Weird MSN Convo. Pt.II

Speak a language that includes the words "insho" or "nasutto"? Please leave a comment and let me know what it's called.

Probably my last exchange with najani2003:

najani2003@hotmail.com says:
Assalom Yovar
how are you people going to have fun if none of you people ever participate? says:
oh my god it's you again!
how are you people going to have fun if none of you people ever participate? says:
Assalom to you too.
how are you people going to have fun if none of you people ever participate? says:
So when did i give you my email address?
najani2003@hotmail.com says:
tinjiyo
how are you people going to have fun if none of you people ever participate? says:
So how are you? It's been a while since you last messaged me.
najani2003@hotmail.com says:
tun tu nom insho dothi yi chiz kutodi petho nasutto
how are you people going to have fun if none of you people ever participate? says:
So what do you think of this weather?
how are you people going to have fun if none of you people ever participate? says:
najani2003, i think i've fallen in love with you. your stoney msn silence is endearing. will you not speak to me??

The following message could not be delivered to all recipients:
najani2003, i think i've fallen in love with you. your stoney ...

how are you people going to have fun if none of you people ever participate? says:
i think i've been blocked.

The following message could not be delivered to all recipients:
i think i've been blocked.

how are you people going to have fun if none of you people ever participate? says:
and so ends the najani2003 saga of late 2003, as i sit and type into a machine that will surely spit the msg back at me. oh how it hurts to have my love spurned so!!

The following message could not be delivered to all recipients:
and so ends the najani2003 saga of late 2003, as i sit and type...

I have a feeling that najani2003 wasn't being very friendly this last time.

Jiggedy Jig

I'm home again (home again). And it's nice. It'll be nicer tomorrow evening when my parents get home from Mexico.
In the past week, the house has slowly started to smell like canned pet food and I don't like it one bit. A strange man wearing a maroon coloured robe has settled himself into a rocking chair in the basement. I haven't eaten in days. The car was repossessed by the elderly lady my family stole it from, and she set fire to the hedge as she sped away. A group of armadillos made a snowman in the front yard when the snow fell, the neighbours complained. I tripped on a driftwood log while walking the dog and fell into the lake. The spirit of the Blue Nose hoisted my dog and me onto its decks and set course for Lake Erie; I didn't get back until this morning. The ice cream store was closed for breakfast. Bob Sagget is now in the kitchen making macaroni and cheese. I hope he still has the robe on.
The preceeding text, save for the first three sentences, have been brought to you by Kyra's House of Tales. Parents, please don't worry, everything has been fine.

Aurevoir, NATO

"After Friday, it is no more my problem." - PM Jean Chretien on Canada's future with NATO; heard on CBC Radio1.

In other news, Toronto Police Chief, Julian Fantino, is still a boar. Do your own googling.

Porous/Poor Us

The walls here in the shoe box seem pretty thin at times. Times like this morning (afternoon) when I was jiggied out of a comfortable slumber to Outkast singing "Hey Ya". "Hey Ya" is the song d'annee for my neighbours, it seems. When I first heard the little beeps that give the song's melody its backbone coming through the wall, I thought 'Oh isn't that nice. Mmhmm. Very fun, very lively.' But their love for the tune is definately not waning. In fact, it's quite possible that it's waxing! I think that Outkast may have ripped open some space-time continuum over in apartment 302 (or is it 304?). I hope not everything is going in reverse over there. If it starts to smell of talcum powder and diapers in a month, I'm calling the super. A girl should have no trouble sleeping past noon in her own home. Harumph.

So, now that I/we am/are up (I'm so quick with the conjugation! look at me slip between the first person singular and the royal/first person plural like it was butta. I deserve an award. Give me an award, dammit! Uhh....) I'm going to start into today's plan: sushi making. First dress. Then shop. Prepare rice, do some choppin' an' rollin'. Injest. Mmm...

Every once in awhile I find myself drawn into an elaborate network of design related sites. I'm talking about the sites on which the Pixel rules all. The sites on which an exhausting, uber-trendy, you're-a-consumer-just-by-looking feel pervades; on which active forums, reviews, and shoutouts are constantly being absorbed into new relationships, like water drops running down a window; and links. Usually many links. In text format, banner/button format, chase-the-vectorbased-ironic-character-around-the-screen format. Links. And this is where I get sucked into their world. Their, them. 'Them' being the talented bit-herders of the 'web. I can't fathom how these people going about all of this. I mean, of course I can imagine the path of curiosity and discovery that an individual might have taken in order to get to a high level of design, and authoring competency, but the entire...organism/structure/network that results when thousands of creative minds have access to eachother so directly astounds me. I've been online since '95, I should be getting at least accustomed to all the choice, all the potential. But I'm not. Not at all. It really does tire me out sometimes. I wonder if, a generation from now, kids will grow up with drastically different neural connections and behaviours because of their from-birth experience with the web and its connectedness. Anyway, here are some of the sites that caught my eye this evening*:

• ClubSandwich
  
• Digikitten Universe
  
• J+E Design
  
• p i c t o p l a s m a
  
• Pixel Girl Presents
  

* Tonight, or all of today, rather, was supposed to be devoted to writing my Edu.Pych term paper (Kyra, aren't term papers supposed to be worked on throughout the term? Not a couple of days in advance of the due date? Shut it, Rhetorical Question Poser. I don't want to hear from you). However, said paper just wasn't happening. So, as the content of the few ClinicalPych classes I've attended has alerted me, I rationalized my way out of handing in the paper, and I am currently intellectualizing the unpleasant outcome that will surely result. Hooohhh. I really make myself sick sometimes. Thank god I can boost my average next term (because between now and then, my self-motivation and study ethic will have become so much stronger...). I'm like some sort of Taoist nightmare. Jesuschrist.

Hoooo...

French: Je suis vraiment fatigue.
Pig Latin: Ay-i m-ay ired-tay.
Cracked-Out Fake Spanish: Ariba! Soy mucho fatiguerro! (every sentence in Cracked-Out Fake Spanish either starts or ends in an exclamation point, didn't you know?)
Yiddish: Oi. (The word is exceptionally versatile.)
English: Hit me with a lamb chop and call me Sue, boy am I tired.

But yeah yeah yeah...what would a blog entry be without some hyperlink action? Well, very similar to many of my posts here at aotp, actually. But tonight we're ("we're" - what the hell am I saying??) going to give the people some links. And nobody can cast a cynical glance at me and sneer "the people? oh please. there are no people who read this page. Only bots and crawlers. Get real, Kyra." "Oh ho!" I retort. (My wit is quick, and my retorting skills strong, you see.) So, yeah. "Oh ho! But there are people who look at this page. A couple of them. Like some of my friends," before this imaginary opponant of mine can say something similar to "Friends?? What friends? Kyra, aloe vera plants listen to you complain about burning couscous onto your nice pot only because they have no choice in the matter." I keep on: "and some random people who click on blogger's 'recently updated' links.." I peter out, remembering that the whole point of this post was to state that I'm feeling in need of sleep, and then to give The People some links. Not to go about proving the existence of said People, or to cast myself as an eccentric who talks to succulents and can't even make a pot of couscous without culinary disater.
...
...
Here you go, you person, you. Linkage. (No deadends at aotp tonight, yo!)
IndiePages - for music reviews, zines, and a generally feel-good vibe.
"Greetings. I am a time travler from the year 2036."
Communication, Cultural and Media Studies. Have an info-base . Have an info-base! Like the blowpop commercials... Am I the only person on the planet that remembers the Blowpop commercials from the late 80s?? I bet you don't remember SunJammers either.. "People"! Pah. What good are People.

A call for UWO to Get Out!

That The University of Western Ontario does little to nurture (or acknowledge) the sexual diversity of its student population is no shocker if you've spent any time on the campus. Looking for the Thelma to your Louise? The Sigfreid to your Roy? The rabbit hole that exits the massive closet that is the UWO campus? Finding them could prove tough. QWO Pridewestern, Western's queer club, is essentially invisible and voiceless during most of the year, registering an ever so faint ping on the popular radar during Pride Week before vanishing again. Lectures and public discussions on queer theory and related topics are few and far between. Women's Studies isn't for everyone. Fortunately for UWO students, and the rest of the London community, there is one extensive, well advertised, and permanent resource available -- The Pride Library. Established in 1997 by Western Professor James Miller, the Library is a unique phenomenon. In an interview with Young Gay America, Miller explained, "This is actually the ONLY official established Research Center for Gay and Lesbian students in a Canadian University. The fact that it should be at THIS University is nothing short of a miracle."

later that night...

Get In(on it)!
Continuing along with the London PSA wave that I seem to be riding tonight, listen up:
Hot Hot Heat, The Unicorns, and The French Kicks (never heard of 'em, but this review isn't great) will be playing at Call The Office on December 5th, 2003. Live in London? Want to witness the awkward, socially inept whirl of somethingorother that is me? Come to the show! Music is good for you and your community.

One Great City!

A fifty second bike ride east from the downtown core and I’m leaning on my handle bars, eyeing a pile of rubble. Nearby, a CNR freight procession rattles its way west. I dismount the bicycle and high step over some rusting ductwork that's laying across the grassy way between demolished and functional squalor. Just now a guy in his twenties walks past. This isn’t a place where I had expected to encounter strollers. But then, I’m here, aren’t I? Strolling, in a way.
His back is to me, now, so I call out. He looks back just before the path gets narrower and the young maples on either side start to reach for him. I ask if he knows what this used to be. He seems a little aggravated by the question. That I ask. Or that I am. Here.
“Don’t know,” is the answer. A look around. Then, “But sometimes the guys in that building,” he points to a recessed door in a squat building opposite the rubble, “sometimes they let their dog out. They don’t know anybody’s back here. They don't check. You know.” I thank him for the warning and watch him walk away with a bit of story he’d rather keep for himself.

Cactapus

I've been to a few volunteering sessions at CHRW 94.7 this week. It will be quite a while before I qualify for my super cool 'radio volunteer in good standing' ID card though.
Check back in with aotp on October 26th for a special announcement. I can't say anything. My lips are sealed. Really. But because you're such a special reader, and you have such a nice way about you, I'll give something away: there's going to be wambam webzine launch. And YOU are going to LOVE it. Maybe if you're really good, and you send me one hundred dollars, I'll give you the url ahead of time. If you send me one hundred thousand dollars I'll make an online shrine to you and allow you to spread the rumour (without the threat of a libel suit) that I have, on more than one occasion, begged you for the exclusive rights to produce a biographical motion picture based on the true story of your shabamakhazi self. Really. Rio never even crossed my mind.

8:33pm
i can't believe there's only one instance
of cuff the duke on soulseek.
what's the difference between us?

8:57pm
people do stupid things like sit in the middle of two passing subway trains when they're drunk and impatient in downtown toronto. then they go on the radio and broadcast their story to the entire country and think we'll be awed because they lived, instead of bored because we expected a better story.

9:25pm
do i really look so bad that
you won't even shake my hand?
can i tell you that the problem's not me?
it's not my fault - will you believe?
please can we just move on!

10:15pm
Dan won't leave me alone about poop. he has threatened to add me to his hate list along with the likes of Mike Bullard and god only knows who else he's got up there right now. go to his blog, soundscientist.blogspot.com, and chew him out. or at least make fun of him because he has actually posted 'the shit list'.

11:02pm
the Datsuns are endlessly annoying (bland,unimaginative,generally lame could serve as substitutes). CBC has given a recording of one of their shows an eternity of attention tonight. why CBC? why?

11:25pm
pitchfork, don't lie to me. i know you're out there. reviewing and construing. shelling out the word to music readers. it's frustrating to find you hidden behind a white page with excuses in verdana. come through, pitchfork. come through!

CONNECT THE DOTS, MARGARET

"You'd better listen up, Frankie, because I've got something important to tell you -- that's the last time you call me doll face, and I mean it. Oh if I were to complain to Buzz about all the 'sugar pies and sweet-things' I have to put up with in an afternoon with you he'd, he'd --"

"He'd what, kiddo? Can I call you kiddo?"

"He'd fire you for starters, that's for sure. And no, I don't want you to call me kiddo either. My name is Margaret, and that's what I want you to call me. Lemme tell ya buster, things are go--"

"Ahem...buster? I thought you said you'd had it with the nicknames, Mar-ga-ret.."

"--things are going to change -- they're going to change tonight! From now on when I'm up on this stage and you're down there pretending not to peek up my skirt every chance you get - oh I see you trying, Frank - you are not going to say 'Wouldja mind just twirling around a little when you come to that part, sweetheart?'. No. ...From now on you'll say Margaret."

"Alright then, Margaret. I'll do my darndest. Anything to make my lead girl happy. Now, would you be a dear and pass me that script we were looking at? I've carelessly left it on the first step down the trap exit."

"Here."

"We'll have to have a word with Mister O'Shea about those stockings of yours...runs that reach to the most indecent heights. Wouldn't you say, Margie?"

"Margaret."

Audio Update: Metric @ The Horseshoe

Carly and I did end up going to see Metric on the 27th. Graph Nobel and her band opened the night. [Do I say it? I can feel the feminist eye rolls already...] Nobel is small. Like, my kind of small, minus 13lbs. But the sound that she can produce is huge. Sometime in between songs an url was mentioned, but I didn't hear it. I googled "Graph Nobel" but found only a few blathery, generally uninformative pages. So I really don't know anything about the woman or the band. Just that the group had a surprising level (why?) of tightness; their sound is a little corporate-fm at times, but they seem to have a lot of grit and promise up their sleeves. Nobel and her back up singer blast a whalloping aural expression for certain. Plus they have fun, 'haha we tricked you' rythym turn arounds.

Second to play was Boy. One of them, on lead guitar, front & centre, is from the Yukon, apparently. I was there to see Metric. Boy was boring. Very boring. I got up and bought a $7.50 pint of Caffrey's. Not sure how much I usually pay for a pint of beer, but $7.50 seemed a bit much. I should pay more attention to these things. But, in any case, Caffrey's is an extremely enjoyable Irish ale. You see, it has a thick head that you can savour, and a very short taste registry time span. So the taste is there, and then it's not. There -- mmm -- then not. Brief, mild, and politely bold. No after taste, really, just an ever so subtle nutty lingering. Please go and learn more about this dependable brew at The Beer Belly. And, my dears, that is all I have to say for Boy's performance at the Horseshoe on Saturday.

Now Metric, on the other hand, was fun. A great deal of fun. Everybody on stage had energentic, intelligent personality, and singer/keyboardist Emily Haines is a fantastic voice for the band. There was a song played that I hadn't heard before...something about flame blue eyes? Anyway, I liked it a lot. Once upon a time, I posted a number of links to articles describing her voice. Go look for them. [HINT: The stamp was "Thu Jun 05, 09:02:03 PM". I believe in you and your ability to find this entry. I'm clapping for you, Peter. I swear I'm clapping.] One of those guys who always shows up to shows with his fucking digicam posted a bunch of pictures from the show on his site. ..So we shall not abhor him this time.

Audio Update: Metric @ The Horseshoe

Carly and I did end up going to see Metric on the 27th. Graph Nobel and her band opened the night. [Do I say it? I can feel the feminist eye rolls already...] Nobel is small. Like, my kind of small, minus 13lbs. But the sound that she can produce is huge. Sometime in between songs an url was mentioned, but I didn't hear it. I googled "Graph Nobel" but found only a few blathery, generally uninformative pages. So I really don't know anything about the woman or the band. Just that the group had a surprising level (why?) of tightness; their sound is a little corporate-fm at times, but they seem to have a lot of grit and promise up their sleeves. Nobel and her back up singer blast a whalloping aural expression for certain. Plus they have fun, 'haha we tricked you' rythym turn arounds.
Second to play was Boy. One of them, on lead guitar, front & centre, is from the Yukon, apparently. I was there to see Metric. Boy was boring. Very boring. I got up and bought a $7.50 pint of Caffrey's. Not sure how much I usually pay for a pint of beer, but $7.50 seemed a bit much. I should pay more attention to these things. But, in any case, Caffrey's is an extremely enjoyable Irish ale. You see, it has a thick head that you can savour, and a very short taste registry time span. So the taste is there, and then it's not. There -- mmm -- then not. Brief, mild, and politely bold. No after taste, really, just an ever so subtle nutty lingering. Please go and learn more about this dependable brew at The Beer Belly. And, my dears, that is all I have to say for Boy's performance at the Horseshoe on Saturday.
Now Metric, on the other hand, was fun. A great deal of fun. Everybody on stage had energentic, intelligent personality, and singer/keyboardist Emily Haines is a fantastic voice for the band. There was a song played that I hadn't heard before...something about flame blue eyes? Anyway, I liked it a lot. Once upon a time, I posted a number of links to articles describing her voice. Go look for them. [HINT: The stamp was "Thu Jun 05, 09:02:03 PM". I believe in you and your ability to find this entry. I'm clapping for you, Peter. I swear I'm clapping.] One of those guys who always shows up to shows with his fucking digicam posted a bunch of pictures from the show on his site. ..So we shall not abhor him this time.

CBC Radio3

I adore CBC Radio 3. The website, the program. Both. I must buy another cassette so that I can record the show on Saturday night. I can't use the tape from last week because I haven't had a chance to listen to the entire thing again yet, let alone figure out the names of the tracks I liked the most. I have now signed myself up to get the playlist on Fridays for the next day's show. But as for last week, I hope I can find out who created those standout songs... I should email somebody about it. Returning for a moment to the Internet question (which is quickly becoming less of a question); I don't think that I'll be able to access the Radio3 site with dial-up. Poopy. Not when I'm at my place in London anyway.

Audio News
Metric @ The Horseshoe
Carly and I are meeting tonight somewhere downtown since I'm back in Toronto for the weekend. We're going to see about getting tickets for tomorrow night's show at the Horseshoe: METRIC is playing! Hooleydooleystelley-oh! I really hope it's not sold out.

CBC Radio3

I adore CBC Radio 3. The website, the program. Both. I must buy another cassette so that I can record the show on Saturday night. I can't use the tape from last week because I haven't had a chance to listen to the entire thing again yet, let alone figure out the names of the tracks I liked the most. I have now signed myself up to get the playlist on Fridays for the next day's show. But as for last week, I hope I can find out who created those standout songs... I should email somebody about it. Returning for a moment to the Internet question (which is quickly becoming less of a question); I don't think that I'll be able to access the Radio3 site with dial-up. Poopy. Not when I'm at my place in London anyway.


Audio News
Metric @ The Horseshoe
Carly and I are meeting tonight somewhere downtown since I'm back in Toronto for the weekend. We're going to see about getting tickets for tomorrow night's show at the Horseshoe: METRIC is playing! Hooleydooleystelley-oh! I really hope it's not sold out.

HERE'S TO FACTORY LIVING

AN UNAPOLAGETIC ABSENCE ENDING;
OR
HERE'S TO FACTORY LIVING

My new London address is 330 Clarence St. Once upon a time, the building was a shoe factory. The cobbling machines, blue collar workers, and steam whistles (i like to think of there being whistles at one time) are gone. The workers are probably sweating it out these days somewhere deep within the smelly fortress that is the Labatt's brewery, the building has been gutted and gussied up. Even the poor old freight elevator has been faux-wood-pannelled. But the windows are still tall, the ceilings get to stretch more than those in your average living space, and some of the duct work remains exposed. I think that my favourite feature is the dark, slightly wider than what I grew up with, easy to clean, and nice to walk on, hardwood flooring.

I got the keys to this first apartment of mine after spending two nights sleeping on Hasdeep (et al.)'s couch, and two months in Algonquin contending with premonitions of various degrees of homelessness. Luckily, I won't be needing to hoard any cardboard boxes (to call home) this term.

The state of technological gadgetry at my place is positively sparse. It's pretty much limited to my laptop, a printer, and a radio. I have proclaimed my apartment a t.v. free zone, and am only at the beginning of what I hope will be a long running, far reaching personal promotion of public radio. But I am having a little trouble deciding what to do about the Internet at home.

Should I bring the web to my breakfast table? or should I continue using campus and public library computers for Internet access? It's no longer a matter of financial (dis)ability since my father has agreed to pay the bill for a 15 dollar/month dial-up plan. Will I use it excessively? To the point where I'm just floating around on some mindless system of links and idle quandries? If I do get hooked up, which I probably will, sooner rather than later, I'll have to set limits for myself. Maybe being back to dial-up will help me keep a focus. Broadband can be very distracting; and you certainly don't need it in order to view acedemic papers, type out email, or use IM apps. So maybe. Probably. I'll be online at home again soon. But using it like long distance phone calls - with focus and ending the session with a sense of accomplishment.

AN UNAPOLAGETIC ABSENCE ENDING;

OR
HERE'S TO FACTORY LIVING
My new London address is 330 Clarence St. Once upon a time, the building was a shoe factory. The cobbling machines, blue collar workers, and steam whistles (i like to think of there being whistles at one time) are gone. The workers are probably sweating it out these days somewhere deep within the smelly fortress that is the Labatt's brewery, the building has been gutted and gussied up. Even the poor old freight elevator has been faux-wood-pannelled. But the windows are still tall, the ceilings get to stretch more than those in your average living space, and some of the duct work remains exposed. I think that my favourite feature is the dark, slightly wider than what I grew up with, easy to clean, and nice to walk on, hardwood flooring.

I got the keys to this first apartment of mine after spending two nights sleeping on Hasdeep (et al.)'s couch, and two months in Algonquin contending with premonitions of various degrees of homelessness. Luckily, I won't be needing to hoard any cardboard boxes (to call home) this term.

The state of technological gadgetry at my place is positively sparse. It's pretty much limited to my laptop, a printer, and a radio. I have proclaimed my apartment a t.v. free zone, and am only at the beginning of what I hope will be a long running, far reaching personal promotion of public radio. But I am having a little trouble deciding what to do about the Internet at home.

Should I bring the web to my breakfast table? or should I continue using campus and public library computers for Internet access? It's no longer a matter of financial (dis)ability since my father has agreed to pay the bill for a 15 dollar/month dial-up plan. Will I use it excessively? To the point where I'm just floating around on some mindless system of links and idle quandries? If I do get hooked up, which I probably will, sooner rather than later, I'll have to set limits for myself. Maybe being back to dial-up will help me keep a focus. Broadband can be very distracting; and you certainly don't need it in order to view acedemic papers, type out email, or use IM apps. So maybe. Probably. I'll be online at home again soon. But using it like long distance phone calls - with focus and ending the session with a sense of accomplishment.

Bears are sexy beasts

Well, well, well. Here I am in Algonquin Park. Kilometre 14.5. I have just been told by my PStore Fairy Godmother that the gift shop (in which I work) did very well today. Maybe it has to do with all the porno bear figurines that we sell everyday. Those things are dirty! Kinkier than you'd think. Anyway, tonight's plan is to sit with Krista and drink lots of beer while she attends to her laundry at the upper residence. The laundry appliances in Lower don't work. And the kitchen has no cold water. And somebody singed their eyebrows off trying to fix the bloody dryer. But, hey, it's still a fun place. I just want the hell out of gift shop. KYRA WILL SMACK!

Emily Haines be Googled

I was reading a review at Pitchfork on Broken Social Scene and Emily Haines was mentioned. Having no idea of who this woman is, I thought I'd look her up. Apparently everybody who writes about her art sees her talent along very similar lines. Check this out --
-->"Emily Haines' chameleon warble"
-->"Emily Haines' seething vocals"
-->"Emily Haines' melting alto"
-->"the soaring vocals of Emily Haines"
-->"the the luscious vocals of Emily Haines"
At least this guy managed to put more than two words between her name and the ensuing descriptors with "Emily Haines teases out all the suffocating peer-dependent loneliness of teenage-girlhood, capturing a kind of heartbreaking solipsistic neediness".

Bon Voyage, Jerry

Went to Jerry's going away party on Friday. Decided that Stella Artois smells like weed. Pinky swore to share a place in Vancouver with Dan if he ever moves out there. Met a guy named Richard who teaches middle school and snorts coke. Ordered hot and sour soup and spring rolls at New Sky on Spadina with Dan afterward. Was very impressed to learn that the restaurant stays open until 5 in the morning. Also learnt that "cold tea" can mean beer. C-o-f-f-e-e...b-e-e-r. Took a 17 dollar cab ride home. Got home shortly after four. Answered the phone at nine twenty something.

Holga, ya?
Took in my first roll of 120mm film to LabLighting on Queen on Friday afternoon. Will have the prints on Tuesday. Hope they work out. I bought more film, b/w this time.

This Afternoon

I like the way the rain makes everything feel so alive and re-connected. The sounds of running, falling water adds a vital, syncopated rhythm to the urban score. I've never heard anyone complain about the sound of rain. At the same time, watching the water drop on so much hard ground is saddening when you start to think about it. Puddles form where there is no grass, no earth, no natural water course to join. Instead of leaves and root systems to use and administer the downfall, there are rooves and sewers to move it away. And if the rain keeps falling like it is, the sewers will exceed their capacity, and overflow into the Lake. The rain finally making its way back to the water body, but bringing all of our shit along with it. It's the destruction of Lake Ontario using an ant trap method. We allow the rain to use these sewer systems that are filled with our poisons, contaminating that water and then, in turn, the body of water it eventually becomes part of.

I have a bit of head ache right now. I'm pretty sure its due to the day's weather system. Which is actually sort of comforting. It's proof of still being a true part of the natural environment. Not that I need a headache to be aware of this...but you know, it's a warning that I think a lot of us need. I wish more people in Toronto (and the rest of the province, country, world) would get more headaches. Maybe our arrogance/ingnorance levels would taper off a bit.

Lyrical

More housing developments go up, named after the things they replace; so welcome to Minnow Brook, and welcome to Shady Space.
- Modest Mouse; "Novocain Stain"

Audio News Update

The Beach has one record store. This one record store is chocked full of Top 30s Chart, soft rock, and mainstream classical. This record store is always out of stock when it comes to music that I'd like to buy. So I have go downtown. Today I ended up settling for the HMV on Yonge because I knew that what I wanted would probably be in stock there. And it was. I feel bad about hitting up HMV and not Rotate or whichever other independant store I should have gone to instead. (And to think that I was bugging Miranda about Blockbuster!)

To: The wonderfully diverse music vendors of Toronto

I am very sorry for spending money at HMV this afternoon. I could have bought from the Sam's right next door. At least Sam is Canadian. I tried, I really did. But Sam's was all out of the first two titles that I was looking for. And HMV was so conveniant. So there. So predictable.
I promise that my next music purchase will be made in cramped, locally owned quarters.

From: Kyra, the kleenex carrying, bleary eyed girl in the brown sweater

Now then. Here's what I came home with --> (1.)The Postal Service - Give Up (2.)Mirah - you think it's like this but really it's like this (3.)The Be Good Tanyas - Chinatown (4.)Ugly Cassanova - Sharpen Your Teeth

This afternoon is a lovely one in Toronto. I'm in the backyard, sitting at the patio table, wearing pyjamas, enjoying the breeze, and, most importantly, not up to my elbows in meat product. My mother is beside me, reading the list of Princess Margaret Lottery winners. . .and guess what! I still don't own a car! My dad did win a pair of binoculars though. But that is far from exciting. Maybe I'll use them to spy on the woman who won the Aston Martin V12 Vanquish. I imagine she'll have to sell it; I don't think many people could afford the insurance rates that car would be subject to.
Last night, Taylor and I walked from work to Max Milk to Becker's to home because nobody seems to value the Classic Coke slushie anymore. Vanilla Coke has stolen the hearts and sensibilities of my neighbourhood's variety store owners. So we went back to my house, borrowed my parents' barge (a 1996 Buick LeSabre) and drove to the SevenEleven at Pape and Queen for our frosted treats. On the way there we picked up Miranda who, by the end of our little sojourn, was none too pleased. Poor girl just wanted her burgers and boyfriend and home.
There were three things on my agenda for today:

• sleeping late -- didn't really happen due to my burgeoning cold, and the clopping around that permeates the paper thin floor separating my basement bedroom from the kitchen, bathroom, and hallway above.
  
• CD shopping -- not sure if this will happen due to, again, my cold, and the motivation that this has sucked out of me.
  
• quit work -- ah yes, a recurring item on my to-do lists of late. . .The past few days at work have been made possible by the "Today is the last" mantra. Now with my cold (such a crutch I make of this slight malady) I feel that perhaps I will actually make the call today. Afterall, I certainly won't be able to go in tomorrow if I'm still sneezing.

Bah! Miranda just called. She wants me to go with her to hand in a resume at Blockbuster. I've told her that Blockbuster is Bad, but no, she's fine with its big boxyness and censorship. But I'll go with her because that way she'll come with me to find some CDs. First I'll call in to work to quit though. I'll tell Ernie that I'm sick and probably won't be able to come in tomorrow, and that I won't be in ever again. So that's not exactly real notice, but in this instance I'll suspend certain ethical beliefs and just be done with it. WOw. Maybe I'll actually end up two for three at the end of the day. Hur. Rah.

Audio News Update

Having temporarily put aside the mix I mentioned yesterday, my laptop has been filling the basement w/sounds by Manitoba, Múm, Neko Case, M.Ward, To Rocco Rot, Ida, and Ms. John Soda tonight. And my dad has been enjoying it. He actually said this. Usually my father would prefer that I use headphones when it comes to the music I listen to. So, hearing my 50-something year old dad compliment the work of someone like Manitoba is a pretty big thing. I'm pretty sure his penchant for the new pop classical thang won't be waning any time soon though.

All over the place

all over the place -- it's a warning, it's a disclaimer, it's a blog. Entry number one.

Three days ago, I was an ardent hater of the term 'blog'; such a sluggish, blunt, objectionable word. I swore that I would never create one. Any online, editorial assemblage of mine would be referred to as a weblog or a journal. No trendy 'blogging' for this girl. And then sometime between not studying for Introduction to Information Retrieval on Wednesday and not studying for CompSci today I rolled my eyes in defeat and started up this. . .blog. Geah!
While it's possible that I may soon invite a friend or two to submit their own thoughts, images, announcements, feeble accusations, for now it's just me doing the posting. The fact that I am incapable of focussing my attention for long to enough to aquire any sort of web design skills means that things will remain plain. Not plain and simple, just plain; things are rarely simple.

So there are a couple of things that I want to start off with.
First is the txt file that was to be my first entry (which was created all the way back on Tuesday when I still firmly resisted the dastardly b word). I've given it its own sad little home, please go and visit.
Second is toy camera photography. How much am I enjoying some of the sites that are devoted to taking pictures through plastic lenses. Such lofi charm is wonderful. Toronto blogger and photo fiend Rannie Turingan keeps his photojunkie.ca site well enough to lure me back again and again. Although the photos on his site are taken with a variety of toy cameras, the Holga photos are what thrill me. Weirdly enough, the site is "under quarantine" today. SARS is changing the way Torontonians think.

Off topic for a moment: the worldwide SARS outbreak coincided with my burgeoning awareness of the re-emerging threat posed by TB. The last that I read on the topic was in MotherJones. A really brief version of the magazine article is available on their site. Back on topic. While I think that the growing popularity of toy or lofi photography is generally great, I hate the marketing that is bringing some of this popularity along. Case in point, lomo. The marketing people at Lomography.com are insanely clever in the same evil way that the marketers of pogs, tamagotchis, and tickle me elmos were insanely clever. Everything to do with the lomo cameras are cheap, except the actual price. Yes, yes, I know, it's a pop culture thing, fine. But all the money that is changing hands makes feel a little queazy. Another case of trying to buy the lifestyle/community, not just the product, I think. Me, I'll take a $40 Holga any day. Hey, I'm serious. Please, send me an Holga! Preferably a souped up one from Randy at holgamods.com (which, btw, would still cost less than a lomo!).