or discounted - less than what you want in every way. Sears is still doing it thank heavens, because one of my favourite things in the whole wide world is to sit down with the Sears catalogue and go shopping for my ideal life - or rather lives, because with a Sears catalogue I can be any body and every body that I want to be.
The catalogue is set up perfectly for exactly this type of activity. I start out in women's clothing and pick out my wardrobe. I can wear anything. In catalogue world I look good in orange, even a size two will fit if I want it to, and everything is age appropriate. So I move through the dresses and suits, the blouses and skirts, the pants, jeans, sweaters and evening wear continuing on through lingerie and shoes. At this point, the catalogue moves in to men's wear, but I'm not ready for that yet, so I skip a few pages and arrive at furniture. Living room, dining room, the kitchen - which can take days because now you're into dishes and appliances - the bathroom, and last but not least, the bedroom.
As a little girl, I wanted a canopy bed. My idea of the perfect boudoir was white laminate furniture with gold antiqued curlicues, ruffled pink bedding and best of all the matching pink arc of canopy stretched over it. This was an image ripped from the pages of the Sears catalogue. What little girl didn't want that same bedroom suite? It was surely fit for a princess. The mock settings for these furnishings were rooms that always contained an area just beyond the bed where the floor was raised a step. Light beyond it hinted at windows, walk in closets and and en-suite bathroom. That canopy bed promised a way of life that I wanted.
As I chose the fittings for each room, I'd go back and forth tweeking my wardrobe to match an evolving image of my life as it was defined by the furniture I chose. Sometimes I'd be seduced by camping equipment and have to go back to women's wear and trade the satin and pearls for khakis and fleece.
And then on to men's wear - which o course was about finding the man to fit into this divine lifestyle I've created. A man who can sleep under a pink canopy and be ok with it. Ah, the Sears catalogue really had it all.
The catalogue is set up perfectly for exactly this type of activity. I start out in women's clothing and pick out my wardrobe. I can wear anything. In catalogue world I look good in orange, even a size two will fit if I want it to, and everything is age appropriate. So I move through the dresses and suits, the blouses and skirts, the pants, jeans, sweaters and evening wear continuing on through lingerie and shoes. At this point, the catalogue moves in to men's wear, but I'm not ready for that yet, so I skip a few pages and arrive at furniture. Living room, dining room, the kitchen - which can take days because now you're into dishes and appliances - the bathroom, and last but not least, the bedroom.
As a little girl, I wanted a canopy bed. My idea of the perfect boudoir was white laminate furniture with gold antiqued curlicues, ruffled pink bedding and best of all the matching pink arc of canopy stretched over it. This was an image ripped from the pages of the Sears catalogue. What little girl didn't want that same bedroom suite? It was surely fit for a princess. The mock settings for these furnishings were rooms that always contained an area just beyond the bed where the floor was raised a step. Light beyond it hinted at windows, walk in closets and and en-suite bathroom. That canopy bed promised a way of life that I wanted.
As I chose the fittings for each room, I'd go back and forth tweeking my wardrobe to match an evolving image of my life as it was defined by the furniture I chose. Sometimes I'd be seduced by camping equipment and have to go back to women's wear and trade the satin and pearls for khakis and fleece.
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Saturday, August 11, 2007
quantifying
I think I may have an understanding of what constitutes a bit, a few and several, but how many are in a bunch? how big is a whack? will a slew fit in my suitcase? And is a shitload more than five?
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Sunday, July 22, 2007
Laundry: an Expose
We recently bought a new washing machine - apartment size. I couldn't tell you who made the thing but it also gets HDTV and makes ice. It's a front loader - very European don't you know. It trills a little ditty when you turn it on, and sings a chorus when the cycle is through. It has 34 different wash/rinse combinations and when you add in the options for water temperature, the freedom of choice becomes exponentially larger. It has other features - a digital timer and surround sound - but my favourite is the Jiffy Wash. I'm in a hurry today, I thought I'd try it. The digital timer says 32. For a normal wash it's 57. And my thinking on this is that if I have an item of clothing that won't be clean after 32 minutes in soap and water, I should throw it out.
Queen of Swords
I am beginning to be concerned about the number of times I've found myself in angry confrontations with random men lately. By actions, words and demeanour, these men have publicly, loudly and aggressively proclaimed their misogynist, homophobic, narrow minded bigotry in an effort to convince everyone around them that they are superior. The poor guys, I mean can you imagine feeling so small and impotent and useless that you are driven to impose your own fear back onto those you view as inferior to you? They are cowards, every one of them.
They throw around racial, religious and sexual epithets with a refreshing lack of discrimination. The one constant in their behaviour is that it is always a woman who is getting the brunt of their ignorance.
My immediate response is to want to suddenly acquire some kind of superpowers, and tear him limb from limb. I enjoy brief visions of watching the fear in his eyes while I show him who is really in charge. But I am not Buffy, and I am soon beginning to wonder about the ways he might find to hurt me if I don't back down. And that makes me angry. I am more disturbed than I can say by the realization that I'm easier to scare than I used to be. Last week, a TTC special constable told me to stop talking to people. Can you imagine?
And that's the crux of the issue. Of course I am beginning to resemble the bullies; I am letting myself become almost as frightened as they are. I can't let that happen. Nor can I pretend that there's nothing to fear. I guess I just have to learn to pick my battles.
They throw around racial, religious and sexual epithets with a refreshing lack of discrimination. The one constant in their behaviour is that it is always a woman who is getting the brunt of their ignorance.
My immediate response is to want to suddenly acquire some kind of superpowers, and tear him limb from limb. I enjoy brief visions of watching the fear in his eyes while I show him who is really in charge. But I am not Buffy, and I am soon beginning to wonder about the ways he might find to hurt me if I don't back down. And that makes me angry. I am more disturbed than I can say by the realization that I'm easier to scare than I used to be. Last week, a TTC special constable told me to stop talking to people. Can you imagine?
And that's the crux of the issue. Of course I am beginning to resemble the bullies; I am letting myself become almost as frightened as they are. I can't let that happen. Nor can I pretend that there's nothing to fear. I guess I just have to learn to pick my battles.
Road Trip
When Celine Dion sang "I Drove All Night?" did you believe it? I didn't. She probably doesn't even have a driver's license. Can you imagine? Picture Celine Dion behind the steering wheel. It could be a Jaguar convertible, she would still look out of place. On the other hand, when Cyndi Lauper tells you she drove all night, you are prepared to believe that she broke out of prison and stole a car just so she could drive it all night, smoking the whole way to get to you cause that's how much she wants you. And what about "crept in your room"? Celine Dion creeping? Into a bedroom? I keep garlic and a crucifix on my door just in case. Cyndi, on the other hand.....
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