Strangers on the street keep smiling at me like they know me. But they don’t know me! Mind your own g.d. business, strangers!
I just saw Kurt Cobain out on Cook St. He didn’t look too good, but on the bright side, he didn’t smile at me like he knew me.
Result: Kurt Cobain 1, remainder of Victoria’s population ZERO.
I shall have maca-chee for dinner to cure my jellybean sickness, as I ate cookies all day at work.
-Weekend. I have been having boring weekends. At least this one I managed to clean the bathroom. And fix the toilet! I managed to be mildly productive in the making of my apt. livable (as in I won’t kill myself in the tripping over of stuff).
For some reason I really want to write like Bridget Jones does in her diary. Tired maybe. Mundane-brain.
Too much Olympics on TV. Too much TV.
I have a book on the go but it’s taking so long to get through it I’m probably just going to take it back. It’s about war, though, so really, what was I thinking. I keep skipping the battle scenes. I don’t mean to, my mind just doesn’t absorb them. I’m reading along and I suddenly realize that I missed something and I go back a page or two and realize I just blanked over the whole of the action. I don’t like battle scenes. There are some cool historical details in there, though, and entered pretty seemlessly into the narrative, which makes it a relaxing read, they just aren’t enough to make me want to continue. Maybe I’ll try again tomorrow.
We started the choreography for our dance last night. It was something we’d been working on already, two things, actually, glommed together into one, fast, mini-routine that is now a fraction of the finished piece. I like the theory behind the work, but my body didn’t appreciate the practice of it (e.g. it remained standing when everyone else was keeping up with the floor work). I’m sure I’ll get it, even the part where we fall to the floor in a half-split (I only realized that this is what the action was, and, in fact, something I have done before, later at home, when I tried it out on the carpet, and then lay down and had a little rest).
My favorite* part is the needle, which is supposed to look like this:
These are more along the lines of what Bonnie is good at, and which I am not. Note the flexibility, and the being-up-side-down-ness of it. I look more like this when I do it:
So I’m going to have to work on making it look non-awful. For the record, I do point my toe when I execute it. Also for the record, Bonnie will probably not let me call what I do a “needle” so I shall think of this dance move as “dippy bird”.
*When I say “favorite” I mean “Least Favorite”
I meant to clean the bathroom and do laundry this weekend. I did neither of these things. You may think that this results in a ‘stinky Lindsie’ and you may be correct: I am immune.
I heard there was an Olympic protest downtown on Saturday- the bus driver explained to us that she (or he, I couldn’t tell) would have to detour on to Blanshard since Douglas was blocked. I got off before that, anyway. I am annoyed at Olympic protests since the whole torch relay incident in October. Not opposed to them, just annoyed.
Funny Story
I started knitting again in October. I then started buying knitting supplies, needles and etc. When I told my mum about this, she said not to buy any more needles! Because she had a box in the storage room I could have! I had mostly been buying the connected cable needles, anyway, and the box of knitting needles in the storage room pre-date this concept, as well as me. I don’t think I remember my mum knitting anything for so long as I’ve been around, but she did knit things before that. The big blue and green blanket that was in the TV room in the basement of the Port Alice house. Apparently, a hat for my dad. The box of knitting needles included three generations of supplies, from my great-grandma, my grandma, and my mum. When I was home at Xmas time, I felt that this box was something that I should now have. It is very satisfying, for example, using the double-pointed needles that my great-grandma used to knit socks.
However. When I was home at Xmas, my mum found out about a book called “The Friday Night Knitting Club”. She didn’t find out about it from me, but I had meant to mention it. I’d just forgotten about it. Anyway, I ordered it from the library for her (mostly to show off how I could hack into dad’s library account due to him having his library number and password attached to the computer monitor… no one seemed to have noticed this though). When she read it a little while after I left with all of the knitting needles, she was inspired to start knitting again, and had to get some of her equipment back from me to do it. Neither of us thought that she would knit again so didn’t think twice about me taking everything with me.
When I was home this weekend me and mum watched all her TV shows and knitted. It was lovely and restful. She made dishcloths (because she needs dishcloths and I made her one at Xmas and she liked it) and I made the second fingerless mitt of a pair (I made it twice because I messed up on the first try). We watched a “Bones” and a “Mentalist” and a “Lie to Me” and some other stuff.
Funny Story #2
While we were watching a “Law and Order” franchise show on the Mystery Channel, Dad called up Shaw and cancelled it (like he was planning and had to do before the end of the day which was the last day of the month). The service stopped just as we were going to find out who-dunnit at the end of the show Note: cancelling digi-channels is very quick.
I went to buy my train ticket yesterday by actually going to the “station” on Pandora. Only when I got there, a couple of people were using the agent to plan their cross Canada adventure. I stood there 15 – 20 minutes before the second agent decided this was too long to wait and stopped talking to her friend help me. This was just as the other agent was finishing up so it wasn’t all that helpful.
Karma
Standing in line, waiting to get on the train, an annoying child asking questions in a squeaky voice was queued beside me. ‘Please let him sit at the other end of the train’ I thought to myself. But no, he and his dad are right beside me. Lesson learned: indifference is key.
There’s something that’s been bugging me for a while. In dance class (yes! this is a dance class story. Surprise.) In dance class there are two dancers who are super flexible, super enthusiastic but who have no control and no technique, and somehow they always gravitate towards me in class. One day, one of them, the girl one, did an arabesque or battement or something to the back and nearly kicked me in the face. I felt the wind. Actually, that’s happened twice. Today the boy one kicked me in the hand– this was kindof my fault since I had my arm out. The boy one kicks everyone though so I don’t take in personally. The girl one is always really close to me, and/or in my way so I have to teedle out of her way to prevent her kicking me/me landing on her. The boy one also practices whatever we are working on in the gap times in class, flinging his limbs and almost whacking people as he does so. Scary.
I’m at the doctor clinic again. It’s beginning to feel almost homey here. Today I’m going to inqire about my dry, scaley hands. They have been dry and scaley for a few months but only lately have begun to itch so hard I’ve woken in the night to scratch. Also, I’ve had people notice and comment on them.
The clinic is populated by different peope on the weekend. The staff I mean. Well I guess I always have a different doctor, but the receptionist is a young man who is very thourough, telling me where I am in the scheme of patients waiting for the doctor. The receptionist on weekdays (when I am usually here) is flakey and wastes time with innane small talk with everyone and can’t seem to multi-task. I have grown discerning in my medical professionals.
PS. There is also soothing CBC classical playing, instead of annoying soft pop Nellie Furtado/Celine Dion radio that is usually on.
I dreamt I was knitting and every time I would get to the end of a row, instead of just flipping over the work to start a new row, I would wake up and roll over. I slept weird last night.
I can’t believe that my bathroom was appropriately cleaned the day that my toilet wouldn’t flush and I had to have the landlord fix it for me. Very fortuitous. P.S. My toilet flushes now.
Review # 1
I just finished “The Golden Mean” by Annabel Lyon. It’s about this guy who lives in the ancient Greek times, who is assigned to tutor Alexander (the Great as that character will be known later in history, but that hasn’t happened yet in this book), and who studied with Plato. Only the name of this guy isn’t actually given in the book until the afterward, and then only in the second paragraph (twice). (And I guess it’s mentioned on the jacket blurb, which is always a spoiler, anyway.) But then, the main narrative is in the first person, so having his name pointed out isn’t necessary. There is a writing conceit in this book where “hints” of needed details or plot points are given before the actual details or plot points are described. Annoying at first, where I think I’ve missed something and read back a few paragraphs only to not find anything until a few lines after the “hints” are given. Then I found it sly and subtle (and something I do not want to adopt myself– I don’t need to prove to my reader that I am smarter then them since I know more about what is going on than in my story they do.)
Review # 2: Avatar (IN 3D!)
“Just sit back and enjoy the ride,” I had to keep telling myself, as the plot became clear, and the scenes where we got to “know” the “new world” and the “budding romantic relationship” stretched longer than I found comfortable. For the most part, I listened to myself. My favorite parts were the little particles of stuff that seemed to come right out of the screen that I reached out to swat away! (I LOVE 3D)
Review #3
I cleaned my house up last week and for the most part it is still very tidy. I’m quite proud of myself. (Except for the pile of the weekend Globe and Mail that is spread out on the floor beside my chair.)
i'll try to be better. i promise 
