Say thank you

Why doesn't anyone say 'thank you' any more? When did it become socially acceptable to walk through the door held open by someone else, and not say 'thank you'?

Note to those of you who have dropped 'thank you' from your vocabulary: We don't have to hold the door open for you...it's not a duty, but rather a means of politeness we choose to undertake. When you walk through that door, you ought to recognize this and open your mouth and let those two little words spill out: thank you. You probably take your partner and family for granted, don't you? When was the last time you thanked your partner for something they did, that you just assume is owed to you? (psst! You're probably headed for a divorce!)

Oh! And if you don't say 'thank you' and I'm the one holding the door open, I'll still say 'you're welcome' and embarrass you in front of all the other kids on the playground. So if you're not gonna say 'thank you' because you're polite, I suggest you say it because your ego won't allow you to be ridiculed in public.

Oh x2! If you receive something (be it a gesture or otherwise) that you didn’t ask for then you should still say ‘thank you’…because that’s just the way things work, and that’s an indication of a stronger character and days past that are becoming much too few for my liking.

And finally: smile. Smile at random people on the street. It doesn't mean you're crazy and you'll occasionally run into some growlers...but smile. It's good for your soul, puts out good energy and it might just make someone's day; and if that's not a good enough reason, I don't know what is.

Yabber-Jabber

1. Bush wants you to know that insurgents are taking folks hostage because “They can’t whip our military”.

Wow. He comes up with these insightful explanations while he’s playing with his Lego set in the tub (rub-a-dub-dub).

I know that somewhere in his well-coiffed head, it all makes sense…

2. Spoilers ahead: This evening, I saw the film The Notebook, which I had been waiting for for some time. I was excited to see this film, and had really been looking forward to it all day.

I was seated about 7 rows ahead of a woman who felt it was ok to share her feelings with the rest of the movie-going folk. Luck would have it that she liked to punctuate all of her sentences with “That’s so beautiful!”…like, “Are they dead? That’s so beautiful!” and “Did he just go to the toilette? That’s so beautiful!”.

This film is supposed to be a love story, and so it should have been moving to watch. But thanks to the running commentary from the yabbering-jabbering idiot behind me, I couldn’t get too involved in the film. The worst was that at every touching or potentially moving moment in the film, Yabber-Jabber would heave and sob and blow her nose while muttering “That’s so beautiful!”.

It took everything for me not to turn around and throw my full bag of popcorn at her head.

I couldn’t even concentrate on Ryan Gosling’s fabulous hair and perfect scruff. I think I need a vacation…

Crisp rain

It was raining this evening and so Dianna and I decided to meet up for a walk through the tiny paths between Elgin and the canal...

The sky was the perfect shade of grey, giving the grass that much more room to glow.

At certain moments, it felt as though someone was pouring buckets of water over our heads...soaked right through, the hot wind kept us warm. It was a perfect walk, and the scenery can only be described as vibrant...you should try it some time.

In futbol news

In futbol news
There have been some upsets...Italy and Spain have not progressed, and Germany may also not move on (we'll know tomorrow). At the moment, these are the final winners:

Portugal & Greece
France & England
Sweden & Denmark
Czech Republic & ??

Not bad.

I would love for Greece to win, if only because they've never won anything ever ...but it may be that one of the more expected teams will take it (England or Portugal).

And for the dreamers: Rooney is no Pele. Sorry.

For the record, I hope England doesn't take it...because they're so damn smug and arrogant. But I still enjoy watching lovely Beckham. Wish he'd text message me.

Go England.

Just kidding.

Stay tuned.

Karma

.1. If you are speaking at a wedding, and if you happen to be the sister of the bride, you might want to rethink a speech that begins with “…remember when you were a little girl and wanted a horse more than you wanted a husband?” and ends with “…tonight you’re getting married and so I hope that you know the difference between a husband and a horse…”

The reason you may want to avoid this is because the joke at every witty table will begin with “…sorry we couldn’t get you a horse…” and end with “…but look: we found you a jackass!”

.2. Men should wear red. All men. All the time. There’s something to be said for a man who can wear a red shirt and pull it off. Erm. The style. Not the shirt. Well… not on this blog, anyway.

.3. The Euro 2004 cup is behaving oddly, and I am slightly troubled.

.4. The other day, a brilliant poet named T. Anders Carson asked me if I was a writer, and I hesitated before giving him an honest response. That answer felt wonderful.

.5. If you have been genuinely betrayed …I would suggest waiting for karma to find its way back to them. A few years back, I was one very strong advocate for the ‘make your own karma’ camp, but after this weekend, I am a firm believer in letting karma take its own course.

I was betrayed – the sort of betrayal that leaves you paralyzed, in fear of human interaction because there’s this gigantic gash in the side of your head from someone you trusted, a gash based on complete and total lies, and one that had no meaning or intention except of malice. The kind of betrayal short stories are written about, the sorts of betrayal that make your skin crawl and your stomach turn, and from which not even your mum or dad can protect you. The type of betrayal that could potentially ruin you, should you allow it to.

Well…folks, this Friday past, I was at a wedding (see point 1) and had the absolute and complete utter pleasure of seeing the three faces that had actively worked to help me understand the meaning of betrayal (as well as pathology, lie, psychopath, thief, what have you) as I describe it above. That good type of karma, the one you let find its way back to those who did you harm…if you let it take its course, it does a few things to people:
(1) It doesn’t allow them to age well…be it the introduction of a fat ass, a hairy female face, and/or an overall look of stupidity and dumbfounded-ness plastered across said hairy face;
(2) It makes them dress really poorly and inappropriately for body type (read: fat ass) (i.e. large heavy satin wraps over even larger satin gowns, or fishnet over unflattering colors…because if your ass isn’t fat enough on its own, this kind of karma will convince you that it is best to highlight it with all the wrong cuts and fabrics, whispering sweetly “…shiny is flattering…”);
(3) When they look at you (every single moment they can, over every dance and through all of the dancers), the good karma makes the envy in their face drip down the fronts of their satin, the green shades so obvious to everyone, including those unaware of the betrayal; and finally,
(4) That fabulous God-sent karma makes you feel like the million dollars that you are, and makes the rest of the people sit up and agree (even the husbands of said fat asses).

.6. Sometimes, being petty and malicious is really a wonderful feeling. And right now, I feel great.

Bent

Two days back, I had an appointment at one of the buildings on St. Catherine Street in Montreal. Once finished, I had some time to kill before meeting E for lunch. I decided to grab my preferred brand of triple shot, no fat, no foam grande latte and take a spill through the shops.

As I walked, I was watching people around me: a strangely petite man with a latte larger than himself, a woman sneering at what would soon be her ‘ex’, some construction boys in front of the chip wagon and smokers adorning the full frontal of every building.

Then, like a vision, I noticed one woman swaying down the street. She was wearing white jean hip huggers and fitted baby blue top, gorgeous full and shiny hair down to her shoulders, and a tiny little purse slung over her wrist. I was about 15 feet away from her and we were both headed in the same direction and so for a full block, I got to watch her sway through the crowd, flipping her hair every time she hesitated to move at a quick pace. I was fascinated with her movements: every man who walked past her (from either direction) was staring.

I was curious to see her face. I wanted to see how beautiful a woman with such confidence was, or just how beautiful her self-confidence may have made an otherwise normal face. And so my moment approached. She was standing at a street light, waiting for it to give her gracious sway the right of way…I sped up to make certain I would get a glimpse of the head that was carried by those hips.

As I approached, I was trying to figure out a way to get a clear look, without actually tapping her on the shoulder and then running away, giggling. Luckily, she made it easy…as soon as I landed on the corner to her left, she turned, gave me a once-over, a wink and a “nice shoes”…only, she was a man, a stunning Asian man.

We were given the right of way, and I simply stood on the street corner and watched as Mr. Sashay glided across the street without me, flipping his hair to the left as his hips shimmied to the right.

More feminine than I, had nicer hair than I, and knew how to start conversations with complete strangers more. Than. I. What could I do but cross the street in the other direction and wonder: Is he my competition? Is this what single women are up against in 2004? Do we have to dislocate our hips so that we may sway 2 mm more than that guy?

And more importantly, when did it become acceptable for 99% of the male population to check out other men who were so completely queer?

I never used to believe it, but maybe single-dumb really is a bitch.

Confession

I am a futbol hooligan.

Here are my predictions for the first round of Euro 2004:

Group A: Portugal & Spain
Group B: England & France
Group C: Italy & Denmark
Group D: Germany & Holland

...in that order.

Will update on 23rd June with a complete score chart.

Weight Watchers: Recipes from the 70s

"Yes, let's have these in brandy snifters. Let's just tip our heads back and let the chunks slide in.

The time you spent eating these is time you'll want back at the very end of your life. That's why they're served with a clock."

Whenever I'm blue, it's to the CandyBoots site I go...enjoy and don't open at work, because you'll laugh much too hard (I'm usually crying by the time I get to the 3rd one).
Posted by mahaz at 11:59 PM

Personal Notes from a Devine Wedding

I promise to write something political over the next couple of days. With Canada Day, T being in town from Florida, and R’s wedding on Friday…politics or any activity requiring heavy thinking had to be set aside.

I bought a gorgeous pair of orange and white wedge heels, with matching clutch; it was a tough decision to choose between the orange, or the blue. I love them, and that’s as heavy a political decision and statement as you’ll get at this time. Read on for more of the same…

.1. Don’t ever assume you know what time a wedding begins, if you have 6 other weddings that same summer. Not only did I miss the entire ceremony, but almost missed the first 1.5 hours of the wedding reception. No surprise, my loyalty to R was the butt of all jokes for the duration of the evening.

.2. In Lanark, on my way to my B & B, I ran across two ‘Turtle Crossing’ signs (honestly!). I called B in Toronto and then R & E in Montreal because I was in desperate need of some City speak, and it was then that I realized I had turned into a character out of an HBO City-centric television show.

.3. Believe it or not, I woke up Saturday morning to the smell of fresh berry-filled pancakes. I love my B & B.

.4. When R and B made their grand entrance, they were walking so fast I thought we were in a race and had to control myself to not start running alongside them and looking over my shoulder.

.5. I adore Mr. Bob Wells. This is R’s stepfather who I last saw at R’s M.A. graduation, and with whom I had the most brilliant political discussion (which is no surprise considering the man is a former Supreme Court judge in Newfoundland). He has a way of making me feel like I’m worth 10,000,000 dollars; the women in his life are lucky ladies, indeed. He dances the ‘simple’ 4-step fox trot when he doesn’t want to over exert you…not too many men like that left in this world (sadly). His speech made the men cry; most of us were trying to transcribe it so that we could pass it on to our own fathers when our time came.

My dad will undoubtedly begin with one of the following two lines:
“She can’t cook…” &/or “It’s about time.”

.6. Newfies dance in a very unique manner; they stomp a lot and clap just as much. Beautiful A does it perfectly. Her husband and I coined this form of dance, the A-Hop. As soon as I got on the dance floor, I got it. I caught the disease and couldn’t control myself. The A-Hop is fun. I was trying to do it all the way back to my B & B, while driving. Not the coolest thing, but it was late and dark and no one was there to laugh at me.

.7. There was a guy who kept high-fiving his girlfriend. His girlfriend was exceptionally uncomfortable, glancing at the rest of us girls every time his hand crept upwards, waiting for her basketball-like response.

Note to men: Don’t ever high-five your girlfriends. Really, there’s just nothing cool about that high-five. It’s a locker room thing and your girlfriends are not a part of that world. Unless you plan on putting us in a headlock if we don’t high-five you back, we beseech you to keep your damn hands at your sides.

.8. One really smarmy man was at the wedding, there with his “girlfriend” but possessing the stupidity to hit on me every time that poor girl turned her face for seconds. At one point, she had to pry herself away from his gross suffocating grip to head over to the toilettes. He actually sidled up to me and said ‘she’s not really my girlfriend’ with a smarmy smirk.

Erm. Ok. Thank god for A’s husband Ryan who is a hulk of a protective man.

Note to men 2: Don’t be smarmy. Ever. Especially around a woman who looks like she may possess half a brain. She will embarrass you and mock you on her blog.

Smarmy is lucky my camera refused to take a photo of him.

.9. There was a dude at the wedding wearing a bowtie.

Note to men 3: Don’t wear a bowtie. Ever. There is only one appropriate time to wear a bowtie and that is when you’re posing for the cover of a pop-corn box. If you have a bowtie, please stop reading and go burn it. Women burned their bras in the 60s and 70s, you can burn your bowtie in the 20-00s.

.10. One of the speeches at the wedding was given by a lovely woman…until she said “…about a year ago, we were all sitting around wondering when would we have that beautiful ring around our fingers? When would we be lucky enough to get married? *pause, look at audience with big innocent eyes* I’m happy to let you know that now…we’re all lucky enough to be married…” or some such stupid Bridget Jones inducing statement.

Thanks, Mrs. Stepford: all of the singletons at the wedding had visions of either egging you, rolling you in the parking lot, or simply crying themselves to sleep that night.

I laughed at her and then looked around for a man on a white horse. None to be found.

.11. The Best Escape Award goes to Aussie F. Having been dragged on to the dance floor to dance do the A-Hop to something by The Great Big Sea, or Great Big C, or whatever…as soon as her partner turned away, she actually bounded off the dance floor and on to the balcony, in step to the song. In her heels. In her dress. To have a cigarette.

Note to you: Cigarettes’ll make a girl do funny things.

How is it possible?

That we have given this woman a television show of her own? At exactly what point in history (contemporary or otherwise) did we, as a society, actually lose it and become so degenerate that we think someone of this vacuous inconsequential manner is worthy of anything, let alone our time?

This is Paris Hilton* and if you let her, she will, on a weekly basis, steal one half hour of your life...you can never get it back and you will not be able to sue her:

"We're in the middle of nowhere, like 45 minutes away from, like, civilization and it's, like, all real. It's, like, really cold and last night we were shooting at this sugar mill and it really smelled bad. And I didn't wear shoes, like, I don't know."

"We're in the middle of nowhere and there's bugs everywhere. Everything's real. I'm actually running through a forest with bare feet -- it hurts. I've done my own stunts, like falling. I hurt my knee -- it was bleeding. But it looks good, so it's worth it."

"I definitely think people are going to be, like, looking at me more than they would if I wasn't, like, so . . . I can't explain it. But I do a good job and I'm really looking forward to people seeing I'm good. It's not fair but life's not fair, so . . ."

This is one individual I would love to see in the middle of any refugee camp. Can we send her to any part of South Africa? Or any of the camps in the Middle East? Ok. Maybe somewhere in Bosnia? Please?

Two Qs & one random thought

Two questions:
.1. Has the situation of the proverbial tree 'evolved' from 'if a tree falls in the forest, does anybody hear' to 'if a tree falls in the forest, does anybody care'?

.2. Is the 21st century's proverbial tree human rights?

& one random thought:
Today I saw what I can only describe as a demon child. It was sitting in its stroller, eating ice cream as it looked up at me, sending – I kid you not – an actual chill down my spine. It was so disturbing I had to look away (which didn't make for an exceptional walk down the corridor of the shopping mall).