I recently went cross country with some friends in the Bay o' Thunder. One is a killer down hill skiier, the other a never skiier, and me a Jackrabbits alumna. Fun abounded. The first crash by the never skiier was spectacular. Careening down her first hill at a whopping 1km/h, she became clausterphobic of the tracks and aborted the mission. Skis like chopsticks in a piping hot bowl of tangled noodle legs.
Style points: 10
Crowd applause: 9.5
Recovery: spectacular
The killer down hill skiier was also wierded out by the tracks. Who knew two ruts in the snow could be so threatening? Anyway, she freestyled -a combo of classic and skate - the whole way and snapped pix. Very impressed. Sadly no photographic record of the never skiier crash. Very disappointed.
Style points: 10
Pix: Still waiting . . . Grrrrrr ;)
28 December 2007
24 December 2007
Rotten little apple core
My macintosh has a rotten core. Or should I say had a rotten core. A few good seeds were successfully extracted from the crunchy inner workings leaving only a facade of wholesome goodness. Needless to say, I was devasted.
When I received the new variety of apple to replace my mac, I hoped to feel like a middle-aged man trading in his faded dumpy wife for the excitement of a sleeker, younger, sexier model. Turns out I'm all hot and bothered by the expensive tastes of my new friend and not so wowed by the prospect of glamming up the reorganization of my world.
When I received the new variety of apple to replace my mac, I hoped to feel like a middle-aged man trading in his faded dumpy wife for the excitement of a sleeker, younger, sexier model. Turns out I'm all hot and bothered by the expensive tastes of my new friend and not so wowed by the prospect of glamming up the reorganization of my world.
02 December 2007
20 + 1
No, it's not my birthday, but yes, that would be my age if it were. 20 + 1 signifies the extra day in Boston given to me by Delta Airlines via an "Act of God." Otherwise known as a snowfall in New York city.
It's sad that a snowfall is only considered a godly event when it disrupts air travel. I'd rather attribute the spirtual connection to the wonderous beauty and power of nature. Not as a means for an airline to squeeze you for some extra cash. They don't cover "Acts of God" - how could they possibly intervene on divine will? - only engine trouble.
In spite of this desecration of the divine, miracles still abound: a few extra hours with friends, a chance to relish a final moment in my old apartment, time for pause and a Monday morning to FedEx a bizillion boxes of stuff to Canada. Maybe it was an "Act of God" afterall.
It's sad that a snowfall is only considered a godly event when it disrupts air travel. I'd rather attribute the spirtual connection to the wonderous beauty and power of nature. Not as a means for an airline to squeeze you for some extra cash. They don't cover "Acts of God" - how could they possibly intervene on divine will? - only engine trouble.
In spite of this desecration of the divine, miracles still abound: a few extra hours with friends, a chance to relish a final moment in my old apartment, time for pause and a Monday morning to FedEx a bizillion boxes of stuff to Canada. Maybe it was an "Act of God" afterall.
29 November 2007
Fringe Kink
Fabulous expression. Try it, toss it around. For example:
Grey Cup half-time show butt cleavage, like OMG that's so fringe kink.
Don't get any funky ideas, the butt cleaveage was Lenny's not mine, and there were multiple glimpses into the cavernous depths of the BC. Gratuitous really. Not a big fan of the big C upfront, behind or down low in the toes (perhaps the most offensive.)
Getting back to the root of the expression, courtesy of the Globe and Mail http://www.theglobeandmail.com/servlet/story/RTGAM.20071129.wlgenex29/EmailBNStory/lifeFamily/home :
"What men love is a "lack of embarrassment for any body you have," a fiftysomething Romeo explains. "If you're wearing a tent, it means you are ashamed." Instead, wear body-conscious clothes. Channel the European woman who is elegant and bien dans sa peau. It's a refined cougarishness, minus the claws."
Keep the claws, they're so fringe kink! But ditch the over-the-hill romance novel covergramp. He's killing your fringe kink vibe.
Here's the last word on the word of the week. I'm recently into football, the American kind, not footie, after going to a few Patriot's games. Seeing as I am casting my net northward, I thought I would reconnect with my compatriots and watch the CFL namely the Grey Cup. I tuned in to see, hundreds of women screaming for the "roughriders." Now that's fringe kink.
Grey Cup half-time show butt cleavage, like OMG that's so fringe kink.
Don't get any funky ideas, the butt cleaveage was Lenny's not mine, and there were multiple glimpses into the cavernous depths of the BC. Gratuitous really. Not a big fan of the big C upfront, behind or down low in the toes (perhaps the most offensive.)
Getting back to the root of the expression, courtesy of the Globe and Mail http://www.theglobeandmail.com
"What men love is a "lack of embarrassment for any body you have," a fiftysomething Romeo explains. "If you're wearing a tent, it means you are ashamed." Instead, wear body-conscious clothes. Channel the European woman who is elegant and bien dans sa peau. It's a refined cougarishness, minus the claws."
Keep the claws, they're so fringe kink! But ditch the over-the-hill romance novel covergramp. He's killing your fringe kink vibe.
Here's the last word on the word of the week. I'm recently into football, the American kind, not footie, after going to a few Patriot's games. Seeing as I am casting my net northward, I thought I would reconnect with my compatriots and watch the CFL namely the Grey Cup. I tuned in to see, hundreds of women screaming for the "roughriders." Now that's fringe kink.
11 November 2007
Renewing my web presence
It's been a while since my last post. Four months to be exact, but who's counting ;) I think I felt a little overexposed; like all my bits were on display. So, I fashioned a cyber blanket out of the accumulating spam, crawled underneath and hybernated away from the blogosphere. My hibernation isn't quite over yet. I've decided to lumber around with the blanket wrapped tightly around my shoulders for a little while before discarding it completely.
In the mean time, I have several happy little countdowns to help pass the time:
1. 5 days to the end of my rotation
2. 7 days to my last set of travel vaccines under the watchful eye of the UHS nurse
3. 8 days until I visit my family Thunder Bay
4. 19 days until I write Step 2
5. 20 days until I move out of Boston for good!
In the mean time, I have several happy little countdowns to help pass the time:
1. 5 days to the end of my rotation
2. 7 days to my last set of travel vaccines under the watchful eye of the UHS nurse
3. 8 days until I visit my family Thunder Bay
4. 19 days until I write Step 2
5. 20 days until I move out of Boston for good!
18 July 2007
One third life crisis
I think this qualifies as a one third life crisis because I hope to live a least to ninety. My ultimate goal is to be a feisty old lady (some would say I'm already there) who pops wheelies down the hall of my nursing home in pursuit of the newest arrival to Shady Pines or Pine Crest or Cedar View (It seems old people have a desire to live in places that are named after coniferous trees, or at least young people who create these bastions for the elderly are under that impression. I can't imagine why.)
Anyway, back to my one third life crisis which involves hanging with the juvies at the mall. And not even a good mall. In fact it was half a mall because the other half was under construction. I went to visit a friend and her new baby in Toronto, two bus trips and a short walk away from where I was staying. Bus number 2 dropped me off at the aforementioned half mall where I went avidly in search of a pay phone to call my friend. Let's stop for a historical point: Pay phones are the phones that are attached to the wall and cost 25 cents to use for an unlimited time. I honestly don't think that this needs explaining, but I recieved more than a few quizzical looks. It turns out the half mall doesn't have payphones and if they did, as I was informed by the geriatric salesclerk at Sears, they would cost 50 cents. Yikes!
Passing through the linen section on my way to the nearest exit, I was swarmed by a group of shrieking girls and salivacious boys who had obviously been set free on a day pass. A policeman, their minder or a coincidental encounter, found me paralysed clinging to the display of gaudy cotton-blend beach towels as I waited for the crowd and their lingering body odour to pass. Maybe he would clear a path for me to escape. Oh wait . . . He's coming towards me. . . Oh NO! He almost slugged a kid . . . Woops! Pretend I didn't see that. He's closer. Now speaking to me. . . What was that, officer? I shouldn't be hanging out with kids like this at the mall? You've got to be kidding.
The only good that came of that horrific little encounter, the first of many passing through the half mall, was that I could pass for 15. On second thought, that's not such a great thing after all.
Anyway, back to my one third life crisis which involves hanging with the juvies at the mall. And not even a good mall. In fact it was half a mall because the other half was under construction. I went to visit a friend and her new baby in Toronto, two bus trips and a short walk away from where I was staying. Bus number 2 dropped me off at the aforementioned half mall where I went avidly in search of a pay phone to call my friend. Let's stop for a historical point: Pay phones are the phones that are attached to the wall and cost 25 cents to use for an unlimited time. I honestly don't think that this needs explaining, but I recieved more than a few quizzical looks. It turns out the half mall doesn't have payphones and if they did, as I was informed by the geriatric salesclerk at Sears, they would cost 50 cents. Yikes!
Passing through the linen section on my way to the nearest exit, I was swarmed by a group of shrieking girls and salivacious boys who had obviously been set free on a day pass. A policeman, their minder or a coincidental encounter, found me paralysed clinging to the display of gaudy cotton-blend beach towels as I waited for the crowd and their lingering body odour to pass. Maybe he would clear a path for me to escape. Oh wait . . . He's coming towards me. . . Oh NO! He almost slugged a kid . . . Woops! Pretend I didn't see that. He's closer. Now speaking to me. . . What was that, officer? I shouldn't be hanging out with kids like this at the mall? You've got to be kidding.
The only good that came of that horrific little encounter, the first of many passing through the half mall, was that I could pass for 15. On second thought, that's not such a great thing after all.
29 May 2007
Liver heat and lower back dampness
Chinglish Chick and I had a zen weekend involving fasting, acupuncture and getting our Chi moving. Dr Dow, a veritable Chinese medicine doctor from Beijing, visits CC's mum's best friend for Buddhist purification rituals twice yearly. He treats practioners and from 7am to 7pm daily on four makeshift acupuncture tables ie the kitchen table covered with holly hobbit bedsheets and a pillow etc. For the fully initiated, the cleansing ceremony consists of five days of acupuncture along with a five-day fast involving drinking only hot water with honey and one red date per day. As novitiates, CC and I didn't quite make it that far.
For the curious here is the weekend in a nutshell:
One bowl of fishball soup from the local noodle joint for Nahawna
One mocha ice cream from JP Licks for Chinglish Chick (it tasted like soya sauce so technically it's still in keeping with the Zen weekend theme)
Two days of acupuncture where the only thing that was flowing faster than our Chi was the cash leaving our pocketbooks into the adept hands of Dr Dow.
Three diagnoses of blocked Chi between the two of us: A weak left side for Chinglish Chick and liver heat and lower back dampness for me.
Five translations required for a conversation between me and the acupuncture practitioner: Mandarin -> Cantonese -> English -> Cantonese -> Mandarin. Needless to say our exchanges were brief.
Eight a lucky number in China. Also the number of days of relentless rain in Boston and the temperature outside.
Thirteen hours of fasting. That's right we didn't last a full day. In fact we only made it down the steps and around the corner from our last treatment before scoffing down a mini hazelnut tart each.
For the curious here is the weekend in a nutshell:
One bowl of fishball soup from the local noodle joint for Nahawna
One mocha ice cream from JP Licks for Chinglish Chick (it tasted like soya sauce so technically it's still in keeping with the Zen weekend theme)
Two days of acupuncture where the only thing that was flowing faster than our Chi was the cash leaving our pocketbooks into the adept hands of Dr Dow.
Three diagnoses of blocked Chi between the two of us: A weak left side for Chinglish Chick and liver heat and lower back dampness for me.
Five translations required for a conversation between me and the acupuncture practitioner: Mandarin -> Cantonese -> English -> Cantonese -> Mandarin. Needless to say our exchanges were brief.
Eight a lucky number in China. Also the number of days of relentless rain in Boston and the temperature outside.
Thirteen hours of fasting. That's right we didn't last a full day. In fact we only made it down the steps and around the corner from our last treatment before scoffing down a mini hazelnut tart each.
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