lacycle

How to lose 30lbs in as little as 3 days in 5 easy steps!

2011-10-28T18:30:00.000-07:00

I lost 30lbs in 3 days and have kept the weight off ever since! Here is an easy way to lose unwanted weight in a record amount of time.*

Step 1.

Prepare by drinking 1L of raspberry leaf tea for 3 months. I know 3 months and 3 days don't quite match up, but this is such a simple task it doesn't really count in the timeline, especially because you'll likely still be gaining weight during this time, fatty. Raspberry leaf tea is a decent enough tasting beverage (not to be confused with raspberry berry flavored tea) but be forewarned that after your fifth week it will make you plug your nose and chug. Don't be a baby. Just do it. You'll thank me later.

Step 2.

Pace, moan, breath rhythmically, get down on all fours, and/or soak in a hot tub while your body does the workout of your life. Get naked. Invite some friends and a stranger or two for good measure. You might consider speeding like a lunatic across town to workout in an institution, or you can--as one in my family calls it--"go amish" and stay at home like I did. You also might take this opportunity to take drugs while others watch. The choices are endless! This process can take as short as 3 hours or as long as 5 days. Just go with it. This is where the magic happens. You will likely feel the urge to vomit, pee and crap everything out of your system. You're feeling lighter already!

Step 3.

Succumb to urge to grunt and push a skull and a ridiculous amount of fluid out your pee pee. This alone will shave off a good 15-25lbs, so give it hell.

Step 4.

Immediately start transforming your stored flubber into a thick, yellowish substance that drips out your boobs. Acquire an extra mouth to suck this unwanted fat from your body.

Step 5.

Continue releasing fluid from your southern orifices and do yourself a favor by ensuring you eat plenty of fiber to encourage the cleansing. Step aside, detox teas!

Step 6.

By day three your leaking should slow down. Once it does, grab your scale and be amazed at the wonderous success of this foolproof weight loss strategy. It will change your life!

*Results vary, particularly for men.

raw bliss

2011-10-26T06:19:00.000-07:00

so, yeah.... i had a kid. now that's out of the way, let's move on. (this is not another mommy blog, folks, though i may share mommy-related stuff, 'cause that's life. neither is this a food blog, i should add. but this post may be an exception.)

last night was the first time beto and i had dinner out solo. we were in montreal, baby was sleeping at grandmaman's house, and i was ravenous. the only catch is that i have a limited diet gracias al bebé. no gluten, which appears to make it--what i will call baby--scratch its eyes out, and no cow's milk in any form, which is believed to contribute to its reflux which causes serious esophegal burning, an aversion to breastfeeding and has caused baby to weight in at the 10th percentile. additionally, i don't fare well with much meat in my diet. i smell funny, have gas and weird poop, and just don't really feel great when i eat meat. (TMI?) so, we were looking for a vegan, gluten-free joint. you know, any old corner sandwich shop.

what we found was a delicious surprise. even beto, who only has molars so he doesn't look funny when he laughs, had what amounted to an orgasmic food experience. and i always wrote off the raw foodies as one food restriction short of the cuckoo's nest. i. was. wrong.

crudessence, thank you.

we had the mushroom cannelloni as an appetizer. it was a surprise just how tasty it was. with all these flavors bursting from the nose to the finish, it was like a fine wine. unlike with most cooking (particuarly most all-veggie cooking), there was no muddling of taste; each element contributed uniquely to the blend and could be pulled out from the mix. the dish did just what a good appetizer should: it opened our appetites and left us eager for more.

then, voila: the crêpes sauvages florentines and la luna pizza arrived. we took a bite of each. i was awaiting beto's sure comments of how much better this dish would be with a little duck fat drizzled over the top, or if the eggplant bacon were switched with the original side o' pig. and where was the crême fraiche? but, nothing came from his mouth except happy moaning and compliments to the chef. the crêpes in particular were to die for.

what was this trickery? how could something so delicious be made out of all veggies with a little nuts, grains and seeds? how could you not-cook something into this magical feast? there had to be a catch. would i be hungry two hours from now, wishing i had eaten something reasonable and filled with, well, fillers of meat and carbs? was there something to the cries of the american omnivores warning against lack of protein intake? would i get food poisoning from overfermented juminakaleralobi? was i just overly excited because i was suffering through a glut of crappy, unseasoned, oops-i-didn't-realize-that-had-gluten-in-it-so-i'll-just-leave-it-out food while we traveled? this raw business just couldn't be right.

and then, probably due to a mix of my fear of being hungry later, the desire to eat as much as i could on our first night out, and my craving for more delicious flavors dancing on my palate, we ordered dessert and some drinks.

we had the blueberry un-cheesecake and the mousse au chocolat--raw chocolate. i tried the un-cheesecake first and was pleasantly surprised. now, i'm not talking fakon bacon surprised where you really have to try, close your eyes and use your imagination. i mean, it was wonderful, even down to its creamy texture. i don't always like dried coconut, so i had my reservations about the crust. but all that ambivalence was swept under the rug, too.

the real show stopper, though, was the mousse. i could do with or without a chocolate mousse normally, but this was literally one of the best desserts i have ever had. (holding hand on heart.) it was bitter and sweet and smooth and melted in your mouth while remaining light and substantial all at the same time. my mouth is watering just thinking about it. it was rich. oh, so rich.

the drinks? i had a simple belle verte smoothy. (delicious, good, expected.) and beto had the spiced chococho. ohMIgod. fantastic again. (i don't know what spices are in it, but it was a little like chai.) now, i've taken nearly enough theo chocolate factory tours to earn a special access pass and i can say i understand the chocolate roasting process pretty darn well. i've been preached to about the benefits of this roast and that one to develop the flavors to make the perfect bar. and i nodded my head in understanding. so, what the heck is this raw chocolate stuff all about? and why, oh why, don't the roasted chocolate fools know about this food of gods that is raw chocolate? like mohamed ali versus your mom, it's no contest.

and so, in just under two hours, i was converted. hook, line and sinker, crudessence. on the way out the door, we checked your hours. do they do breakfast? 'cause i gonna be hungry in 12 hours. not open until 11? we can totally squeeze a lunch in before we leave town, right?

i was ready to run out an buy a dehydrater and a box full of cookbooks from the cafe shelves--only because montreal is a mighty long drive for dinner, though we did consider it. and, get this: i experienced no hunger pains, food poisoning, protein deficiency or weird poop from our raw extravaganza. success!

Ding!

2011-05-08T02:47:00.001-07:00

Ahh, so that's what it is, all the late-term pregnancy hullabaloo. So glad I wasn't spared the fun!

I know understand the uncomfortableness. I'm particularly not fond of the feeling of my boobs resting on my tummy, resting on my thighs. How do fat people do it? I don't mean that in a mean way.... I really would like to know. How do you do it every day, fat people? Can we agree: it's just not a nice feeling to have to unstick your tummy in order to move your leg sideways while sitting.

And, since we're talking about it, it's a pain in the ass to have to travel the extra foot from plate to mouth now that I can't skootch up to the table all close. The precariously sitting food on my fork threatens to jump, adding yet another stain to the front of my large blouses. And then--as if that weren't annoying enough--I can't pick up the damn fallen piece off of the floor without unsticking my tummy, moving my leg, pushing back my chair and getting on all fours. I have almost given up hope and succumbed to resting my plate on my rack of a belly to eat.

I can also understand why the mumu was created.

I'm also finding it difficult to sleep more than 6 continuous hours--potty breaks excluded. Why am I so tired at 8, but can't manage to get to sleep until 11 and then wake up at around 5? The naps probably don't help, but they're so good and I'm not really left much of a choice now am I?

I'm also super hungry. And thirsty. But the last thing I want is another litre of raspberry leaf tea. Bleck! You are fast earning a place next to liver and hominy on my food preference list. And if you haven't noticed from my first point, I'm pretty well over the getting fatter phase in my life, so decreasing my desire to eat would be grand.

Also, I could do without the calls from friends and family and roadside chats with complete strangers weighing in on when i should go into labor. Listen, folks. I'm due today, but likely won't gush water all over the floor in front of you (how many soap operas have you been watching anyway?) and I don't really want to talk/stress about how I should hold in or pop out my baby right now. Just chill.

And, I don't really care at this point about your pregnancy or birthing experience. Just keep your mouth closed, comrade, and smile all nice at me. You should have talked to me when I was a less pregnant, trained doula fascinated by that kind of crap. But, no, you decided to wait until I was ready to burst to hold me hostage and reminisce about your labor(s).

The same goes for all of you asking, "c'est pour bientôt, oui?" and "est-ce que tu as haute?" or whatever it is you ask that I'm not doing a particularly good job of transcribing right now. In response, I'm clearly full-term at this point and, yes, the birth is imminent. And, no, I wouldn't really use the terms excited or anxious. It's cool, man. I'm trying to create a zen-like peace in me right now, so please stop fucking it up. It makes baby upset.

Braxton Hicks can go straight to hell. You started off all cute and exciting, like a little internal hug, and I appreciate that we're practicing here, but can you knock it off when I'm around mixed company? What was all that about last night at dinner with the neighbors? Act right, or your not invited next time.

But, I would like to say "thank you" for the following:

- I still don't have heartburn or trouble breathing. Go, go gadget torso! (I could do without the random gas, but I'll take it for efficient digestion.)

- Good job, New Zealand, for being on a weird time schedule and allowing me to catch up with a best friend at 5:45am.

- Ankles, wrists and feet, keep up the good work. You're keeping your form in this time of struggle and I want you to know that I appreciate it.

- Trailer Park Boys and Nova Scotia, where would I be without you?

Now, my dear mother arrives this evening and--as I've been carefully instructed--only after a good nights rest can the real fun begin and we can finally get on with things.

losing the ethnic

2011-05-03T07:12:00.000-07:00

i woke up in a cold sweat realizing that i am assimilating to my new country(ies*) of residence. i even have a flapping head. as proof, here is a recent picture of me and my friend, satan:

clearly becoming canadian. scary stuff akin to district 9, right?!

here's 10 other signs that i'm losing the ethnic american in me:

1. i don't live in the american ghetto. instead, i live nearly seamlessly amongst the locals. politicians no longer claw for my vote. (for those who have somehow missed the last 5 weeks of canadian elections, here is our--the ethnic canadian--rallying cry. never mind the fact that i can't actually vote yet.... that day will come.)

2. i consider before i swear like a sailor.

3. i can tell you my statistics in metric units. i think of the weather in celsius.

4. i now do a better job than the prime minister at speaking french. (which isn't saying much, i know.) i want my kid in either a monolingual french or bilingual french/spanish daycare. (seriously, chinese hasn't quite wiped out the hegemony of the english language. i think she'll pick it up just fine from me at home, thanks.)

5. i had a mini election party last night. okay, "party" might be a stretch. i invited over the MIL to have dinner and watch the results with us. (and she independently decided to bring her pajamas to stay the night. dude, seriously. i don't know what you had in mind, but we're not spooning and we'll just drive you the 1.5 kilometres to your home after the results are in.)

6. i just wrote kilometres. i've even stopped changing the language settings in word from "english (canada)" when i receive a document from a lab partner. i just roll with it now.

7. i can actually carry on insightful conversations regarding the federal election candidates, changing political sentiments and who i would vote for. i have a foggy idea of how the political system works, both municipally and federally. provincially i'm still a tad confused, but i'll work that out soon.

8. i experienced a mix of dread and moderate-to-severe depression when learning about harper's winning a majority. for those of you unawares of what this could mean for canada, think of a wannabe bush (senior) winning what he considers a mandate to royally screw up the country in the name of the free market economy and making canada "the best country in the world." (pipe dream, anyone?) dude. this could be a real buzz kill for the separatist, socialist, free health care lovin' quebecois, like myself.

9. i felt proud that democracy now! did this piece on the election this morning highlighting the impressive gains made by the moderately left (or socialist if viewed from an american lens) ndp, the party i would have voted for if given the chance. look, look! the news is paying attention to us up here! hi, mom!

10. i like gilles duceppe, former head of the bloc québecois. i'm starting to dislike toronto--scratch that, change to ontario. and i'm really over loyalists in particular. in fact, when i take the citizenship oath i'm going to mumble incoherently through the "bear true allegiance to Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth II, Queen of Canada, Her Heirs and Successors" part. vive le québec libre, bitches!

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*depending on who you ask, quebec is either a part of canada or an independent country not yet independized. the results last night booting the bloc quebecois to the curb do not affirm our disinterest in becoming a separate country. it merely shows our hatred for all that is harper and conservativism. socialist democrat? oui, s'il vous plaît. plus, i need this separatist talk to continue maitaining house prices low until i can buy a sweet one in montréal.

before the world ends.

2011-05-02T11:51:00.001-07:00

somehow during the last week or so, i developed a fatalistic view on life. perhaps it was while reading the incredibly uplifting online articles on late pregnancy. sites that previously painted all things pregnant with a delicate pink brush portraying images of little glowing fetuses with adorable sprouting eyelashes and tiny fingernails laced with magical tinker bell dust have changed their tones dramatically. since about 36 weeks, all is doom and gloom of being a waddling, digestive retard incapable of proper body functioning who would just as soon snort ground wasabi than continue with the nonsense of pregnancy. here are a few highlights:

Week 37. "I can't eat, I can't sleep, but I can do a great imitation of a beached whale. Seriously, are we almost done with this?"

Week 39. "You will feel more uncomfortable during this time. You may feel a bit clumsy and feel like you are swaying around as your entire center of gravity is off balance."

Week 38. "You may be feeling huge and uncomfortable during these final weeks. Try to take it easy -- this may be your last opportunity to do so for quite a while."

ah--there it is: your last opportunity. i've been struggling to figure out which last opportunity is the most important last opportunity to accomplish before the apocalypse. should i ensure all is clean and tidy? should i sleep for that 11th hour? (apparently in addition to digesting and breathing, i can also sleep pretty well during this whole ordeal, too.) should i see as many friends as possible? should i do absolutely nothing? should i craft? should i read a book? should i get belligerently drunk? (wait...i already missed my chance for that. shit, i can't let another opportunity slip by. must. stay. vigilent.) oh, i just don't know which to do first, and the cataclysm could happen at any minute! ohmigod.

but, whenever one of these thoughts sneaks in my head, i can't help but laugh. come on, internets. things may change over the next couple of weeks, but life as we know it likely won't come to a complete end. right?!? but, what if it were?! ohmigod. i totally have to spend my last minutes doing everything and nothing at the same time or i will never forgive myself.

so, what's been on the list?

wash windows, inside and out; take off and scrub screens. check!

listen to democracy now to stay informed before closing my center of knowledge to the confines of my home and yard. check!

finish sewing borrowed bassinet cover. check!

do daily yoga. check!

read the economist's simplified take on the state of affairs in central america that suggests legalizing drugs. check!

ride bike/trike around city during super sunny day, ensuring second degree burn on chest. check!

take photos to show baby how cool her parents were before apocalypse. check!

unintentionally coordinate my attire with that of baby's daddy. check!

prove to blog readers that i did complete my winter bike plans, flawlessly. check!

match saddle color to respective rider's hair. check!

watch yet another melodramatic episode of the good wife. check! (only one to go!)

score "new" duds at clothing swap, hoping i correctly guessed my summer body type. check!

now i just have to make a cast of the gigundousness that is my tummy and get my mom here. then, world disorder can begin.

congratulations! you're borderline obese!

2011-04-29T08:37:00.000-07:00

i have nearly earned membership in america's favorite growing club, and i still have about a week or two to go until it's all (hopefully) down hill. BMI of 30? i can make it! just 0.7 measly points to go.

that's right, friends! i've successfully gained 55 lbs over the past nine months. i've even developed a fatty swagger. now, don't be jealous. not everyone has this sort of skill for carefully packing away mountains of weight in a ridiculously short amount of time, especially while eating relatively healthfully and maintaining a moderate fitness level. maybe its genetics; my mom gained a solid 50 with me and she's only 5'2". sir mix-a-lot would be proud.

now, apparently you say that i've gone a little over board, internets. see, that large green dot is me and the two lines are the recommended range for weight gain for my starting weight and height:

i missed the mark a bit. maybe i shouldn't, but i think this state of affairs is more intriguing than disturbing. plus, it's comforting that my midwifes don't even bat an eye when i ask if they are concerned. all i get is a "meh," accompanied by a single shoulder shrug. not even worthy of raising both!

it does beg the question of where all this poundage is going. you'd think i'd really be struggling, but i'm not. (except after that one day last week when i walked all around the city and went swimming for 20 minutes for the first time in a good year. it's true that the next couple of days i felt like caca.) you'd think my hands and feet would look like pudgy baby ones, but they don't yet and my shoes fit fine. you'd figure i eat cookies and bbq ribs every day, but i haven't really changed my diet much. okay, okay, i support half of coaticook's business, but i need the calcium. haven't you heard of osteoperosis?!

supposedly, this is the break-down of weight gain:

baby: 7-8 lbs

placenta: 1-2 lbs

amniotic fluid: 2 lbs

uterus: 2 lbs

boobies (maternal breast tissue): 2 lbs

extra blood: 4 lbs

extra random fluids: 4 lbs

extra fat and nutrient stores: 7 lbs

for a grand total of 31 lbs.... so where is the other 24? baby, i hope you are not a 30 pounder. that would really bum me out.

the other obvious question is where will all this weight go in, say, 3 months? 'cause while it's cute and all right now, i'm not really down with the long term waddle. i aim to be an honorary member of the obese club, not earn a permanent seat. ah, well. (single shoulder shrug.) i still have a couple of months before that matters. i'll keep you posted once i start caring.

you'll never be my girlfriend, vicki iovine.

2011-04-28T08:03:00.000-07:00

i was recommended your book by a (misguided) friend. as i awaited its arrival in the mail, i looked forward to the supposed wit found within its pages describing, in intimate detail, my new life as a prego lady. i was curious just what to wrap my changing body in during these cold winter months, what all this fluid is about, tricks to handle labor and the like. i dove into the text with an open mind and came out hating you.

screw your sorority.

that's right. i detest all but one part of your book. (the line from your friend's husband about the "titty fairy" coming early in pregnancy and magically growing our boobs overnight was pretty funny--though clearly not yours.) now, i just don't have the time to outline everything wrong about every page of your shitty, uneducated, unresearched, privileged-white-upper-middle-class-authored book to deter anyone from reading it, but i do have a couple of points to start with.

first of all, did you every think that people reading may not be, well, you? did you ever consider that they may not live an insular suburban existence replete with a car for each family member of driving age and little concern for anyone else around? what about those pregnant without a husband who plays a stereotypical, tv-sitcom-esque role in their lives? (i won't even go down the path of women who--gasp--may not have a partner at this point.) or those who have interests more than looking good, getting through pregnancy without offending anyone's fashion sense and earning jewelry for a job well done during labor?

pardon me for saying so, but these are exciting times. at what other point in my life will i get to experience the act of growing another human being inside me? sure, i know that its a big adjustment--but that's what makes it grand. if we could simply ignore it, it wouldn't be so life changing now, would it? and, yes, i'm sure labor is painful. but it is many other things, too. i am looking forward to my oxytocin rush, thank you very much. i know that you are just trying to be humorous and down-to-earth, but you frankly fail for all but a tiny, delusional, self-deprecating few.

also, your advice sucks. it really does.

i mean, no exercise?! now, try to wrap your head around this, lady. i don't exercise to avoid getting fat or because i look great in a leotard. i exercise because it feels good. i don't go to the gym; i live an active lifestyle. perhaps you would write me off as one of those "jocky girls."

so, when i read your advice that i shouldn't exercise during pregnancy because i'll get fat anyway and i might endanger the pregnancy, i want to thrust the heel of my hand squarely into your nose. i don't agree that this is because i am unable to "surrender and let nature run its course."

at what point did you invent that humans needed to dream up activities like thai kick yoga spin class in order to stay fit? and that they should sit upon their asses while pregnant? or that driving instead of walking was a preferred, healthier mode of transportation for our fertile ancestors or the vast majority of people around the world?

let's be honest. you had health issues because you were straining to lift heavy weights at a gym while pregnant, not because you were doing any normal, everyday, completely healthy activities that humans have always engaged in unless they were sick. gyms aren't teeming with prego ladies for good reason, and pregnancy is not a sickness.

walking and yoga are great exercises. you should try them. i think i'll just listen to my body instead of your shitty advice. and i'm truly sorry about your sad obsession with your self image, but don't pawn it on the rest of us. please.

here's another gem: "never elect to have a child where you have no access to medication or, God forbid, real doctors." i understand that midwives were tried as witches in colonial Salem, and thanks for the history brief, but your immediate, uneducated write-off of any birth outside of a hospital and the probing, latexed arms of a male surgeon (that you can flirt with) is really disturbing. i'll cut you some slack because you wrote this bullshit in 1995, and i know that the empowerment of women via their choice regarding labor and delivery ebbs and flows. but, you can't be serious.

don't give me lines about our inability to succumb to nature (see exercise point) and then proceed to hail the wonders of an epidural and a scalpel. a cesarean is designed to only be a necessary, life-saving medical procedure. and an epidural isn't just like popping an asprin. i hear that being incapable of moving half of your body can really suck when trying to help a little one out of a small hole. never mind the risk of a spinal headache.

how about i support your decision to use whatever interventions are in fad because you have a right to make an informed choice, and you support my decision to have a birth "as messy as a pig slaughter" in the comfort of my own home? the cool thing is that if i change my mind at any point, i can go to the hospital. you, on the other hand, can't simply decide to head home mid active phase with your legs atrophied and your arm hooked up to ivs.

i get indigestion when i read crap like "when getting dressed always ask yourself, 'if i go into labor today, will my clothing embarass me at the hospital?'" are you kidding me?! you are going to the hospital to have a baby, lady. and have you seen what "the help" there wears? i don't think i need to elucidate why this is a problematic statement.

or this one: "i guarantee that even if you were given a case of free diapers and they happened to be pink, you would use them for gift wrapping before you would put them on your firstborn son!" oh, heaven forbid i make my son a gender-bender before his first birthday.

grrah! i must stop now as my unborn child is unfairly suffering from the tumultuous emotions you make me experience while reading your book. let's just keep it simple; you will never be my girlfriend, vicki.

and, if you're looking for an actually funny read about being prego, try "let's panic about babies." you can thank me later.

forget long legs.... it's all about the long torso

2011-04-26T14:46:00.000-07:00

just type in "long legs" in google's image search and you'll find millions of "sexy" photos of women striking awkward poses highlighting how disproportionately long their legs are when compared to their delicately petite midriffs. i get it: long legs are hot. but, i have to disagree. it's all about the torso, folks.

while doing my pregnancy yoga over the last couple of months, i realized that some of my poses didn't quite look the same as the 7 monther in the video. namely, my arms seemed shorter than they should be. no big deal, short arms is better than their opposite. "long arms" gives an insta-freak show in google images, unlike a search of other disproportionate appendages. (legs, people. don't put your mind in the gutter.) i didn't really give it a second thought as i proceeded through the stretching and breathing excercises that emphasized fully expanding your ribs with each breath (because your diaphram movement is increasingly restricted by the human growing inside you). i also didn't think much of the fact that i haven't really had much of a difficult time breathing. sure, i'm not exactly in marathon shape here, but i'm not fainting either.

and then, today, as my midwife asked the usual questions (are your hands and feet swollen? not yet. are you having trouble breathing? still no. are you drinking your litre of raspberry leaf tea every day? yes, ma'am.) and then proceeded to measure simone's life sack, she put all the pieces together for me: i am gifted with a long torso.

that's right. gifted.

see, while people get breathless over long legs and mini torsos of the models of today, i get to relish in my ability to breath whilst pregnant! i don't have short arms, i have a flawlessly functioning midsection that can digest and grow new life at the same time!

now, how did eons of human evolution miss this sexy trait? wide hips are valued (within reason), presumably for their ability to allow passage of baby heads. just try "hips" and get innumerable shots of shakira and other women with tiny waists and voluptuously round hips. (because apparently google images is the final word in how we as a society view physical traits....)

but long torsos? denied the spotlight they truly deserve. instead, they are destined to be hidden with the "magic" of tankinis and other clothing that supposedly breaks up and visually minimizes an overgrown thorax.

i say, wear your lengthy torso with pride. rock low rise pants dangling dangerously low on your womanly hips with a tiny little shrug sweater to excentuate how much cool stuff you can fit in your yards of abdomen, like lungs and babies and varying sizes of intestines.

"oui. bonjour, roberto. c'est michel...."

2011-04-21T17:42:00.000-07:00

i know, i know, i know. i'm about to engage in an age-old activity that nearly everyone partnered up partakes in. and i am fully aware that i really shouldn't (especially in public), buuuuut i just can't help myself. (the phone just rang for the 4th time tonight.) with that said, lemme get some stuff off of my chest.

see, we have a fancy voip home phone line that emails us our voice messages so we can access them from anywhere the internets be. this is cool for the obvious reasons. it is also a bit distracting when you have a mother-in-law who calls at least--at least--once a day (to our home phone, nevermind the office or cell, or email) and leaves messages that quickly clutter up your inbox and all begin in 1 of 3 ways in the exact. same. tone.

"oui. roberto, c'est micheline." or

"oui, bonjour, roberto. c'est micheline." or

"bonjour, roberto. c'est micheline."

i understand you're reasonably thinking: dude, why don't you just see that the message is from your MIL and delete it without listening to it? you have a point, friend, and i generally do. but sometimes i wonder if she's calling about something pertinent. maybe she really does have to get a hold of us. maybe i can help her out.

"oui."

yes. i like that we start on a positive note, too, but it's all down hill from here.

"...bonjour, roberto...."

listen, we all know who you're trying to reach. it's a message for your sole child, ton trésor, your nuclear family and the main man in your life. we get it; you're not calling to chat me or unborn baby up.

"...c'est micheline."

of course it is. who else would be calling? what other elderly, well-spoken francophone lady with a proper, articulate quebecois accent calls us and begins her message the exact same way that you do several times a day?

now, you begin explaining, in great detail, the emergency of the minute because mondieu, youhavetocallmebackrightnowortheworldwillend andiwilljustcallyoubackin15minutesanyway

andleaveyouanothermessagethatstartsthesameway andsaysnothingnewormorepressing. actually, the only time a verifiable emergency happened we didn't get a message. apparently, using the freaking-out-on-your-answering-machine-tone is reserved for non-emergencies and problems that will likely be solved (perhaps even without intervention) if you just take a chill pill, apply a modest amount of reason and wait a good 15-minutes or so. breathing helps.

then, you hang up the phone to... i dunno, watch an interesting piece on the news. when it's over, you realize your son hasn't called you back yet and must not have received the message because something is horribly wrong with his phone ringer, his voice mail, his email and/or his dialing finger and you must, therefore, proceed to call him back to ensure his safety and leave another message updating him on the drama of this world-ending event that requires his immediate attention.

seriously. shit just ain't that important or time sensitive.

take tonight's pressing issue. the lease of the apartment your renting really doesn't have to be delt with by 9:30 tonight. here's why:

1. the lease is for august 1st. that is 101 days, 2 hours, 23 minutes, and 36 seconds from now. i think we'll make it.

2. we all know that 99.9% of leases in quebec use the same generic, government-created form that you can buy at any of the 15,237 depanneurs (convenience stores) between here and montreal (apartment location) for $2.99. this fact alleviates the imaginary need for your son to drive to your house to pick up some sort of pressing documents. right. this. instant.

3. we are currently 204 kilometers away from the apartment. and we aren't leaving until tomorrow. just chill.

and... the phone is literally ringing again. i shit you not, internets.

"oui...."

becoming a distance runner

2011-04-18T02:20:00.001-07:00

i decided to run cross-country in high school as a way to get in shape for the basketball season. so, one beautifully sunny early september day, i laced up whatever athletic shoes i had and showed up for my first run longer than a mile. it was a whole new kinesthetic experience. while my body, as most, instinctively knew how to limber from a walk to a trot without losing balance, it had no idea how to do this continuously for several miles on end. and how helpful would it have been to have a coach describe that process in painstaking detail? it's something you just figure out. sure, a basketball game consists of running around for a good hour--but the rhythm is different. it's a sprint, stop, jump, jog, pounce, slide. not a run in the woods.

the most remarkable day was not that first day with that first run, but the next and the day after that. for some reason, i still showed up to practice to subject my body to what was fast becoming a torturous exercise. my young, supple, 14-year-old legs ached and cramped. my lungs burned. and, yet, i continued. i continued at a ridiculously slow cadence--but, i continued. using every morsel of strength i had, i trodded alongside seasoned girls who carried on lively conversations as they effortlessly bounded about. others that had showed for their first runs took days off and then stopped coming all together but, perhaps out of a lack of a better hobby, i didn't. and my body got used to its daily routine.

several weeks later, i had my first race. it was a short 2 miler based on the track of the old shoreline high school, my mom's (since defunct) school. i was given a uniform: a near see-though white jersey and shiny, spandex, purple, grandma-styled "spankies" that our ladies team wore instead of shorts. and i was put down on the track for the first heat. because of the lacking numbers on our team, i think i was the 7th runner on varsity. (the top 5 score, so i was second alternate. not bad for a first--even if a default position.)

i instinctively did what i thought i should do: i wiggled up to the front of the huge mass of about 75 girls, assumed a semi-crouching position, awaited the gun and took off at full speed upon its firing. a girl from mount pilchuck wearing burgundy was at my side. sensing competition, i tried to speed around her. she kept my pace. we left the track, sprinting across a parking lot until reaching the soft ground as we headed for the suburban woods. i was at the front of the pack.

and there, on the bed of fallen pine needles, the message from my legs finally reached my brain: what the hell are we doing?! and my lungs shortly followed: you have got to be kidding me! i wanted to foul some girl on a layup and throw my hands above my head, breath in a full breath of air, run my sweaty hands over the pads of my shoes to ensure traction for the rebound and watch her take some penalty shots. but we had just begun.

i quickly lost steam. mount pilchuck passed me, and then another girl, and another. until i was alone in the woods. what was i thinking, sprinting like that?! my legs faltered. i began to walk, my chest heaving for more air, my legs wriggley inside their pink skin. someone came over to jog with and encourage me along. i picked up to a slow jog, more to avoid making my encourager feel bad than out of any interest in racing. after an eternity, i rounded the last corner to head back on to the track. as i did, the announcer's voice could be heard loud and clear: please clear the track for the final runner.

the final runner.

any embarrassment i felt was overcome by a resounding voice porting reason screaming: "your fucking right i'm the last runner. you people are all insane!" but, i was determined to never walk in a race again. and it was abundantly clear that i had to change my approach.

if given any situation, that's generally how i proceed. i wriggle my way up to the front and run like hell. even if it might be in the wrong direction, even if it might not be sustainable, i sprint. then, as i round the corner, a clearer assessment of reality is made. impulsive doesn't quite describe it. perhaps impassioned, enthusiastic or driven? what ever it's called, it's not the panacea my instinct seems to think it is. that's the take-home.

now, as i awake at my usual 4:30 or 5:00am to pee, eat a banana and ponder all that i've failed in my life while making a sorry attempt to return to sleep, i remember my experience of learning to find my own pace.

yesterday at 5:15pm, i finished my last final exam of the semester on the date of my 37th week of pregnancy. my last of 5 exams in 7 days. today, i start to refocus the energy previously spent on polymers, gear ratios and shock waves to the little life inside me who so patiently has waited. sure, she would poke out a little foot on the left side every several hours to say "here i am! and i have a foot. look!" but now i feel like we finally have the time to hang out and prepare for a whole new stage of life together. and i know it's not the sprinting kind of stage.

i know that my body will ache and my mind struggle to make sense of this new experience. and, while i have legs and enough of a functioning sense of balance to be bipedal, i know i'll have no idea how to run until i'm thrown out to my own devices.

and with that, my sense of reason is joining me again, and i'm feeling like heading back to bed.... good night, internets.

biting the hand that feeds

2011-01-30T14:41:00.000-08:00

now, i know in the past i've had some gripes about my university. lees campus, your apologizing to ann coulter, and exam schedules all come to mind. but i'd like to round out the argument and compliment the U of O on a couple of things:

- thanks for not giving me a jacked up schedule this semester. it's super cool of you, man, to allow me a near 8 to 5.

- thanks for the prego services. i still think it's weird prego falls under "disability," but i'll take it.

- thanks for financial assistance to help me pay you. seriously. even if it sounds a little questionable when phrased that way.

sure, our relationship has some hiccups. but, really? you treat me pretty well.

if canada were my home.

2011-01-20T14:36:00.001-08:00

mildly interesting internets site o' the week: if it were my home.

premise: you don't pick the country your from. here's how your life my be (statistically) affected if you were from tonga or macedonia or... canada.

oh, how would my life be different if i lived in the great white south*? let's see how accurate these stats are.

If Canada were your home instead of The United States you would...

- experience 28.67% less of a class divide

- use 27.2% more electricity. (it's -13 degrees out, folks. damn right i do. er--wait... that's american speak. what i intended to say was: the colder climate in my present location necessitates an increase in electricity consumption, particularly given the electrical heating in my home.)

- have 25.67% less babies (have you seen me, lately, internets? i think i'm carrying a full one.)

- spend 45.33% less money on health care

- have 18.73% less chance of dying in infancy (well done there.)

- make 17.24% less money (unless you account for the current exchange rate. wtf?)

- live 3.05 years longer

- have 8.6% more chance at being employed (government redundancy, baby!)

- consume 6.5% more oil

- have 4.01% more free time

- be 33.33% less likely to have HIV/AIDS (unless you live on east hastings street of vancouver.... then you're apparently on your own.)

so basically, (we) canadians can take care of ourselves better and destroy more of the environment all with less cash and less people than (us) americans. how's that for efficiency?

* i was born and grew up in the U.S. of A. north of where i now live in canada. significantly so. it's true. get a map.

excuse me, facebook ad team.

2011-01-18T18:08:00.000-08:00

what about my profile warranted this, facebook?

nothing sounds more horrible than a black turtleneck with holes to pop my lactating breasts out of in summer. fail.

no sham-poo

2011-01-09T18:32:00.000-08:00

no, i'm not writing about impostor fecal mater; i'm talking about being anti-shampoo. last summer, i decided to join the ranks of the no-sudsing, ammonium-lauryl-sulfate-free, sparing-the-natural-sebum people. and i'm glad i did.

it's no secret that many shampoos are sketchy, chemical-laden, toxic, perfume-filled cesspools of grossness that do a questionable job of keeping our hair and scalp clean. if you need convincing, just go without shampoo and other scents for a month and stand in an elevator next to a user of herbal essence. bring a bandanna ready for the near-tear-gas experience sure to overwhelm your senses. if, for some strange reason, you are not completely incapacitated by the smell and need additional convincing, just peruse skin deep's database of shampoos, 77% of which are deemed to be a moderate to high hazard based on manufacture declared ingredients.

i'm also a little suspicious of the overnight creation and marketing of cleaning products that humans managed to live without for millinia, then suddenly just had to rub all over the skin daily to be healthy or normal. don't get me wrong, soap is great. but that's not so new and toxin filled. modern shampoos (ie. non soap-based shampoos), on the other hand, started in the 1930s and became widely used thanks to the poofy-haired good looks of ladies like farrah fawcett in the 70s. she did have great hair....

but, that's no reason to bathe in this crap, folks.

plus, shampoo's expensive. especially if you search for the 100% natural, organic, plant-based, not-tested-on-cuddly-baby-animals, hypoallergenic, non-drying, sensitive, completely stripped down version of shampoo that i did because i didn't want to put a science experiment on my scalp, pollute our waters, or make myself stink like a chemical floral bouquet so badly i gave myself a headache. that's right, shampoo's a friggin rip off from cheapo pert plus to nature's gate to vidal sassoon--or whatever the new, not-so-80's salon quality shampoo is. then, add the additional cost of conditioners (to restore all of the oils ripped from your hair) and you're talking about a ton of ching for the mere pleasure of turning your hair into a stinky, dried-out version of a could-be luscious mane.

so, this summer, completely unawares, when i finished the last bottle of shampoo and looked to other ways to wash my hair, i guess i joined a movement. that's at least what a quick search on wikipedia tells me. the no poo movement. and, about six months later, i'm glad i did. my hair is much better than before. it is less dried out and stronger, it dries more quickly, and it's shinier, less oily, and less tangly than before. this also works for beto, who has the ever-fun affliction of dandruff.

so, what do we use instead of sham-poo?

1. make a baking soda paste (sodium bicarbonate) by adding a bit of water to a bowl of the soda to get a desired consistency. (we generally start with a toothpaste-like thickness that ends up like runny pancake dough after enough wet hands dig in.) gently rub your baking soda paste into your scalp. i very methodically start at the nape of my neck and work my way up to the hair line around my face. run your fingers from the root to tip of your hair a couple times to coat the full length with the baking soda.

2. rinse well with water. (otherwise you'll get the equivalent of a science fair volcano on your head with the next step.)

3. fill that old shampoo bottle (well-cleaned, of course) with about 1 cup of water and 2 tablespoons of vinegar (apple cider or just plain old white work well). rinse your hair with this diluted vinegar mixture.

4. rinse well with water.

that's it! you'll find you don't need to do this daily. i do it when my hair feels like it needs a little scrub, about twice a week on average.

"physics is the period. engineering is the first child. "

2011-01-07T09:31:00.000-08:00

back to class. i would like to thank the following:

- university admin for allowing me to have a schedule that is more or less 8am to 5pm, everyday except tuesday. thank you for sparing me the disheartening struggle of staying until the wee hours of the night for lectures. oh--and how could i forget that none--NONE!--of my classes are in lees.

- the snow goddess for making the city look pretty and building a base for potential snowshoeing in the park. hooray for low-impact activities when you're hauling around a human in the making.

- my landlord for her willingness to improve the insulation on our joint. the water heater loves its new winter jacket.

- la premiere chaine de radio-canada for saving me from the vocal train wreck that is jian ghomeshi on cbc. talking slowly, choosing mundane words without fail and making unnecessary, at times absurd, pauses mid-sentence should be reserved for obama. your only shining moments are when your interesting, yet directionally confused, guests steal the show. shame on you, pri, for bringing this south across the border.

- my fluids professor for expecting what seemed like too much and making me sweat for the final. and your support for my growing belly is truly extraordinary around this building!

- hot glue guns, because you are awesome. you stick well, dry quickly, and are the unappreciated kin to duct tape.

- the university food bank. thank you for stocking our pantry once a month and giving my arms a serious workout. the girl guide's cookies were a special treat. (think canadian knock off of the girl scout's legendary thin mints. delicious!)

- my electric engineering professor's accent. you make me ponder how physics could be a period, what sperm could represent in your metaphor, and whether i may have heard you wrong.

comedy network

2010-12-23T10:26:00.000-08:00

the comedy central doesn't exist in canadia. so, when i go searching for a fix for some american news, i get forwarded over to comedy network (of canada). thanks for not letting me down, comedy central/network, and for creating a new little note each time.

thanks to your helpful messages, i can now identify 98% of canadian actors, comedians, and animated characters on your shows. (not like these flapping heads are easy to miss.) this is a very useful skill in canada, as canadians pride themselves on knowing the origins of all non-american, north american people. and i'm sure this will assist in my passing the citizen test in a couple of years. that, and having a child with a flapping head.

and, hey! it's christmas in canada!

food back home

2010-12-16T17:00:00.000-08:00

i am not from the country. i'm from a suburbanish, town-city place north of seattle with the slogan "make it an edmonds kind of day." (click here to buy this sweet t-shirt.)

yet, somehow since i left home, much of my family has drifted away from the semi-urban life we once shared. my dad and sister remain, still clinging by a precarious thread to civilization from their north seattle home.... but the rest of them?

why, dey've done an' gone moved o'er to the east side uh deh moutans, dey did. and it's pretty a pretty sweet gig, really. more sunlight, great community, real seasons, no traffic, natural beauty--oh, and did i mention the food? how could i leave that out?!

see, the fam's photo updates have slowly gravitated over the years towards a very specific theme. at this point they can all essentially be boiled down to:

(a) what's for dinner (and how we cooked it on an open fire in the living room);

(b) what we caught for dinner in the backyard (and our exciting tools of procurement);

(c) what we would have liked to catch for dinner if it were only the right time (look! an appetizer in the background!); and

(d) what will be for dinner upon maturity.

yes, there have even been rabbit cleaning photos in the mix. and, you know what? even after my stints at vegetarianism and even veganism, it doesn't bother me a bit. in fact, i find it quite refreshing. i'm surprised that people will happily pick up that plastic wrapped cut at safeway, yet come away traumatized from a little flesh hacking. insert cheesy proverb here about my filial bonds with my family. perhaps something like "the apple sure don't fall far from the tree." or just some good advice, like "don't wake a sleepin' rattler."

what's the difference between an elephant and snorkeling in the caribbean?

2010-12-15T07:52:00.000-08:00

no, that's not a holiday joke to get the festivities really going; it's apparently a good opening question for a fluid mechanics final. (hey, you gotta give the professor creativity points for that one.)

with that, my friends, i have completed the more difficult of my final exams.

low expectations, but...

2010-12-14T13:29:00.000-08:00

i know i give my university--ahem, "canada's university" a hard time, but sometimes even my sinking expectations prove too much of a hurdle for this joint.

take my classes in the conveniently located lees. you know the one: that crappy old building built on a hazmat site across from the "queensway" (the name of the highway; apparently queen elizabeth is keen for 8 lanes of stop-and-go traffic) about a kilometer or so away from the main campus that the administration pawns on us unsuspecting students a day before classes begin. yeah, that lees campus.

well, i've come to terms with having classes there. sure, the wifi doesn't work except in the foyer, so i have to run to building C to get some reception during break to check the bus schedule. and yeah, the ladies bathroom in building A has one stall with a duct tape closure (and no mirrors, but two sinks) which can make for awkwardness. sure, you can't drink the water and drinking fountains are plastered with signs:

but, that's okay. i'm just happy to be there for 3 hours at a time.

i know our classroom doesn't have a functioning heating or cooling system, but we've learned to prop open the doors with whatever random desk or broken chair we find in the hallway so that the room (filled with about 60 of us) breathes out a bit of the stagnant, sweaty, hot air. i'm sure we can all appreciate the nostalgia we get of that old locker-room-after-football-practice smell. i mean, how could i complain about the HVAC system not working? when it was finally turned on it blew in air directly sucked from the roof that was being retarred. i prefer the wrestling mat stench over fresh toxic sludge any day, so just keep the air off. we're just thankful that the roof might stop leaking before winter!

but, i have to say, i start to get a little worried when i see signs posted in the classroom such as this:

apparently, this semi-functioning, half-used building is a convenient place for people to swing by and steal from the poor saps stuck here for mercifully long periods in stanky classrooms next to partially functioning bathrooms underneath fresh petroleum roofs. thankfully, the administration makes this risk known and warns us that while we are running down the hall during break to find a second bathroom, drink some potable water, reach the internet or seek out fresh air, we should carry all our shit with us else it show up missing upon our regrettable return.

i appreciate your thoughtfulness.

joyeux noel

2010-12-13T13:10:00.000-08:00

the best thing about living in canada is the complete disregard for equal religious representation.* yep. while my stateside brethren bicker over that tiny manger on city property, public school officials and government workers here in the north are busily coating every possible fixture owned by the public in shiny, sparkley, unapologetically christmasy flair.

never mind trying to hide the spirit with lights in generic blue and white or banners reading "happy holidays." nope. the most accommodation you'll see reads "joyeux noel." everywhere you look is christmas. on campus. city hall. parliament hill. the tacky streets of hull.

no, there will be no exciting decorations next august for ramadan. and, no, there will be no apologies for that either.

clearly, this is a country not exactly founded on religious freedom or revolutions to secure it. no, canadians just take it easy and have several hundred years of a polite war similar to something a kin to attrition until england calls "uncle." or they have a "silent revolution" from the church after centuries of oppression. rabble rousing? nah, just wait it out and suck on some frozen maple syrup on a stick.

and i kinda like that.

although, it would be a lot better if the government just went buck wild and did it up this big for every holiday. oh, to see stephen harper sing more than carols and old beatles tunes. "dreidel, dreidel, dreidel. i made it out of clay...."

* i'm lying. but i do like the lights.

TA humor

2010-09-22T11:47:00.000-07:00

in case you wonder what i've been up to, school has started again. the baby-spoon first week is long gone, the training-wheeled second week is over, and now i have real assignments and quizzes and other junk to do.

just when i think i'm back in the grind, awesomeness shows up. and, boy, do i love me some awesomeness. this morsel is brought to you by my fluid mechanics TA (teaching assistant), dan.

[background: being the new millenium, internets, we now use you to post things for our classes. for example, our first homework for fluids was to post a report on an application of fluid mechanics on our online class discussion board. (the idea being that then everyone will sit down and, without being coerced, read all seventy reports. yeah.... only poor dan got saddled with that task.) for writing, your great; but because doing and grading math online is like herding cats with a keyboard, we still hand in paper copies of the math section of an assignment.]

well, as i was perusing the course website this afternoon, i saw a new post on the discussion board. it was from dan in response to a student's report:

"http://www.staples.ca/ENG/Catalog/cat_sku.asp?CatIds=&webid=508901&affixedcode=WW

Buy one please."

yeah, tim. get it together, buddy. think you're gonna get away scot-free with handing in your paper assignment sans staples? think again, my friend. we may not be able to pick you out in class, but we know how to call you out all the same.

(contented sigh.)

this dose of passive aggressiveness is just what i needed.

what i miss most are the edges.

2010-09-12T11:33:00.000-07:00

last saturday, i returned from a trip "home" to seattle. since then, i've had some time to appreciate what i miss most about the place. or, rather, the space shared by the people i love. even if they don't exactly live there, that's where i know them best.

it's the quirkiness that i miss. the sincere, unintentional and unreproducible eccentricities. the edges that my new home lacks.

i would love for someone here to gift me a mouse brain embalmed in formaldehyde in a small little jar and proudly point out the pinkish nasal bulbs that were so skillfully left intact when she carefully broke open the skull and gently removed the gray matter.
i long to eat a friend's fresh-out-of-the-oven, gluten-free, vegan, organic, hand-made spelt bread.
i miss hearing tales of used BVDs come napkins, fishin' for chickens or the failures of fertilizer spreader BBQs.
and forget the office jobs everyone strives for--where is a friend who wouldn't blink at the prospect of having a job destined for a history channel's reality tv series?
someone who would look at the churning waters of the drake passage as an opportunity instead of a curse?
who do i call to talk for hours over the merits of humanure?
which major at the university should i join to ensure their events offer vegan cuisine prepared by small, local restaurants on compostable dinnerware?
who can i design specialized burlesque wear for who*actually* knows, appreciates and contributes to the true art that is burlesque (all while getting her master's)?
who will invite me to a raging show at a lesbian bar? or gay bingo?
where are the birthing fanatics?
to who's house should i go to triple up tarps and create a mile-long, grown-up-sized slip n' slide?
or to see a fairy tree, a home-made apple press made of scrap lumber or neat rows of canned veggies from the garden to overwinter?
is it too much to ask for a doctor with a full tattoo sleeve who finds the humor in my jokes of saving placentas in the backs of household freezers? (don't be uncomfortable--you're a doctor, fergodsake!)
where are those who end their emails with quotes such as, "When I'm old, I don't want them to say of me, 'She's so charming.' I want them to say, 'Be careful, I think she's armed'" and have followed through?

where are all the lovely people like this hiding out in this town?

olly olly oxen free!

classic uottawa move

2010-09-07T13:32:00.000-07:00

here i am, just returning from volunteering this morning at the university, now getting ready for my big first day of school tomorrow. i found all of my textbooks, purchased a couple of new shiny notebooks, printed out my schedule, laid out my new outfit in cute piles on the bed. feelin' good. feelin' the energy.

and, then, i just checked my email to found this stellar piece of news from the university of ottawa:
it reads:
Please note the following change to MCG3130. It will now be taught on
Wednesdays, from 17:30 to 20:30, in the LEE Building, A131. This
change is effective immediately.

okay.... a last minute change. no worries. no need to mess with my positive flow. but, this will take some deciphering. and so, a dialogue with myself ensues:

wednesdays....
oh, geez--that's tomorrow.
wait, i don't see MCG3130 on a wednesday.
(reviewing schedule)
oh, it wasn't on a wednesday.
it was on a tuesday.
at 10:00AM.
and where is lees?
oh--it's a different campus a couple of kilometers away from the main campus.
right....

hold on there--
lemme double check this.

(checking online registration)
nope. no changes here.

(verifying university calendar)
yep. this has been sneakily updated.

(rereading email)
that's right: the university changed a 10AM tuesday course on the main campus to a 5:30PM wednesday course on the lees campus the day before classes start.

i mean, why would that surprise anyone? it's not like the staff didn't have over four. whole. months. to adjust the scheduling. but that's summer, people. you can't actually expect thoughtful work to occur in summer.

i know, i know. this sounds petty. but i had high hopes for my evenings. i was considering an evening french writing class. or maybe having dinner with my husband. or just to relish in not being on campus wednesdays from 8AM to 8:30PM with a measly two hour-and-a-half long breaks. high friggin hopes, folks. dashed.
(sigh.)

see, i would like these sorts of changes a whole lot more if the staff that created them got to join us from the wee hours of the morning to the wee hours of the night. then, i couldn't complain. why, i would just revel in the camaraderie. but, alas, only some of us have earned the right to get to leave at 4:30 every day. and the staff can be reasonably assured that they won't receive an email from the university today notifying them that they shouldn't come in tomorrow and that they, instead, have been scheduled the night shift on saturday. no! why, that would be ridiculous!

ecofootprint calculator brought to you by coke

2010-08-16T12:56:00.000-07:00

how cliché: calculating your ecological footprint. yet, today, i somehow wound up at the center for sustainable economy's calculator, busily entering my vital statistics.

sure, i'm not all that convinced that by entering in a few numbers the internets can really determine how green or red (the not-green on the color wheel) i really am. but, there is something nice about going on to a simple site, answering some clear questions and getting basic feedback about my lifestyle choices, even if it could be grossly misleading. and, today, i'm feelin' pretty good about my wonderfully low results!

apparently my lifestyle needs only (only!) 1.10 earths. i know that's above parity and we can't magically create another tenth of an earth, but 1.10 is significantly lower than canada's average of 5.68 earths.

just for good times, i also tried out the same quiz only changing the country i live in to the u.s.of.a.... for some unknown reason, my same life uprooted just south of the parallel requires 1.26 earths. i guess that's the tax of hegemonic-policies-of-invading-other-countries-and-extreme-military that ups my score and the national average to 6.35. or does it also include the energy required to run all those secret international political prisons, the sweatshops overseas making goods destined for the u.s., or the absolutely immense waste of energy that is fox news? or did a canadian write this program? ("they're so quiet up [here], but they're so subversive.") for what ever reason, something's a miss with the calculator.

now, i get that it's designed to be an educational tool to show people how screwed up their living patterns are and how easy it could be to fix them if they just used a powerstrip or two, stopped driving everywhere and bought a whole new slew of energy-saving appliances. (and it's true; these are easy ways to reduce, reuse and recycle.) but, how well do these suggestions really get at the real issues or do they (unintentionally) perpetuate the same myth that the market and consumerism will buy our way out of the current jam? just buy green and all will be better.

while pondering this issue, i couldn't help but notice the scrolling "licensed users" list on the bottom of the screen:coca-cola life plus foundation?
snc-lavalin?
something's fishy....

what is the life plus foundation anyway? and why is it supporting this calculator? is it a campaign to get people to stop drinking a product that is unhealthy (thanks, coke, for supporting childhood obesity), wasteful (plastic bottles; excessively using india's drinking water), and abusive of labor (think columbia)? that seems a little self-defeating. after looking it up (don't think i'm linking to it here), it is coke's vague organization to fund NGOs to help with sustainability issues. these projects include educating apple farmers in turkey in better agricultural practices to reduce fresh water pollution and converting the lighting of the bursa four seasons to run off of solar. a four seasons? um...how about a local school, dudes? please excuse my skepticism, but this sounds like a p.r. page, if i've ever seen one.

now, snc. this was a recently hot corporation to hate in canadian activist land because of their building of the great toronto wall around the g20 conference. before that it was popular to dis on because they manufacture and sell weapons to the u.s.military and canadian "peace-keeping" missions. whether this and their gargantuan size makes them horrible, i have no idea.

it does beg the question, though, of why two giant, protest-attracting corporations are supporting this ecological tool. i'm not feeling creative enough to come up with any particularly elaborate and exciting conspiracy theory other than the classic, aforementioned p.r. campaign. can we agree that knowing the site is supported by coke and snc kinda undermines the halo of goodness that i just calculated earlier. (remember? 1.10! woo!!!)

damn.

guess i'll actually have to do something more than spend 2 minutes determining the square-footage of my house and veggie garden to understand the state of our world today, my role in it and how i can affect change. maybe i'll score (read: check out from the library when it becomes available) this new book, green gone wrong: how our economy is undermining the environmental revolution, and get a better grip on how corporate interests have appropriated and repackaged the environmental movement's do-gooder intents. or maybe i'll just print out my ecofootprint score on virgin bleached paper and post it on the fridge with a cute little magnet so i can revel in my awesomeness every time i reach for the handle of our horribly inefficient appliance that spills cold air all over the floor and contributes to greenhouse gases. and i'll think to myself, "1.10?! i rock!"

recommended ottawa/gatineau bike shops

2010-08-13T10:26:00.000-07:00

now, i'm no fan of advertising, but i won't shy from giving a little well-earned praise. after just over 1 year of living in the gatineau/ottawa region, i can finally say i've found my favorite local bike places.

and, believe you me, the search was grueling. you would never believe how many rude, over-priced, and/or arrogant bike shops could inhabit a region with just over a million residents. holy. beejeezus. and don't get me started about the time i was bent over pumping up a tire when a guy came over, proudly put his crotch an inch from my head, and proclaimed something along the lines of, "you're in my favorite position for a woman." (thank you very much, bicyclinique, for that gem of a moment.)

clearly, i've waded through enough squalor and kissed enough diseased toads to truly find my top three in the area:

1. phat moose cycles.
what makes them #1? to start with, taste. they're the only salsa dealer in ontario and quebec. after having the opportunity to "ride and smile" atop jesús, my la cruz (with discs), for a coupla years now, i have to give props to the only bike shop to know, recognize and bring 'em to territory 150% larger than alaska. they (and tall tree, see below) are also the only two surly dealers within over 100 miles and they also have some masis and steelwool, custom steel bikes by tall tree. solid selection.

knowledge and attitude is also a bonus. the owners (who run the shop) obviously like bikes and can intelligently answer my questions about them. plus, they have been a pleasure to be around each and every time i've been in. they're happy to tell me about the upcoming rides in the area and try to convince me that cyclocross is a really, really good idea even if i come in last.

additionally, these dudes are just solid guys. for example, when my friend ordered a bike from them, he asked if he could come by after hours, drink beer and put it together with them so he could learn how. they happily obliged. and when i needed my steer tube cut off, they smilingly agreed to trade the work for veggies from my garden and a jar of my homemade chutney. they even threw in an extra tube. stinkin' awesome. you can't find that just anywhere, folks.

2. re-cycles bike coop.
if you want to build a bike, but haven't lived in a bike shop for some extended period in your life, this is a great place to start. they have the tools, extra parts and suggestions likely not found in a book that do the trick. it's where i'm currently going to put together my winter single-speed.

alternatively, if you just want to purchase a solid bike on the cheap while supporting a good cause, it's a excellent place to do it. this place is full of volunteers with a passion for bikes that just want to see you happily on one.they won't rip you off (notably unlike the bike dump nearby that profits on customer's lack of knowledge and has perfected a used-car-sales technique to dump their low quality bikes for notoriously high prices). nope, you won't find that here. just an ever-changing line-up of classic, refurbished, fully-functioning bikes.

heck, it's great even if you know all there is to know about bikes but don't have a complete tool set, or if you want to fix up bikes and teach excited students about them.

sure, it's a bit disorganized and the level of help and chemistry varies from volunteer to volunteer, but it's a non-profit bike coop open for the community to DIY their bikes. how great is that?

3. tall tree cycles.
i like the moxie of these guys. they opened a sizeable bike shop, started making custom bicycles (steelwool) and organized several solid rides (so i hear, i haven't had the honor of participating in the ride of the damned--yet) all within a single breath. go big or go home, friends.

this is the larger, more put-together bike shop of my top three, so if your looking for something accordingly larger and more put-together, give 'er a try. and i'll let you know once i go on their damned ride next may.

homemade chai tea

2010-08-12T08:59:00.001-07:00

lacycle preparing chai in the wee morning hours.

A Chai Story
if i could associate one beverage with my high school years, it would be chai. that's right. chai. chai tea. i remember drinking gallons of chai and rice milk while playing hide-and-seek at linnea's. and wandering over in pajamas to the cash-and-carry with elise "early" in the morning to score a case of it and paying in quarters.

now, i know what you're thinking: you've gotta be kiddin' me. chai tea? rice milk? hide-and-seek?! your high school days sound really...um...special. i remember my high school days. i was busy chugging back a 40 in front of a bonfire while smoking a fat stoggie. damn, i was so fuckin' cool. and all the chicks and/or hot dudes wanted me.

wow. you do sound cool, but back to the point....

chai is not only something nostalgic for me. it is also absolutely delicious and an excellent hangover cure.* the only reason why i really cut back at all was that when i (and my friends) moved out of the house, i had to pay for and find my own. so, chai was quickly, unwittingly relegated to the expensive, frivolous and fancy type of beverage category in my mind.

after a coupla years without it, i started drinking it just when i would go out to "grab a cup of coffee" with my friends. although it was warm, spicy and good...it wasn't like i remembered. (and this was before most coffee places started using the disgusting concentrate, too!)

and then, i found the beginnings of morning glory chai at the now defunct mr. spot's chai house. i was taken back by its spicy deliciousness and would even bring home the occassional glass jug of it. i never new chai came in so many kinds of goodness!

but my chai connoisseur-ness really never came to the fore until this summer. thanks to varun from new delhi, i was inspired to make my own. and i don't mean by using one of those not-so-authentic-or-delicious tea bags, either. i mean making real chai at home. why had this never occurred to me before?! that i had tried brewing my first batch of beer and old fashioned root beer before chai is beyond me. especially because it's super easy!

A Chai Recipe
so, varun gave me a box of the below darjeeling tea. lipton?! wtf, man? i don't mean to inspect the mouth of a borrowed horse here (great alberta saying, isn't it?), but you told me your brother would bring back some authentic stuff. turns out, this is what homeboy uses and it does make a pretty stellar chai base (though i'm sure other types of tea would do the trick, but more on that later).

so, i made my first small batch of chai as varun instructed (all approximate measurements; you can't go wrong):
- 2 whole cloves
- 2 whole cardamom seed pods
- 1/2 inch of ginger root, sliced
- a tablespoon of dried darjeeling tea leaves
- honey
- milk (or rice milk)

boil around 2-3 cups of water with the cloves, cardamom and ginger. after about 5-10 minutes, add the tea and simmer another 5 minutes. add honey to taste. add pretty much equal parts milk to the tea. easy shmeasy, quick and good.

after enjoying one too many cups and having the annoying shakies all afternoon, i decided to try making decaf chai by substituting a bag of rooibos tea for the darjeeling. voila! it was tasty, but by no means as deliciously classic as varun's chai. it was proof enough, though, that experimenting with other types of teas (green, black, rooibus...) is a superb idea.

then, i got the bright idea to make a big ol' batch of chai and keep 'er in the fridge. i did a quick search on the internets to find if my instinct to add a splash of nutmeg made any sense, and it did! check this excellent site for chai suggestions. i tried a variation of "my favorite chai recipe" and came up with something this:

2 Tbsp anise seed
2 Tbsp cardamom seeds
1 1/2Tbsp ground cloves
1 cinnamon stick
1/2 inch ginger root, sliced thin
1/2 tsp black pepper corns
2 bay leaves
honey
darjeeling tea

as i was making a giant batch, i brought about 7 quarts (28 cups) of water to boil with all the spices. simmered for the standard 5-10 minutes (it's chai, maaan. who needs a timer?) and added a healthy handfull of varun's darjeeling. then, i boiled the heck out of it, which, in hindsight, probably made it a tad bitter. sticking to the original 5 minutes is probably better.

i strained everything out, let it cool to room temperature and poured into bottles destined for the fridge. now all we have to do it take out the concentrate, add the same amount of rice milk and heat (or not) and enjoy.

now, i have no idea if this is true at. all. but, beto claims that if you let a caffeinated beverage sit around for a while (like our chai in the fridge, for example), the caffeine level decreases because it is volitile and decides to peace out. so....yeah. part of me is hopeful and really wants to believe this, but...really. does anyone else think he just made that up?

well, anyway, the point of this post is that chai is awesome, tasty and you should try making it at home.

* excellent cure for high-school-aged-people hangovers. i have yet to test its effectiveness now that i'm old and decrepit and feel like caca for two solid days after consuming a beer and a half.

tomatoes & friends

2010-08-12T07:45:00.001-07:00

the garden has become quite the sexy beast, as you can see.
juts look at the size of that old german tomato--vine-ripened in early august, might i add. the scarlet runners climbing up the brick wall behind are also starting to fruit and take over the clothesline. (the lemon cucumber, which should be scaling the bare lattice to the right, is not exactly a success story...but why dwell on that, really?)

the cherry tomatoes are also going nuts (in the foreground above), begging for a daily thorough picking. the tomato plants have reached nearly 6 feet tall using my custom-engineered tomato structure of bamboo (vertical supports), some dumpstered trim (horizontal supports) and twine:
the support structure worked amazingly well. and cost at most twenty bucks (canadian) to hold up the 30+ tomatoes in two areas of the yard. i simply stuck the bamboo in the ground; tied one row of trim wood vertical in the middle of the bamboo with the twine; and looped twine above and below the trim wood about 1 foot on either side. next to each bamboo support, i planted a tomato plant (as you can see above). this tomato support structure was so rad, i never even used the perfectly good metal tomato cages i found free.

the vertical bamboo supports were only about 3 feet, because i clearly had no idea how high a tomato would grow if you let it. next year, i'll definitely go up to 6 feet and use the same idea.

here's a shot of the garden about a month ago to show you the size of these nightshades. the chicken wire fence is about waist high. the cherry's are in the closer section, with the beefsteak old germans near the front door.
you can also see the zucchini to the left just starting up. followed by some eggplant (planted far enough away from the tomatoes), bush beans, carrots, beets, and the minty-colored broccoli in the back.

another highlight of the tomato section is this lovely lady:
(not me. the yellow and black spider that's nearly the size of my palm. did you really miss her?) this pretty thing has made her home in the middle of the cherry tomatoes. luckily she's chosen a place out of the way of maturing fruit, so i can pick around her.

an aside: can we marvel at what a ton of compost, seeds and elbow grease will do for a place? check out our joint a year ago.

MANPHAT

2010-08-12T07:38:00.000-07:00

winterized bike!

2010-08-09T08:04:00.000-07:00

i know that it's early august, but i didn't get a degree in planning for nuffin,' people. it's sunny and high time to make a winter bicycle. see, canada was kind to me last winter, i'm told. i enjoyed a taste of winter riding without getting my ass (and a rusted-out, absolutely destroyed bike) handed to me. thank you, canada, for your kindness. and i understand that this year might not be so light. so, here's the plan:

1. single-speed.
less complicated is decidedly better when ice, snow and salt are involved. plus, ottawa/gatineau is comically flat--or is that just the local sense of humor? (sorry, i couldn't resist. i'm just too fast today. pew-pew!) i'm also not sure that i really need 10-speeds to cruise around town in slush. so, KISS wins: single speed!

2. stainless steel cables. full housing.
this barely adds any cost and will decrease rusting on my brake cables (the only cables i'll have since ditching those pesky shifters). let's be honest, brake failure is no bueno.

3. mildly shitty, old-ass, heavy, free steel frame.
it fits. it's solid. it was free. and i won't be devistated by it's increasing rust. plus, the horizontal drops allow for a single-speed (hopefully without a tensioner). and lipstick red!? how could you say no?

4. lube. motoneige lube.
the word on the street is that snowmobile oil is a good idea in winter. i'll admit that it was made for this sort of climate. my only slight hesitation is that many things intended for motoneige use are re-purposed here, many without success. (note: i have no hesitation about using repurposed goods to make a snowmobile, however.)

5. maintenance.
yeah.... these people talk a lot about the importance of this step, but let's just be honest: i might not do any of the wonderful things they recommend here.

to fulfill my plan, i've found a pretty awesome space at the Ottawa bike coop. the dude there said i can bring stuff in the evenings to work on. they have tools and volunteers to help me out. pretty rad. with youtube, i can do this!

look, zee baby iz smoking

2010-06-08T18:03:00.001-07:00

doez zat make you angry?*

for those of you unrefined outsiders of the french-speaking world, let's be clear: quebec is no france. they were abandoned loooong ago by their daddy (effective as of the treaty of paris at end of the 7 years' war, 1763) and left to fend for themselves against the church (through the quiet revolution in the 1960s) and their abusive neighbor, the loyalists (who still hold on to ties of mommy by placing her photo proudly on their funny money).

that said, it is proudly francophone. montreal is the second capital in the world of la francophonie (francophone populations). paris is the first. but every now and then something crops up that could be straight from the motherland. take my francisation classroom (where i learned all of those fun-filled francophone facts):
that's right no cutlery, plates or beverages. clearly an effort to ban afternoon tea and crumpets on delicate flowery plates (ie. to stick it to the man).

but zee zmoking iz okay:

* full Robin Williams quote: In Paris, where people are going: [French accent] "I know who you are. I don't give a shit! It's crazy. I know all what you're doing. I see you. Here, look, the baby is smoking, does that make you angry? It doesn't matter to me!"

garden fresh!

2010-06-08T17:19:00.000-07:00

it's always exciting to actually eat the fruits of your labor. here's a tasty salad all from our garden:
(special shout out and thanks to our 100ft of chicken wire security team!)

mais

2010-06-05T06:38:00.000-07:00

internets, i may have been gone, but i haven't forgotten about you. i've been carefully documenting little tidbits of my life to share with you. like an ordinary trip to the grocery store.

see, although it's only may, there was a big onslaught of corn a couple of weeks ago. (maybe madagascar is having a bumper crop?) huge bins of corn were prominently placed in the front of the produce section, which is where i spotted this beauty:
wait--maybe i'm not reading that right. (puts on glasses.)
this sign is funny for two reasons:

1. La Direction is priddy speshal even with the use of one of those pirsonell cumpuders. screwing up spelling on a document printed from a PC in Times New Roman font is funny to me. never mind the grammar, word choice or idiomatic expression usage. now, before you get all "you live in quebec, you asshole" on me. lemme explain.

i can throw a rock and nearly hit parliament hill from my front yard. and, irrespective of years of language policy desperately trying to change this fact, the hill and its people (or drones, if you prefer) are undeniably, primarily english-speaking. now, this means that the economy is based on being a drone or providing services for the drones. so, it's not surprising that 2/3 of people living in gatineau, quebec, are functionally bilingual. (don't confuse this with ottawa, ontario, where this percentage drops by over half.) and, clearly, english signs in the supermarket are an asset, unless you want those anglophone assholes making a mess of your store.

this does not mean that La Direction need be bilingual. but, it does mean that a shit ton of people working at the store, entering the store, loitering about or digging through the trash out back are likely bilingual. and they probably have the time to offer a helping hand and correct a single english sentence. heck--the produce kid even laughed at the sign.

now, lord knows i would compose equally riterded signs in french, but i would insist on having someone edit for me before hitting print. or at least i'd fumble through spell check. (the notable exception was the blog de lacyclette which probably makes little, if any, sense.) failure to do so means it can be a laughter free for all. that's right: if you don't get your public signs edited, your work can be justifiably laughed at. 'cause i find this shit super funny.

2. this sign is also a perfect example of canadian customer service. now, don't get confused by west coast canadian customer service. that is another story entirely. i, too, feel like i made a brand new, bestest friend in the whole wide world after buying dental floss in vancouver. but it's not like that over here in the mainland. the message is pretty much this:

listen, buddy. i am really, really busy right now with something invisible. i am flawlessly polite, but only because it is an excellent mask for real involvement and emotion, and using colorless words makes the time pass less slowly. i would appreciate it if you would refrain from acting out of order, making a mess, trying to make a personal connection with me, expecting anything more immediate than scheduling a meeting in a week or two, attempting to avoid our hierarchy, forms and/or bureaucracy, or making me strain myself to attempt real work. we both know that i'm here because i deserve amazing pay and benefits and it's challenging to justify that while unemployed. so i walk this fine line. i punch the card. i do some stuff. i show up not too late. and it's cool. now, don't screw it up.

and, so, we get signs proclaiming corn peeling forbidden in this great land, instead of an extra box or two on the side in which to put the discarded husks. (look--a solution!) and the reason for it's banishment? respect for your fellow countrymen. for what is canada without a little respect? just upperstate new york?

the tasty, non-deserter pancake

2010-06-05T05:56:00.000-07:00

l'eggo your eggos, friends. (or the equally crappy organic brand i know your buying....) let's face it: they're just not really worth it. i know, i know. "but they're made with love," you say. okay. fine. got me there. but they are more air and water than real love, and after no more than 32 minutes you know the energy provided by the syrup you smothered your toasted cardboard with will wear off, leaving you with an aching pain and the undeniable desire to find real food.

forget about your MIA toaster waffles, but don't worry. i gotchu, compadres.

here's a super tasty, easy to do, as organic as you wanna make it, less expensive recipe that you can use to make pancakes (or waffles, if you are a texture person). make a bunch, enjoy, freeze the leftovers and pop in your toaster later. a coupla these bad boys in the morning and i'm good 'til pretty much lunch time! (a serious feat for me.)ingredients:
1 cup your choice of flours (i use a mix of whole wheat, rye, spelt and buckwheat)1/4 cup bran
1/4 cup wheat germ
1 teaspoon baking powder
1 teaspoon cinnamon
1/2 teaspoon of cardamom
1/2 teaspoon of nutmeg
(optional old lady additions: 1 tablespoon bone powder
1 tablespoon brewer's yeast)
1 egg (or 1 mashed banana)1 tablespoon high-heat oil (ie. not olive)
1 tablespoon molasses
1.5 cups of what you have: buttermilk, yogurt, soy milk (any one or a mix of these)
if you want chunkies try: blueberries, diced apple, walnuts, etc.
directions:
1. mix together dry ingredients.
2. add wet ingredients.
3. mix in your chunkies (optional).
4. cook on a hot, lightly oiled griddle. (hooray for cast iron, again!) resist the temptation to make platter sized pancakes--these should fit in your toaster. a 1/2 cup of batter should work. turn when bubbly on top.
5. eat with real quebecois maple syrup. save any leftovers in the freezer and heat in a toaster when hungry!

one of those days

2010-05-20T14:11:00.000-07:00

if you ride a bike near any sort of fossil-fuel-powered sort of machinery on a regular basis, you'll know what i'm talking about when i say i had one of those days. one of those days when i wish i had one of the following handy:

- my bike lock

- 3 feet of garden hose with the attachment end

- a padlock on a rope

- a stink bomb

- a suitcase full of broken glass and nails

- a big ass rock- a push-button window breaker

- a police computer with license plate database, complete with addresses of the guilty

- a super-squirter filled with acid- a shitty bike made of IEDs

- an iron fist and/or awesome riding gear circa 1500AD
- a molotov cocktail
- a city who gave a shit about people engaging in one of the greenest forms of transportation.*

- the driver's child, spouse, mother, and/or pet in a bike trailer

- a bike with a keg full of beer and a sweet sound system

i'm not sure that this last one would save my life, but it might just make my day. off to the drawing board....

*******************
* that's right. thumbs down to you, municipalities of gatineau and ottawa. i hope you and your driver friends have a could've-been-prevented-by-regular-exercise heart attack and that your timely arrival of medical care fails due to excessive traffic and/or giant, could've-been-fixed potholes. you should be ashamed of your busy hands-sitting while innocent people out for a good ride to work get maimed.

oh, and leisurely bike paths are wonderful and romantic (thank you!) but completely fucking useless for commuting when they abruptly dump into a street with crazy mo'fo's behind the wheel, like the one i encountered on the chaudiere bridge on the way home. and, just so we're on the same page, the bike path that crosses the portage bridge (and then abruptly ends in the intersection equivalent of a circle jerk at wellington) is not a safe option when we have a three-foot-wide lane to navigate while buses and taxis drive directly for our faces on the right. why would you put the bike lane on the wrong side of the road? and how, exactly, am i supposed to get off of it and onto wellington? hop the sidewalk and cross the six lanes of traffic during rush hour? sure, i'll try that next time.

now, off to effectively combat road rage while encouraging boozing it up on the streets of the nation's capital....

i feel ya

2010-05-18T10:51:00.001-07:00

lacycle police seek garden-robbery suspect

2010-05-10T12:46:00.000-07:00

Police are asking for the public’s help to identify a garden-robbery suspect.

The furry beast— who police believe is responsible for eating seven small food producing sites on Cooperation Street between April 13th and May 2nd — was captured on a surveillance camera.

The suspect is believed to be working alone when he approaches gardens and demands a nibble.

He is described as North North American, one foot two, 10 pounds, with brown hair and a goatee. He usually wears sunglasses, a hat or toque and a fur jacket.

Anyone with information is asked to contact Lacycle police at 819-555-2541 or Crime Stoppers at 1-800-555-8477.

granola bars!

2010-05-09T15:38:00.000-07:00

pretty much every sunday our oven contains a cast iron skillet filled with a batch of these granola bars. they are tasty, filling, easy-to-make and will save your life in Hour 4 of thermodynamics. and, much of this recipe can be adjusted without destroying it! it's become our "everything but the kitchen sink" non-soup recipe that enjoys slight variations every week.

no walnuts? what other kind of nut or seed do you have lying around?

weird flour? i've tried pretty much every kind (except white) in some sort of combination and the bars still come out delicious. spelt, rye, whole wheat, buckwheat....

going anti-fat? swap the oil with applesauce (though i think the oil ones have a slightly better texture, myself).

so, here are the basics of a winning snack:

2 cup oats
1/4 c flax seeds (or ground flax)
1/4 c wheat germ
1/2 c walnuts
1/4 c sesame seeds
1 c flour(s)
2 Tbs brewer's yeast
1 Tbs bone meal
1 tsp ground cinnamon
1/4 tsp ground nutmeg
1/4 tsp cardamon
1/4 tsp all spice
3/4 tsp salt

2 mashed bananas
1/2 c honey
1 egg
1/2 c oil (high heat, such as sunflower, grape seed, etc.)
1 Tbs vanilla extract

1/2 c raisins
1/4 c chopped dried apricot, cranberries or other dried fruit
chocolate chips (optional, depending upon beto's whining efforts)

1.) mix the dry ingredients.
2.) in a separate bowl, mash the banana and mix in the other wet ingredients.
3.) add dry to wet. mix.
4.) add chunkies (dried fruit, chocolate, etc.)
5.) slap into a cast iron skillet (no need to oil if it's well-seasoned) and into the oven at 350F. (i don't preheat, by the way. it's generally heated too early and the skillet is cold anyway. i find it unnecessary and often a waste of energy.)
6.) 20-25 minutes and the edges should be slightly browned. careful not to overcook, you don't want it too hard. (they are forgiving; i've forgotten about them for up to 15 minutes too long with legit results.) pull it out and twack it hard, upside down onto a cutting board. the plate of granola should come out in one piece.
7.) DO NOT WAIT to take it out of the skillet or to cut it. cut into bars while it's hot or you'll be cussing when you struggle with it later. (it can get hard, crumbly or a bunch of other frustrating textures as it cools.)
8.) optional loving touch: let the bars fully cool and wrap individually in wax paper (reusable, by the way). store all together in a large ziplock bag to grab on your way out the door!

declared: war

2010-05-01T07:21:00.000-07:00

listen, groundhog. your brief times of gallivanting in my garden are over.

no more of this shit:
my furry little friend, bald spots where healthy kale once stood will no longer be tolerated.

i know you must have thought that my half-assed attempts at dissuading your entry were just a cute cat and mouse game.
maybe even that this was a nice canadian lady's garden filled with baby maple trees and plants for you, but you have gravely mistaken.

you might notice my lacking requisite quebecois-magenta hair, my shitty sense of style and my snarl. that's right, motherfacker, this here be some american garden. and it's on. you've officially hit civilians on my home soil. prepare for shock and awe.

cake or death? motherhood or life?

2010-04-29T08:01:00.000-07:00

i purchased "the price of motherhood" at least six years ago. i don't really remember where or why, but i did. brand new. i picked it up a couple of times to try and read it, but it never worked out. it's like that funky shirt you picked up at a clothing swap. you put it on and prance in front of the mirror, wear it while eating breakfast and change out of it before you leave the house. it seems to always play out like this, but you can't quite figure out why.

so, the book. the topic was interesting; the tone and grammar appropriate; the statistics only mildly questionable. there was really no reason to stop, as i recall. but stop i did. but it wasn't as though i would actually get rid of it or not ship it across the continent to sit on a shelf here instead of in my mother's barn.

well, tuesday, i pulled it off that shelf--yeah, the shelf that i made out of an old futon frame. (note to self: i rock.) i picked it up with mild interest to expand my horizons on my week off from studies, while eying "a people's history of the united states" sitting nearby, similarly unread. perhaps i'll just brush off my critical thinking skills. either that, or reread another zine-styled punk book on how to guerrilla garden, spruce up the neighborhood with thought-provoking graffiti and overthrow world oppressors. i like that sort of thing: getting riled up and motivated to do something radical, then realizing my bread is almost done in the oven and quickly forgetting about my plans to stealth paint a bike lane late one night on my entire commute to school.

several chapters in--further than i have ever made it before--and i find it's a worthwhile read. sure, it's complete obliviousness to the struggles of women of color and the working class hasn't improved. (grrr. shaking angry fist, the left one.) but it still is somehow more poignant now to my twenty-seven-year-old self than it was to my women's-studies-course-taking self what seems like a decade ago. maybe that's because i am closer to baby-makin' age (as our society defines it).

see, i'm frustrated that i'm not supposed to be rattling off about any desire to be prego or have a baby. maybe i think that wouldn't be such a bad state of affairs. but, no. i'm supposed to talk about My Future in broad, sweeping strokes, first discussing how i will graduate as a world-changing engineer, then what sort of career i want to establish, where i want to live, and then--then--how i can maybe work in the possibility of having a baby all the while framing it in a self-deprecating, i-know-i-don't-know-how-much-work-it-really-will-be tone. i should seek information about child bearing in terms of being a doula or writing an academic paper on the issue, not because of an actual interest in the matter as it relates to my life. never mind the actual birth, which i should, by most standards, be absolutely terrified of (but that's the coolest part!).

frankly, i'm sick of women having to admit that "an accident" would make our decision much easier. (that way there's no one to blame. ooops!) why is it not acceptable for us to proudly say, "i wanna have a baby and it's going to be awesome"? or, by the same token, "i hate babies, and i'm super cool without one!" why, when talking about the utero, does a woman's entire history have to be put on trial like a rape victim (a topic which i will reserve for another tangent)? why is there a stigma of being a womb-bearer and not being afraid to use it or pulling it's plug?

instead, we have to say things like, "oh, well, i'm not really all that sure about that. but, you know, i don't really think i would have an abortion...." or "well, babies are really great, but i just don't know that right now is an ideal moment, maybe...." come on! i could ask about other significant life-changing topics and get a straight answer. would you pull the plug on your significant other if they were a vegetable? yes. would you stand in front of an israeli tank in protest? maybe. would you go to war if there were a draft? moot--that's why i live in canada. would you like to have a baby? geez. i guess that's a pretty big one there, isn't it. well, umm...i suppose first that i should....

in particular, why do my colleagues and i first have to check off the pre-determined list made for educated women? because heaven forbid we actually make a society in which a woman could be successful out there and have babies at home. it almost seems like child bearing is reserved for women with "nothing better to do." (don't get your panties in a twist. i think that being a mom is something better to do than may things, so rock on. i'm just pointing out the obvious that society doesn't value everyone's work the same. boom! one screwed up bomb coming your way, working class. that's it.)

pink collar worker with a husband? have a baby!
simple girl with housewife potential? get 'er preggers, hubby!
trust fund mommy? wah-wah!
ex-teen star with no real singing abilities? here's some man juice!

aside from these special cases, what about the rest of us? what about the women who can achieve success (academic, monetary or otherwise as defined by society) outside of being a mother, but want a shot at both? what about the scholars? the boring accountants and quirky bookkeepers? the researchers and mad scientists? the selfish capitalist bitches at the bank, goldman and the law office? the doctors and midwives? the candlestick makers?! apparently we women can't have cake and eat it, too. pick: womb or work. how about a stay at home dad while we take a shot at ruling the world?

do you really think you're ready?
no. if i did, i would be naive and eventually receive the reality smack down. but, if i didn't, i wouldn't be giving myself enough credit. i'm rad and can do many things well. i can generally make stuff work out, especially if i have access to zip ties and duct tape and i'm sure mommydom is no different. i mean, at what point will our lives will be deemed well-prepared enough for the too difficult, too demanding, either better than (or below) us project of having a baby. i mean, really. i get that it's a big deal, but sometimes really big deals can be a really good thing. and that's okay.

so, the book. it's an interesting, well-researched take on how screwed my lady bits' goals in life are. essentially, i either must wait until things are almost rusted shut to dust them off at a 13th-hour attempt to have a family or give up on some of my more current dreams filled with bicycle wheel wind turbines, cob housing and shipping containers. and that's only the first four chapters.

i'll let you know how the suspense ends!

yes. i am a control freak. is that a problem?

2010-04-21T16:32:00.000-07:00

1/5

control posts

i have a certain way of doing most things. if i don't have a way of doing it, it's likely because i don't do it.

for example, i do not have a particular way to cut raw meat. however, i do have a method of carefully removing every last piece of opaque fat, tendon or other offending piece of non-meat-looking element from a steak. this survival skill was fine-tuned in my youth while growing up with a dad from iowa. this is such a strong twitch, i have to use all of my gray matter to not cut unforgivingly at my steak while in mixed company. i also have to consciously stop myself from smacking beto's hand as he comes in to scoop up all of the blubber carefully piled on the top left corner of my plate. and, no--this is not some anemic hangup, although it may look like i am vainly trying to salvage my figure. this is an order issue. the muscle should be separated from the fat, which should be distinguished from the other animal parts.

this just got icky.

or, take my approach to solving a problem on paper. i begin by labeling the top right corner with the page number and a slash, skip two lines and give the problem a heading. once i am completed with my problem(s), i write the total number of pages below the slash on all pages to ensure that i know how many are there. this is all in preparation for the day that some strong arctic wind whips up, opens my waterproof, roll-top backpack, rips out my carefully organized binder and sends the papers flitting about the street. while gasping for air through my panic-choked wind pipe, i will be comforted with knowing that i will be able to put all of the papers back in order. ahhh.

a day in the life.

2010-04-16T13:25:00.000-07:00

this morning i woke up to the usual vandalism. unsurprisingly, the animals (my guess is raccoons) have figured out that banging the garbage hard enough overcomes gravity and can flip over the (still attached) bungee-corded lid. shocking, really, that animals would think of using simple. brute. force. to tip shit over for life-giving food. (<-- directed at neighbor and husband unit.)

"well, we'll just use this little elastic cord here, honey, and that'll fix 'er."

but, here's the deal: raccoons do what they want. they be some smart mammalians, boys. clamping handle? whadda joke. a chicken coop? no sweat. electric fence? what the crap--that's just animal cruelty. but, seriously, they can hack into anything. in fact, they are probably reading this very post right now from a pirated internet line. and i'm pretty much convinced that they have opposable thumbs. see, read their palms--they are friggin genius. squirrels are not, but know some good garbage to riffle through when they see it: (that poofy black thing is a squirrel.)

(and, yes, i am still amused by the fact that there are black squirrels here.)

not being owner of the bungee cord, the idea of using one to foil the plan of the mighty raccoon, or the garbage inside the can, i could've cared less about the mess in my yard. (yep, i'm developmentally that much of an only child.) the mountains of trash flitting around my yard fell into the "nawt my problem" category. i snapped a shot while half awake in my undies, pitying the fool that would have to clean up that mess, and quickly put it out of mind.

i turned my attention to finding some clothes so i could check on my newly planted baby kale and cauliflower in the garden. ooh--and maybe my peas sprouted! nearly slipping off my stairs o' death that i'm sure are made of diamond-like-carbon (DLC, which has a coefficient of friction of less than 0.2), i made it downstairs.

when i stepped outside, all looked good until i saw this:
is that my baby kale doubled over, stem crushed?! i tried futilely to revive it by placing it upright as though it were cake frosting that had merely slumped a little. it hunched back over. damn it! why!?! i cupped my face in my hands, fingers pulling my eyes dramatically open. why!?! i looked up at the sky in vain. why have you forsaken--oh, right--well, likely because of the rain last night. thunderstorms will hit a bitch. ah, well. if it really wants to live, it will. at least the raccoons are uninterested in my garden.

off i went to make some breakfast and do some last minute color-coding for my physics exam. (for those of you non-type-A's out there, color coding is what we do to prepare our notes for an exam to improve mental recognition and retention, and use our human powers to find stuff. this is an "open book" test, which is latin for "you can bring anything you want and will still fail." hence the urgency for some color-coding.)

i rode to university to play hockey--er, um, take the exam on the ice:
seriously. this exam is so canadian, people have even grown play-off beards:
after being royally handed my ass by my polish physics teacher, who is so notorious he has a fan club on facebook, i joined the fellas to drink a coupla pitchers while discussing language politics. i awaited a break in the rain and proceeded to ride home all sorts of tipsy.

now before you begin on a diatribe about how cyclists have the same rules as drivers and shouldn't be riding inebriated, just chill, people. i suppose you've never heard of centripetal force? (sigh.) well, when something circular spins (say, a bicycle wheel), a force is created towards the center of rotation (the hub of my wheel). this force is directly related to the speed (F=mrw^2, where w is the angular speed). so, as i peddle starship-enterprise fast, i essentially can't fall over, and a protective shield materializes around my body making any risk of life or limb impossible.

plus, since that gigundous pile of ice has melted, half of my ride is only on a bike path where i only have to deal with threats like this one:
er--wait. that must have happened while i was trying to take my glove off with my teeth, holding the camera phone in my other hand and riding at light speed. here it is:nope. that's not it, either. that must have been while i was texting a friend, eating a hot dog and riding duck-hawk fast in the mist. okay, here we go. here is the menace of the piste cyclable:
middle-aged dudes in spandex on fancy-pants, light-as-a-feather, zillion dollar racing bikes that are going so effing slow, a drunk chick can sneak up on 'em, remove articles of clothing, nearly drop her husband's iphone at least six times and still take a reasonable photo. see, these men are just like the mushroom things in mario brothers that slowly wiggle around to kill you and make collecting gold coins and saving the princess difficult.
elusive beast, you're lucky this is not the african savannah and that i can't jump as high as italians.

my, that's a mighty lovely vagina

2010-04-14T09:03:00.001-07:00

may 13th is march for life, a pro-life demonstration on parliament hill in ottawa. ("aren't you happy to be alive?") naturally, my interest was piqued when i heard word of a pro-choice witnessing (i.e. a don't-forget-women-still-care-about-our-rights-while-these-fundies*-show-graphic-baby-pictures hang out on the street). so, off i went to search for more info. and--boom!
now, there's nothing that tugs at my heart strings harder than a giant vagina costume. just look at all that pink and red felt. absolutely to die for. wait--is that a double entendre? dying: as in excellent costume choice and the state of our unborn children?

well, here's the lacycle take on the issue. until we create a society in which having a child at any stage in a woman's life is not only accepted but also supported, denying the choice of a woman to have a child or not is complete BS. i'm sorry, pro-lifers, but you don't get to determine the rights of a fetus while denying the rights of its mother and forgetting about the baby once it's born.

when women are subjected to disparate treatment (a little rape, incest or sexual violence, anyone?) and anyone having a baby outside of the ideal are scrutinized (have your friendly teenage chica wear a prego suit to the mall one day and ask how much society supports her), women have to make choices.

when a woman's life is on the line or if the baby has severe medical problems, women have to make choices.

when "income gender gap" has an official entry in wikipedia and daddies are frequently skipping out on their responsibilities, women have to make choices.

when choosing to have a baby makes having an education or a career an insurmountable obstacle, women have to make choices.

when raising a child is an individual task that disparately affects women and the interest of the larger community ends once the baby is born, women have to make choices.

women have to make choices about their own individual experience and future. so drop the paternalistic, "i know what's best" arguments. maybe--just maybe, a woman might just know what's best for herself.

the question is not: should women have access to safe abortions? that's an easy one; i'd pick allowing a safe procedure over forcing a back-alley one any day of the week.

the questions should be: why is sexual violence perpetuated and how can it be stopped? how can we ensure women and families have access to resources to ensure that choosing a child is never at the cost of a woman's opportunities? how can fathers become more accountable and encouraged to participate in their children's lives and well-being? how can we ensure access to effective birth control for those who want it--at any age?

and the adoption question is not a simple one. there are repercussions on the mother. (shocking that gestating and giving birth to a baby would have emotional and physical effects.) and not all adoptions fall into the "ready and willing parents love child, who becomes next prime minister" category. plus, currently less than half of the foster kids ready to be adopted actually are each year. is our society really ready and open to accept even more children? would you be the next to adopt a baby with down syndrome for the rest of your life? this isn't a light decision. and neither is abortion.

no one wants a fetus to die unnecessarily. and i would argue the vast majority don't.

so, get a grip that life is a complicated one. there are a ridiculous number of factors involved in deciding to have an abortion or not. and, frankly, you might try to listen to those concerns. until then, we'll just have to bombard you with mighty lovely vaginas on the street.

* fundies = cute word for fundamentalist.

"you're putting your life in your hands, girl"

2010-04-14T06:41:00.000-07:00

the woman sharing the elevator tells me as i pull out my bike helmet.

i pause.

i want to say, "are you effing kidding me?!? just to be clear here--i'm not the crazy killer one here, driver of death vehicle harassing me."

instead, i responded with a laugh and "i'd surely go crazy if i didn't."

what i should have said, though, was something like this:

"funny that you say that; it's a common misconception that riding a bike is the highway to death when the real problem is cars. did you know that riding in a passenger car was found to have an average of 0.47 fatalities per million hours, while bicycling had only 0.26? that is, for every moment you are in a car you are nearly twice as likely to die than if you were on your bike? that's scary!

"nevermind the obvious heath gains" (point to self) "of riding a bike over" (point to elevator accoster) "sitting in a car. or the fact that lack of exercise is a big killer. or the environmental cost of your deadly habit, ma'am. also, forget the financial cost or negative affect on our communities. i mean, when's the last time you talked to the car next to you? or smiled as you rode by each other?

"so, please, before you try to scare me out of one of the healthiest modes of transportation, do a little research. you'll surely find out that you and your beloved vehicle are nothing less than a modern plague and constitute a death trap for you, me and the environment. good day!"

what's in a name?

2010-04-11T17:19:00.000-07:00

******
Part I:
Women have had the power of naming stolen from us (Mary Daly)
and other melancholy complaints
******

while double digging the beds yesterday afternoon, i listened to a radio program discussing names. women's names, in particular. cute, witty monologues filled the crisp afternoon air.

a woman detailed her surprisingly uncomfortable process of taking her husband's name--but only half way. after proclaiming she would love to take his name--while remaining an unwavering feminist--she realized she had to warm up to the idea. she couldn't simply let go of all the history her maiden name had. (really? were you a published writer? a nobel prize winner? i cynically queried.) she started first using her married name for only bank documents, then incorporating it into her resume, then deciding to hyphenate for her email.

as she recounted the awkward situations arising from having two names, the wind quickly picked up the earth, dusting my eyes. i pulled up and squinted. i realized that i have a uniquely detached relationship with my last name. i guess this stuff matters to some people. why, they have a history with their name. i've never thought much of how odd it must be for someone to change their signature, get a new passport, and contact the bank.

i've had four last names.

like pretty much everyone i was born with one.

the first changed when i was in third grade. my (step) dad adopted me. overnight i had to update my kiddie library. i first had to meticulously practice my new name in cursive and then update each of my books. i decided to use pencil.

(yes, you correctly read "update my library." i literally had an old accounting logbook my mom gave me filled with the detailed entries of each of my books, ordered in several ways: alphabetically by title, author and size. with such an expansive three shelf collection, i had to ensure order. i also spent much of my terrible twos rearranging the cans in the kitchen cupboards. it's genetic, people.)

the second change was midway through my sophomore year of university. i had thought about my last name over the prior year and decided to honor the history of the female members of my family. (call it some third-wave b.s. if you'd like.) three generations had, at some point, shared my mother's maiden name. so, i changed it. unlike the stereotype, there was no disrespect for dad intended.

the third change was when i married. it was a fickle decision, really: (1) i wasn't in love with the sound of my mother's maiden name after hearing the spastic gurgling coming from the normally sexy sounding throats of people in latin america trying to pronounce it; (2) i might have considered keeping it if my mom hadn't recently changed hers when she remarried; (3) it's kind of simple and quaint to share a family name with your partner; (4) plus, maybe i would fit in a little better in quebec with a french last name; and, finally, (5) why not?

really. that's it. that's what my surname decisions have come to: the no-gurgle, why-not test.

not so surprisingly, then, that i found these detailed accounts of the emotional difficulty of changing to a husband's last name a bit trite and tired. not as though my indifference is surely the norm.

then, i thought of my first name.

******
Part II:
Names are poetry in the raw. Like all poetry they are untranslatable.
(W.H. Auden)
******

nothing gets me more fired up and bigoted than--warning: bigoted nonsense to follow--than some damn, non-english-speaking jerk to make a dumb joke about how lacy and lazy sound the same. actually, asshole. they don't. well, unless you are a non-english-speaking dick that can't tell the difference between a "C" and a "Z". see, lazy and daisy rhyme, mother f*er. and lacy and racy do, too. but racy and daisy, and lacy and lazy do NOT rhyme unless you are an illiterate, tone deaf, short-bus riding ass hat with a shitty, antiquated sense of humor. and you all--all of you people--complete your jokes with the same disgusting smile like you just invented some top notch punch line of the century. listen, i don't care if you are a cute elderly man from denmark or a small child just learning to speak english from third-wold, war-torn bleeblahbloo. i hate you. and will have a chip on my shoulder with you until you seriously make it up to me. i will make fun of you to your face about your incompetence with english sounds and embed an electronic dictionary in your pillow just to make it correctly say my name in its computer voice over and over and over again while you sleep until you hear the difference. yep. i get that butt-hurt about my first name. (smoothing down ruffled clothing and regaining breath....)

okay, okay. i guess i can understand some sort of emotional attachment to a name after all.

there is something powerful, individual, and ancestral about a name. something visceral and reverent. a name is part of a person's story. it can be cultural, timeless, or speak to a specific moment in history. it's shear lack of meaning (any of the palin children names come to mind) can speak volumes. whether it never changes, mutates fewer than every ten years, or is forcibly molded to a new culture's norms, its meaning is created.

so, what is in a name?

******
What's in a name? That which we call a rose
By any other name would smell as sweet.
(Shakespeare)
******

what to do in antarctica

2010-04-09T12:11:00.000-07:00

1. take pictures
2. get seasick
3. enjoy the wildlife
4. reunite with your family:

buh-bye mauve.

2010-04-04T07:39:00.000-07:00

preface: i know this whole suzi homemaker blog posting is a little boring, but this is what i've been up to, folks. i live in the outaouais region now. i get up with the sound of birds and am in the process of naming the rodentia that frequent my yard. i bake, have little to whine about and am still on the search for a meal under $15. i hang out at home, do school work, go to university and repeat. i would like to find books on the local insects and birds, and the thought of scoring a set of binoculars from the thrift store thrills me. yup, this is what i do now. just be happy i don't blog about governmental policy.

so, back to fixing up the joint.

we have a small bathroom, a fact that was not aided by this super feo shelving unit above the toilet made of old ass white pressboard. i understand that it matches the equally appealing sink unit, but seriously. you're crampin' my style.
so, i took 'er down, painted over the mauve* hiding beneath and found an awesome circa 1964 mirror from village des valeurs (real name here, kids) to brighten the joint up a bit.
i now hang out in the bathroom. i will never be constipated again. in fact, the porcelain god would be a great perch for bird watching in the backyard.

*mauve: can i tell you how much i hate mauve. i am reminded of this fact every damn time i see the color thrown up in nearly half of the houses i visit. i'm convinced that all of the mismatched paint in north america gets shipped here to feed this area's shitty, dirty nipple mauve craze. my favorite the stranger "i anonymous" article of all time (from august 8th, 2006) goes a little something like this:

FUCK YOU, MAUVE

Mauve, fuck I hate your muted ass. And you're everywhere! Lipstick, nail polish, eye shadow, blush, clothing, even on some people's nipples. Your only purpose is to make things UGLY! Take a nice manicure and put on mauve polish, and it suddenly looks like you belong in a nursing home. In fact, it's probably the predominance of mauve that makes nursing homes so fucking depressing. And don't go giving me that Dusty Rose crap—purplish mauve, reddish mauve, brownish mauve, bluish mauve, all just variations on the same sad theme. You're a force of evil, destroying both natural and invented beauty. But you won't get to me. I will wear clear, bright colors in open defiance of your conservative oppression. So suck my nice pink cunt, you shit-tinged horrid color.

amen.

a home for the vinyls

2010-03-30T14:05:00.001-07:00

after seeing a sad, crooked metal bookshelf from ikea lamely hold the stereo in our living room for one week too long, and after opening yet another closet to find a crumpled cardboard box half-filled with vinyls, i decided to take action.

out came the tape measure and graph paper. a brief question and answer period at dinner and the next day i came home with the goods to

an awkward, crap-filled closet in between the living room and kitchen/dining room (with a jacked up accordion door, at that) becomes a functional area where beto can play dj.
the photos don't really do it justice, but this little cabinet is pretty rad. (and, yes, our living room walls are still painted that special color that the 80s would be proud to see. we are waiting until we can open our windows for an extended period of time before we repaint the joint.)

i made a little desk area about waist-high that is deep enough to set the record being played and a beer or two (per request). i also included enough space for the vinyl collection and future additions, as well as for books because i am literate.
i would like to point out a couple of near-genius touches. first, the fact that you can't see the super feo stereo and amplifier, which are tucked underneath the little desk above the bottom row of vinyls. it's a handy spot to turn the knobies, but you don't have to look at them. second, the light placed inside the closet really adds something at night. and, finally, we added an outlet to inside the closet. truth be told, this was just shear luck that there was a wired box hidden behind a panel; we just had to attach the switch and face plate.

i'm hoping to get all fancy in the boring white space behind the turntable, but for now this is it!

garden planter bench thing - made for free!

2010-03-30T13:22:00.000-07:00

when you only have 150 frost-free days a year, you have to take advantage of those sunny south-facing windows to get your serious grow on.

so, when i found an old fence and some plastic garden container trays last fall, i just knew i had to save them from landfilldom. voila! this wonderful masterpiece:
it's a garden bench of sorts made to fit the plastic trays so i can start seedlings in spring. the black plastic trays are from a nursery, left over after the potted seedlings they were holding were long gone. i think they are deep enough for some descent roots and my kale, which i started in this contraption and then moved (in the tray) to a different shelf to make room for the heat-hungry tomatoes and eggplant, is still doing *awesome*.

the construction is constructed entirely of fencing planks. i used three pieces to hold up the bottom of the trays and yet still allow heat through for my eggplants. hence the bench location over the heating element (and our displaced dining room table).
the best part is that the fence is cedar, making the structure fairly resistant to water damage and relatively light weight, so i can move it around as my little seedlings' needs change.

admittedly, i'm no carpenter and the legs are a little wobbly. but--check it out! a free garden planter bench, custom made to fit my windows (including a slight incline toward the light for those with an a appreciation for impeccable design).

garden time

2010-03-28T15:37:00.001-07:00

i'm coming through on my word to tear up the grass, rip out the cement blocks and raise the garden beds in our sunny yard. i'm also planting seeds indoors to get a head start; the last frost isn't until may 6th around these parts, so i've gotta think ahead. (for reference, seattle's was last week.)

here's a photo of some baby kale happily sprouting in my office window. i took it just a couple of days ago and already they're twice as big!

saturday morning crepes

2010-03-27T07:03:00.000-07:00

this morning, i offer up a quebecois treat: crepes! here's how we do in gatineau, from le cuisine de beto:

ingredients

1 cup ww flour

salt

1 tbs vanilla

1/4 cup milk

3 eggs

butter

your choice of fillings

1. Put the flour in a large mixing bowl. Add a dash of salt. Create a whole in the center (beto's "volcano") to pour the vanilla, milk and eggs into.

2. Gently blend the wet ingredients into the flour. The goal is no clumping, so take it easy and be methodical as you slowly incorporate more and more flour into the mix, expanding the volcano. You might have to tweak the amount of flour or milk to get the right consistency. Ideally, when you lift up the whisk a steady, thin stream of batter will drain off. Sporadic, runny drops means the batter is too thin--add a little flour. Globby balls means the batter is too thick. I promise, it's not as fickle as it sounds!

3. Coat a cast-iron pan in butter on medium-high heat (we use 8-9 on a scale of 11). The argument here is that if you forgo the oil in the batter, which most recipes call for, you get to use butter in the pan. (The replacement of the called-for oil with butter and/or duck fat is a key to much of beto's cooking.)

4. Pour the batter on the hot pan, swirling it around to make it larger and thinner. When the sides are brown, flip it. The second side is a quick cook; as soon as it loses its batter texture, take it off the pan.

5. Fill with anything that sounds tasty. This morning, we warmed up some frozen wild blueberries, added ricotta and a little quebec maple syrup. Voila! Crepe-canoli! Jams and jellies, cut up fruit, cottage cheese, yogurt or other sweet additions work well. Or, try a savory crepe with mushroom sauce, steamed veggies or, the old stand by, bacon. Save any extra crepes for lunch :)

University Comments on the Cancellation of Ann Coulter's conference

2010-03-25T05:41:00.000-07:00

Tempted to fall for the ol' freedom of expression argument like the University of Ottawa? Here's the party line:

On Tuesday, March 23, an appearance by Ann Coulter was scheduled on our campus, organized by the International Free Press Society Canada and the Clare Boothe Luce Policy Institute.

The University of Ottawa has always promoted and defended freedom of expression. For that reason, we did not at any time oppose Ann Coulter’s appearance. Whether it is Ann Coulter or any other speaker, diverse views have always been and continue to be welcome on our campus.

Last night, the organizers themselves decided at 7:50 p.m. to cancel the event and so informed the University’s Protection Services staff on site. At that time, a crowd of about one thousand people had peacefully gathered at Marion Hall.

“Freedom of expression is a core value that the University of Ottawa has always promoted,” said Allan Rock, President of the University. “We have a long history of hosting contentious and controversial speakers on our campus. Last night was no exception, as people gathered here to listen to and debate Ann Coulter’s opinions.

"I encourage our students, faculty and other members of our community to maintain our University as an open forum for diverse opinions. Ours is a safe and democratic environment for the expression of views, and we will keep it that way.”

Sounds great, until you think about what free speech means.

The Canadian Constitution guarantees freedom of expression. Section 2(b) of the Canadian Charter of Rights and Freedoms details this "fundamental freedom:
"Freedom of thought, belief, opinion and expression, including freedom of the press and other media of communication."

Rock on. But the laws don't stop here. Under section 319 of the Canadian Criminal Code, it is illegal to publicly incite hatred against people based on their colour, race, religion, ethnic origin, and sexual orientation, except where the statements made are true or are made in good faith.

Oh--you can't just go about spewing hate vomit? So not everything falling from someone's lips is a protected freedom? (These rules are similar to in the U.S. except there you can hate on people based on their sexual orientation.)

Well, riddle me this, those who argue freedom of speech at all costs: do the following direct quotes from Ann Coulter incite any hatred of anyone in particular?

Discussing Islam: We should invade their countries, kill their leaders and convert them to Christianity. We weren't punctilious about locating and punishing only Hitler and his top officers. We carpet-bombed German cities; we killed civilians. That's war. And this is war.

I guess it's not really hateful to tell Muslims to take a flying carpet instead of an airplane. Or to suggest a camel instead. But to "kill their leaders and convert them" could be seen as a statement that incites hate, no?

Or let's talk about how she feels about immigrants. (The non-white kind, of course.) I'm sure she's not talking about the wall between the U.S. and Canada here: I'd build a wall. In fact, I'd hire illegal immigrants to build the wall. And throw out the illegals who are here. [...] It's cheap labor.

How's that for some human rights. Wasn't slavery banned a while ago?

Or the Iraq War: When we were fighting communism, OK, they had mass murderers and gulags, but they were white men and they were sane. Now we're up against absolutely insane savages.

Yeah, I hate dealing with non-white men, too. Aren't they just insane savages? (?!?!?)

She also really respects students (who have her on their university campuses) and people she perceives to be homosexual: You don't want the Republicans in power, does that mean you want a dictatorship, gay boy?

Wow.

Oh, but wait--maybe you, University of Ottawa, think that this falls into the exception, when "the statements made are true or are made in good faith." Of course. She's being racist because the statements are true about people of color?

You're absolutely right; we should never request that this woman find a different location for her speech. A campus should be open to all ideas, including racist dogma. So, I guess it wouldn't be a problem if I came to class with a shirt reading: Kill all white leaders of universities and convert their students to satanism.

Whew--I thought I might get in trouble for inciting hatred, or violence. But, I guess that's all okay now. We're just trying to create an open space for everyone--including bigots.

wanted: protest buddy; impetus: ann coulter

2010-03-24T04:07:00.000-07:00

saturday i spent a couple of hours brainstorming fanciful ways with other rad chicas to

i.) get ann coulter's talk cancelled before tuesday, or if unsuccessful to

ii.) bar her entry to the venue on the uottawa campus to speak, or if unsuccessful to

iii.) be a nuisance to prevent her hate speech from being heard at her talk.

that's right. some good, ol' fashioned, anti-oppressive organizing was going on. to be sincere, i wasn't sure that making out with people was really going to do the trick, but that, some bottles of paint and an improptu petition were what we had.

well, something worked 'cause last night ann didn't even make it into the hall. and her talk was cancelled about an hour after it was set to begin. i guess our "bushleague" school where our "IQ points-to-teeth ration must be about 1-to-1" was too much of a match for her.

and here i am this morning wishing i was there last night. i know, i know. of all the days to feel uninspired, i pick the one day to stay home that a protest is actually large and successful in ottawa. wtf, lacy? get it together.

i could feel sad about missing out on the fun, but whaddaya do? admittedly, it is a little hard being the one person from my classes and semi-social circles showing up to organize something a little politically motivated. perhaps ERTW, but they aren't doing a lot on this campus for changing it, lemme tell ya.

but i can! just not alone. new goal: get a protest buddy.

yet another reason why i love this man

2010-03-19T05:27:00.000-07:00

beto is latino quebecois. he would kill me if he heard me call him that (which he will), but when your dad is from concepcion, chile, and your mom is from the gaspesie, quebec, you are latino quebcois, man. being so, english is his third language after french and spanish.

to most monos out there, his command of his third language is quite impressive. and it is. but it does have little gaps that make for delightful times for me, an anglophone grammarphile. i don't mean this in any snatchy way; i sincerely love how people from different linguistic backgrounds have the capability to express themselves and think of the world differently. and i love when they (accidentally) demonstrate how jacked up english really is.

take english spelling. it makes no sense because it is a mix of latin, french, nordic and saxon and surely other random euro languages. it is not phonetical (unlike wonderful spanish) and still has a lot of superfluous crap lying around. a quick example: eight. really all those letters for the same sound as "ate"?

sure, having a cluster-f of letters makes for fun times, spelling bees are awesome and the entomology of english words is ridiculously interesting, but i can agree that it is a little out of hand. i'm sure beto agrees.

well, this morning i was putting the dishes away--normally a joyless task. however, as i reached for the lid of one of our reusable lunch containers (refraining from calling it "tuberware"), i noticed something exciting:

it's a little hard to read, but scratched on the top is a label of the last contents:
STOK TURKEY

i smiled. this is why i love living with this guy. he's absolutely right. why should "stock" be spelled with a C? and why can't the words follow the noun + adjective order of french and spanish? this is a frequent point of confusion.

my favorite line was when beto called himself a "potato couch." no disrespect; it just lends itself to a great visual. who came up with the term "couch potato" anyway? as though that makes any more sense.

i hope that my screwing with french spelling will make beto equally gleeful. 'cause, really, all those silent letters are a serious joke.

bike trails open (?)

2010-03-18T12:19:00.000-07:00

in winter, armies of public and private machines busily salt, scrape, plow and maneuver snow out of the way on city streets, sidewalks and driveways. i recall choking on my granola when reading that the city of gatineau spends some $36k for every centimeter (about $90k an inch) of the white stuff. holy beshezus. makes the idea of an underground metro almost seem worth it, eh, city council?

so, i guess i can see why the funds are a little short and the bike trails that the national capital region boasts lay fallow in the winter months. sure, i get it. it's only a "truly first-class destination for cyclists" when the weather is nice. i understand we're not all in love with riding in snow. but, wouldn't it be beautiful to take out the old bike for a spin on a freshly groomed bike trail in winter? no--not seeing it? okay, okay. no bike trails for the winter. la route verte can be fermé.

well, fast forward to spring. spring isn't winter! after several weeks of unheard-of above freezing temperatures, the snow is all melted away. quick, claude, grab your shorts! it's gonna be 10 degrees today!

bike racks are filling up at school. and i've marked the occasion by taking jesus la cruz out of the closet where he's been during the salty (read: corrosive) months. i continued on my snow route for several weeks and then remembered: we have bike trails!

ooo! ooo-oo! we have bike trails and i can take le voyageur trail home today! i said to myself this afternoon. this afternoon after several days of weather in the mid-teens, after the roads have been snow free for almost a full month. and i did.

all was good. no cars, no potholes, birds chirping, nice views, lonely gloves decorating random branches awaiting their mates. a lover's paradise! i was almost home. i just had to pass the Universite du Quebec's parking lot when....
what the--? is there not enough space at the university to push your crappy snow? you had to push it ON TO THE BIKE PATH a gizillion meters high? your foresight and understanding of basic thermodynamics is quite impressive. just look at jesus--look at him!
he's a beautiful, burly cross bike, and he still can't get over your stupidity. even in this weather. look--there it is. blocking up the pride and joy of the national capital region. sigh. i guess "one of North America's most extensive recreational pathways" can just wait until summer. don't worry--it's just a part of "the best bicycle route in the world."

please, forgive me if i would envision my bicycle route a little differently
and plow the snow into the parking lot.

fukken, eh!

2010-03-17T13:40:00.000-07:00

damn you, sweden! stealing canada's next million dollar idea. why, it was better than combining peanut butter and jelly. now we'll just have to figure out something else to do with power metal and a winter "sport" that is more similar to bowling than anything athletic....

(shaking angry fist.)

quote of the day

2010-03-16T04:40:00.000-07:00

"With how many things are we upon the brink of becoming acquainted, if cowardice or carelessness did not restrain our enquiries."
(from Mary Shelley's Frankenstein)

Creeepy monsters and toying with life aside.... How much of our child-like interest in the little things is lost as we age? How little do we ask questions for fear of judgment of our capabilities? How much more could we know and experience if we only had the care or guts to learn or explore?

(Sorry if this is just rudimentary analysis--it's early. But a little bedtime reading couldn't escape me or being noteworthy on the blog.)

a li'l more of lacycle life

2010-03-13T15:51:00.000-08:00

after a request for some more real life stuff, i bring to you this post.

here is a photo from the bridge i take to school every day:
that's parlament hill, folks. good old seat of the great cay-nay-dee-uh, right there. i did a really excellent job picking the perfect pacific northwest day for a photo op. it doesn't generally look like that 'round here.

'nother thing that you don't really see much? hybrid vehicles. because, really? who friggin cares about emissions? i spotted this beauty--my very first sighting!--and couldn't help but take the photo out my living room window in december (hence the white stuff).

here is my front door in summer:

and in winter:
and with a little good luck and a lot of work this box of carefully organized seeds that beto and i secured today should make our front door a veritable edible masterpiece in four months time.
i'll keep you posted. believe you, me.

F is for....

2010-03-12T04:41:00.000-08:00

Fabulous
Funky
Frodo
French
and Future.

you may have gleaned the hidden message: the french lacyclette blog will be postponed for the future. (or some jibberish about lord of the rings and french funk music.) the official reason is that google simply mangles my prophetic and meaningful prose in french into some gobbldy-goop not quite worth reading in english. that's right, google: gobbldy-goop.

so, onwards with the lacycle blog.

after an incredibly mild winter--to ottawa standards--i muse about things i've learned this winter:

1.) i love seasons. more precisely, i enjoy a good constant and mild snowfall in winter. who knew? the only winters i had previously experienced were seattle's death-by-gray version, and edmonton's death-by-nine-months-of-eye-freezing-cold. two months is great; four, you're pushing it; nine, ack! but, snow is quite amazing, fun to play in, and BRIGHT! hear that, kids back home? snow is bright and shiny and makes me happy! (the humid hotness that will descend upon me any month now does not.)

2.) i love taco trucks, chicano hip hop, and d.f. (distrito federal de mexico) word play. i know i have to live in the southwest at some point. that's right, beto. los EEUU.

i would trade *every* depanneur, poutine truck, and coq rapide (even those advertising a dining room) for a taqueria.

and i would happily have all aspiring ottawa bands magically transform into some seriously revolutionary beat makers mixing in old political quotes in spanish. yup.

pretty much, i'm sayin' i don't like the local call-cher, folks. and i want to trade it in for the south of the border kind.

3) i can do this engineering stuff. i'm in the groove. i'm feelin' it. it's like a carousel. you put the quarter in, you get on the horse, it goes up and down, and around. circular, circle. feel it. go with the flow rate (dV/dt).

4) i will maintain my seattle sarcasm even if it kills me. i'm convinced that sarcasm demonstrates, as studies show, higher cognitive functioning. in which case, the outaouais region is severely retarded. (that's retarded in the "delayed in development" way, not in the hurtful way.) it may not be stunted in the formal niceties department, but, lord almighty, is it ever dull in the linguistic department. which brings me into my next point:

5) i love articulate, precise and linguistically gifted complaining. that's right. some of the funniest, most observant people i know are horribly perfect complainers. and i love it. make no mistake; my compassion does not extend to all complainers--there are plenty shitty ones out there that say things like "man, that sucks" and "gosh" while taking on a sincere whining tone. to you, poor complainers, i have one word: getouttamyface.

but to those of you who can really lay it on thick about what would otherwise be skimmed over as a minute detail of life, unworthy of notice, description or discontentment: THANK YOU! if you can dabble in a healthy dose of sarcasm, you have my heart.

you are the basis of good comedy and intellectual intrigue. you make me stop, think and appreciate my wonderful luck: "why, i don't have to deal with the knuckle draggers at the washington state department of revenue." (isn't my life grand?!) you make me realize our common humanity: "but, i have to deal with those mouth breathers at the university of ottawa." (we have so much in common!) and, on top of it all, if someone were to actually read or hear or see your artistic complaint, it might actually convince them to--gasp--fix. their. shit. up.

i mean, after seeing jim's hot pocket piece who wouldn't hesitate--or vehemently decline--to pick up a pop-tart filled with nasty meat? get enough jims out there to give people catchy phrases emphasizing the absolute revoltingness of their favorite diarrhea food and may be america's diet might improve. it surely wouldn't hurt.

why, yes, good complaining--spiritually rich and mentally nourishing--can change the world!

yeah he did.

2010-03-12T04:39:00.000-08:00

BOOM.

and just like that, "yeah he did" claimed its seat among some of the best one-liners of all time.
cheers to gracious.

mon voisin, en anglais.

2010-02-18T17:06:00.000-08:00

(lisez d'abord mon ancien poste)

une réponse quebecoise à la publicité vielle de molson canadian. ce fait plus de sens au canada.

****
(first read my previous post)

quebecoise response to old advertising of Molson Canadian. therefore more meaningful to Canada 10 years ago.

blog de lacyclette

2010-02-18T16:26:00.000-08:00

bienvenue à la première entrée du lacycle blog en français. j’ai décidé que si je veux vraiment utiliser ma langue adoptée, j’ai besoin de faire un peu de force. c’est la temps de le faire. et, voila! la force pour toi, mon internet. je ne peux pas te promettre d’écrire seulement sur la chose très intéressante (parce que je ne suis pas déménagé déjà), mais tout sera en français!

après chaque post, je vais utiliser le magique de google pour le traduire pour les gens qui ont beaucoup de choses plus intéressantes a faire qu’apprendre une langue comme ça. desolé, français, mais vous n’êtes pas très utile pour un parte suffisante du monde. c’est pas comme avant pendant l’époque de la diplomatie. non, nous avons inventé le WMDs et l’anglais, une langue sans ton style et passion, a vous gagné et le chinoise le va à faire bientôt aussi. c’est vrai. les voyelles nasales ne seront pas les seuls tons ridicules. quelle insulte à votre, puis...votre fraçaisité.

mais, moi non. je serai une partie du group nostalgique. et, aussi, j'aime bien mon vocal après le travail de deux filtres. c’est presque poétique. merci, google translator.

*****

welcome to the first input of lacycle blog in french. I decided that if I really want to use my mother passed, I need to do a little strength. is the time to do it. and voila! force to you, my internet. I can not promise to write only about something very interesting (because I am not moved already), but everything is in French!

after each post, I'll use the magic of google to translate it for people who have much more interesting to do that learning a language like that. sorry, French, but you are not very useful for a sufficient part of the world. it's not like before during the era of diplomacy. no, we invented the WMDs and English, a language not your style and passion, you won and the Chinese going to do soon too. it's true. nasal vowels are not only ridiculous tone. how insulting your, well...your frenchness.

but not me. I am part of a nostalgic group. and also, I like my voice after the work of two filters. it's almost poetic. thank you, google translator.

you know your in canada's capital when...

2010-02-09T13:13:00.001-08:00

... rush hour begins at 3:50pm.

... everyone is dressed like its halloween and thanksgiving at the same time.

... people see you with a bike helmet and confirm that you are, in fact, riding in the completely bare streets at just under zero degrees celsius. kind sir, you should visit edmonton so you learn about the *real* canadian winter in which your constituents live.

... on your ride home, you determine where that wonderfully thick smell of pot is coming from by following the visible trail to a car in front of you.

... the car behind it is a cop who breathes in deeply and does nothing.

... there is not a taco truck for hours in any direction, but lunch means poutine down every block.

exams end early!

2009-12-23T09:04:00.000-08:00

on account of the flu. (wa-wah.)

i shoulda high tailed it to antarctica when i had the chance. sure, i would've missed a couple more finals, but i'm pretty confident that there's not some crazy spread of influenza on south georgia island. and if there were, it would play out like little more than the morning after a night of heavy drinking. people that frequent the subantartic islands aren't exactly ones to be put down easily. i mean--have you read shackleton's tale? have you seen dimar's hands?!?

important aside: this is dimar. he was one of the awesome russian crew members of our boat down south last year. it was his 40th birthday on the way back from antarctica, so we were celebrating. melinka time! it's important to note that sanchez (pink man shaking hands) is a large man and that they are both holding the same size glass:

those be some burly mo' fo's. and the flu would be gone with the vodka. yes, i made a foolish decision to stay when i could have been happily seasick somewheres in the drake right now instead of.... okay, my logic just fell on its face riiight there.

back to bed to think of something new.

the best pizza i've ever had

2009-12-22T06:30:00.000-08:00

how many times have you heard that? well, all times before and after today are exaggerations compared to reference to the gloriousness that is the caron escargot pizza.

.: crust :.
forget boboli, pcc's sad selection of $5 cardboard dough, or trader joe's--that's right, trader joe's herbed dough has no place here. or even trucked in bulk flour to do it like the real pizzarias (sorry, todd--it was authentic and tasty). for the crust, i've finally found the answer: pain d'alain. (like pan in spanish, not pain in english.)

while their actual breads don't quite compare to essential (mmm...salivating over thought of dumpster right now, hoping for sweet perrin....), their doughs take the cake. (too much baking allusion?) our out-on-a-limb maneuver last week to try some of their multigrain/seed dough was the best risk we've ever taken. it makes the most amazing pizza dough under the sun--but they don't even know it yet! all they do is--get this--they bake it and sell it as bread. what an embarrassing lack of providence! the take away point? find your local artisan bread shop and ask for some dough, just the dough. the seedier the better, somewhat surprisingly, though maybe not too multigrainy.

after procurement of the booty, make sure to roll it out nice and thin. this is where the excessively multigrain nature of the dough could do you wrong. make sure that you can muscle it out. (and if you're a deep-dish lover, go to chicago and outta our kitchen.) once it's delgadito, throw it in the oven at 425-ish until it's a little cooked, but not brown around the edges. we're going for a crisp crust, not a saltine.

an aside on baking mechanics: we use a dollar store special cookie sheet and it works just fine. fine--not great--but acceptable. although i am well aware of the benefits of using a pizza stone, we have better things to shell out cash for than kitchen gagetry (such as seeds for our inside winter garden--soon to come!). if you don't, then right on. unannounced to our landlord, we've decided to go big on this issue and hope to make a bitchin' cob pizza oven (bcpo for short, pronounced bic-po) in the corner of our yard once the snow melts.

and on to the next step of sorcery....

.: salsa :.
i'm sure you'll all be disappointed to hear that we don't spend an entire fortnight slaving over a hot cast iron pot of homemade pasta sauce. nope, we leave it to the pros at amy's or muir glen or whatever big conglomerate is upholding organic principles at every corner of this continent. (sorry for my cynicism, eden foods, etc., i just don't understand how your products can be so good for us and the environment and on shelves here and seattle at the same time. maybe you don't ship around the country(ies) and instead have happy local producers in your coop everywhere?) believe you me, once we get the bcpo up and running and are churning out the delicious pies in our backyard cafe, we will certainly have said hot cast iron pot of homemade goodness. until then, any of these pasta sauces are pretty darn tasty, don't contain pesticides or gmo veggies, and i'm quite confident that you can easily find them (unlike alain's pain).

the trick? don't be shy with the sauce. there is nothing sadder in this world (besides the outcome of copenhagen) than dry pizza. spread more than you think you'll need on the crust--that's why you precooked it. fear not--it shouldn't get soggy at all!

.: toppings :.
this is where our non-lactose intolerant friends immediately think of cheese, but i have to tell you a secret: cheese is not what makes a good pizza. some of the best pizza in the world is cheeseless. (gasp!) true, true. cheese (particularly the excessive use of cheese) is just a masker of all of the delicious other flavors just waiting to be enjoyed. time to topple the cow.

just which flavors? well, here's a run-down of our top picks:

mushrooms. oh, fungi. not only are you the star player in one of my favorite jokes*, you also taste delicious. make sure not to slice them too thin or they'll lose their flavor. and don't forget about the many varieties of edible species out there. how delectable would a chanterelle pizza be? gourmand aside, we generally stick to plain ol' criminis.

greens. take your pick: classic spinach, spicy arugula, hearty kale. if you go with arugula, just put 'er on. otherwise, lightly steam so that the water comes out before you bake. never underestimate the power of greens on your 'za.

cheese. sprinkle, speckle, or scatter smallish, thin (if it's sliced or grated) pieces. don't--i repeat--don't drench your pizza in animal juice. no need to be uniform. create little pockets of goodness. a personal favorite is a light smattering of goat cheese.

wild card. try adding some fresh cherry tomatoes, basil, artichoke hearts, sweet peppers, sun-dried tomatoes, or roasted garlic. caramelized onion is another delicious addition. just chop it up, saute it on medium high heat in a small pan with some oil. once it's nice and brown, lower the heat a bit and let it continue cooking until you're done chopping the rest of the ingredients--the longer the better.

escargot. this is it. i was a nonbeliever, too, but it must be tried before denied. who knew that these could be so delicious and good for you at the same time? this is my new protein joy. plus, from an environmental standpoint, these little hermaphrodites aren't exactly destroying our water or coating the world in methane. nope. they're just hanging out, eatin' old veggie scraps (aka future compost fodder) in the dark. we buy them in a small can, rinse them off, melt some butter with minced garlic, and pour it all over them. if you're worried about the fat content merci to the butter, just think of all those obese french people. and then think about the patrons of your local pizza joint. better adjusted now? a little butter is not going to hurt you, but all that cheese you were thinking of dousing your pizza with might have. so play on, garlic buttered escargot lover. throw them on your pie with gusto!

voila! the masterful, delectable caron escargot pizzaah! (eat your heart out, mr. douglas!)

*a mushroom walks into a bar. the bartender says, "we don't serve any mushrooms in this bar." the mushroom responds, "come on. i'm a funguy."

mind lost in exam land

2009-12-16T13:28:00.000-08:00

so, i'm pretty much over studying and taking tests now. shockingly true after having spent the last week and a half hittin' the books and i still have a week to go. starting. to lose. a little. steam. i'll be finished with semester #1 at 5pm, tuesday, december 23rd.

why so long, you ask? well, the university of ottawa is a test case in letting orangutans run a major university. they may be the closest species to humans, not chimps, you see:

and this study may just prove it. the uottawa is always ready to lend a helping hand to research. just bringin' it to the next level.

anywho, the advancement of scientific knowledge is not why i have come to visit you today, internets. instead, i just wanted to share a little creative photography of my new city. this photo was taken on rideau street downtown next to the fairmont chateau laurier hotel:classic ottawa.

oh, man, this is really livin'

2009-12-11T16:21:00.000-08:00

on my bike the other day, i had a flash back to the jungle book. remember about midway through the "bear necessities" song and after baloo's scratching, he sinks into the water and declares, "this is really livin'." right there! you got the mental image?

so, i was on my bike and i was gettin' down to the funky brass of the song and stopped at that line. holy shit. you're absolutely right, baloo. this is really livin'.

i neither mean this in the high-as-a-kite, just-fell-in-love sort of make-believe perfection nor in the sarcastic, time-to-o.d.-on-tylenol sort of cynicism. i mean this in the practical realization that this is it.

this is really livin'.

really livin' isn't going to finally happen when i finish my degree and we get outta the shadow of parliament hill. really livin' isn't going to happen next summer when it's nice and toasty warm. it isn't my dreamed of trip to cuba or south georgia island or india or french guyana. or even when i'm home for the holidays. or living abroad.

this, right now, is really livin'.

i know, i know. we've all heard this a million times before. but, when it hits you--right in the middle of an awesome trumpet solo in your head on a riverside bike path in the snow--it feels like a revelation. i feel somehow lighter.

francization: revisited

2009-12-11T16:04:00.000-08:00

so, yeah.... about that whole francization thingy.... i'm sort of botching it. but only sort of. let's review, three months after my rallying call, starting with rule numero uno:

1. when on this side of the river, always--always--try to speak french first. so, this rule is pretty moot considering i am never really on this side of the river. sure i sleep here, and ride my bike from here to there, but that's about the extent of things. the good news is that i do mumble something like "a ton gauche" (probably a horribly wrong translation of "on your left") while passing all the spandex clad, middle-aged men on their bikes. and i do manage some sort of franco-drivel at my neighbor while returning his aluminum foil. nevermind that he can speak english perfectly.... i'm in quebec!

2. if the person switches to english, say with a smile, "alors, je préfère practiquer mon français." moot, once again. i have been giving this a whirl with franco-ontarians at school, though. mixed reviews, as most are perfectly bilingual and forget that it's "french with an anglophone time." i will admit that i blatantly ignore this rule at the bank--if you can explain this mumble jumble french letter to me in english, i'll listen.

3. even if an entire transaction is completed in french, make sure that the paperwork is coming in english. semi-good news is that the university sends everything in both languages as a nod to being bilingual without offering students wishing to learn french space in courses to actually do so (more on this later). hydroquebec, desjardins credit union, and political candidates, on the other hand, must just not have an english check box. really, by now you should know that roberto speaks french (even though his name is not) and i'm signed up for english. watch it or i'll start a ruckus about my linguistic rights.

4. vow to speak french on the other side of the river as much as possible, once you have a working knowledge of french. this is a fun one.... see the university of ottawa is bilingual. look. it says so right here on their homepage. (seriously, look.) apparently all i have to do is click the little red box to start taking courses in french because the choice is mine, right? i just pay the university money called "tuition" and they provide me with the courses i want, right?

5. learn the language, esti. well, no.

truth be told, there is more demand than space in the fls (french as a second language) courses. every single semester. how can i be so sure? see, in my search for the proverbial little red box to begin learning french at this bilingual university, i eventually found my way through the telephone jungle to speak with the director of bilingual and immersion studies. he helpfully explained that things are bilingually a little fucked. every year the fls courses fill up within the first hours of registration, which wouldn't be such a big deal if it weren't the explicit goal of the university to offer bilingual courses.

what's more, he kindly explained that the department of engineering is filled with stalinesque oppressors that might allow their students to take whichever additional courses they would like if we ask permission from them in advance (yay!), but they will not allow us to actually get recognition for taking these additional courses. for example, i could fulfill a degree in spanish, but i won't actually get it until i switch to the arts faculty. similarly, i could fulfill all of the requirements for a degree in immersion (that is, take enough french courses), but my degree will make no mention of it whatsoever. (as opposed to if i were in an approved degree like political science.)

and the explicit goal of the university is a damn mockery.

don't get me wrong. it's great that all of the classroom placards are labeled in french and english, and that all of the emails are bilingual. and i can check out books in french with a francophone librarian and walk out the sortie. great, great.

well, it's awn, oottawa. i'll be there with my engineering academic advisor registering me for summer classes before you can say prête. and, like the true quebecoise that i'm aspiring to be, if you don't allow me to learn my new pretend mother tongue, i will write the president of the university a letter and cc le devoir. that's right. the bloc quebecois and my comrades will be all over your oppression like white on rice.

keri strug aint got nuffin on us

2009-12-07T18:06:00.001-08:00

ice cream dance

2009-12-07T18:00:00.000-08:00

can i tell you how much i love this?

thank you, thank you, second #24. you are my favorite.

credits:
CLH - guru filmographer + rubber
lolo - professional shaker
beto - comedoro
jenkins - head bobber of all trades
lacycle - spoon dancer

transformer. geek in disguise.

2009-11-27T06:51:00.001-08:00

how friggin geeky of a title. just yesterday it would have been too embarrassing for me to actually type it, read it, and decide to leave and publish it. but not today. i've just decided to embrace a side of me i never new, cheesy titles and all.

i'm slipping into computer geekdom.

but this is all sort of new to me. see, i've spent my whole life firmly outside of the magic-card-playing, sweat-pants-wearin', dark-basement-with-neon-lit-keyboard-living, l33t-writing, computer geek crowd. and i fully intend to continue outside of this sad, weird world.

but, some things are changing.

i'm finding that i actually like programming, for starters. yup. the new thrill of my life is not traveling to exciting unexplored universes, strapping on a flying squirrel suit and jumping off cliffs, or frequenting swingers bars. i now get ecstatic when my little black screen correctly computes simple equations, encrypts text, and interacts flawlessly with the user. yes, the user. this is how i now refer to non-programmers.

i am now giving serious thought to combining my degree with computing technology. after all, then i could actually take a whole course on databases and spreadsheets. eeeeii!

dumpster diving.

2009-11-27T06:43:00.001-08:00

i know what i'll be doing next summer:
step 1 is to weld a really, really big bike trailer....

columbus' teabagging spawn, punked

2009-11-23T05:22:00.000-08:00

maybe a similar tactic can be employed to convince americans that "eskimo" is NOT OKAY to be using, especially on, oh say, the daily show--ahem, john stewart. just so we're on the same page, it's really friggin embarrassing to share his great political humor with friends, but also have to try to explain why he is using a pejorative word for inuit or first nations peoples of the north. "so, yeah... it's okay. he's american and it's different there...." i trail off then say, "actually. he's being a real asshole. sorry."

i know, i know. this may fall into one of those canadian/american things... and we all know where i usually fall on that, but not this time. this time, i'm siding with the canucks and greenlanders. i think a better, more inclusive, and less historically harmful word can be used to convey the same meaning. plus, this inuit stuff isn't a new invention. the inuit circumpolar conference meeting in ALASKA (in the good ol' u s of a) designated inuit for all eskimos in 1977. 19 friggen seventy-seven. i was not even a star in my mother's eye then, but i'm telling you now: not cool.

that's right, no more "quinn the eskimo" or "the only gay eskimo" or other stupid songs. and, please, no more comments on an otherwise thoughtful satirical television show. i'm fine with covering your ass for the potty humor, but not the racial slurs, man.

capitalism: a work story

2009-11-13T06:05:00.000-08:00

the carrot at the end of my mid-term stick was seeing michael moore's new movie, capitalism: a love story. "what is the price that america pays for its love of capitalism?" sounds like a light-hearted, feel good film just made for a break from studying!

and it was.

there was no anticipated shock to the system while learning about the fleecing of america (i helped out at left bank, remember?). instead the film surprisingly gave me needed justification to my own feelings about my role as a worker. not in the "i'm justifiably angry for being laid off/being swindled/my retirement funds being lost/losing my home/failing at the american dream/etc" kind of feelings. i'm talking about having a job many people would love to have and feeling un-understandably icky about it so often.

see, being back in school and having swapped any boss/employee contract for a (similarly but differently imbalanced) educator/student relationship, i have the unique opportunity to reflect on things like work. i always felt like something--some big thing--was a miss while working at a job that likely amounted to many people's dream jobs:

i was paid to travel to exciting places for several weeks a year; i could wear and generally do whatever i wanted at the office as long as work got done; i could work independently and was never micromanaged; i was strongly encouraged to partake in outdoor sports--the burlier the better; i enjoyed my colleagues' company (yes, each and every one of them) and would spend considerable time with them outside of work (many remain very close friends); i could invent new challenges for myself and was generally given the freedom to pursue them; i had a comfortable office with a view of the mountains and great natural light; i had nearly a month of paid vacation and rarely worked more than forty hours a week. the list of real, honest to goodness positives goes on and on.

by all accounts i should have been grateful to ever have haplessly stumbled into such an amazing job and held tightly to it as though it were the holy grail. but, good times as it might have been, i never felt completely satisfied. granted, no job could (or should) make a person completely fulfilled, but something still seemed to be missing. i would unintentionally, almost instinctually, curl up my nose at times and then feel like a spoiled child for doing so. a war raged inside: am i ungrateful? am i too idealistic? asking too much? what's my problem?

i had reservations about the effects of my work. what is truly green/sustainable/socially-responsible/pro-poor/eco tourism? and do we wield a big green brush instead of making real waves? what is carbon offsetting and who/what does it really support? what does it mean to have an office in the united states? and how much money really does sink deep into the economies of the places to where our clients travel? how do i feel about traveling so much (30+ flights in two years)? at least we are always better than....

how do our clients make all of their money? how does catering to their often inflated sense of comfort effect the environment or the communities to where they travel? what is the balance between luxury and service and responsibility or authenticity? are we selling anyone/any place out? how do i feel about giving my energy and talents towards this effort? i suppose it would happen whether we were involved or not....

i felt frustrated with my economics. in a small company, i see how much comes in. i have an idea of how much goes out. and i have a pretty good picture of how much of what goes to whom, or at least how much goes my way. does my salary really represent my worth here? or what we can afford to pay me? or how ignorant i am assumed to be with regard to profits? or will it simply never be enough because i am so friggin selfish? i felt like i had to ask/beg/justify/coerce for a raise. there was no nice, impersonal, five layers of bureaucracy removal from the shareholders in this small company. no, i was looking the owner in the eye to ask for a little more of what would otherwise be his cash. why was that such a sticky issue....

i can't pretend to understand what it must be like to own a small business, take the risks for a small business, put your economic future in a small business--all in one little handbasket. but i don't think the owner understood my circumstance either. it doesn't feel amazing to have a university degree (which i understand doesn't guarantee a dang thing) and unabashed intelligence and drive but not have certain avenues available. to not have the possibility to live in a decent sized apartment (unless i filled it with roommates) or a yard for a garden, much less afford to purchase something (in the city or out); to have to watch my spending and scrimp to save; to rely on friends a little too much; to not be able to consider having kids (unless we were dependent upon my partner's income). i mean, if we're going to buy into this capitalism thing, let's share the benefits. otherwise, i'm cashing out for something more soulful.

but that's the whole point.

this is a system of divide and conquer if i've ever seen one. i felt awkward because my worth was essentially quantified--arguably misquantified. it feels different to volunteer for something you believe in or to grow a garden or to do any number of things that don't involve direct remuneration. it even feels different to work for yourself even if you are barely squeeking by (think about the classic starving artist)--at least you feel satisfied by being able to do something you enjoy. surely it feels different to pick a cause and work for it for the sake of working for it.

but it feels icky to work for something for money if it doesn't help you change the world (yes, in the idealistic youth sense). at least, it felt a little icky to me. it always left a spinachy-like film in my mouth that no matter how delicious some of the other food tasted, it would still linger. the defined hierarchy of the business ensured that i always felt slightly, well, slighted. but that really has nothing to do with the goodness/badness of those for whom i worked. no, let's not blame friends. it just so happens that they were following the same economics as we were all taught.

enter michael moore's take on capitalism.

now, really...why would i ever have the expectation that things be fair? or that everyone be equal? what about my experience would ever make me think that everyone would be involved in decision-making, business planning, or profit sharing? did i really think that environmental and social responsibility would take a front seat to marketability, competitiveness, and profit? i must have gone to some unrealistic alternative school and graduated from some tree-hugging, consensus-making, student-run program at university. i must get a tingly sensation when i hear/read/see movies about completely "impractical" or "unrealistic" stories of workers in argentina taking over factories during their economic crisis to run it themselves as a worker collective, or the way that the independent zaballeen (garbage workers) improve cairo while making a living, or the engineering firm in madison that is a worker owned collective. really, where do i get off thinking....?

apparently, my feelings are more systemic than one might first think. maybe, just maybe, they make sense. perhaps we really can reconstruct work and our economic system to better fit everyone's needs, desires, expectations, and imaginations. and, all of this is coming from a place of privilege. imagine how the working poor feel. or the 99% of the world's population that doesn't see much of any benefit from this economic system. i'm sure they have a fuller, better articulated list of reasons why capitalism isn't the best thing since sliced bread. for one such laundry list, see capitalism: a love story. (anticapitalist? just pirate it or something.)

halloween at work:

2009-10-30T07:39:00.000-07:00

a bad little girl

2009-10-30T06:14:00.001-07:00

i feel downright naughty, sneaking away from school work and scholarship applications to be with you, internets. i've tried to forget about you, but we both know we couldn't have spent too long apart. so, i'm back, knocking on your door, hair a muss, requiring no words to explain my absence. you were always so good like that, just inviting me back in without all the unsexy questioning. and, i'll assure you, i have not fallen into the arms of another global computer network.

today i want to begin my gossip--er, sharing...about the new people i encounter in my life in canadia and my daily struggles with clutches of evil comfortableness. there is a whole dogsled full of interesting--or, rather, painfully uninteresting--characters that i spend my days beside (and fight the good fight against) and i'm sure they are just waiting to be personified online!

take my calc professor, a pretty stereotypical target of some intense feelings of dislike. i should preface with the fact that i generally fall madly in love with my math teachers. yes, i'm talking about you, professor stoke at alberta. i fancied your talk of "core-EL-aries" and "HO-pital" (as opposed to, say, corollary and l'hopital). and, dr. li, i found your exam questions of "what A does?" adorable and your impeccable organization style irresistible. in all honesty, i did.

but this new math "teacher" is quite a different story. not only does he not properly use math notation because it would be too tedious (reason enough to find a permanent home on my shit list), he also spent the last class period lecturing our class on how disappointed he was in all of us regarding our midterm. and--oh, capitol hill, cover your ears--i have never, ever met a clearly homosexual male with such disregard for personal hygiene and respectable dress (even by dirty anarchist punk standards, which are actually quite appealing). i mean, really. how can you expect to be treated like a queen (as your attitude suggests) in a scruffy, weed-whacked beard, with matted hair from wearing an REI styled safari hat favored by amazon tourists, jeans stained chlorophyll green in questionable places (do you rub your thighs and upper buttocks with grass?!), and belts literally held together by the plastic hangers you are supposed to remove upon purchase? this is the guy that others scootch over in their seat for when he boards a bus--to make sure he doesn't sit next to them and fill their nostrils with the expected scent of fresh urine and booze. that he neither wets himself nor seems to have a drinking problem is only an anomaly. i, for one, think that he might be far more interesting as a drunk. his only potential saving grace is that i really, really do have a pathological affection for math geeks. we'll see how the rest of the quarter unfolds.

or, take jake, the guy in my computation and chemistry courses who only knows me because i have visible tattoos. really...we have no other "connection." and this is a sad link at best. instead of understandably being some former body piercer with facial tattoos, a foot fetish, and a 40 of OE in hand fresh out of jersey jail looking to make a connection based around body art (all from a true experience at a tacoma bus stop), jake is a clean cut, clearly wore braces for at least 6 years kind of guy. he has no facial tattoos, or likely not even any scars. he is the kind of guy who writes on our university course forum to "hike your skirt up nancy and fucking man up." seriously. he wrote that. to everyone in a class of 168 people, plus 5 graduate TA's, the professor, and the director of information technology. it has since been removed, but he will still see me today in class and say hi to the girl who is "too nice to have a tattoo." i will fake a half-smile, jake, until you throw another sexist line in or two and then all hell will break loose.

or there is also the guy who ripped a chair out of the floor in the hallway because he needed a seat. yes, a smallish, early 20's guy with a shaved head and an entourage of similarly unappealing men ripped off the chair that was half-assedly bolted to the floor, along with some linoleum tiles, in a hall with a camera because he needed a seat. security took a surprisingly short 183 seconds to pull him out of class. i don't know his name. so far, he qualifies as one of those engineering students that i swear i knew before simply because he is so stereotypically asshole-ish. not over the top assholey, but consistently and obliviously so. (i don't think he means it; he might just be trying to be one of the "guys.") and yet, he too, smiles to me when we pass on campus. not a fake smile, but a "hey, we know each other!" kind of smile. a smile that is not passed around freely in ottawa. perhaps i should give mini-hulk a break.

but, that's the thing here, people generally only walk the line of true offensiveness making lashing out an overreaction in all but the worst of situations. damn, just step over! i need a release here, people!

well, i'm off to make more unmemorable tales and relationships to share with you, internets.

women's resource center

2009-10-17T12:49:00.000-07:00

i have just returned on this beautifully sunny and not-so-frigid autumn saturday after 6 hours on campus. that's an awful lot for it being the weekend and all...especially because i wasn't studying. no, instead i was training to become a volunteer for--you guessed it, you clairvoyant, you--the women's resource center.

see, i'm dabbling in the different organizations on campus to "get involved" and become "a well-rounded student." and i'm feeling the need to write to you today for a little debriefing. despite the joyous and almost-too-short ride home, i can't figure out if i am really just a debby downer, if my expectations are too high, or if i actually have legitimate points of overlooked elements of each of the groups in which i partake. such as the wrc....

if my whole experience of the women's resource center were based on the 6 hours i spent training today (which it is, with the exception of the 5 minute briefing by a lovely woman at the center when i decided to volunteer), i would tell you that it is a place for women who face sexual/gender-based violence or who want to engage in or learn more about sexual freedom. the people who want to get riled up around these issues are also welcome. we spent the day with talks about rape, rape culture, the institutional injustice regarding these topics, sex positivity, and how to create a safe and confidential space, presumably to discuss these issues. overall pretty interesting stuff, right?

now, why do i feel slightly unsettled or restless about the whole thing? (i ask, while on my bike ride home.) why did the day feel a little unfulfilling? why did i feel so silenced? what did i need to say? why can't i just appreciate something for what it is? am i being selfish?

woh, there. no need to get down on yourself. (i begin to validate myself.) you have a right to feel how ever you're feeling. let's tease it out....

well, i guess i just feel strange about a place called the women's resource center having a training focused predominately on sexual violence and sex in general. yes, these are important issues, but aren't there other issues that are just as pertinent to discuss? where's the talk about injustice in the classroom? promoting women's involvement in positions of power throughout the university? ensuring access to all services and disciplines irrespective of sex? where's the talk about how the women's resource center functions, specifically, so that i can tell others about its services?

sure, as a new arrival i think it is interesting to learn about the history of sexual violence in ottawa and the party line of how universities, cops, the government have responded to it. and i love a good talk about sexual fetishes and accepting "abnormal" sexual behavior. and, yes, thanks for letting me know where the sex positive sex shop is in town. being so far from babeland, it is comforting to know where to go to purchase a good book on anal pleasures.

but what about all the other shit women live with? let's talk about a period or two and how to find a pad/tampon/diva cup when your in a bind. or gender norms and androgyny. or the feeling of being in a class surrounded by too much penis and how afterward you just need to jump into an all women space to recenter yourself. let's talk about what happens when a woman is sexually harassed or gets paid lower than a male colleague and the resources available to her to right the wrong. let's talk about ecofeminism or the devaluation of women's work or what it's like to always check behind the shower curtain at home. let's talk about child care services on campus to make sure that any woman that wants it has access to an education, even if she has kids. let's talk about alternatives to the makes-not-just-lacy-crazy-in-the-head-with-creepy-unknown-fake-hormones-that-messes-up-her-body pill for contraception. let's talk about literature or art or so many of the other wonderful things that women create!

let's not just stop at rape and sex and creating a space to talk about it.

no, i'm not trying to deny the importance of those issues, but isn't a resource center for women meant to be more? am i unaware that 6 hours is a tiny fragment of the time needed to address any of this issues in any sort of depth? no, i get the constraint. do i think that the women at the center would be opposed to discussing any of these issues? not at all. in fact, it sounds like they would invite it. but why was the training, the need-to-know of volunteering with the center, dominated by the aforementioned topics? why wasn't a broader overview of the far-reaching fingers of the center discussed? reading their about us page makes it seem like the center is more.... why, it's about "support[ing]...all people dealing with oppression on campus." let's learn about how to do that!

and why did i have to request to have the women (the non-leaders) in the room introduce themselves? maybe i'm jumping off the deep end and it was just a little oversight. or maybe that's a really big thing to forget. these volunteers are giving just as much as the leaders and bring just as much to the table--if not more of both. why not include and recognize them from the beginning? (begin tangent...) and how about an inclusive, nonheirarchical way of organizing things? or should i merely take comfort in the fact that there was thankfully no powerpoint involved in the training?

today made me long for the days of reinventing the wheel and getting frustrated with process. i take it all back! process, i love you! i love you, student run major! i love you, anarchist bookstore! i love you, bright morning star, (now disbanded) house in the woods, and sherwood coop!

i love, love, love that exasperating, nonheirarchical, made-by-consensus, anarchist nonsense. i really do. and it only took a couple of months dealing with the i'm-in-charge-here, just-watch-my-presentation/lecture/whatever, and why-don't-you-apathetic-people-participate-when-i-snap-my-fingers way of doing things to prove it.

so, i guess i'm just feeling a little alone and slightly snubbed. did everyone else thoroughly enjoy the training today? the 6-hour rape, rape culture, sex positive, and confidentiality training? am i alone in thinking it sure would be nice to walk into a training to have a round table with everyone offering up their ideas and priorities with the conversation guided to include the necessities of what everyone should know to volunteer.

this sounds horrible and it's not necessarily directed at the women today, who mean nothing but the best, but sometimes i feel like many of the people i encounter in these sorts of settings are starved of attention and cannot wait to get a captive audience to speak at and run their activities on. as opposed to say, meet new people to share and work with in solidarity.

more feelings than an outward bound campfire.

2009-10-16T13:22:00.000-07:00

well, despite my pleas, people have started talking about what weather feels like again.

just two months ago, everyone was talking about how the weather felt because of humidity. "20 degrees, feels like 30" and other silly phrases were running all over this town like the black squirrels. (yes--black!) i began to understand the implied message: high humidity means swass. thanks, humidex, for putting a simple number on that sensation!

(note: "humidex" is canadian for "heat index." it stands as a wonderful example of how canadians make up words because perhaps it would be too tedious for them to say two or they think it is cute. thus, we have the "humidex" and "garbarators.")

but, wait--i hate to break it to any humidexers out there, but i'll go ahead and point out the obvious: simple as it may be, it isn't a very useful number to describe the real temperature or the level of swassiness of the moment. it takes a little more finessing than that.

(another note: canadians also prefer to just add -er to the end of any word to turn it into the title of a person. thus, a "humidexer" passes, a student in a 101 course is called a "101er," and "quebecois" are called a "quebeckers." i could understand the later one if the word "bourgeois" did not exist in the english language. but it does. so please stop pretending you can't say "quebecois." and, back to humidex....)

telling me that my thermometer lies and that it should really read 10 degrees higher doesn't help me better understand what that is like outside. 30 degrees because of high humidity doesn't feel like 30 degrees because of direct sun. just as 20 degrees with high humidity in ottawa does not feel anything like 30 degrees at 10,000ft in ecuador. so how is this humidex number a useful idea?

answer: it's not really outside the meteorology room. and when we look at where this simple number comes from:
humidex = (air temperature in Celsius) + (0.5555)*(6.11 * exp [5417.7530 * ((1/273.16) - (1/dewpoint in kelvin))]-10)
why would we have ever thought that it would very practical? don't let the fancy numbers fool you--this is not a useful swass guide.

well, now, we get a whole new sort of feeling: wind chill (or "windchill," if your canadian). here's a little graph to explain what wind chill does:
see that lower little dancing red line on the bottom of the graph? that's the temperature with windchill. see the bold horizontal line above it? that's freezing. pretty f'ed, right?

basically, it's telling you that even though the temperature might claim to be right around freezing, it's really not at all. noooo, it's actually about 6 degrees colder (11 degrees in fahrenheit). now, that's a buzz kill. again, this little invention, this simple number, is trying to articulate the idea that the thermometer lies. this time, it's colder.

the mathematical formulation for this one? the new wind chill index goes like this:
Twc = 13.12 + 0.6215 Ta - 11.37 V^0.16 + 0.3965 Ta V^0.16, where Ta is the air temperature in celsius and V is the air speed in km/h
and, yes, there was an old wind chill index, because (shocker here) it may not have accurately described the reality the first time.

so, what has happened is, within two months time, the weather people have explained that thermometers are useless here because they are either reading under the "real" temperature (humidex) or over the "real" temperature (windchill).

listen, if temperature is not a good indicator of what the weather is like here, let's come up with something better. how about a comfort index? or a comfodex, if you prefer. let's determine what temp/humidity/wind speed/amount of smog/etc. people in the area are comfortable with based on the time of year, make a range, and maybe even color code it like the homeland security threat level. then when you put the thermometer, barometer, wind guage, and all of our other gadgets into the comfodex reader, we can get something useful like, "red: it's super swassy" or "mellow yellow" or "green: feels just right." (these, of course, are just prototype readings. get some marketing people on the case and the possibilities are endless.)

i want to know what to wear on my bike ride, folks. so, give me something useful.
gloves? no gloves?
undies? no undies?
just take a refrigerator magnet of david or venus and dress him or her accordingly. take a photo. put it on the news/internet/etc. now, that would be useful. plus, then we could talk about how venus is feeling today.

don't get me wrong, i like mathematical modeling of the real world as much as the next math geek (or "m33k" if you're a geeky canadian). oh, do i ever! but do wind chill and humidity index help me in getting dressed in the morning? not so much.

basement hostage

2009-10-13T17:29:00.000-07:00

here i am.
once again.
held hostage
in a dark basement
of whitewashed cinder block.

i struggle
to make my chair more comfortable,
wadding up my sweatshirt,
pushing it behind my lower back.
it almost works.

i try to ignore the painful voice
yelling over the microphone.
"guys!
guys!
please.
you can talk;
i just don't want to hear you."

don't worry,
i can hardly hear myself
think.

i squint to read the projector
from across the long, cavernous hall
to see the code i completed,
we completed,
0 hours, 36 minutes, and 50 seconds ago.

we are reprimanded for taking too long.
perhaps you should address your concerns
to the third row back,
far left.
just a silent suggestion.

i strain to see my monitor
through finger smudged glass
that reflects the few dim lights of the dungeon
in all the wrong places.

i'm too tired to try to fight
another time
another battle of logic
another request for sanity
to only hear rules
for the sake
of rules.
blatantly,
obviously,
knowingly,
all for the sake of rules.

like many breathing
this dank air,
i'm just putting in my time.
watching the clock
(running 24 minutes slow today)
ticking off minutes.
minutes perhaps better spent
cleaning a the elephant pin
at a forgotten zoo
after a years of neglect.

i am rebuked
for attempting to deny rights
of those poor souls
who have never tried c code before
simply by salvaging
another
wasted
night.

yes,
being a master programmer
in some past life
(unannounced to me),
i should really be more humble
about the breathtaking speed at which
i stumble
through simple, short programs.
indeed, i should stop wearing my badge
for these awkwardly lurching skills
i learned
in the same class
that everyone else here attends.
yes,
even you
in the third row
on the far left.

i am all about learning
and patience
(it is a virtue!)
and a little hand-holding,
and making sure no one gets left behind
(just like bush),
but
when i am forced to sit
in near darkness
my eyes switching between one of two glowing screens
wishing for glasses
in an uncomfortable, cheap and over-worn chair
listening to the cacophony of his voice and the feedback of the mic
tucked down in the basement of the ugliest building on campus
until 10 o'clock at night,
i
don't
give a

hairy

rat's

ass

about
the coding errors,
of those who should consider
attending the lecture,
purchasing a textbook,
opening it,
reading it,
studying it,
going to office hours
to wrap their head
around this
simple
logical
direct
and material.

yeah,
i'm talking to you.
hell, i'll even pitch in $10 for your book.

yes, i'm cold-hearted.
and tired
and hungry
and a little clammy
from your lung juice congealing on my skin.
and all of my positive
happy
hand-holding
let's-all-love-each-other
energy
is spent on
making sure that when i leave
this
hole
i do not, again,
break down in angry tears
as i leave frustrated
beyond
anything i care to admit
over such a silly
little
weekly hostage taking.

all that's left to say is,
vas a ver....

genius!

2009-10-08T12:56:00.000-07:00

driver

2009-09-28T05:52:00.000-07:00

i guess i should be studying. i feel guilty taking a moment--particularly this moment, 08:51, prime time for brain activity--to sneak away and write seemingly nothing more than frivolous and self-absorbed drivel for a non-existent following. i feel guilty for many things lately, unless it is studying or working hard.

welcome to canadian engineering school. take all that you once may have enjoyed (excluding math and logic) and box it up like your swimsuits and shorts in winter. just as it is nearly impossible to emulate the enjoyment you once felt while in a bikini in the winter mounds of snow outside (except, possibly, while drunk), it is exceedingly difficult to take time away to relax into a book purely for the fun of it, to start a craft project, to just hang out (except, possibly, when drunk).

each day i make myself the same deal: complete (insert ridiculous number of tasks here), and you will get to spend the rest of the evening with a cup of tea and "a language older than words." somehow it never quite works out that way. i never quite finish. there is always something for tomorrow.

i spend so much of my time working on something that the line is blurred between reality and fiction. i can't figure out if i actually have so much to do or if i am just compelled to continually stay busy.

i realize that my practical side is on overdrive.

and it must be stopped.

but not in the typical engineering student way with drunken debauchery ("...drink rum, drink rum, drink rum with all of us..."). instead in the way----

*TRUNCATED*
i have to leave for class.

i love homemade animation jobs

2009-09-04T05:26:00.000-07:00

*and* universal health care!

like-y? check out more of andy's schtuff on his blog.

canadian cyclist community - RIP

2009-09-02T12:28:00.000-07:00

outside of southwestern british columbia, canada doesn't seem like much of a place for cyclists, but there is a smidgen of a community here and in other cities around the country (obviously more in july than january). ottawa/gatineau is about as similar to seattle as chopped liver is to a tropical flower and its biking scene is no exception--but it's cyclists still amount to a (petite) crowd nonetheless.

no dead baby bikes :(
but a few messengers pissing cars off downtown (:

a couple of tiny-handle-barred, tight jeans wearin', emo fixie kids :(
who actually make me nostalgically happy :)

plenty of cruising bike paths over the river and through the woods (:
but little in the way of actual commuting paths to get there fast :(

guys in jean jackets with the sleeves ripped off and patches reading "rat patrol" and other punk schtuff :)
lots of spandex :(

of course, not everything is different; there are plenty of angry donkeys driving cars wherever i go. i meet them in the street and read about them in the paper when they hit (sometimes kill) one of my fellow cyclists.

last month it was 5 cyclists hit outside of ottawa by a van. how do you not see five people--a complete basketball team--on bikes?! and this week it was darcy allan "al" sheppard who was maimed in toronto by a former attorney general.

the news last night offered a couple of reports on the incident:

- cbc radio and radio canada were pretty upfront, but used the word "allegedly" (and synonyms) as much as possible to infer that bryant is unlikely to be found guilty. sure--how many eye witnesses were there again (including his wife)? and what about those surveillance videos? i get it--"innocent until proven guilty"--but come on. you treat the guy like a damn saint when petty crimes commited by visible minorities are hardly reported fairly.

- cbc t.v. was quite pro-car from the perspective of anyone who has ever ridden a bike on a street. ever. the report even featured a news anchor giving the report while driving an s.u.v.--the nemesis of cyclists everywhere. did you think about the ridiculous of it all, cbc, while filming?

but what really burns me up is that the argument is so unbalanced. let's talk about consequences here, people.

why do bikes upset you on the road?
"they cut me off, they flip me off," one driver said on cbc. boo-freakin-hoo. don't get me wrong--i get bummed out when it happens to me too, but it's about as severe as a papercut. so suck it up, big boy.

and why would cyclists get upset at drivers?
only because it's our freakin' life on the line, folks. that's all. if i dive off the deep end, you might loose 3 seconds of your day or, if my aim is good, earn a scratch on your car. if you do something crazy, i might get killed. pretty fair deal. i hate to break it to you, but

CARS KILL PEOPLE.

it is rarely the other way around. how about we create city infrastructure that it makes it incresingly difficult for

CARS TO KILL PEOPLE

whether they be on a bike, on foot, in another car, or in a stroller? especially when the world is all in a hub-bub about green energy, why would the city not stumble all over itself trying to make carbon-free transport as safe and appealing as possible?

you want to know why cyclists are so better-than-thou, mr. car? because even if we are secretly horrible, horrible people, in the moment that we meet you in your vehicle and us on our bike we are better than you. that's right. i'm defending our well-known superiority complex.

consider:
- we are essentially carbon-free
- we don't kill animals, near as many bugs, or other people
- we don't make ridiculous amounts of noise
- we don't tear up the streets
- we are much less likely to have health issues if we do this horrible activity often enough
- and overall, we don't cost near as much money to "the system" as a vehicle.

now, i understand all of the benefits of having a car. and rock on, mr. driver man. but, it is absolutely bass ackwards for people not to understand the benefits (to all) of having people put their squishy butts on a bike as much as possible.

why don't you just try it? afraid you'll sweat a little? or get a little runner's high? or finally feel what we do when a vehicle zooms 2 inches from our side? you might find out you kinda like riding around with the wind in your hair.

at the very least, please realize the responsibility in your hands when you get inside your vehicle. and maybe we might be able to all get along a little better in the future.

one week to go

2009-09-01T13:01:00.000-07:00

i've just crossed off another task in becoming faux-quebecoise. i've had my driver's license switched over and i feel like there's no real turning back now.

i now rent a quebecoise house and own a quebecois car; i am married to a quebecois and go to quebecois baptisms in the country filled with blond quebecois children; i eat quebecois corn and drink quebecois beer (though the pac northwest is still the heart of microbrews); my socialist quebecois health card is in the mail; and, if all goes well, i will even be speaking joile (pronounced "shjo-all") like a true backwater hick from the north at some point in the next couple of years. oue, esti. (fucken right.)

my linguistic priming is proving interesting in a french-speaking place where many can speak english (including mon cheri), most all goods, services, and the radio come in both languages, i will be attending university in english, and just across the river is a mini-repleca of london with a similar reliance on english (oh, canada; you loyalists, you). it took a month, but i think i've finally found my fracization ground rules:

1. when on this side of the river, always--always--try to speak french first.
today was a good example of what happens when i get lazy. the man who assisted me at the SAAQ (socialist equivalent of the DMV) began by asking french or english. i chickened-out. now either he was just in a saggy-diaper mood (quite likely) or he was less than impressed with my chickening out (also quite likely), proceeding to be quite a sac de douche. i could sense the francophone-hurt mating in his head with anti-american-government-policyism to produce angry anti-the-stupid-girl-in-front-of-me babies. whether my hunch is right or not, i can assure you people just seem to respond better overall to a varsity try.

2. if the person switches to english, say with a smile, "alors, je préfère practiquer mon français." the deeper, more political understanding is then made that i am at least trying to respect quebecois culture, even if i do it in cavewoman grunts. in a snap, i become a comrade.

3. even if an entire transaction is completed in french, make sure that the paperwork is coming in english. who am i kidding.... i can hardly figure out banking or insurance fine print when it's in my mother tongue. add to it that things here just don't work the same as my past home, forcing me to fine-tooth comb read, and you get rule #3.

4. vow to speak french on the other side of the river as much as possible, once you have a working knowledge of french. i imagine there is nothing dumber than someone with mediocre french (moi) trying to get someone with worse french to speak it and i'm not quite up to par to try it at my bilingual university (although the vast majority of administration is francophone). but eventually i, too, will join the political movement for french/joile-ness in canada's capital. not because my livelihood really depends upon it; i just love me some adversarial causes.

5. learn the language, esti. this should really be step one, but you know... things are different now. i went to the official language and bilingualism institute of the university of ottawa today to check out options in FLS (français langue seconde/french as a second language) and i've pretty much decided to rock it.

so only one week to go until i start full time mechE with a little dash o' french. i'm sure the province is happy to hear that i am keeping true to my signed statement declaring that i would do all in my power to learn french and acculturate. (true story.)

after french courses, this is next on the list:

hello, autumn!

2009-08-27T12:06:00.000-07:00

just last week, i was sleeping with all 11 of our operable windows flung wide open. we had drug our bed down from our second floor bedroom to the living room where the overhead fan was operating on a wobbly high. clothing and prolonged touching were frowned upon. at night, i lay awake wondering if i would ever get used to the climate here.

just last week, i awoke to the weather report at 8am: 21 degrees (70 degrees fahrenheit), 100% humidity, feels like 30 degrees (86 degrees fahrenheit). now, i get the concept of humidity and i've felt the converse: good, old, friend-of-everyone, baby-kissin', welcome-at-any-wedding dry heat. eastern washington summers? arizona? "oh, honey, it's just dry heat."

and who doesn't like it? dry heat is essentially a big moral booster. it's hot enough to earn a badge ("oh, yeah? well, yesterday was 92 in the shade"), but mellow enough that you don't actually have to suffer much to earn it ("but it was no big deal for a strong gal like me"). you are pretty hot shit in dry heat.

but i never really thought about the inverse, the evil twin of dry heat: humidity. unlike dry heat, humid hot takes the wind out of you and leaves you with a sticky, salty, wet feeling all over your body. all the time. even when you do nothing.

sittin' on your porch? bullets on your forehead.

eating ice cream? stinky pits.

watchin' a movie? swass.

riding your bike at 2mph? just struggling to weed out a little O2 that hasn't been ripped apart and stolen by all the H's hanging out. (and, apparently, only making partial sense.)

i've now had time to ponder how humid hot seizes a human body's ability to cool itself off through perspiration. it's just no fun. see, i'm not from a place that ever feels 16 degrees hotter than the actual temperature. sure, seattle's dampness may penetrate your bones in winter to make 40 degrees fahrenheit (4.5 degrees celsius) feel like a type of slow death a kin to a stabbing by a blunt object over 40 years, but 16 degrees colder? i've never had it put that way: "feels like." it just sounds so awful and unfair. "feels like."

i looked at the weather report of the amazon. puerto maldonado, peru: 22 degrees, 97% humidity. no note of what the weather feels like. it's the amazon, folks. it's hot and humid and all is well with the world.

i don't want feelings in the weather report any more, canada.

-------------------------------------

fast forward to today, just one week later, and we have returned our bed to the upstairs bedroom, added a couple of down comforters, and i am sitting in jeans, socks and a long sleeve shirt with a sweater nearby. i syphoned body heat off of beto last night and used a knit blanket at the computer this morning. and i naturally refuse to turn on the heat--it's still august!

what is the weather report anyway? 4:30pm: 19 degrees (66 fahrenheit), 40% humidity. i guess that's not that bad. then, why does it feel so weird?

checking point of reference.... seattle: 27 degrees (81 fahrenheit) and 37% humidity. what?!

wait--is this how things work here? one week you're in the amazon, the next all the leaves are gone and you start wearing corduroy and sweaters? will snow start falling before university begins? my body is so confused i don't know if i can hang tough with this. this weather feels like i may just want my money back.

for now, i'll just be contented i'm dry and that the leg screamers have been silenced by the most beautiful time of year here (we'll see!): autumn.

dear amazon.com,

2009-08-22T08:35:00.000-07:00

first, i would like to thank you. your online database is great and really helpful for finding all of the books i want (so i can check them out of a nearby library and save some cash).

second, i would like notify you of a severe flaw in your website. the toy section uses antiquated organization, making it very difficult to find an appropriate toy for my young friends. perhaps this quick, little story will help explain:

when i was a little girl, my family spent one christmas in arizona with my father's sisters. one morning before the special day, i woke up early and found one of my aunts wrapping presents. i snuck a peak and saw that she was wrapping my dream gift: an erector set. i excitedly skipped back to my bed, hoping that my aunt didn't see me, and looked forward to the day i could create an operable crane, ferris wheel, or animatronics dinosaur!

well, christmas came and there was no erector set; that gift was destined for a cousin with a penis. instead, i received some art supplies and a huge, pink case of makeup. not to appear disappointed, i walked off to the bathroom and made up my face, trying to look natural. i came out and my dad said, "aw, honey. give me a big, red, lipstick kiss."

your website has successfully boxed the sentiments of that moment in high tech packaging by organizing your online toy section into two parts.

SECTION 1 is filled with bicycles,

preschool construction sets,

construction sets (for non-preschoolers),

games (this one involving numbers),

electronics,

and action figures that really, really love war and odd facial hair configurations.

SECTION 2 is filled with arts & crafts,

stuffed animals & plush,

dolls (that are presumably not plush, but equally pink),

games,

preschool toys (a.k.a. purses complete with a make-believe cell phone and lipstick),

and dress-up & pretend play (as a shiny, spandex-y, bright pink super hero).

after perusing these two sections, i have a couple of questions about your organizational decisions:

- why do you call section 1 the "boys" section and section 2 the "girls" section?

- why are "boys toys" an array of colors?

- why are "girls toys" filled with items that are at least 92.4% pink and/or purple?

- why do "boys toys" teach about construction, numbers, riding bikes, and fighting?

- why do "girls toys" teach about looking pretty and dressing up, creating art projects, and caring for small, inanimate objects?

- do you feel like you have any social obligation to rethink your outdated and oppressive way of organizing toys?

probably not.

as the stranger pointed out last year, you remain one of the only huge, ominous corporations based in seattle not to donate to, well... any cause other than your own profits. since then, you have donated a whole $35,000 to the richard hugo house. (+1) but, then again, you also might want to check out the slog's may 29th post noting your choice to sell video games whose entire mission is to kidnap and rape women. (-2) i can't say that i am surprised. you never pretended to be a big, friendly giant. you simply offer just about everything and at pretty fair prices. so what more can a consumer in 2009 expect? social responsibility?

you can relegate this letter into your "feminist diatribe" pile or you might actually consider reorganizing your toys into categories based on interest or learning goals. maybe kids can even be seen as individuals and select the toys they like without fear of picking from the "inappropriate" category. sure, it's still up to the purchaser to select the gift, but at least the very first choice they make will not be dependent upon what the recipient has in their undies.

thanks for updating your services,

lacycle.

a girl that likes bikes, engineering and arts & crafts.

pick flick!

2009-08-20T04:41:00.000-07:00

i've been keeping a close eye on my admissions file at the university of ottawa, since classes will be starting in 20 days and i still have no final offer on which of my past credits will be transferring (and, accordingly, which courses i still need to take). i'm not what you could call a down-to-the-wire kind of girl. i like plans. a lot.

i'm also a control freak, which may be playing a role here, and i have the organization and argumentative style of a tenured litigation attorney. plus, i'm easily frustrated by mediocrity and cursory work. all of this may make me seem like little fun to be around, but i like to think that there is space out there for people like me and tracy flick.

any how, i'm waiting for admissions to take a fair, researched, and educated look at my transfer credits. so, when i received my acceptance email and credit evaluation last night, less than two days after the admissions office received my last transcript (i know because i called them tuesday; yep, i'm that girl), it seemed fishy that they only gave me 6 transfer credits. 6? why, that's only the equivalent of 2 university courses. you can't be serious. i'm sure this is just the starting point for negotiations.

i'll direct your attention again to the evidence i have already provided.

exhibit a: my detailed letter explaining the appropriate courses equivalencies.

exhibit b: direct links to online transfer equivalencies provided by the university of washington.

exhibit c: course descriptions from the respective university.

exhibit d: course syllabi outlining the textbook and chapters covered.

exhibit e: signed credit transfer evaluation from the university of alberta (a canadian university--so don't give me your nationalist biases) placing me at just above a second year standing.

and i will see you tomorrow at your office. i'll make sure to bring each of my textbooks and some baked goods so we can get this all settled then.

the sound of (non)silence

2009-08-19T06:01:00.001-07:00

what is that loud, ominous sound that is best described as a cross between a great-wall-sized string of high voltage electric lines and an octave-too-high weed wacker? what makes it more confusing is that this noise is everywhere--not just at home.

i eat breakfast in my kitchen.

errrrrrrriiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiirrrrrrreee....

i go for a run in the park.

errrrrrrriiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiirrrrrrreee....

i go to the bank.

errrrrrrriiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiirrrrrrreee....

i ride my bike to ottawa.

ERRRRRRRIIIIIIIIRRRRREEEE!

ahhhh! (pant.) i can't take it any more! (huff. gasp.)

the only reprieve comes with entering a closed off building or dusk. the noise stops at night. what is wrong with this place? and is it giving me cancer and/or insanity?

no, it's just crickets calling for their mates. yes--crickets.

horney, male crickets are producing what amounts to the worst case of noise pollution i've heard about since... well... since reading lauren's blog when she discusses the joys of living under the sea-tac flight path. but this is constant. at least the laws of nature require a break between each flight landing--not a continuous stream of rumbling overhead. but, these little guys also don't shake the earth. ok, they are equal to living under the flight path of a major international airport.

what's even better is that their mating call, which would be better named a "scream" than a "chirp," increases in intensity and strength with an increase in temperature. (some weirdo scientist actually created a mathematical formula directly relating the cricket's "scream" rate and temperature. really, buddy?)

so, when you are sweating profusely, mind-numbingly slow, and uncomfortably grumpy from the humidity and heat, you get to listen to these little, two-inch screamers all. day. long.

listen up, crickets. i used to think you were pretty cool. your chirps were pleasant and cute. a sign of nightfall while camping under the stars. you are supposed to be lucky, too. but why--why--could you have not developed a more palatable way of finding a mate? take the macaw or any other tropical bird; they decided to become beautiful colors. or what about animals that use pheromones; just find a tree to pee on, friend.

but not you. no, you decided to annoy everything within a two kilometer radius with your incessant leg screeching. honestly, what happened in your evolution to make you think, "i'll just scream at the top of my lungs to get laid"?

and lady crickets, please open your tympanic membranes to these pathetic cries. and take up the praying mantis trait of sexual cannibalism.

luckily, today is a moderate day. sunny, but not too warm. and your cold-blooded body is subjected to a slow down of the necessary chemical processes to cause screaming. it is now lower pitched and less frequent. i can't wait for fall to turn it off.

happy one month status repor(t)

2009-08-17T07:21:00.000-07:00

well, here we are exactly one month in quebec and i'm happy to report that many things are moving forward. so far we have:

1. found a place to live! first order of business is done and we live in a little brick townhouse:

with a large yard, which should turn into an absolutely gi-normous snow pile in six months:

through the front door, you enter through the mud room (you have to have a buffer for winter) and into our blue, blue living room:

with the stairs on the left and a little cut out into the kitchen/dining area (the orange color):

on the other side of the stairs is the kitchen:

and dining area with a door to the backyard on the right (and laundry/mud room):

upstairs, to the right is a larger-than-the-big-living-room craft/study/guest room:

and to the left upstairs is a small bathroom (so small i wasn't really able to get a good shot) and our bedroom:

the apartment is really well-located, just a block from a small university (read: swimming pool) and two blocks from gatinau park: over 36,000 hectares/nearly 90,000 acres of nature and bike trails in the summer, cross-country skiing trails in the winter.

right now the townhouse seems too big for li'l ol' us, but beto is insistent that winter necessitates more space. plus i think we can handle rent, priced less than our small 1-bedroom apartment in the university district of seattle (without a yard).

naturally, the only buzz kill is that the landlord is less-than-cool (somethings just don't change when moving 4,600km across the continent) and i've had to shift my excitement from creating an amazing urban permaculture space here (which would be surprisingly ill-received) to researching and designing natural building techniques for the hopeful house we purchase and/or construct next summer, maybe in nearby cantley... which brings me to my next point:

2. beto's found a job. turns out cantley actually came through and beto's at work right now at the below building as a municipal inspector. the idea is that he'll gain local experience to move up as an urban planner. exciting stuff.

i'm envisioning creating some sort of straw bale house somewhere in these rolling hills, far away from city life (actually only 20 minutes from downtown ottawa--essentially the same distance as shoreline to downtown seattle). actually, if i could create a veritable hippy hobbitville in downtown ottawa, it would even be better, but so far us "visionaries" are outcasts who must seek refuge outside the range of sight of everyday shmoes.

all of my dreaming seems to necessitate some sort of political action to ensure that i can, in fact, build anything remotely as forward as i'm hoping. frankly, i just don't think i could absolve myself after constructing a straw bale house with composting toilet by saying "i didn't know it was against the rules" (blink, blink). they might be on to me, wife of a freakin' municipal inspector and all. so, i'll have to check into groups with names like action cantley to see if i can eke out a little space for straw and my definition of sustainable growth.

on the pending list we also have:

3. purchase a car. i know, i know.... what?!?! a car? but, this place is about as bike friendly as a nascar race. you just can't have much of a life in this sort of city-as-compilation-of-strip-malls without a vehicle. not even in summer, much less winter.

originally, i spent hours researching every vehicle choice about 3-6 years old, narrowing it down to a top 5 list with specific qualifications, and then calling around to find matching options. then, i test drove a couple, doubled over at the thought of actually paying a car payment, and switched to the old standby of buy-old-civic-with-relatively-low-miles-and-drive-into-ground. good news is that i think we've found one that we should square away and transfer to quebec by the end of the week! (crossing fingers.)

clean freak supports urban chickens (part II)

2009-07-30T05:23:00.001-07:00

as you may recall, i spent this time last week fervently cleaning my mother-in-law's apartment, acknowledging my serious passion for all things orderly. (an aside: the university library in which i sought for refuge was frustratingly unorganized, as far as libraries go. the N section was on the other side of P by Q, as opposed to, say, in alphabetical order. the librarian who pointed me in the right direction seemed oblivious to the customary kindergarten ABC song lyrics and the clutter issue is obviously more pervasive than i first thought.)

since then, i've been painting and cleaning our new apartment. exciting. stuff. we are now the proud renters of a two-story townhouse, a place barely large enough to warrant a staircase, but incredibly cute and homey--especially with its new, happy colored walls. the real bonus is the respectively huge, south facing yard. obviously, my first thoughts upon seeing it were: yay, veggies and chickens!

but my visions of petite poultry prancing through a lush, edible garden of eden soon screeched to a halt. my exuberant gaspings of wheeled chicken mobiles received a strange, new look from my husband.... what does that face mean?

"you can't bring farm animals into the city."

farm animals?! who said anything about farm animals? why, i would argue that chickens, with their unique, sociable personalities, are nothing less than a companion animal with the uncanny ability to also feed their human friend, eat annoying pests, and fertilize the garden. and i would create a little chicken leash and bib reading "service animal: please do not pet" while i walk around the neighborhood just to prove their distinction from a real farm animal. i demanded he call the city before calling my chicken friends names.

alas, prospects look grim so far in the horribly cluttered, but chicken-free, city of gatineau, quebec. wtf? i was ready to start scavenging used lumber for coop construction and calling dealers of the chantecler chicken, specifically bred in quebec to handle the numbingly cold winters here. but, i am not giving up yet; there are still 7 months until next spring to get this all sorted out.

i have convinced beto that chickens are actually a great idea, likely more because they seem so avant garde than out of any practical reasoning. (french culture loves eccentricities.) and, being the urban planner he is, he suggests that we might be able to ask for a derogation--a temporary waiver. that could work... or i could just continue convincing all of the surrounding neighbors that chickens are a great idea and then forgo the rules entirely. insert my favorite saying: sometimes, it's better to ask forgiveness than permission.

either way, i have already begun the research and planning stage of what will amount to an impressive, edible garden. do i know what i'm doing? no! do i know how to garden, particularly in zone 3/4? not at all! but it will be a little adventure that will hopefully show gatineau that it can and should be done, chickens and all.

all of this chicken business has shown me that there are many ways people can be different. i'm not talking about the normal, everyday, you-have-a-funny-accent, or dress-oddly sort of different. nor the xenophobically-feared-foreign-name and hue-darker-skin kind. no, i'm an inside outsider. i pass like a cop on a highway, full speed.

it's the subtler kinds of things that are different with me, like chickens, order, and purple-painted bathrooms (which, by the way, is completely primed for an onslaught of unicorn nicknacks). my paradigm is not from 'round these parts--er, ahem.... ce n'est pas d'ici.

clean freak supports urban chickens (part I)

2009-07-30T04:18:00.000-07:00

i'm starting to understand where i come from and it sure isn't here.

lesson 1. my life goal is to seek out clutter and destroy. i decided to help out and clean my mother-in-law's condo yesterday. she's out of town and a ''cleaning 'tard''--beto's words, not mine. plus we've been staying here and the kitchen has a nice, brittle crunch when you walk in and i can just imagine what's lurking in the wall-to-wall carpet. actually...i'm getting the heeby-jeebies just thinking about it.

(before i get to the nitty gritty, i just want to say i am not in the habit or favor of denigrating anything about my mother-in-law. she's completely fine, which i only say in a bland way because i can't figure her out yet. chalk it up to coming from a completely different culture and living a completely different life in a completely different time. she's kind and made beto and that's great. now back to cleaning diatribe, which isn't really about her anyway. this could be about anyone....)

the cleaning aspect i can do. well, i could have done it a whole lot better with useful tools like surface cleaner or a broom. i mean, really. how in the world do you live without a broom, mop, or anything other than a vacuum that merely spits everything on a bare floor at your feet when you turn it on? the only two valid excuses for that are that you are nineteen and/or you just moved. and that bottle of cleaner without a drop i found in the ''cleaning supplies''? let's just be honest: it was sucked bone dry years ago and it's now kept under the sink as a nod toward housecleaning. (right next to empty bottles of dish soap and stain remover. sigh.)

so, windex, sponge and window squeegee in hand, i set to clean the house. the real kicker was not the lack of cleaning tools or the encountered zen-garden-like landscaping of dust; it was the fact that 76% of my time was not spent cleaning. no, while standing amidst carefully constructed castles of hair in the corners of every room, my time was actually mostly spent picking up piles of stuff, moving it all to a different surface, and then moving it back when i was done sanding off the grime from beneath.

my normally quick and thorough get-'er-done cleaning job took stupid amounts of time. well, no freakin' wonder it hasn't been done in a while. my issue is not with cleaning--it is with all the crap sitting everywhere that i try to turn a blind eye to. that's right,

i HATE clutter. hate it. hate it. hate it.

so much so, in fact, that if left alone long enough in other people's houses, i will actually try to fix it. organize it. label it. get it off of every possible surface. i'm looking for dewey decimal order here.

crap sitting out everywhere, without a home, is screaming at me all the time. i try to ignore it, which the parent of any newborn will attest simply doesn't work in the long run. i try to encourage others to handle it, which is a jesus-like maneuver unworkable in most of my gentile situations. i try to half-assidly move it so the owner doesn't notice (they are obviously clutter deaf anyway) and it affords me just a little bit of breathing room. but eventually, without fail, i will break down and clean the shit up.

i will get banker's boxes and binders for all of the papers about destroying my life. i will make a rack for the booby trap of shoes in the entry. i will take all of the vitamins, and teas, and spices, and serving spoons, and scales, and blenders, and french presses, and toasters, and wine glasses, and garlic, and jars of pastas, and everything else sitting in irritating piles around the tiny kitchen and find a home for them in one of the cupboards currently filled with tens of thousands of yogurt containers still waiting to be reused. listen: you will NEVER, ever have enough leftovers to require 1,690 litres of no.2 recyclable plastic containers. that's right; i'm taking your frugality and dreams out to the street for pick up.

even just writing about it makes me foam at the mouth with larouche clan fervency. lucky for me, i'm off now to visit the university library filled with rows and rows of perfect organization!

the significance of bridges

2009-07-26T07:04:00.000-07:00

so, we have arrived to gatineau, quebec. i'm feeling quite accomplished as i check off my long list of to-do's with impressive speed, especially considering most items are associated with thick, maple syrup like bureaucracy. no worries; i can handle wasteful paper filing like a 15-year government veteran (a.k.a. 50% of the people who live in this gatineau/ottawa area--the capital of canada). it's the non-check-listy sort of stuff that's catching me off guard.

take the daily cultural lindy hop. i wake up with radio canada (to be read in funny, french accent) and eat breakfast: a good ol' fashioned amerkan breakfast of fried 'taters and a veggie scramble, red river, crepes, or gallo pinto (fancy name for rice and beans). then i take the bus (bonjour!) across the bridge to ottawa (hello!) to a friend's house from chile or peru or mexico (buenas!). i have to remember if it's one kiss, or two, or a nice, firm, and distant handshake.

switching mid-sentence between two languages is a favorite pastime of our friends here, who are each differently bilingual. spanish-english. english-french. french-spanish. and i find that being able to technically speak a language is not the same as being able to live it, establish meaningful relationships in it, and understand culturally-specific humor. just because one friend may speak english and spanish does not mean that (s)he will cross the bridge and befriend someone who speaks spanish and french.

the subtleties (and not-so-subtleties) of language and culture here are quite the interesting puzzle to me. nothing fits my old paradigm. well, beto does remain the only person i know who can punt around all three languages like a maradona of linguistic soccer. if only he could understand my (apparently) bizarre seattle humor....

but not everyone is so linguistically limber. there are people who live just down the street and speak only a handful of english words and even more people across the bridge who would scratch their heads at any non-food associated french word. and spanish? might as well be a slalish language, unless you are married to one of the few latino/as. (if you are, please add yourself to beto's inclusive roladex listing of all mid-20 to 40-year-old latinos in the area.)

the ottawa river separating francophone gatineau, quebec, and anglophone ottawa, ontario, seems wider each day.

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and each time someone describes the bridges, they seem longer and longer. coming from a city flooded with water, the striking significance of a bridge here is a laughable psychiatric condition to me. yet, sort of a fun one, like tourette's.

i feel like i've been invited into a world of possibilities, to which all but a few of the natives are completely blind. i mean, where else can i pinball myself from language to language and culture to culture? whenever my reality gets boring, i'll just head to someone else's place. almost everything is more interesting in a different language! that is, once i can figure out more of this whole french-speaking thing....

health care or insurance?

2009-07-23T05:27:00.001-07:00

literally two days ago, i became an official permanent resident of canada. i can't vote yet (i have to be a citizen for that), but i do have many benefits. first one most americans name? UNIVERSAL HEALTH CARE.

that's right. if i decide to saw off my leg tomorrow, i can get medical (and maybe a little psychiatric) care to help me out and--get this--not have to worry about how to pay for it. i don't have to pay a co-pay and cover my enormous deductible or, if i didn't have medical insurance, figure out how i would pay off hospital debt for the next 10 years. i can instead focus on healing.

yes, when i get a pay check, pay for housing and purchase anything in canada, i am paying for this health care through taxes. and, no, it is not a perfect system--but it is a not-for-profit system, which is a step in the right direction. no, it is not ''free'', but it is sooo much better than the disaster happening just on the other side of the parallel. and obama thinks he has a solution?

sorry, but health insurance is NOT the same as health care.

requiring people to pay for insurance does not insure quality care. i know many people with insurance that still pay most medical expenses out of pocket because they have ''catastrophic'' coverage. not including preventative care is more expensive in the long run and does not make anyone healthier. (studies show!) but with premiums ridiculously high--mine was $352 per month with my previous job and i am the healthiest person out there--how can anyone even consider to pay for more than the bare minimum?

ask any of my canadian friends about a deductible, co-pay, and the difference between catastrophic and full coverage and you will get nothing but blank stares. which is absolutely wonderful! why should they waste their time, energy, and money pondering which combination of these things makes for a good health care plan? especially when every combination is specifically designed to make money off of you, not provide you with heartfelt health care.

creating competition with insurance companies is surely better than the current competition, where the giants can declare whatever premiums they deem valid for their profit margins. but the real question is why is anyone making a profit off of health coverage? shouldn't health care be viewed as a human right, not a commodity?

yet, to be a successful business, medical insurance companies must make profit. and they make profit by charging more than they pay out in claims, to their workers, and for the rest of their high overhead. how is this more efficient than creating a fund (and agency) paid for by all americans to simply pay doctors and health care providers for their services for all americans? when was the middle man ever a good thing? time to trim the fat.

yes, there are complaints of the canadian system of universal health care. to that, i say why don't you, world power and richest nation in the world, simply make your system better than canada's? why don't you cover more, pay health care providers more, include medical training so there isn't a shortage of care providers, and ensure wait times are incredibly low irrespective of the procedure? i think you could if you wanted to and that it would likely cost less than your current pathetic insurance scheme. try health care for a change.

sure, mr. rich american, if you happen to be rolling in dough, then you can splurge (just like wealthy canadians do) on fancier (though deemed medically unnecessary) procedures and getting a procedure (for a non time sensitive ill) done tomorrow instead of next month. but at least everyone receives a good level of base care. heck, ANY care is a good thing for 47 million americans (nearly 1.5 times the total population of canada without a drop of coverage).

want a system that works well? i suggest looking south to cuba. they have such good universal health care (in spite of the us embargo) that they export doctors. they also pay for their medical schooling so they don't have to be paid millions of dollars each year just to pay off school loans. but looking at cuba as a model wouldn't be politically advantageous now, would it?

you could say that i'm just getting lippy, settling into my outsider-looking-in status, but i'm also an insider. my entire family, friends, and most everyone i care about live in the u.s. and deserve health care, but aren't receiving it from what i can see. they do NOT need more health insurance. they need a government that actually takes care of their citizens instead of relying upon a hobbled market place that seeks out profits.

...am i sounding socialist yet?

flights are back in!

2009-07-09T09:01:00.001-07:00

yes, my sad, petty post outlining all of the flights i have taken in the past couple of years has actually given me pause before i casually hop on my next flight. in fact, i now have what should be considered a close kin to aerophobia: fear of boarding a plane because i will surely destroy the earth and become the biggest, flying, wannabe environmentalist hypocrite in the universe. (well, right after al gore who spent half of the "inconvenient truth" cruising in his private car or jet. don't think those scenes slipped by me, sinner.)

this is a textbook example of my perfected turn-the-simplest-acts-into-the-worst-sins-of-all-time-(generally-in-the-name-of-the-environment) mantra of life. it's like a new-age version of the puritans' take on sex. i take seemingly harmless, everyday activities and turn them into the acts of satan's spawn:

- drying your hands with paper towels outside of public restrooms? think of all of the trees who lost their lives for you. seen "lord of the rings"? yeah, it will happen like that to you, too.

- buying new clothes? they must be at prices implausible if the workers were paid a living wage and over the age of seven. think again, slave driver.

- owning and frequently driving a car? burn in hell.

- think a hybrid will save your soul? not unless you are physically incapable of walking, biking, or taking the bus within the very same city you are driving through. we both know your mileage plummets on the highway or any other useful place to drive your stupid car. double burning in hell if you have a hybrid suv, ass hat.

- eating processed foods with lab-created flavor? pop-tarts, doritos, mcdonalds?! thankfully satan's minions designed these products with death tokens in each to slowly kill and fatten you up for future soap manufacture. (products pretending to substitute meat are somehow exempt from my damning.)

- creating a movie with any scenes of cars or planes in it while educating the masses about global warming? hypocrite transgressor who surely undermines the true, pure environmental movement!

it's sort of getting out of hand and needs to be put in check, but it's all coming from a "heal the world, make it a better place" kind of sentiment. anywho, flights are my biggest issue at the moment....

so, in determining how to move to gatineau, quebec, from seattle, washington, i looked into every option other than flying: train, truck rental, shipping our goods, and i even gave half a second to my husband's suggestion to use a ship (yes, a boat from seattle through the northwest passage or panama canal to the saint laurence river and upstream. sadly, it was the second time he made such a suggestion after the ''just sail from seattle to wenatchee'' one last month when the 3 hour drive seemed too long). but alas, all creativity and resourcefullness used up, we could come up with nothing cheaper and quicker than flying and shipping our goods behind us.

and we're not talking about a couple of dollars and a few hours here, folks. oh, no. we are talking about a minimum of $1,300 and 4 days saved. unemployed and looking for deals, how are we supposed to choose the train again? off we went on another flight and my hypocracy level is at an all time high--or, rather, i just understand that until the environmental choice becomes the more monetarily and/or time efficient choice, people will likely continue choosing the same. we did. and yet, that is not what is best for our planet.

what if flying had to internalize all of its waste and fuel use? picture something like a less-capitalist version of cradle to cradle philosophy. what would be the most economical choice then? if we stop subsidizing the least healthy choices for the environment, maybe people would be tempted to consider other options AND actually be able to choose them based upon more that a heart of green.

until then, flights are back in! (sorry, al, for the quick judgement.)