| Oh, Can A Day Go By? |
[Jul. 1st, 2008|09:55 pm] |
My First of July:
Went to bed around 2 after some good wine and conversation and hilarity.
Woke up late and headed downstairs around 10:00, dressed in hideous pajamas and my brokenish glasses. Began to make a latte.
Heard the front door being unlocked, and two male voices in the front hall. Greeted two former professors of the College as pleasantly as possible while looking like Grendel's mother.
Said, "I didn't expect anyone in on CANADA DAY."
Smiled insincerely at, "Emily - your hair is different."
Muttered, "That's because I just woke up."
Went upstairs with my coffee, furious that so many of my dealings with the College leave me feeling ugly, inhospitable, and completely at the mercy of people who think of me as a piece of unsightly furniture.
Spent some time walking around downtown. Saw a lot of slutty attempts at patriotism and patriotic attempts at sluttiness. (Stupid 16-year-old hussies: at least Pamela Anderson filled out her flag.)
Came home. Drank lots of tea. Talked to my dearest MoonUnit. Read. Thought. Fumed. Drank more tea.
Remembered the days when my brown boots were wearable and writing helped and I felt like my life would one day go somewhere.
I can hear fireworks. I might explode but I sure don't sparkle. |
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| liquorice allsorts |
[May. 25th, 2008|10:30 pm] |
Pop exteriors, classical cores.
A bag full of satisfying conversations, each one sandwiched between a good fart joke and a bedtime story.
Like angsty boys with impish grins - irresistible, but ultimately damaging to your internal organs.
Ohwhyohwhyohwhyohwhyohwhy?
Why? |
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| Do you smell that? |
[May. 25th, 2008|12:09 am] |
This afternoon I turned on my oven in preparation for baking some stuff to take to beership. A few minutes later, I noticed a strong smell of garlic and parmesan. I opened the oven door and found a plate holding a large piece of lasagne - a stale, smelly relic of Thursday's faculty meeting. Way to go, faculty.
I've been having a few weird olfactory adventures these days. Earlier in the week I bought a necklace, and when I put it on noticed that it smelled like pee. I think it has something to do with it being made out of cheap metal. I found some hair spray and gave the chain a good coat, which seemed to help a bit, but I still felt a little like Owen's mid-morning diaper for most of the evening.
Today I cracked open a new bottle of body wash that I for some reason bought without sniffing first, and it's not that the stuff smells bad, it's just that it smells like a man. And so, at the moment, do I. Better, I guess, than smelling like a diaper.
Though that might depend on the man. |
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| White Wine is the New Apple Juice |
[May. 22nd, 2008|09:51 am] |
Good morning, Augustine College!
The annual Faculty Spring Lunch is on today, and I was, for a change, given a whole 24 hours' notice of the festivities. This has given me time to find table cloths and to rid my refrigerator of incriminating evidence of alcohol consumption. The faculty, though quite comfortable consuming wine at the college themselves, prefer that I not have any, so this morning’s breakfast includes a half-glass of some French table stuff. Good with green apple and granola.
This annual faculty lunch also marks the anniversary of my first eponymous encounter with Professor Butt Grabber - all the more reason to raise a glass in celebration / the eradication of awkward memories.
This place isn’t nearly so fraught with scandal as I’m describing it – nor, sadly, is my life. I do, however, have some James Joyce to look forward to this evening, as well as a nice bar of Endangered Species Chocolate - delectable bits of rare animal in every bite. De-lish. |
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| so much for solitude |
[May. 7th, 2008|12:30 am] |
Right. So. The Augustinians are gone, and I was too, for a while. But I'm back in Ottawa now, and wouldn't you know it, 10:00 p.m. rolls around and there's still someone working in the office. And just like that, the insomnia's back.
This place sucks the life out of me. |
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| The Benedictine Brother Cadfael, in the style of Christopher Smart |
[Apr. 11th, 2008|01:03 am] |
For I will consider Brother Cadfael.
For he is an imaginary servant of the living God.
For he keeps his vows and his Crusader reflexes.
For he has seen Jerusalem.
For he tends his herb garden and makes good wine.
For he heals folk, and finds out truth.
For he befriends the loveliest boys and preserves them from gallows and celibacy.
For had a Greek Boat girl.
For his son is well-bearded.
For he tries to obey his holy fathers.
For he thwarts Prior Robert and the weasel Jerome.
For he repents to his novices when he scolds them for their bumbling.
For Hugh Barringer values his friendship.
For the guilty are no match for him.
For he is wise, and the innocent trust him.
For he welcomes pilgrims and soothes the sick.
For he is kind to the dead and cares for the living.
For he keeps the holy offices, and also his own counsel.
For the ladies love him.
For he is played by Sir Derek Jacobi in the PBS Mystery series.
For he looks silly in pants and should keep to the cassock.
For his tonsure becomes him.
For he is Welsh.
For he loves a little saint.
For he solves some mysteries, but lives well in the rest. |
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| Gormenghast! |
[Apr. 5th, 2008|01:39 pm] |
I am reading Titus Groan by Mervyn Peake. It’s the first book of a trilogy which, until recently, I’d never heard of. It is most excellent.
I have been trying for the past 200 pages to think of how to describe it, and the best I can do so far is to say that it’s a satirical Gothic fantasy without magic. Kind of. I also am sort of tempted to describe it as an unlikely blend of Brideshead Revisited, The Lord of the Rings, and The Fall of the House of Usher, but that would give you the wrong idea.
So far hardly anyone I’ve talked to has read the Gormenghast books, so I’ve had to turn to people I haven’t actually met for conversation - people like Professor Lewis. Because I’ve been reading (or read to from) C. S. Lewis for as long as I can remember, I often wonder as I read what he would have made of a given book or idea. Since Peake and Lewis were contemporaries, I was especially curious to know what they thought of each other.
It just so happens that I have recently acquired (through most magical means) The Collected Letters of C. S. Lewis. I like having these, because, short of hiring a medium, they’re the only way I can think of to inquire as to The Professor’s opinion.
So, with the help of Walter Hooper’s index, I asked Lewis about Mervyn Peake the other day, and found he’d been so taken with the first two volumes of the Gormenghast trilogy that he wrote Peake some ( fan mail. )
As usual with Lewis, there is much I love and a bit that irks me in this letter. In this case, what I love most (with the exception of the word “Gormenghastly”) is the brilliant description of myth and its fitting application to Peake:
“The hallmark of a true myth,” Lewis writes, is that “you have seen nothing like it before you read the book, but after that you see things like it everywhere."
Just a few hours before I read Lewis’ letter I had bought a fruit smoothy from a boy whom I can describe no other way than as “Gormenghastly.” To tell you that his hair was like a large dandelion gone to seed – only black, and more spiky - really does him no justice. The pale little fellow’s position behind the Rideau Center’s Booster Juice counter could not disguise from me that his true home is Gormenghast, and I felt instantly that Peake (who drew as well as wrote) would have wanted to sketch him.
All sorts of things seem Gormenghastly to me now, and I’m only halfway through the first book. Find and read a bit of it if you’ve time, and let me know what you think. |
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| Gutenberg! |
[Apr. 4th, 2008|12:32 am] |
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That is the name of my computer.
I got him just after Christmas, and he is now very, very ill.
The incredibly sick thing is that for some mysterious reason I can still use him to waste time on the internet, but not really to do any work.
He is going out, not with a bang, or a whimper, but with a manic giggle of frivolity.
Bugger.
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| Last night |
[Mar. 30th, 2008|07:34 pm] |
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While you weren't looking, I stole your fortune cookie and swallowed your future whole. I don’t mean to sound arrogant, but I think it’s in your best interest to keep me around for a little while. |
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| awkward |
[Mar. 19th, 2008|09:43 pm] |
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My nose tried to smile
And my eyes tried to sneeze.
I tried to wave my arms around
By wiggling my knees.
My hair thought it would take a walk,
My biggest toes began to talk,
And my teeth
Fell asleep
At the table. |
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| you make my cookie crumble |
[Jan. 26th, 2008|07:39 pm] |
Last week I made Fruit-Loop biscotti. It was colourful, and crunchy - as biscotti should be - and it was a good way to use up some cereal I bought during an obvious lapse of judgement.
The biscotti got pretty good reviews from the Augustinians and Co. who sampled it, and I really liked the idea of saving the coffee-shop treat from its pretensions. (Intentionally dried out cookie sticks. Fancy.)
At any rate, I was pleased with the results.
But today, I made lime biscotti with coriander, chili, and fennel. It has a slight drizzle of 76% dark chocolate on top.
It is my new favorite thing that I love.
So I think I should just face the facts about my feelings towards pretentiousness: Robertson Davies is so good he sometimes almost makes me pee my pants. I have an unusually high tolerance for wankers. And if I'm honest with myself, I liked the idea of Fruit-Loop biscotti primarily because it had a pleasing irony.
(Also, if you use the word "ironic" to mean "coincidental," you can bet I am correcting you in my head.)
I think I'd be a lot more comfortable with this side of myself if I had the kind of personal glamour and social ease that, when combined with a moderate pretention, seem to constitute class.
But I ain't got dat.
All I got is freaky cookies.
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| spoon song |
[Dec. 14th, 2007|09:58 pm] |
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Let's get ourselves a runaway spoon
We'll stir our coffee and fly to the moon
We'll drink a toast at half past noon
Every day that we play with our spoon
The plates will crack with jealousy
You'll tap a spoon song on your knee
I'll scrunch my face and like what I see
In the back of our runaway spoon
We'll keep it polished oh so bright
We'll camp beneath it every night
Our soup will always taste just right
When it's sipped from our wonderful spoon We'll ladle up some ancient tales
We'll blaze ourselves some better trails
We'll rig our spoon with proper sails
And take to the seas in our spoon
We'll scoop ourselves a swimming hole
We'll mine ourselves some magic coal
We'll lift the dregs from a weary soul
And feed the world with our spoon
The bowl is deep and the handle's fine
It won't really matter if it's yours or mine
It'll stir our dreams, it'll buy us time
Let's please run away with a spoon
You and me, on our way with a spoon. |
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| tall, dark and liturgical |
[Nov. 18th, 2007|09:13 pm] |
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Lately I've been thinking about an idea I had a few years ago for a very excellent comic book hero - Captain Orthodoxy. He would have a faithful sidekick, Liturgy Boy. His mandate would be something like this: Where there is Heresy - I'll be there.
Where there is Blasphemy - I'll be there.
Where there is a Shocking Lack of Proper Vestments - I'll be there. The thing is, I can't draw, and there's really no point in telling tales of high-church crime fighting unless you've got visuals. I have ideas. Nothing ever comes of them. Someone already invented chicken with gin sauce. The future, my friends, is looking pretty grim right about now. I'm not really sure how it's possible to feel thoroughly abnormal and redundant at the same time. It's just been that kind of a week. |
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| new bugs and old roommates |
[Jun. 26th, 2007|01:24 am] |
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I am usually pretty good about bugs.
I startle – and unfortunately squeal – quite easily, but I am usually quick to calm down and take the necessary, and not necessarily destructive, action when it comes to finding insects and whatnot in the house.
Just now though, as I went upstairs for bed, I met the following:
- 2 mosquitoes, distressingly large, but not big enough to be the safe non-biting boys
- 4 pale, sinister looking beetle-guys
- 1 admittedly prosaic and now that I think about it probably dead fly
and
- 1 darker beetle who at this moment holds the dubious honor of being The Biggest Inside Bug I’ve Ever Seen
Fact:
THERE ARE ALWAYS MORE OF THEM THAN ARE CURRENTLY VISIBLE
Dear Lynne, I wish I could be like you and see these creatures as interesting and beautiful rather than itchy and crunchy. But at the moment, I can’t.
And so, dear Ruth, I’m sleeping in your room, where the screens are better.
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| magnetic poetry |
[Jun. 12th, 2007|09:42 pm] |
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he has a laugh
like crisp bug music
and a smile like a sandwich in the rain
he believes
through a dry glass eye
in beauty
and fruit
and in his emotions
that spread like butter when hot
see him
meet him
tomorrow or today
the long-haired fish
drinking ice in the garden |
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| Go figure. |
[Jun. 12th, 2007|09:40 pm] |
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The house is full of doctors all week and as soon as the last one leaves, I step on glass. It's ok though, because I kind of like the hiss of peroxide and the click of successful tweezers. |
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| on beyond fractions |
[May. 31st, 2007|11:00 am] |
Today I was informed by an eight-year-old that "the key to life is to get everything right." "That's very profound," I told him. "Well Miss Martin, this is the third grade." The thing I liked best about the conversation was that it was so tongue-in-cheek.
The students had been discussing whether or not it was good idea to race through their math work as quickly as possible, and they decided that the trick is to go as quickly as you can while still getting the answers right.
Young Matthew's platitude was voiced with just enough irony to assure me that he's still on the human side of exceptional.
I've met the odd third-grader who really does think he knows everything about life, and while such kids are usually intelligent and well-behaved, there's often a disturbing arrogance about them. I always worry that they'll grow up to be the sort of people who spend a lot of time talking at you, and never with you.
Come to think of it, it wasn't so much the statement itself as the humour behind it that impressed me. This kid's real exceptionality lies not in his tendency to use big words but in his ability to laugh at himself while he does it.
It's always funny to hear little kids speak like they're grownups, but in this case it was like Matt knew there was something funny in drawing a Universal Word of Wisdom out of a conversation about how to get from Math Work to the exciting game of Math Wars.
He wasn't taking himself too seriously. And his dead-pan response to my half-sarcastic reply was priceless.
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| sink borscht and couch mix |
[May. 23rd, 2007|07:10 pm] |
The stuff that accumulates beneath the cushions of your living room furniture - the peanuts, the pocket change, the lint and popcorn, the occasional pen lid and cheerio and the odd piece of lego - that stuff is called couch mix. It's like a party snack with prizes.
The stuff that accumulates in your kitchen sink when a pipe somewhere is clogged and your dishwasher backs up - the soapy broth and stray vegetable peelings and a fork and the once-blue dish cloth that fell in when you weren't looking - that stuff is called sink borscht.
Some painters showed up a few days ago and upset all of the living room furniture, spilling the couch mix all over the rug. Today the kitchen sink clogged and the dishwasher flooded. Guess what's brewing.
To my knowledge, there is no such thing as couch borscht, but I will keep you posted. |
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| pedigree |
[May. 19th, 2007|09:11 pm] |
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he shakes the delight out of ideas rips the cleverness off and drools ennui all over beautiful things a classic volume perfect toy sniff - dismiss sniff - destroy then off he goes on the trail of controversy wagging like mad when he finds it ever eager to mark his critical territory (I'm still not convinced it's unintentional - the verbal piddle and anarchic crapping in canonical corners) the walks, admittedly, are nice as is the adorable fetching of first editions but keep in mind oh seekers of fireside companions scholars must be housetrained |
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| Yesterday I made biscotti stars and a poem. |
[Nov. 29th, 2006|09:37 pm] |
I'm not entirely happy with how either turned out, but it made me happy to make them all the same.
The Augustinians ate the biscotti. You can have the poem.
( * )
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