Last night we watched a neat independent movie called "Henry Poole Is Here."
From IMDB: "Henry Poole moves in to a house in his old neighbourhood, to spend what he believes are his remaining days alone. The discovery of a "miracle" by a nosy neighbour ruptures his solitude and restores his faith in life."
The movie could've easily gone wrong in so many ways, but I felt that it held together surprisingly well. It had a very original premise, rich characters, and unique situations. It was really well acted, and for the most part, it was quite a lovely little film... until the end.
I don't know... I think we all agreed that it kinda fell apart right after the climax. Henry's sudden "faith in life" was resolved a bit too quickly. The film held up well until that point, but it felt like it was missing a beat.
I would've enjoyed a more open ending where you don't know if Henry will touch the wall or not, thereby leaving it to the audience for discussion. Of course, that wouldn't make for a very popular ending among most audiences... People like to have resolution. And although Henry Poole experienced resolution, it felt unsatisfying in the form that it came, and like I said, it arrived a squeak too clean and quick.
Anyhow, now that I've opened this post on a complete tangent, I'll finally get to the point of what I originally came here to write about....
Before we watched the movie, we checked out all the trailers. One seemed like it was for an off-beat comedy; however, Ray, who had seen the film, insisted that it was actually a rather dark and serious drama. He couldn't understand why they had chosen to use such campy music in the trailer. It really changed the tone.
This conversation then reminded me of a FABULOUS mock trailer for "The Shining". It's been around for quite a while, so you've probably already seen it... but if you haven't, then you must watch it! It's a real testament to the power of music. (Well, not to mention creative editing and a great voice-over.... but the music really pulls it all together.)
So well done! I love it!
Sunday, November 29, 2009
Saturday, November 28, 2009
Roses and Thorns Nov. 8 - 27
Since there's three weeks (!) of roses n' thorns to catch up on, I won't limit how many I write about, but I'll do my best to keep them brief-ish.
Rose
The Stone Temple Pilots concert. I needn't say more, since I think I've already said enough .
Thorn
Friday, November 13th - Friday, November 20th. Heavy. Sad. Unproductive.
Rose
Jim's Christmas gift finally came in the mail. I was starting to get a little worried because it took a week longer than what I was told, but it arrived safe n' sound, so that's a relief. Even though the seller had a great rating, you're always taking a bit of a gamble with eBay.
Thorn
CiC. What a friggin' headache!! And I do mean that literally. I never get headaches, and all week I've had a splitting one that keeps coming back. I totally blame them. I guess there's some consolation in knowing that I'm not the only person this client has managed to completely piss off. I just keep reminding myself that at least I'm getting paid by the hour to deal with their b.s., which includes:
Gawd, I'm actually looking forward to the no-brainer contract work I have slated for next week. I can't wait to get CiC off my plate.
Rose
I don't know if I should even bother including this rose, but what the hell... We got our latest revised script outline done... AGAIN! One of the main issues was that one of our characters disappeared for over 20 minutes, so we wanted to find ways to bring him back into the story. There was also a small handful of other tweaks. But no matter how small the handful, once you start shuffling scenes around or adding new ones, it impacts everything!
We have a meeting with les producers on Monday. I hope to gawd we can start writing soon. Christmas is a comin' and the funds are growin' thin. (On that note, thank goodness for stupid CiC consuming an excessive amount of my time.) We don't get paid the other 75% of our development funding until we finish this draft. TC & AS are super cool, and told us several times that we could always ask for an advance if we ever needed it, but we'd rather not look that desperate. ;)
Thorn
Dramarama. Big time. And not the high school variety, but instead it's more of the very serious, unavoidable kind. Not for me, but for those I love... and there is nothing I can do except listen. Fortunately, I'm a good listener. Don't bother emailing or calling to ask me who, because it's natcho bid'ness.
Rose
Good times at Ray's birthday party last weekend. I originally wasn't planning on going, because it had been such a blegh week with the funeral the day before n' everything, but I'm happy I went. I had a lot of fun... well, for the most part. The carpet (fortunately, not ours) got well-watered when a couple of the boys became a little sloppy. And the peer-pressure from one individual to get absolutely shit-faced was amped higher than at a college frat party, so I could've done without that as well. I don't like when people keep tabs as though drinking is a competition. (Umm... How old are we?) But otherwise, it really was a lot of fun.
Thorn
We finally heard back from Hyundai's head office (who our local dealership suggested we contact) and as it turns out, they won't cover our towing bill. Long story short(ish), our road-side coverage through Hyundai ran out 45 days before the break-down. (Although we never received any notification of this.) We felt that we had a strong argument - the manufacturing defect was covered under warrantee, therefore, shouldn't the towing to their dealership be covered as well, since the defect was no fault of our own?
Unfortunately, Jim's endless calling around and (polite) arguing heeded no results. Customer service at head office just kept repeating the same line over and over again that our road-side coverage had expired. "Well, that's very convenient!" Jim finally said right before telling them that we will never buy a Hyundai again, and let all our friends know not to either, and that we will also post comments about their poor customer service policies all over the internet. Ha. He felt a little bad after he got off the phone, but I thought he sounded good. No f-bombs were dropped. His tone remained calm.
So yeah, looks like we're out $660. Ouch. Could've been worse, I suppose. We could've had to pay for the repairs as well.
BTW, what happened to my idea of keeping these roses n' thorns brief? I promise to try harder.
Rose
We just learned this week that we'll be spending Christmas in Kelowna!!! Not that I haven't enjoyed some lovely Christmases at Chez Cliffes in Sorrento, but there's really something wonderful about waking up in your own bed on Christmas morn. I have more to say about why I'm so thrilled to enjoy Christmas at home this year, but in the effort of staying brief, I'll save that story for another post.
Thorn
Just as I type this, the headline on our muted TV is about fast food customers calling 911 when they don't get what they order. What the hell is this world coming to?
Speaking of what the hell is this world coming to, my real thorn is the recent news story about the Toronto Humane Society. I've been following as it unfolds and it's un-effing-believable. It's truly a sad state of affairs when those who belong to an organization that's actually called "Humane" "Society" are anything but humane and certainly do not belong in our society. Disgusting. :(
Rose
All week Jim has been singing the Frosted Flakes jingle from the 80's in a raspy voice that is a cross between a Californian and an Irish accent. It's hilarious.
Prior to this, for the last month he's been having a lot of fun imitating this little kid using a Foghorn Leghorn impression, "I needs ma bacon! She thinks she's a smart little girl, but she don't know I neeeeds ma bacon!" Ha ha.
Alright, clearly I'm running low on roses and thorns ova here.
Thorn
The zipper on my favourite pair of boots broke, so I had to get it fixed. I figured it was cheaper than buying another pair of boots, (which I recently did). Plus, now I'll have those boot for at least another year or two... so I guess that is a rose.
Rose
I bought a couple new pairs of jeans and went to the extra effort of taking them in to a seamstress to get them hemmed. Owning new jeans that actually FIT is a big deal for a shorty like moi.
Good lord, these roses and thorns are getting pathetic, aren't they?
Thorn
People who use their FB status to trash talk good, kind people who totally don't deserve it. Grow the hell up. You're embarrassing yourself.
Rose
Big Fish. Probably my second favourite movie of all time. We only watch it once a year, in order to "keep it special". So we finally put it on a couple weeks ago, and it was as wonderful as always. You'd think that after watching it over half a dozen times that the ending wouldn't choke me up, but I'm always surprised to find a little tear welling in the corner of my eye as they go down to the river. (I hope that wasn't a spoiler for anyone? I don't think by saying "the river" I'm giving anything away.) Anyhow, it's such a fun n' magical n' beautiful movie. Love it, love it!
Thorn
I think I'm all out of thorns. But most of my thorns were pretty big ones this week, so I'm glad I have nothing else to complain about. Instead, maybe I'll just write one more rose and then call it a day.
Rose
My cousin'd Jodie received the painting in the mail that I did for her birthday. It's always a bit scary to give someone something that is homemade. I mean, what if they don't like it and you spent all that time on it? So just in case, I bought her a nice pair of earrings as well. ;) Fortunately, she LOVED the painting and said that it matches their newly renovated bathroom PERFECTLY -- even though she only described it to me. I haven't seen any pictures yet. She also said that she hasn't been able to find anything that would look good on their freshly painted walls, but because my painting was such a perfect fit, she put it up right away. Needless to say, this made me feel really nice in the heart. :)
So on that warm n' fuzzy note, I'll end my roses n' thorns right here...
Rose
The Stone Temple Pilots concert. I needn't say more, since I think I've already said enough .
Thorn
Friday, November 13th - Friday, November 20th. Heavy. Sad. Unproductive.
Rose
Jim's Christmas gift finally came in the mail. I was starting to get a little worried because it took a week longer than what I was told, but it arrived safe n' sound, so that's a relief. Even though the seller had a great rating, you're always taking a bit of a gamble with eBay.
Thorn
CiC. What a friggin' headache!! And I do mean that literally. I never get headaches, and all week I've had a splitting one that keeps coming back. I totally blame them. I guess there's some consolation in knowing that I'm not the only person this client has managed to completely piss off. I just keep reminding myself that at least I'm getting paid by the hour to deal with their b.s., which includes:
- Totally last minute changes forcing me to redo all my work
- Poor instructions that leave me pestering everyone at the office with a million questions
- Revised deadlines that slide the scale from pretty difficult to pretty impossible. Fortunately, I managed to get a two day extension (a.k.a this weekend).
Gawd, I'm actually looking forward to the no-brainer contract work I have slated for next week. I can't wait to get CiC off my plate.
Rose
I don't know if I should even bother including this rose, but what the hell... We got our latest revised script outline done... AGAIN! One of the main issues was that one of our characters disappeared for over 20 minutes, so we wanted to find ways to bring him back into the story. There was also a small handful of other tweaks. But no matter how small the handful, once you start shuffling scenes around or adding new ones, it impacts everything!
We have a meeting with les producers on Monday. I hope to gawd we can start writing soon. Christmas is a comin' and the funds are growin' thin. (On that note, thank goodness for stupid CiC consuming an excessive amount of my time.) We don't get paid the other 75% of our development funding until we finish this draft. TC & AS are super cool, and told us several times that we could always ask for an advance if we ever needed it, but we'd rather not look that desperate. ;)
Thorn
Dramarama. Big time. And not the high school variety, but instead it's more of the very serious, unavoidable kind. Not for me, but for those I love... and there is nothing I can do except listen. Fortunately, I'm a good listener. Don't bother emailing or calling to ask me who, because it's natcho bid'ness.
Rose
Good times at Ray's birthday party last weekend. I originally wasn't planning on going, because it had been such a blegh week with the funeral the day before n' everything, but I'm happy I went. I had a lot of fun... well, for the most part. The carpet (fortunately, not ours) got well-watered when a couple of the boys became a little sloppy. And the peer-pressure from one individual to get absolutely shit-faced was amped higher than at a college frat party, so I could've done without that as well. I don't like when people keep tabs as though drinking is a competition. (Umm... How old are we?) But otherwise, it really was a lot of fun.
Thorn
We finally heard back from Hyundai's head office (who our local dealership suggested we contact) and as it turns out, they won't cover our towing bill. Long story short(ish), our road-side coverage through Hyundai ran out 45 days before the break-down. (Although we never received any notification of this.) We felt that we had a strong argument - the manufacturing defect was covered under warrantee, therefore, shouldn't the towing to their dealership be covered as well, since the defect was no fault of our own?
Unfortunately, Jim's endless calling around and (polite) arguing heeded no results. Customer service at head office just kept repeating the same line over and over again that our road-side coverage had expired. "Well, that's very convenient!" Jim finally said right before telling them that we will never buy a Hyundai again, and let all our friends know not to either, and that we will also post comments about their poor customer service policies all over the internet. Ha. He felt a little bad after he got off the phone, but I thought he sounded good. No f-bombs were dropped. His tone remained calm.
So yeah, looks like we're out $660. Ouch. Could've been worse, I suppose. We could've had to pay for the repairs as well.
BTW, what happened to my idea of keeping these roses n' thorns brief? I promise to try harder.
Rose
We just learned this week that we'll be spending Christmas in Kelowna!!! Not that I haven't enjoyed some lovely Christmases at Chez Cliffes in Sorrento, but there's really something wonderful about waking up in your own bed on Christmas morn. I have more to say about why I'm so thrilled to enjoy Christmas at home this year, but in the effort of staying brief, I'll save that story for another post.
Thorn
Just as I type this, the headline on our muted TV is about fast food customers calling 911 when they don't get what they order. What the hell is this world coming to?
Speaking of what the hell is this world coming to, my real thorn is the recent news story about the Toronto Humane Society. I've been following as it unfolds and it's un-effing-believable. It's truly a sad state of affairs when those who belong to an organization that's actually called "Humane" "Society" are anything but humane and certainly do not belong in our society. Disgusting. :(
Rose
All week Jim has been singing the Frosted Flakes jingle from the 80's in a raspy voice that is a cross between a Californian and an Irish accent. It's hilarious.
Prior to this, for the last month he's been having a lot of fun imitating this little kid using a Foghorn Leghorn impression, "I needs ma bacon! She thinks she's a smart little girl, but she don't know I neeeeds ma bacon!" Ha ha.
Alright, clearly I'm running low on roses and thorns ova here.
Thorn
The zipper on my favourite pair of boots broke, so I had to get it fixed. I figured it was cheaper than buying another pair of boots, (which I recently did). Plus, now I'll have those boot for at least another year or two... so I guess that is a rose.
Rose
I bought a couple new pairs of jeans and went to the extra effort of taking them in to a seamstress to get them hemmed. Owning new jeans that actually FIT is a big deal for a shorty like moi.
Good lord, these roses and thorns are getting pathetic, aren't they?
Thorn
People who use their FB status to trash talk good, kind people who totally don't deserve it. Grow the hell up. You're embarrassing yourself.
Rose
Big Fish. Probably my second favourite movie of all time. We only watch it once a year, in order to "keep it special". So we finally put it on a couple weeks ago, and it was as wonderful as always. You'd think that after watching it over half a dozen times that the ending wouldn't choke me up, but I'm always surprised to find a little tear welling in the corner of my eye as they go down to the river. (I hope that wasn't a spoiler for anyone? I don't think by saying "the river" I'm giving anything away.) Anyhow, it's such a fun n' magical n' beautiful movie. Love it, love it!
Thorn
I think I'm all out of thorns. But most of my thorns were pretty big ones this week, so I'm glad I have nothing else to complain about. Instead, maybe I'll just write one more rose and then call it a day.
Rose
My cousin'd Jodie received the painting in the mail that I did for her birthday. It's always a bit scary to give someone something that is homemade. I mean, what if they don't like it and you spent all that time on it? So just in case, I bought her a nice pair of earrings as well. ;) Fortunately, she LOVED the painting and said that it matches their newly renovated bathroom PERFECTLY -- even though she only described it to me. I haven't seen any pictures yet. She also said that she hasn't been able to find anything that would look good on their freshly painted walls, but because my painting was such a perfect fit, she put it up right away. Needless to say, this made me feel really nice in the heart. :)
So on that warm n' fuzzy note, I'll end my roses n' thorns right here...
Friday, November 27, 2009
Xmas tree rental firms hope to stop waste
Quite a smart entrepreneurial idea, if you ask me...
Two Vancouver-area firms are hoping to capitalize on the concept of a "green Christmas" by renting out live potted evergreens for the holidays.
Potted Christmas trees are being sold as eco-friendly holiday adornments. This Carbonsync tree is sized for condos.(Carbonsync)For about $100, both firms — Carbonsync Christmas in Squamish and Evergrow Christmas Trees in Burnaby — will drop off an evergreen at your door and then pick it up at the end of the holiday season.
Christmas trees that are cut down, by comparison, sell for $25 and up and are usually turned into mulch following the holidays. That's a huge waste, Brad Major of Carbonsync Christmas told CBC News.
"What they're doing now is they're growing these hordes of trees everywhere in the Fraser Valley to ship in to Vancouver," said Major.
"These trees grow anywhere from six to 12 years to be used for one Christmas, and all these trees go to the landfill, and it's this huge pile of trees," he said. "It's like the biggest waste of a resource."
After Christmas, the potted trees will be given to habitat restoration groups for replanting, said Major.
In Burnaby, Evergrow Christmas Trees is new to the potted-tree scene. It was started this year by two forestry graduates from the University of British Columbia, Sean Macalister and Jeff Ferguson.
For Macalister, it's a return of sorts to a family tradition. He remembers Christmas always being celebrated with a live potted tree that was planted in the backyard afterwards.
"This tree can be used over and over and then it gets planted after and it grows into a full-sized tree that will be here when we're dead," Macalister said.
Evergrow Christmas Trees was started by UBC forestry graduates Sean Macalister and Jeff Ferguson. (CBC)His firm plans to return the trees to a nursery to be cared for until they get rented out again, and Macalister envisions families re-using the same trees Christmas after Christmas.
Thursday, November 26, 2009
Cat Think of Anything to Write About...
Last week I was underwhelmed. This week I've been overwhelmed. Meanwhile, I've noticed that the gaps of time between my postings have grown. My total number of posts slowly decreases month by month. I promise not to let this blog wither and die like the rest. My mind and my time have just been occupied lately.
So just for the sake of creating a new post, here are a few random thoughts as they come to me...
In my spare time, I like to visit the Castanet Adopt-A-Pet page for the BC-SPCA and look at all the animals. I especially like it when there's a bio to go with their fuzzy little faces. Most of the animals don't have bios. I wish I could go to the SPCA and spend a little time with each fur face, and then write a unique story about them. Maybe it would help them get adopted quicker.
Speaking of which, my SIL Cheryl adopted a cat recently. While at the SPCA, she learned that it takes black cats 3 times longer to be adopted. "I guess racism is alive and well in the feline world", as she put it. ;)
I think people are afraid of adopting black cats because they are superstitious. If you own a black kitty, imagine how many times it would cross your path each day! You'd be doomed fo' sho.
Not me though. I like our little Luna. She can be a prissy Miss now n' then with her backtalk, but she's a sweetheart through and through.
A good friend of ours, whose father practiced in the occult (which is not as Ouija board spooky as it sounds...) always had black cats because they supposedly absorb negative energy, and therefore provide a protective presence. This is why you always see witches with black cats in movies n' cartoons n' such. I thought that was kinda interesting.
I don't know if our Luna is much of a protector though; however, she occasionally emits a throaty growl and runs to the door if she hears something in the hallway. I find her growl less threatening than it is cute. How can anyone be intimidated by something that is afraid of the vacuum cleaner? Besides, I'm not sure if she knows how to use her claws. She has never even scratched anyone - not even once. The couch on the other hand...
So while I'm on the mundane topic of cats, I might as well throw in a little picture I saved from an email that made me laugh a few weeks ago. At first I thought those LOL cats were stupid... but I'll admit, they've become a bit of a guilty pleasure for me.
Alright... I'll stop boring you now. See, this is what happens when I have nothing to write about... or if I'm saving all my news for my roses n' thorns, which is three weeks tardy. My, my!
So just for the sake of creating a new post, here are a few random thoughts as they come to me...
In my spare time, I like to visit the Castanet Adopt-A-Pet page for the BC-SPCA and look at all the animals. I especially like it when there's a bio to go with their fuzzy little faces. Most of the animals don't have bios. I wish I could go to the SPCA and spend a little time with each fur face, and then write a unique story about them. Maybe it would help them get adopted quicker.
Speaking of which, my SIL Cheryl adopted a cat recently. While at the SPCA, she learned that it takes black cats 3 times longer to be adopted. "I guess racism is alive and well in the feline world", as she put it. ;)
I think people are afraid of adopting black cats because they are superstitious. If you own a black kitty, imagine how many times it would cross your path each day! You'd be doomed fo' sho.
Not me though. I like our little Luna. She can be a prissy Miss now n' then with her backtalk, but she's a sweetheart through and through.
A good friend of ours, whose father practiced in the occult (which is not as Ouija board spooky as it sounds...) always had black cats because they supposedly absorb negative energy, and therefore provide a protective presence. This is why you always see witches with black cats in movies n' cartoons n' such. I thought that was kinda interesting.
I don't know if our Luna is much of a protector though; however, she occasionally emits a throaty growl and runs to the door if she hears something in the hallway. I find her growl less threatening than it is cute. How can anyone be intimidated by something that is afraid of the vacuum cleaner? Besides, I'm not sure if she knows how to use her claws. She has never even scratched anyone - not even once. The couch on the other hand...
So while I'm on the mundane topic of cats, I might as well throw in a little picture I saved from an email that made me laugh a few weeks ago. At first I thought those LOL cats were stupid... but I'll admit, they've become a bit of a guilty pleasure for me.
Friday, November 20, 2009
Still Alice and Kind Mary
I'm currently about 2/3's of the way through a wonderful novel called "Still Alice", written by Lisa Genova. To quickly summarize, the book is about an esteemed Harvard cognitive psychology professor who is diagnosed with early-onset Alzheimer's disease at the age of 50. The book reveals her painful struggle as she experiences the rapid decline of her deteriorating mind. Although the book is a work of fiction, the subject matter most certainly is not. There is an incredible amount of research poured into it, which makes the story feel very real, and not to mention, terribly sad.
So far I've found it completely gripping. Tragic and yet so beautifully written. While in some ways it could be perceived as a bit of a downer, I find that the moment I leave the book on my nightstand and carry on with my day, I can't help but find myself feeling extra thankful for all the little things... little things that a victim of Alzheimer's like Alice would find slipping away day by day. Like the ability to recognize my family, knowing where the bathroom is, or being able to prepare a simple meal... and more.
If you've ever known someone with Alzheimer's, or even if you haven't, I would absolutely recommend this book. But, at the risk of sounding like a cheesy infomercial, don't just take my word for it...
"After I read Still Alice, I wanted to stand up and tell a train full of strangers, 'You have to get this book!'"- The Boston Globe
"Full of heartbreaking believability." - The Globe and Mail
"A poignant portrait of Alzheimer's... Not a book you will forget." - USA Today
And the list goes on.
So, I know what you're thinking... "If the book is called Still Alice, then who is Kind Mary?"
Well, let me tell you...
As I sat pruning in my quickly cooling bath water, refusing to leave the tub until I finished just one more chapter about Alice's frustrating downward spiral, I couldn't help but be reminded of a woman only known to me as Kind Mary. She was an elderly lady I met once over a year ago when Jim and I were visiting his Grandma Alvina at her nursing home in Vernon. Grandma was moved into a hospice shortly thereafter, and unfortunately passed on earlier this year. For this reason, I have obviously not encountered Kind Mary since that visit last October; however, she definitely left a lasting impression on me.
I blogged about her in an anonymous-ish blog I had been keeping at the time, and so I thought I would repost that same entry here. I think it was probably one of my most popular posts that really seemed to resonate with a lot of people.
Also, because it was originally meant to be anonymous, J = Jim. (Not that I need to tell you that... I just don't feel like editing it here.)
So, without further ado, I bring you "Kind Mary", originally posted Oct. 29, 2008.
---------
Her grey eyes paused, connecting with ours. She searched our faces with cautious familiarity. We both waved hello, and after a moment a smile slowly grew across her face. She wasn’t expecting visitors, but you could tell that she was very happy to see us.
As the rest of the elderly ladies took their seats around the common lounge area, Grandma grabbed her work in progress, a green crocheted doily, from the corner of the love seat and shuffled over, making room for us to take a seat. There looked like there might only be enough room for one of us, as I stood there wondering if I could manage to squeeze in beside J without crowding Grandma into the cushions.
“You can sit here,” a voice invited from behind. I turned to see a charming little lady patting the empty seat beside her on the couch. I had seen her face before – I recognized her warm smile and large pearl earrings from the resident photos posted in the hallway. Her photo was labeled “Kind Mary” -- one of only two residents who had an adjective before their name. (“Nice Man Remy” being the other.)
I ensured that no other residents were in need of a seat, and when it looked like everyone in the room had found a place, I accepted her friendly invite to join her on the couch.
The room was initially filled with an awkward silence as many of the women just sat around and stared into space. Fortunately, Kind Mary broke the silence by initiating some friendly chit chat. She patted the back of the couch, and encouraged me to sit right back and get comfortable.
“They have such lovely couches here,” she beamed with a sense of pride.
“Yes, they do.” I agreed. “They’re very comfortable.”
We sat and discussed the lovely accommodations provided at this cozy little senior’s residence, as well as the lovely television in the lounge, and finally the lovely weather we were having. For a brief moment, I tried to remember if I was speaking to Kind Mary or Lovely Mary, for everything was “just lovely”… and so was she.
“So, where are you from?” Kind Mary inquired.
“Kelowna.”
“Oh, and where is that?”
“It’s about an hour’s drive from here.”
“Oh, that’s just lovely! Have you been here before?” She asked.
“Only once before.” I explained that we were here to visit J’s Grandma, who had moved in about a month ago.
“Oh, that’s just lovely. I really like it here. Everyone is so nice.” Kind Mary went on to tell me that when she was a young woman, she had to look after her mother and four children, so the best thing about this place is that her children no longer have to worry about her, because she remembers what it was like to care for a parent.
“Are your parents still alive?” She asked thoughtfully.
“Oh yes, they are still alive. They live in Ontario.” I explained.
“Oh, and where do you live?”
“Kelowna.” I answered with a smile.
“Oh how nice… and have you ever been here before?”
“Just once. This is my second time.”
Kind Mary told me how much she loved it there. The most important thing was that her children didn’t have to worry about her.
I asked where she was originally from, and she said that she used to live in Alberta, but moved to the area to be near her eldest daughter about a year or two ago -- she couldn’t quite remember when. She didn’t see her children often because they all lived far away and were off doing their own things and living their own lives. She was happy that they were all happy.
One of the staff members offered me a cup of tea or a juice, but I politely declined.
“Oh, won’t you stay a little longer and have some tea?” Kind Mary asked.
“It’s okay. I’m just fine for now. I had a drink before we arrived. We’re not leaving yet.” I answered.
“Oh good. And where do you come from?”
“Originally I come from Ontario, but I moved to Kelowna about five years ago.”
“Oh, how nice. And where is that?”
“About an hour’s drive from here. We just thought that the weather was so nice today that it was a good day to take a drive and go visit Grandma.”
“How lovely! And is this your first time here?”
“We’ve been here just once before a couple weeks ago.”
Noticing the cobwebs strewn around the room, I asked if any trick-or-treaters stopped by for Halloween. Kind Mary couldn’t remember if any had come by last year, meanwhile, a very old looking woman across the room started ranting incoherently… something about the kids better not come knocking on her door looking for candy. I couldn’t quite make out what she was saying, but whatever it was, I got the impression that she really didn’t like Halloween or trick-or-treaters. While she had both J n’ my full attention, it appeared that everyone else in the room seemed to tune her out.
Kind Mary hummed softly to herself listening as J and I spoke with Grandma, whose memory seemed to be much better than it was the last time we saw her. It’s been really hit and miss over this last year, and has gradually grown worse – which was part of the reason she needed to relocate into an assisted living residence. That, and she was recently diagnosed with a small spot of lung cancer earlier this summer. We were amazed when Grandma mentioned an event that had happened back in January. It seems to us that her memory fails her most when it involves recent events. For instance, if it’s something she did twenty minutes ago or yesterday, chances are she won't remember. Fortunately, for now, her memory hasn’t quite reached the same status as that of poor Kind Mary.
“So where do you live?” Mary asked me again.
“I live in Kelowna.”
“Oh, that’s nice.” She smiled.
“Have you been to this place before?”
“Only once to visit Grandma when she first moved in.”
Kind Mary told me how she really loves this residence. She explained how she had to raise four kids and take care of her mother, so she’s thankful that her children don’t have to worry about her now that she’s living there and has people to look after her.
“And are your parents still alive?”
“Yes, they live in Ontario, near Ottawa.” I told Mary that I was able to see them last month when they came out for a visit after J n’ I got married. Naturally, she thought that was just lovely.
“And where do they live?” she asked again.
“They live about an hour or so outside of Ottawa.”
Slightly embarrassed, Kind Mary touched my arm, “Oh… I think I might’ve asked you that before, didn’t I? I think I remember you saying ‘Ottawa’.”
“Ahh, that’s okay.” I smiled.
A staff member came around again, this time offering everyone cookies. I declined.
“Oh, won’t you stay with us and have some tea and cookies.” Kind Mary asked. “You should stay longer and have some tea.”
“No, it’s okay. I’m fine. I had a drink before I came. We’re still planning on staying a little longer though,” I reassured, feeling kind of guilty that this poor sweet woman doesn’t get much company… or perhaps she just doesn’t remember whether she does or not, which is just as sad.
Across the room, another resident pointed out a flyer for an upcoming Halloween party. She read it aloud to the ancient woman beside her who had been ranting about Halloween earlier. I couldn’t help but think, “Oh no… you’re telling the wrong person.” Naturally, this inspired another furious bah humbug rant.
While most of the women in the room ignored her, both Grandma and Kind Mary giggled. “Have you ever heard of the term, “Old crank?” Kind Mary asked me.
“Yes.” I nodded, worrying that Kind Mary might’ve said her last comment just a fraction too loud.
“That’s where it comes from,” she laughed. “She’s an old crank, isn’t she?”
“Well, you can tell that she sure doesn’t like Halloween.” I whispered diplomatically in case the old crank could hear us.
“She’s like that all the time.” Kind Mary said shaking her head.
“Oh well… I guess it keeps things interesting around here,” I said, still unsure if my words were reaching the cranky ears across the room.
“I just avoid her!” Kind Mary exclaimed.
Who could blame her? I’d avoid her too if I lived there. The woman was by all definitions an old crank. J and I later wondered on the drive home if someone so incredibly crabby who did nothing but complain all day was like that because they had always been that way, like the snooty high school bitch - or if it was merely a result of a lifetime of unhappiness, or at least present unhappiness. All I can say is that I was so thankful that I was sitting beside Kind Mary and not Old Crank.
Kind Mary hummed softly to herself again, as I joined back into the conversation with Grandma, who had just finished whispering to J the same thing that Kind Mary had just shared with me about Old Crank being an old crank.
When the conversation with Grandma reached a brief lull, Kind Mary decided to initiate conversation again, “So where do you live?”
“I live in Kelowna. It’s about an hour’s drive from here.” I answered.
“Is this your first time here?” She inquired.
“It’s my second time. I’ve only been here to visit Grandma once before. She just moved here last month,” I explained.
Kind Mary told me how much she really loved this place. The most important thing was that her children didn’t have to worry about her, and can just live their lives. She remembers what it’s like to take care of her mother, and raise her children, so it makes her happy that her children don’t have to worry about her.
“Are your parents still alive?” She asked next.
“Yes, they are. They actually still live in the same home I grew up in.”
“Oh, that’s lovely! And do you get to see them much?”
“Not too much. But I talk to them on the phone sometimes, and they did come out for a visit last month.”
“How nice! And where do they live?”
“They live in the Ottawa Valley.”
You could see that the word “Ottawa” rang a little bell in her memory bank, as Mary nodded and a look of familiar embarrassment crossed her face. “Oh, that’s right…” her head lowered and her eyes sunk into her tea.
“It’s okay.” I assured.
A staff member came into the lounge shaking a carton on fish crackers. “Where are the grandchildren?”
J and I lifted our hands, which caused the lady to laugh. I guess she expected the grandchildren to be a little younger. We accepted a couple fish-shaped crackers each and so did everyone else in the room who remarked that we’re *all* grandchildren of somebody.
I returned to my conversation with Kind Mary and finished telling her about my sister, my niece and my new nephew, who lived in the same city as my parents.
“Oh, and where is that?”
“Pembroke…” I hesitated for a moment, before adding, “It’s um, near Ottawa…. in the Ottawa Valley, actually. I’d say Pembroke, but no one knows where that is, so I just say Ottawa because that makes it easier for people to recognize.” I was actually afraid to say Ottawa because I didn’t want to embarrass her as it was the only word that seemed to resonate with her. I thought perhaps if I just started yapping away with new information it might sound a little different. No dice. The expression on her face indicated that she still remembered “Ottawa”, and I immediately felt bad for her.
“You fidget with your hands like I do.” She pointed out with a smile, before she picked up her knitting.
“Do you knit?”
“No. I used to know how to crochet.”
“I only make dish cloths now. I’m trying to knit everyone on the staff a dish cloth for Christmas.”
“Oh, that’s so nice! Did you used to knit larger things, like sweaters and blankets?”
“Oh yes, at one time. But now I just knit dish cloths. Do you knit?”
“Nope. My mom taught me how to crochet a little when I was younger, but don’t really remember how to now.”
“Oh, crocheting is good too. I’m making a dish cloth for everyone on staff. I think I’ll even make some for the men. They can always give them to their wives.”
That kinda made me giggle.
“I’m sure they’ll appreciate it. You can never have too many dish cloths!”
Kind Mary and I chatted a little while longer, before a nurse arrived to give Grandma her medicine. J and I decided to follow Grandma to her room to have a little two-on-one time before we left. When Kind Mary saw that we were leaving, an expression of concern washed across her face as she worried that she had dominated all my visiting time.
“No, not at all.” I insisted. “It was very nice talking to you!”
We followed Grandma to her room and had a little visit, before heading off. Grandma decided to join her fellow residents back in the lounge, and so she walked us to the door. We each gave Grandma a tight hug, and then waved goodbye to the ladies in the lounge before we made our exit.
I’d love to see Kind Mary again someday, even though she wouldn’t remember me. She’s such a precious soul, and I feel for her loved ones who have had to witness such an unfortunate decline. At least she and Grandma are both still in wonderful spirits, unlike the poor Old Crank.
It’s so sad what happens to our bodies and minds as we grow older, and yet, when we’re healthy and our minds are in good condition, we rarely take the time to fully acknowledge and appreciate it. One day each of us will probably look back on these times and realize what we took for granted.
So far I've found it completely gripping. Tragic and yet so beautifully written. While in some ways it could be perceived as a bit of a downer, I find that the moment I leave the book on my nightstand and carry on with my day, I can't help but find myself feeling extra thankful for all the little things... little things that a victim of Alzheimer's like Alice would find slipping away day by day. Like the ability to recognize my family, knowing where the bathroom is, or being able to prepare a simple meal... and more.
If you've ever known someone with Alzheimer's, or even if you haven't, I would absolutely recommend this book. But, at the risk of sounding like a cheesy infomercial, don't just take my word for it...
"After I read Still Alice, I wanted to stand up and tell a train full of strangers, 'You have to get this book!'"- The Boston Globe
"Full of heartbreaking believability." - The Globe and Mail
"A poignant portrait of Alzheimer's... Not a book you will forget." - USA Today
And the list goes on.
So, I know what you're thinking... "If the book is called Still Alice, then who is Kind Mary?"
Well, let me tell you...
As I sat pruning in my quickly cooling bath water, refusing to leave the tub until I finished just one more chapter about Alice's frustrating downward spiral, I couldn't help but be reminded of a woman only known to me as Kind Mary. She was an elderly lady I met once over a year ago when Jim and I were visiting his Grandma Alvina at her nursing home in Vernon. Grandma was moved into a hospice shortly thereafter, and unfortunately passed on earlier this year. For this reason, I have obviously not encountered Kind Mary since that visit last October; however, she definitely left a lasting impression on me.
I blogged about her in an anonymous-ish blog I had been keeping at the time, and so I thought I would repost that same entry here. I think it was probably one of my most popular posts that really seemed to resonate with a lot of people.
Also, because it was originally meant to be anonymous, J = Jim. (Not that I need to tell you that... I just don't feel like editing it here.)
So, without further ado, I bring you "Kind Mary", originally posted Oct. 29, 2008.
---------
Her grey eyes paused, connecting with ours. She searched our faces with cautious familiarity. We both waved hello, and after a moment a smile slowly grew across her face. She wasn’t expecting visitors, but you could tell that she was very happy to see us.
As the rest of the elderly ladies took their seats around the common lounge area, Grandma grabbed her work in progress, a green crocheted doily, from the corner of the love seat and shuffled over, making room for us to take a seat. There looked like there might only be enough room for one of us, as I stood there wondering if I could manage to squeeze in beside J without crowding Grandma into the cushions.
“You can sit here,” a voice invited from behind. I turned to see a charming little lady patting the empty seat beside her on the couch. I had seen her face before – I recognized her warm smile and large pearl earrings from the resident photos posted in the hallway. Her photo was labeled “Kind Mary” -- one of only two residents who had an adjective before their name. (“Nice Man Remy” being the other.)
I ensured that no other residents were in need of a seat, and when it looked like everyone in the room had found a place, I accepted her friendly invite to join her on the couch.
The room was initially filled with an awkward silence as many of the women just sat around and stared into space. Fortunately, Kind Mary broke the silence by initiating some friendly chit chat. She patted the back of the couch, and encouraged me to sit right back and get comfortable.
“They have such lovely couches here,” she beamed with a sense of pride.
“Yes, they do.” I agreed. “They’re very comfortable.”
We sat and discussed the lovely accommodations provided at this cozy little senior’s residence, as well as the lovely television in the lounge, and finally the lovely weather we were having. For a brief moment, I tried to remember if I was speaking to Kind Mary or Lovely Mary, for everything was “just lovely”… and so was she.
“So, where are you from?” Kind Mary inquired.
“Kelowna.”
“Oh, and where is that?”
“It’s about an hour’s drive from here.”
“Oh, that’s just lovely! Have you been here before?” She asked.
“Only once before.” I explained that we were here to visit J’s Grandma, who had moved in about a month ago.
“Oh, that’s just lovely. I really like it here. Everyone is so nice.” Kind Mary went on to tell me that when she was a young woman, she had to look after her mother and four children, so the best thing about this place is that her children no longer have to worry about her, because she remembers what it was like to care for a parent.
“Are your parents still alive?” She asked thoughtfully.
“Oh yes, they are still alive. They live in Ontario.” I explained.
“Oh, and where do you live?”
“Kelowna.” I answered with a smile.
“Oh how nice… and have you ever been here before?”
“Just once. This is my second time.”
Kind Mary told me how much she loved it there. The most important thing was that her children didn’t have to worry about her.
I asked where she was originally from, and she said that she used to live in Alberta, but moved to the area to be near her eldest daughter about a year or two ago -- she couldn’t quite remember when. She didn’t see her children often because they all lived far away and were off doing their own things and living their own lives. She was happy that they were all happy.
One of the staff members offered me a cup of tea or a juice, but I politely declined.
“Oh, won’t you stay a little longer and have some tea?” Kind Mary asked.
“It’s okay. I’m just fine for now. I had a drink before we arrived. We’re not leaving yet.” I answered.
“Oh good. And where do you come from?”
“Originally I come from Ontario, but I moved to Kelowna about five years ago.”
“Oh, how nice. And where is that?”
“About an hour’s drive from here. We just thought that the weather was so nice today that it was a good day to take a drive and go visit Grandma.”
“How lovely! And is this your first time here?”
“We’ve been here just once before a couple weeks ago.”
Noticing the cobwebs strewn around the room, I asked if any trick-or-treaters stopped by for Halloween. Kind Mary couldn’t remember if any had come by last year, meanwhile, a very old looking woman across the room started ranting incoherently… something about the kids better not come knocking on her door looking for candy. I couldn’t quite make out what she was saying, but whatever it was, I got the impression that she really didn’t like Halloween or trick-or-treaters. While she had both J n’ my full attention, it appeared that everyone else in the room seemed to tune her out.
Kind Mary hummed softly to herself listening as J and I spoke with Grandma, whose memory seemed to be much better than it was the last time we saw her. It’s been really hit and miss over this last year, and has gradually grown worse – which was part of the reason she needed to relocate into an assisted living residence. That, and she was recently diagnosed with a small spot of lung cancer earlier this summer. We were amazed when Grandma mentioned an event that had happened back in January. It seems to us that her memory fails her most when it involves recent events. For instance, if it’s something she did twenty minutes ago or yesterday, chances are she won't remember. Fortunately, for now, her memory hasn’t quite reached the same status as that of poor Kind Mary.
“So where do you live?” Mary asked me again.
“I live in Kelowna.”
“Oh, that’s nice.” She smiled.
“Have you been to this place before?”
“Only once to visit Grandma when she first moved in.”
Kind Mary told me how she really loves this residence. She explained how she had to raise four kids and take care of her mother, so she’s thankful that her children don’t have to worry about her now that she’s living there and has people to look after her.
“And are your parents still alive?”
“Yes, they live in Ontario, near Ottawa.” I told Mary that I was able to see them last month when they came out for a visit after J n’ I got married. Naturally, she thought that was just lovely.
“And where do they live?” she asked again.
“They live about an hour or so outside of Ottawa.”
Slightly embarrassed, Kind Mary touched my arm, “Oh… I think I might’ve asked you that before, didn’t I? I think I remember you saying ‘Ottawa’.”
“Ahh, that’s okay.” I smiled.
A staff member came around again, this time offering everyone cookies. I declined.
“Oh, won’t you stay with us and have some tea and cookies.” Kind Mary asked. “You should stay longer and have some tea.”
“No, it’s okay. I’m fine. I had a drink before I came. We’re still planning on staying a little longer though,” I reassured, feeling kind of guilty that this poor sweet woman doesn’t get much company… or perhaps she just doesn’t remember whether she does or not, which is just as sad.
Across the room, another resident pointed out a flyer for an upcoming Halloween party. She read it aloud to the ancient woman beside her who had been ranting about Halloween earlier. I couldn’t help but think, “Oh no… you’re telling the wrong person.” Naturally, this inspired another furious bah humbug rant.
While most of the women in the room ignored her, both Grandma and Kind Mary giggled. “Have you ever heard of the term, “Old crank?” Kind Mary asked me.
“Yes.” I nodded, worrying that Kind Mary might’ve said her last comment just a fraction too loud.
“That’s where it comes from,” she laughed. “She’s an old crank, isn’t she?”
“Well, you can tell that she sure doesn’t like Halloween.” I whispered diplomatically in case the old crank could hear us.
“She’s like that all the time.” Kind Mary said shaking her head.
“Oh well… I guess it keeps things interesting around here,” I said, still unsure if my words were reaching the cranky ears across the room.
“I just avoid her!” Kind Mary exclaimed.
Who could blame her? I’d avoid her too if I lived there. The woman was by all definitions an old crank. J and I later wondered on the drive home if someone so incredibly crabby who did nothing but complain all day was like that because they had always been that way, like the snooty high school bitch - or if it was merely a result of a lifetime of unhappiness, or at least present unhappiness. All I can say is that I was so thankful that I was sitting beside Kind Mary and not Old Crank.
Kind Mary hummed softly to herself again, as I joined back into the conversation with Grandma, who had just finished whispering to J the same thing that Kind Mary had just shared with me about Old Crank being an old crank.
When the conversation with Grandma reached a brief lull, Kind Mary decided to initiate conversation again, “So where do you live?”
“I live in Kelowna. It’s about an hour’s drive from here.” I answered.
“Is this your first time here?” She inquired.
“It’s my second time. I’ve only been here to visit Grandma once before. She just moved here last month,” I explained.
Kind Mary told me how much she really loved this place. The most important thing was that her children didn’t have to worry about her, and can just live their lives. She remembers what it’s like to take care of her mother, and raise her children, so it makes her happy that her children don’t have to worry about her.
“Are your parents still alive?” She asked next.
“Yes, they are. They actually still live in the same home I grew up in.”
“Oh, that’s lovely! And do you get to see them much?”
“Not too much. But I talk to them on the phone sometimes, and they did come out for a visit last month.”
“How nice! And where do they live?”
“They live in the Ottawa Valley.”
You could see that the word “Ottawa” rang a little bell in her memory bank, as Mary nodded and a look of familiar embarrassment crossed her face. “Oh, that’s right…” her head lowered and her eyes sunk into her tea.
“It’s okay.” I assured.
A staff member came into the lounge shaking a carton on fish crackers. “Where are the grandchildren?”
J and I lifted our hands, which caused the lady to laugh. I guess she expected the grandchildren to be a little younger. We accepted a couple fish-shaped crackers each and so did everyone else in the room who remarked that we’re *all* grandchildren of somebody.
I returned to my conversation with Kind Mary and finished telling her about my sister, my niece and my new nephew, who lived in the same city as my parents.
“Oh, and where is that?”
“Pembroke…” I hesitated for a moment, before adding, “It’s um, near Ottawa…. in the Ottawa Valley, actually. I’d say Pembroke, but no one knows where that is, so I just say Ottawa because that makes it easier for people to recognize.” I was actually afraid to say Ottawa because I didn’t want to embarrass her as it was the only word that seemed to resonate with her. I thought perhaps if I just started yapping away with new information it might sound a little different. No dice. The expression on her face indicated that she still remembered “Ottawa”, and I immediately felt bad for her.
“You fidget with your hands like I do.” She pointed out with a smile, before she picked up her knitting.
“Do you knit?”
“No. I used to know how to crochet.”
“I only make dish cloths now. I’m trying to knit everyone on the staff a dish cloth for Christmas.”
“Oh, that’s so nice! Did you used to knit larger things, like sweaters and blankets?”
“Oh yes, at one time. But now I just knit dish cloths. Do you knit?”
“Nope. My mom taught me how to crochet a little when I was younger, but don’t really remember how to now.”
“Oh, crocheting is good too. I’m making a dish cloth for everyone on staff. I think I’ll even make some for the men. They can always give them to their wives.”
That kinda made me giggle.
“I’m sure they’ll appreciate it. You can never have too many dish cloths!”
Kind Mary and I chatted a little while longer, before a nurse arrived to give Grandma her medicine. J and I decided to follow Grandma to her room to have a little two-on-one time before we left. When Kind Mary saw that we were leaving, an expression of concern washed across her face as she worried that she had dominated all my visiting time.
“No, not at all.” I insisted. “It was very nice talking to you!”
We followed Grandma to her room and had a little visit, before heading off. Grandma decided to join her fellow residents back in the lounge, and so she walked us to the door. We each gave Grandma a tight hug, and then waved goodbye to the ladies in the lounge before we made our exit.
I’d love to see Kind Mary again someday, even though she wouldn’t remember me. She’s such a precious soul, and I feel for her loved ones who have had to witness such an unfortunate decline. At least she and Grandma are both still in wonderful spirits, unlike the poor Old Crank.
It’s so sad what happens to our bodies and minds as we grow older, and yet, when we’re healthy and our minds are in good condition, we rarely take the time to fully acknowledge and appreciate it. One day each of us will probably look back on these times and realize what we took for granted.
Tuesday, November 17, 2009
Thoughts...
I have written and erased the first line for this post about a dozen times.
Words escape me because it is such a sensitive issue... a grim issue... but one that I still somehow feel compelled to write about and share.
I don't know. I suppose I'll just let the words pour out of me and then ultimately decide where I want to go from there.
I feel bad. I mean, I do feel better now than I've felt over the last few days... but deep down I still feel really shitty about the whole thing.
Of course I'm talking about the accident.
I think writing about it is making me feel worse, actually.
I don't want to exploit someone else's unimaginable sorrow. Nor do Jim n' I want to garner any sort of sympathy in the least for what we experienced. While it was obviously the worst tragedy in the world for one family, standing in our shoes, the experience certainly could have been a lot worse. It could have been gruesome. It could have been us. We recognize that we are incredibly lucky to have survived unscathed both physically and psychologically.
So, that being said, it really is hard to find the right words... not wanting to exploit others and not wanting friends and family to feel bad that we had to witness such a horrific accident.
Maybe that's all I needed to say before I could allow myself to go forward and write anything...
Although, I'm still not sure where to begin?
Perhaps I'll try starting with a different story first...
I'm a nervous passenger at the best of times. I credit my bad nerves to a serious car accident I experienced four days after my 8th birthday. I had spent the weekend with my Grandma n' Grandpa Junop, and we decided to go out for a nice Sunday afternoon drive.
My Grandma was very arthritic (and therefore slow), so I remember running ahead and buckling myself into the front seat, so I could sit all cozy between two of my favourite people. As I waited for them, I can still recall how I was thinking about an ad I had recently seen for Apple Auto Glass. I imagined what Grandpa's windshield would look like smashed, and wondered if Apple Auto Glass would be able to fix it up as easily as they showed in the commercial.
Grandpa and Grandma finally got in the car and we went to Brum's Dairy for ice cream. Afterwards I fell asleep, my head on Grandma's lap. When I woke up, I noticed that the front window was smashed just like I had imagined - maybe a bit worse than in the commercial. The silly mind of an 8-year-old, I can still remember that my first impression was that it looked like a smashed lollypop that someone had stepped on. Still intact, but shattered. I craned my neck around and realized that the back window was smashed too.
Wow. What happened?
People on the street stood frozen, their mouths open. One man had a mustache and looked like my friend's dad - although I cannot say for sure if it was. Grandpa staggered out of the car and weakly called out, "Can somebody call an ambulance?" Grandpa was shaken up, but no real injuries. Grandma had lots of little cuts on her face and arms (and later on she developed some massive bruises all over). She assured me that I would be okay.
Wait a minute... what is wrong with me?
Out of all the people on the street, only one man jumped into action. He ran from his house and immediately put a tea towel on my head. That's when I realized that I was covered in blood. I worried about bleeding all over Grandpa's car and wondered how he would ever get the stains out. (Even though the car was clearly totaled beyond repair.) I thought I had a bloody nose, so I couldn't figure out why this guy was putting towels on my head. I rubbed beneath my nose. No blood. I reached up a little farther towards my forehead and saw blood on my fingertips.
I have a head injury?!
I immediately started doing a spelling and math drill in my head, worried that the bonk had left me mentally handicapped. "My name is Melodie Krieger. M-e-l-o-d-i-e-K-r-i-e-g-e-r. One plus one is two. Two plus two is four. Four plus four is eight..." and so on.
The odd thing was, I felt zero pain. The gash on my forehead - a result from smacking my noggin on the dashboard - had severed a nerve, which eliminated any feeling. In fact, the 32 stitches I required was a thousand times more painful.
The police on the scene said that I definitely would've gone through the windshield if I hadn't been wearing my seatbelt. (For this reason I always, ALWAYS buckle up and nag those who don't. So, I'm using this platform as a PSA to say, don't be an asshole and buckle those effin' seatbelts people! They saved my life and someday they might save yours!) The doctors added that my injury might've been worse had I not been sleeping and my body hadn't been so relaxed. (Although I'm not going to recommend that you sleep while driving.)
Anyhow, turns out the accident was the result of a man who ran a stop sign. He t-boned us, and our car spun around 3 times. (Which would explain why our car was faced in the opposite direction of our destination.... something I couldn't understand at the time.) Apparently he wasn't thinking and needless to say, he felt absolutely horrible. I got a nice settlement when I was 18, which I burned through much too quickly, and in a few short years I had nothing to show for it 'cept a computer, a stereo, a few U-Haul rentals (I moved around quite a bit post-high school), and countless journeys across the bridge. (If you grew up in Pembroke, then I needn't say more about that last one.)
I share this story because I've always felt that I got off lucky. I guess in the back of my mind, part of me has always worried that because I slept through the whole ordeal, felt no pain, and was awarded lots of money, that it somehow wasn't fair and that someday fate would catch up with me. I've only managed to shake this ridiculous superstition in recent years, but in sketchy weather I still get very nervous. (Even though our accident happened on a sunny day in May.)
Anyhow, returning to the present, with the first snowfall on Friday morning, I was a bit concerned about the long drive ahead of us, especially since I had read that there had been something like 15 accidents before noon. Earlier in the day, I had actually said to a couple people that I wasn't looking forward to our trip out to Granny-sit because I don't trust other drivers. I was relieved when the snow had mostly melted by the time we had to go.
Of course the lack of snow didn't matter when as we reached the Vernon overpass. Only three vehicles ahead, for reasons still unknown, a car crossed the yellow line and was struck by a pick-up truck. Jim slammed the breaks and we skidded for a bit. The tow-truck in the lane beside us pulled over and the van in front of us led the way as we crawled around the scene.
I began with stating the obvious, "Looks like there was an accident."
As we began to pull around the tow-truck, the view became more clear. I could see a man stepping out of the pick-up truck. "A bad accident," I added.
Seconds later and we were able to see the car and the full scope of damage. I panicked as Jim pulled over, as did the driver of the van.
My breath could not keep up with my words. The only two phrases I could utter was "Oh my God!" and "They couldn't have survived." Over and over and over again, until Jim reminded me to breath.
Jim began to get out and then I worried for him. "Are you sure you want to do this?" I knew that he would inevitably see something that he would never be able to erase. I felt sick.
"I'll be okay. Stay in the car."
There is no way I could've gotten out of the car, even if I wanted to. I just couldn't. I was like one of those people on the sidewalk 22 years ago - completely frozen in horror. Even my instinct to pray failed me for the first couple minutes. When I finally did snap out of it and realized that I should be sending them positive thoughts, I found it challenging... almost hopeless. Instead all I could do was pray that there weren't any passengers and that Jim wouldn't be scarred by whatever he saw.
And so that's what I did. I waited. I panicked. And I tried to pray.
My mind wandered. I wonder if it was an old person? What if there were children in the car? I tried not to think about it. But it was hard not to.
Roughly five to seven minutes later, sirens wailed. I saw the fire truck first. Eventually Jim returned, and that's when I learned that it was an older woman and a child.
Out of respect for the deceased and their families, I will spare the details of what Jim experienced during those ten minutes. Suffice to say, there was no suffering. In fact, at the time, we did not know that they had actually died. Jim only said that they were both unconscious, and so I became hopeful. I thought of my accident and how I'm sure my grandparents must've worried for me when I didn't wake up right away. Perhaps the impact only knocked them out? I planned that on our way home maybe we could drop a teddy bear off at the hospital for the nurses to give to the little boy.
We both desperately wanted to know their status and if they'd be okay, so Jim called the hospital, who would not release any information. They instructed him to contact the police. However, believe it or not, there had been a second accident in that same location only moments after we had left, so the police had their hands pretty full, and hadn't yet heard how the boy or woman were doing.
All evening we kept checking every news site we could find for an update, but there was nothing. We decided to keep the news from Jim's Grandma, so she wouldn't worry. Of course, I really hate to admit that our choice to keep quiet made it rather difficult to then find the patience to listen to her long-winded stories about what Jim was watching on TV the day the cat died thirty years ago. We both had bigger things on our minds...
I didn't sleep well. Twice I woke up with a slam, as though I had been in the car. Jim had more positive dreams of both the boy and old woman surviving. I checked Castanet the moment I woke up, and that's when I saw the headline, "Fatal Accident in Vernon." Maybe it was just the old woman, I thought as I read further. My heart broke when I saw that they were both pronounced dead at the scene.
Later that morning, Jay called us and asked how the drive was. Jim shared that it was horrible. Jay said, "Oh, so you were speaking to A already?"
"No..."
It didn't take long for the connection to be made. Our very close friends A & R are tight with the family. In fact, the mother of the boy/granddaughter of the old woman is R's best friend. Jim didn't hear Jay correctly and for a while we thought he said it was her nephew. Jim doesn't know why Jay's words didn't register with him at first... but on Sunday, when the topic came up again, Jim learned the truth. It was her only son.
Later on Sunday afternoon, a tearful R caught Jim off guard when she called and asked if he could speak with the boy's mother, who was sitting next to her. The mother wanted to know exactly what Jim saw. I can't even begin to imagine being in Jim's shoes at that moment in time. I only hope that the knowledge that it was very quick and clean (for lack of a better word) will help her as she heals in the years to come.
While Jim felt completely useless the night of the accident, we now understand why we were there. It was one of those things we questioned as we drove away from the flashing red lights -- why did we have to experience this? Both Jim n' I recognize several times on a daily basis how blessed we are. Quite often we also discuss how fleeting life is. (Probably more often than we should...) Therefore, we kinda felt that a major experience like this would've provided a more dramatic wake up call for someone who has been leading a far more ignorant, self-indulgent life. A stark reminder as to how fragile life truly is...
But it makes sense now. Or at least the way we choose to see it.
And with that in mind, I am kinda glad it was Jim who was witnessed this tragedy and was able to offer some sort of comfort, however small, to the poor mother. In my personal opinion, Jim is one of the most emotionally strong individuals among all of his closest friends. (No offense to Jim's closest friends... who I'm sure don't read my blog anyway... but their wives might, and would probably agree with me.) I know Jim will be able to move past this, and he really doesn't want anyone's sympathy. In fact, he would want you all to know that he's doing just fine. (And just my two cents here -- That's not Jim "trying to be strong", as some friends have suggested. He really is strong, and he is actually doing okay. Just very sad for the family, as we all are.)
So yeah... I'm not sure how to end this, except that we may or may not attend the child's funeral on Friday. It depends on if the mother is okay with it. While we received the service information from A, neither of us want to be there if it'll make her uncomfortable. I haven't heard back from R yet on that one...
So... I guess that's all I have to say.
Life is precious. Count your blessings.
Words escape me because it is such a sensitive issue... a grim issue... but one that I still somehow feel compelled to write about and share.
I don't know. I suppose I'll just let the words pour out of me and then ultimately decide where I want to go from there.
I feel bad. I mean, I do feel better now than I've felt over the last few days... but deep down I still feel really shitty about the whole thing.
Of course I'm talking about the accident.
I think writing about it is making me feel worse, actually.
I don't want to exploit someone else's unimaginable sorrow. Nor do Jim n' I want to garner any sort of sympathy in the least for what we experienced. While it was obviously the worst tragedy in the world for one family, standing in our shoes, the experience certainly could have been a lot worse. It could have been gruesome. It could have been us. We recognize that we are incredibly lucky to have survived unscathed both physically and psychologically.
So, that being said, it really is hard to find the right words... not wanting to exploit others and not wanting friends and family to feel bad that we had to witness such a horrific accident.
Maybe that's all I needed to say before I could allow myself to go forward and write anything...
Although, I'm still not sure where to begin?
Perhaps I'll try starting with a different story first...
I'm a nervous passenger at the best of times. I credit my bad nerves to a serious car accident I experienced four days after my 8th birthday. I had spent the weekend with my Grandma n' Grandpa Junop, and we decided to go out for a nice Sunday afternoon drive.
My Grandma was very arthritic (and therefore slow), so I remember running ahead and buckling myself into the front seat, so I could sit all cozy between two of my favourite people. As I waited for them, I can still recall how I was thinking about an ad I had recently seen for Apple Auto Glass. I imagined what Grandpa's windshield would look like smashed, and wondered if Apple Auto Glass would be able to fix it up as easily as they showed in the commercial.
Grandpa and Grandma finally got in the car and we went to Brum's Dairy for ice cream. Afterwards I fell asleep, my head on Grandma's lap. When I woke up, I noticed that the front window was smashed just like I had imagined - maybe a bit worse than in the commercial. The silly mind of an 8-year-old, I can still remember that my first impression was that it looked like a smashed lollypop that someone had stepped on. Still intact, but shattered. I craned my neck around and realized that the back window was smashed too.
Wow. What happened?
People on the street stood frozen, their mouths open. One man had a mustache and looked like my friend's dad - although I cannot say for sure if it was. Grandpa staggered out of the car and weakly called out, "Can somebody call an ambulance?" Grandpa was shaken up, but no real injuries. Grandma had lots of little cuts on her face and arms (and later on she developed some massive bruises all over). She assured me that I would be okay.
Wait a minute... what is wrong with me?
Out of all the people on the street, only one man jumped into action. He ran from his house and immediately put a tea towel on my head. That's when I realized that I was covered in blood. I worried about bleeding all over Grandpa's car and wondered how he would ever get the stains out. (Even though the car was clearly totaled beyond repair.) I thought I had a bloody nose, so I couldn't figure out why this guy was putting towels on my head. I rubbed beneath my nose. No blood. I reached up a little farther towards my forehead and saw blood on my fingertips.
I have a head injury?!
I immediately started doing a spelling and math drill in my head, worried that the bonk had left me mentally handicapped. "My name is Melodie Krieger. M-e-l-o-d-i-e-K-r-i-e-g-e-r. One plus one is two. Two plus two is four. Four plus four is eight..." and so on.
The odd thing was, I felt zero pain. The gash on my forehead - a result from smacking my noggin on the dashboard - had severed a nerve, which eliminated any feeling. In fact, the 32 stitches I required was a thousand times more painful.
The police on the scene said that I definitely would've gone through the windshield if I hadn't been wearing my seatbelt. (For this reason I always, ALWAYS buckle up and nag those who don't. So, I'm using this platform as a PSA to say, don't be an asshole and buckle those effin' seatbelts people! They saved my life and someday they might save yours!) The doctors added that my injury might've been worse had I not been sleeping and my body hadn't been so relaxed. (Although I'm not going to recommend that you sleep while driving.)
Anyhow, turns out the accident was the result of a man who ran a stop sign. He t-boned us, and our car spun around 3 times. (Which would explain why our car was faced in the opposite direction of our destination.... something I couldn't understand at the time.) Apparently he wasn't thinking and needless to say, he felt absolutely horrible. I got a nice settlement when I was 18, which I burned through much too quickly, and in a few short years I had nothing to show for it 'cept a computer, a stereo, a few U-Haul rentals (I moved around quite a bit post-high school), and countless journeys across the bridge. (If you grew up in Pembroke, then I needn't say more about that last one.)
I share this story because I've always felt that I got off lucky. I guess in the back of my mind, part of me has always worried that because I slept through the whole ordeal, felt no pain, and was awarded lots of money, that it somehow wasn't fair and that someday fate would catch up with me. I've only managed to shake this ridiculous superstition in recent years, but in sketchy weather I still get very nervous. (Even though our accident happened on a sunny day in May.)
Anyhow, returning to the present, with the first snowfall on Friday morning, I was a bit concerned about the long drive ahead of us, especially since I had read that there had been something like 15 accidents before noon. Earlier in the day, I had actually said to a couple people that I wasn't looking forward to our trip out to Granny-sit because I don't trust other drivers. I was relieved when the snow had mostly melted by the time we had to go.
Of course the lack of snow didn't matter when as we reached the Vernon overpass. Only three vehicles ahead, for reasons still unknown, a car crossed the yellow line and was struck by a pick-up truck. Jim slammed the breaks and we skidded for a bit. The tow-truck in the lane beside us pulled over and the van in front of us led the way as we crawled around the scene.
I began with stating the obvious, "Looks like there was an accident."
As we began to pull around the tow-truck, the view became more clear. I could see a man stepping out of the pick-up truck. "A bad accident," I added.
Seconds later and we were able to see the car and the full scope of damage. I panicked as Jim pulled over, as did the driver of the van.
My breath could not keep up with my words. The only two phrases I could utter was "Oh my God!" and "They couldn't have survived." Over and over and over again, until Jim reminded me to breath.
Jim began to get out and then I worried for him. "Are you sure you want to do this?" I knew that he would inevitably see something that he would never be able to erase. I felt sick.
"I'll be okay. Stay in the car."
There is no way I could've gotten out of the car, even if I wanted to. I just couldn't. I was like one of those people on the sidewalk 22 years ago - completely frozen in horror. Even my instinct to pray failed me for the first couple minutes. When I finally did snap out of it and realized that I should be sending them positive thoughts, I found it challenging... almost hopeless. Instead all I could do was pray that there weren't any passengers and that Jim wouldn't be scarred by whatever he saw.
And so that's what I did. I waited. I panicked. And I tried to pray.
My mind wandered. I wonder if it was an old person? What if there were children in the car? I tried not to think about it. But it was hard not to.
Roughly five to seven minutes later, sirens wailed. I saw the fire truck first. Eventually Jim returned, and that's when I learned that it was an older woman and a child.
Out of respect for the deceased and their families, I will spare the details of what Jim experienced during those ten minutes. Suffice to say, there was no suffering. In fact, at the time, we did not know that they had actually died. Jim only said that they were both unconscious, and so I became hopeful. I thought of my accident and how I'm sure my grandparents must've worried for me when I didn't wake up right away. Perhaps the impact only knocked them out? I planned that on our way home maybe we could drop a teddy bear off at the hospital for the nurses to give to the little boy.
We both desperately wanted to know their status and if they'd be okay, so Jim called the hospital, who would not release any information. They instructed him to contact the police. However, believe it or not, there had been a second accident in that same location only moments after we had left, so the police had their hands pretty full, and hadn't yet heard how the boy or woman were doing.
All evening we kept checking every news site we could find for an update, but there was nothing. We decided to keep the news from Jim's Grandma, so she wouldn't worry. Of course, I really hate to admit that our choice to keep quiet made it rather difficult to then find the patience to listen to her long-winded stories about what Jim was watching on TV the day the cat died thirty years ago. We both had bigger things on our minds...
I didn't sleep well. Twice I woke up with a slam, as though I had been in the car. Jim had more positive dreams of both the boy and old woman surviving. I checked Castanet the moment I woke up, and that's when I saw the headline, "Fatal Accident in Vernon." Maybe it was just the old woman, I thought as I read further. My heart broke when I saw that they were both pronounced dead at the scene.
Later that morning, Jay called us and asked how the drive was. Jim shared that it was horrible. Jay said, "Oh, so you were speaking to A already?"
"No..."
It didn't take long for the connection to be made. Our very close friends A & R are tight with the family. In fact, the mother of the boy/granddaughter of the old woman is R's best friend. Jim didn't hear Jay correctly and for a while we thought he said it was her nephew. Jim doesn't know why Jay's words didn't register with him at first... but on Sunday, when the topic came up again, Jim learned the truth. It was her only son.
Later on Sunday afternoon, a tearful R caught Jim off guard when she called and asked if he could speak with the boy's mother, who was sitting next to her. The mother wanted to know exactly what Jim saw. I can't even begin to imagine being in Jim's shoes at that moment in time. I only hope that the knowledge that it was very quick and clean (for lack of a better word) will help her as she heals in the years to come.
While Jim felt completely useless the night of the accident, we now understand why we were there. It was one of those things we questioned as we drove away from the flashing red lights -- why did we have to experience this? Both Jim n' I recognize several times on a daily basis how blessed we are. Quite often we also discuss how fleeting life is. (Probably more often than we should...) Therefore, we kinda felt that a major experience like this would've provided a more dramatic wake up call for someone who has been leading a far more ignorant, self-indulgent life. A stark reminder as to how fragile life truly is...
But it makes sense now. Or at least the way we choose to see it.
And with that in mind, I am kinda glad it was Jim who was witnessed this tragedy and was able to offer some sort of comfort, however small, to the poor mother. In my personal opinion, Jim is one of the most emotionally strong individuals among all of his closest friends. (No offense to Jim's closest friends... who I'm sure don't read my blog anyway... but their wives might, and would probably agree with me.) I know Jim will be able to move past this, and he really doesn't want anyone's sympathy. In fact, he would want you all to know that he's doing just fine. (And just my two cents here -- That's not Jim "trying to be strong", as some friends have suggested. He really is strong, and he is actually doing okay. Just very sad for the family, as we all are.)
So yeah... I'm not sure how to end this, except that we may or may not attend the child's funeral on Friday. It depends on if the mother is okay with it. While we received the service information from A, neither of us want to be there if it'll make her uncomfortable. I haven't heard back from R yet on that one...
So... I guess that's all I have to say.
Life is precious. Count your blessings.
Friday, November 13, 2009
STP ~ A Review (Kinda)
A couple months ago, Ray woke us up with an enthusiastic call, "Sorry for calling so early!" (It was already 9:00... if not 9:30. Ahh, the lackadaisical schedule of the freelance writer... Just kidding. We're usually always up by then. After all, we can't miss Regis!) Okay, so where was I? Oh yeah, so Ray called and asked, "Do you guys want to see Stone Temple Pilots? I just got an email from Power FM with early bird access codes."
Naturally, we jumped at the opportunity. It's so rare that a decent band like STP comes to Kelowna. Not to mention, it's always nice to see a band reunited. It's like a second chance to experience something thought to be long lost in the pages of time, even if the band is a little past its prime.
Going on a brief tangent here, I was fortunate enough to attend Ozzfest a few years ago, (Ha. More like almost 10 years ago...), when Ozzy et al reunited for the first time in like, forever. At the time it felt like I had earned some kind of badge of honour, and that someday I would be able to tell my grandchildren that I got to see the "real" Black Sabbath perform live. Ha ha. And I'm sure my grandchildren will scrunch up their little faces and say, "Black Who?"
Anyhow, while I'm confident STP will not register on my grandchildren's radar either, it still felt like the kind of rare opportunity that should not be missed. So the next morning we made sure to get up bright n' early so we could log on as soon as the virtual gates opened.
We decided not to get General Admission tickets, because I'm all of five-foot-two-n'-a-half and would never be able to see anything at my height, unless I tortured my tip-toes or elbowed my way to the front. Actually, believe it or not, weaving my wee self through a crowd has always been one of my special talents. Seems I have especially pointy elbows, which is how I managed to fight my way to front n' center for Warsawpack and Bad Religion. However, Jim n' the boyz are not keen on being crushed, so we opted for best available stadium seating instead, which I believe was a good choice.
The first time I logged in, I screwed up. I tried creating an account, and then eventually learned that my username was taken. Oh yeah! Shit. I created an account when we went to see Cirque Du Soleil last year. The seats timed out and I had to log back in. Dammit. We were now the next section over. I checked out the seating arrangement online, and it looked like this next section had a better view of the stage anyway. Plus, instead of row N or whatever, we were now row D. Wow - for once in my life it seemed like I had just made a perfect mistake.
Another side note, when I announced on FB how I had ordered early bird tickets, right away I got an email from Tarzan Dan (of competing radio station, Sun FM) kindly asking me if I could give him the special early bird code. Hmmm.... I didn't end up seeing him at the concert, so I wonder if he wasn't allowed to use the code due to a conflict of interest or something? Or maybe it was because there was like a million people there, so the odds of seeing a familiar face was pretty slim.
Anyhoo, the tickets arrived in the mail and for well over a month, every time I passed the fridge, I would be greeted by a little smiley-faced star magnet who happily pinched the four blue and white slips in its clip. One might assume that seeing these tickets day in and day out would be a constant reminder of exciting things to come. But I have to admit that I didn't really get stoked until just a day before the show.
Certainly not like Jay, who was a total fireball of excitement from day one -- not only the concert, but for a long night of good times to follow. He was ready to party like it was 1994, baby!! But perhaps that added boost of unbridled enthusiasm emerges once you have kids and other more adult-like responsibilities... at least for some folks. I'll let you know how the promise of a night out impacts me once I have kids. Then again, as it is, Jim n' I aren't the sort of people who want to stay up drinking ourselves silly until 6:00 a.m. even with all the delicious freedoms we still enjoy. Sheesh... I can't imagine wanting to stay up all night post-children, when a solid night's sleep is a rare commodity. What can I say? We're old n' lame. However, I appreciated Jay's energy and found it to be quite contagious once he showed up at our place on Monday night.
Our original plan to go out for dinner n' drinks pre-concert didn't quite pan out as we had hoped. Damn real-world responsibilities crampin' our style. Our conference call with les producers ran late. Jay had to do real-estate related paper-work because they're selling their house. And Ray... well, Ray just needed to grab a shower. By the time we everyone finally met up at our place, it was time to call a cab.
Our friendly cab driver shared stories about all the stoned and drunk people he drove around who had left Jay-Z's perfomance mid-concert a couple weeks before. He was confident that STP would attract a better, more mature crowd. Perhaps he based this assumption upon Jay n' Ray's jokey routine about snorting lines of coke off lobster claws. Ah, maturity at it's finest! I have no idea how that topic ever came up in the first place, except that it ended with a round of Homer impressions from the episode when he ate his pet lobster, Pinchy.
Upon getting dropped off at Prospera Place, we were instructed to go around to the side where we stood in line for our frisking and bag check. I was concerned for all of two seconds when I saw the warning sign about no drugs, weapons or cameras. Good thing I left all my drugs and weapons at home. My camera, however, was hidden in the interior pocket of my purse. I briefly worried that if they found it, I would have no place to check it, and since we didn't drive downtown, I didn't have a car to leave it in either. Fortunately, while my frisking was very thorough, my bag check was not. Success! My camera passed through security undetected.
Since we missed dinner, the four of us dined on over-priced beer and popcorn. Jeez, if I was saying that I felt unhealthy before, this week certainly has been no improvement. Okay, purification starts next week, f'real.
We entered the arena and followed Jay, a season-ticket holder for the Kelowna Rockets, to our seats. He knows that place like the back of his hand, and yet, even he was surprised to see how excellent our seats were. I always assumed D came after A, B and C. However, at Prospera Place, or at least for our section, the alphabet begins with D, which means we had front row seats, angled perfectly to the left of the stage. Jay repeated several times that I am now in charge of ordering all future concert tickets. I happily accepted his praise, and didn't bother telling him that our prime seats were due to a total fluke on my part.
As we settled in, Crash Kings had already taken the stage and were jammin' loud and proud. And I do mean loud. Like, not to be a complainer, but they were waaaaaay too loud - and I actually have a good tolerance for noise. (Unlike poor Jim with his amazing power of super-sensitive hearing. The music was so loud that when he got up to grab some Twizzlers for "dessert", it messed with his equilibrium and he almost lost his balance twice.) However, this isn't the first time I've been to a concert where the opening act was unbearable. Ray explained that it's because the openers don't always have the support of professional sound people, and so they sometimes have to deal with those technical details themselves. I think somebody should offer those guys a tutorial and teach them that extra loud does not always equal extra good. Of course, I did almost enjoy their cover of War Pigs (as I kept one finger in my ear, so as not to rupture both eardrums.)
Finally, Crash Kings left the stage and the four of us sat in a muffled fog, attempting to regain our hearing. I was hoping that they weren't the special guests and that maybe there'd be a second opening act or something. Earlier, Jim and Jay had fantasized that Eddie Vedder would be a special guest because he had recently been doing some work in Vancouver. And then Slash would join in, and play a number from Velvet Revolver. And then Axel would come on stage, because he's old pals with Slash... and the joke went on and on and on. No such luck. Seems that the Crash Kings were the one and only so-called special guests. Apparently they have a song featured in Zombie Land? I dunno... I saw the movie. Don't remember the song.
Just then a super rowdy fella came barreling towards us, hooting and hollering, jumping and jiving, giving even Jay a run for his money in the enthusiasm department. He took the seat beside Jay and chatted him up as if they were old buddies. Dude was sooo excited... but much like Jay, his excitement was completely contagious as we waited with bated breath for the main event.
Soon, the lights dimmed, and the band took the stage. Scott Weiland was looking his groovy self, stylin' it up in a tight black suit, a bright yellow dress shirt, and a black and green scarf as a flowing tie. While normally I find indoor sunglasses pretentious, I thought his dark shades were a nice touch for that added flavour of rock n' roll coolness, even though - unlike the bassist - he didn't keep them on for the entire show.
Each member in their place, the band immediately kicked into Silvergun Superman. A song that I'm not as familiar with, (in that I don't know all the words), but was more than happy to head-bob along to. Psychedelic colours spun in the background and lights flashed, illuminating massive puffs of smoke in General Admission -- and the fog machine hadn't even begun billowing yet.
The crowd roared with excitement and a bag of All Dressed Old Dutch fell as an offering from the heavens, grazing my head and spilling out on the floor in front of me. Oh well. It could've been worse. It could've been beer. (Which I later learned that Ray had experienced a delightful little showering of.) I guess it's the price you pay for being near the front.
Next up was Wicked Garden. The band was tight as ever, probably because they've been playing the same songs for a hundred years, with a brief hiatus, better known as Velvet Revolver. Meanwhile, Weiland's voice was not 100% up to par on this one, but far better than any of the clips I've since seen of the Victoria show from Saturday night. Even though the recorded sound quality is never the best, IMHO, he sounded pretty rough in Vic. He must've rested up on Sunday. Although he occasionally lubricated himself with some kind of bevy contained in what looked like a Starbucks travel mug. I wondered if it was just water... but somehow doubted it.
Vasoline got the crowd super pumped, and people began jumping out of their seats, throwing their fists skyward. I wanted to stand up as well, but didn't want to block the view of the folks behind me. I decided that bopping in my seat and tapping my legs would have to do... for now, anyway.
By this point I realized that the seat next to me was still empty, (if you can believe it!), but next to it a woman in her 40's grooved with her eyes closed. In fact, she seemed to keep them closed throughout the entire show, which we all found rather interesting. Meanwhile, in General Admission small spotlights bounced around like interrogating fireflies, as security pounced on the crowd, scouring for the sources of that skunky smoke. The thick clouds soon dissipated into thin air.
Of course, by three songs in, I'm sure there was already a heady buzz down below, and the audience seemed ready to mellow out with Big Empty. Weiland removed the shades as he crooned to the crowd. Now, instead of lighting doobies, lighters found renewed purpose, as they flickered and swayed peacefully above the happy crowd.
Next came Lounge Fly, and Weiland was the one doing the swaying as he stepped up to the edge of the stage. People attempted crowd surfing, as security pulled on random limbs and redirected the surfers around the barriers to the back of the crowd. Many, if not all of them, ran around the guard rail, arms high in the air, and shoved their way back into the mass of bodies.
Finally, it was time for one of my personal favourites - Sour Girl. Again, the band was totally bang on. Actually, I probably don't need to comment on their playing because each member is a master at what he does, and every single song was as tight as a... never mind. Weiland's singing was a little lukewarm on this one at first, or so it seemed to my ears. But by the time they came to the chorus, he recovered nicely and his voice was like buttah. Of course, I believe the pre-recorded back-up vocals helped to take it up a notch.
By this point, so many people were standing, I figured that it would do no harm if I stood up as well. And while I realize that everyone paid good money to attend this concert and that I probably make a better door than a window, I'm sure the people sitting behind me were able to see around me just fine. Although I did glance back once or twice to ensure that they weren't looking too annoyed or anything.
I continued standing when Creep started up next. Ray waited for a lull in the cheering to do his best Sport Goofy impression, "Waaa-hoo-hoo-hoo-hooooo!" The first of countless waa-hoo-hoo's from over the course of the evening. Creep sounded A-OK by my standards... and everyone else's it seemed.
As the crowd chanted, "STP! STP!", Weiland grabbed the megaphone and the boys jumped into Crackerman. I'm not 100% familiar with this song, so I decided to give my fellow concert-goers a break from my backside, and sat down again.
I don't know why, but for some reason I found it deeply cool to see someone sing into a megaphone. It's almost as nifty as Peter Frampton's singing guitar. Actually, back when I was slinging drinks at the Blue Gator, Papa Dawg of Dogskin Suit would occasionally use a talk box, and it always made me absolutely giddy. Ah yes, it doesn't take much, does it?
But I digress...
So, following Crackerman came the supa-hit, Plush. Again, the crowd went crazy. With the audience all riled up, one dude tried to take his chances jumping the barrier and running on to the floor. I was watching the band, so I didn't notice that he was promptly tackled by several security guards and escorted out. What I did see, however, was another opportunist take advantage of that distraction, as he effortlessly jumped the barrier and raced to the front of the crowd unnoticed. In fact, he made it look so easy, that I would be lying if I didn't tell you that I seriously considered it myself... until I heard about Guy A who had been tackled. Then the idea wasn't quite so appealing.
Interstate Love Song was up next - and so was I. Even Jim stood up for this one. He's usually far more considerate than I am, and had previously not wanted to block anyone's view... but c'mon, it was Interstate Love Song. You have to stand! Weiland did his usual dance, only with many more spins this time. Round and round and round he went. I had wondered to myself earlier in the show if he was actually enjoying himself as he danced to tunes they had played a million times before, or if he was bored silly, and the simple dance moves were more an act than an urge. I assume the latter... but for this song, he at least seemed a bit more convincing with all those extra spins. ;)
Down kept the energy up. Weiland's voice seemed to fade a bit for a line or two, but I think perhaps he just needed to clear his throat or something. Otherwise, the rest of the song held up very well. The crowd cheered heartily and the guitarist (forgive me for not knowing his name, and not bothering to look it up), even sprung into what felt like an extended groovy solo at one point which really got everyone's juices going... not that they hadn't been already.
A funky little jam slowed things down for a moment, allowing the audience (and the band) to catch their breath, before they broke into Sex Type Thing which involved more megaphone magic. Ha. Weiland wiped his face on a purple handkerchief and handed it to someone in the crowd. Probably one of those four classy ladies with the tight (uncensored) t-shirts which read, "Scott Weiland F*CK my mouth!" Oh, poppa must be proud! I personally thought that something like "Scott Weiland ~ Let's Cuddle!' would be a little more clever and creative, or at least good for a laugh. Ray suggested, "Scott Weiland - Let me do your dishes!" But I think I prefer my slogan. It's just a bit catchier, don't you think?
Unglued was up next. I had been watching a parade of people walk past me throughout the concert, so I figured I'd be safe if I ran to the washroom. After all, the band was certainly loud enough that you could easily hear them no matter where you were in the building. Despite my running, I made it back out just in time to learn that the song had ended and the band had left the stage.
Dammit.
Oh well, I'm sure they'll do an encore.
And naturally, after a couple minutes of people chanting "STP! STP!"they finally returned to the stage. Oh what a silly charade these bands put on. Has anyone ever not returned for an encore - except assholes, of course. I mean, I could totally see someone like Axel pulling that shit... heck, the guy didn't even show up for concerts sometimes. But do any bands who actually care about their fans try that stunt?
The encore began with Dead and Bloated. Everyone was standing, and fists were pumping. Dead and Bloated wasn't my song of choice for an encore, but I still held hope that they might play Big Bang Baby next.
Yes, I realize it's certainly not their bestest of songs, but I have a special affinity for it for the stupidest of reasons. The video came out when I was around the 10th grade, and the effects (if you can even call them that) were so simplistic that they were on par with what I was learning in Communications Technology. (A total goof-off, no brainer, easy A class...) I guess that's why I liked the video, because when I saw it, I thought, "Hey, I can do that." And so the song always stuck with me. Lame, I know. But that's my story...
So after Dead and Bloated ended, when Weiland said, "Do you want to hear another song?" and everyone screamed, "Yeeeeeaaaaaahhhhh!" I thought for sure, for sure, it would be my song. Instead it was Trippin' On a Hole In a Paper Heart, which okay, I have to admit is probably a much better song than my tune of choice... but whatever... I guess I wasn't disappointed.... well, maybe just a little. But Trippin' is a pretty awesome song. Everyone was out of their seats, dancing and singing along. It was great... and then just like that, it was over.
STP stood front and center stage for a generous amount of time. They thanked the audience, waved, clapped, threw out little mementos like a frisbee and other tokens, and took several bows. Classy guys.
We hung around for an excessive amount of time afterwards. I don't know why. I think Jay was hoping that we'd get back stage or something to hook up with Eddie, Slash, Axel and the gang. But when I saw the "F*CK my mouth" girls lingering around (sans handkerchief, I might add... so it must've went to someone with a little more je ne said quoi), I knew that there was no way anyone was getting back stage. (Not that I ever expected to in a million years.) Of course, that didn't stop Jay from trying to exit in that direction, which was promptly prevented by a polite security guard who pointed, "Other way, please."
And so that was that.
Still hungry and with a natural urge to debrief, we headed over to Roses, which was packed to capacity with people pouring in from both the STP and Misfits concerts. Again, I think Jay thought that since STP would more than likely be staying that The Grand, if they were planning to party anywhere, Roses is the place to be.
Of course, with not a seat free in the house, we ended up heading over to Sergeant O'Flannigans. Also packed.
We chatted with people in the street about the concert. A lot of people (or at least all the folks we spoke to) had travelled from Vancouver to see the show. I'm surprised to hear that STP skipped Van.
Finally, we made our way to Tonics where we chatted until the waitress warned that the kitchen was about to close. I ate about half my veggie burger between deleting fuzzy pictures off the camera (of which there were many, since the lights were always changing, messing with the focus.) Then we grabbed a cab and headed for home. Jay n' Ray burned the midnight oil until Ray burned out, while Jim n' I decided to crash early. (If 12:30 is early? I guess it is relatively speaking, when the alternative is 4:00 a.m.) I hear we didn't miss much... just rehashed stories about Motley Crue concerts of years gone by.
And so there you have it. My super long-winded review (although I don't know if it's much of a review as it is an excessive rambling story) of the STP concert.
Dee End.
Saturday, November 7, 2009
Roses and Thorns Nov. 1 - 7
Trick or treat. Smell my feet. Give me something good to eat.
Not too big. Not too small. Just the size of Montreal.
Gawd, I don't know where the hell that came from, but it just popped into my head only moments ago. I swear I haven't heard that saying since I was a little kid. Actually, just the last part popped into my head. Thank goodness for Google, I was able to find out what the first half was. Kind of a timely memory, even if it is a week late.
Okay, so yeah, getting back on topic here, these are my roses n' thorns of the week.
Rose
After another three listens, I've decided that the new Tegan and Sara album, Sainthood, is a rose. I could go into detail about which songs I like best, but I'm not that intimately familiar with it yet, and am therefore unable to remember the songs and their names by heart. Besides, what does it matter which songs I like best? Listen to the album yourself and make up your own mind, if you're feeling so inclined.
Thorn
I finished reading A Complicated Kindness this week. I know what you're thinking, "Melodie, that is a critically-acclaimed, absolutely wonderful book! Why the hell would you label it as a thorn?!" Simple. Read that first line again -- "I finished reading..." I'm sorry it's done. I tried to take my time reading it, only a chapter or two a night, just so I could savour it longer, but as I approached those final few chapters, I could pace myself no more. I whipped through the those pages in a single sitting. What a beautifully touching and yet heart-wrenching story. I definitely recommend it!
Rose
My dad and I have started emailing back and forth this week. This is a big rose because:
A. My dad is usually never online. But he emailed me to let me know that he's using his email addy again, in case I ever felt like emailing him. I don't think he's bothered with his email address in about two or three years.
B. We don't talk much. Not because we don't like each other or anything... it's just that usually when I call home, I get mom on the phone. Mom also is the one who does all the emailing.
So yeah, it's kinda nice.
Thorn
My new boots. Actually, that's not exactly the problem... the truth is, I really do like my new boots, and I'll love them even more once I finally work them in and they stop giving me damn blisters.
But the thing I don't like is the current 80's throw-back trend of wearing your boots over your pants. I chuckled when the trend returned a year or two ago, mainly because we had been watching Three's Company on DVD, and I thought it was funny to see Chrissy's look come back in style. What's next? Janet's bright rouge and blue eyeshadow? Whoops... I may have spoke too soon on that blue eyeshadow part.
Anyhow, since the look doesn't seem to be fading away anytime soon, when I got these new boots this week, I decided to give it a go... and I'm sorry, but I think it just looks effing stupid. Or at least it does on me. I feel like a friggin' idiot.
Maybe I just need to accompany the boot-over-pants look with the other 80's throw-back trend of tight jeans or stretch pants - that way the material won't bunch up around my knees like my regular pants do whenever I try to pull it off. I think that's the problem.
However, I don't know if I'm a big fan of skinny jeans either? I've tried them on, and I think they make me look like I have chicken legs or something. I don't know... Maybe they'd look better with an oversized sweater, a chunky belt, and a pair of florescent leg-warmers. :P
Oh well... never say never. I might eventually warm up to the boot-over-pants style and find a way to pull it off yet. I mean, I doubt it... but you never know.
Rose
I realize this will sound redundant, but we got our outline done (again) this week, so that's a pretty big rose. Well, it's likely not done-done, as we're expecting some notes from our producers on Monday. But at least it's close to being done-done. Then we can start writing again, and finally get paid the other 75% of our development money. That would be nice....
Thorn
Not having water all day on Tuesday was a definite thorn. And I'm sure if Emmy or Luna were writing this post, they'd complain that being locked in the spare bedroom was a real thorn for them too. Although after we let them out, later on that evening we found them both lying on the floor in there. Jim says their return to their captive environment suggests that they're suffering from the Helsinki syndrome. I guess it wasn't such torture for them to be stuffed in there after all? Personally, I do find our spare bedroom to be the coziest room in our house. It has a good vibe. (When it's clean and not being used as a miscellaneous dumping ground, that is...)
Rose
Okay, since it sounds like word has already gotten out, (or at least I'm sure it will be by the time anyone bothers reading this post...) I think it's safe for me to say that two of our former co-workers were hired at new jobs this week. We are absolutely thrilled to pieces for them! Way to go Nick n' Vlad!!! :)
Thorn
Jim's cold hands!! Jezuz! He just came over to me right now to show me how cold they were. Let me tell you, they're damn cold! (Umm... can you tell I'm running low on thorns?)
Rose
We finally got our hands on a copy of Okanagan Life Magazine. Jim n' I have been looking for it since mid-Sept. since he was told that he'd be in the October issue. Wouldn't you know, the darn thing didn't hit new stands until this week? Actually, they still don't have it across the street at IGA or Paragon Pharmacy. Anyhoo, we picked up a copy at Chapters. Or, should I say, Vlad picked us up a copy and then embarrassed Jim by pointing him out to the cashier and asking if she wanted his autograph. Ha ha.
We also thought it was funny that they used the same pose (out of the 100 pictures taken) that Jim n' I joked they would use on the cover. (Jim had no idea he'd be on the cover either, btw.) Looks like the joke is on us... or well, should I say, on him. ;)
Thorn
I'm all outta thorns. So, how about an extra rose...
Rose
Tonight's episode of South Park making fun of inconsiderate, unnecessarily loud motorcycle riders. Too funny and sooo true.
Not too big. Not too small. Just the size of Montreal.
Gawd, I don't know where the hell that came from, but it just popped into my head only moments ago. I swear I haven't heard that saying since I was a little kid. Actually, just the last part popped into my head. Thank goodness for Google, I was able to find out what the first half was. Kind of a timely memory, even if it is a week late.
Okay, so yeah, getting back on topic here, these are my roses n' thorns of the week.
Rose
After another three listens, I've decided that the new Tegan and Sara album, Sainthood, is a rose. I could go into detail about which songs I like best, but I'm not that intimately familiar with it yet, and am therefore unable to remember the songs and their names by heart. Besides, what does it matter which songs I like best? Listen to the album yourself and make up your own mind, if you're feeling so inclined.
Thorn
I finished reading A Complicated Kindness this week. I know what you're thinking, "Melodie, that is a critically-acclaimed, absolutely wonderful book! Why the hell would you label it as a thorn?!" Simple. Read that first line again -- "I finished reading..." I'm sorry it's done. I tried to take my time reading it, only a chapter or two a night, just so I could savour it longer, but as I approached those final few chapters, I could pace myself no more. I whipped through the those pages in a single sitting. What a beautifully touching and yet heart-wrenching story. I definitely recommend it!
Rose
My dad and I have started emailing back and forth this week. This is a big rose because:
A. My dad is usually never online. But he emailed me to let me know that he's using his email addy again, in case I ever felt like emailing him. I don't think he's bothered with his email address in about two or three years.
B. We don't talk much. Not because we don't like each other or anything... it's just that usually when I call home, I get mom on the phone. Mom also is the one who does all the emailing.
So yeah, it's kinda nice.
Thorn
My new boots. Actually, that's not exactly the problem... the truth is, I really do like my new boots, and I'll love them even more once I finally work them in and they stop giving me damn blisters.
But the thing I don't like is the current 80's throw-back trend of wearing your boots over your pants. I chuckled when the trend returned a year or two ago, mainly because we had been watching Three's Company on DVD, and I thought it was funny to see Chrissy's look come back in style. What's next? Janet's bright rouge and blue eyeshadow? Whoops... I may have spoke too soon on that blue eyeshadow part.
Anyhow, since the look doesn't seem to be fading away anytime soon, when I got these new boots this week, I decided to give it a go... and I'm sorry, but I think it just looks effing stupid. Or at least it does on me. I feel like a friggin' idiot.
Maybe I just need to accompany the boot-over-pants look with the other 80's throw-back trend of tight jeans or stretch pants - that way the material won't bunch up around my knees like my regular pants do whenever I try to pull it off. I think that's the problem.
However, I don't know if I'm a big fan of skinny jeans either? I've tried them on, and I think they make me look like I have chicken legs or something. I don't know... Maybe they'd look better with an oversized sweater, a chunky belt, and a pair of florescent leg-warmers. :P
Oh well... never say never. I might eventually warm up to the boot-over-pants style and find a way to pull it off yet. I mean, I doubt it... but you never know.
Rose
I realize this will sound redundant, but we got our outline done (again) this week, so that's a pretty big rose. Well, it's likely not done-done, as we're expecting some notes from our producers on Monday. But at least it's close to being done-done. Then we can start writing again, and finally get paid the other 75% of our development money. That would be nice....
Thorn
Not having water all day on Tuesday was a definite thorn. And I'm sure if Emmy or Luna were writing this post, they'd complain that being locked in the spare bedroom was a real thorn for them too. Although after we let them out, later on that evening we found them both lying on the floor in there. Jim says their return to their captive environment suggests that they're suffering from the Helsinki syndrome. I guess it wasn't such torture for them to be stuffed in there after all? Personally, I do find our spare bedroom to be the coziest room in our house. It has a good vibe. (When it's clean and not being used as a miscellaneous dumping ground, that is...)
Rose
Okay, since it sounds like word has already gotten out, (or at least I'm sure it will be by the time anyone bothers reading this post...) I think it's safe for me to say that two of our former co-workers were hired at new jobs this week. We are absolutely thrilled to pieces for them! Way to go Nick n' Vlad!!! :)
Thorn
Jim's cold hands!! Jezuz! He just came over to me right now to show me how cold they were. Let me tell you, they're damn cold! (Umm... can you tell I'm running low on thorns?)
Rose
We finally got our hands on a copy of Okanagan Life Magazine. Jim n' I have been looking for it since mid-Sept. since he was told that he'd be in the October issue. Wouldn't you know, the darn thing didn't hit new stands until this week? Actually, they still don't have it across the street at IGA or Paragon Pharmacy. Anyhoo, we picked up a copy at Chapters. Or, should I say, Vlad picked us up a copy and then embarrassed Jim by pointing him out to the cashier and asking if she wanted his autograph. Ha ha.
We also thought it was funny that they used the same pose (out of the 100 pictures taken) that Jim n' I joked they would use on the cover. (Jim had no idea he'd be on the cover either, btw.) Looks like the joke is on us... or well, should I say, on him. ;)
Thorn
I'm all outta thorns. So, how about an extra rose...
Rose
Tonight's episode of South Park making fun of inconsiderate, unnecessarily loud motorcycle riders. Too funny and sooo true.
Wednesday, November 4, 2009
Her Morning Elegance
So, I favourited this song some time ago on thesixtyone, and tagged it as 'addictive' because it's just one of those pretty little ditties that I can't seem to get enough of.
Well, after I listened to it this evening for what must be the millionth time, it suddenly dawned on me that I saw the video for it way back in the Spring. (This is what I'm saying about my mind being like a sieve sometimes...)
Anyhow, I YouTube'd it, and sure enough I was right -- the song belongs to the same super cool video my friend Sarah posted on FB months n' months ago.
The video is really neat.
Enjoy!
Well, after I listened to it this evening for what must be the millionth time, it suddenly dawned on me that I saw the video for it way back in the Spring. (This is what I'm saying about my mind being like a sieve sometimes...)
Anyhow, I YouTube'd it, and sure enough I was right -- the song belongs to the same super cool video my friend Sarah posted on FB months n' months ago.
The video is really neat.
Enjoy!
Waiting for Water, Clandestine Cats, and Other Random Shtuff
We really wanted to wrap up our outline today, so we decided to get up a little earlier than usual to get a jump on the day.
Just by chance, Jim decided to open the front door and check for any "notice of suite entry" notes. We get one maybe two or three times a year max, but it was one of those fluke hunches that ended up paying off. Sure enough there was not one, but two notices. One that the water would be turned off from 9 - 12, and the other was that they wanted to enter our apartment sometime between 10 - 2.
Shit.
I swear our landlord puts the notices on our door at midnight the night before, because we never EVER get 24 hours notice for these things!
Anyhow, we rushed to hide all the scratching posts, cat beds, food dishes, fuzzy mice, the litter box, and of course, les chats. Poor things were cooped up in the spare bedroom since about 8:30 this morning as we waited, and waited, and waited....
The water was turned off from 9 until 4, and they didn't enter our suite until maybe 4:05 to run the taps for ten minutes and get any gunky residue out.
I know it's our own fault that we're living in a no pet building with two pets... but still, a lil' more notice might be nice. Especially considering that we had to go without water all day long. I'm sure I don't need to go into detail about how that complicates things. Fortunately we have a big blue jug of drinking water, so we didn't suffer too badly when it came to washing our hands, vegetables, etc...
Despite the inconvenience, we managed to have a very productive day. While hiding all kitty evidence, we did a quick tidy, so now our place is perfectly spotless, which is always kinda nice. Then we spent the remainder of the day finishing up our outline. We were on such a roll that we ended up missing lunch.
Even though we finally sent the completed outline off to les producers no more than an hour n' a half ago, it doesn't mean that it's 100% done. I'm sure they'll want to contribute their own two cents before we jump back into writing. However, we think it's pretty darn tight, so hopefully in their opinions, there won't be much left to tweak.
So yeah... that was our long day. At least it felt like a long day.
Now we're looking forward to a relaxing evening with NOTHING hanging over our heads. It should be sooo nice. The place is clean, our work is (temporarily) done, and we don't anticipate any further interruptions. I think I might head out for an evening stroll, then unplug the phone, do a little painting, have a nice bubble bath, maybe a glass or two of vino, and listen to some T61 and Tegan and Sara, whose new album I just picked up yesterday. Although I have to give it a second listen before I can make up my mind about how much I love it... or not.
I hate to say it, but so far I'm not immediately fallin' in love with this one as quickly as I did when Jeremy first introduced me to their earlier albums. Their earlier albums had countless songs that totally jumped out at me and possessed my feet with toe-tapping beats -- like what seems to be everyone's favourite, (based upon the way people were screaming for it at their concert a couple years ago), Living Room. After all, who doesn't love a banjo? (Alas, there is no banjo jammin' on this new album.)
Then again, I think a lot of CDs need at least a couple listens before you can really decide how you feel. So, I'll get back to you later once I give Sainthood another go.
Anyhoo, on that note, I'll end this little posty with a clip of their fabulous hit Living Room.
And a second "on that note", I just noticed that the video was directed by a Vancouver artist-come-filmmaker that Jim knows. I think I already knew that, but must've forgot... I swear my mind is like a sieve sometimes.
Just by chance, Jim decided to open the front door and check for any "notice of suite entry" notes. We get one maybe two or three times a year max, but it was one of those fluke hunches that ended up paying off. Sure enough there was not one, but two notices. One that the water would be turned off from 9 - 12, and the other was that they wanted to enter our apartment sometime between 10 - 2.
Shit.
I swear our landlord puts the notices on our door at midnight the night before, because we never EVER get 24 hours notice for these things!
Anyhow, we rushed to hide all the scratching posts, cat beds, food dishes, fuzzy mice, the litter box, and of course, les chats. Poor things were cooped up in the spare bedroom since about 8:30 this morning as we waited, and waited, and waited....
The water was turned off from 9 until 4, and they didn't enter our suite until maybe 4:05 to run the taps for ten minutes and get any gunky residue out.
I know it's our own fault that we're living in a no pet building with two pets... but still, a lil' more notice might be nice. Especially considering that we had to go without water all day long. I'm sure I don't need to go into detail about how that complicates things. Fortunately we have a big blue jug of drinking water, so we didn't suffer too badly when it came to washing our hands, vegetables, etc...
Despite the inconvenience, we managed to have a very productive day. While hiding all kitty evidence, we did a quick tidy, so now our place is perfectly spotless, which is always kinda nice. Then we spent the remainder of the day finishing up our outline. We were on such a roll that we ended up missing lunch.
Even though we finally sent the completed outline off to les producers no more than an hour n' a half ago, it doesn't mean that it's 100% done. I'm sure they'll want to contribute their own two cents before we jump back into writing. However, we think it's pretty darn tight, so hopefully in their opinions, there won't be much left to tweak.
So yeah... that was our long day. At least it felt like a long day.
Now we're looking forward to a relaxing evening with NOTHING hanging over our heads. It should be sooo nice. The place is clean, our work is (temporarily) done, and we don't anticipate any further interruptions. I think I might head out for an evening stroll, then unplug the phone, do a little painting, have a nice bubble bath, maybe a glass or two of vino, and listen to some T61 and Tegan and Sara, whose new album I just picked up yesterday. Although I have to give it a second listen before I can make up my mind about how much I love it... or not.
I hate to say it, but so far I'm not immediately fallin' in love with this one as quickly as I did when Jeremy first introduced me to their earlier albums. Their earlier albums had countless songs that totally jumped out at me and possessed my feet with toe-tapping beats -- like what seems to be everyone's favourite, (based upon the way people were screaming for it at their concert a couple years ago), Living Room. After all, who doesn't love a banjo? (Alas, there is no banjo jammin' on this new album.)
Then again, I think a lot of CDs need at least a couple listens before you can really decide how you feel. So, I'll get back to you later once I give Sainthood another go.
Anyhoo, on that note, I'll end this little posty with a clip of their fabulous hit Living Room.
And a second "on that note", I just noticed that the video was directed by a Vancouver artist-come-filmmaker that Jim knows. I think I already knew that, but must've forgot... I swear my mind is like a sieve sometimes.
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