The fog has been a constant since my arrival. So has spring-like weather, much to my delight. I am staying with my friend Samm near Main and 16th and have been amusing myself strolling around the city between visits with friends.
Monday evening I walked over to Chinatown to see Colin and Chris practice with their band, Analog Bell Service. The name comes from the system they have set up between the alleyway and the 2nd floor jam space: a string from the upstairs window attached to a pole by the backdoor that, when pulled, rings a cluster of bells. Buzzers are so lame. The music was great fun and the evening very silly.
Colin, who’s from home but also my roommate from the Marlee days in Toronto, recognized my coat. It’s fairly ratty and I had brought it to BC with the intention of leaving it here (thinking it would be overkill for my warm-weather travels). I had entirely forgotten how old it was. Neither of us could recall if it originally belonged to Colin or our other roommate, but it had passed between all three of us at some point. There were quite a few articles like that back then. Colin tried it on for old times sake. Still fit like a charm.
Sunday, January 25, 2009
Carnet de Voyage
Welcome to my Carnet Binaire. Ah, the CB!
Now, I have no illusions that “carnet binaire” will replace the ever-subtly grating “blog” as popular nomenclature for web-based journals, but it does have a nice ring to it. And without “blog,” we would no longer encounter bloggers blogging in the… ugh, blogosphere. Which will undoubtedly be of relief to the vast majority of modern society [Heather Narduzzi presenting the primary exception].
You’re welcome, Society.
I write this from Vancouver, having arrived here very early a week ago on January 18th. Waiting to depart at the airport in Moncton, Janet, Heather, and I discussed my itinerary and that, with the time zones, I had traveled into the future (Ottawa – NB) and was now going into the past (NB – BC), then into the far future (losing an entire day from LA – Fiji). At which point Heather, who recently told me she loves safety, asked: “Can you stop at the Internet?? And blog from there?!”
Although I had been organizing and setting things aside well before my departure, packing was naturally only completed at the last minute. I paced back and forth, fully ready down to coat, scarf, and sneakers, waiting for the computer to finish burning a backup CD, ten minutes after we should have left for the airport. Even though the task could have been accomplished weeks ago. I am nothing if not predictable.
As I am without computer, I am unsure how frequently I will be able to post updates. I do, however, have a notebook to keep track of tales to relay.
Or, for the nerdier among us, an analog blog.
Please post comments; it would make me ultra-happy. (It’s easy, Mum: just click on the word “comment”).
Now, I have no illusions that “carnet binaire” will replace the ever-subtly grating “blog” as popular nomenclature for web-based journals, but it does have a nice ring to it. And without “blog,” we would no longer encounter bloggers blogging in the… ugh, blogosphere. Which will undoubtedly be of relief to the vast majority of modern society [Heather Narduzzi presenting the primary exception].
You’re welcome, Society.
I write this from Vancouver, having arrived here very early a week ago on January 18th. Waiting to depart at the airport in Moncton, Janet, Heather, and I discussed my itinerary and that, with the time zones, I had traveled into the future (Ottawa – NB) and was now going into the past (NB – BC), then into the far future (losing an entire day from LA – Fiji). At which point Heather, who recently told me she loves safety, asked: “Can you stop at the Internet?? And blog from there?!”
Although I had been organizing and setting things aside well before my departure, packing was naturally only completed at the last minute. I paced back and forth, fully ready down to coat, scarf, and sneakers, waiting for the computer to finish burning a backup CD, ten minutes after we should have left for the airport. Even though the task could have been accomplished weeks ago. I am nothing if not predictable.
***
As I am without computer, I am unsure how frequently I will be able to post updates. I do, however, have a notebook to keep track of tales to relay.
Or, for the nerdier among us, an analog blog.
Please post comments; it would make me ultra-happy. (It’s easy, Mum: just click on the word “comment”).
Sunday, January 20, 2008
The Seeing-Eye Dog
The section of Bank Street where my work is located seems to generate its own special brand of oddities. I have a few stories stockpiled, the following being the most recent.
Dude comes in with a young dog on a "leash" (in this case, a rope tied around the dog's chest). My co-worker kindly informs the man that he cannot bring a dog into the coffee shop. To which he replies, in a possibly-affected British accent, "It's my seeing-eye dog."
Allison and I look at each other and shrug, 'cause it's not even 6pm and the evening's already been kind of weird. The place is packed, except for a single seat in the front window. Our man saunters the vacant table and starts yelling at the dog -- whose name is Whiskey -- to lie down.
At top volume.
"Whiskey, lie down!! Lie down, Whiskey! I said, lie down!!!" and so on.
Allison brings him his tea and quietly tells him he can stay with the dog, but he really has to keep his voice down. The reply:
"I have to yell; it's my seeing-eye dog."
Dude comes in with a young dog on a "leash" (in this case, a rope tied around the dog's chest). My co-worker kindly informs the man that he cannot bring a dog into the coffee shop. To which he replies, in a possibly-affected British accent, "It's my seeing-eye dog."
Allison and I look at each other and shrug, 'cause it's not even 6pm and the evening's already been kind of weird. The place is packed, except for a single seat in the front window. Our man saunters the vacant table and starts yelling at the dog -- whose name is Whiskey -- to lie down.
At top volume.
"Whiskey, lie down!! Lie down, Whiskey! I said, lie down!!!" and so on.
Allison brings him his tea and quietly tells him he can stay with the dog, but he really has to keep his voice down. The reply:
"I have to yell; it's my seeing-eye dog."
***
After he finished his tea, he strolled up to where I was at the cash sans Whiskey and thanked me for what was the finest cup of tea he'd had in ages.
You Can't Honk Your Bus Every Time I'm Doing Something Stupid.
To the bus driver who took it upon himself to honk at me and stop in the middle of Bank Street as I carefully walked across the cement blocks at the corner of Sommerset:
At no point did I think my behavior was either a good or particularly safe idea. Thus, your ever-so artful "use your brain" tapping of finger-to-head achieved zero percent of its intended shaming and succeeded only in making you look like a doofus.
You are not Superman. Your little display doesn't even qualify for Green Hornet status. Sorry.
Better luck next time.
At no point did I think my behavior was either a good or particularly safe idea. Thus, your ever-so artful "use your brain" tapping of finger-to-head achieved zero percent of its intended shaming and succeeded only in making you look like a doofus.
You are not Superman. Your little display doesn't even qualify for Green Hornet status. Sorry.
Better luck next time.
Monday, December 3, 2007
Outfitting the Military
There are always plenty of military types making their way around the city, many dressed in their camouflage finest. Green camouflage. Which, in a city isn't exactly effective, even considering that Ottawa's a relatively green place. But now with all this white snow, they really stand out at quite a distance.
I passed one gentleman the other day and was terribly, terribly tempted to whisper loudly, "I can see you."
Come on! It's Canada. Can't they have some sort of winter outfit? I mean, uniform. Even slush-colored camouflage would be a step in the right direction. I imagine all this beautiful snow will be gross and slate-hued in a few days.
In Korea, all the kids wear uniforms; private and public schools alike. They have one uniform for warm weather, one for cold (no camouflage that I saw, however). And all the kids at all the schools switch on the same day. So one day, all my students showed up wearing clothes that I was totally unaccustomed to [the seasonal uniforms look very different, most without even colors in common].
And it was kind of overwhelming.
So maybe, just maybe the military sticks with the green to avoid shocking the civilians.
I passed one gentleman the other day and was terribly, terribly tempted to whisper loudly, "I can see you."
Come on! It's Canada. Can't they have some sort of winter outfit? I mean, uniform. Even slush-colored camouflage would be a step in the right direction. I imagine all this beautiful snow will be gross and slate-hued in a few days.
***
Seeing all these military guys wandering around all done up like leprechauns makes me think of relatively non-snow related uniform story. An anecdote, if you will.In Korea, all the kids wear uniforms; private and public schools alike. They have one uniform for warm weather, one for cold (no camouflage that I saw, however). And all the kids at all the schools switch on the same day. So one day, all my students showed up wearing clothes that I was totally unaccustomed to [the seasonal uniforms look very different, most without even colors in common].
And it was kind of overwhelming.
So maybe, just maybe the military sticks with the green to avoid shocking the civilians.
The Snow
It started about a week and a half ago. I woke up early and thought, "Huh, funny. It looks like there's snow on the tree..." After a few seconds of eye-focusing, "Oh man, that IS snow!!" And plenty of it. The most beautiful first snowfall I've seen in a long time.
As a city, Ottawa isn't too keen on the whole snow removal thing. Oh, it gets done eventually. But that first day, I wasn't so sure it was going to happen at all. When I asked someone about it (around 1pm), the response was, "They're waiting for it to die down." Uh, that's really not how it works. Moncton, congratulations! Your public works snow removal system makes the capital city look like freakin' amateurs. Bravo.
Without winter boots, my choices for those first few mornings were a) arrive at class with frozen cold feet or b) renegade biking (which is way fun and really doesn't need the excuse of inappropriate footwear). I was fully ready to officially declare it my winter sport of choice until 45 more centimeters today + salted roads = probably no more snow-biking for a little while. Boo!
Today's footwear solution: plastic grocery bags in sneakers. Laugh all you like; it was fantastically effective. If only it were remotely socially and/or fashionably acceptable. Alas, it is neither. I guess it's time for this grasshopper to get some boots.
Double boo!
As a city, Ottawa isn't too keen on the whole snow removal thing. Oh, it gets done eventually. But that first day, I wasn't so sure it was going to happen at all. When I asked someone about it (around 1pm), the response was, "They're waiting for it to die down." Uh, that's really not how it works. Moncton, congratulations! Your public works snow removal system makes the capital city look like freakin' amateurs. Bravo.
***
Without winter boots, my choices for those first few mornings were a) arrive at class with frozen cold feet or b) renegade biking (which is way fun and really doesn't need the excuse of inappropriate footwear). I was fully ready to officially declare it my winter sport of choice until 45 more centimeters today + salted roads = probably no more snow-biking for a little while. Boo!
***
Today's footwear solution: plastic grocery bags in sneakers. Laugh all you like; it was fantastically effective. If only it were remotely socially and/or fashionably acceptable. Alas, it is neither. I guess it's time for this grasshopper to get some boots.
Double boo!
Sunday, December 2, 2007
Double Thumbs-Up
I had great intentions of writing a whole bunch today. Didn't happen. But how 'bout just one, before bed?
This isn't exactly a work-related story, but it's somewhat inspired by my place of work. And part of the story is attributed to my co-worker, Alanna. But, where do I work? I've been so slack in keeping this blog current, I've yet to broach the subject of the joe-job I've been holding down with glee for well over a month: serving up hot beverages and other tasty items at Bridgehead, a local chain of coffee shops. I'll go into more detail another time, when my warm bed isn't beckoning me from the other room. For now, all that's necessary is the setting.
Last week, upon receiving her very fine mocha with exquisite whipped-cream and chocolate-sauce detailing, I was given a double thumbs-up by the exuberant patron. A double thumbs-up! So I thanked her for it, because how often in your day-to-day work do you get such a boon?! I commented that I tend to dish out a good DTU at the most awkward and socially embarrassing times and was perplexed by this bizarre reflex. Alanna smiled and assured me that her DTU story could trump them all.
Alanna spent some time in London when she was 19. She was living her hip, 19 year-old Canadian-in-London life to the fullest, right down to the jet-black dyed hair and Swedish indie-rocker boyfriend, Bjorn. One evening, she and a friend, determined to see The Von Bondies, finagled their way onto the guest list essentially by yelling, "Hey, can you put us on your guest list!" at one of the band members (I was thoroughly impressed by this point, and felt the story could have ended here, but it continues). Drinks were consumed in average 19 year-old quantities -- meaning, large -- and Alanna's companion disappeared for the washroom. At this point, Alanna got out a smoke, but realized the lighter was with her friend. Not wanting to wait, she taps the guy standing in front of her. Repeatedly. And, in her drunken 19 year-old voice loudly asks, "Excuse me! Do you have a light?!" Who should turn around but Jack White, producer of The Von Bondies's debut album and overall rock-god. And he lights her smoke. Again, the story could stop here, but then what would it have to do with DTUs? Yes, you guessed correctly. After her smoke was lit by none-other-than Mr. White Himself, she dished out a Double Thumbs-Up.
After the show, they went out for kabobs with the band.
As far as I'm concerned, that's how 19 is supposed to be done. And I do believe that anyone would be hard-pressed to top that DTU story. However, I'm thoroughly willing to accept submissions.
Please present any and all Double Thumbs-Up adventures on the comment portion of this post.
This isn't exactly a work-related story, but it's somewhat inspired by my place of work. And part of the story is attributed to my co-worker, Alanna. But, where do I work? I've been so slack in keeping this blog current, I've yet to broach the subject of the joe-job I've been holding down with glee for well over a month: serving up hot beverages and other tasty items at Bridgehead, a local chain of coffee shops. I'll go into more detail another time, when my warm bed isn't beckoning me from the other room. For now, all that's necessary is the setting.
Last week, upon receiving her very fine mocha with exquisite whipped-cream and chocolate-sauce detailing, I was given a double thumbs-up by the exuberant patron. A double thumbs-up! So I thanked her for it, because how often in your day-to-day work do you get such a boon?! I commented that I tend to dish out a good DTU at the most awkward and socially embarrassing times and was perplexed by this bizarre reflex. Alanna smiled and assured me that her DTU story could trump them all.
Alanna spent some time in London when she was 19. She was living her hip, 19 year-old Canadian-in-London life to the fullest, right down to the jet-black dyed hair and Swedish indie-rocker boyfriend, Bjorn. One evening, she and a friend, determined to see The Von Bondies, finagled their way onto the guest list essentially by yelling, "Hey, can you put us on your guest list!" at one of the band members (I was thoroughly impressed by this point, and felt the story could have ended here, but it continues). Drinks were consumed in average 19 year-old quantities -- meaning, large -- and Alanna's companion disappeared for the washroom. At this point, Alanna got out a smoke, but realized the lighter was with her friend. Not wanting to wait, she taps the guy standing in front of her. Repeatedly. And, in her drunken 19 year-old voice loudly asks, "Excuse me! Do you have a light?!" Who should turn around but Jack White, producer of The Von Bondies's debut album and overall rock-god. And he lights her smoke. Again, the story could stop here, but then what would it have to do with DTUs? Yes, you guessed correctly. After her smoke was lit by none-other-than Mr. White Himself, she dished out a Double Thumbs-Up.
After the show, they went out for kabobs with the band.
As far as I'm concerned, that's how 19 is supposed to be done. And I do believe that anyone would be hard-pressed to top that DTU story. However, I'm thoroughly willing to accept submissions.
Please present any and all Double Thumbs-Up adventures on the comment portion of this post.
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