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Today I'm having franks and beans for my supper. I think they're fairly good. I hated them as a child, but what did I know way back then? Back when I was a kid I hated bedtime: now I look forward to crashing into a nice, cool pillowcase at the end of the day. I also like fresh avocados, and watching Coronation Street. It's almost like I've grown into a completely different person. What I didn't know as a child could fit into a dump truck… or even larger! Well, I suppose some things don't change too much, do they?
Today I ate Irish Stew for supper. I was at a little pub called Fionn MacCool's with my friend. He told me that Fionn was a Faery story from Ireland, so I decided to do a little research. I read about his birth; of his propensity to gnaw on digits (not the most appetizing culinary delight) for knowledge; and about how he won his fighting Fenians. It was all very interesting, but I found out that the character's name probably wasn't Fionn MacCool, but more likely it was Finn MacCumal, or Fionn Mac Cumhail. I think the restaurant chose wisely.
Tonight I invited new friends over for snacks and beers. They hadn't visited before, so I was rather nervous as to what we would talk about. As it turns out, they're very chatty folk, so there were none of those awkward silences, that only become comfortable after you've known people for a while. I discovered that there are certain rules for finger food snacks that aren't always apparent, however. A good rule? Don't ever put a cheese plate out without slicing the cheese. It makes the snacking ritual too labour intensive. Eating pre-cut cheese nibbles is more relaxing for guests.
I think I could really get into this. I'm working on a small project with some groovy folks that involves researching some Indian movies. Today I watched Hum Dil de Chuke Sanam, and while I had dug in with a tasty bowl of saffron rice (I ordered food in from Dhaba for the occasion), I soon realized that I was going to be sucked in for the entire three hours. It's amazing that my Sesame Street-raised thirty second attention span could ingest such a long morality play about how good girls should stick with their arranged marriages. But it did.
It's Sunday, and I've spent the entire day exercising in some form or another. I rollerbladed (can I use that as a past tense verb?) and walked. I'm pooped! Just to further my sporadically healthy lifestyle, however, I drank some cool smoothie that I bought at the grocery store. It was creamy and sweet; not at all what I was expecting from a drink that consisted of vegetables. Refreshed, but not full, I wanted to eat something else. So I ate a chocolate covered, cream filled doughnut, just to complete my daily balance. I strive for equality in ALL things.
Well, back to work from the glorious weekend. I find my diet suffers on weekdays. Either I forget lunch, or breakfast, or by the time I get home from work I'm too strung out from the day to have any motivation to actually prepare something. There used to be a time when I'd have purchased something prepared for these tired days, and, as my income increased I would occasionally indulge in a meal at a restaurant. Today, as I sat on my couch after a particularly gut-wrenching day, I looked down at my Doritos, and knew I had to change.
Have you discovered my theme yet? It's my first attempt at writing one hundred words a day, and so I decided at the start that I should develop a theme; to ensure I always had new material to write about. Well, nobody wants to read about how my sleep went, and I don't usually remember my dreams. The other two daily constants are eating and, well, something with no real entertainment value. So, food it was! I wanted to use my meals as some sort of a catalyst, to inspire my daily train of thought. Today, I ate a pannini.
Have you ever sat in polite company with someone who wasn't? I have several times, and each time I vow that it will be the last time I ever do. Today, I had a working dinner with several other writers, and we workshopped some scripts as we ate. The only problem was the few people who decided that meant they should speak WHILE they ate. I must tell you that the gnashing of food is a particularly odious habit, and being at a table where you are forced to listen to another's mastication is truly unparalleled in the societal tortures.
Well, I seem to have blown the wonderful rhythm that I had going for this 100 words project. Theme or no theme, if I can find a way to procrastinate, I will. Surprisingly enough, I seem to be several thousand million words behind on this project, but my bathroom is suspiciously clean. A clever, self-deceiving procrastinator has the ability to fool themselves into thinking that there is always something far more urgent to do than the task that actually needs the attention. For example, right now, I'm supposed to be beginning the beats of a screenplay, and illustrating a poster.
I realized today that I had completely forgotten one of my nephew's birthdays – again. Come to think of it, I'm not even certain how old he is now… could it be that he's ten years old? Probably. And, like a good aunt. I forgot. When I was a kid, we didn't worry much about whether our aunts could remember our birthdays. It wasn't terribly important: after all, they had their own families and children to remember. Also, the fact that I had ten aunts really puts in perspective the amount of nephews and nieces that would have to be remembered.
Cheezies are really a non-food. They're blown styrofoam with powdered cheese flavoured chemicals sprinkled liberally on their outer hull. I read recently in a book about fast food and snack food and about how their flavours and scents are now created in much the same way that perfume is created. And, they don't stop at the simple carbon compounds that we used to create in high school (remember: this vaguely smells of banana?) This industry has the secrecy of any high-security military base… people jealously guard the compound for odor d'chicken nugget, or savoury taste of potato french fry. Creepy.
I got incensed today. Some idiot had the nerve to write in my hometown paper about how farming is a dying industry. What a maroon! How half-thought out was that concept? Surely, we can all see the small family run farm going the way of the dodo (another gross misstep on the part of our society), but does that mean that farming in general is a dying industry? Not too likely, my friend. Farming is becoming the next big monopoly. First the food distributors, then the end-user grocery chains, and now? The primary producers. I think it's a real tragedy.
Ah… back to the tedium that is work. How utterly soul-destroying working for a corporation can be. I wonder how a person who is disgusted by the behaviour could do something, but I realize there is very little I can do alone, and that no-one else will speak for fear of being cut-back. Downsized. Made redundant. Phased out. Made cost effective. With no employee loyalty and microscopic concern for anything but bottom dollar, I think large centres of employment are ruining people's entire lives on a daily basis without even the weakest of protests from the rest of the populace.
Well, on a lighter note, today was a very nice day. Actually, I'm lying, but I don't want to get on my soapbox today. I think that after a few rants that I should probably cool down and concentrate on the actual act of writing and not so much on the preaching. I'm currently reading yet another book by Oliver Sacks. The man is absolutely fascinating. This one is a partial autobiography enititled Uncle Tungsten. I attended a book reading where he was promoting his book, and got to hear some of the excerpts as read by the man himself.
Oh God. It's been a while since I've had a minute to catch my breath. Life used to be a lot simpler – but then again, I used to be a lot more naive, so, I shouldn't be looking back as if they were all good old days, eh? Thank god I can put stuff like this into its perspective. I know so many women that spend their days worrying about their skin tone, checking for any incumbent wrinkles, or grays, and stressing about whether their wardrobes are current. They should be enjoying that those are the worst of their worries.
My cat got stuck in the handle of a grocery bag. I checked to make sure that none of her airways were being constricted, then let her run around like a madcat until she removed it herself. Serves her right for being nosy. I'm nosy, too; I listen if I hear raised voices, and I'll look if I see emergency lights. I've developed these traits honestly enough, being from the maritimes. If there was something going on, not only were you expected to look, but chances were, the parties involved had a relationship with you, even if only an acquaintance.
How many things can one person write about before they get sick and tired of it? I've got to tell you, this is a draining occupation, man. I'm not sure that I could do this for a long term. I could write if someone else was coming up with concepts but I couldn't use my imagination for a completely original thought every single day. This is hard. I'm whining, and turning it into 100 words. That's very sad, isn't it? If someone read this as my only entry I suppose they'd think, "Why does she bother, then?" I wonder, too.
Beans. Beans. Beans. Beans. Beans. Beans. Beans. Beans. Beans. Beans. Beans. Beans. Beans. Beans. Beans. Beans. Beans. Beans. Beans. Beans. Beans. Beans. Beans. Beans. Beans. Beans. Beans. Beans. Beans. Beans. Beans. Beans. Beans. Beans. Beans. Beans. Beans. Beans. Beans. Beans. Beans. Beans. Beans. Beans. Beans. Beans. Beans. Beans. Beans. Beans. Beans. Beans. Beans. Beans. Beans. Beans. Beans. Beans. Beans. Beans. Beans. Beans. Beans. Beans. Beans. Beans. Beans. Beans. Beans. Beans. Beans. Beans. Beans. Beans. Beans. Beans. Beans. Beans. Beans. I'm rather fond of ‘em. Beans. Beans. Beans. Beans. Beans. Beans. Beans. Beans. Beans. Beans. Beans. Beans. Beans. Beans. Beans. Beans.
My dinner's ready, and I really have to go. I'd like to stay and write, but I really should eat now, and not be writing, but I want to get my hundred words done and out of the way, before I eat, because afterwards I'll be too sleepy to contend with editing, coming up with an idea, trying to phrase things, etceteras. But, on the other hand, now I'm rushing to get these completed before my food gets cold. This won't be entirely polished, if you know what I'm saying… Ah! The trials of someone with no real problems, eh?
Well, after a terrible night, I'm having a simply wonderful day. Why, do you ask, am I having a wonderful day? Well, I'll tell you, if you'd like. Oh, but really, would you like to hear? Oh, I'm sure it's not anything that you'd be interested in. No, no really. I'm sure it's not anything that you haven't experienced a zillion million times before, and haven't even considered important enough to remember. Would you like to listen to my story, for truly certain? I won't bore you with it if it's too much nonsense. Oh, no, really I couldn't tell.
Blah blah blah. Do you ever feel so completely self indulgent by writing these entries? I know I do. It's like a dirty little secret diary, of your thoughts and ideas, even when they're silly and rambling and scary and stupid. It's the kind of thoughts you might scribble into a tiny book with a lock on the front cover that's probably only marginally stronger than the glue that's fastening the metal to the book… and yet, the voyeuristic side of you doesn't tuck them under your pillow, or into your nightstand. No, you publish them on a web page.
Today I was walking ahead of some guy who was obviously trying to sweet-talk the girl he was with. Which of course, is totally his prerogative. I just couldn't believe that she was falling for his lines of, ahem, poop. I like to pride myself, and in turn, the majority of the female sex, that we don't often fall for lines like that unless we have already decided that the fellow in question is of a type that allows you to overlook his verbal excrement. Unfortunately, I'm meeting women who lack the ability to discriminate between lines, and sincere words.
Well. Ahem. Yes. Quite right. Only too true, in most circumstances. Yes. Considering all that went on, you could hardly expect any other outcome, could you? Yes, quite right. I'm sure that's the only way it could have been. I've been told exactly what happened, and frankly, I see no other explanation that would suffice. Really, it's quite an obvious conclusion, isn't it? Well, I don't know of anything else that could have created such a special set of conditions at this one moment in time that would serve to be a more thorough excuse for what occurred than that.
Today I had an adventure. I went to "Active Surplus", a scary little shop on Queen St. If you want to find any amount of bits and pieces, hardware, medical supplies, and assorted bits of electrical equipment, this is the place to go. It's an avalanche of doodads and whatnots. I love going to this store, even just to delve into buckets of bolts, or to play in the dish of washers. I don't know why, but the same thrill most women get from going to the pharmacy (read: makeup) I get it from the hardware store. Call me crazy…
I love music, and I hate it, all at once. I suppose I'm pretty opinionated on every topic my brain deigns to settle on for even a few seconds (either you find me mildly tolerable, or you absolutely hate my guts. I try not to be too mouthy about my convictions, but I certainly am not going to change them easily, either. Oh – and I LOVE to debate. Yep. People tend not to like me.) but really, I can't stand some of the music that's been coming out lately. I don't know if this is possible, but it's too catchy!
I'm all excited about nothing. Have you ever had a day like that? I've gone through the day, in anticipation and eagerness, but I'm not really awaiting anything. I don't know. Perhaps there's just a surplus of endorphins in my brain right now. Swimming around, firing the occasional happy synapse. (I'm sure that's not an accurate model of how the brain functions, but I'm so blissed right now that I'm not going to stress about it and try to find the correct function. That would be overdoing it a bit, don't you think?) So, back to my silly mood swings.
Yesterday I helped a friend of my move. People accumulate a lot of stuff, you know? Memorabilia, mementos, objects of sentimentality, and Things I Cannot Possibly Function Without. I like to think of myself as a slightly more streamlined person, only keeping what I need, but I know a great deal of my self-description rests heavily in the self-delusional sector of my mind. I actually have acquired a vast hoard of books and music. But those are needs, right? I'm sure the fifty or so Agatha Christies that I just picked up at a yard sale are completely indispensible, right?
The other day I – oh that wasn't me. Do you remember Stephen Wright? How about Sam Kinnison? Boy, comedy is dated -- I realize that Sam Kinnison is dead, guys, but that is totally irrelevant to my point, okay? Just bear with me – these things used to amuse me to no end. But now, they're not so funny, in fact, Mr. SK is downright obnoxious. Even the comedy sets that I've not seen until recently are JUST NOT FUNNY. Why did they amuse me before? I think it's because most of what makes jokes funny is their element of surprise.
After this, I have two more entries to go. I think I'll have to take a break for June, though: I've had a heckuva time trying to finish these and the current screenplay I'm working on. As much as I love the self-indulgent narcissism connected with adding a 100 word snippet of my daily thoughts, I just can't keep up the pace. I'll be back in July, tho. This is a fun endeavour, even though I'm not sure I actually get the plot. My compliments to the folks who dedicate their energies to getting these pages to function seamlessly. Thanks.
Two more entries, and boy do I have a headache. I hate those job snipers that dwell in large office buildings. They think that if you're job isn't worth stealing, then it's not worth you keeping, either. I'm doing a contract in one of those departments that nest inside the hulking shell of big business, and another department has decided that it's not necessary anymore. Rather than honestly trying to amalgamate the department into something that fits into their corporate scheme, they've decided to destroy the souls of the employees so they'll quit, absolving the big co. of any blame.
Well, folks, I'm finally finished. A full thirty one day run and I'm still alive and writing. I'm not terribly clever, but goddamit I got the job done, didn't I? Well, I'm too pooped to write anymore for today, so I'll sign off saying butterscotch. Butterscotch. Butterscotch. Butterscotch. Butterscotch. Butterscotch. Butterscotch. Butterscotch. Butterscotch. Butterscotch. Butterscotch. Butterscotch. Butterscotch. Butterscotch. Butterscotch. Butterscotch. Butterscotch. Butterscotch. Butterscotch. Butterscotch. Butterscotch. Butterscotch. Butterscotch. Butterscotch. Butterscotch. Butterscotch. Butterscotch. Butterscotch. Butterscotch. Butterscotch. Butterscotch. Butterscotch. Butterscotch. Butterscotch. Butterscotch. Butterscotch. Butterscotch. Butterscotch. Butterscotch. Butterscotch. Butterscotch. Butterscotch. Butterscotch. Butterscotch. Butterscotch. Butterscotch. Butterscotch. Butterscotch. Butterscotch. Butterscotch. Butterscotch. Butterscotch. Butterscotch. Butterscotch. Ice Cream.
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