The Seated View

This "Quote Of The Day" comes courtesy of a telephone conversation with Michele: Her: I need to call George Bush. Me: The President of the United States? Her: Yep. Me: er... why? Her: They've been found. In Ajax. (Ontario) Me: Wha...? Her: Weapons of Mass Destruction. I've found them! Me: You did? Her: Embodied in four 11-year-old boys. Shortly after this gem, our call ended when the birthday party started stalking her and we could no longer hear one another. (p.s. Don't worry - she survived. The house? Not so much.)

This post is from way back in 2005. Read my updated thoughts on disability as a tragic plot point. The Sea Inside is out for rental and I’ve been looking forward to seeing it – Javier Bardem is a phenomenal actor. It was in theatres at the same time as Million Dollar Baby (which I saw), both about the same theme. My impression of Baby was… less-than-stellar. I think it’s only “inspiring” to able-bodied people. NB: SPOILER AHEAD! I’m very supportive of the right to do what you want with your life, including ending it if you think it necessary (not on a whim, please), but when you have a disability, watching someone choose to die merely because they can’t walk anymore, hits a nerve. While waiting for Sea to come out on DVD, I’ve been playing with writing something about how sick I am of creative media using disability as some sort of twisted cripple version of the madonna/whore metaphor. The person with the disability tends to be portrayed as saintly and inspiring or ...

I had a Plan. The Plan involved keeping my eagerness to blog madly at all times about every little thing in check and stick to about three times a week. Let’s face it, my shoulders can’t take much more than that. Then I went to the doctor for my Enbrel shot and it all flew out the window. See, the clinic has a TV in the waiting room and The Young & the Restless was on. I watched it briefly in my undergraduate days, but didn’t last – the storylines took way too long to wrap up and did I mention the thing about having the attention span of a gnat? Today, I found out that nothing much has changed in terms of how slooooooooow everything is. Also? Victor has turned a sort of neon tangerine colour (formaldehyde, maybe? He doesn’t look like he’s aged at all in the past 20 years), Nicki’s hair is neon blonde and they still zoom in so close you can count people’s nose hairs. My apologies to any rabid Y&R fans out there.

Of the 23 Victoria Day weekends I’ve experienced since I came to Canada, this was only the third where it didn’t pour buckets all three days. This year, it actually seemed like the first long weekend of the summer (I’m ignoring the rain promised for this afternoon). I spent it doing nothing with great abandon and meandering around the neighbourhood, connecting with other people again after a long hibernation. It was a pretty good weekend for the memory banks. There was the Chow Chow with a spring haircut that made it look like a lion. I watched six couples doing the tango in the sunshine by a fountain and refuse to speculate why – it’d ruin the moment. And I read Hypocrite in a Poufy White Dress in the park, surrounded by the smell of green things. Most importantly, I haven't worn socks since Thursday.

St. James Cathedral .

When I first started this blog, the thrill of seeing my words on a web page was enough to make me a little woozy - h ey, being public is close to being published, innit? Then my friends and family commented and that was very exciting. I mean, some of them even read it every day! (I clearly excite easily – it makes life more fun) My inner Attention Slut was very happy. For while. Then the shameless hussy started wanting more... Yesterday, the Harlot linked to me and all of a sudden even Ms. A.S. is a little overwhelmed. I figured out how to put a counter on the site and felt even more light-headed. It’s a more than a smidge freaky to have hundreds of people reading your site. Yesterday, I rode the Harlot’s coattails and thoroughly enjoyed it. Today? Tomorrow? Here's hoping that some of you will stick around. The desire to be Terribly Scintillating is enough to send me to Tuscany immediately. Or a straitjacket. The jury’s still out. The good news is...

This weekend, I re-watched Under the Tuscan Sun and it reminded me of a week about a year ago where I had my own private “Women Writers” movie festival. In addition to Tuscan , I watched My House In Umbria and Swimming Pool . By the time the “festival” was over, I was convinced that all my writing-related woes (and quite a few of my other problems) could be solved by living in a villa in Tuscany or the south of France. I got pretty specific. In my dream, I live in a centuries-old house, with deep stone walls, high ceilings and a view of the uncluttered countryside. It is just a 20-minute stroll to the village and I walk there to shop at the market a couple of times a week. (ed.: as old houses and the terrain in southern Europe are not exactly wheelchair friendly, I’ve convenient changed my walking ability status – I’ve already placed myself in Tuscany or Nice, so what’s a bit more messing with reality?) I have an almost-overgrown garden, with a nice stretch of lawn, large sh...

This weekend, we marked the lovely Michele’s birthday and since the Andersen family firmly believes in the adage that “more is better”, we added an early celebration of the birthdays of her equally charming children, Jason and Scott. After a not entirely nutritious dinner, we saw Cavalia . Supposedly, in a nutshell, Cavalia is a show exploring the evolution of the human-horse relationship. But really, those books that talk about parallel universes? All true. We spent Saturday evening entranced and transfixed. Right before us, the veil between the worlds parted and we were transported to a mystical realm of spirits, magic, unspoken communication between beautiful not-quite people and even more beautiful not-quite horses. During your visit to this world, you become convinced that they have all tapped into something deeper, a connection to one another that is unrealised in our reality. Each moment is marked by gentleness, respect and deep love. It is dream-lik...

We all know that reality shows are a scourge upon the earth and have no redeeming social value whatsoever. We should be reading Shakespeare instead! Saving kittens from wells! Single-handedly achieving world peace and ending hunger! Now that we got that out of the way, can we talk about American Idol ? Not the contestants, although Bo's my man, for single-handedly introducing good, old-fashioned rock to a generation raised on the pablum of Britney Spears, N Sync and the like. My issues are with the host, Ryan Seacrest. To wit: 1. Could somebody please muzzle him? Or at least explain the difference between a 'host' and a 'judge' and put a stop to his post-performance reviews, which are inevitably gushing, even when the contestant in question has utterly butchered a song. 2. What is it with the - and I apologise for the crudity, but it really is the only way to describe it - pissing contest he continuously tries to start with Simon Cowell? He is hopelessly outclass...

This morning, the day after the 8th (or was it 9th?) Smog Day of the year (on MAY 10! Can we all get behind this real quick, please?), I naturally opened my windows. I've spent the entire winter with my windows closed (most of the time because they were frozen shut - I love living in Canada) and at the first sign of something that could remotely be called warmth, open they go. WHAT WAS I THINKING?? Since then, I've been wheezing, sneezing and crying. Ah, Spring in the big city! Of course, this means a commensurate souring of mood - the word 'crabby' does not begin to describe things around here. To paraphrase the immortal words of Thumper's mother , since I can't say anything nice, I won't say anything (much) at all. Besides, I'm spending the day with my new best friend.

If you noticed a dark, sulphurous cloud hovering over downtown Toronto last night, that was me using a lot of colourful words in at least two languages. You don’t get to be this pleased with yourself without walking up Nemesis, who’ll arrive swiftly and smack you down for your effrontery. That malware I had? I might have gotten rid of it, but before I kicked out its pustulent arse, it left - insert tone of contemptuous disgust here and if you can manage a hiss, that'd be good, too - spawn . Which proceeds to wave about madly every time I surf the net, hollering "yoo-hoo, over here! Them's good pickings over here!", thus attracting a bunch of its equally pestilent buddies, that swarm to the buffet that (apparently) is my computer and snack delightedly. I believe I've reached the point where the 'idiot' part of 'idiot savant' takes over and I'll be bailing water (i.e., doing endless and continuous SpyBot checks) until help arrives.

This blog will have cat content. With pictures. I share my home with a cat of large personality (and an equally large amount of fur). Her job is to be cute, she's good at it and I have a digital camera. I suspect this may prove to be an annoying combination. Introducing Mojo, here seen preparing to eviscerate her favourite cat toy.

Today, on the way to lunch, I was stopped in my tracks by... well, spring. The sky was a clear blue and the finally-warm sun filtered through tiny, new leaves, so lightly and intensely green. Every year, this moment makes my stomach go 'woosh'.

  About a week ago, I picked up something in my travels on the net.  Not the kind of thing you want to pick up, like the winning lottery numbers, the email address of an old friend or the meaning of life found on an obscure website from outer Mongolia (do they have internet access in Outer Mongolia?).  Oh, no.  This was something NASTY.  It made .dll files disappear, messed with my RAM and rendered several programs essentially inoperable.  And it was spreading.   Tonight, I sat down in front of the beastie, rolled up my sleeves and set to work.  I adopted a "don't mess with me" expression and a firm touch on the keyboard - the blasted thing needed to see I meant business.   And guess what?  I may have fixed it.  All by myself.  This, in case you are not appropriately in awe, is saying something.  I am entirely self-(and occasional friend-)taught when it comes to geekiness and therefore sort ...

Part of me wonders if I got this blog just so I can relentlessly and obsessively share the pictures from my new digital camera with the ENTIRE WORLD. I love technology.

I've been thinking about a blog for some time, but - uncharacteristically - wasn't sure I had much to say. Or maybe it was the public nature of it all. A blog was very "Look At Me!", wasn't it? Then I remembered that although I may be shy, I've never been bashful about expressing my opinions. Having a blog would be perfect! I was sold. Or rather, I was sold on thinking about it some more. I don't tend to leap before I look. To put it mildly. More reasearch was clearly needed. In the quest for answers, I consulted my blogging friends. Stephanie came up with the perfect blog name yesterday (the one I'd picked was a smidge dorky) and I got - cautiously - a bit more excited. Next I emailed Ken , the resident Geek God, and asked if we could maybe some day in the future perhaps talk about it. When he had time, of course. No rush. Ken's a busy man - I figured I had days to get used to things. He emailed me back almost immediately, suggesting th...