tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-55453232012-01-27T11:54:44.305-06:00bugs galoreblessed are the easily amusedlisanoreply@blogger.comBlogger1581100tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5545323.post-1166544655112542122006-12-19T09:58:00.000-06:002006-12-19T10:17:27.870-06:00page 79Well, I never did finish the novel - I stopped for gas and coffee at the halfway mark and never got back behind the wheel. But if a slackass like me can write half a novel in three weeks, imagine what someone with any kind of work ethic could do. 25,000 words is no joke. And my protagonist and I are still on good terms, more or less. It was an amicable ending. What follows is one of her lisanoreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5545323.post-1165863884089644492006-12-11T12:59:00.000-06:002006-12-11T13:04:44.103-06:00This is my Grandpa, Frank Martin Toews. He played the harmonica, rode a motorcycle, rescued a maiden from abuse and slavery (and then married her), and liked to drink a glass of beer of an afternoon. He is fondly remembered.lisanoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5545323.post-1163696410098843382006-11-16T10:49:00.000-06:002006-11-16T11:13:11.243-06:00like my dad always says -I'm so far behind I think I'm first. The forwarder I go, the behinder I get. Etcetera.Yay! I'm one quarter done my novel. Booooo, I'm one half done the month. For those of you who read my excerpt at nanowrimo (author name lisalouise), I'll swap it for another bit that falls later in the story.For those of you who may have wished to comment but were unable to, I've opened lisanoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5545323.post-1163452722731448402006-11-13T15:11:00.000-06:002006-11-13T15:30:19.586-06:00word count: 11, 453I know that sounds like a lot, but consider that I need to have 50,000 words by the end of the month (which only has 30 days) and some might argue that they should even make sense. No picnic, dear reader. No, trudging off the to the word mines every day to be engulfed by the soot and sweat of creation is a sacrifice not for the faint of heart.Also, my novel sucks. I should havelisanoreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5545323.post-1162488247485300892006-11-02T11:05:00.000-06:002006-11-02T11:57:30.556-06:00NaNoOhNo, or "It was a dark and wordy night."Busiest month of my life. But, as Simon said, we're all frickin' busy. Simon also says 'play longer and faster - only then will you be the master.'It's in that spirit that I begin writing my first novel - my NaNo m.o., of course, is to start a day late and at least a dollar short. I don't even have an idea. Or a genre. But I have the first 600 of lisanoreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5545323.post-1156810435085015132006-08-28T18:05:00.000-06:002006-08-28T18:13:55.100-06:00Being a thinking person is kind of a burden, you know? Always with the thinking. Runs in my family.lisanoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5545323.post-1156808874045759022006-08-28T17:34:00.000-06:002006-08-29T13:42:52.206-06:00real jobNo shit. No, I am not kidding. I have my own office, and everything. It's kind of the colour of the underside of your tongue. Except for where the ceiling tiles are discoloured from water damage. And my own desk, which has its own computer. And you know what that means. It's time for Lady MacBugs to fire up that magnificent time-wasting machine. And as an homage to this treadmill that's lisanoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5545323.post-1144014771014629272006-04-02T15:40:00.000-06:002006-04-02T15:52:51.036-06:00you're so interesting i want to talk at you for 89 minutesSo I'm trying out my somewhat rusty social skills chatting with some anonymous dude at ye olde caffeine trough. He seems to know something about me - 'you still in journalism?' - and I have to confess I know fuck all about him. That hurdle past, he asks what sort of stories I do. Mostly arts and fluff, I say - but I do have this one lisanoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5545323.post-1140917463135228672006-02-25T19:27:00.000-06:002006-02-25T19:31:03.136-06:00fear me.lisanoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5545323.post-1140895863252444552006-02-25T12:18:00.000-06:002006-02-25T13:31:03.310-06:00cosmonautWhy would I even bother? I mean, it's been half a year since I had anything to say. This blog is as dead (and probably as irrelevant and cliche) as a doornail. What? You didn't miss me?Perhaps my absence has been like that of Jodie Foster's in Contact, when she blasts off and disappears into a wormhole and sees galaxies glowing and undulating in the velvet black of space and meets her lisanoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5545323.post-1127928621390435942005-09-28T11:13:00.000-06:002005-09-28T11:30:21.443-06:00Am I nuts?Early results are looking pretty positive in the lunacy poll. People I respect most say 'definitely dotty'.But it's a done deal. The Date is now the Roommate. My house is roughly the size of a winnebago and now it houses a weight room. And more CDs with the word 'death' in the title than you can shake a fist at.Over granola, we chew over the lingering debates:Can things that are popularlisanoreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5545323.post-1127191892331067612005-09-19T22:36:00.000-06:002005-09-19T22:51:32.336-06:00ma'afThat means sorry. Sorry I've had nothing to say. I could blame the lack of internet access, but it would be more accurate to say this:Mass graves have a way of robbing one of glib remarks, the kind I've made a habit of posting here.Don't get me wrong, I haven't been wandering the fields of the dead day and night since I left or anything. It's just that my usual throw-away tone just doesn't lisanoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5545323.post-1126402560966572592005-09-10T19:30:00.000-06:002005-09-10T19:36:00.970-06:00Papayity in MennonesiaThe jet lag has worn off, but the culture shock persists -I'm with Mennonites every day - hymns, devotions, you name it.The official version of this response can be seen at www.bitlink.ca/mccs.Gotta go. To church.lisanoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5545323.post-1125679106030469312005-09-02T10:17:00.000-06:002005-09-02T18:00:55.763-06:00barometer I've created a system to help people at work understand how to approach me. A quick glance at my desktop will give significant clues to my state of mind.dehydrated or hormonally unstable - keep reasonable distancebiological clock ticking -keep reasonable distance or risk impregnating melisanoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5545323.post-1125635552919073762005-09-01T22:16:00.000-06:002005-09-01T22:32:32.926-06:00why do I look pensive?Because, holy shit, I just realized I'm leaving for Indonesia in, like, 4 days. Like, tuesday. Like, hello; PizzalikePete's. I have as much shit to do as there are... islands in the Indonesian archipelago. I have to learn how to use a canon XL-1. I have to make my home ready for the house sitter (oh, good christ, the Date - I suppose I'll have to throw away the severed headslisanoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5545323.post-1125514257900797532005-08-31T12:38:00.000-06:002005-08-31T12:53:05.053-06:00camping with carlo rossi:in which our heroine finds a leech on her ankle and gets falling-down drunk with Tracey at Namekus Lake. in the consuming darkI lose bothbalance and shoetentscape pluralitybodies insulatedpossessions encapsulatedcarlowe bested youyou laughed lastwhen gods awakethey must havecoffee, baconoh, duplicitous daysun-obscuring greyno match for she-wolvesnow it's doneeverything lisanoreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5545323.post-1125329657288891892005-08-29T09:30:00.000-06:002005-08-29T09:34:17.293-06:00It's exhausting,this business of feeling and not feeling. Feeling enough to be alive and to know it; not feeling so much that you bleed all over the fucking office and your unwitting colleagues are slipping and sliding in the mess, banging their shins on desk edges as they try to get out of the way.lisanoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5545323.post-1125273599102511012005-08-28T17:35:00.000-06:002005-08-28T17:59:59.200-06:00Day, I love youThis is the kind of day that wants to be acknowledged. Hell, it was practically fishing for compliments from the get-go. Awright, awright.Ahem.Hey, Day! Right arm, buddy. You rocked out there. But seriously, thanks for the details -the handfuls of silty sludge perfect for sand-lair building at cranberry flats (I said it was the beachfront mansion of the brokenhearted vampire - Kodylisanoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5545323.post-1125074219594649872005-08-26T10:02:00.000-06:002005-08-26T10:40:42.906-06:00caution!You may have had two punk bands sleeping at your house if you find:a can of chilimennen speed stick (musk)a black sock behind the coucha spiked leather bracelettoothpaste that is not yoursthe smell of tobacco, testosterone and anarchy in the porchThanks for folding your blankets and leaving the nice note, fellas. Everyone said, "Oh my God, you're letting a bunch of hooligans stay in your lisanoreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5545323.post-1124988918396428952005-08-25T10:50:00.000-06:002005-08-25T10:55:18.403-06:00haikus du jourblue hearse -yellow-slickered driverfondles moustachethis morningcatshit on the floorsmells of melancholylisanoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5545323.post-1124908505038129642005-08-24T12:28:00.000-06:002005-08-24T12:35:05.043-06:00weep for meOnce upon a time, I cracked open a fresh new line of credit to buy a laptop. I knew that in the years to come, it would deliver my first GCN*, bear witness to genius home recordings, and tuck into its bosom tokens of a life I love - photos and words.Today, someone** stole it.So, watch the web for my real diary. Yikes.*great Canadian novel**an assholelisanoreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5545323.post-1124740979905305052005-08-22T13:44:00.000-06:002005-08-22T14:02:59.913-06:00a moving taleI confess to my friend (we'll call him Mr. Smarty Pants) that my new roommate is, in fact, my ex. (See dating chronicles 1 through 5)friend: Well, that's a disaster.me: I suppose so. But he's got a table.f: So I could have my table back?m: Yeah, and he bakes really good muffins.f: I see. You are completely deluded.m: Well, lisanoreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5545323.post-1124492769300825232005-08-19T16:39:00.000-06:002005-08-22T14:38:31.630-06:00Also, this:I'll be leaving for Indonesia in 2 weeks.What, didn't I tell you? It's going to be difficult, and weird, and good.I'm going to Banda Aceh and a few other areas that were smashed to bits by the tsunami last year. A volunteer organization is sending a bunch of us to find out how the rebuilding effort is going.I'll be posting my culture-shocked observations to http://www.bitlink.ca/mccs/lisanoreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5545323.post-1124490747750144152005-08-19T16:19:00.000-06:002005-08-19T16:32:27.756-06:00It was the loveliest shitty time ever.It rained and rained - and cold? Jesus, there weren't enough fleece pants in the world to keep us warm.But we laughed and yelled and made like crazy amazons on the Churchill river for 5 days, and there was no way to repress our delight. That's the honest-to-god truth.I was sent on this all-women canoe trip with my guitar as a campfire song catalyst. It workedlisanoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5545323.post-1118953976777887642005-06-16T14:22:00.000-06:002005-06-16T14:32:56.790-06:00bloody caesarvegetarian: "I just don't like the idea of a tomato in juice form."friend: "I know, and when you add clam juice in there, well that's just disgusting."v: "How do they get the clam juice in clamato? Do they, like, squeeze them?"f: "You don't squeeze the juice out of the clams."v: "Huh? You mean they just give it to you?"That lisanoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5545323.post-1118864733515686352005-06-15T13:17:00.000-06:002005-06-15T13:45:33.553-06:00cue rocky themeI remember the days when I was dragging my ass along the trail in my new running shoes, sweat streaming into my eyes, just enough breath left to curse the day my mom and dad decided one more kid could really help around the store. In those days, my ire would be raised by 93-year-old joggers running me off the trail. Where were they going in such a hurry? Was there a sale on lisanoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5545323.post-1118167016859900982005-06-07T11:27:00.000-06:002005-06-07T11:56:56.910-06:00overcast and undercookedSo there we were on the lawn at work. Some charitable soul had decided to sell hamburgers to raise money for people who actually have something to complain about. The barbecue huddled under a little shelter, as though trying to hide from both the rainclouds and the ugly industrial scenery. Festive? Like a shunning.My burger was pink and oozed in protest as I eyed it up. lisanoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5545323.post-1113966588200368632005-04-19T21:09:00.000-06:002005-04-19T21:09:48.200-06:00not so fast lisanoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5545323.post-1113508070452622212005-04-14T13:47:00.000-06:002005-04-14T13:47:50.453-06:00released into the wild lisanoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5545323.post-1111538861078593442005-03-22T18:17:00.000-06:002005-03-22T18:47:41.080-06:00going back to saltspringisland, where I will wander by cedar stands and touch the peeling flesh of the arbutus tree. I will look out over that other vast expanse, the one that confounds prairie-dwellers. I'll smile at the locals (both the tree huggers and the engine-gunning rednecks) who surely still hate us, the ignorant trampling tourists, with a salt-cured zeal. Do the old guys still play Jazzlisanoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5545323.post-1111426298499002982005-03-21T11:04:00.000-06:002005-03-21T11:46:01.720-06:00hagar's lesson: feed the chickadeesIf you should happen to lose your boyfriend, look to the chickadees and squirrels, and to your lesbian friends, for comfort. I learned that from Hagar, who has been vociferously grieving the loss of her love all about the newsroom of late. We knew too much about the joy and pleasure he gave her, uninvited mental polaroids burned forever into our collective lisanoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5545323.post-1109783170401366002005-03-02T10:34:00.000-06:002005-03-02T12:06:15.476-06:00what kind of animal are you?the reasons for my respectremained in the sand:the religious birddid not need to fly,did not need to sing,and through its form was visibleits wild soul bled salt:as if a vein from the bitter seahad been broken.Penguin, static traveler,deliberate priest of the cold,I salute your vertical saltand envy your plumed pride. Pablo Neruda from Magellanic Penguin lisanoreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5545323.post-1109290629967997452005-02-24T17:41:00.000-06:002005-02-28T15:34:28.590-06:00weather is here. wish you were beautiful.What the hell's going on with Lisa? I haven't seen her for awhile. She isn't on another toque-crocheting and vodka bender, is she?No, she's still on that 'poisonous snakes' tour. I just got a postcard from her the other day. All it says is, "hot. itchy. st francis had it goin' on. pray for me and feed my dog."Ew, what's that creepy shit on the front?I lisanoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5545323.post-1108402979252262432005-02-14T11:00:00.000-06:002005-02-14T13:42:12.503-06:00dating chronicles 5: risen, indeedAfter that it was all a haze. I wandered for three days and three nights, waiting for a sign. Guilt and a bad cough filled my chest. How could I decide which way to go with that cursed fever cooking my brow?The locals were all aflutter about a tall, white stranger in town - they believed he had healing powers. While I put no stock in their belief, I felt the lisanoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5545323.post-1107968640150912202005-02-09T11:02:00.000-06:002005-02-09T11:04:00.150-06:00Happy Birthday Trevor.
Trevor rocks, so if you see him today give him a nod and a wet willie.
lisanoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5545323.post-1107968503679521082005-02-09T10:46:00.000-06:002005-02-14T15:20:39.196-06:00dating chronicles 4: another senseless spelunking tragedyWe were deep in the cave, moisture and the creeping fear of unseen filth on every surface. It was darkness so deep you could never get used to it, not unless you were, you know, gollum. Except for the occasional twinkle of phosphorescence in the wake of our boots as we sloshed ahead, pushing back the rising sense of danger in our throats. lisanoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5545323.post-1107806523412382272005-02-07T13:30:00.000-06:002005-02-14T13:39:52.136-06:00dating chronicles 3: scarlet billowsThe guides said the sharks ate only plankton and minnows. But somehow I ended up on the appetizers list last night.Shark diving is like bungee jumping - you do it for a rush of fear that will not actually hurt you, unless you are the statistical sucker whose last words are 'is this thing supposed to be done up like this?'. The truth is that there is real dangerlisanoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5545323.post-1107717052168346732005-02-06T13:19:00.000-06:002005-02-14T13:39:11.573-06:00warning: this post contains the disjointed and agitated sputterings of the twitterpated and may not be appropriate for some reading audiences, particularly those with a quick gag reflex.dating chronicles 2: I am slainOnce I recovered from the effects of spectacle, wormwood and refined sugar, I thought I might be able to think more clearly. But I'm still reeling, dear readers.He is freaking me outlisanoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5545323.post-1107283903347436982005-02-01T13:26:00.000-06:002005-02-14T13:38:29.866-06:00dating chronicles 1: from the mailbagDear Bugs, when was your last date?Well, let's just say the last time I had a date it was for malteds and cheeseburgers after the sock hop, and later I chipped my ecstatic blog entry into a stone tablet.But it's funny you should ask, dear reader, because I will be going on a date this week. Oh sure, it's like riding a bicycle. Once you learn, you never forget lisanoreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5545323.post-1105149988169279312005-01-07T19:05:00.000-06:002005-01-07T20:41:12.253-06:00I am not
Over at Chez Trevoir there's a vicious rumour going around that Bugsy's dead. Can you believe that? That's a pernicious lie. Why, it's flapdoodle. Poppycock. And fucking bullshit as well. So I haven't posted for a few... months.
OK. There was a problem, with my brain. But now I shall overcome it, just to make Trev take away that damnable parenthetical indictment. See? Just look at all lisanoreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5545323.post-1100709656665236872004-11-17T10:26:00.000-06:002004-11-17T10:40:56.666-06:00super accelerated tubby beats with flatulent bassline support
I am nothing like a mall. I do not boast thousands of visitors per week, I don't have security that will kick your skinny skateboarding ass off my premises and, perhaps most importantly, I don't have truckloads of frilly and suggestive undergarments on display at all times.
There is perhaps one way in which I am like a mall. It is lisanoreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5545323.post-1099516505293812642004-11-03T15:12:00.000-06:002004-11-03T15:15:05.293-06:00condolences
Hey, listen - Canada's not so bad. We'll leave the porch light on.
lisanoreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5545323.post-1097708975817296622004-10-13T17:04:00.000-06:002004-10-13T17:09:35.816-06:00trust the media - we're great people
There's nothing that inspires greater confidence than hearing the producer of your news show say:
"I hate Indians. Of course I do. But I'll tell you something - I never hated them before I moved here."
Pictures at eleven.
lisanoreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5545323.post-1097098953115865002004-10-06T15:03:00.000-06:002004-10-07T00:32:49.450-06:00Edgerton Clubine was a hundred and four.
Every night before going to sleep he'd kind of laugh as he prayed:
"Dear God, I don't have a clue why you've kept me alive this long. Maybe tonight I'll pass away. Well, Lord, if that's Your will that's alright. Amen."
I would appear in his kitchen around noon several times a week. Each time he'd say, "Oh, hello... Are you my granddaughter?"
I'd tell lisanoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5545323.post-1096652505471850432004-10-01T11:29:00.000-06:002004-10-01T11:41:45.470-06:00and then there was this other time
I was looking after an old guy who was in the advanced stages of Alzheimer's. It manifested itself in arguments with plants or plaintive discussions with empty chairs. I had to stay there for a couple of days and nights, because his wife (a lovely and well-preserved 50-yr-old) needed a little break. After she belted back a scotch and peeled out of the driveway,lisanoreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5545323.post-1096583723574244392004-09-30T15:53:00.000-06:002004-09-30T16:35:23.573-06:00beauty routine
Did I ever tell you about the time I was doing homecare for old folks? It was one of the few times I've actually felt my work was of use to anyone. But it was also fertile ground for funny stories about defenseless seniors who are losing their memory.
Walter was a really decent and amiable man who happened to have Alzheimer's. His wife had gone away for Easter weekend. I was to lisanoreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5545323.post-1096474875391455252004-09-29T10:17:00.000-06:002004-09-29T10:21:15.393-06:00Hey, all you American bloggers
Stop breaking my heart with your dire predictions. It can't be as bad as all that. Can it?
lisanoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5545323.post-1096126136442259052004-09-24T01:28:00.000-06:002004-09-25T12:41:30.220-06:00photo friday - 'furry'
Click to enlarge.
xavier
lisanoreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5545323.post-1095955210188969532004-09-23T09:42:00.000-06:002004-09-23T10:05:15.633-06:00the cards know all
You may not know this about me but, in addition to my many startling and useless talents, I'm a fortune teller. No, seriously, ask me anything. It's uncanny.
Last night's tarot reading:
past - princess of cups (page of cups)
present - lust (strength)
future - 2 of cups
Basically this indicates that my past as a passive, invertebrate loser in love and my future in a lisanoreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5545323.post-1095953385123215562004-09-23T09:22:00.000-06:002004-09-23T20:07:00.653-06:00Hawksley Workman knows all
You can tell by the wind
by fresh cut wood all stacked to dry
that autumn's here
and it makes you sad
about the crummy summer we had
lisanoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5545323.post-1095450034218721052004-09-17T13:52:00.000-06:002004-09-17T13:40:34.220-06:00ride the zipper
No, not my zipper, perv. The giant iron zipper that stands and spins at the fair, a neon sentinel on the prairie summer horizon. When you're a child, it's scary. When you're grown up, it's just hard on the insides.
I'm talking (metaphorically) about the joys of contract work. Because it's my last day, for now, on the Mothership.
See, you avoid getting a real job because you lisanoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5545323.post-1095379172335548522004-09-16T17:24:00.000-06:002004-09-16T17:59:32.336-06:00hello?
We turned off our video cameras out of respect for the first part of the ceremony - the sacred sweetgrass smudge, the elder's prayer and the drumming and singing of the victory song. It was pretty quiet in there, for a press conference. I guess something about the room and the air in it had settled the media pack for a moment. No sense being impatient. Just breathe and let it be. The lisanoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5545323.post-1095269207624189612004-09-15T11:01:00.000-06:002004-09-15T11:26:47.623-06:00Franz the Surly and Moustachioed Co-Worker
snaps and chomps his gum in an unbelievable display of speed and rhythm. I think he must have been practicing this since long before his moustache turned silver. The sound is like the percussion in 'Cecilia'. How the hell does he do that, I wonder from my frozen-with-fear position in the passenger seat. We are on another zany newsgathering safari, lisanoreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5545323.post-1095188643924534542004-09-14T13:02:00.000-06:002004-09-14T13:04:03.923-06:00this will crack you up, as it did me:
movie trailers for everyday life at the morning news.
lisanoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5545323.post-1095110714960931372004-09-13T14:47:00.000-06:002004-09-13T17:44:34.140-06:00gettin' shit done
When you see some guy talking on the teevee news, in his own little box opposite the anchor's little box, you might think "how come there's a half second delay?" or "how hard would it be for them to just make the audio a little nicer?" or something sweetly naive like that. I can forgive you for thinking that, I guess. It seems like it should be simple. But it is really, really lisanoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5545323.post-1095093547066114372004-09-13T10:36:00.000-06:002004-09-13T11:30:02.086-06:00i wear the pants
It's just me and Slacks McBradley. All wearers of trousers, skirts, kilts or hip waders have fled the Mothership, leaving me alone with a well-groomed manager and a sinking feeling. There's no one else for him to watch, so my actions will be carefully scrutinized for the next 8 hours. Except, I'm obviously hoping, for this one. Blogging as an act of subversion.
lisanoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5545323.post-1094948549122688552004-09-11T18:15:00.000-06:002004-09-12T02:17:25.820-06:00September 11th
On this day in history: 1963 - a baby is born who will grow up to become a kind, smart and dashing gentleman. He will play guitar with dexterity and flare. His knowledge of subjects varied and surprising will delight those lucky enough to sit at a table with him.
Happy Birthday, Cam.
lisanoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5545323.post-1094858602910297922004-09-10T15:21:00.000-06:002004-09-10T17:30:35.616-06:00my grapes are just fine, thank you
It's been an emotional ride. I'm glad it'll soon be over; my heart can't take much more. But this Canadian Idol thing has really brought us together as a society. Generation gaps have been wiped out! Families gather weekly in their living rooms, hearts beating in unison as they watch the drama unfold.
In this city, it's been particularly excruciating. Our verylisanoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5545323.post-1094766550456749232004-09-09T15:39:00.000-06:002004-09-09T15:49:10.456-06:00it's cold out there
Children on avenue G are blown to school at 9:00 on a cold, cloudy morning. They start out meandering. But soon the kid with no jacket loses patience with the cold and begins to run. The rest of the pack follows suit, charging into the day. They are tough. They are adaptable. They are someone else's. There is no good reason for the sudden heaviness in my chest.
lisanoreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5545323.post-1094684228661662752004-09-08T16:47:00.000-06:002004-09-08T16:58:38.376-06:00good book
genesis:
I'm starting all over again.
revelation:
I can do whatever I want!
proverb:
Blessed is she who wants to do something other than lie around eating cereal and watching M*A*S*H.
lisanoreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5545323.post-1094665924681185722004-09-08T11:40:00.000-06:002004-09-08T14:33:48.383-06:00sl**ks
I hate the word slacks. I hate the knife-sharp crease it implies, the tucked-in smugness, the hands-on-hips indignation, all of it. Clearly, there's nothing slack about slacks. See how annoying that word is?
You all know I'm talking about Bradley.
Pants, man. Just wear pants and fucking relax already. The world is not calibrated to fit your precise and exquisitely anal retentive vision lisanoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5545323.post-1093642842910998322004-08-27T15:30:00.000-06:002004-09-09T13:11:05.003-06:00beautiful day
I woke up after 4 measly hours of sleep and saw that the sun was trying to shine. I got up. I went to the gym. Do not adjust your settings. This abberation in blogland is not a technical error. I actually went to the gym, did gymmy things, hung out naked with ladies getting ready to go to work, and was out and about before the parking meters kicked in. Hm.
Then I went and drank lisanoreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5545323.post-1093368823543556052004-08-24T10:55:00.000-06:002004-08-24T11:33:43.543-06:00achtung! molecules
Our heroine stayed in the den yesterday, only venturing out to rent 'the reckoning' with Paul Bettany. Meh. It was OK. Overacted? Oh GOD noooo - sob - maybe a little. I figured, mostly because Low Voice said so in the trailer, that Bettany's character was supposed to be driven by the need for redemption (One Man. Two Sins. Six Actors. A Rotting Corpse...) But I never actually lisanoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5545323.post-1093229629114026002004-08-22T20:51:00.000-06:002004-08-23T00:09:31.946-06:00luck be a chicken tonight
There was some time to kill before the show. We went to O’Shea’s and ordered food with quaint names. All the menu descriptions were like:
Lucky Cheeseburger
O’Shea sings: It’s cheesy and delicious/ and fulfills all of your wishes/ it comes with fries or salad/ this is my burger ballad.
And ridiculous, delightful shit like that. But the hair of the dog wasn’t helping lisanoreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5545323.post-1093125941330052342004-08-21T16:05:00.000-06:002004-08-21T16:05:41.330-06:00objects in mirror are smarter than they appear lisanoreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5545323.post-1093112526942974832004-08-21T12:07:00.000-06:002004-08-21T16:00:30.156-06:00If I could have moved my digits dextrously enough to type yesterday, the post would have been called:
way too old for this shit
There was rock. That was good. There were friends. That, too, was good. There was a drunk person whom the Lord was merciful enough to spare the knowledge that she was a fucking goof. That was our heroine.
This new phase is going to be a brilliant comedy of errors. lisanoreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5545323.post-1092424086742901382004-08-13T12:35:00.000-06:002004-08-13T13:08:06.743-06:00hip hip
Let's have one more hurrah, shall we? Let's go to the Regina Folk Festival. We'll follow our whims again, from one delight to the next. Hawsley Workman. Booze. The Sadies. Sun. We'll send the suits scurrying into the shadows of Regina's usually-hideous downtown. I'll take pictures with my borrowed canon A1 old school SLR that makes a fantastic kachunk when the shutter is pressed. The lisanoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5545323.post-1091575884912925882004-08-03T16:49:00.000-06:002004-08-03T17:35:58.586-06:00chapter 1 - a bathroom of one's own
In which our heroine discovers the curative powers of housework.
I've just turned a corner in my life and found my inner Mom standing in the middle of the road holding a toilet brush. This is the way to mend a broken heart: with the power of oxy clean. With the fresh citrus scent of fanfuckingtastik.
Oh my god, Self. I've never seen you this way; are you lisanoreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5545323.post-1091057933202735142004-07-28T17:16:00.000-06:002004-07-29T15:28:27.190-06:00your glass is only half empty?
I could overhear someone singing to herself, quietly. I could meet the gaze of a laughing baby. I could smash the shit out of a bunch of smiling, ceramic figurines. I could smell sun-warmed flannel. I could sleep on the rocking waves in a boat bound for nothing but freedom. I could eat a mango. I could light fires and spit razors. I could buy a hundred pairs of lisanoreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5545323.post-1090456595155933022004-07-21T17:13:00.000-06:002004-07-21T18:36:35.156-06:00down the rabbit hole
Oh it was wonderful, oh. I saw colours and textures and ... it's hard to remember while I'm here at the Mothership. I have memories of the smell of pizza at a Greenwich Village 2 a.m. stop and it's fading even as I type this. There goes the pepperoni. Curiouser and curiouser. It's like the filthy grey fabric on the little drone dividers is memory-absorbent. Some memories I lisanoreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5545323.post-1087685352349508052004-06-19T16:41:00.000-06:002004-06-19T16:49:12.350-06:00today's youth are not apathetic
Our elected federal representative in this neighbourhood is a guy so overtly racist that he was excommunicated by the far right party and had to sit as an independent.
The other day my brother got a call from one of his campaign kittens, who said, "Can we count on your vote in the coming election?"
My brother, always one to give the benefit of the doubt, lisanoreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5545323.post-1087320640980828912004-06-15T10:56:00.000-06:002004-06-15T11:30:40.980-06:00are we different?
I was thinking, in the aftermath of Ronald Reagan's death, that Canadians are entirely different. We don't gild our elected leaders with any kind of mythology. We don't care who our leaders have fucked or what they might have smoked. And when they grow very old and die, we don't feel like someone has snuffed out a bright star that always twinkled at the edge of our lisanoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5545323.post-1087229023623566982004-06-14T10:00:00.000-06:002004-06-14T10:03:43.623-06:00like a snowflake
Every hangover is different. This one is infused with the beautiful memory of last night's meeting. The Let's Plan Our Trip to New York meeting.
The banal becomes beautiful.
I am fucking off.lisanoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5545323.post-1086898197465353782004-06-10T14:06:00.000-06:002004-06-10T14:09:57.466-06:00georgia
The wires just whispered that Ray Charles died today.
"I was born with music inside me. That's the only explanation I know of... Music was one of my parts ... Like my blood. It was a force already with me when I arrived on the scene. It was a necessity for me, like food or water."
Brother Ray, Charles's autobiography
lisanoreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5545323.post-1086896946451118482004-06-10T13:45:00.000-06:002004-06-10T13:49:06.450-06:00nice
If you have time, read this story at the Danforth Review. The hamster wheel factory can spare you for 10 minutes.lisanoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5545323.post-1086888217074539852004-06-10T11:16:00.000-06:002004-06-10T11:23:37.073-06:00I just reserved my ticket to Toronto,
from whence the mighty road trip begins. Neither debt nor low-budget cable shows nor intimidating, moustached pricks can stop me now.
I haven't flown for a long time. I'm looking forward to airline booze. That tiny plastic cup half full of red wine and nestled into its little tray divot - that's freedom, baby.lisanoreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5545323.post-1086887637252397232004-06-10T11:07:00.000-06:002004-06-10T11:15:33.206-06:00things to do
This morning, by some miracle of short term memory, I remembered to go and move my deluxe beater from the metered spot before I got yet another parking ticket. Feeling pretty pleased with myself, I sauntered out the front door of Mothership News Camp for Delinquent Freelancers. On the threshhold, I encountered Franz the Surly Moustachioed CoWorker. What follows is my first directivelisanoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5545323.post-1086798571229899902004-06-09T10:17:00.000-06:002004-06-09T10:29:31.230-06:0020 units of caffeine, stat
"The Starbucks kiosk will be located just off the parkade entrance, across from the new Medicine Shoppe Pharmacy in the mall area at the Royal University Hospital... The revenue generated will be used to support patient care."
lisanoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5545323.post-1086721250051132432004-06-08T12:32:00.000-06:002004-06-08T13:00:50.050-06:00breaking news, breaking hearts
As I ride the Mothership in search of news and a paycheque, I sit in front of a computer that connects me directly to everyone else on this ride, and indirectly to all other news vultures. I may receive instant messages that say 'move pig stox on sat b, dude - thx for fnu feed' or rambling directives from a grammar expert in Toronto. My monitor is divided into lisanoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5545323.post-1086712082521268042004-06-08T10:13:00.000-06:002004-06-08T10:28:02.520-06:00two sizes too small
Not caring about hockey is a terrible affliction. It's like not having a libido. Or legs. Fuck it, it's like not having a soul, and I'm sorry that I'm soulless. But this bird you cannot change - Lord knows I can't change. When the Flames had a shot, I didn't care. When Calgary was a-riot with skanky girls screaming out of red pickup trucks, I didn't care. When the Flames lisanoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5545323.post-1086625129149077262004-06-07T10:12:00.000-06:002004-06-07T10:23:47.253-06:00career options
Segues like the one I saw on the documentary channel last night are hard to come by. From factory hog farms to 'the bunny ranch' - a Nevada brothel where the girls call the owners 'mommy and dad'. After I found out how much money bunnies can fetch, I was ready to revamp my resume and head south. After half an hour of hidden camera revelations, being kept at farm number one seemed lisanoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5545323.post-1086280708950983492004-06-03T09:22:00.000-06:002004-06-03T10:52:28.376-06:00kingdom of lunacy
You're dying to know: is my family insane or not? Some of you are dying to know because my symptoms seem to indicate a particularly wacky mental inheritance. Others want to know because my writing indicates that I possess unequalled clarity and perspective. Still others are shrinks who would like to treat my whole family and make a bundle off what must be some spectacular lisanoreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5545323.post-1086199381090591222004-06-02T11:55:00.000-06:002004-06-02T12:03:01.090-06:00like mortality off a duck's back
I just came from a little newsreel shoot that involved a big yellow mascot man, a graveyard, a couple dozen ducks and several hundred grade 4 students.
Now it's my task to write 20 inane seconds of script that tie all those things together.
Watch mothership news at 6:30 to find out how that goes.lisanoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5545323.post-1086193613079474232004-06-02T10:08:00.000-06:002004-06-02T10:26:53.080-06:00And now with the news, here's Surly Franz
A quick pencil drawing of me might feature a word bubble: 'yuk!' Or 'sigh...' Or 'marzipan?' But Franz's word bubble can only say one thing: 'harrumph.'
Franz the Surly & Moustachioed Co-worker and I have re-established our working rapport. This is an essential part of working at the mothership. If I don't know where I stand with Franz, there is a reallisanoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5545323.post-1086109367880112812004-06-01T10:57:00.000-06:002004-06-01T11:02:47.880-06:00Here I am. Rock you like a hurricane?
Do you ever have those moments when you catch your reflection in the window of the expensive furniture store and think, "That is me. Just me, my body, and it could be anywhere, doing anything. I could take it to Lebanon tomorrow. There's nothing big stopping me. I could be living on the West side with 4 babies, riddled with ritalin and the paw prints of meanlisanoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5545323.post-1085770990499880652004-05-28T12:52:00.000-06:002004-05-28T13:03:10.500-06:00freelancer feels pretty, witty, gay
My proposal for the national film board project has been tweaked and pinched, and now waits (like a grade 8 girl at a dance when 'Straight from the Heart' comes on) for the committee to raise their funding thumbs to it. My producer - holy crap, I have a producer - said in her irresistable English accent that she doesn't anticipate any problems.
Bizarre.lisanoreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5545323.post-1085259050545754452004-05-22T14:44:00.000-06:002004-05-22T14:50:50.546-06:00wanna know what?
I'm going to New York City. I'm going to write that again, because I really liked the little twitch it gave me. I'm going to New
York
City.
(girl squeal)
I can't remember the last time I even went to someplace different for lunch. So this is pretty big. It's a different country and everything. People there, I'm pretty sure, are all worldly and tough and shit.
So here's lisanoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5545323.post-1085180578493462252004-05-21T16:36:00.000-06:002004-06-01T13:08:39.526-06:00Listen, lady:
The other day I overheard 3 ladies chatting at a cafe. Or rather, I overheard two of them, and the shrill voice of the third lacerated my brain.
That third lady was old and birdlike and proper. She was clearly running the show, doing all the complaining about the service and initiating all the gossip.
"That's right, Eileen. The streets are awful. Couldn't they get some of those lisanoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5545323.post-1084986287257420072004-05-19T10:58:00.000-06:002004-05-19T11:04:47.256-06:00Silence is golden - my larynx is made of tupperware
Yesterday as I was sitting around waiting for some people to return my phone calls, I began a noisy lament:
"Jesus Christ," I said. "Why won't these people call me back? I'm trying to make these stupid commercials. It's like I'm prostituting myself. I'm standing on the corner freezing my ass off, and nobody's pulling up and rolling down their lisanoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5545323.post-1084834193127562792004-05-17T16:42:00.000-06:002004-05-17T16:49:53.126-06:00I bought a laptop.
So far I have changed the desktop background 7 times, tried to set the language preference to Canadian English 12 times (unsuccessfully), and toted it around with me nonchalantly 25 times. Hell, it's practically paid for itself already.
Also, the other day I met Booker Prize-Winning Novelist Yann Martel (TM). I interviewed him about fair trade - he seems to give a shit about lisanoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5545323.post-1084653620243168642004-05-15T14:21:00.000-06:002004-05-15T14:40:20.243-06:00Or maybe an etch-a-sketch would do
I need to go and buy an expensive laptop computer right now. I need to have my very own computer. You know why? Because writing on these workplace computers makes me write weaselly (word?). Honestly. I come to Melvin TV, or the Mothership, or some other pseudonym-bearing media outlet and use their computers and it all comes out squashed and guilty and brief. Ilisanoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5545323.post-1084652113695881532004-05-15T14:04:00.000-06:002004-05-15T14:18:16.293-06:00Look, Ma
I have always marvelled at the people who have rich dream lives full of adventure and detail. How do they do it? And remember it? Some people wake up and reach for a pen and paper so they can write down the song they just composed in their sleep. But that's never happened to me.
Until the other night.
I woke up pretty upset, because the most vivid part of the dream had been about thislisanoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5545323.post-1084233952881371102004-05-10T18:03:00.000-06:002004-05-10T18:05:52.883-06:00this is the funniest thing today:
the exorcist in 30 seconds, re-enacted by bunnieslisanoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5545323.post-1084230380028137772004-05-10T16:46:00.000-06:002004-05-10T17:06:20.026-06:00table dance
Melvin TV* is a pretty tiny operation - just a hole in the wall, really. The newsroom consists of about 5 full time reporters and their desks, 4 freelancers, a spare desk, and a table. There's a reason I'm describing the layout of the room to you, and it has nothing to do with feng shui. At least I don't think it does.
The table has become the focus of an ongoing territorial debatelisanoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5545323.post-1083867649820444802004-05-06T12:20:00.000-06:002004-05-06T12:25:41.983-06:00Seis de Mayo
Here we are back at the beginning again. The fertile nothingness from which everything comes - a hangover. The real fuzzy kind. Wow. My hips hurt from trying to dance like the flamenco goddesses (damn Mennonite genes), my head swivels slowly on its stupid hung-over neck, and all I want is to sit in some anonymous, wood panelled dive and eat bacon.
Instead I sit at work and swivel lisanoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5545323.post-1083347168928021702004-04-30T11:46:00.000-06:002004-04-30T11:49:34.856-06:00btc
Why is everyone always singing and happy on the French side of work? I think they've designed a defense system against fluorescent lights and melancholy, and it's powered by show tunes. Think how happy they must be when they're at home, having sex.
If I start learning French now, I may be able to parlez my way into the happy cubicles by 2010.lisanoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5545323.post-1083106899690351332004-04-27T17:01:00.000-06:002004-04-27T17:05:59.186-06:00making a procras out of tin and ate
When you assume, you make an ass out of u and me .
When you procrastinate, you nearly ruin some of the best moments in your future life, and it's really bad, so you shouldn't do it.
If anyone can tell me why I do it, why, I'll... call them back right away. Promise.lisanoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5545323.post-1082738690468149092004-04-23T10:44:00.000-06:002004-04-23T10:47:50.250-06:00fast times
OK, it's not really a fast - we eat. But the flaky guy in the book we read calls it a fast.
Days one through five were trials, each offering their own separate horror. But on the sixth day, God created Lisa, and she was fucking awesome.
Next I will write an ecstatic love ode to the broccoli sprout. I gotta stay busy.lisanoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5545323.post-1082738255050902812004-04-23T10:37:00.000-06:002004-04-23T10:40:34.920-06:00word of the day
Indefatigable - incapable or seemingly incapable of being fatigued; tireless.
And that, folks, is me. I am not fatigued by the insidious green of the fluorescents. I am not fatigued by the willowy girls with good hair who snub me. I am not fatigued by the mountain of parking tickets I see hiding under that phone book. I am indefatigable. And the beauty, the true beauty of lisanoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5545323.post-1082736716685682582004-04-23T10:11:00.000-06:002004-04-23T10:14:56.890-06:00definitely like drugs
This is weird. But don't worry. I think it's good. I feel so very very good today. But jumpy. I can feel my cells dancing, shaking their newly clean electron booties. I want to swim in the sun. I want to sing. I especially want to laugh.
I said, "Yeah, I feel all jumpy and stuff this morning, I have so much energy! Too bad I'm going to cbc - it'll be about as useful as lisanoreply@blogger.com0