Harry Potter and his Nimbus 2000.

This is a post loaded with confessions and ends with a dilemma.

Unrelated photo of a very cool car. Love it!

Confession One:
A few weeks ago I read Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone. I have since read The Chamber of Secrets and I'm now just getting into The Prisoner of Azkaban.

I purchased these three books a few years ago for a dollar when a local bookshop went tits up. I was actually intending to donate the books to a charity. Somehow I didn't.

Then a few weeks ago I was in the mood to read something light and easy and as I scanned my bookshelves I kept coming back to Harry Potter.

Confession Two:
I've really enjoyed what I've read.

It's not intellectually challenging nor thought provoking but it does take me back to my childhood and the discovery that I could go on adventures through reading. Very simple and very nice.

Confession Three:
I've seen Harry Potter's willy.

It happened long ago when I was reading an article about 'child stars' and how some manage the transition to serious adult actor and how some (most) do not. Daniel Radcliffe was presented as a current example of going about it the right way, ie, do some serious theatre and get your lad out.

When I saw the the nudie shots that the article had mentioned, I thought that they were rather arty and sexy and that he's an attractive young man. And never thought about it again... until a couple of days ago when I rented the DVD of Harry Potter and The Philosopher's Stone.

Dilemma:
How do I watch wee Harry Potter after seeing what I've seen without feeling like a right perv?

;-)

Non xmassy xmas?

I hate xmas and I have pretty much decided that I'm opting out of xmas this year. I just do not have the desire or the energy to feign happily going along with it anymore. I hate it, I have for a long, long time and it's time for me to live my life with integrity.

Question is... what shall I do over the holiday season? I'm very aware of the negative effects the most joyous time of the year (gag) has on certain people and this year, I'm one of those people.

So I'm wondering if maybe I should 'do something' but at the same time, my energy is low. Some days just getting up, dressed and fed is an accomplishment in itself nevermind pestering off somewhere.

Maybe I'll just crank up the heat, put on some good reggae and pretend I'm in Jamaica.

What would be your ideal non-xmassy xmas?

Scary flags.

A few weeks ago, I mentioned to my friend Simon that my Mom was in Hawaii. That sparked a piece of trivia out of his head... 'did you know that the Union Flag/Jack is on Hawaii's state flag?'

'Really?' and I googled cos I wasn't convinced and yep it is. And yep, that's one eyeball boggling flag ain't it?





From the page I was on, I could go see the other US state flags. A few US state flags were familiar to me (Arizona has a groovy flag) but most were not. So I thought I'd go to the page and have a look and this is where it gets really scary.

I've nothing against the US state of Maryland and I hope no one from Maryland reads my blog ;-) but their state flag is the ugliest flag that I think I've ever seen. Just look at it! No, don't! Run away! Run away!





If you know of an uglier flag, please let me know!

Anyways...

Enough bitching about flags. How about some laughs about them?

A More Uplifting Post.

Sort of.

A comfortable, properly fitting bra that does its job is the Holy Grail for many women, especially for women with large breasts, ample bosoms, copious cleavages, however you want to put it.

Most shops simply don't stock larger sizes and if they do the selection is dire; matronly and available in lovely colours like industrial strength beige. Ugh!

In a local shop, I once tried on a bra and though it fit, when I looked sideways into the mirror, it looked like I was attempting to smuggle out a pair of traffic cones. I would have punctured lungs with a simple hug.

Fortunately, there are a few companies that specialize in good bras in larger sizes, even nice looking bras and for the last few years I've been going to Bravissimo's website where I click a few clicks, press 'ok' and voila! A couple of weeks later, a package would arrive and all would be well in my bosomy world.

This morning this all came crashing down.

'#39520 has been discontinued.'

WHAT!? Nooooo!!!

So, I've just spent the morning on t'internet trying to hunt this bra down. I can not find it anywhere...

This is an impending natural disaster of epic proportions. I can almost hear the strain of spandex and polyurethane polyamide as I type. It's only a matter of time before a clasp gives way and all pandemonium breaks loose.

This calls for serious, emergency bra shopping. Ugh. Is there any woman on the planet who enjoys this form of torture? And how do you do it when the bra shop you like is on one continent and your breasts are on another?

People who decide to discontinue comfortable, well-fitting, high performance bras without sufficient warning should be forever cursed with an itch on their back that they just... can't... quite... reach.

I'm so frustrated and not looking forward to finding a new boulder holder. I'm fantasizing about bypassing the whole bra making industry and have my bras custom made.

I can just see it now...

Thanksgiving

This weekend is Thanksgiving in Canadaland.

A common tradition, at least at Thanksgiving meals that I've been to over my years, is that once everyone has sat down and loaded their plates up to maximum capacity, is to go around the table and each person expresses what they are thankful for. It's never been a religious thing and people are usually 'digging in' at this point and the wine is a-flowing.

This Thanksgiving, I'm alone. I made a sort of rice jambalaya thing: rice, veggies and ground turkey breast cooked up sort of Cajun-like and moments ago sat there eating it wondering what I'm thankful for. This year, it's difficult because I'm not well, I'm not in a happy place and that's clouding everything. But I am thankful for some very basic, bottom rung of 'Maslow's hierarchy of needs' sorts of things.

- I am alive. A few times throughout this past year I have had some very dark moments, somehow I'm still here.

- I have finally found a psychologist who kicks ass. Ms Shrinkychick has her work cut out for her and she's not let me down.

- I have a roof over my head, money in the bank and food in my belly.

- Although my health is not what it could be, I feel ok at this moment.

- There are 365 days to make next year's Thanksgiving blog post into something much better.

Oh, wait! Three cheers for pumpkin pie!



Happy Thanksgiving... or not.

More Baby Bothering... and help!

As I mentioned in an earlier post, a friend of mine recently dropped a sprog.

I want to get her a pressie but I am so out of my element. I have no idea.

I went to a shop around the corner and I'm still suffering the trauma of seeing a display of what I thought was a portable baby bottle warmer...

Portable baby bottle warmer, my arse!

For active mothers on the go...

Freestyle™ Breastpump

Introducing our newest breakthrough — Freestyle is our first hands-free, double-electric breast pump. It’s the performance you expect from Medela in an innovative pump that fits in the palm of your hand and includes thoughtful features that provide true mobility, freedom and flexibility. Inspired by pumping moms… freedom is born.
- Customized pumping with adjustable speed and vacuum control.
- Stylish bag contains everything you need to pump.
- Battery Pak for pumping anywhere, anytime.
- LCD screen, digital display — lit screen provides a digital display that can also be used as a nightlight for those late pumping sessions

WTF? It's a breastpump, not a Blackberry, ffs!

Anyways... I feel more at ease in the electrical section at my local hardware store and this is my first friend to have a pup. I have NO idea. I'm lost. Please help... ideas?

Baby Bothering

Last week, I found out that a good friend is going to hatch a crib lizard. This friend lives abroad and likes real cards sent through the post. So, I went to a shop to find one and instead found out that congrats new baby cards really suck.

All the Moms and Dads on the cards are White. All the babies are White. How creepy! My friend is White, her dude is Black.

There are 'Congrats on your new boy' 'or girl' cards. With all the girl cards being pink and all the boy cards being blue. Of course. My friends don't want to know the sex of their peanut ahead of time.

But, worst than all the gendered, racialised bullshit is that the cards are just soooooo saccharine, it hurts! Seriously, my eyes are still recovering from all their rolling.

Yeah, I'm happy my friend is fulfilling something that is truly meaningful for her and her dude but I don't want to say that through angels and teddy bears and elves and religious prose and baby talk. FFS! I'm an adult giving this card to another adult. All that sucky wucky baby speak from one adult to another frankly creeps me right out! Boundaries, people, boundaries. Shudder!

All I wanted was a nice and heartfelt 'Congrats you two on your new baby' card. I would have thought that that type of card would have dominated but I could not find a single one.

Thank god for printers and t'internet though...



;-)

Shit bins, shit for brains and good shit!

A few weeks back, Neil over on Light and Dark posted lovely photos of a dog shit bin and offered a challenge:

...quite possibly one of the most tranquil and beautiful spots for a dog shit bin..... unless of course, you know better!

I don't have a dog and I don't walk in dog walking areas so it's taken me a while to actually spot a dog shit bin in my travels. But yesterday, one found me and ain't it pretty? :-/

Neil wins this challenge, hands down. :-)



I think there is a cultural difference here. In Scotland, and likely the rest of the UK, one supplies one's own shit baggie and tosses 'the deed' into the handy receptacle. In Victoria, the dog deposit removal system seems to be 'here have a shit baggie' and... well... the rest is all very mysterious to me...

Panning back a bit you can see a bit of Victoria's Inner Harbour back there and the lush grassy area in the foreground.




See the totem pole?

That's the partial remains of the Spirit of Lekwammen which was, for a time, the tallest totem pole in the world at 180 feet and 3 inches tall. It was carved by First Nations artists to commemorate the 1994 Commonwealth Games.



In true City of Victoria fashion, the erection (haha) of the pole was approved to meet the city's all important need for glossy, tourism promo fodder. However, after the games, the pole was deemed a safety hazard and chopped into bits. Some bits are the bits 'transplanted' here, other bits are on a First Nations reserve elsewhere.



I find this totem pole symbolic of Victoria's relationship with the First Nations communities: they use First Nations cultural traditions when it's financially beneficial to the tourist industry and then ignore, or worse, denigrate them when it's not.

Yep, I do like to bitch. :-)

For a much more meaningful cultural expression of a totem pole, Carolyn has a wonderful blog entry about a totem pole raising up on Haida Gwaii, where it is believed totem poles originated. Now, that's some good shit!

Blog Whores

I've noticed three of my 'followers' appear on many other blogs. One 'follower' of mine in particular; his face shows up everywhere. As far as I can see it, these three followers have joined a kerbillion blogs to create a kerbillion links back to their own blogs. Just look at how long the lists of blogs they are following are. Avid readers?

Following a blog in itself is cool if you are genuine reader of that blog. I like my thirteen real followers and they've at least left a comment on my blog and visa-versa. But if some one's sole reason for 'following' is just to place a link then that's slimey, that's spamming, imo. They're like the Jehovah's Witnesses of the blogosphere. I don't want their slimey, spammy faces next to my real and lovely followers.

So, I am naming and shaming three of my followers:
- Ronnie Kerrigan
- Stephen Baird
- Skywind (who I've already asked twice to not spam my blog)

I'll give them a 24 hours to redeem themselves (yeah, right) before I give them the big 'fuck off!' ;-)

If anyone else notices some blog whores 'following' on their blogs or just anyone that they don't want following their blog, this blog entry on Roberto's Report is very helpful in explaining how to delete a follower (took me a flippin hour to find the info). Of course, if your blog is public anyone can still follow it, they can still read it, but they can't put their slimey, spammy faces and links in the 'following' gadget on your blog.

Ahhh, I love the power of being an autocrat! Until I rule the universe, I will rule my wee blog with an iron fist... at least until Blogger kicks me off. ;-)

Book bothering.

This may seem petty but I hate this:

A nice place to bee, honey?

There are a lot of things about Canada that piss me off: the spawn of Satan that is the Prime Minister; the racism towards Aboriginal peoples; the lack of progressive leadership in addressing poverty; a popular culture that is highly masturbatory for anyone and anything Canadian, oh I could go on and on...

Don't get me wrong, there are a lot of good things as well and generally I think Canada is alright, though that really does depend where you're at. I love the west coast but I sure as hell would not want to live in Tisdale, Saskatchewan:



(Not my photo, found it on the net, here.)

By rape they mean rapeseed, that bright yellow crop that is grown for canola oil. And you maybe, like me, might have thought that that's just an old photo and the powers that be in Tisdale have since adjusted the wording a bit. Oh, but no. It's right there on the town's website.

I'm not easily offended and I do have a sense of humour. I laughed at the linguistic 'funny' in the slogan and the uncomfortableness it produced. Thankfully, for my sake, it was only uncomfortableness that I could laugh off.

When thinking about sharing this with a couple of friends, I had to remember that quite a few of my friends have actually been raped, one by her own father. As I have never been raped or sexually abused I wondered how they might interpret the words.

I talked to two friends and very gently explained what I had found and asked what they thought about it. They felt sick to their stomachs. Obviously.

I can imagine that in Tisdale, SK the word 'rape' most likely conjures up ideas of yellow fields much more for people living there than it does in my mind. They are surrounded by the crop, it's integral to their economy, it's a part of their daily lives. Perhaps the people working at the town's hall are genuinely unaware of alternative interpretations.

Orrr...

Perhaps they are fully aware and the notoriety produced by the town's slogan is the only way for Tisdale to let the world out there know that they exist.

Orrr...

It's just another typically backasswards small rural Canadian town. A town that on the surface is full of friendly happy shiny people but contains an underbelly of red necked sexist machismo (and various other yuckiness, no doubt).

Whichever way, this highlights another thing that pisses me off about Canada. Many Canadians will bleat on about how friendly, peace-lovin, tolerant, egalitarian Canada is yet behave in the exact opposite manner, turn a blind eye to anything that doesn't conform to their sugar-coated stereotypes or just be so incredibly ignorant of the world beyond their front porches.

And breathe, Marnie.................

I feel a meeting with a punching bag brewing. ;-)

Am I over-reacting?

Talking tampons...

Yes, more bothering.

A while ago, I bought a box of tampons. Not my usual ones but some other brand as I'm currently in a financial tight spot, need to be frugal and they were on sale.

So, there I was in the privacy of my own bathroom. I open the box and select one. Hmm, there's writing on the wrapper, I wonder what it says? I was anticipating 'this end up' or similar but my eyes were met with, "You can do it!".... wtf? I know I can do it. I've been menstruating monthly for over 25 years, I know what I'm doing here you stupid, patronizing tampon.

Just to see, I select another one and it reads, "All you can do is your best." Oh, give me a fucking break! I want feminine protection here not psychotherapy. I dump the contents of the box out onto the counter and see that there are all sorts of comments.



One not included in the above photo was "Work it out!" When I read that I instantly thought about that constipated accountant joke* and seriously wondered what I might be getting into if I used this product.

But work it out is exactly what I did; it wasn't difficult.

I'm suppose to read these little slogans and feel the love and associate that lovely warm feeling to this product and then when I'm in the store buying my next box of tampons I will remember the nice words that these talking tampons uttered and the warmth that I felt and purchase this product again. And again. And again.

Most advertising bothers me but this sort of insidious, intrusive marketing really irritates me. I don't want to live in a world where some of my most private moments (that I am discussing openly on the internet) are contaminated with attempts to manipulate my mind.

On the plus side, these talking tampons reminded me of an interesting documentary series I watched a few years ago called 'The Century of the Self'. It describes how those in positions of power can use the theories presented by Sigmund Freud to manipulate the masses. Much of the documentary is about Freud's nephew, Edward Bernays who was one of the first people to use Freud's theories in advertising to manipulate people's consumer behaviour. And I've decided to try a DivaCup.

Here is a short snippet from the documentary but I recommend watching The Century of the Self in its entirety; it's fascinating. I'm trying to find a version with subtitles or CC. If anyone knows of one, can you let me know.

Update! I deleted the embedded video as it seems to interfer with the comment feature. And! I found a transcript of the entire documentary. Not as good as CC or subtitles but better than nothing.

*How did the accountant cure his constipation?
-- He worked it out with a pencil.

Auto maintenance in 252 easy steps!

Today I decided to become more intimate with my lovely Rusty. A few days ago he started warning me that his wiper fluid was getting low. So today I decided to take care of it.

Context... I live on the third floor and my Rusty is parked in the underground parking. That's 42 steps up from the underground to my floor; I've counted it a thousand times. I don't use the elevator if I'm going up unless I'm carrying groceries but I do use it going down as my left knee pops on each step down and I find that disconcerting.

Down elevator.

Unlock him. Release the hood. Oh whoops, I forgot that I had taken the wiper fluid upstairs.

Go up 42 steps.

Get wiper fluid. Down elevator.

I go to the front of the car and slide my fingers into the grill trying to find that latch. Ok, not in that grill layer, try the next... again. again. again... try again, again, again, again. Better go get the manual. Go to glove box. Not there. Oh, right, I took it upstairs to read up on something.

Go up 42 steps.

Get manual. Down elevator.

Look at manual, compare with Rusty. Still... I can not find the latch. Anyone who has met me knows that I have small hands. Maybe I need longer 'fingers'? Decide to go get a wooden spoon.

Go up 42 steps.

Get spoon. Down elevator.

Bingo! The latch is obviously made for grown ups and not people with hamster hands. I find the wiper fluid tank, no problem. Ok, I go get the bottle of fluid to fill it up. Wow, this cap is really on there... I can't budge it. I am not a weak female; I lift weights. I figure maybe I need a rag, the texture of the cap and my cold fingers was causing pain. I go get a rag.

Go up 42 steps.

Get rag. Down elevator.

Chat with neighbour about the lingering snow. Try the rag on the wiper fluid bottle. Nope. Again. Nope. Get angry at it and try again. No. Argh!!! Decide to go get a wrench.

Go up 42 steps.

Find my tool box, get a biggish wrench. Down elevator.

Argh!!!! Too small!

Go up 42 steps.

Get biggest wrench. Down elevator.

ARGH!!! Still too small!

I'm near tears now because I've been feeling blue and this was just getting so frustrating! Suddenly I got very angry and whacked the cap of the wiper fluid with the wrench, 'take that you stubborn little fucker!!!' and pop! The top of the cap broke away. It fell back into the bottle... not perfect but hey, at least it's open!

Filled the wiper fluid tank, had a good laugh and Rusty is now a happy boy.

And, I've now been positively reinforced to believe that temper tantrums really do work! There's a few hundred dollars worth of therapy down the drain! haha! ;-)

More bothering...

Moisturising antiperspirant? WTF? Who knew Dove packaged and sold irony? Or would oxymoron be the proper term here?

Anyways... Age-appropriate underarm products? Aging underarms? Just as I let go of one corporal anxiety...

The bothering, it's not my fault (never is!). I wasn't suckered into the hype. I didn't even look at the writing on the product, I just bought a few sticks as it was on sale, very cheap (@ $1.50 each, how could I not?) and moisturising antiperspirant for the elderly is a concept that never even occured to me.

Perhaps I will post before and after shots of my aging underarms. I figure after three sticks, I will have reclaimed the pits of my youth. Pah!

A stupid thing that still bothers me...

I bought a ladder about three years ago. On it, is this sticker. I see it everyday as the ladder is here in my home office. Everytime I walk by it, a big question mark forms in my head.

Does anyone know what the bottom image means? The others are obvious: skis are an available accessory, don't wear floods with boots, impressions of the Statue of Liberty are lame... but the bottom one... three years on and I still have no idea what the image is trying to convey.

Anyone?