Jingle all the way

Ok, look, I'll admit it: I occasionally like the occasional Christmas-themed tune. ('Occasional' is the key word here.) I'm fond of the Ella Fitzgerald and Louis Jordan version of "baby it's cold outside." (Does that count?) I love Joni's "River" (even if it's not terribly cheerful) - I even downloaded the new Sarah McLachlan version. U2's "Christmas baby please come home" cracks me up. I like "let it snow", and even some of the churchy-er songs, despite not actually, you know, ever having gone to church as anything other than a tourist.

But there is a time and place for Christmas songs - namely, when no else is around to laugh at you for secretly liking three Christmas songs. (Ok, four. Fine, a half-dozen at most.)

That said, I don't really understand why people put Christmas songs in stores. On repeat. For a month and a half. I mean, I guess it's because they figure that it'll infuse the customers with a generous, expensive Christmas spirit (often called 'guilt') which will lead to higher sales.

Now, I love to shop. There's not a lot (besides a basic lack of funds) that will prevent me from shopping, when I really want to shop. But Christmas songs - bad ones - on repeat - for a month and a half - will make me run out of the store, crying onto my shiny, clean credit card, desperately searching for some place to use it unassaulted.

Thank god for online shopping!

Babysitting Karma

Inevitably, when I've been out late socializing the night before, the kids I babysit are somewhat wild and industriously naughty come Saturday morning. However, when I've been up late reading for school the night before, the kids are, apparently, angels. They drew pictures (with lots of hearts and rainbows, no blood), practiced writing the alphabet (caps only), tried spelling different words (all starting with the letter 'R'), tried reading what I wrote down for them (patiently sounding out words), and happily listened to a long, rambling story about Daisy the Dragon that had no real narrative thread, a tenuous conflict, a cop-out ending, and no sense of pacing whatsoever. I even got a very serious, intense "J? I love you." It was so idylic that I am inclined to worry that they're all coming down with colds.

New plan: Friday nights are reserved for studying. Gotta build up that babysitting karma.

Food Coma

Woke up at 1pm.
Can't eat. Still full from yesterday.
Coffee only thing can consume.
Urrrrrrrgggghhhh....
How does anyone shop on a day like this?

Turkey Day Redux ('06)

The day started slowly, which is code for I slept in four hours. When I finally woke, I made coffee, watched some VM, put a load of laundry in, and ventured out in the rain. I went to five stores before I found the cupcake liners.

A few hours later, bearing cupcakes, I crawled uptown. Misfit Thanksgiving was comprised of six women, turkey lasagna, curry, blueberry pie, and our concession to traditional Thanksgiving - the all-important stuffing. The only hitch was that I couldn't pass the Outer Wall on Castlevania. Also, now that I know my friends have a Sony Playstation, I'm going to be at their house a lot more often.

After too much food and too many video games, we watched Grey's (Ahhh! everyone verbally bitch-slapped everyone else!) and then a "documentary" about Mel Gibson's new movie about the Mayans. Thus Turkey day ended with six of us alternately laughing till our sides hurt, screaming at the TV, and burying our faces in our hands, bemoaning the state of the world.

The days ahead will be filled with ear-itching Christmas jingles, extra babysitting, too many papers to think of without crying, an unfortunate lack of sleep, and, that which fuels it all: cup after cup of java. Seriously. I was watching or reading something about pregnant women and I think that, if I ever have kids, I'll have to adopt. Or just allow that my newborns will come out already addicted.

So, to amend yesterday's post: I am most grateful for coffee.

Gratitude (part 2)

I'm grateful for:

- tent dresses, especially black tent dresses, especially black silk tent dresses, because they look so awesome;
- holidays I don't celebrate that inadvertently fund aforementioned tent dresses;
- pumpkin pie;
- holidays I do celebrate that inadvertently provide you with an excuse to eat pumpkin pie;
- books that remind you why you ever liked books in the first place;
- professors that lead you to these books;
- all that sentimental stuff that I privately brood over but do not publicly blog about. (Read between the lines, family + friends.)

What are you grateful for?

Welcome to College

Tonight was supposed to be a chill night, just me and the girls and a bottle of wine, but somehow, inexplicably, we ended up at the gym cheering on the three jocks we know as they played an intense game of b-ball.

It's the most collegiate thing I've ever done in my long academic career. I should've been wearing a v-neck sweater over a button-up shirt, carrying a messanger bag and a pennant in school colours.

I am, as many of you know, a footie fan. I don't watch during the season anymore, due to that unfortunate thing called 'pass grad school or be disowned', but during the summer, in even-numbered years, I'm all in.

But watching footie on a TV screen, at home or in a bar, is entirely different than watching sports live.

My previous experience with live athleticism is limited to a handful of Sens game on Christmas breaks (with me in the back row, eating popcorn and surreptitiously sneaking a sentence or two from whatever book I was consumed with, eyeing up the beer man) and, one glorious, cold day, a match between Juve and... someone... in Turino. Getting to watch that last game was something of an accomplishment, as I had landed in Italy with very few useful phrases in my lexicon. Well, 'I'd like a glass of white wine please' is useful, but not so much when trying to get across an unfamiliar city with few English-speaking inhabitants to the Stadio dell Alpi. The fact that I made it there before the match started was a small miracle. Anyway, it was an odd experience. The stadium wasn't close to full, and somehow the crowd is louder when you watch on TV than when you watch live. I guess they mic the loudest part of the crowd, and turn the volume up. Despite an intimate knowledge of the game, I had very little idea what was going on half the time, due my distance from the pitch. A good deal of drama was robbed because I couldn't see their faces, or make out the swear words from the movement of their lips. Screaming at the players, which is, to be honest, my favourite part of the game, was rendered useless as I realized that they didn't actually understand what I was saying.

It was complicated transition watching b-ball. I know the rules about watching footie. I know that you can abuse the opposite team, the ref, the opposing fans, and even your own team, when they fail you. But it's a bit more dangerous to swear at people who can actually hear you. You certainly don't want to piss off the ref, and you also doesn't want to hurt the kid on your team who can't clear the ball when you might end up in class with him next semester. Moreover, I'm not entirely sure that abuse is part of b-ball. There were no other spectators for me to observe and imitate. We didn't even know what we were supposed to be yelling (Good job? Nice balling?) so we made up our own cheers: Set it up! Earn that basket! Action is character! Show don't tell!! Show don't tell!!

Yeah, we were a pathetic bunch of supporters. I think if they make the finals we should just pool our cash, hire some cheerleaders, and meet them at the bar later.

Gratitude (part 1)

I have finally figured out this "thanksgiving" thing.

First, though, a brief outline of my issues with American (ie, fake) Thanksgiving:

1. It's on a Thursday. This is silly, because it means that half the people spend all of Thursday travelling, and the other half cooking, and this also means they had to spend the previous weekend shopping, and no one gets to relax for a moment between the end of the work week and the cooking of a major dinner. Why can't they do it on Friday, or Saturday? And have the Friday and Monday off? Like normal people have it?

2. It's so close to Christmas. This means that in a very short amount of time, you have to spend a bunch of money on turkeys and plane tickets. Also, for students, it's hard to get any work done. Also, for people who aren't students, it's still hard to get any work done at a time of the year that is traditionally stressful at work. See? Silly.

3. Sharing corn with the relatives of people you have murdered does not a Thanksgiving make. End of war? That's a good thanksgiving-starter.

Despite all this, I have figured out why Americans take their (fake) Thanksgiving so seriously: it is the perfect time to get sick. Everyone gets sick at this time of year (including yours truly) and, in Canada, all you can do is work through it, and think longingly of the weekend. But, in America, you do have a few days grace (pun intended) to get through the flu and back to work.

For this, truly, thank you, America.

Um, math is hard?

Hmm.

A few people (ok, one - Sal) have (has) pointed out that I haven't blogged for awhile. Sad truth is, I've got nothing blog-worthy to relate. I read. I write. I go to class. I babysit. Um, I have a new red umbrella, that was kind of exciting...

Ok, ok.

Babysitting story:

Putting the six-year-old to bed, he asks, "Do you have a boyfriend?"
Here we go again, I think. "No."
The kid flops face-down on his pillow. "I'm trying to get a girlfriend."
"Oh, yeah? A particular girl or a girl in general?"
"A particular girl."
"What's her name?"
"I don't want to tell you."
"Ok." I rub his back. "You don't have to."
"Catherine."
I bite the inside of my cheek. If I weren't paid to keep a straight face... "What's she like? Is she nice?"
"Yeah."
"Is she pretty?" God, why do I ask that? What I am telling this kid, by asking that?
"Sort of." Huh?
"Is she cool?"
"No."
"Is she smart?"
"Yeah, she's smart."
Trying to save my earlier flub: "Well, that's cool - smart girls are cool."
The kid props himself up on his arms and looks at me with a mixture of pity and contempt. "No, they're really not."
Of course, the charming thing is that, despite the fact that he knows it's not cool to like smart girls, he likes the smart one; the sad thing is, this tendancy is apparently beaten out of the male species by the time they hit their teens.