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friday, june 30 That's it. I'm going back to bed. It's only 8:35 and already my day is in tatters. They sold my croissant. The horror! How could they do this to me? I toddle up the hill most mornings to capture the lone, plain croissant. I don't know why there is only one, but the morning pastry tray only contains one, yes, one plain croissant. There are two blueberry danishes. Two apple. Two cherry. Two scones. Two bran muffins. Two almond croissant. Two chocolate croissant. And one plain croissant. I arrived at 8:30, having figured out that delivery occurs around 8:25-ish. To my horror, I see an empty, greasy spot where my croissant should be. "Where's my croissant?" There's a mumbled reply, accompanied by a somewhat sheepish grin. "Yes, but, where's my croissant?" He giggled. There's someone out there with a tummy full of my plain croissant. I don't know who you are, you who have just eaten my breakfast. I hope that you enjoyed it. I am bereft. I had to settle for a cherry danish. Yes, I had my pick of everything else, but it just isn't the same as that wonderful, plain croissant. I don't know where this is going to end. Am I going to have to wait for the delivery every morning? Shuffling my feet back and forth on the street corner eyeing each passerby, wondering if they are the one? If they are my competition? I did suggest that they might want to consider ordering two plain croissant, but I think that he secretly enjoys my frustration. For all I know, the object of my desire has been secreted beneath the encounter for the express purpose of thwarting me. Does that sound too paranoid? Most likely it's just another instance of my WCS syndrome. WCS? Worst Case Scenario, baby! I can be my own prophet of doom. Comes in handy sometimes. I must remain calm. I must just breathe and let it go. It's a long, long weekend after all. I've mapped out my escape trajectory, northward, with the one I love. Happy Canada Day! Rabbit rabbit. Yesterday? Toilet trauma. Napped half the day; no one punished me! - Kobayashi Issa, The Essential Haiku  thursday, june 29 I've a really unfortunate habit of dropping things into the loo. Slither, plop! Heather stares in dismay, at object x, now residing at the bottom of the toilet bowl. The most disastrous events were the back to back dives by my lovely Skytel beepers. That's right, not one, but two. You've never seen a store clerk really smirk until you try to explain the unscheduled swimming lesson of your more water phobic technology. For the record, beepers don't swim and they don't survive a dunk in the brink, whether it be toilet bowl, puddle or lake. It might sound like I have a rather cavalier attitude with my stuff, but that's not true. The beepers were a victim of fashion. Little patch pockets at the front of one particular pair of pants just screamed beeper, but if you slid them down your hips, just like so, the darn things would slither out, and downward in the perfect splashdown trajectory. The beepers were the only permanent victims of this unfortunate habit. There's a long list of unharmed victims - jewelry, coins, keys - they've all tumbled. I'm sure you've reached the point of thinking.... Eeeewwwww! That crazy girl is forever sticking her hand down the loo! And of course, thoughts of toilets would beg the question, clean or dirty? Get your mind out of the bowl, baby! You can rest assured that in ninety-nine percent of all events, it was before the act that led me there in the first place. Mindspring 1, PacBell 0 Doing the happy dance here today! Covad arrived yesterday and completed my DSL installation. How did I celebrate? Well, I launched Perforce and did a full sync with the depot! I know how to have a good time. Eight, count 'em, eight business days from placing the order to the first squirt of data! I have the name and number of a very nice Mindspring rep, so email me if you're considering DSL. Friends don't let friends choose PacBell. Momentary free fall from love You know what? There are really only six people in this industry. You can't walk around saying anything that isn't true because, if it involves another person, it's going to get back to that person, and that person is going to be rather pissed. What's the tried but true "not if you were the last man on earth and I was the last woman, and the very existence of the human race depended upon in"? Well, that applies here. Let me just say... In your dreams you stupid fuck! Ahem. heather@ So last night I had this odd feeling that people might be trying to contact heather@harrumph.com. I'd never set the account up, but after a bit of fiddling, Outlook slurped down eighteen messages that had been composting for far too long - including Bryan's FOJM snap! The horror! Yesterday? Marco Polo. Coolness: the clean lines of the wild pine. - Yosa Buson, The Essential Haiku wednesday, june 28 Marco Polo I don't know why I was thinking about the Marco Polo Lounge this morning. Ottawa was not a hotbed of food options in the seventies. Marco Polo was our "Chinese food" event. Chinese food is in quotations as I came to realize that our Almond Chicken Soo Guy, Sweet and Sour Chicken Balls and Chicken Chow Mein were pretty much as far away as one could get from being Chinese, though it seemed to have much to do with corn starch. It wasn't really about the food. I was the atmosphere. My strongest memory is of white stucco, black velvet "chinoise" (there are those quotes again) paintings and red vinyl. The bar at the back of the back of the restaurant was the focal point of my attention. Women who were unlike any of the women in my neighbourhood and businessmen in shiny suits in various stages of slumped dejection, nursing fancy coloured cocktails. Visits to the Marco Polo were few and far between, but in the pre-Regan yuppification of civil servant life, they provided an alluring view into another world, one distant from that of my suburban childhood. The Combination Pizza The Ottawa code word for mushrooms, pepperoni and green pepper. Of course, I didn't realize this until such time that I wasn't in Ottawa and tried to order a "combination." "I'll have a medium combination - well done, please." "A combination of what?" "Um..." "A combination of what toppings?" I had to think for a moment of what the combination actually was. I know you are but what am I? My tauntings are bush league when compared with Playground terms. [thanks Nick] Oh, and you might not want to engage Ryan in a verbal altercation... "Shut up!" "I don't shut up, I grow up, and when I look at you I throw up. Then your mother comes around the corner and licks it up!" I can't remember when I signed up to receive updates from Beatrice - perhaps two years ago? I received my first update today and I'm glad for the reminder. Beatrice is dedicated to interviews with some of the best writers in contemporary literature. Yesterday? Laundry lament. Moon, plum blossoms, this, that, and the day goes. - Kobayashi Issa, The Essential Haiku tuesday, june 27 Here's a thought. Find a scrap of paper. Take pen or pencil and scribble down a few thoughts for a person you love, a person you care about, or someone who might be in need of a smile. When you have a chance, tuck it into a place where they'll come across it in the future. It might be better to avoid a pant pocket or someplace where it might end up in the wash. There's nothing that says love less, than those bits of pilled up paper found post wash. Actually, my life has been a plague of post wash flotsam and jetsam. I come from a long line of nasally challenged individuals. I myself, resemble a happy puppy, with my ever present cold, wet nose. Tucking a hanky up the sleeve was a habit learned on my mothers knee. It's not so bad if you the object you tuck is a hanky, but heaven forbid that it be just a snippet of Kleenex or even the less elegant toilet paper. Those little devils are renowned in their sneakiness. They can avoid detection during even the most thorough pre-wash check. Then there's the karmic justice of an errant pen. I learned this first hand when nothing less than a Sharpie left a trail of doodles across all elements of a white load. Now, considering that black predominates my wardrobe, this might not have been such a traumatic experience had it not been for the presence of one particular white shirt. This shirt was ill gotten, a trophy scarfed from a former lover. A beautiful Comme des Garcon, tailored shirt. The area over the heart was pierced with a series of black squiggles, that would defile the crisp, white cotton forever. I was a marked woman. I've solved the problems of runny colours by dressing like a crow. It's hard for that new, red sock to do much damage to a load of coal coloured clothing. This is not to say that I haven't had my moments when I succumbed to the siren song of chroma or pattern. I love them in the store, I bring them home and then they just sit there. I try them on and think, "what the fuck was I thinking?" Polka-dots, stripes, plaids and florals have all had their moment of glory. Short lived though. They never make it out of the starting gates... Abandoned, crumpled up and squished into the nether regions of my closet or wardrobe. But, I digress. My point was that it wouldn't hurt to spread a little love, bring a little joy into someone else's life today. We can all spend far too much time navel gazing and forget that other place. You know, the one that isn't contained within an expensive piece of glass and plastic. I must have fallen asleep when they mentioned that Robert Smithson's Spiral Jetty has been underwater practically since it was created. It has always tickled at the back of my brain as someplace worth going. Oh Exploding Dog! Why have you forsaken me? Where's my damn title? Yesterday? I know you are but what am I? I don't know which tree it comes from, that fragrance. - Matsuo Basho, The Essential Haiku monday, june 26 I am rubber and you are glue, whatever you say bounces off me and sticks to you. I know you are but what am I? Nanny nanny boo boo, stick your head in doo doo. Am not. Are too. [Repeat like, forever!] I asked you first. Make me! You're stupid. I see London I see France I see [insert name here]'s underpants. While we bemoan the artistic flare that is worn out of us as children, we forget the lovely dialogue. Aren't these wonderful? Wouldn't you like to pull one of these gems out during a conversation that just doesn't seem to be getting anywhere? I don't think that they are very much different from the way that dialogue is constructed today other than they are simpler and get to the heart of the matter. Why wrap it up in high falutin' fancy talk when you can cut to the chase and deliver your words in the universally language of childhood? Nothing can be misconstrued when you engage in a hearty round of "am not" "am too" "am not!" "am too!" "AM NOT" "AM TOO". C'mon, you're just going to spin your wheels anyway, so why waste invaluable time and energy? Regress and let it rip, baby! There will be less lasting damage... After all we all grew up with this. We've managed to put it all behind us (well, most of us), so why say something that you might really regret, when you can cough up a silly? You must forgive me. I'm one blissed, sugar coated, "Ah Caramel!" chick today. Friday and Saturday brought an indecent number of Vachon delights to my doorstep. Merci milles fois to Stewart, James & Sam. Yesterday? Flip-flop fetish revealed! Sparrow singing - its tiny mouth open. - Yosa Buson, The Essential Haiku sunday, june 25 I seem to have defined my California culture as "flip-flops & a sweater." It combines many aspects of dressing that I enjoy. As close to bare feet as possible yet enough clothes to hide nature's flaws. I came to San Francisco with the sweater part down pat. Being Canadian will do that to a girl. I wasn't able to wear many of the sweaters that I had purchased in New York, while living in New York. The perpetual overheating in many buildings from late October to early April, ensures a continual state of dressing and undressing. I stubbornly hung onto my sweaters and they came in handy that first winter in Montreal. I cried one day, walking down St. Catherine, as I lost feeling in my fingers and my toes. My tears turning to small icicles on my cheeks. The sweaters came in handy then. I've seen girls, on chilly days, wandering Haight in their thin summer dresses and little else. I've not been close enough to determine if they have goose bumps on their goose bumps, but I think it's quite likely. Perhaps they come from hardier stock than I. Yes, it's June. San Francisco summer weather isn't what you think. Why this? Why now? Well, I bought seven pairs of flip-flops yesterday. The foamy, thong through the toes type. Olive, lime, buttercup, lavender, red, white and blue (but not the stars and stripes variation). Everything that they had in my size - women's nine. $3.50 a pair at Old Navy. You can't beat that. I've thought about mixing them up. Left olive, right lime or left, lavender, right blue, but calmer heads are advising caution. Is that the bridge too far? Is the somewhat irritating, smacking sound, generated by every step enough? Would I be adding insult to injury with mis-matched feet? You tell me. Flip-flops are as close to bare feet as one can get and still meet the social contract of shod feet. I was even able to take tea last week at the Ritz Carleton in my flip-flops. They were black and I'd accessorized well with Kate Spade. Otherwise, I'm sure that I would have been out on tuchas. One former employer might be heard to say "works well with others but must be reminded to keep shoes on." I'm acquiring flip-flop tan lines on my feet. If I wash up on shore, I'll be immediately pegged as a California girl. friday, june 23 Followed the handy Blogger help to create free search functionality now available to your right. A little navel gazing reveals the following results: Love 16 Hate 8 Peace 2 War 5 Sex 9 Death 5 Fuck 9 It seems that I'm not quite the potty mouth I believed myself to be. Toes? Try, navel! [via a jaundiced eye] "I believe this. When we meet those we fall in love with, there is an aspect of our spirit that is historian, a bit of a pedant, who imagines or remembers a meeting when the other had passed by innocently, just as Clifton might have opened a car door for you a year earlier and ignored the fate of his life. But all parts of the body must be ready for the other, all atoms must jump in one direction for desire to occur." Michael Ondaatje, The English Patient PacBell can just bite me! I placed my order for DSL with them April 10. Have I heard anything? Squat! Last Friday I placed an order for DSL with Earthlink/MindSpring. Today, a very nice gentleman arrived on my doorstep to run the line to the house for Covad. It's there. It works. From wherever, to the house. I just have to wait for the inside bit, and I'm golden. If you're waiting for PacBell, you might want to think about calling Earthlink/MindSpring. I come from the world of print. In print, you reach a point where you either have to piss or get off the pot. The Web set me free. It afforded me opportunity to tinker, refine and hell, rip it all down and start over if I wanted to. Little did I realize that I would come to bemoan this ideal, while working with clients*. There were days when I would long for a guaranteed press time. Piss, baby, or move it! * Present company excluded. Late Wednesday afternoon, an arm of advection fog wrapped around Corona Heights towards PacBell Park. It resembled that green arm of death from The Ten Commandments, who seeks hither, thither for the first born. I don't know if it had a mind to take out a sports fan or three but I'd much prefer that it go after the golfers first. Golf is evil! First, water on Mars... What next? A yard sale. The whole block. All day tomorrow. It will be interesting to see what the neighbours are dumping. I only hope that it will be as intriguing as the one over on Cole, a few weeks ago. One table was half tchotchke, half bondage leather gear. I love San Francisco. How awkward it looks swimming - the frog. - Yosa Buson, The Essential Haiku thursday, june 22 Good things and bad things in the latest Elle, surface old memories. The former? Clarissa's profiled for her marvellous work in New York. You go girl! And the latter? Well, I had an unfortunate encounter with one of the contributors. "You'd better go... I don't know when my girlfriend is coming home..." Ouch! Andrew has just submitted the first FOJM taken with the eyemodule springboard for the Handspring Visor. Sweet! I see an update in my future. I can still remember the incredible feeling of freedom the day my father removed the training wheels from my first two wheeled bicycle. I flew down Dunrobin, pedalling as fast as my feet could move, feeling the sun on my face, in a state of sheer bliss. I turned, somewhat wobbly, and pedalled back up the street. My father stood there, hands on hips, wearing a wide smile, sharing my joy. I look for those moments in my life now. Moments where I can share my, or live vicariously through, another's joy. That's what I want for you. That's what I want for us. That toad! It looks like it could belch a cloud. - Kobayashi Issa, The Essential Haiku wednesday, june 21 If you think you're seeing things, you're not. There were a few other posts today that I've since deleted. They were inappropriate and represented an unfortunate blurring of real and virtual that I didn't deal with very well. I hurt a couple of people and that makes me uncomfortable. So, they're gone. C'est tout! Onward! Rebecca has posted Jesse's cool "Do some good" bookmarklet. It will open windows to the Hunger Site, Click for a Cause, The Rainforest Site, and Clear Landmines. Add it to your browser's toolbar and then you too can do some good. I love Canada [thanks Stewart] Matilda's got the chicken pox. Nicole says she's being a trooper, but I remember the boredom and discomfort of it all. My mother bribing my sister and I with the promise of shiny, plastic umbrellas, if we didn't pick at the scabs. But we did. I still have a wee hinkelbonk of a chicken pox scar just above my right eyebrow. That, and the immunization scar on my left shoulder are just two of the seemingly infinite number which map my right of passage to adulthood. tuesday, june 20 Whispers of Caramellos in transit are warming my heart. I can almost feel the ooey-gooey sugar rush... Sometimes, it's just about the big questions. "ATTN: Champ, Heather IMPORTANT NOTICE: Your company’s free listing in B2Bmalls.com’s Operators of Apartment Buildings Business Mall has been authorized by Internet Business Malls Inc.. If you would like to view your listing logon to www.b2bmalls.com. Please review the registration form to be certain we have your company listed correctly. You can list your company, FREE OF CHARGE, in multiple Business Malls (16,000 to choose from). You may also add or change information about your company by entering the Edit area in Members Services." Stop it. Just stop it. I'm so, so sick of getting retarded email like this. It's stupid people like you who are ruining it for the rest of us. You sir, are pond scum! While Meg asks, and gets, weather changing wishes, my simpler wish was granted yesterday. Bliss! The new People arrived at the gym. Oh, the joy of reading about Celine's heart wrenching fertility journey and the extensive "where-are-they-now-80s-and-90s-sitcom-star-follow-up." Caterina and I were quite overwhelmed. People, People. Where would we be without you? Forget the Navy Seal scenario. I want to be James Bond when I grow up. He lives in a remarkable world. James would never just miss the MUNI or forget that Thursdays were recycling days. He would never run out of the preferred underwear or toilet paper for that matter. The fridge would be full of good, nutritious food and a bottle of good champagne. I'll come to terms with the death and destruction. I'd just like to get the little things under control. A dog barking at a peddler: peach trees in bloom. - Yosa Buson, The Essential Haiku monday, june 19 Oh, and another thing... It's June 19th. Can someone tell me where time is going and why it's in such a damn hurry to get there? Is there some chi-chi event that I'm unaware of? A fancy ball? High tea at the Ritz Carleton? Oh, I know, it's that 25K a plate fundraiser for Bush. Time can't wait to sit down with the Governor of Texas and shoot the breeze. I've been here two months. Granted, the first month was a bit of a wash, what with my ratty illness, but I don't have a ready excuse for the second month. Well, I do, and he's rather cute, but don't tell him that. I don't want it going to his head. In the end, after receiving a variety of great solutions for my FOJM out of frame dilemma, I implemented Daniel Budiac's snappy code. To see it in action, view this document. If you have documents that people are linking to directly, but would prefer to be viewed within your frame, navigation elements, this might be the answer to your prayers. View the source, baby! Thank you Daniel! Update 9:13 PM: Geegaw has pointed out that the above code only checks to see if the document is within a frameset... This means that it may not necessarily be within the right frameset. This is important if you are concerned with sites that utilize some sort of "off site viewer", to extend their brand, while contain your content. Excellent! "girls+with+a+penis" Outed by an AOL search string. The cherries came to $6.66. I ran back out and added another handful. $7.76. Phew! There's nothing like getting the hiccups while talking with Covad customer service. My fate is sealed. I never have the hiccups once. I'll be hiccuping again today. Who knows when. Most likely, at the least appropriate moment. That wren - looking here, looking there. You lose something? - Kobayashi Issa, The Essential Haiku sunday, june 18 "The thingness of the thing being" This was the road sign that caused to me to take the next off ramp from the philosophy freeway. I remember sitting in class thinking "what the fuck?" The "thingness of the thing being." I mean really, who writes this stuff? I'd made it through St. Anselm's ontological argument for the existence of God. Just. But the "thingness of the thing being" was that one bridge too far. Some people appear to have far too much time on their hands. Ah, Pimms.... I'd do almost anything for a Pimms and lemonade right about now. This wasn't Tom's tack, but just seeing the "p" word makes me weak at the knees. Hopefully it won't be as difficult to find as tapenade or olive paste. Crap! I was so looking forward to seeing Bill Bryson at The Booksmith last week. And I missed it! He's on the road for his latest book, In a Sunburned Country, which I haven't read yet. I thoroughly enjoyed A Walk in the Woods: Rediscovering America on the Appalachian Trail last year. It's one of those books that makes you laugh out loud. Not little sniggers, but big, fat guffaws. I've always wanted chuck it all and walk the Appalachian Trail. It's one of those things on my life list. You know, that mental list in your head, of things that you want to do one day, before you shuffle off this mortal coil. Mine's not a long and most of the list items are downright foofie. Rollerblading through Walmart at 3 AM and adventures of similar ilk. Considering that time is on the ebb, I should really get it together and come up with something more thoughtful and worthy of a life list, like reading Proust or something. Morning breeze riffling the caterpillar's hair. - Yosa Buson, The Essential Haiku friday, june 16 Wednesday at lunch, a moth of Mothra proportions, overcome by heat, fell from the skylight, into my soup. Startled by the sudden fluttering, I dropped my spoon. The soup splashed over me and beyond the next table. I shrieked an unladylike shriek which caused the women at that table to jump as well. It all happened within the blink of an eye, perhaps in one tenth of the time that it has taken you to read this. Might I say "Bees, bees in my soup?"  FOJM hits 100 and now includes the likes of
Owen,
Stephanie,
Erica,
Matt,
Wendy,
Ritchie,
Burr,
Natalie
and Derek. "Ray, under no circumstances, do I need to see you anymore." Message from Kenny, 3:12 AM. Ah JavaScript! Makes me want to poke myself in the head with a spork! Many thanks to all those who've responded to my plea... Looks like I've got my work cut out for me this weekend. Not knowing, it's a tub they're in, the fish cooling at the gate. - Kobayashi Issa, The Essential Haiku thursday, june 15 At times, I've likened my job to that of sweeping up after the elephant. That's not very flattering but it's accurate. But yesterday, yesterday made it all worthwhile. Tom called... "You know those days we talked about, the those few and far between days when it's just too beautiful to work? Well, today is one of those days. I have meetings all day but I want you to go to the beach..." I really love Tom. And Ter. And Jim. They've given me back hope when I had reached a point of feeling that I was too fucking burnt to do this anymore. They've washed away the memories of sitting under my desk crying while a screaming match ensued over my head at one job and of being told that "you are a danger to yourself and to the company" by one exceptionally stupid VP who knew nothing, absolutely nothing about the web, at another. The web ain't for sissies, but at the same time, there is a thing such as respect. Look around you. If you aren't being treated like a princess, then something is wrong. Take stock. If you're miserable, make a list of pros and cons. If your pros outnumber your cons, then, most likely, you are being treated well and you're just being pouty. However, if your cons outnumber your pros, then you might have something to think about. Erm, Meg... Derek wants Desperately seeking JavaScript: I've been smacking my head against a wall looking for a wee snippet of JavaScript or some other code. Let's say that an individual links directly to an FOJM page. The JS (or something) would sense that the doc isn't within the nav framing and pop it into said frame, with that FOJM as the content. Is this just pie in the sky? Wishful thinking? Do any of you coder gods have a solution. Merci milles fois... Would the individual who brings the People mags to the gym please get off their duff and bring in the latest issue. I'm falling behind! I have this fantasy. Indulge me. I'm at a trade show, perhaps one like Internet World. Money Tree is there. I walk up and punch the monkey. He hands me twenty bucks. Having slept, the cat gets up, yawns, goes out to make love. - Kobayashi Issa, The Essential Haiku wednesday, june 14 My name is Heather Champ and I'm a plot spoiler. Don't read below if you haven't seen Sixth Sense, plan on doing so, and want to be surprised. Profuse apologies to those for whom this warming may come too late. Spank me! Cricket chirping in a scarecrow's belly. - Kobayashi Issa, The Essential Haiku tuesday, june 13 Do you ever find yourself humming that silly tune from Jeaporady when you are forced to wait for something? You know, "do do do do do do do, do do do do-do-do-do-do-do, do do do do do do do do do do do do dO DO!" Argh! It's almost as bad as getting that stupid Dan Hill song stuck in your head. No.... no... don't even whisper the lyrics. Did I mention that I finally got my raggedy ass around to watching Fight Club? I'm up late because I can't sleep watching a movie about a guy who can't sleep and goes nuts! Excellent! I must confess that I was caught off guard which isn't the norm. I totally ruined the Sixth Sense for a friend of mine when I leaned over after the first ten minutes and murmured "he's dead." "What?" "Bruce Willis is dead!" "Shut up!" And was and I had to deal with a pouty friend. I don't know why, but most plots just seem so damn apparent. Pouty. I like that word. Pouty. My favourite Quebecois phrase is "fait pas la baboune" (feel free to correct me if I'm murdering the language). That's just dealing with pouty in another language. I hope there aren't any pouty pouters out there. I'd hate to have to come over and spank you! It's the thirteenth today. Fairvue's cool, swanky, blog.elements identifies harrumph! as Hf: Hafnium - "A transition metal, hafnium is a rare element resembling zirconium and usually found associated with it. The metal is used to control rods of nuclear reactors because of its capacity to absorb neutrons, and its strength and corrosion resistance." So puppies, here's the poop! Tip! Tip like there's no tomorrow (actually, a buck an item should suffice). Sure, the site says that it's not necessary but who wants to incur the wrath of those ever so nice individuals who are delivering whatever it is that we are too damn lame to get out the house and get for ourselves? [thanks Nic, for the link and to all who commented - you're a well mannered bunch] New in {fray}: High Maintenance. Normandine's in car heaven now. Misty grasses, quiet waters, it's evening. - Yosa Buson, The Essential Haiku monday, june 12 Emily Post is failing me. What's the common thinking on tipping the Kozmo guy? Yes? No? Having survived a former life waiting tables, I'm from the school of tipping whenever possible. I tip movers, both when they pick up stuff and when they deliver (though having just realised that my laundry hamper never made it, my "oh-please-please-please-don't-fuck-with-my-stuff" tip might have been wasted). I tip the taxi driver who has almost induced projectile vomiting with his "streets-of-San-Francisco-car-chase-driving". I tip horrid, nasty, pompous, thoughtless waiters the full amount because if you forget your sunglasses, they just might keep them aside for you. But Kozmo has given me pause. What's the deal? "It's good to have wings..." Eeeewwwwwww! Greg ate the bug! Jezebel is four. Happy Birthday. She has been my most stable relationship and a permanent home through all variety personal drama. I would be lost without her. I remember the exhilaration of being liberated from the tyranny of the ~, as what was "H's Home Page" had been hosted by successive employers, first Princeton and then, the now defunct Design/System. Even in '96 real estate was growing scarce. Finding an apt moniker difficult. The likely suspects had been scooped and I was frustrated in my search. Jezebel came in a flash and I was stunned to discover her freedom. I wish I had a large slab birthday cake from which I could offer you a slice. For some reason, the granular sweetness just seems apropos. sunday, june 11 "I woke in the morning and looked upon the wall, the bed bugs and mosquitos were having a game of a ball. The score was nineteen - twenty, the mosquitos were ahead, the bed bugs hit a home run and knocked me out of bed, singing eeny-meany-meany-miney-mo, catch a tiger, tiger, by the toe and when he hollers, hollers, hollers, let him go singing eeny-meany-meany-miney-mo..." An inordinate amount of my grey matter is wasted, thanks to camp songs. As first a camper, then counselor, I learned them all. They're there. Lurking. Just waiting to pop out at any given, inappropriate moment. Acka zimba zimba zimba, acka zimba zimba zee. Acka zimba zimba zimba, acka zimba zimba zee. Hold him down you Zulu warrior, hold him down you Zulu chief, chief, chief... (repeat, like forever) I want to go to camp this summer. I've a burning desire to hang out with other maladjusted, goofy kids like myself eating fried bologna, beans and wieners, living in a spider infested cabin in the middle of nowhere, swatting away the black flies, reeking of Off. "Build me a bamboo bungalow, big enough for two my honey, big enough for two. When we get married happy we'll be, under the bamboo, under the bamboo tree. Boom boom. Boom boom. Boom boom boom boom boom boom. We'll take a w-a-l-k walk in the p-a-r-k park and i'll k-i-s-s kiss you in the d-a-r-k dark, you are the b-e-s-t best of all the r-e-s-t rest and i'll l-o-v-e love you all the t-i-m-e time, two for a nickel, three for a dime..." Don't get me wrong. I love camp. I just never fell under the spell of a star-crossed, impossible camp romance which would whittle away all non-positive camp memories. A polar bear dip is a good example. Who's bright idea was it to run and jump into frigid lake waters at six o'clock in the morning? I'd like to shake their hand and then push them in. They obviously never tried it. Blue lips, chattering teeth and all forms of withered genitalia are just not that attractive early in the day. In fact, never. "Oh, they built the ship Titanic to sail the ocean blue and they thought they had a ship that the water wouldn't go through, but the good lord raised his hand, said the ship will never land, oh it was sad when the great ship went down. Oh, it was sad, so sad, it was sad, too bad, it was sad when the great ship went down to the bottom of the, husbands and wives, little children lost their lives, oh, it was sad when the great ship went down..." Perhaps camp has changed. Perhaps it's evolved into something more au courant for the new millennium. Swanky, up market and refined. But then, it wouldn't be camp would it? saturday, june 10 I wish I could think of some pithy comment to describe this. [300k] Monday is so soon! Mmmmm. Yummy, yummy bugs! friday, june 9 I'm absolutely craving a Caramello right now. Merde. There just isn't a snack cake like a Caramello. It's part of the Joe Louise/May West family but, I guess, a Canadian delicacy. A wonderful little square of white cake. Atop the cake is a circle of white frosting that forms a pool for the ooey-gooey caramel. The whole little gem is then enrobed in a "chocolately" coating that keeps it intact. With two to a package, it's just enough to ensure that gritty, sugar fix texture which forms on your teeth. Mmmmm. Mmmmm. Mmmmm. I like to lick the sides of the frosting and then suck off the caramel pool. You can then nibble the "chocolate" from the side and devour the revealed white cake. Damn. Ding Dongs and Twinkies just seem crass in comparison. Oh Caramelloooooooooo. Who can turn the world on with his smile? Who can take a nothing day, And suddenly make it all seem worth-while? Well it's you boy and you should know it, With each glance and every little movement, You've shown it. Love is all around no need to waste it. You can have the time, Why don't you take it? You're gonna make it afterall-. You're gonna make it afterall-. Have you ever bought a pack of Duracells that have a rather suspect pink bunny on them? What's up with that? Isn't that the competition's plushy? I sent an email to customer service with a "what's up with the bunny?" query and received the following response: "Thank you for your recent inquiry.Two major battery manufacturers sporting pink bunnies? Centuries ago, our ancestors must have had prayed to some, now lost, Pink Bunny Power God. We had our JavaOne party at FAO Schwarz last night. Close to nine hundred people showed up to hang out with the toys and geek out. Someone else can tell me if they had a good time. I spent the first hour at the door wrestling with the guest list for those who registered online or were on someone's list. There were names that didn't make it onto either for one reason or another, so Sara and I decided that people could enter in exchange for a business card. At some point I was handed one that bore a familiar logo. My eyebrows shot up as I looked into the face of the card's owner... "??" "!!" Rock on. You could turn this way, I'm also lonely this autumn evening. - Matsuo Basho, The Essential Haiku thursday, june 8 Arf! I've always thought I was more of a Dalmatian... Looks good, but inbred and prone to stupidity. Planet Weekly on Jezebel's Mirror: "Ze geven een beeld van de manier van kleden en de haarmode van een incrowd van webdesigners, internet-goeroes en webloggers. De hipsten op het net, dus." Prols excellent translation services have revealed this to be "They give an overview of the dress sense and hairstyles of an incrowd of webdesigners, internet gurus and webloggers. The coolest of the net." You bunch of swank hipsters you!
The fun never stops! FOJM now includes
Caterina,
Vicki,
Katy,
Tom,
Jeff,
Dinah,
Brig,
Dan,
Kimberly and
Katie. Keep snapping those pics, baby! The lights are going out in the doll shops - spring rain. - Yosa Buson, The Essential Haiku wednesday, june 7 Apparently Jezebel's Mirror was Grouse! Site of the Day on Tuesday. Mouseover the thumbnail of Meg and Jason. "Oi!" [thanks Joe] Behind Enemy Lines: A Spammer's Luck Runs Out When She Forges The Wrong Domain. I read this with great pleasure given my own battle with the individual(s) who continue to perpetuate peterpan@jezebel.com for their heinous pedophile/sex postings on Usenet. [via Captain Cursor] "But can you save me · Come on and save me · If you could save me · From the ranks · Of the freaks · Who suspect · They could never love anyone" - Aimee Mann, Magnolia I was a booth bunny for three hours yesterday at JavaOne. Well, more like a booth bitch, but I was on my best behaviour. Oh, my god! I love you all with the exception of the guy who winked at me at the fruit spread. You, yes you, Mr. Winker, need to get out more. Winking is not socially acceptable any more (if it ever was). I would have poked you in the eye to give you something to really wink about, but I was wearing a company shirt and that just would be bad, bad, bad for our corporate image. Women don't have to stand in line for the toilets at JavaOne, unlike any other trade show that I've been to. In fact, you can have two or three stalls all to yourself. Spread out. Get comfortable. Take your time. No stress or anxiety about getting the job done because some poor sister is out there, waiting with crossed legs, in some ridiculously long line. Ahhhhh! Toilet heaven. That gorgeous kite rising from the beggar's shack. - Kobayashi Issa, The Essential Haiku tuesday, june 6 "Bugger arse shit stinkbadger buggery buggery bollocks." I really think that Katy can teach us all a thing or two about swearing. Makes my potty proclivity pale by comparison. Heather Champ appears courtesy of her own free will. "Heather? If you're reading this, my posting that class picture is my revenge" Grade 8. Oh, boy. Ron will burn in hell. D-Day. I spent a number of months thinking about D-Day and war while designing Back to the Front: Tourisms of War, originally published to accompany a Diller + Scofidio exhibition that was part of the commemoration of the fiftieth anniversary of the invasion of Normandy in France. My grandfather didn't live through the end of the war as the MV Erodona was torpedoed by a U-boat in the spring of 1941 during one of many transatlantic convoys. I have a photograph of him from the late thirties. A very attractive man, leaning nonchalantly against the ship's rail, cap at a rakish angle and cigarette dangling from his lips. His last letter home spoke of his dislike of the cold North Atlantic as he'd spent a number of years in the warmer climes of the South Pacific. It must have been a horrible death. I don't know what to make of news stories like "American productivity down during first quarter." Which one of you slackers is falling down on the job? Too many trips to the loo? Too much chit chat around the water cooler? Surfing porn during work hours or even, gasp, blogging? I think they've found out us out. Look busy! Happy Birthday Jish! Rattus rattus. The first time I saw a rat or rather the idea of a rat was back on Dunrobin. Our neighbours, the Redmonds had some problem with their mains which enabled some crafty squeaker entrance to their home. There was wild caffufaling which finally burst forth from their home to the street. Mr. Redmond, normally a mild mannered dapper man, was seen chasing said rat flailing a straw broom with wild abandon. I don't actually remember seeing the rat but understood the idea of rat. Rat bad. Rattus rattus again appeared in my life years later while touring Central Park shortly after moving to the states. "Oh look" said I, "a squirrel." "Heather, that's a rat!" (Toronto was far too polite for rats and the subway was infested with mice.) I later moved to Vestry, what I came to think of ground zero for the rat population of New York. They fed from the conveniently located garbage bins and lounged in the rubble of the abandoned building next door. Each tenant had their own particular "mantra" for ensuring the rats' departure before their arrival. I shook my keys, praying that the jangle would disperse the hoard. Others whistled and some sang. I'm a jumpy person. It doesn't take much to startle me, so these were not the most calm years of my life. It would only take a four footed straggler to cause a spike of endorphins to course through my veins as they scampered across my feet. And now? Well, yesterday the San Francisco County Department of Public Health deposited a brochure and questionnaire in my mailbox. "Are you providing food, water and shelter for rats?" The backside of the questionnaire is quite informative with diagrams differentiating the Roof Rat (Black rat, Ship rat, Rattus rattus) from the Norway Rat (Brown rat, Sewer rat, Rattus norvegicus) from their physical characterstics to that of their shit. Given that these beasties can both grow to twelve to eighteen inches, I hope that I never have the pleasure of making their acquaintance. "Bathrooms are the new kitchens." Heh. monday, june 5 Love: "A deep, tender, ineffable feeling of affection and solicitude toward a person, such as that arising from kinship, recognition of attractive qualities, or a sense of underlying oneness." Love is such a funny thing. It must be one of the only things that remains a mystery throughout one's life.* I don't know anymore about it today than I did when I was sixteen. Well, that's not exactly true. I've learned that there's a greater depth to love, that more is possible, but that's it. Love is a bottomless wishing well, you'll never hear the penny "plink" into the water below. This mystery is probably a good thing or we'd find love for sale on eBay, plotting for IPO down in SOMA or being patented by someone with nefarious plans of world domination. "A feeling of intense desire and attraction toward a person with whom one is disposed to make a pair; the emotion of sex and romance." If cupid had tapped my shoulder six months ago and whispered "him, yes him - he's the one," I would have doubled up laughter for the sheer audacity of the notion. Now? Now I couldn't agree more. He's perfect. *Work with me on this. We'll leave Bigfoot, alien sightings, The Pyramids, death, the French and Republicans out of the mix for the moment. It's hard to believe that Chernobyl happened fifteen years ago. I remember holding my breath as the news reports ran a simple graphic of an ominous cloud drifting across Europe and only being able to think of my family in the UK. I've put the diving board back into the pool... Huh? Are you scratching your head wondering what this freaky chick is going on about? Well, I've created "Bookmarks" page which has the (b)log listing, which until quite recently, drifted down the right hand side. So, if you just came here to go someplace else, well, you should be happy. I know I'm happy. I was quite lost without the map for my milk & cookie run. The X-Files just keep getting better and better. Yeah for Sunday evening TV! Evening primrose - there ought to be a yellow kind. - Yosa Buson, The Essential Haiku saturday, june 3 Oh, fuck me! Why doesn't Microsoft just buy Canada and stop pussy-footing around? They can have their own damn country. Bill could declare himself king - after all, we're used to having a monarch - and rule supreme. I'd have to renounce my Canadian citizenship but that's what generates my lovely TN visa. Perhaps I could claim refugee status? Has anyone else noticed what a speedy little demon, Blogger is these days? This is an appropriate moment for all you whiners, you know, you who bitch and moan when the goddess chaos twitches her skirt, and everything goes awry, to say positive things. I dare you! Elise, it's very cool. Towards the end there's a panel where you can see your body's heat output. It wasn't quite what I expected. I'm a freak. Everyone else looked like the typical blue to yellow topo map. Me? Nope. My cold, wet little puppy nose was black and for some reason, my bra was completely visible beneath my shirt! [via Swallowing Tacks] Ahhh! Harry Potter #4! July 8th! So is current thinking for or against Harry Potter? I will confess that I enjoyed them immensely. A secret pleasure, along the lines of my Gilbert & Sullivan fetish. Reading Harry Potter reminded me of the summer I rolled in poison sumach on PEI. In the evenings, we sat around and listened with rapt attention to my mother, as she read Charlie and the Chocolate Factory and The Cricket in Times Square. Is my love for Harry Potter merely some nostalgic twang? I hope not. It will come to an end at some point. The haiku I mean. I'll miss it though. It's rather comforting to sit down first thing in the morning and read verse, searching for one that just seems to make sense. But, there's a finite number in The Essential Haiku... Alas, alack. What's next? Well, I did come across The F Word while unpacking. It was a gift. I have no idea why someone might think this the perfect book for me (she says with breathy innocence). OK. My name is Heather Champ and I'm a potty mouth. Fuck, fuck, fuck! There, it's out in the open. Somehow, though, starting the day with the definition and provenance with the likes of "Fuckwit" and "Honey Fuck" may not be as soothing as haiku. It seems that most fuck words have something to do with World War II. How grim would a daily war blurb be? Pooh! friday, june 2 The buyer at The Upper Terrace Market who has a fine eye for all variety of yummy foods and fine beverages is a complete failure in the paper towel market. They all have printed patterns. Not one roll of nude Bounty or Bravo, or whatever, to be found. But there was nothing to be done, so I just shut my eyes and grabbed a roll. Gag me with a spoon! I live in fear of a simple spill lest I have to drag out the ratty roll and read the turquoise, Lucida Sans Italic, butterfly and rose infested sheets: "Nothing is Impossible To A Willing Heart!" "A Trouble Shared Is A Trouble Halved!" "A True Friend Is The Best Possession!" "A Rose By Any Other Name Would Smell As Sweet!" "First Impressions Are The Most Lasting!" "An Ounce Of Prevention Is Worth A Pound Of Cure!" Please note the liberal use of Capitals and exclamations marks. Who designs this stuff? You know, those science fiction people have got it all wrong. Humanity will not be rendered asunder by sentient technology... It's cardboard baby. All those damn cardboard boxes are going to do us in. You think I'm joking, right? Wrong! I'm fighting a losing battle. Granted, my case is extreme. I've just moved so I'm adrift in a sea of cardboard. Some are still full, piled against the wall, others, the unlucky few, have been emptied and flattened. They lie in wait, jammed beneath my bed or stashed willy nilly in the wee cubby hole, back in the corner, waiting for Wednesday nights. To some, it's "hump day" to me, it's "box death". I take out my trusty carpet knife and attack them with vigour, carving them into digestible, recyclable morsels, wrapping them in twine. Taken to the curb, they are carted off to an uncertain death... "See you in Hell, fuckers!" Well, that's what I thought. This week alone had brought just as many back to me in the form of packages from friends & family, and finally, the delivery of my new filing cabinet and plastic storage containers (boxes within boxes - how crazy is that?). When the Office Max truck pulled up yesterday, I didn't know whether to laugh or cry... Boxes... Boxes... Boxes. Deliver me from cardboard. I feel a small amount of remorse when I come across messages like "Printed with pride by Paul Gross & team" tucked away on some nether region flap. Someone loves this box. That someone isn't me. Wading through it her feet muddied the spring current - Yosa Buson, The Essential Haiku thursday, june 1 Q: How can you tell if you have an elephant in your fridge? A: There are elephant footprints in the butter. Crap.... I told you it wasn't funny. Cheese & quackers didn't apply in this instance, but then again, there weren't any ducks. [thanks Suzanne] I think that I might order from Kozmo if they delivered hugs. I'd like one, big squishy bear hug, please. The kind that erase all doubts and second thoughts, preferably from someone who's bathed in the not too distant past. Junk food just isn't going to cure my blues today. Too funny. Does anyone know the joke about the elephant foot prints in the butter? Is there a joke about elephant prints in the butter or is this some fantasty joke that I've created in some rich false memory? Mission Impossible II has some wonderfully Woo moments. Some. It's still a Tom Cruise flick and there's something about Tom Cruise that just makes me feel icky. And how about the lone chick role? Honey, it's just a needle! Bah! "While waiting my turn in a doctor's office, I happened to read in one of America's greatest magazines an amazingly frank article about the publicity-craving of what the author calls café society and evidently believes to be New York's smartest society. As I finished this story about people whose social position was seemingly proclaimed by being placed by the headwaiter at a ringside table, I said to myself, "And so what? Who cares whether the So-and-So's are given a front-row table in a high-priced restaurant, or whether they eat at an automat?" But to my own suprise I find myself suddenly caring very much, because it is assumed that the rest of us are satisfied to have these same society headliners represent the American social ideal." - Letter to Emily Post, Etiquette, 1945 Oh my god! How could something a simple as the removal of a little list of links cause so much damn anxiety (my own). I've heard whispers that surgery like this can cause lost linky love, fraught nerves and battered self esteem. Baby, I don't want you to take this the wrong way. It's not like that - I still adore you. I have to find some better way to shower you with love. Mother I never knew, every time I see the ocean, every time- - Kobayashi Issa, The Essential Haiku |
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