Plotting Your Life

Last night, Stephen King hit Toronto as part of the promotional tour for his latest novel Under the Dome: A Novel and in addition to no doubt doing a gazillion interviews with various forms of media, he spent some time at the Canon Theatre in conversation with David Cronenberg.

Yes, I know. Total geek fest. It was awesome. And I know it was awesome, because I was there, too (along with 2200 other fans). Shall I pause for you to turn various shades of chartreuse with the envy?

It really was a conversation, two guys who've known each other for a long time shooting the proverbial shit about movies, books, writing, the unconscious, ghosts and several rather funny Sarah Palin jokes.

About halfway in they talked about process, especially in connection to how Stephen King kept the multitude of characters straight in his mind. King started riffing on the plotting process of writing a novel, mentioning that John Irving has mentioned that he knows the last page of his book when he starts a novel - King said "what fun is that?" and went on to talk about how although he has a general idea what's going to happen, he's very much on for the ride as he's writing.

And then he mentioned plot. In connection to life. As in does your life have a plot? His point of view was that "shit just happens" (which got a big laugh - we were a pretty easy crowd) and Cronenberg interjected one of the Sarah Palin jokes, opining that her life most likely has a plot, with a predestined ending and when I was done laughing about that, the idea of life having a plot (or not) starting taking up room in my brain.

It can get quite metaphysical, can't it? Because if you believe you life as a plot, it follows that you believe there is a force larger than you - most likely divine - that has a specific plan for you. I'm not sure there is such a thing as a divine being, but have always believed that if there is, I'm pretty sure they can be bothered getting personally involved in everybody's life. For one, how would she/he/it have the time to direct all the minutia of millions of lives, so I'm pretty sure that free will is part of our genetic makeup. And if we are given free will by a supposed divine being, doesn't it follow that it is up to us to lead our life the best we can? Just as parents try to teach their kids independence, responsibility and common sense and send their kids out into the world to make their own life, so I assume the tools that we are given - by evolution or miscellaneous divinities - are free will and a brain and that we are expected to use them.

However, that was a bit of a sidetrack. I think. On the way home in the bus, I knew I wanted to write about the idea of whether your life have a plot, but I wasn't sure where it would go and apparently it's going towards a discussion of faith. But does it have to? Can a plot happen without a predetermined storyline? Couldn’t a plot develop as you live, as you make choices, as "shit happens"?

What do you think? Does your life have a theme? Is it a plot? Is your life written as if by John Irving or is it developing organically? Or is it all just random things happening?

Your Wardrobe & RA

The holidays are loomin... I mean, on their way (me?m started shopping yet? A-hem...), so this week's HealthCentral post is about finding a wardrobe that works for RA:

"The holiday season is almost upon us and whether that means you'll brave the crowds on Black Friday to hunt the sales or have started percolating your own wish list of subtle hints for clueless loved ones, the scent of shopping is in the air. We look for a change in wardrobe or that special item we can't justify at a regular time (or price), but sometimes, rheumatoid arthritis can get in the way of wearing stylish shoes and putting on a tight top can make your shoulders scream."

The rest of the post is here.

Restaurant Etiquette

I stumbled over this nifty post on a New York Times blog – the New York Times has blogs??? Written by Bruce Buschel who’s about to open a restaurant, it’s 100 Things Restaurant Staffers Should Never Do (split into two parts - the second post here - to prevent reader exhaustion) and….

I loved it. I’ve been known to hold forth about things that gets me off in general - no, really Lene? Having a post label entitled rant is a pretty significant clue to the - and today, we are talking about specifically things that annoy me when eating out.

#17 on the list, "[d]o not take an empty plate from one guest while others are still eating the same course." What is the point of this? To rush things along? Make the rest of the people at the table feel as if they need to eat faster? Leave the bleedin’ plate until we’re all finished and let us enjoy our meal in peace and quiet!

#68 is also a treat: "Do not reach across one guest to serve another." Drives me absolutely batty and again, I'm going to invoke the alleged perfection of the Old Country. Because where I grew up, being a waiter is a skilled profession requiring an apprenticeship and you haven't been served until you've been served by somebody who knows what they're doing instead of some student making money for tuition. Aside from that, reaching across someone else at the dinner table to get the salt or the gravy is, in my family at least, anathema. What you're supposed to do instead is politely ask if the person will pass you the salt/gravy or if you absolutely must reach across someone, you do it only after asking permission first.

#85: "Never bring a check until someone asks for it. Then give it to the person who asked for it" also had me muttering in recognition. I know that in an awful lot of restaurants, they try you to keep you moving so you won't take up valuable table space, but stop rushing me! If I wanted to eat fast, I would go to a fast food restaurant or a cafeteria. The fact that I am in a restaurant means that I would like to have a restaurant meal and that includes taking the time I need to enjoy a meal that will cost more than a hamburger. Besides, if you leave me and my companions to our conversation, who knows... we may discover we need dessert. Connected to this, #88 " Do not ask if a guest needs change. Just bring the change" also annoys the crap out of me - trust me, I know it is customary to tip and I will leave one.

And lastly, I would like to add my own "don't" to #91-94 involving music. Music in a restaurant should be low, definitely background and not make it difficult for me to hear my companion’s conversation. It should not be necessary for me to ask that you turn it down. Again, I suspect they do this to get people eating faster so they can have more customers, but I don't care. I am paying for my meal and I would very much like to have a conversation with the rest of the people at the table.

Your turn. What bugs you when eating out?

The Countdown Begins

It's official. The season is upon us. How do I know this? I saw Santa Claus yesterday. But first, I saw dogs - apparently, the parade was Bring Your Own Firehydrant.


And penguins entertaining the local constabulary.



Bands. Many, many bands.


Large bands and me up close and personal (my ears are still ringing). I wondered what it'd been like to walk and play for that long.


Some did it backwards and in high heels.


There were polarbears


Foxes

A lobster in a gingerbread house (???)


Even the flu came



The U of T Lady Godiva Memorial Band (engineering students. Naturally)


And here he is....


Almost as exciting for a horsemad girl who never grew out of it... Mounties!


I think I need to get shopping...

Sea Change

I've been watching John Adamsand having an excellent time. It's well acted, fascinating in its depiction of the tiny social details of late 1800s America and I'm learning more about the early history of the US than I ever have before. But this post is not a review - come to think of it, this is the second post this week that starts out with filmed entertainment, yet isn't a review. A new trend?

Somewhere in the middle of the miniseries, John Adams, his wife Abigail and Thomas Jefferson are in Paris and as they watch a hot air balloon take flight for the first time, Jefferson says "so our umbilical cord with Mother Earth has been severed for the first time in history. Mankind floats upon a limitless plane of air." Which is an astonishingly beautiful way of phrasing it and it made me begin to understand, as far as a 21st-century woman can, this moment where what was thought impossible became possible.

What must it have been like to see something fly when in all of history before, nothing except birds and insects had? And the way it's filmed, the expression on the people's faces all coalesce into a sense of wonder and awe, a change so profound that you’re almost surprised there wasn't an audible crack and shuddering of the earth.

And it made me think about what achievement in the present could mirror this paradigm shift. Space flight, certainly. Walking on the moon, definitely - unless you saw them as the eventual natural extensions of flight? And I came back to computers, the Internet, thinking that this must be our sea change.

I remember when I got my first modem. It was 1989 and when I decided to get a 2400 baud modem, I was planning ahead - 1200 was the standard, but I've always bought a bit more than I need to extend the life of my technology. I used it over the phone line, dialing into a BBS where I chatted with other users. And was viewed as a hopeless nerd and loser for being one of those people who talk to others on the computer and when we had meets - actual events where we all got together - the look on "normal" people’s faces spoke volumes. The funny thing is, I met several of my dearest friends there and they're still around 20 years later. In retrospect, we weren't nerds and losers, we were pioneers (imagine insertion of raspberry here).

And then the other day, I downloaded Under the Dome, Stephen King's new book and as I watched the download of one of the five parts zip from the Internet into my computer at the rate of 36 MB in one minute, I boggled. At the concept, at the speed, at how life has changed - for better or worse - with this box on my desk. Surely this must be our limitless plane of air.

Or do you have a better suggestion?

Lest We Forget

For Remembrance Day, poppies and a poem.

Metamorphosis

Another sidetrack – must be something in the water? I’d intended to write something about rumpled reporters connected to blathering on about two movies: State of Play and The Soloist and then… well. You’ll see. Suffice to say is go rent 'em. Being witness to fantastic actors – Russell Crowe and Helen Mirren in State of Play and Robert Downey Jr. and Jamie Foxx in The Soloist – play off each other is truly breathtaking.

Sidetrack #1 got me off to wonder why reporters are always portrayed as rumpled? Come to think of it, writers are often portrayed as disheveled – what is it about this stereotype about writing causing a disinterest in your appea…. And this was the moment I realized that I was writing this in a pair of yoga pants with a hole or two and a big, comfy top (the kind of comfy that means not necessarily attractive). No make-up and I hadn’t brushed my hair after it dried from the shower. A nevermind almost made it on to the page, after which I’d moved briskly onto movies, but something else happened. I.e., sidetrack #2.

But first - sidetrack #1b? - more on the no makeup. I may have mentioned before that I'm rather fair (diplomatic version of Scandinavian colourlessness), which is why for years, I went nowhere without a bit of eyeliner and mascara to avoid the "death warmed over" look. Then came a long time where it hurt too much to bother applying the war paint and once I hopped back into an upswing, I somehow never got around to picking up a mascara wand. I did buy a new one a while ago - the old one having years ago been reduced to a dried-up bristly mess - but it remains pristine and destined to become a dried-up bristly mess in my makeup bag that hasn't been opened in a really long time. Which means I don't get out a hand mirror and look closely at my face, because if I'm not putting on makeup, the bathroom mirror works perfectly fine to check general appearance, right? Combine this with the kind of limited mobility of my shoulders that mean I can't comfortably reach things on my face that are much higher than my eyes and the next thing sort of makes sense, yet….

So, the other day, I touched my left eyebrow. You wouldn't think that this would be blogworthy, but it's what happened when I touched my left eyebrow that becomes the topic today (and we shall not discuss how long it took to get there. Instead, let's consider it blog foreplay). Anyway, back to my eyebrow. Which felt sort of weird. As if the hairs weren’t lying against the skin, so I moved to the hallway mirror, leaned forward and saw this

I have no idea how this happened. Apparently, half the hair in my - rather obviously unplucked - left eyebrow (seriously, not a mile wide as the macro shot would seem to indicate) ) is now perpendicular to my face. Not decorously tamed, not civilized, more sort of standing up straight as if electrocuted and about the furthest thing from elegant that you can get. And all of a sudden, I felt like Kafka. Except less repellent. And less animal-like. So perhaps not like Kafka at all. But what I want to know is this…

When did I become an 87-year-old man???

(and no, I don't know wtf is going on with the font again)