Friday, June 29, 2007


Seriously. I've had it. Guys=ridiculous children spewing lies. Not all, mind you. I am not quite ready to go around castrating losers. However, I am at the point now where, in the immortal words of Will Ferrell, "I feel like I'm taking crazy pills!"

I decided about 6 weeks ago that I was through with this whole 'net dating thing I'd been trying. I had a few good laughs, few good dates, mostly unimpressive/depressing shite that I decided I had to take a break from before I became a bitter little witch. Luckily for me, the last guy I dated from there was pretty good. Very nice, treated me well. Too good to be true, I though, and was very suspicious, something that made me feel guilty for doubting the genuineness of someone whose actions suggested that they were, indeed, sincere. Nope. No sincerety. It was too good to be true, and I feel stupid but, more importantly, angry that I gave someone every opportunity to be honest and it blew up in my face. I was forthright and understanding about his newfound "need for space" and gave it. I also got a big sob story about the reasoning behind it and how it was all a horrible thing for him to deal with, blah blah blah. Fine. OK. Then I find out it's all bull, call him on it (politely) asking why he felt lying was the way to go, since a) I'm not stupid and b) I don't like being condescended to. Didn't get an answer, of course, but was again not disappointed in someone's cowardice. Seriously. Does anyone have the balls anymore to just be honest? It's sad. The only thing I am never disappointed by is another's ability to disappoint. I'm not heartbroken or pining. I'm upset at being undermined and underestimated. I'm a nice person. A good person. Intelligent and funny and fun to be around. So really, just be straight up with me. And don't try to blame me. It's not my fault. You and I both know that. I know there are parts of me that are bitchy and stupid. So why can't others admit when they're assholes? You don't have to like it. But you should at least own up to it.


Monday, June 18, 2007

Opprobrious rot!

Came into work this morning and was rifling through the weekend's newspapers when a coworker pointed out an article I was sure to find inflammatory. Across three pages of the Globe and Mail was spread an article on yet another example of our modern-day quest for equality being subverted into a means of placating the lowest common denominator: the vilification and gradual extinction of vocabulary.


According to the (apparently well-researched) article, our society has determined that a vocabulary made up of words greater than 3 syllables is a threat to our pan-cultural and globally-minded aspirations. Teachers are being told not to challenge children, lest they confuse them or (heaven forbid!) force them to use a dictionary to understand what is being taught to them. Pandering seems to be the modus operandi of our society, where the thought of language-barriers to non-english speakers is abhorrent and thus must be weakened and dumbed down to lessen the considerable strain that such a taxing exercise as learning a new language must place upon ESL students.

Which makes sense, of course. I mean, why set a high standard for yourself and others and have people rise to the occasion and in doing so gain a greater knowledge and understanding of English when we can underestimate people and dumb ourselves down to their level? Brilliant! In this way, we can make headway into eliminating higher brain-function altogether and revert to using a series of grunts and pointing to ensure that even the most neanderthalic among us is not left out.

No child left behind? Great. So let's keep everyone back in the dark ages because it would be dammaging for poor Johnny's self-esteem if he thought that anyone in his class could read better than he could.

Let's see, we've got spell-checkers and grammar checks on our computers, we don't need cursive writing because, of course, we'll ALWAYS have a laptop at the ready should we need to communicate, and, you know what? Fuck it. Let's rid ourselves of higher language altogether. I think a man clubbing me over the head with a large stick and dragging me back to his cave is just as effective a communications tool as asking me out on a date. In fact, it's better, because it's getting to the point and not dallying around, which would waste precious "doing" time with what would otherwise be pointless "saying" time.

According to this article, out of a possible working vocabulary of over 700,000 words (English has, by far, the greatest number and variety of words available of any language, which is what makes it such a utile language in teh first place) the average human being is in possession of between 30,000 and 60,000 words. And the greatest time to learn language (like all other forms of learning) is at a young age. So the modern TV-babysat child whose parents are focussed on ensuring that they can defuse a nuclear missile and prepare for advanced calculus by age 2 are not providing children with the linguistic tools necessary to convey the intellectually challenging ideas with which they can come up with.

The article offers counterpoints by linguists who, being pragmatic beasts (I was nearly one, remember, so I can see this side, too) figure that if it's a word too long to get the point across, then the purpose of language (communication) has been lost and therefore the use of big/complicated words is superfluous. Except, of course, for that naggling fact that larger words allow us to convey specific ideas that might otherwise take half a paragraph of carefully chosen "dummy words" to express. That and, well, the whole idea of a language's "usefulness" completely ignores the fact that language is an artform and tool for expressing the most complex of human thoughts, feats and emotions. For the same reason we don't still use wooden mallets and stone flints to build buildings, opting instead for mitre saws and cement mixers, so too should we not deprive ourselves of the all but the most basic tools of communication.

Ok. So I've rambled on enough about this, but for a final touch of "WTF"-ness, here is a perfect example of such linguistic laziness completely miring our culture:

Harry Potter, perhaps the most popular series of books since Jesus and the Gang got together, sold hundreds of millions of copies in North America alone. And while Canadian children, like their British counterparts, got to read the first book in the series, entitled "Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone", their neighbours to the south got to read "Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone." Now, I don't believe (as much as I would sometimes like to) that Canadian children are that much brighter than their American peers. They are, however, apparently more readily able to access a dictionary to find out the meaning of the word "philosopher", which apparently was too difficult for American children's sensitive craniums to grasp. Forget the facts that philosophy is an ancient and still very important field, or that a philosopher's stone is actually a mythological and historical THING (whereas a sorcerer's stone is sweet fuck-all) that has implications to the book itself.

You can see how this makes my brain ache and long for the times when we could sit around in togas, drinking at a symposium and plotting for the moment when we could replace dictators and tyrants with philosopher kings.

All right. I'm done. But I encourage you to read the article here:

Globe and Mail, June 16, 2007

...that is, of course, assuming that you people are still capable of reading.


Friday, June 15, 2007

Shitty-Ass Week.

This week was one of the worst in recent memory for me.

While the sun has begun to shine on this rainy city (good thing considering that I'm here for a good time, not a long time...hehe...ahhh, forget it!) and session is FINALLY over...I'm still reeling over the long, drawn-out misery that I've had since Sunday...

It's weird for me, because over the past few years I have come a long way in learning to just relax and not stress myself out the way I did back in University. Partly that was due to the sheer necessity of not wanting to burn a hole in my stomach lining, but partly being stressed is just...well...exhausting.

I've forgotten what it's like to live off of adrenaline and cortisone hormones 24-7 and have a permanent knot in my stomach. I even had my first panic attack in probably, oh, a good 5-7 years, something I haven't had regularly since I was in junior high school.

There is not one particular culprit I can point to, more of a series of ever greater back-breaking straws. I got hit with a massive flu, which may have subsided on its own after a few days had the stress of work and missing days at the office with papers piling on ad nauseum and personal issues not come into the mix.

Personal issues, well...let's not get into that. Let's just say I had found something particularly enjoyable that turned, well...not sour, more...complicated? Meh. I've obsessed/blamed myself/wracked my brain for a solution, but, alas, have realized (grudgingly) that it's a situation out of my control, and that I must be patient, sit, wait and hope for the best. Which, for me, is like telling a heroin addict to just sit tight and wait for the chills to pass....gah...

Not sleeping, coughing my lungs out and being cooped up at home for days on end in a sick daze didn't help matters. I've been moping to friends and finally broke down and had my mom make me dinner and watch a movie and cuddle on the couch on Wednesday, because if I had to go home and spend the night alone I knew I would sit and mull over the various ways in which I was stressed out. Made me feel better to go home, have a good meal. Something about the mom-factor that reassures you that everything'll be all right. Lame for a grown woman to admit to that, but nonetheless very true.

Went out drinking last night to celebrate the end of session and am making plans with the girls to get me away from my house for a few hours and cheer myself up. Thinking that I should go to the pool tomorrow morning and swim furiously until I nearly drown. The exercise and water will be calming.

I'm trying to be Zen about it. Things will work themselves out. What is meant to be will be, que cera, cera, all that shite. It takes an optimistic person to buy into that, though, so I'm struggling. But I want to believe, hells yes.


Sunday, June 10, 2007

Online shopping will be the death of me (or, more specifically, my wallet)..

I know that the whole eBay, Amazon and whatnot has been a craze for some time now, though, until recently, I could never count myself among the millions spending their every last penny on useless bits of dried celebrity toast or some sort of used Japanese schoolgirl underpants, or something...

...not sure what it was. I tend to dip my toes in slowly when doing something online, so perhaps my lack of knowledge about most things online coupled with a complete lack of willpower kept me from allowing myself to explore the full potential of the internet's bounty....

...what really opened things up for me was travelling. When you're 1,000's of Kms away from your local branch and in need of booking planes, trains and hostels (you thought I was going to say "automobiles", weren't you? hehe....ahh, forget it....) you learn to put your faith in the encryptions of Air Canada and hope for the best (and also accept that your Visa limit is of such little value that it's not even worth stealing....) The surprising ease with which you can book ANYTHING led to me exploring my options further and further...

...though I haven't bought anything off of eBay, I've been slowly progressing through clothes, music and, my newest favorite: books online at

It began innocently enough with me coming to the determination that ordering Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows in advance and having it delivered to my door made more sense that waiting in line with fifth-graders overnight. While I was ordering, the sidebar on the webpage indicated that, for any order over $40, I would get free shipping....well, I thought, I could always use more books, couldn't I?.....

...when my first package arrived in the mail it was an awesome treat. Ripping open the carton for a package of nice, shiny, unperturbed pages just waiting for me to pore over them. So I ordered again. And again. Two weeks later, I am now the proud owner of 6 new books, for which I have no room on my bookshelves and even less room on my credit card, yet I cannot help loving the insatiable high of having nifty new bits of delightful reading material delivered to my very door. Buying books in your pjs? God! I'm in Heaven!

Just had to nerd out, peace.


Monday, June 04, 2007


so, every now and then I find out something or have an experience that reminds me of how very grown up my siblings and I have become. Such a moment just arrived for me in the form of an email from my brother (who's currently in Scotland with the missus) who just revealed to me, via said email, that he proposed to his girlfriend!


Holy shit. This is surreal. Especially considering I'm the older sibling. It seems all out of joint. But, then again, they've already got the car, the house and the dog...

...ran out of my office like a madwoman and hunted down my sister, who's doing summer work for us, and made her come back and read the email with me. We were so excited, jumping up and down like stupid little kids.

Then we called our mom to tell her...but, of course, she's known for the past freakin' 7 MONTHS and has just been waiting for it to happen....*grumble*....stupid secret-keeping parents!!!

anways, just had to share, because I'm so excited!!!!!