Snug as a bug in a crumpled up paper towel

Do you see it?

I tried to blur out the edges around it to make it more easily visible.

That ginormous black spot on the upper left side of the pic? Look close.

Yup. That's a bug.

Oh sure, he LOOKS tiny and harmless.

But you can't make out all the tentacles and gross little beady eyes in this pic.

And why the hell is he hanging out on the ceiling above MY side of the bed? He's up to no good.

Thankfully Dono (husband/exterminator) is home sick today. He's takin' care of business. 

I cannot kill bugs. It's not like I'm a nature-lover or one with all beings or whatever. Bugs just gross me out. So where I fail in controlling the bug population, Dono picks up the slack.

When he's not home, however, and I'm faced with a mocking multipede, and the vacuum cleaner's not within the general vicinity of the culprit, and when there's no Windex (or other toxic chemical in a spray bottle) in sight, I come up with other ways to ensure my personal space is bug-free.

Outta sight, outta mind.

And Dono loves feeling like a knight when he comes home to slay the beast. It's a win-win.


SoundTracking: Shakin' All Over (The Guess Who)

"Here's a thought for sweat shop owners: Air Conditioning. Problem solved."

In the December 2001 issue of Penthouse, Mitch Hedberg was asked "If you could choose, how would you end your life?" His response: "First, I'd want to get famous, and then I'd overdose. If I overdose at this stage in my career, I would be lucky if it made the back pages."

Three years later, as if a self-fulfilled prophecy, the comedian with the cult following was found dead in a hotel room in Livingston, New Jersey. Cause of death: "multiple drug toxicity" in the form of cocaine and heroin.

Today marks the anniversary of his death. 

The news of his passing wasn't formally announced until April 1, 2005, leading many to believe it was an April Fool's joke, only to discover that, of course, it was not.

I regret not having heard of Hedberg until a few years after his passing (I would have loved to have subscribed to the cult, followed him on tour, shook the man's hand). But (thank god for YouTube showing me what I otherwise never knew about), since discovering Hedberg and his signature comedic delivery of his absurd one-liner brand of observational humour, I am hooked.

Hedberg occasionally added disclaimers to the end of a joke to let the audience know that he shared their judgement of it, most notably acknowledging when jokes were poorly delivered or received with a resigned "all right." He also toyed with the audiences that failed to respond in the way he had intended them to, occasionally quipping, "That joke's better than you acted." During recordings for CDs, he would often say that he would find a way to edit a failed gag to make it seem well received, for example by "adding laughter" to a failed joke containing arithmetic. Following such a failure on Strategic Grill Locations, Hedberg suggested, "All right... that joke is going to be good because I'm going to take all the words out and add new words. That joke will be fixed." - http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mitch_Hedberg

Today, March 30, I want to remember Mitch - a man who, because of stage fright, often performed while wearing sunglasses, with his head down and hair in his face, or his eyes closed so that he could avoid eye contact with the audience; who couldn't control the nervous shaking of his hands as he'd hold the microphone.

Who, with a unique presence and occasionally flubbed jokes, was on the rise. He was gonna be big. Before his death, Hedberg released three CDs, all of which I've heard many times over. His style was unparalleled. 

I can only imagine what kinda stuff he'd be coming up with today - Lord knows the world's full of enough material for a freakin' anthology of Hedberg humour. 

If you're new to the legacy of Mitch, then read on and check out a few of his classics (these will never get old):

• I went to a record store, they said they specialized in hard-to-find records. Nothing was alphabetized.
• I have a vest. If I had my arms cut off, it would be a jacket.
• I had one anchovy, that's why I didn't have two anchovies.
• I saw a lady on T.V. She was born without arms. Literally, she was born with her hands attached to her shoulders... and that was sad, but then they said, "Lola does not know the meaning of the word 'can't.'" And that to me was kinda worse... in a way... ya know? Not only does she not have arms, but she doesn't understand simple contractions. It's very simple, Lola, you just take two words, you put them together, then you take out the middle letter, you put a comma in there and you raise it up!
• An escalator can never break--it can only become stairs. You would never see an "Escalator Temporarily Out Of Order" sign, just "Escalator Temporarily Stairs. Sorry for the convenience. We apologize for the fact that you can still get up there."
• Sometimes in the middle of the night, I think of something that's funny, then I go get a pen and I write it down. Or if the pen's too far away, I have to convince myself that what I thought of ain't funny.
• You know, I'm sick of following my dreams, man. I'm just going to ask where they're going and hook up with 'em later.
• I went to a pizzeria, I ordered a slice of pizza, the fucker gave me the smallest slice possible. If the pizza was a pie chart for what people would do if they found a million dollars, the fucker gave me the "donate it to charity" slice. I would like to exchange this for the "keep it!"
• I was walking by a dry cleaner at 3 a.m., and it said "Sorry, we're closed." You don't have to be sorry. It's 3 a.m., and you're a dry cleaner. It would be ridiculous for me to expect you to be open. I'm not gonna walk by at 10 a.m. and say, "Hey, I walked by at 3, you guys were closed. Someone owes me an apology. This jacket would be halfway done!"

And of course, a couple of clips of the man doing what he did best:

SoundTracking: Mitch All Together (Mitch Hedberg comedy)

Can Justin Bieber change the world?

Elvis did.

After all, it's because of his music that mankind was able to achieve space travel.

(Find ONE report that denies this.)

Ok, moon-walking aside, the birth of rock 'n roll in the 1950s fed into the emerging social culture of teen rebellion. The older generation fought against the uprise of "the devil music", but parents pitted against transistor radios always lost out to the likes of Jerry Lee Lewis and Little Richard.

This new wave of defiance required a soundtrack, and the music responded accordingly. (Elvis, of course, being the King of Rock, is the iconic representation of this evolution.)

Years later, in the turbulence of the 60s, the experimental sounds from musicians like Bob Dylan, The Byrds, and Buffalo Springfield laced the charts with songs about revolution and protests to question the state of society and empower people to make a difference.

Music carried a message to induce change.

People united and protested for peace.

The Byrds' Turn! Turn! Turn! and CCR's Fortunate Son have been a staple in my collection since my mixed tape days. Not because of their lyrics, but rather, they're damn good songs. Musically.

(Now that I'm older, of course, I can appreciate their subject matter.)

Fast forward ahead a few decades (catapulting over the 90s - sorry Gin Blossoms and Better Than Ezra) to a brand spankin' new century.

A new culture, spoiled by commercialism, where over-indulgence has become the norm.

A time riddled with what I like to call "first world problems" (lunch-hour botox injections, anyone?).

And a new generation of music to reflect it all.

At the helm of today's popular music, a universal theme: boy-meets-girl-boy-falls-in-love (but the context has changed - I haven't tried this yet, but if you played The Beach Boys' Wouldn't It Be Nice to a group of teens who listen to - what do kids listen to these days?! - the innocence of the lyrics would blow. Their. Minds.).

But my point is this: war is not over.

Global unrest is abundant.

Telethons raising money for natural disasters don't put a lid on fear, horror and agony.

The era of the 60s protests movements in the U.S. produced legendary songs with lyrics that could very well be transposed to today's global circumstances, and proved there seems to be an undeniable link between music and political movements, so my question is this:

Where are the protest songs of today?

I know these songs exist. Of course they do - Green Day has an anti-war song. So does Lenny Kravitz. But I've never turned on the radio and heard them played in regular rotation. Why are these songs so sparse? Why is it that mainstream media pays no attention to this brand of theme? What has changed about the world that we aren't inundated with a slew of songs about peace and love and uniting a nation? I can't speak from experience on growing up in the 60s (that time was such a blur for everyone, wasn't it....?!?!), but from what I gather, my research and discussions dictate these protest songs were as revered, appreciated, loved and commonplace in that era as, say, Justin Bieber's Baby might be in THIS era.

Music icons of decades past have moulded the Western world - maybe if the Beebs sang "C'mon people now, smile on your brother, ev'rybody get together, try to love one another right now", he, too, could be the voice to empower the generation and make a difference.

SoundTracking: Like A Rolling Stone (Bob Dylan)

Grass, Rain and Candy Canes

Not a Strawberry Alarm Clock reunion tour anthem.

It's what I see out the side kitchen window.

And it's a blatant, sad discovery I stumbled upon as I gazed outside while unloading the dishwasher: I am a hypocrite.

Normally this wouldn't bother me so much, but this particular revelation of hypocrisy, in this particular way, left me stunned.

MY delightful candy cane lights that brighten up the front pathway at Christmastime are out, on my fence, in MARCH. What are they even DOING there? Were they on their way to storage and whoever was putting them away got tired from hauling the 0.4lb-total load, stopped to hang them on the fence to take a breather, and then got distracted by a butterfly or something?

This may not be a big deal to anyone else, but it's pretty huge for me.

ME, the one who bitches out loud to no one in particular about the pumpkin garbage bags I see on people's yards as I drive by, or the cupid window decals on neighbour's houses. "Take down your GD decorations, what the hell's the matter with you!"

ME, who told Donovan, "Those people must be dead or trapped in their basement under a bookcase, what other reason do they have for not taking down that wreath on their front door?", who was half-consdering registering www.howhardcanitbetotakedownyourdecorations.com - I have this scene staring back at me as I look out the window!

I'm gonna go do something about it! 

After I finish baking cookies.....

.....and after it stops raining.....but by then it could be dark already.....and Donovan has to make space in the garage....but then I have to move my SUV for that, and it's kinda cold....HEY, lookit that pretty butterfly fluttering around out there....

SoundTracking: Light My Fire (The Doors)

Don't call me Soccer Mom

Enrolled the Roo in soccer.

By default, that makes me a soccer mom.

I know the term has come a long way in the past few years, and has since transcended the cookie-cutter image of the stained-sweat-pants-wearing, wood-panelled-mini-van-driving, puffy-eyed, thermos-full-of-SunnyD-drinking mom.

But that image still sticks with me from my days on the field as a young North Kildonan Cobra who watched the stressed out mothers yelling at their kids (and the other kids, and each other), smoking cigarettes and eating a bag of salt 'n vinegar chips.

Typical? Or was it just my soccer club?

Anyway, I've decided I'm gonna bring a new look to the sidelines.

"I'm pretty sure I didn't just hear you dis my 4 yr old's kicking ability, am I right?"

SoundTracking: The Jets game! Tied at 3 going into the 3rd...

Keyboard Cat

Hi, my name is Cat, and I can play the keyboard.

I may be decades removed from my award-winning performance of Anne Murray's Snowbird at my very first Tauber's Kawai Music Festival (I rocked the organ, and created arrangements like a pro), but despite the exorbitant hiatus, my love for the keys has never waned.

That's why we picked me up a brand new 88-key digital piano a couple of months ago. (Yay!)

Weighted scaled hammer action tri-sensor keys for that true acoustic feel. WHAT IS A TRI-SENSOR KEY?


Music lessons never prepared me for the big wide world of the keys beyond the bass pedals and the upper and lower keyboard. Weighted keys? Sustain pedals? What gives! So now, not having been trained on the piano, this is gonna be a bit of a challenge, but I've got time, determination, passion, and a book of Beatles' music to conquer.

My goal is to be ready to rock the 2013 Tauber's festival with my piano rendition of Snowbird.

Watch out, 7-8 year olds, I'm gonna kick some piano-lovin' ass. That golden treble clef trophy's mine.

My parents have the old organ at their house, and it's always fun to tinker around now and then - teaching my little Roo how to "play" "music" - Christmas, 2010

SoundTracking: For What It's Worth (Buffalo Springfield)

A Feast for the Fans at the Fest

Alliteration nation!

Ok, now that that's out of my system, let's get down to business...

The Fest officially kicked off its 38th year of celebrating all-things Beatles this evening.

I didn't get a chance to click on over to the site until just before 10pm CST, and I was lucky enough to catch the tail-end of what appeared to be a fan-favourite Beatles' Look-A-Like contest (top prize went to a pre-teen boy dressed as barefooted Paul from the cover of Abbey Road - thanks for coming out, everyone else - you're always going to lose to the kids!), and, thankfully, I caught a set of the glory that is Liverpool.


"Liverpool, the world's finest Beatles tribute band, is an integral part of our 'Fest Family' and has been our exclusive house band for nearly every Fest. Their dedication to the spirit of The Beatles music is unmatched, playing a vast majority of Beatles and solo songs, plus playing with dozens of great musical guests over the years."


Now before I indulge you with my review, you must know - there are two truths in my world: I have a fear of wide open spaces, and I love The Beatles.

My first experience with a "tribute" band came at the hands (and voices) of the local Free Ride boys. Fun. I could sing along. They sounded good.

Next up, years later, a tribute band from abroad breezed through town, playing a gig with the Winnipeg Symphony Orchestra. The Concert Hall was a more impressive venue than one of the city's casinos, so I was intrigued. The band, Classical Mystery Tour, provided for me the closest thing to a religious experience I could imagine. (To hear Penny Lane backed by a full symphony - seriously, if all the world leaders came together and listened to the show, I'm pretty sure we'd end third world debt and stop wars.) CMT drummer Chris Camilleri also plays in a primarily Paul McCartney show (Live And Let Die, also with symphony support), as does guitarist John Merjave.

Camilleri ALSO happens to be one of the founding members of Liverpool - the same band that's anchoring the entertainment at The Fest. (Camilleri is a very busy guy!)

So, knowing all this, I was pretty sure Liverpool wasn't going to be some schmaltzy act. This was, however, my first encounter with the talents of the other bandmates.

The one obvious difference from my other Camilleri-related shows - no symphony. This was my chance to hear the basic, stripped-down 4-piece band playing just the songs of The Beatles, the way just The Beatles played 'em. This, of course, fosters a more dance-and-let-loose-get-friendly-with-the-bartender environment than the orchestra shows. (The bartender at the Concert Hall wouldn't have very much appreciated me dancing on his bar. Again...) Fun!

And, the second obvious difference - the vocals. In the other two shows, the band's McCartney is a fixture in both, just as is Camilleri. So once I got past the fact that the vocals weren't quite what I was expecting, the familiar harmonies kicked in, and I found myself bobbing my head and cranking the volume on my Mac.

The combined masterful musicianship of Drew Hill, Glen Burtnik, Merjave & Camilleri has the magical ability to transport you to a moment in time that you more than likely never experienced, but always dreamed you could. Personally, the music of The Beatles has been, predominantly, the soundtrack of my childhood, and to hear these tunes played out in a "live" setting, by the next-best-thing, is an exhilarating experience. So I MAY be slightly biased...

But, judging by the crowd reactions via the live feed, I do believe I've got general consensus backing me up here.

Liverpool brought the Fest fans to their feet with near exact musical replicas of such classic Beatles' tunes as You Can't Do That, Paperback Writer (complete with what I recently - and very excitedly - discovered is several slow incantations of the French nursery rhyme "Frère Jacques" in the backing vocals - très cool!), Day Tripper, I Saw Her Standing There, and Slow Down, to name but a few. Just a sampling of what's to come. Musician and former Ringo producer Mark Hudson joined the band onstage to perform one song much to the delight of the Liverpool-lovin' crowd before the group called it a night, promising to resume their festivities tomorrow. Tune in if you can - Liverpool takes the stage Saturday night at 9:15pm EST and Sunday at 8:15pm EST.

Glen Burtnik takes the lead

Chris Camilleri killin' it on the skins

Mark Hudson, Ringo's former producer, pulls an impromptu performance

Liverpool

SoundTracking: Action (Streetheart)

Beatlefest!

This year marks the 38th anniversary of Beatlefest (aka The Fest For Beatles Fans). 

Reference alert!

It all started on April 28th, 1974, when self-proclaimed "big Beatles fan" Mark Lapidos conceived of a celebration to commemorate the 10th anniversary of the Revolution-ary band's coming to America. This Boy got his Ticket to Ride when he met with John Lennon in April of 1974 for the official Rubber Soul stamp of approval (whose response to Lapidos was, "I'm all for it. I'm a Beatles fan, too.")

Five months later, the first Fest unfolded at the New York Commodore Hotel, chock full of films, special guests, live concerts, art contests, look-a-like and sound-a-like contests, auctions and a charity raffle (to which each member contributed signed items, with monies being donated to Lennon's charity of choice).

After national exposure via the cover of Rolling Stone (Oct 24/74), letters began to pour in from all over the country begging the convention be brought to their cities. 

And so, the annual Fest has become a roving ritual in its own right, playing such staple cities as Chicago and New York.

This weekend, the Fest is in Secaucus, NJ (its 34th convention at this location), and the guest list is enough to successfully satisfy every corner of the fandom spectrum: from Beatles' photographers and trivia experts, to Ringo's former producer Mark Hudson, to former early Wings lead guitarist and drummer, to Peter Asher and Monkee Micky Dolenz. Top that off with performances by the world's finest Beatles tribute band, and the foundation of the Fest, Liverpool, and watch the Festies Come Together.

If you're not able to make it out to the Fest within the next day to secure your own spot on the dance floor (damn you and your striking ways, Air Canada!), you can certainly check out The Fest's website for a live feed of the events, or do what I've been doing, check out the online store (which is where I'll be spending some of Donovan's hard earned money!).

If you don't have time to commit to the computer for the full experience all weekend, I would strongly suggest at least tuning in for the Liverpool shows (Saturday at 9:15pm EST and Sunday at 8:15pm EST).

Strongly, strongly suggest.

Strongly. 

www.thefest.com 

SoundTracking: The Boxer (Simon & Garfunkel)

Somethin' to chew on: A Look at Bubblegum

In an exploration of the roots of rock, and the development of modern-day music, you can't avoid the sugary offshoot that is bubblegum.

Aside from the fact that bubblegum influenced future all-boy/girl bands, which have played an integral role in the musical culture of the past few decades, bubblegum is fun.

You don't have to think about it. No poetry to decode, no hidden political agendas.

It's music that my daughter enjoys. She's 4. She likes to sing along to The Archies. Only so much of it I can take, really, but until she is old enough to appreciate the lyrical content in Dylan's folk rock, bubblegum pop is a much mentally-healthier alternative* to listening to Fisher Price's Little People singing Old McDonald on a 4-hr road trip to Grandma's house. (*Much mentally-healthier for me, because if I'm driving, I don't want to hear Little People. On repeat. For the safety of my family and others on the road, I just. Can't. Handle. It.)

Anyway, here's a dissection of this musical phenomenon, sent to me by rock historian John Einarson - it's quite interesting, if you don't already know the deets, so I thought I'd share:

"Bubblegum"


By Robert Fontenot, About.com

Definition: The sub-genre of pop music known as "bubblegum" is one of the very few dominated by a specific production team: in this case, Super K Productions, the team of Jerry Kasenetz and Jeffrey Katz, who scored a major hit in 1968 with "Green Tambourine" on the Buddah label.That song, which kicked off the bubblegum craze, was merely an assemblage of studio pros put together for a one-off single. The method of using anonymous, interchangeable groups of session musicians was the key to bubblegum's success; other examples include "Na Na Hey Hey Kiss Him Goodbye" by Steam and The Archies' "Sugar Sugar," masterminded by bubblegum's other auteur, producer Don Kirshner.

While the term can and has been applied to any manufactured teen pop, the actual sound of bubblegum is specific: singsong melodies with high vocals (often harmonized), cheap organ solos, simple chords, and a childish lyrical hook, like schoolyard games (The 1910 Fruitgum Company's "Simon Says" and "1-2-3 Red Light") or junk food metaphors ("Chewy Chewy" and "Yummy Yummy Yummy" by the Ohio Express). The production is always very poppy, with the slightest bit of soul in the vocals and a bit of light garage-rock guitar. The groups are usually faceless and interchangeable, with post-psychedelic names, and some, like the Banana Splits and Josie and the Pussycats, are attached to cartoons or live-action children's shows. It is often confused with "sunshine pop", which is a more adult contemporary style influenced by show tunes and the British Invasion.

Several "real" groups entered bubblegum territory at times, like The Monkees' "I'm A Believer" and Tommy James and the Shondells' "I Think We're Alone Now"; the sound would go on to directly influence glam (especially early Sweet singles) and all future boy/girl bands (beginning with the Bay City Rollers and their hit "Saturday Night").

Also known as: Bubblegum Pop, Bubblegum Rock, Sunshine Pop

Examples:

1.   "Yummy Yummy Yummy," Ohio Express
2.   "Sugar Sugar," The Archies
3.   "Indian Giver," The 1910 Fruitgum Company
4.   "I Think We're Alone Now," Tommy James and the Shondells
5.   "Dizzy," Tommy Roe
6.   "My Baby Loves Lovin'," White Plains
7.   "Beautiful Sunday," Daniel Boone
8.   "Love Grows (Where Rosemary Goes)," Edison Lighthouse
9.   "Gimme Gimme Good Lovin'," Crazy Elephant
10.  "Tracy," The Cuff Links



SoundTracking: Sunny Afternoon (The Kinks)

Dr. Feelgood

I've got one thing you'll understand
He's not what you'd call a glamorous man
Got one thing that's easily understood
He's the one they call Dr. Feelgood


I started out calling him Dr. Gentle Hands (that's probably what his Native American name is anyway). He has since evolved into Dr. Feelgood.

Either one works for me.

Dr. McDreamyHands is the latest and greatest doctor in my life. He is a Physical Rehabilitation Specialist, and since our initial meeting at the consultation appointment, I can't find enough positive adjectives to adequately express my elation with this man.

Which is why, due to my excessive and incessant gushing, to Donovan, my doctor probably looks like buddy in the picture.

I'll let him keep thinking that.

I had a date - errr, appointment - with him yesterday, another scheduled injection into my spinal column. Why can't more doctors be caring, compassionate, patient, understanding, good looki...errr...attentive like HE is?

Oh well, I'm giddy I found him.

I mean HAPPY.

I'm HAPPY I found him.

;)



SoundTracking: Superstition (Stevie Wonder)

Kane & (dis)Able

My family, my friends and my doctors know the reason; for everyone else, the mystery of my walking aid has summoned sideways glances from strangers, undoubtedly merged with worst-case-scenario assumptions, I'm sure, to a degree of which I can't even begin to imagine. ("Look at that young girl with the cane. So sad!")

For those comfortable enough to ask usually do so with a tinge of sympathy, and I have no problem explaining to them that a misdiagnosis* from my general practitioner (*really, a lack of doctoring, and gross misleading) has contributed to the rapid progression of a once very common, easily fixable injury that could have been - nay, SHOULD have been - dealt with months earlier. 

Something that COULD have been healed by now had treatment been started sooner.

Instead, I have developed symptoms that should never have been developed. Side effects of an injury that never would have come about had I had an adequate doctor. I've been off work for far too long now to know more than 50% of the faces I worked with before my leave began, before we moved into a big scary brand new terminal. I couldn't even tell you how to fire up the computer at the gates. What the heck would my password be even? HOW DO I BRIDGE AN AIRCRAFT?

Optimism can seem like such an acid trip when you lose sight of the bigger picture.

Nowhere you can be that isn't where you're meant to be.

Me and Evander (yes, I've named my cane....who doesn't? And unless you aren't a Jets fan, my choice of name should be a no-brainer) have grown very close in just over a year. And in that time, our torrid love affair has exuded all the glories of the love/hate relationship. I love that he's there for me when I need him (because without him, I would most definitely be a hermit in my home), and I hate that I depend on him so much. Right now, if I want to get out, I'm 98% dependant on Evander to help me. Frustrating. And wonderful. Through this time, though, I've been fortunate enough to get a taste of the kindness that, really, should be commonplace for all humanity, both to dispense of and to receive.

But this isn't what this blog post is about.

It's not about how when Evander slips out of my grasp, usually someone will swoop in after him so that I don't have to struggle to bend down to get him myself.

Nor is it about how when I go grocery shopping, clerks don't charge me for the double bagging that I need (as I have to carry everything with one hand, one bag is obviously easiest, and I'm not always buying just Jell-O or tampons.) Double bags. Necessity.

Nor is it about how people - complete strangers - hold the door open for me, help me take off my coat. It's quite lovely.

I shouldn't have to expect this kind of treatment just because of Evander. Sadly, though, I know that when he and I break up, I won't be able to enjoy the pleasant surprises of random acts of kindness.

And so now, we come to the crux of this post.

I don't know if I want to end my relationship with Evander!

BEAR WITH ME, YOU DON'T UNDERSTAND! (cue awkward laughter here)

Since having my cane, honest-to-God as much as I need it to keep my balance and help stabilize my crumpled body, if I'm standing in line for something, people offer me CHAIRS to sit on! Or in the case of last Saturday, my clan and I get ushered to the FRONT OF THE LINE, ahead of all those poor healthy jerks who have been waiting for hours.

I get wheeled to my seat at the Prince concert. In a wheelchair! How fun! Pushed by someone who is paid to help people like me! Out of my way, suckers! Wheeled onto the floor, they help me to my seat, and then, with their insistence and a smile, I get priority service delivery right out to the car! 

I get to ride a motorized scooter in West Ed Mall! (Let's be honest, that's pretty much how I'll be conquering that monstrosity from now on. I think everyone should! Zipping around a giant indoor city WITH a front basket to hold extra H&M merch?) Too much excitement!

Sucks to be able-bodied, eh?

Of course, I'm not being serious - I have been VERY appreciative of the generosity of others, and I can joke about how wonderful Evander is, but at the end of the day, this is only because we have an official diagnosis. If I was still dodging the addiction to pain medication my "doctor" seemed to want to create by throwing relentless prescriptions at me, all the while being told I had a "mystery syndrome", living in a vortex of hopelessness, I most certainly wouldn't be able to even acknowledge my relationship with E. But knowing there's a light at the end of the tunnel, you can bet I'm gonna live it up with my walking buddy. Making the most of it until our time comes to an end.

SoundTracking: Come Together (The Beatles)

Draw...Something?!

My lovely friend Scott introduced me yesterday to what can very easily become my "it's ok, my 4yr old can make supper for the family, Mommy's busy tending to her latest addiction" addiction.

Draw Something.

Have you heard of this app? It's ridiculously addictive.

Well, for me, anyway.

So when Scott decided at some point during the night that he'd rather sleep than continue our game, I decided to check out the "find random user" option. 

It's here where I struck up a game with a random player, who shall remain usernameless.

I drew first. My word was hangman. Proud of myself for conveying the simple concept of the world's oldest, most popular game (there is, in fact, evidence that the ancient Egyptians spent many a rousing hour playing this game), I was surprised when my opponent took their sweet time getting back to me.

In case you don't know, Draw Something GIVES you letters to choose from. AND the correct number of spaces in the word you're guessing. My opponent decided to give it ONE SHOT by filling up the blank squares with nothing but consonants and then giving up. GIVING UP. On guessing HANGMAN?

Ok fine. Maybe the drawing of the stick man hanging from the noose with dashes underneath to represent missing letters was too vague. I waited for my opponent to draw and have ME guess.

This is what my opponent came back at me with:

WHAT. THE. ....?

Spent more than half an hr trying to crack the code.

And then I gave up (of course, the answer is then revealed). I still don't see it! And that's my experience with random players. Reaffirming one of my mother's warnings growing up, "Don't talk to strangers."

Any guesses on what this could be?

(Also, if you play, ADD ME!!! My username is catfysh! Feed my addiction!)

SoundTracking: Talkin' Bout You (The Animals)

My fault, Winnipeg

Yeah, I'll take the blame.

The Jets lost last night's important game to Carolina 4-3.

Jets' forward Tanner Glass even admitted the team "played a little casual throughout the whole game."

As Dono and I watched the collapse of our beloved Jets right before our eyes, one of the comments that kept coming up in discussion was, "Wow, Wheels is TOTALLY dipsy doodling."

And that's when it hit me.

Blake Wheeler (or Wheels, as we affectionately call him), the 25yr old fan favourite, a powerhouse of energy who oozes masterful skill and unmatched speed, was unraveling in a relentless loop of failing dipsy doodledge.

(For those of you unfamiliar with the term, much like I was only a few short months ago, dipsy doodle is a quick move or series of moves by the puck-carrier, showing great stick-handling ability and deking defending players.)

Now I'm not a professional hockey player (read: I can't even walk without tripping, let alone strapping blades to my feet and putting me on a sheet of ice), so I can't speak expertly on this topic; HOWEVER, I do know this: it's great when it works, and even better to hear commentators actually USE that term, but when relentless attempts at successful dipsy doodling spiral into failure, sometimes it's just not your game, and you should try a different approach.

Here's where I take the blame.

On Saturday, we had the opportunity to meet Wheels and fellow Jet Bryan Little at a signing at Winnipeg Pet Rescue Shelter. When our turn came up to get some stuff autographed, I took a moment to gush (in a non-creepy way) to these guys about how much I appreciate them.  

"Now, I've gotta say, I don't understand 'offside' or 'icing', in fact I've never watched hockey a day in my life before you guys come into my town and stir up this amazing spirit, and now I'm super excited about it all and I just wanna say thanks!" I handed Wheels and Little each their own purse-sized bottle of hand sanitizer, because they were meeting lots of people that day and I didn't want either of them to contract the flesh-eating disease from some deranged fan. 

I also said, in my little spiel to Wheels and Little, how can you NOT love a sport where commentators use the term DIPSY DOODLING with a straight face? We all got a good chuckle out of it.

So fast forward to last night's game - WHAT IF WHEELS WAS DOING THAT ALL ON PURPOSE? That brief interaction we had OBVIOUSLY made an impact on him! It seemed he was trying to let me know, "Hey, Cat - is that commentator saying dipsy doodle enough for you? Want him to say it s'more? Ok! Check THIS out!" 

Yes, Wheels, the commentator WAS saying it enough for me! And y'know what? Win or lose, who cares about points (I still don't even understand them), I will never forget how you took one for the team so that you could bring a smile to the face of your now-biggest fan. 

We're up next! Waiting to meet Wheels (the guy in the dark shirt) and Little (the guy with the cap)

Aaaaaand there's my new favourite! My man Wheels more than likely about to indulge in some fancy dipsy doodling for his number one fan!

A Review: Rockin' Richard's Record & CD Show 'n Sale (March 18, 2012)

For the past several weeks, I've been the youngest student in a rock solid 2hrs-a-week discussion group called History of Rock 'n Roll, led by author and music historian John Einarson.

It's a fascinating exploration of the roots of rock.

(As an aside, and as the youngest participant in this group, I have enjoyed being asked such questions as "So have you heard of Roy Orbison before?" and "Are you at least finding this type of music catchy?".  I suppose I can understand where they're coming from, they probably believe I'm there doing a research project for high school; they don't know that Roy Orbison was, in fact, my very first concert experience.)

When we began our discussion on the British Invasion a few weeks back, I realized then that I had lived a past life as a Liverpudlian teen in the mid-60s (I was born in '78, so math-wise, it's possible).

Well, THAT, or maybe I'm just lucky to have a really cool dad.

The great discussion we had on Merseybeat, and listening to the accompanying tracks Mr Einarson would play to supplement the content, was such a cool throwback to my childhood - my dad, thankfully, has great taste in music, so I was lucky enough to be surrounded by the British Invasion growing up. Bands like the Searchers, Gerry and the Pacemakers, Herman's Hermits, The Hollies - I didn't realize I loved them as much as I do.



So when Mr Einarson mentioned to us last Tuesday about the up-and-coming Rockin' Richard's Record and CD sale slated for the weekend, I knew I had to be there, just to soak it all up, if anything.

What I experienced was truly an assault on my senses.

Scores of tables set up with a bajillion LPs & 45s. A Gene Simmons impersonator. Sandy from Grease (could've been the real deal, more than likely not, though). The musty smell of basement. Boxes upon boxes of vintage magazines. Cassettes. Strobe lights. It was a magnificent feast I couldn't wait to sink my teeth into.

The scope of memorabilia was impressive, though I didn't get a chance to check out all the t-shirts, posters and the other bells and whistles they were selling. (Had to focus my energy on acquiring Beatles goodies, which I most happily did.) I also wish I would have had the chance to check out the sound equipment the leaflet claimed to have been selling (I was there to go through vinyl, I should probably own a record player of my own...?) The vendors were informative, friendly, and very helpful. Patient, even, as were most of the event-goers, especially when I took my time mulling over the books & mags in a couple of different boxes that I'm sure other eager hands wanted to jump on. Every genre of music was represented, from most every time period since the birth of recorded music.

I could have spent all day there (the show ran from 10-4pm) but that would have translated into spending more money. Easily. There was so much to see, I was afraid I would miss out on some great find; eventually, after a couple of hours, I just had to accept the fact that I wasn't going to be able to rifle through every box at the show. But I easily could have.

The only element I might have added to the event would have been, essentially, what the day was about: music. I understand the discussions with the vendors were creating enough of a buzz; however, I'm always a fan of a background music to accompany the day. Other than that, for it being my first record & cd show & sale, I was delightedly overwhelmed.

And feeling a bit regretful that I neglected to pick up that Gerry and the Pacemakers vinyl I had found.

And wishing I had brought my dad with me to experience it all, seeing as how it's because of him that I was there in the first place.

Next time.

You had me at "Refreshments available inside hotel"

Heading on over to the Vic to check out Richard - not sure exactly what I'm looking for; perhaps some rare Beatles vinyl that has been overlooked by everyone else and is just waiting for me to snatch it up. Maybe an autographed Queen poster? Maybe the free coffee will be the show's only real saving grace - either way, I've got cash in my wallet (not my cash NOR my wallet) and I'm not afraid to spend it (until Dono realizes his wallet's missing). I will determine for myself precisely how "rockin'" Richard really is...review to come!

Beware the Ida's of March

Donovan told me for the last time that I needed to blog again when he saw that I had posted this on my Facebook wall yesterday (March 15).

Looks like these ladies are either celebrating the death of a prominent Roman general and statesman and distinguished writer of Latin prose thousands of years ago, or they're about to watch the George Clooney and Ryan Gosling film.

Either way, they've got a plan, you don't wanna interfere.

Beware the Ida's of March!

Chocolate Cake & New Beginnings

My first order of business in creating this new blog of mine (yes, I said "new" because I've had multiple affairs with personal blogs in the past - but I was too young and immature to fully appreciate the relationship I had with them), if you listen to intuition like Oprah tells us to, was to look up neurotic.


Just to make sure that the word my inner being was screaming at me as I was deciding what this blog would look like was in fact the appropriate term to use.

(As an aside, I hope my intuition reminds me to check on the cake I'm baking in the oven upstairs. I'd hate to burn the place down and not have cake to console myself with.)

Ok, so:

neurotic  (njʊˈrɒtɪk)
— adj
1.	of, relating to, or afflicted by neurosis
— n
2.	a person who is afflicted with a neurosis or who tends to be emotionally  unstable or unusually anxious

Yep, that's me.

Only when it comes to making decisions, anyway. Why on earth do they give you so many font options for each and every part of your blog? The way your header looks - I'm talking based on sheer first impressions - can make or break your blog. What does that even mean anyways? What kinda tone do you wanna convey? I mean, I really like the looks of Cherry Cream Soda, but how professional does that really look? And is this SUPPOSED to look professional? Mountains of Christmas is a fun font, but I don't wanna discriminate against my atheist or Jewish friends, or offend anyone during the off-season. As much as I am eager to find a place to use Kranky and Homemade Apple Pie, perhaps those are better suited for the blogs I'll end up cheating with behind THIS blog's back.

Instead I ended up settling on the rather boring-sounding Oswald font for my header.

Neurotic.

Well, so here it is, my first foray back into the blogging realm in years (to maintain my love of writing, and to shut my blogging "Oh man, you need to blog again!" husband up.)

Yessir, feels good to be back.



SoundTracking: Cocaine Blues (the Joaquin Phoenix version)