Gifted Typist

This meme is going around on blogs and Facebook so I thought I’d have a go. It’s a no-tag meme but anyone can feel free hop on.

1. I’m fascinated - no, really! -by heating systems in buildings. The poor furnace maintenance guys have no idea what they’re in for when they come to my house.

2. In my troubled youth phase, I wore a T-shirt that said Disco Sucks, but secretly I loved disco. Don’t tell!

3. I have white patches on my knees, feet, elbows and fingers. Part albino I am.

4. I was a good speller in school, but with age I’m losing that skill.

5. I had poor penmanship in school, but in later years I taught myself italic calligraphy which looks quite nice when I have the right pen and nice paper.

6. My blog name was borne of the dreaded “And what do you do?” question at cocktail parties. With a resume resembling a dog’s breakfast, I never knew what to say, so I just answered “I’m a typist, a very gifted typist.”

7. I’m a gum junkie. Once I start I have to eat the whole package. I just need more and more hits of that fresh burst. But I can go for months without one stick.

8. In airports, I always get mistaken for Ellen Degeneres.

9. At the time I did not know this, but for a short period I was employed by the Eastern European mafia teaching English as a second language.

10. I was once a passenger in a four-seater single-engine plane when the single engine died mid-air. We were going to make an emergency landing on the road below, but out of nowhere in the Icelandic countryside there appeared a grass landing strip which was close enough to glide for and land on. I remain forever in the debt of Jed the US Air Force P3 pilot who handled the crisis like a real pro and put that little plane down without a scratch. He was putting in hours to get his commercial license at the time.

11. I was married on a beach in Fiji. I didn’t ask my other half to take my name. I’m not threatened by that sort of thing.

12. My little typists are 12 and nine. The 12-year old has always been a 42-year old midget (though lately losing her midget status) and the nine-year old was born on the blue moon.

13. I’m struggling in a co-dependent relationship with a cat who is passive aggressive and harbouring resentment over something, but I’m not sure what.

14. I used to live in a house with an address good enough to eat: Rosebank, Tweentown, Cheddar, Somerset.

15. I’m a sambista on sabbatical due to family responsibilities. I played surdo, tamborim and bells. I miss samba.

16. I’m reading a book called The Great Crash 1929 by John Kenneth Galbraith who is an excellent writer for an economist.

When I got married my feminist friends went mad. One sniffed “Are you going to take your husband’s name?” I said, “No, because I don’t think ‘Dave’ suits me very much.

Jo Brand, British comedienne

See my Herald Column over here.

At this time of year we think about the things mother never told us.

Think childbirth. They say it’s beautiful. Ha!

Hahahahahaha! Beautiful! Hahahahaha!

What was she thinking?

And marriage. What’s all this about in celebrity magazines about fairy princess brides living happily ever after? Anyone looked at the divorce rate lately? Apparently, Mother forgot to tell us about that part of marriage.

Kids. If they told you about the sleep deprivation, the tantrums, teenage defiance and the cost, we might think twice.

If mother dished up all the dirt on this stuff of life, we probably wouldn’t bother with any of it and the human race would just go kaput. Just like that.

So maybe it’s just Mother’s conspiracy to keep it all going.

Or maybe it’s just Mother getting the last laugh.

I may be hauled up before the Tribunal Investigating UnCanadian Activities (TIUCA?) for saying this, but I’m glad the Royal Canadian Air Farce is airing its last show tonight.

The political comedy show has been running on TV and radio for 30 years or more. Maybe it was funny and sharp all those years ago when Canada was a cultural backwater, but time has not been kind to the show. It’s grown tired, dull and predictable.

I know. I know. We’re Canadian. We’re supposed to love these Canadian comedy institutions.

CBC certainly does. They’ve been lamenting the passing of Air Farce all week. But it is the “mandate” of CBC to lament the passing of all things Canadian, so you sort of expect that.

As for Air Farce, it suffers from the fate of so many Canadian comedy shows. It doesn’t understand the concept of quitting while you’re ahead. It’s better to say bye by when people want more, not when people are saying “enough already!”

There’s plenty of other sharp acts that deserve a stab at Canadian political humour. Hopefully, the departure of Air Farce will open some space up for them.

Tween Christmas and New Year is such a funny ole time.

I’m half here and half not. I’m not sure what the day is or the date. I’m not even sure of the time most of the time.

I’m half working  and half not. I have no real schedule and zero focus.

Spending lots of time lounging in front of the TV. Hours go by when not more than a thought or two rattle through my head. I’m tuned out of the news and the weather. Don’t care.

One day folds into the next with lots of afternoon naps and lavender salt baths.

The highlight of each day is the clunk of my post box. The Christmas cards are still coming at a rate of 3 or 4 per day, mostly British. The British know a thing or two about cards and card writing. Their cards are artful and their italic signatures so stylish.

Been listening to lots of Charlie Parker these days because I walked by his house in New York a few days ago. There was this little plaque that said so. And I just stumbled upon it. Imagine that.

Planning the New Year in the country with fireworks, winter barbecuing and a big bonfire on the beach, weather permitting.

This is absolute luxury.

Long live Christmas holidays.

Read my Herald column over here.

Join me in a boxing match against the manufacturers and retailers who indulge in excessive packaging.

Instead of taking the packaging home, just unwrap it at the store.

That way the store pays to have it removed. Not you.

People in the UK are doing this. They call their protest Wrap Rage.

The idea is to make the statement by pressuring the stores. This in turn pressures the stores to pressure the manufacturers to think outside the box.

Just took a peek downstairs.

Cookies are gone. Bourbon’s been slurped.

Presents are all under the tree.

Stockings are stuffed.

Guess who’s been and gone.

Missed him again!

Dang.

Merry ho ho to everyone.

And to everyone a good night.

Almost didn’t make it home for Christmas.

We were booked to come home from New York on Sunday Dec 21 but with storms, cancellations, delays, Christmas, overbooked flights, standby, hours in airport lounges … the outlook was bleak.

By Monday night, they’d dumped us in Montreal airport and told us we had no hope of getting a flight home until 27th December.

Huh? December 27? Two days after Christmas? How the *&^(%*$ did that happen?

But this was not a time for deconstructive analysis. We had to act and act fast.

There was only one thing to do: rent a car and drive through the night to get home.

So, we grabbed another airport refugee, stuffed all our bags in a rented hybrid car, and drove and drove and drove.

And drove.

I talked and talked and talked about everything and nothing to keep the driver alert and engaged. “My, I never knew there were so many shades of darkness!” That sort of thing. Riveting.

Then it was my turn to take the the wheel and white knuckled it over dark, unfamiliar roads covered in ice and plumes of blowing snow. Outside was -18 C or something silly like that. We were in the middle of nowhere. Breakdown was not an option. But in my mind it lurked around every dark corner.

It was just about do-able until the 18-wheelers roared up from behind and passed us creating a vacuum that pulled us in making it hard to keep the car steady on the icy surface.  As a calling card, they’d leave a big mushroom cloud of dusty snow just to make it a little harder to see.  Nice.

Nineteen hours later we pulled up in front of our house, exhausted, eyes stinging with fatigue, legs stiff from driving, white knuckles aching with the strain, but so happy to be home.

When I looked in the mirror, I saw a bag of dog poo with a greenish tinge. But it was a very happy bag of greenish dog poo.

This came after another epic journey - 14 hours - getting to New York in a blizzard last Wednesday.

I know there is a moral to this story but I’m too rat-arsed tired to think of it right now.

Please feel free to offer one up.

I know. I know. I was just there. In October.

But that trip was a screw-up on many levels, even if it was a good time.

So this time, I’m doing it up right. (You can correct the mistakes of trips past when you have a bundle of Air Miles points.)

All the Typists will be along for the ride this time.

It’ll be just before Christmas. In New York. With all the lights. (”Grandma likes the lights,” they will say of me in years to come. “The lights always make her take off her WWII flying goggles and prompts that charming toothless smile of hers.”)

My main goals this time are a show (Spamalot), The Met and consignment shops in Manhattan. I’m a vintage clothing fiend.

Oh yes. And a New York omelette.

Prolly won’t be blogging, so I’ll cya back here in a few days.

Tra la.

Mystery writer, blogger and Trouble-Maker General  Cormac Brown suggests the “Bogart Collection.”

“To Have And Have Not,”1944

“The Big Sleep,”1946

“Dark Pasage,”1947

“Key Largo.”1948

Also hilarious Buggs Bunny short featuring “Bogart” and “Baby.”

Allison from Flying Buttresses suggests:

All things Billy Wilder and Hepburn (Katherine and Audrey).

As for classic holiday films…Christmas Vacation 1989 tops all

Tanya Espanya likes these:

A Christmas Story,1983

Christmas Vacation1989

I also like to watch Love, Actually, except for the bits with Lantern Jaw, I mean, Kiera Knightly…I’m sure she’s lovely as a friend or whatever, but please, go eat a sandwich before you take my eye out.

There are more to come but I’ll let you watch these first.

Read my column over here.

Sometimes it’s just easier to let say it with parenthesis.

There are so many different ways to celebrate this time of year.

Christmas, Hanukkah, Kwanzaa, Winter Solstice. Midnight Madness at the Mall.

I don’t care. I really don’t. They can celebrate whatever they want, however they want. No one owns it.

I just like the idea that people still like to do something fun to distract us from the darkest time of the year.

So have a good (insert winter celebration of choice here) and a happy new year.

The beer- and word-loving Doc of Social Zymurgy went over and above the call of duty last week in response to my request for recommendations for good old movies.

Because his list was extensive, I’m running it as an exclusive.

I’m looking forward to watching these flicks, but it’ll probably take more than one Christmas to get through them. It did not escape my notice that Doc recommends the movie What’s up Doc.

I’ll run the rest of your recommendations in another one or two posts.

Thanks everyone for helping me out. Please feel free to add to this list.

Doc’s flick picks:

“It Happened One Night” 1934 with Clark Gable

Double Indemnity, 1944 Fred MacMurray, Barbara Stanwyck

“To Have And Have Not”, 1944, or any Kathrine Hepburn/Spencer Tracy movie,

“Philidephia Story”,1940 Cary Grant, Katherine Hepburn

“Arsenic & Old Lace”.1944 Cary Grant

“Kelly’s Heroes” 1970 is more of a caper movie, but the lines still have a lot of punch and an all-star cast.

“Diamonds And Rust” is a great Polish movie if you don’t mind subtitles.

“Love & Death” 1975  Woody Allen’s

“A Funny Thing Happened On The Way To The Forum” 1966 , Zero Mostel

“What’s Up Doc” 1972 Barbara Streisand

“The Apartment”.1960 Jack Lemmon

“Across the Pacific” 1942 Humphrey Bogart (in which he delivers on of my favorite lines, “Well that’s a Canadian for you. They’re not happy until they have all their clothes off!”)

Try some of Cary Grant’s screwball comedies, as you can’t go wrong there. Lots of laughs and easy on the eyes. If you are really looking for laughs and want to see the funniest man ever, get some Buster Keaton, especially some of his short films. Keno Video has them all.

Thanks Doc, you’re a real chum.

I’ve been double- tagged by the enigmatic Splotchy and the charming Cormac Brown for the Son of the Son of the Story Virus (V3).

Here is how it works:

He starts a story and tags a bunch of people to add the next piece on. So I’ve written the second paragraph of the story and I will then tag people to continue with this thread. The interesting thing about this story is that it will mutate into many different directions on the Internetz.

Players should link to the previous site and include the tagger’s site. You should also include the previous chapters in your post.

Not a requirement, but something your readers would appreciate: to help people trace your own particular thread of the narrative, it will be helpful if you include links to the chapters preceding yours.

Splotchy’s opening paragraph:

The bus was more crowded than usual. It was bitterly cold outside, and I hadn’t prepared for it. I noticed that a fair number of the riders were dressed curiously. As I glanced around, I stretched my feet and kicked up against a large, heavy cardboard box laying under the seat in front of me.

My second ‘graph

As I opened the top of the cardboard box, a strange odor rose into the moist air of the bus. At first, I pegged as leather, but as I dug further into the box, removing layer upon layer of water-stained paper, the smell grew stronger and more pungent. It was more pelt-of-dead-animal, than leather. The pong swirled up the aisle of the bus, alerting the senses of my fellow passengers. They turned their attention to me, but I was more interested in the contents of the box.  As I opened final layer of paper wrapping, I heard a woman’s scream…

For the third paragraph of this fascinating story in the making, I tag:

Barbara the Zombie

Allison the Flying Buttress

Megan

Dick

Alias Grace

Come on. Is it possible? In this day and age of crowded malls, big box chain stores and homogeneous inventory that is for the most part “made in China.”

You’re rushing around, feeling the pressure, battling crowds and watching your credit card balance go up like an express elevator to the top floor.

You’re trying to think of what other people like or don’t like and shopping on behalf of others.

You see disinterest on the faces of part-time employees in mall chain stores.  And you see the look of semi-desperation on the faces of people who own their own retail outlets and survive on their Xmas turnover.

There’s the piped-in Muzak Christmas carols, cynically cluttering your head space and taking away what little breathing and thinking space permitted in these shopping places.  They spew out tired old rhetoric like “comfort and joy!”

I actually like Christmas, but the whole shopping culture has become so pressurized. It’s a real killjoy.

There are those who will say “Well, I just don’t.”

And to them I say that is a luxury of choice that isn’t available to people with kids.

So tell me: is it possible to enjoy Xmas shopping? And if so, how is it done?

See my Herald column over here.

I decided to shortened Christmas this year.

It wasn’t allowed to be mentioned in this house until Dec. 1. There was no shopping or planning permitted  before that date. (Party invitations were exempted from this rule.)

When Christmas starts in October, you are sick of it by Dec. 1. Last year I reached this conclusion while standing in  a hot crowded department store with crazy long line-ups, traffic jams of biblical proportions and screaming babies.

Actually, the screaming babies were the only ones making any sense. We should have all been screaming. .

So, no Christmas here until Dec. 1. Any mention meant down on the floor for 10 push-ups.

I figure twenty-five days is just about right for Christmas.