Author Archive for Premee

Quick, In Here!

So I was painting a picture of a snake today and ended up with a lot of extra brown, so on a lark I grabbed a stray piece of cardboard and produced the following:

Earlier today I sent this article via Google Reader to a guy I know, and he wrote back,

“I try to remember every once in a while how marvelous it is to be relatively normal.

No missing appendages, no horrible speech impediment, normal unremarkable appearance.

Invisible in a crowd and able to move about freely, safely ignored by others.

That being said having a stove pipe hat and an elaborate metal arm would be pretty bad ass.”

And for some reason, my back-brain remembered that and sent it straight to the paintbrush.  And abruptly I wanted to write a short story (or a QUADRILOGY) about these three.

They’re clearly together; where are they going?  Why are they in such an all-fired hurry?

Why didn’t the woman wear sensible shoes?

Why is the middle gentleman using a cane?  Is he elderly?  Is one or both legs perhaps not of flesh and bone?  Does the cane perhaps have a blue glass ball on top spiderwebbed with cracks from repeated use on the skulls of his enemies?

I can smell the middle one’s hat, it smells of fried food and dirty hair and genius.  He’s the brains of the outfit.  Lefty there is the muscle, and the woman is… let’s see… the woman is a mysterious acquaintance, recently made, the subject of a certain amount of paternal disdain from Stovepipe and silent desperation from Lefty, which is a shame, because they’re on the trail of… HER FIANCÉ.  Or no?

Bah, curse this brain of mine.  I need a new one.

At least the painting is keeping me out of trouble in the evenings.

Duddy, F. Reporting For Duty

 

I think I’ve talked before about one reason I want to avoid getting a smartphone (see also: Premee isn’t watching for open manholes at the best of times), but here’s another: eggs.

Feeling like I was putting all my gadgetry eggs into one basket freaks me out. Even just thinking about it freaks me out.

To do the things an iPhone does, I need to carry around all of the following:

  • 1. Games – a game emulator
  • 2. Video – game emulator
  • 3. Music – mp3 player (RCA Lyra, purchased in 2005)
  • 4. Camera – Panasonic Lumix
  • 5. Scheduler – a paper planner (ordered from Letts of London every July)
  • 6. Notebook – back of planner, and a pen
  • 7. Phone – actual cell phone
  • 8. Internet – not applicable
  • 9. Books – an actual paperback, generally, or a couple of dozen stored on the emulator
  • 10. Maps – an actual map

And I’m probably missing things off the list, because without owning one I don’t know what else the God Machine actually does.

But will you just look at that list?

It becomes painfully evident that I could lose the bag full of stuff and just carry an iPhone, does it not? (If it makes any difference, 99% of the time, my purse contains only the planner, the phone, and the book.)

Yet I continue to reject the idea of giving up a million separate gadgets, kind of along the lines of, “Well, losing my phone is OK, I’ve only lost my phone; losing my Lyra is OK, I’ve only lost my Lyra.” Etcetera. I split up my army so that the loss of one division doesn’t end the war.

I’m afraid, though, that on my recent trip back east I did come across as a bit of a Luddite. For instance, being lost in 2010 is a very archaic thing to do – practically unheard-of, really, in most of North America. How can you get lost when you can use GPS and Google Maps on your phone? And restaurants too, I think I was the only tourist in Montreal eyeballing the posted menus or using a guidebook. Everyone else was looking up reviews on their phones. Did they get better meals than me? Just check their Twitter feed! I checked into my flight at the airport, not sitting on a bench waiting for my lapdance to start. When I was bored, I walked around and looked at things. When a minor pop-culture dispute came up, I watched as it was resolved in eight seconds flat using someone’s iPhone and the relevant IMDB entry. I felt like a Hutterite who’d taken a wrong turn in his buggy and ended up in a Futurama episode.

Now I say again: are we, as a generation, missing out on things with our faces buried in those little screens? Is it no longer fun to get lost in a new city? Does photograph quality no longer matter except to obssessive amateurs? Isn’t it more entertaining to argue for twenty minutes about who played the original third roommate on Three’s Company, segueing from topic to topic till someone brings up the name of the dog on Fraggle Rock and you know you’ve all gone temporarily mad? Isn’t it more relaxing to be a blissful, anonymous mote in a crowd, instead of simultaneously attempting to broadcast one’s location on Foursquare, activities on Twitter, reviews on Yelp, photos on Flickr, and thoughts on Facebook, as well as keeping up with everyone else who’s trying to do the same thing? Does the battery indicator on a smartphone really indicate the maximum length of time in which we can exist in the modern world?

Or am I just a fuddy-duddy?

Dear Nature


Have you considered the benefits of a cold shower and a brisk run around the playing fields?

I’m just saying.

The Irrigation Will Continue Until Morale Improves

For the first time in my life, I’m suffering from seasonal allergies!  Or, as I was whining to Carpool Boy on the way home today, “I think I’m allergic to spring!”

Previously my entire allergies list went like this:

  1. Canola pollen
  2. PABA (you know, that sunscreen stuff)
  3. Nickel
  4. Penicillin

And now it looks like I have to add a season to that list.  Dang it!  I’ve been miserable for two days now – stuffy, headachy, insomniac, laser-red eyes, and a crazy-making itch everywhere inside my head.  I’m a little nervy about taking allergy meds that tell you right on the box to expect cardiac side effects, though.  So today when I was at Superstore reading medication packets, I saw that they had neti pots on sale.  And I was like, Hey, I totally read about those on CNN!  What a good idea!

OK, so you know what waterboarding is, right?

The answer is: TORTURE.

Do you know what the difference is between using a neti pot and being waterboarded?

(crickets)

Exactly.

I read the instructions very carefully and angled my head like I was told (this was all relational, you know, your forehead should be higher than this and lower than that, your torso should be here in comparison to the sink, etc) and proceeded to drown myself.  And swear.  And sputter and choke and flail and try to slap one hand with the other to make the torture stop.  I think I may even have confessed.

After sending about a third of the first potful into the mirror, sink, counter, and wall in a high-velocity spray, I refilled it – refusing to admit defeat to a PVC nasal irrigation device, which is a sentence I never expected to type – I got the technique down and holy crap, I cannot emphasize enough how much better my congestion is.  My whole head feels cleaner and lighter, which is such a change from the last 48 hours that I almost feel drunk on oxygen.  (Technique, however, is key.  Protip: don’t tilt your head back at all, or the saltwater will run down your throat and make you cough.  But don’t tilt your head too far forward either or it’ll feel like the solution is touching your brain, which is also unpleasant.)

I also – having, admittedly, not much faith in things I read on CNN – bought two packages of the least deadly-looking allergy medication I found.  But I don’t think I need it now.  Yeehaw!  Y’all, if you’re having a tough spring, I’m now officially recommending one of these things.  It cost about $10, you can use it forever,  it’s only really torture for a couple of minutes, and you’ll feel so much better.

Heavy, Heavy Stuff

(I tried to post something light the other day but the video wasn’t embedding so I said a bad word and gave up. Now you get something HEAVY.)

The US healthcare reform is heavy on people’s minds this week, and I thought it might be interesting to compare theirs and ours, as kids are wont to do while playing doctor.

This is a reply, kind of, to the Musings of a Distractible Mind’s very, very interesting two-part series on What if Life Were Like Healthcare (pre-reform). He writes from the perspective of an American doctor, so he is both a healthcare producer and consumer. I unfortunately can only speak from the consumer side, and my version will be nowhere near as accurate or witty, but I thought it would be a fun thought experiment.

Please read the original first! There are, of course, a lot of similarities between any Western healthcare system, so he’s really done a lot of the work for me. I’ll just focus on the differences as I perceive them in the systems. Some of the similarities are:

- How easily we are all swayed by experts as well as charlatans, family, friends, and majority opinion on a subject we’re reasonably familiar with: the bodies we’ve had all our lives
- How people so readily accept health care ‘anecdata’
- How many hoops healthcare providers have to jump through in order to complete the paperwork necessary to be reimbursed by insurance companies, private clients, or the province/state
- How many tests are probably unnecessary but done because they are recommended by specialists who get reimbursed more for these tests
- How resistant all hospitals and other healthcare facilities are to publishing the costs of their care
- How the perception is that people who get free healthcare abuse the system by going to a doctor or the ER much more often than everybody else
- The system focuses more on cures than prevention
- People are ejected from hospitals generally far faster than is healthy for them, and they are not always provided with help when they are back home because they make too much money to be helped by the province/state and their insurance will not cover the level of care they need

“The grocer can’t post prices because all customers have different negotiated prices.”
Fortunately this is (as far as I know) not the case in Canada. Here in our grocery stores, there are even fewer brands to choose from – and fewer items on the shelves, due to our lower and often very dispersed population – but within a province, the groceries all cost roughly the same. You do not, of course, know what the cost is till you get to the till.

“You go to the cash register to pay. The total is $380, but the cashier informs you that your negotiated price is only $150. A poor person behind you has not had the chance to negotiate a price and so must pay full price for everything.”
This is partly true in Canada. I will pay $150 for my basket, while the guy behind me may pay $450, but after my employer pays me back for my groceries it might have turned out that I paid $100 of my own money and he paid $35. However, the poor woman behind me doesn’t pay full price – she will have her groceries paid for by the government, so she doesn’t even bring money to the store, just her shopper’s club card. She has to buy a lot of groceries because she has seven children, and the poor-quality goods on the shelves don’t feed them for long, so they always need more groceries. The other shoppers resent her for never having to pay anything and mutter constantly about her wasting the family’s food instead of saving it for when they really need it.

“Finally driving to work, you notice the following:
· Rich people have very nice cars.
· Poor people all have cars. They are not real nice, but all gas and maintenance is free.
· Many middle class people don’t have cars; those who do have to pay enormous amounts for ones that are worse than the poor people get.
· The elderly get free cars, but can’t afford to put gas in them.”

In Canada, we all take the bus. It’s secretly acknowledged that rich people get the nice new buses, or if they take buses with regular joes they always get the good seats by the door, but we all have bus passes and the government pays for the transit system. There are limo services too, which can sometimes be seen from the windows of our public buses, but they aren’t advertised as limos because if they say they will drive you along the same routes as the public buses, they will get in trouble with the government. They have to take you to very specific tourist spots, nowhere else. Despite their limited route and the fact that you pay for them yourself, many people use limos to get to these spots because the government buses don’t go there. Cars are supposedly not permitted, but you often see sports stars, politicians, or celebrities zipping along the back alleys in very nice cars. Sometimes the cars are even partially paid for by the government.

The busdrivers, though paid by the government, often think about leaving and starting their own limousine company, especially after they or their loved ones have to take the bus in a blizzard or on really hot days. A lot of kids graduating from busdriver academies are opting to become limo drivers because the pay is better and they get less flak from the riders. This makes the older busdrivers unhappy, because they are retiring in droves and with fewer buses, each one is getting more and more crowded and making fewer and fewer stops. If a bus doesn’t stop where you need it to, you are forced to get off one stop early and walk, even if you are in poor health or have limited mobility. Ironically, while you are walking you may be heckled by the other riders for needing to do this. They are proud of themselves for usually getting off at stops in good neighbourhoods where they don’t have to walk. Stops are eliminated every year, but the limos will take you to some of these stops if you can afford it. Most of them are too inaccessible to reach on foot.

Most of us hate it on the bus, but we either don’t need to get places that the limos go or we can’t afford to hire a limo. We wish we could buy cars, but the government won’t let us and insists we should all be happy that they are providing these buses, even though they are smelly, old, take forever to get anywhere, and are becoming increasingly crowded and objectionable. Worse yet, some of us are pretty sure that there are people riding the bus to places they could easily walk, but we don’t want to say anything because everything is supposed to be equal on the bus.

Anyway, there’s my Canadian take on things. Which probably was a dumb thing to do since I think 99.999% of SodaCraze readers are Canucks. Did I leave anything out? Was I totally off base? Let me know in the comments!

This Never Happens to Me

I sat down in the train last Friday and found a copy of Ernest Hemingway’s ‘A Farewell to Arms’ wedged between the wall and the seat, spine-up. It looked so new I immediately thought, “Oh dang, some English 101 kid is going to be really ticked off when he gets to University station and realizes he left his book here.”

I pulled it out and was extremely surprised to find that it wasn’t a first-year text at all, but a free-range banned book!

There was a sticker on the front that informed me (and yes, I wanted to photograph this instead of transcribing it, but I haven’t seen my camera in weeks):

FREE A CHALLENGED BOOK!

Did you know that someone in Canada is trying to stop you from reading certain books?
Are you shocked?

The book you are holding in your hands has faced a challenge or ban.

It has been freed by a citizen concerned about freedom of expression who would love to know your thoughts.

PLEASE RELEASE ME

We invite you to visit www.freedomtoread.ca to learn more about censorship.

Then there were some instructions on how to report the book on the Bookcrossing site.

And I was like, How great is this? So I hit up the Freedom to Read site as per instructions and was extremely surprised to find that right here in Canada, libraries are banning books that – in my humble opinion, which apparently counts for very little in the world of censorship – are about as innocuous as fat-free yogurt. (To see what I mean, look at the banned book list (pdf). I know, right?)

I am anti-censorship. I would be anti-censorship even if I hadn’t been writing what would have surely been banned books at a stupidly young age. I would be anti-censorship even if my shelves weren’t full of miraculous and controversial Soviet literature. (The Russians, they know censorship. We have no idea in comparison.) I am of the opinion that if it’s written, it was written to be read. (Whether it should be included in public curriculum or not is a subject for endless debate, of course, given my general thoughts on the public school system. But you know how it is. A kid that wants to read will read, and he will find and read banned books regardless of the venue.)

And I think kids need to be exposed to banned books – anything and everything, controversial histories of false events, all the old propaganda, the racist names and idiotic stereotypes, all that. Kids need to be challenged so that they can join the discussion and the debate. Why did people think that this was OK? Why do we no longer think that? What are some ways that we can show that this is wrong, or hurtful, or hateful, or scary, or true? What are some ways we can stand up against this? These are questions kids can’t ask if they’re being fed a steady diet of inoffensive literary pablum.

So I will come clean now and admit that I have never read ‘A Farewell to Arms,’ nor do I know why it was once on a banned or challenged list. I look forward to finding out before I release this book back into the wild.

Readers, thoughts on censorship? Hate speech? Which banned books have you read and loved and/or hated?

Gone Wrong

Having been pinned by a piece of Ikea furniture, I decided to take a short break and clean out my bookmarks. And found a delightful little thing, one of those sites that makes you glad Al Gore invented the internet – Bugs of Chernobyl. This woman goes around to nuclear sites, including the former Chernobyl containment site, and documents the mutated insects there. They are truly lovely and a wonderful testament to the artistic powers of fugitive radioactivity.

And you know, it’s not always the case, is it, that when man messes with nature it turns out better than before? Cane toads in Australia: giant mess. Parasitic wasps in Hawaii, ditto. Kudzu, hey? Oops much?

Which reminded me of those big giant jellyfish in Japan, those nomura. At around 500 pounds they’re bigger than the average sumo; they clean the waters around them of all plankton and they poison fish, they tangle fishermens’ nets, they generally weird out the ecosystem. And there’s more of them every year. But you know why they’re blooming like that? Why the numbers go up every year? (PS. Aren’t they pretty?)

It turns out that a nomura isn’t killed by the average fishing net, so they land on the deck of the boat pretty well intact. Of course, you can’t have that; if you tip the stupid thing off the side, it’ll just get caught in the net again. So the fishermen generally take their work knives and slice it into several large pieces before shoving the rest overboard. But it’s been discovered that if you ‘breach’ a nomura, it’ll empty all its, um, what’s a good term for mixed company, all its genetic material into the water (this happens whether it gets sliced by knives or snagged on a piece of coral). So what are the fishermen doing? Creating a soup of eggs and sperm in the water. Fertilization, maturation, blooms.

Which makes you wonder if there’s anything that we can do, us humans, about the nomura (aside from making more nomura). Things like this, to me, are a pretty solid argument for the preservation of as much biodiversity as we can. Who’s to say that the natural enemies of the nomura won’t come seething up from the depths and take advantage of the bounty? Then, who’s to say that the ten species on which they depend will be there to ensure that happens? Or the ten species that each of those species count on? Or etc ad infinitum.

Anyway, the moral of this post is:
1. Things depend on things, even if we haven’t discovered the relationships yet.
2. Particleboard is heavy.

At Least It Would Keep Edward Away

So Thursday evening I was feeling some pressure in my left ear, but this morning I woke up with undeniable pain, and a persistent stomping throb, or throbbing stomp, the unmistakable call of the wild ear infection. I was all, “What am I, four years old?” So I did what all reasonable four year-olds do and went crying to my mommy, who said, between large mouthfuls of her lunch, “An ear infection? Oh, stick a clove of garlic in there.”

“MOM. NO.”
“But I saw it on that Doctor Oz show! It’ll kill the – ”
“You always told me not to stick anything in my ears.” I paused. “Also, garlic?”
“It’s got antibacterial properties!”
“What if it gets stuck in there?”
“Well, at least it won’t get infected.”

Anyway, ear infections are usually viral, Mom, so just KNOCK IT OFF.

Anyway, though, I got to thinking about my usual cold/flu regimen, which goes like such:
1. Zinc cough drops (preferably cherry flavour)
2. Ibuprofen
3. Lots of whining

Not so much a standard home remedy as a standard drugstore remedy, unlike my crazy mother’s garlic advice. Then I was like, “But how crazy is it?” We don’t necessarily head ‘er to the drugstore for every little thing, we do subscribe to quite a lot of home remedies. Cranberry juice for urinary tract infections, ginger ale for motion sickness, toothpaste on a zit, toast with honey to cure a hangover. For all that we pride ourselves as being a modern bunch with the Better Living Through Chemistry and medicines done up in nice little foil packs, I think most of us would honest-to-Gob rather smear some baking soda on a beesting than drive to London Drugs for one of those Benadryl rub-on sticks. Am I right?

Readers, do you have any family/home remedies you swear by? (Or, in the case of hangover cures, at?)

Reprieve

First, a haiku:

Winter is biting
With gharstly icicle teeth.
Please euthanize me.

Next, the cure for winter: a trip to somewhere non-wintry! By which I mean the newly-renovated, yet still wonderfully familiar, Muttart Conservatory, whence I dragged my half-frozen carcass on Sunday.

A pointy colourful thing:

A delicate yellow thing:

A fluffy pink thing that tried to assassinate me by falling onto my shoulder and tumbling pathetically to the floor:

Can you feel the warmth? The humidity? The churning processes of photosynthesis that have all but ground to a halt outside? Take a deep breath and focus on the plants.

The desert pyramid is also good for dispelling winter blues, albeit less humid.

Just think, guys, only four more months of winter to go! We can do it!

Is Someone Seriously Going to Greenlight This?

I mean, not a single word in this headline actually goes with the other words in the sentence.

Then again, if the Beatles, MC Hammer, and the New Kids on the Block could do it…