We arrive at our house and we celebrate: it is our own piece of land and sky. We are worried about debt but we remain hopeful, my wife more than I because she has always been optimistic.
Because the house has many nooks and crannies it takes two weeks to find the previous owner's cat, which we'd hoped had died. This creature, a tabby with glossy fur and no name, is the legal embodiment of debts which we are required to assume. It is easy to love a cat, but one cannot become attached to the physical manifestation of debt, so we feed it but refuse to play with it. It is not allowed to sleep with us.
We acquire knick-knacks and furniture and we are pleased with our purchases, but every night the cat howls at something we can't see. Lack of sleep and the complaints of the neighbours force us to buy a smaller house for the cat. Our lawyer assures us that this is our best option, but he is also the lawyer for the cat, so we don't entirely trust him. We cannot afford a lawyer of our own. Our money goes toward tending the houses and buying a lot of kibble.
The cat is young and could live twenty years, long enough to outlast the university careers of our newly-born children. They are not allowed to visit the cat lest our legal situation become complicated: if the children ever feed it, they are required to share a portion of the debt which the cat represents, saddling them with responsibilities they are too young to handle.
The lawyer had given us a paper which certified the cat was sterile, but when kittens begin urinating on our front porch we realize the uncertainty of chemical sterilization. We are not allowed to touch the kittens without permission, which our lawyer refuses to grant, even after our own children die overseas in the Infant Wars. The kittens become our heirs. We must provide for them and their offspring, and rather than look at them every day we send them to subsequent and much smaller houses that we buy for them in the suburbs.
Our first home, the most beautiful one, we bequeath to the kittens. We move into the smallest home. It smells like urine and its furniture is scratched, and there are scraps of fur everywhere. It is hard to stand up because the rooms are so tiny.
Shortly afterward, and with no explanation, the houses burn down and our tragedy ends. We rent a bachelor apartment because we are too old to start over again. At night we are haunted by small burning kittens and their smoldering toys, which they jangle into and out of our one and only closet.
Showing posts with label My New Digs. Show all posts
Showing posts with label My New Digs. Show all posts
Sunday, September 11, 2011
Saturday, July 10, 2010
Recently...
Many things have prevented me from blogging recently, not least my own laziness and ennui. My computer's hard drive totally died after my post about the importance of backups, requiring a trip to the repair shop (and then a total update of everything to Snow Leopard which does kick ass).
This misfortune was immediately followed by a five-day heatwave. Despite my perverse resistance to installing my window air conditioner -- and therefore many nights spent sweating buckets into my sodden bedding -- I learned two things about humans and heat:
Anyway, I'm also living with a cat who is a bit like the Tazmanian Devil, only more hyperactive and noisy. She is a fearless destroyer of bookshelves. She has learned that the best way to send me leaping out of bed in the morning is to sharpen her claws on my mattress, which I imagine her doing with a big grin on her face.
As of this morning, Muffet is forbidden from entering my bedroom. This is difficult because I haven't lived with closed doors for over ten years, and also because I don't think she'll adapt quickly or quietly to this change. Her favourite window is in my bedroom, and so is the sock drawer. I foresee many challenging nights ahead.
Third obstacle: constant pain in my shoulders. Sometimes it's barely there, and other times it feels like my biceps and shoulders are being held together by old rusty rivets made out of bubbling lava.
When I told my family doctor that I was on a three-year waiting list to see a shoulder specialist, he had a fit of furious Irish passion and booked me for a series of examinations. Yesterday a delicate lady held an ultrasound paddle to my shoulders and we viewed the inside of my pathology: wavy lines of bone and fat surrounding ominous black holes of encysted fluid.
Then I crossed the hall to get some X-rays done. It was a much more respectable operation than the last place I went to, though it ALSO had a cupboard which emitted terrifying scrabbling sounds.
Most interesting was the woman who took the X-rays. She was brusque and businesslike, but every time she prepared to take another picture she'd say "Hold your breath!" in an incongruous sing-song way, like the way you'd speak to a mischievous child. I felt weird, standing there in my lead girdle, with this extremely professional lady buzzing around who would suddenly disappear into a booth and sing out -- as though she were offering me a popsicle -- "Hold your breath!"
In other news, I have joined the board for the condo corporation, which is a story I'll tell someday. I also joined the board for the Open Ears festival. I have added "The Toronto G-20" to the list of topics which must not be discussed in friendly company. I walked past my old apartment and saw that the vegetation grew back but the junker cars remain. I read "Babbitt" by Sinclair Lewis, "Day of the Triffids" by John Wyndham, and a beautiful book about undeciphered ancient scripts by Andrew Robinson. If I go on any sort of vacation this year it will hopefully be to Easter Island, because I want to see what their discos are like.
This misfortune was immediately followed by a five-day heatwave. Despite my perverse resistance to installing my window air conditioner -- and therefore many nights spent sweating buckets into my sodden bedding -- I learned two things about humans and heat:
- When people who live in an extremely HUMID area -- like those of us in Southern Ontario -- complain about 35-degree temperatures that feel like 42-degrees due to the humidity, people who live in DRY areas say -- repeatedly and disdainfully -- "Ha! It's that hot here ALL SUMMER!" To which I can only say: try going out in that heat with a wet towel wrapped around your nose and mouth.
- When people complain about the devastating heat, a subset of other people say "Ha! In the winter you complain about the cold, now you complain about the heat! You just like complaining!" This is like saying "You complained that you were thirsty, so you'd better not complain when I throw you in the pool and drown you!" However illogical it is to complain about the weather -- since nobody you complain to can actually change it -- it is NOT illogical to complain about temperature extremes.
Anyway, I'm also living with a cat who is a bit like the Tazmanian Devil, only more hyperactive and noisy. She is a fearless destroyer of bookshelves. She has learned that the best way to send me leaping out of bed in the morning is to sharpen her claws on my mattress, which I imagine her doing with a big grin on her face.
As of this morning, Muffet is forbidden from entering my bedroom. This is difficult because I haven't lived with closed doors for over ten years, and also because I don't think she'll adapt quickly or quietly to this change. Her favourite window is in my bedroom, and so is the sock drawer. I foresee many challenging nights ahead.
Third obstacle: constant pain in my shoulders. Sometimes it's barely there, and other times it feels like my biceps and shoulders are being held together by old rusty rivets made out of bubbling lava.
When I told my family doctor that I was on a three-year waiting list to see a shoulder specialist, he had a fit of furious Irish passion and booked me for a series of examinations. Yesterday a delicate lady held an ultrasound paddle to my shoulders and we viewed the inside of my pathology: wavy lines of bone and fat surrounding ominous black holes of encysted fluid.
Then I crossed the hall to get some X-rays done. It was a much more respectable operation than the last place I went to, though it ALSO had a cupboard which emitted terrifying scrabbling sounds.
Most interesting was the woman who took the X-rays. She was brusque and businesslike, but every time she prepared to take another picture she'd say "Hold your breath!" in an incongruous sing-song way, like the way you'd speak to a mischievous child. I felt weird, standing there in my lead girdle, with this extremely professional lady buzzing around who would suddenly disappear into a booth and sing out -- as though she were offering me a popsicle -- "Hold your breath!"
In other news, I have joined the board for the condo corporation, which is a story I'll tell someday. I also joined the board for the Open Ears festival. I have added "The Toronto G-20" to the list of topics which must not be discussed in friendly company. I walked past my old apartment and saw that the vegetation grew back but the junker cars remain. I read "Babbitt" by Sinclair Lewis, "Day of the Triffids" by John Wyndham, and a beautiful book about undeciphered ancient scripts by Andrew Robinson. If I go on any sort of vacation this year it will hopefully be to Easter Island, because I want to see what their discos are like.
Sunday, September 27, 2009
T-Plus One
It took only two hours for seven of us to move everything. I hate making other people deal with my own personal shortcomings -- pack-ratting, high dust-tolerance, unfastidiousness -- but everybody grinned and bore it for the duration, despite a few heart-jabbing jokes about hygiene.
My father drove the big 17' U-Haul truck, and was also in charge of packing everything into the back. The rest of us just carried boxes and boxes and boxes, and -- despite my best-laid plans -- everything got hopelessly muddled. Where's the hammer? Where does this box go? Should I have taken more chairs?
Then the moving in: brazenly parking everybody counter to the condo rules, then my mother -- spade in hand -- turning my ho-hum patio into a beautiful little garden. Vanilla and Jon took me out for lunch and de-stressing, then we returned and I began to put together the brand-new, luxurious computer desk.
Meanwhile my mother got to work on the windows. The previous owners of this townhouse were clean in every way but one: they never touched their windows. My mother was aghast, elbow-deep in black mould, fly sh*t, and "at least forty spiders." I have to console myself that whatever my housekeeping shortcomings I have NEVER left THAT sort of mess. Just other sorts of messes...
...so we went back to the old apartment and did some post-moving cleaning-up. I apologize to future renters that the fridge and stove are somewhat gross. As for the cat smell, I promise that's not my (or Zsa Zsa's) fault: it always smelt like that, depending on the day and humidity.
Bell Telephone arrived to hook me up, and I have to say that despite a few problems with them in the past, this time they were absolutely GOLDEN. Everything's working perfectly and -- what's more -- arranged around my beautiful new desk. My keyboard is in a comfortable spot for the first time in...well, forever. My feet no longer hurt when I sit and type.
My hope was that the single party wall in this townhouse would be totally soundproof. Well, it's not; I seem to be able to hear them when they're close to their walls, but either they're relatively quiet or the effect decreases with distance. In any case, so far it seems adequate.
It was SO nice to put my filthy clothes (remember, I haven't been able to wash them for almost a week) into MY OWN WASHER, and then into MY OWN DRYER, and then gently fold them in my own good time.
It hasn't sunk in that I own this place; currently it seems like "a place that I'm in." This is partly because I slept on my new couch last night, which is nice to sit on but terrible to sleep on, especially with a cat. This afternoon the guys from Sleep Country arrived and put my new bed together in TEN MINUTES. They even wore protective booties.
There is a lot of stuff remaining to be done. My life revolves around easily-performed routines, none of which are established in this new place. 95% of my stuff is still in boxes, and there are a lot of things I still need to buy, and I can't wait to try out the coffee maker that my sister bought me.
But my first real moment of bliss came when I went out back to sit in my yard. I sat on my new patio furniture and read Vladimir Nabokov in the cool morning air. Zsa Zsa explored the shrubbery, and then settled down to watch the neighbours as they passed by my gate. For the first time I really felt the words "My house," and then I thought "Good," and it was like something hard inside me melted just a bit.
My father drove the big 17' U-Haul truck, and was also in charge of packing everything into the back. The rest of us just carried boxes and boxes and boxes, and -- despite my best-laid plans -- everything got hopelessly muddled. Where's the hammer? Where does this box go? Should I have taken more chairs?
Then the moving in: brazenly parking everybody counter to the condo rules, then my mother -- spade in hand -- turning my ho-hum patio into a beautiful little garden. Vanilla and Jon took me out for lunch and de-stressing, then we returned and I began to put together the brand-new, luxurious computer desk.
Meanwhile my mother got to work on the windows. The previous owners of this townhouse were clean in every way but one: they never touched their windows. My mother was aghast, elbow-deep in black mould, fly sh*t, and "at least forty spiders." I have to console myself that whatever my housekeeping shortcomings I have NEVER left THAT sort of mess. Just other sorts of messes...
...so we went back to the old apartment and did some post-moving cleaning-up. I apologize to future renters that the fridge and stove are somewhat gross. As for the cat smell, I promise that's not my (or Zsa Zsa's) fault: it always smelt like that, depending on the day and humidity.
Bell Telephone arrived to hook me up, and I have to say that despite a few problems with them in the past, this time they were absolutely GOLDEN. Everything's working perfectly and -- what's more -- arranged around my beautiful new desk. My keyboard is in a comfortable spot for the first time in...well, forever. My feet no longer hurt when I sit and type.
My hope was that the single party wall in this townhouse would be totally soundproof. Well, it's not; I seem to be able to hear them when they're close to their walls, but either they're relatively quiet or the effect decreases with distance. In any case, so far it seems adequate.
It was SO nice to put my filthy clothes (remember, I haven't been able to wash them for almost a week) into MY OWN WASHER, and then into MY OWN DRYER, and then gently fold them in my own good time.
It hasn't sunk in that I own this place; currently it seems like "a place that I'm in." This is partly because I slept on my new couch last night, which is nice to sit on but terrible to sleep on, especially with a cat. This afternoon the guys from Sleep Country arrived and put my new bed together in TEN MINUTES. They even wore protective booties.
There is a lot of stuff remaining to be done. My life revolves around easily-performed routines, none of which are established in this new place. 95% of my stuff is still in boxes, and there are a lot of things I still need to buy, and I can't wait to try out the coffee maker that my sister bought me.
But my first real moment of bliss came when I went out back to sit in my yard. I sat on my new patio furniture and read Vladimir Nabokov in the cool morning air. Zsa Zsa explored the shrubbery, and then settled down to watch the neighbours as they passed by my gate. For the first time I really felt the words "My house," and then I thought "Good," and it was like something hard inside me melted just a bit.
Friday, September 25, 2009
T-Minus One
Last week I told my mother that I only had about another three hours of packing to do. After an entire week of near-constant packing, I just finished ten minutes ago...and there are STILL some things I could do.
I have cleaned. I have even SCRUBBED. I have thrown out at least twenty bags of garbage, most of them full of crappy old pillows and bedding. I have a box full of carefully-coiled cables, and a big duffel bag for "things I'll need right away," and then a smaller carry-on bag for "things I'll need in the morning," and a box that says "Cat Food and Wine," and more boxes full of feathers, feathers, feathers.
Yesterday I gave the lawyer a cheque so mammoth that I'm surprised I could lift it. Today he gave me a key, which supposedly fits the lock in my new front door. Tomorrow I am beholden to the benevolent condo corporation, and I am responsible for my shrubbery, and I...
...wow...
...I have a HOME!
I'm packing my modem now, and I'll be back online when Ma Bell deigns to hook me up. See you soon!
I have cleaned. I have even SCRUBBED. I have thrown out at least twenty bags of garbage, most of them full of crappy old pillows and bedding. I have a box full of carefully-coiled cables, and a big duffel bag for "things I'll need right away," and then a smaller carry-on bag for "things I'll need in the morning," and a box that says "Cat Food and Wine," and more boxes full of feathers, feathers, feathers.
Yesterday I gave the lawyer a cheque so mammoth that I'm surprised I could lift it. Today he gave me a key, which supposedly fits the lock in my new front door. Tomorrow I am beholden to the benevolent condo corporation, and I am responsible for my shrubbery, and I...
...wow...
...I have a HOME!
I'm packing my modem now, and I'll be back online when Ma Bell deigns to hook me up. See you soon!
The Anal Trilogy
You know what they say..."Poopy things come in threes!" Or at least they SHOULD say that, because it's certainly true this week.
Warning: Do not read this while eating.
One: The Final Walkthrough
On Tuesday I went to my soon-to-be-new-home for a final walkthrough. My real estate agent and I were met at the front door by the former owners. They're a really sweet couple, but they seemed strangely anxious to leave...I assumed they just didn't like people looking at their stuff while they were still around.
After they scurried out the door, my agent and I went through the rooms, making sure everything was still fine. When I approached the bathroom door...WOAH! One of those cute, sweet people had taken a horrific dump sometime previous, and the stench was REVOLTING. I could only stand it long enough to take a quick look around and run back out...no wonder the two of them ran away so fast.
Unfortunately I didn't include the "No Stinky Poops" clause in my list of conditions.
Two: The Laundry Room
I go next door to do my laundry, and I've mentioned previously that they have an occasional sewage problem down there. On Wednesday I walked over with my dirty clothes and detergent, and I noticed that the basement door was open. I looked in...and there was one of my neighbours, sitting on the washing machine with his shirt over his nose and at least two inches of raw sewage floating around him.
"You'll have to leave," he said. Apparently he'd just dumped some water down the floor drain, and the sewage just gushed right out.
I asked him if he could escape, and he said "I think so." He gingerly lowered himself into the mire and tip-toed between the floating lumps of sh*t.
I am SO happy I'm moving away.
Three: The License Bureau
Today I went down to the license bureau to get my driver's license renewed. Amazingly, I was faced with exactly the same thing that happened the last time I was there, four years ago: one of the three attendants -- a poofy-haired blonde woman -- was having a long, whispered, personal chat with a creepy older lady across the kiosk counter.
I'm serious, these same two women were doing exactly the same thing the last time I was there, and we're not talking about a quick chat, we're talking about a good five minutes: "I knew somethin' wasn't right, with him always stompin' up and down the stairs." -- "Yup, nothin' else you could do." -- "An' I'm thinkin', what can I do?" -- "There's nothin' else you can do."
And on and on and on. We patient people in the growing line exchanged glances and whispered gripes that this always happens here.
Suddenly the creepy old lady at the counter let out a long, wet, deafening fart. We stared. We were dumbstruck and amazed. And the two of them just keep on talking as though nothing had happened.
"I hope I don't get that kiosk," said the woman behind me. She didn't, but the woman AFTER her did.
Warning: Do not read this while eating.
One: The Final Walkthrough
On Tuesday I went to my soon-to-be-new-home for a final walkthrough. My real estate agent and I were met at the front door by the former owners. They're a really sweet couple, but they seemed strangely anxious to leave...I assumed they just didn't like people looking at their stuff while they were still around.
After they scurried out the door, my agent and I went through the rooms, making sure everything was still fine. When I approached the bathroom door...WOAH! One of those cute, sweet people had taken a horrific dump sometime previous, and the stench was REVOLTING. I could only stand it long enough to take a quick look around and run back out...no wonder the two of them ran away so fast.
Unfortunately I didn't include the "No Stinky Poops" clause in my list of conditions.
Two: The Laundry Room
I go next door to do my laundry, and I've mentioned previously that they have an occasional sewage problem down there. On Wednesday I walked over with my dirty clothes and detergent, and I noticed that the basement door was open. I looked in...and there was one of my neighbours, sitting on the washing machine with his shirt over his nose and at least two inches of raw sewage floating around him.
"You'll have to leave," he said. Apparently he'd just dumped some water down the floor drain, and the sewage just gushed right out.
I asked him if he could escape, and he said "I think so." He gingerly lowered himself into the mire and tip-toed between the floating lumps of sh*t.
I am SO happy I'm moving away.
Three: The License Bureau
Today I went down to the license bureau to get my driver's license renewed. Amazingly, I was faced with exactly the same thing that happened the last time I was there, four years ago: one of the three attendants -- a poofy-haired blonde woman -- was having a long, whispered, personal chat with a creepy older lady across the kiosk counter.
I'm serious, these same two women were doing exactly the same thing the last time I was there, and we're not talking about a quick chat, we're talking about a good five minutes: "I knew somethin' wasn't right, with him always stompin' up and down the stairs." -- "Yup, nothin' else you could do." -- "An' I'm thinkin', what can I do?" -- "There's nothin' else you can do."
And on and on and on. We patient people in the growing line exchanged glances and whispered gripes that this always happens here.
Suddenly the creepy old lady at the counter let out a long, wet, deafening fart. We stared. We were dumbstruck and amazed. And the two of them just keep on talking as though nothing had happened.
"I hope I don't get that kiosk," said the woman behind me. She didn't, but the woman AFTER her did.
Saturday, September 19, 2009
T-Minus Seven
We set the closing date for my condo to be really far in the future, because one of my RRSPs was stuck like Pooh in Piglet's door. That was cleared up surprisingly quickly, so I've just been waiting...and waiting...and waiting.
But oh thank goodness, next Saturday is the moving day! I have a truck rented, and friends who will help, and I've been stockpiling alcohol of various kinds because I think they all drink different things.
I've packed almost everything and it's strange living in an almost-empty house. Most of the musical equipment is still hooked up -- just in case I need an outlet -- and my clothes and bedding still need packing, and other than that it's just the odds and ends; pots, pans, lights, remotes, extension cords, and all the stuff that's too big for me to carry.
I'm having waves of panic, apprehension, excitement, and outright glee. People are wandering through my apartment, anxious to rent it for themselves. Zsa Zsa is adjusting surprisingly well to all her hiding spots being packed up and sent to the basement, but that's probably because the basement now has new hiding spots: rows of boxes, shelving units, and the milk crates I fortunately kept for all these years.
The vacuum is ready. The broom and feather duster are seeing heavy action. I am interrupting the long subterranean war between spiders and sowbugs in the basement; do you know how sticky a spider's egg-cocoon is?
PS: I finished reading The Young People's Library of Entertainment and Amusement, and I have to say that the Spanish-American warmongering was partly countered by statements from other anti-colonial politicians, and that Victorians really knew how to spend an evening indoors.
PPS: Then I re-read William T. Vollmann's "Whores for Gloria." It's amazing how different his prose is these days. I'd forgotten how "stream-of-consciousness" he could be. Anyway, it's an ugly book about an ugly subject, and its final statement seems to be "Don't go looking for happiness, because somebody will always find a way to make your happy times turn sour."
PPPS: So now I'm re-reading Vladimir Nabokov's "Ada or Ardor," which I remember loving many, many years ago. I'm hoping it will get me through to the end of the week.
But oh thank goodness, next Saturday is the moving day! I have a truck rented, and friends who will help, and I've been stockpiling alcohol of various kinds because I think they all drink different things.
I've packed almost everything and it's strange living in an almost-empty house. Most of the musical equipment is still hooked up -- just in case I need an outlet -- and my clothes and bedding still need packing, and other than that it's just the odds and ends; pots, pans, lights, remotes, extension cords, and all the stuff that's too big for me to carry.
I'm having waves of panic, apprehension, excitement, and outright glee. People are wandering through my apartment, anxious to rent it for themselves. Zsa Zsa is adjusting surprisingly well to all her hiding spots being packed up and sent to the basement, but that's probably because the basement now has new hiding spots: rows of boxes, shelving units, and the milk crates I fortunately kept for all these years.
The vacuum is ready. The broom and feather duster are seeing heavy action. I am interrupting the long subterranean war between spiders and sowbugs in the basement; do you know how sticky a spider's egg-cocoon is?
PS: I finished reading The Young People's Library of Entertainment and Amusement, and I have to say that the Spanish-American warmongering was partly countered by statements from other anti-colonial politicians, and that Victorians really knew how to spend an evening indoors.
PPS: Then I re-read William T. Vollmann's "Whores for Gloria." It's amazing how different his prose is these days. I'd forgotten how "stream-of-consciousness" he could be. Anyway, it's an ugly book about an ugly subject, and its final statement seems to be "Don't go looking for happiness, because somebody will always find a way to make your happy times turn sour."
PPPS: So now I'm re-reading Vladimir Nabokov's "Ada or Ardor," which I remember loving many, many years ago. I'm hoping it will get me through to the end of the week.
Sunday, August 30, 2009
"Boxcar"
Another odd little video that I finally finished this morning: "Boxcar."
What do you do when your neighbour parks his junker car on your front lawn? You turn it into a constructive project.
I took my camera and tripod and filmed every piece of the car that I considered to be interesting. Since the horizon was rarely level with the car itself, I made a decision to always orient the camera based on the car's surfaces, which I think was a mistake: it causes the surrounding surfaces (roads, hedges, etc.) to appear skewed in a distracting sort of way.
Eventually I got the hang of avoiding reflections, and I also realized that late-afternoon light is very pretty when it bounces off metal.
My original idea was to mix the video clips with painstakingly hand-edited stills of the car, to make it look like a cartoon in the midst of a live landscape. Then I decided that it was a "too-tricky-clever" idea without any real point.
And since I was reading Iain Sinclair's "Lights Out for the Territory," I found myself getting more interested in the style of a film he frequently wrote about: "London" by Patrick Keiller. I hadn't seen the film at the time, but Sinclair's description of droll narration, motionless camera, and no-nonsense cuts was subconsciously inspiring...I was also thinking about Peter Greenaway's "The Falls." By referencing objects in the clips themselves, I wrote a little story and tried to find images that reflected the mood (rather than the content) of the clips.
I intercut with black frames to break the monotony of the images, and I threw a deliberately glitchy shot into the middle for the same reason. The background sounds are the ones from the clips themselves, with rougher sounds (like busses) removed and lots of denoising to compensate for my camera's crappy mic.
I hope you like it!
What do you do when your neighbour parks his junker car on your front lawn? You turn it into a constructive project.
I took my camera and tripod and filmed every piece of the car that I considered to be interesting. Since the horizon was rarely level with the car itself, I made a decision to always orient the camera based on the car's surfaces, which I think was a mistake: it causes the surrounding surfaces (roads, hedges, etc.) to appear skewed in a distracting sort of way.
Eventually I got the hang of avoiding reflections, and I also realized that late-afternoon light is very pretty when it bounces off metal.
My original idea was to mix the video clips with painstakingly hand-edited stills of the car, to make it look like a cartoon in the midst of a live landscape. Then I decided that it was a "too-tricky-clever" idea without any real point.
And since I was reading Iain Sinclair's "Lights Out for the Territory," I found myself getting more interested in the style of a film he frequently wrote about: "London" by Patrick Keiller. I hadn't seen the film at the time, but Sinclair's description of droll narration, motionless camera, and no-nonsense cuts was subconsciously inspiring...I was also thinking about Peter Greenaway's "The Falls." By referencing objects in the clips themselves, I wrote a little story and tried to find images that reflected the mood (rather than the content) of the clips.
I intercut with black frames to break the monotony of the images, and I threw a deliberately glitchy shot into the middle for the same reason. The background sounds are the ones from the clips themselves, with rougher sounds (like busses) removed and lots of denoising to compensate for my camera's crappy mic.
I hope you like it!
Tuesday, August 25, 2009
What's Going On:
Here's a quick and impromptu recap of the last few weeks!
If you've ever bought a home, you know what I've been doing: planning, coordinating, waiting, worrying, and spending. I've been dealing with official-type people such as mortgage brokers, lawyers, insurance agents, and bankers. I've also been counting my pennies and trying my best to make sure my finances stay in good shape, while still keeping myself happy and amused.
Purchasing this townhouse condo has been an all-consuming process. Every day I email, telephone, and fax the people who need to coordinate their efforts to make this happen. I've suffered through a drastically "stuck" hedge fund which threatened to leave me $18,000 short of the required down payment...fortunately this appears to be resolved today. I have gone from a total fax newbie to a virtual fax repairperson in the space of a month: scanning, dialing, confirming, crossing items off the checklist, moving to the next one...
I'm AWFUL at this stuff. I hate bureaucracy and have managed to avoid it for most of my life. Now I suddenly find myself competent, able to learn the ropes and harass the foot-draggers. These skills alone are worthwhile results of this whole ordeal.
I followed a house inspector as he poked into every nook and cranny of my upcoming home, and I was thrilled to hear that it's in tip-top condition (considering it's exactly as old as I am). Meanwhile, every day I look at the real estate listings, dreading the moment when The Perfect Home becomes available, and I'm happy to say that nothing even CLOSE has appeared. Everything else is too expensive, too far away, or too crappy...often all three.
I've started packing, which is silly because I still have a month to go. People are giving me cardboard boxes. My basement is FULL of boxes, each one waiting to be filled with my life's irreplaceable trivia.
When I told my landlords that I was moving, I initially felt a bit guilty: they've been conscious of my needs and we've always had a pretty good relationship, and ten years is an awful long time. But then -- after chopping down the precious greenery under my living room window -- one of the tenants next door got permission to park his "for sale" junker car on my front lawn. And -- totally by accident -- I discovered that this building has been on the market since the week before I said I was leaving...at least *I* had the decency to tell them we were through!
Meanwhile, in consideration of prospective buyers and tenants, I've been monitoring Zsa Zsa's catty smell, the result of a kidney condition which causes her to pee about eight times a day. Any odour in this apartment instantly spreads through the entire building -- and my unit has always smelled a bit like cat-spray, since before I even moved in -- but I still want to make things as painless for others as possible.
Last weekend I spent five hours with my mother, aunt, and grandmother looking for new living room furniture. I am determined to leave as much of my ramshackle and mismatched furniture behind, and five hours of comparative shopping -- and sitting in about six hundred chairs -- was more than worth it. I'm looking forward to planting some shrubs, and having my own washer/dryer, and not sharing ventilation with anybody except those who I invite. I want a coffee maker. I want my own home.
I am hopeful and happy and busy. This is probably the most significant thing I have ever done. That might seem silly to those of you with spouses and children, but for me it's a big deal...and wonderful!
If you've ever bought a home, you know what I've been doing: planning, coordinating, waiting, worrying, and spending. I've been dealing with official-type people such as mortgage brokers, lawyers, insurance agents, and bankers. I've also been counting my pennies and trying my best to make sure my finances stay in good shape, while still keeping myself happy and amused.
Purchasing this townhouse condo has been an all-consuming process. Every day I email, telephone, and fax the people who need to coordinate their efforts to make this happen. I've suffered through a drastically "stuck" hedge fund which threatened to leave me $18,000 short of the required down payment...fortunately this appears to be resolved today. I have gone from a total fax newbie to a virtual fax repairperson in the space of a month: scanning, dialing, confirming, crossing items off the checklist, moving to the next one...
I'm AWFUL at this stuff. I hate bureaucracy and have managed to avoid it for most of my life. Now I suddenly find myself competent, able to learn the ropes and harass the foot-draggers. These skills alone are worthwhile results of this whole ordeal.
I followed a house inspector as he poked into every nook and cranny of my upcoming home, and I was thrilled to hear that it's in tip-top condition (considering it's exactly as old as I am). Meanwhile, every day I look at the real estate listings, dreading the moment when The Perfect Home becomes available, and I'm happy to say that nothing even CLOSE has appeared. Everything else is too expensive, too far away, or too crappy...often all three.
I've started packing, which is silly because I still have a month to go. People are giving me cardboard boxes. My basement is FULL of boxes, each one waiting to be filled with my life's irreplaceable trivia.
When I told my landlords that I was moving, I initially felt a bit guilty: they've been conscious of my needs and we've always had a pretty good relationship, and ten years is an awful long time. But then -- after chopping down the precious greenery under my living room window -- one of the tenants next door got permission to park his "for sale" junker car on my front lawn. And -- totally by accident -- I discovered that this building has been on the market since the week before I said I was leaving...at least *I* had the decency to tell them we were through!
Meanwhile, in consideration of prospective buyers and tenants, I've been monitoring Zsa Zsa's catty smell, the result of a kidney condition which causes her to pee about eight times a day. Any odour in this apartment instantly spreads through the entire building -- and my unit has always smelled a bit like cat-spray, since before I even moved in -- but I still want to make things as painless for others as possible.
Last weekend I spent five hours with my mother, aunt, and grandmother looking for new living room furniture. I am determined to leave as much of my ramshackle and mismatched furniture behind, and five hours of comparative shopping -- and sitting in about six hundred chairs -- was more than worth it. I'm looking forward to planting some shrubs, and having my own washer/dryer, and not sharing ventilation with anybody except those who I invite. I want a coffee maker. I want my own home.
I am hopeful and happy and busy. This is probably the most significant thing I have ever done. That might seem silly to those of you with spouses and children, but for me it's a big deal...and wonderful!
Thursday, July 23, 2009
Meditation on Vegetation
One thing I love about my apartment is the huge front window, and what I like MOST about that window is the huge amount of vegetation that grows in front of it. Seriously, look:
All that greenery has given me no end of pleasure. It's kept my living room cool on scorching hot days. It's a home to thousands of interesting little bugs. It adds something soft and natural to my view each day.
So imagine my surprise when I came home today and saw the carnage; yes, my landlords have chopped it all down to the roots and left it by the curb. No more vegetation. No more pretty view.
Why did they do this? I think their first concern was for the concrete steps out front, which they're in the process of repairing. Some of that vegetation was in the way of their repairs, and I understand why they'd want to TRIM it.
But REMOVE it? ALL of it?
When my parents bought their first (and current) house, they planted a sapling in the front yard and we named it "Slim." Over twenty years it has grown into a huge, beautiful tree that beautifies the front yard and shades the porch. Birds live in it from time to time. It was an investment that paid off through patience and a small amount of tending, and it remains a living, growing, vibrant thing.
And yet here, in Waterloo, all I see are people CUTTING DOWN trees. Whenever a new development is being built, the old and not-so-old trees get turned into sawdust. One by one, trees are being removed from front yards all along my daily walking route. Sometimes a few new trees are planted, but always in sparse little rows intended to be "decorative" instead of "functional" or -- dare I say -- "wild."
Just have a look at our Waterloo Town Square for an example of a disregard for the benefit of vegetable growth.
I am not a person who believes in woodsy spirits and I am not going to cry for all the lost trees, but I DO think that people are remarkably short-sighted and ANAL about vegetation. My landlords certainly had some reasons for removing my beloved greenery, and they probably gave a passing thought to the good reasons for RETAINING that greenery, but from what I see most people put vegetation at the very BOTTOM of the list. If it gets in the way of the lawnmower or kills the grass underneath it, get rid of it. If it must be trimmed, cut it down. If you need to build something there, chop it up and chip it.
The only plant we care about is grass, it seems.
So I am by no means slagging any one person for chopping down healthy trees and bushes. I'm slagging a general idea that such growth adds less to health and aesthetics than -- say -- personal convenience or financial concerns.
So sad.
All that greenery has given me no end of pleasure. It's kept my living room cool on scorching hot days. It's a home to thousands of interesting little bugs. It adds something soft and natural to my view each day.
So imagine my surprise when I came home today and saw the carnage; yes, my landlords have chopped it all down to the roots and left it by the curb. No more vegetation. No more pretty view.
Why did they do this? I think their first concern was for the concrete steps out front, which they're in the process of repairing. Some of that vegetation was in the way of their repairs, and I understand why they'd want to TRIM it.
But REMOVE it? ALL of it?
When my parents bought their first (and current) house, they planted a sapling in the front yard and we named it "Slim." Over twenty years it has grown into a huge, beautiful tree that beautifies the front yard and shades the porch. Birds live in it from time to time. It was an investment that paid off through patience and a small amount of tending, and it remains a living, growing, vibrant thing.
And yet here, in Waterloo, all I see are people CUTTING DOWN trees. Whenever a new development is being built, the old and not-so-old trees get turned into sawdust. One by one, trees are being removed from front yards all along my daily walking route. Sometimes a few new trees are planted, but always in sparse little rows intended to be "decorative" instead of "functional" or -- dare I say -- "wild."
Just have a look at our Waterloo Town Square for an example of a disregard for the benefit of vegetable growth.
I am not a person who believes in woodsy spirits and I am not going to cry for all the lost trees, but I DO think that people are remarkably short-sighted and ANAL about vegetation. My landlords certainly had some reasons for removing my beloved greenery, and they probably gave a passing thought to the good reasons for RETAINING that greenery, but from what I see most people put vegetation at the very BOTTOM of the list. If it gets in the way of the lawnmower or kills the grass underneath it, get rid of it. If it must be trimmed, cut it down. If you need to build something there, chop it up and chip it.
The only plant we care about is grass, it seems.
So I am by no means slagging any one person for chopping down healthy trees and bushes. I'm slagging a general idea that such growth adds less to health and aesthetics than -- say -- personal convenience or financial concerns.
So sad.
Sunday, May 24, 2009
Lightbox
Another experimental music video of my own construction: "Lightbox."
The Background
This time the audio came first. I had the idea of taking a sound source, splitting it up into five different frequencies, and applying a different type of tremolo to each frequency. The source I tried was a modified Hammond organ soft-synth, playing a rising series of barely-musical chords. That's the basis for the track.
Then I realized the bass was underrepresented so I added a single-note bassline (not an electric bass sadly, but another software synth). Up next was the "ting" of a pot handle being whacked with a spoon.
Once I'd gotten that far I tried to think of what it reminded me of, and ran down my ever-growing list of "box" words. Lo and behold: "Lightbox!" It was sharp, clean, shifting, meditative...
...but where to find the visuals? Lying in my bed on a Sunday morning and filming the odd pinhole camera effect of light coming through tiny slits in the curtains, filtered through blowing tree leaves. Those images aren't manipulated except for tiny tweaks in brightness and contrast; otherwise, that's the sort of thing I wake up to in the morning.
I tried filming the reflective lights of passing cars -- the phantoms that my cat chases at night -- but they didn't show up very well, and I'd pretty much decided to stay with stationary light only. Then I shot a few images of daylight around a chair and on my ceiling, and I had all the footage I needed.
Back to the music again. I sent the same, slowed-down chords through Logic's "Sculpture" instrument, which emulates the behaviour of various objects interacting with other objects...in this case, a really crazy bow being drawn across wood. I played a few descending notes on the ESQ-1 to finish it all off, and voila.
I like it. It's pretty, in a strange sort of way. It really does capture the feeling of laying in bed and watching the lights. Not much happens or changes during the song -- I took out the few stimulating samples and beats that I'd experimented with early on -- but I don't think anything SHOULD happen. It's just a lazy contemplation. It's meant to make you snooze.
The Background
This time the audio came first. I had the idea of taking a sound source, splitting it up into five different frequencies, and applying a different type of tremolo to each frequency. The source I tried was a modified Hammond organ soft-synth, playing a rising series of barely-musical chords. That's the basis for the track.
Then I realized the bass was underrepresented so I added a single-note bassline (not an electric bass sadly, but another software synth). Up next was the "ting" of a pot handle being whacked with a spoon.
Once I'd gotten that far I tried to think of what it reminded me of, and ran down my ever-growing list of "box" words. Lo and behold: "Lightbox!" It was sharp, clean, shifting, meditative...
...but where to find the visuals? Lying in my bed on a Sunday morning and filming the odd pinhole camera effect of light coming through tiny slits in the curtains, filtered through blowing tree leaves. Those images aren't manipulated except for tiny tweaks in brightness and contrast; otherwise, that's the sort of thing I wake up to in the morning.
I tried filming the reflective lights of passing cars -- the phantoms that my cat chases at night -- but they didn't show up very well, and I'd pretty much decided to stay with stationary light only. Then I shot a few images of daylight around a chair and on my ceiling, and I had all the footage I needed.
Back to the music again. I sent the same, slowed-down chords through Logic's "Sculpture" instrument, which emulates the behaviour of various objects interacting with other objects...in this case, a really crazy bow being drawn across wood. I played a few descending notes on the ESQ-1 to finish it all off, and voila.
I like it. It's pretty, in a strange sort of way. It really does capture the feeling of laying in bed and watching the lights. Not much happens or changes during the song -- I took out the few stimulating samples and beats that I'd experimented with early on -- but I don't think anything SHOULD happen. It's just a lazy contemplation. It's meant to make you snooze.
Sunday, March 29, 2009
Eyeing the Intestines
A few nights ago I was amazed to discover a pile of viscera in the middle of my carpet. There were intestines, and a miniature liver, and other little bits and pieces all tucked inside that I couldn't really see.
My first thought was that Zsa Zsa had finally started vomiting up her own entrails, but these were far too small to have come from a cat. They were...mouse size.
As far as I know this is the sixth mouse that Zsa Zsa has caught. As though to express the changeability of her moods, every mouse is devoured in a totally different way; the first was left totally uneaten, the second was swallowed in a single gulp, the third was chewed and savoured in a leisurely way, the fourth was bitten into two pieces with only the top half eaten, the fifth was entirely devoured except for a tiny back foot...
...but this is the first time she's eaten everything BUT the entrails, which seems strange to me; why would she favour the fur and bones and tail, but leave the "choice bits" behind?
I wonder if there isn't some truth to that half-baked idea that cats sometimes treat humans as really useless kittens. Maybe Zsa Zsa left a pile of juicy mouse-organs for me because she thought I'd appreciate them, and she knows I could never catch a mouse if my life depended on it.
Even stranger, however, was how CLEAN and SELF-CONTAINED the viscera was. I've always assumed that such things were sticky and messy and gelatinous, but not THESE mouse guts; they were damp but coherent, a whole entity unto themselves, almost as though they could pull themselves back together and saunter off into the night.
I think it's wonderful that Zsa Zsa -- who now resembles Death's Own Pussycat -- still has the vigour to stalk, capture, and eat the resident mice.
My first thought was that Zsa Zsa had finally started vomiting up her own entrails, but these were far too small to have come from a cat. They were...mouse size.
As far as I know this is the sixth mouse that Zsa Zsa has caught. As though to express the changeability of her moods, every mouse is devoured in a totally different way; the first was left totally uneaten, the second was swallowed in a single gulp, the third was chewed and savoured in a leisurely way, the fourth was bitten into two pieces with only the top half eaten, the fifth was entirely devoured except for a tiny back foot...
...but this is the first time she's eaten everything BUT the entrails, which seems strange to me; why would she favour the fur and bones and tail, but leave the "choice bits" behind?
I wonder if there isn't some truth to that half-baked idea that cats sometimes treat humans as really useless kittens. Maybe Zsa Zsa left a pile of juicy mouse-organs for me because she thought I'd appreciate them, and she knows I could never catch a mouse if my life depended on it.
Even stranger, however, was how CLEAN and SELF-CONTAINED the viscera was. I've always assumed that such things were sticky and messy and gelatinous, but not THESE mouse guts; they were damp but coherent, a whole entity unto themselves, almost as though they could pull themselves back together and saunter off into the night.
I think it's wonderful that Zsa Zsa -- who now resembles Death's Own Pussycat -- still has the vigour to stalk, capture, and eat the resident mice.
Sunday, February 15, 2009
Something Gross on the Floor
Yesterday, Zsa Zsa peed on the basement floor, which she sometimes does for reasons known only to her. Fortunately the basement is totally unfinished so it isn't difficult to clean up...just cracked concrete floors and a lot of dust.
I went into the back part of the basement where the laundry tub is, and I picked up the mop bucket I keep next to the tub and filled it with water and bleach. After scrubbing down the floor, I returned to the tub and started emptying the bucket. While I was doing this I became aware that my toes were resting on something soft; I could feel it through my socks.
Thinking I was just standing on a leaf or something, I lifted up my foot and looked down...and saw that the soft thing was actually A MOUND OF SOWBUGS. Literally, a mound, about three inches in diameter and bulging up about three quarters of an inch. Sowbugs were crawling all over it, and some of the more perturbed ones were slowly gliding off in the disgusting way that sowbugs do.
I have nothing against sowbugs, but this was simply too horrific. It was like a sowbug tenement or a sowbug orgy. Plus I'd been resting my toes on them. My only thought was how I could kill them, so I did a relatively silly thing and poured bleach all over them.
Scatter! They locomoted in all directions, radiating out from the mound, scrambling over each other like rioting football hooligans. Some were merely specks on the floor, and others were half an inch long. Caring not for young and old, I followed them with the bleach bottle, splashing here and there.
I don't know if it actually killed them. In retrospect I should have taken one of the paint cans down there and just rolled it over them, but the sound would have been unbearable. There are lots of spiders down in the basement, but it's obvious they aren't doing their job.
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PS: I was shocked to learn that sowbugs are not actually insects...they're "terrestrial crustaceans" and they breathe through gills, which is pretty amazing. That's why they always hang around water. It's also why they're so awful.
I went into the back part of the basement where the laundry tub is, and I picked up the mop bucket I keep next to the tub and filled it with water and bleach. After scrubbing down the floor, I returned to the tub and started emptying the bucket. While I was doing this I became aware that my toes were resting on something soft; I could feel it through my socks.
Thinking I was just standing on a leaf or something, I lifted up my foot and looked down...and saw that the soft thing was actually A MOUND OF SOWBUGS. Literally, a mound, about three inches in diameter and bulging up about three quarters of an inch. Sowbugs were crawling all over it, and some of the more perturbed ones were slowly gliding off in the disgusting way that sowbugs do.
I have nothing against sowbugs, but this was simply too horrific. It was like a sowbug tenement or a sowbug orgy. Plus I'd been resting my toes on them. My only thought was how I could kill them, so I did a relatively silly thing and poured bleach all over them.
Scatter! They locomoted in all directions, radiating out from the mound, scrambling over each other like rioting football hooligans. Some were merely specks on the floor, and others were half an inch long. Caring not for young and old, I followed them with the bleach bottle, splashing here and there.
I don't know if it actually killed them. In retrospect I should have taken one of the paint cans down there and just rolled it over them, but the sound would have been unbearable. There are lots of spiders down in the basement, but it's obvious they aren't doing their job.
.jpg)
PS: I was shocked to learn that sowbugs are not actually insects...they're "terrestrial crustaceans" and they breathe through gills, which is pretty amazing. That's why they always hang around water. It's also why they're so awful.
Monday, December 29, 2008
Plan for a Holiday Blackout
1. The blue flashlight is in the second drawer of the hallway closet. There is also a yellow flashlight there which you bought when you forgot that you already had one.
2. Using either the blue or the yellow flashlight, find your way downstairs to the kitchen cupboards and locate the matches and candles you bought during the last blackout. Since that happened several years ago, you are not entirely sure which cupboard to look in, but you have faith that the matches and candles are still there. Unless you moved them, in which case you're in trouble.
3. Which to light: the tea lights or the tall, thin candles from the variety store? The tall candles need to be anchored to saucers with wax and you do not trust them; they totter and could start a fire. And you have very few clean saucers. But the tall, thin candles are much brighter than the more stable tea lights.
4. Once the candles are lit, turn the flashlight off. You may need it again and it's easier to manage in an emergency. What if you need to shine light into a corner? What if you need to run? Play it safe and use candles whenever you can.
5. When you enter a room, flick the light switch and be surprised when nothing happens. Realize that you've never noticed which of your switches were installed upside down.
6. Stand at the window and watch the savage snow and wind. Remark at the lack of streetlights and the cars that creep uncertainly. When you remark on these things you are speaking to an empty, dark apartment, except for the shadow which creaks in other rooms and which used to be your cat.
7. Fetch sweaters for warmth. The furnace is off. Do not sit too close to the candles. Put on slippers.
8. Give up all attempts to read during candlelight. This is why people went to bed so early in the 18th century. You cannot think of a single productive, solitary, modern thing to do by candlelight. Our ancestors had different eyes than we do.
9. Pile the extra blankets on the bed and try to sleep. Your nose is cold and you can barely breathe from the pressure of so many coverlets. The cat is desperate to join you. Listen to gusting wind, rattling the windows and ringing the chimes. Drift off to each lull and wake each time your apartment shakes.
10. Hours later, jump up in shock when the lights come on.
2. Using either the blue or the yellow flashlight, find your way downstairs to the kitchen cupboards and locate the matches and candles you bought during the last blackout. Since that happened several years ago, you are not entirely sure which cupboard to look in, but you have faith that the matches and candles are still there. Unless you moved them, in which case you're in trouble.
3. Which to light: the tea lights or the tall, thin candles from the variety store? The tall candles need to be anchored to saucers with wax and you do not trust them; they totter and could start a fire. And you have very few clean saucers. But the tall, thin candles are much brighter than the more stable tea lights.
4. Once the candles are lit, turn the flashlight off. You may need it again and it's easier to manage in an emergency. What if you need to shine light into a corner? What if you need to run? Play it safe and use candles whenever you can.
5. When you enter a room, flick the light switch and be surprised when nothing happens. Realize that you've never noticed which of your switches were installed upside down.
6. Stand at the window and watch the savage snow and wind. Remark at the lack of streetlights and the cars that creep uncertainly. When you remark on these things you are speaking to an empty, dark apartment, except for the shadow which creaks in other rooms and which used to be your cat.
7. Fetch sweaters for warmth. The furnace is off. Do not sit too close to the candles. Put on slippers.
8. Give up all attempts to read during candlelight. This is why people went to bed so early in the 18th century. You cannot think of a single productive, solitary, modern thing to do by candlelight. Our ancestors had different eyes than we do.
9. Pile the extra blankets on the bed and try to sleep. Your nose is cold and you can barely breathe from the pressure of so many coverlets. The cat is desperate to join you. Listen to gusting wind, rattling the windows and ringing the chimes. Drift off to each lull and wake each time your apartment shakes.
10. Hours later, jump up in shock when the lights come on.
Tuesday, September 16, 2008
The Curse of the Recurring Canine
I live in a duplex, and over the past few years I have had three sets of neighbours: the girls who exercised, the family of wrestlers, and the smooth-playing horn-man.
These neighbours have NOTHING in common except for one bizarre trait: they all decide to adopt dogs halfway through their tenancy.
Why? I don't know. If I were to use my neighbours as a representative sample I'd have to assume that everybody in the world owns a dog.
These neighbours have NOTHING in common except for one bizarre trait: they all decide to adopt dogs halfway through their tenancy.
Why? I don't know. If I were to use my neighbours as a representative sample I'd have to assume that everybody in the world owns a dog.
The Gross Next Door
I have several reasons to be glad that I moved out of my old apartment two years ago, but one of the biggest reasons is the SEWAGE.
In that old apartment the basement is a long room full of storage closets, laundry facilities, and electrical equipment. Down the middle of the room runs a rusty pipe which always transported our feces safely away, until one hot summer day...
...I came home and heard a bunch of people working in the basement. I went down and saw that some men were standing in the external door at the far end, and in between them the floor was flooded with brown liquid an inch deep.
Wondering what was going on, I walked halfway through the basement towards the guys before I realized that I was skimming through raw sewage, so fresh that stuff was still floating in it. The men were city workers who had come to fix a sudden back-up in our drains, and they found it amusing that I'd decided to come downstairs and stand in shit, right in front of them. Like, they they thought it was both funny AND sad, particularly since all of our storage lockers were flooded as well.
Needless to say I was happy to move away from that mess (and to throw out that pair of shoes), but I still do my laundry down there...
...and today I went over and left my clothes in the washer, and when I came back there was poop everywhere. What a stink! Right back into the storage lockers. I suspect I'm the first person to notice this situation. It felt kind of nice to just pack up my clean clothes and sneak away.
After all, it's not MY poop any more. I've got worries of my own!
In that old apartment the basement is a long room full of storage closets, laundry facilities, and electrical equipment. Down the middle of the room runs a rusty pipe which always transported our feces safely away, until one hot summer day...
...I came home and heard a bunch of people working in the basement. I went down and saw that some men were standing in the external door at the far end, and in between them the floor was flooded with brown liquid an inch deep.
Wondering what was going on, I walked halfway through the basement towards the guys before I realized that I was skimming through raw sewage, so fresh that stuff was still floating in it. The men were city workers who had come to fix a sudden back-up in our drains, and they found it amusing that I'd decided to come downstairs and stand in shit, right in front of them. Like, they they thought it was both funny AND sad, particularly since all of our storage lockers were flooded as well.
Needless to say I was happy to move away from that mess (and to throw out that pair of shoes), but I still do my laundry down there...
...and today I went over and left my clothes in the washer, and when I came back there was poop everywhere. What a stink! Right back into the storage lockers. I suspect I'm the first person to notice this situation. It felt kind of nice to just pack up my clean clothes and sneak away.
After all, it's not MY poop any more. I've got worries of my own!
Monday, September 01, 2008
The ZsaZsaBlog III
After I wrote this morning's blog post, Zsa Zsa got even worse. It seemed to happen after I fed her; she nibbled at her food a bit, then climbed under the couch and twitched and rocked and purred. It seemed like she could barely walk. I immediately started canvassing friends for rides to the emergency vet clinic.
By the time Jenn W. arrived, Zsa Zsa was considerably better and had shown a real desire to go outside, where she chowed down on grass. We took her to the vet -- who turned out to be the same lady who'd squeezed the gunk out of her head last year -- and after examining Zsa Zsa and checking her reflexes she suggested three possible diagnoses: kidney failure, liver failure, or diabetes. Whatever it is, it has caused her to lose muscle tone -- she's skinny as a bone but her stomach is round -- and is putting her strangely off-balance. I'm to get her to my regular vet as soon as possible -- like NOW, because she's having a real crisis -- and have her blood and fluids checked.
Throughout the day Zsa Zsa has mostly been sitting in two "distress areas," either under my couch or beside my drag suitcase. She sits in an extremely odd way; this morning she was only squatting, but now she plops her butt down in an abrupt way that frightens me. I managed to coax her out onto the balcony, where she conked out for an hour or so. In the afternoon I finally got a few more hours of sleep and in the meantime she peed on the basement floor again.
Tonight she roused herself and started meowing at the front door, so I took her outside prepared for the usual "sit and watch the cat" routine...but instead she wanted to EXPLORE. She has NEVER wanted to explore before. We walked all the way down to the end of the block -- FAR beyond the front yard where she's spent most of her life -- and only came home because I finally picked her up and carried her back. You know how fun it is to walk a cat? But it wasn't like I was going to refuse her, and she seemed more lively than she's been all week.
I imagine that SOME of her strange behaviour is due to my increased surveillance and solicitude...maybe her urge to explore was prompted in a change in ME. But I think she's become sort of dozy at the same time, and therefore more liable to do things she wouldn't otherwise consider.
Hopefully I can get her to the vet tomorrow for a full checkup. What an incredibly crappy day. Endless thanks to Jenn, who responded instantly to my plea for help!
By the time Jenn W. arrived, Zsa Zsa was considerably better and had shown a real desire to go outside, where she chowed down on grass. We took her to the vet -- who turned out to be the same lady who'd squeezed the gunk out of her head last year -- and after examining Zsa Zsa and checking her reflexes she suggested three possible diagnoses: kidney failure, liver failure, or diabetes. Whatever it is, it has caused her to lose muscle tone -- she's skinny as a bone but her stomach is round -- and is putting her strangely off-balance. I'm to get her to my regular vet as soon as possible -- like NOW, because she's having a real crisis -- and have her blood and fluids checked.
Throughout the day Zsa Zsa has mostly been sitting in two "distress areas," either under my couch or beside my drag suitcase. She sits in an extremely odd way; this morning she was only squatting, but now she plops her butt down in an abrupt way that frightens me. I managed to coax her out onto the balcony, where she conked out for an hour or so. In the afternoon I finally got a few more hours of sleep and in the meantime she peed on the basement floor again.
Tonight she roused herself and started meowing at the front door, so I took her outside prepared for the usual "sit and watch the cat" routine...but instead she wanted to EXPLORE. She has NEVER wanted to explore before. We walked all the way down to the end of the block -- FAR beyond the front yard where she's spent most of her life -- and only came home because I finally picked her up and carried her back. You know how fun it is to walk a cat? But it wasn't like I was going to refuse her, and she seemed more lively than she's been all week.
I imagine that SOME of her strange behaviour is due to my increased surveillance and solicitude...maybe her urge to explore was prompted in a change in ME. But I think she's become sort of dozy at the same time, and therefore more liable to do things she wouldn't otherwise consider.
Hopefully I can get her to the vet tomorrow for a full checkup. What an incredibly crappy day. Endless thanks to Jenn, who responded instantly to my plea for help!
Sunday, August 24, 2008
Meeses to Pieces
After Zsa Zsa devoured a mouse from head to tail a few weeks ago, I did some research and discovered that mice are a wonderful type of cat food. I'm worried that she'll get tapeworms from eating them, but since there's no way to stop her I've decided to make the best of it.
We know that the mice prefer to enter my apartment through a vent under my kitchen table, so I built a special "mouse blind" for Zsa Zsa to hide behind while hunting. Five minutes ago she trotted into the computer room, dropped a mouse at my feet, and proceeded to eat it.
I knew you'd want to see this so I took lots of pictures -- and even a video -- but I'm afraid that they're just too disgusting. Instead of swallowing this one whole, she chewed bits and pieces off from various places, and while I'm amazed at the total lack of blood I am less surprised at the reverse-flow through the mouse's digestive tract...something you don't want to see.
So I'm afraid you'll need to take my word for it. Zsa Zsa is accepting congratulations for a job well done, and also soliciting tips for preparing tasty mouse treats.
We know that the mice prefer to enter my apartment through a vent under my kitchen table, so I built a special "mouse blind" for Zsa Zsa to hide behind while hunting. Five minutes ago she trotted into the computer room, dropped a mouse at my feet, and proceeded to eat it.
I knew you'd want to see this so I took lots of pictures -- and even a video -- but I'm afraid that they're just too disgusting. Instead of swallowing this one whole, she chewed bits and pieces off from various places, and while I'm amazed at the total lack of blood I am less surprised at the reverse-flow through the mouse's digestive tract...something you don't want to see.
So I'm afraid you'll need to take my word for it. Zsa Zsa is accepting congratulations for a job well done, and also soliciting tips for preparing tasty mouse treats.
Monday, July 28, 2008
Life on Repeat
The Broken Computer Keyboards
I recently noticed that the "plus" key on my new computer keyboard didn't work. Apple promptly sent me another keyboard...which has a mostly unresponsive "right arrow" key.
A third keyboard is now in the mail. You'll know it's arrived when different letters start disappearing from my blog posts.
The Persistent Junk Mail
After three weeks of receiving "The Record Save and Sell," an enormous package of weekly junkmail, I finally had enough. The thing is too big for my mailbox, but the carrier just stuffs it in anyway and leaves the lid open. Therefore my legitimate mail gets crushed and rained on.
I called the company and was "taken off the list," but I received it again the following week. I called back and was reassured that I REALLY wouldn't get it any more...but of course I did. I finally managed to track down the MANAGER, who absolutely, positively promised that I would never receive the Save and Sell again.
It was in my mailbox on Friday.
The Squatter Squirrels
Several months ago my landlords finally admitted that there are squirrels in my attic, and they patched up the roof and laid out traps to remove the critters once and for all.
This weekend they gnawed a hole into the opposite end of the building. They're back again, and this time I imagine they're singing a song:
We're happy little squirrels and we're back to bother you,
with our squealing and our humping and our chew and chew and chew.
We spurn all laws, we have big claws, we're muscular and furry, oh,
don't try so hard to lose us 'cause we'll get back in a hurry!
If you sit all day and wonder what we're doing to your ceiling,
you cannot understand...your little attic's so appealing!
We live in peace, we'll sign no lease, we'll send no rent your way, 'cause
we're happy chewing squirrels and we've moved in here to stay!
I recently noticed that the "plus" key on my new computer keyboard didn't work. Apple promptly sent me another keyboard...which has a mostly unresponsive "right arrow" key.
A third keyboard is now in the mail. You'll know it's arrived when different letters start disappearing from my blog posts.
The Persistent Junk Mail
After three weeks of receiving "The Record Save and Sell," an enormous package of weekly junkmail, I finally had enough. The thing is too big for my mailbox, but the carrier just stuffs it in anyway and leaves the lid open. Therefore my legitimate mail gets crushed and rained on.
I called the company and was "taken off the list," but I received it again the following week. I called back and was reassured that I REALLY wouldn't get it any more...but of course I did. I finally managed to track down the MANAGER, who absolutely, positively promised that I would never receive the Save and Sell again.
It was in my mailbox on Friday.
The Squatter Squirrels
Several months ago my landlords finally admitted that there are squirrels in my attic, and they patched up the roof and laid out traps to remove the critters once and for all.
This weekend they gnawed a hole into the opposite end of the building. They're back again, and this time I imagine they're singing a song:
We're happy little squirrels and we're back to bother you,
with our squealing and our humping and our chew and chew and chew.
We spurn all laws, we have big claws, we're muscular and furry, oh,
don't try so hard to lose us 'cause we'll get back in a hurry!
If you sit all day and wonder what we're doing to your ceiling,
you cannot understand...your little attic's so appealing!
We live in peace, we'll sign no lease, we'll send no rent your way, 'cause
we're happy chewing squirrels and we've moved in here to stay!
Sunday, June 29, 2008
Point-Form Hostessing
Let's make sure the music isn't too loud.
Do you all have drinks?
Thank goodness I bought more beer and vodka today, as though I knew this unexpected drop-in would happen. Do you want a beer or some vodka? I hope you like Dr. Pepper with your vodka.
Hmmm, I have gauged the ages and musical tastes of all my guests and I've decided on two types of music: The Beatles and Kate Bush. How wonderful to see a roomful of people swoon to George Harrison singing "Something!"
Get downstairs, you two. Don't you be neglecting everybody else.
Holy cow, where did the cat go? SHE'S BEEN LOCKED OUTSIDE FOR AN HOUR?
Now it's time for everybody to go home. I'm very sorry I didn't have chips or munchies or anything.
Yes, you really need to get into the taxi now. Love you.
The sun is coming up and the birds are chirping. I can't believe I've stayed up so late.
We are all allowed to be disruptive once in a while.
Do you all have drinks?
Thank goodness I bought more beer and vodka today, as though I knew this unexpected drop-in would happen. Do you want a beer or some vodka? I hope you like Dr. Pepper with your vodka.
Hmmm, I have gauged the ages and musical tastes of all my guests and I've decided on two types of music: The Beatles and Kate Bush. How wonderful to see a roomful of people swoon to George Harrison singing "Something!"
Get downstairs, you two. Don't you be neglecting everybody else.
Holy cow, where did the cat go? SHE'S BEEN LOCKED OUTSIDE FOR AN HOUR?
Now it's time for everybody to go home. I'm very sorry I didn't have chips or munchies or anything.
Yes, you really need to get into the taxi now. Love you.
The sun is coming up and the birds are chirping. I can't believe I've stayed up so late.
We are all allowed to be disruptive once in a while.
Tuesday, May 13, 2008
High Noon at Six P.M.
It was the first warm day in weeks. Zsa Zsa had been begging to go outside. After dinner, at 6pm, I strapped her in her harness and we sat on the porch.
Zsa Zsa was thrilled. She descended the steps into the back yard and ate some grass. I read my book and luxuriated in the sunlight. Everything was good.
Suddenly I became aware of the unnatural stillness. Zsa Zsa had bunched herself up and her ears were flat, and she was staring at a shape creeping around the corner.
Penny. The neighbourhood tough-cat. The little town terror. Come for a fight.
We froze into a silent tableau, the three of us, staring. The cats began to vocalize, coaxing strange moans out of their throats. These moans would start low and then cycle up into looping howls, gaining in volume, interspersed with hisses and alpaca spits.
Penny began to move, making slow ninja steps around the edge of Zsa Zsa's reach. The howls grew louder, their hackles rose, I was witness to a kitty showdown the likes of which I had never hoped to see.
I wondered: should I interfere? Penny was twice the size of Zsa Zsa and she's used to fighting in the wilderness, but I didn't want to wound Zsa Zsa's pride by pulling her inside; maybe she could do it. Maybe she could win. Maybe I should let her try.
Stillness.
A twig snapped.
STRIKE! Penny lunged and battered Zsa Zsa with her paws. Zsa Zsa got a few pitiful swipes in and then she turned and ran, back up the porch, the battle lost. Once again Penny was victorious.
I jumped up and chased Penny away. Zsa Zsa was not wounded but she had entered a mind-altered state, growling and hissing in consternation and shame. When she had calmed down a bit I inspected her for wounds, then picked her up and put her back on the battleground, thinking this might bring some of her confidence back. She hunkered down and growled, hissed, howled, hackled.
Ten minutes later she was back inside and meowing for treats. She may not remember the conflict but *I* have learned a lesson. Next time Penny approaches my cat, I'm going to punch her in the nose.
Zsa Zsa was thrilled. She descended the steps into the back yard and ate some grass. I read my book and luxuriated in the sunlight. Everything was good.
Suddenly I became aware of the unnatural stillness. Zsa Zsa had bunched herself up and her ears were flat, and she was staring at a shape creeping around the corner.
Penny. The neighbourhood tough-cat. The little town terror. Come for a fight.
We froze into a silent tableau, the three of us, staring. The cats began to vocalize, coaxing strange moans out of their throats. These moans would start low and then cycle up into looping howls, gaining in volume, interspersed with hisses and alpaca spits.
Penny began to move, making slow ninja steps around the edge of Zsa Zsa's reach. The howls grew louder, their hackles rose, I was witness to a kitty showdown the likes of which I had never hoped to see.
I wondered: should I interfere? Penny was twice the size of Zsa Zsa and she's used to fighting in the wilderness, but I didn't want to wound Zsa Zsa's pride by pulling her inside; maybe she could do it. Maybe she could win. Maybe I should let her try.
Stillness.
A twig snapped.
STRIKE! Penny lunged and battered Zsa Zsa with her paws. Zsa Zsa got a few pitiful swipes in and then she turned and ran, back up the porch, the battle lost. Once again Penny was victorious.
I jumped up and chased Penny away. Zsa Zsa was not wounded but she had entered a mind-altered state, growling and hissing in consternation and shame. When she had calmed down a bit I inspected her for wounds, then picked her up and put her back on the battleground, thinking this might bring some of her confidence back. She hunkered down and growled, hissed, howled, hackled.
Ten minutes later she was back inside and meowing for treats. She may not remember the conflict but *I* have learned a lesson. Next time Penny approaches my cat, I'm going to punch her in the nose.
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