It's not easily apparent, though.

So I followed a link on my sister's Google ads to an I.Q. test, which I took, and it turns out I have an I.Q. of 123 which wiki tells me is TOTALLY FREAKIN' SMART.

HA!! I knew it. I just KNEW all those stupid teachers were wrong.

Yum, Yum, and Yum Again.

It hasn't been All Potter, All The Time around here - I've actually done some other things.

Comforted myself after the initial read by making chocolate waffles with vanilla whipped cream and fresh, hot, strawberry sauce.



And this - this is my desert-island cake:

Lemon loaf with double syrup. Come to MOMMA.

Lastly, I took the first sockapalooza sock and turned it into this:

which really reminds me of my desert-island ice cream, blue bubblegum.


Hmmmm....I do believe this post counts toward my ongoing meme: desert-island items are always good.

Did I mention the tapdancing archaeopteryx?

"Zombies don't eat brains anyway unless instructed to by their zombie masters. A lot of people get that wrong." -Anya, Buffy the Vampire Slayer, "Bargaining, Pt1", Season 6.



New York City. Present day.

Beth Anne and I wanted to go work out, so we found a gym that accepted my membership number from my hometown. The girl at the desk checked the number suspiciously when I entered it on the clipboard, and cross-referenced it with her catalogue. She found a current picture of me so she let me in. I glanced at the picture and was surprised to see it was not of me at all, but a sepia-stained funeral bouquet.

Beth Anne was not so lucky - the number she made up and wrote down raised an alarm that brought security running to detain us. We managed to dodge them and ran down the hallway toward the changerooms where, strangely enough, we were safe. I found a cubicle, put down my daughter and our luggage, and got dressed into my bathing suit.

When I emerged, goggled, flip-flopped and Speedo-ed, I walked up the stairs towards the pool and had a sudden thought: "I should phone Lizbon and tell her about this place. I bet she doesn't know this pool isn't closed." I retreated to the changeroom and got out my cell phone. I was about to dial her number when there was a knock on the cubicle door. The door dissolved into a one-way mirror so that I could see who it was outside...

a zombie.

We narrowly escaped with our lives, running flat out down the slippery tile corridor in our rubber flip flops. It was only while fleeing that I realized I had bought a one-way ticket to NYC and couldn't go home, though surely by now we had overstayed our leave of absence and Mr HalfSoledBooots would be wondering where we were.

___________________________________

"Well is it possible at one time that you were made of stone, wood, lye, varied corpse parts? Or, earth made holy by rabbinical elders?" -Dr Jules Hilbert, Stranger Than Fiction.



Victoria, ten days ago.

The living room was painted white, with cove ceilings and sparkly mini-lights draped here and there. I frowned at it in concentration, trying to place myself. I realized it was the apartment I shared with Penny for four years in university, only with new elements here and there, a different layout, and in a different building.

There were exotic, Islamic-influenced draperies and pillows. A subtle incense perfumed the air.

Then, a knock on the door, which I opened to let in the noise of a Chinatown street and the slick of rain on the pavement, and Dustin Hoffman.

"Oh, right - come in," I said, making way in the narrow hall for both him and his assistant, a nondescript man with incongruous muttonchop whiskers.

I showed them to the sofa, and hurried upstairs to get dressed. I found my coin belt okay, but kept picking up what I thought was my choli and skirt, but turned out each time to be something else. A choli, but with the bottom elastic missing so my bosom would shimmy straight out of it at the slightest lift of my arms. A cotton t-shirt with "Pink Floyd" written all over it. Everything but the costume I needed.

I heard a shout from downstairs and called back. "I'll just be one more minute!"

Suddenly I realized more than an hour had gone by. I dashed downstairs half dressed, to see a very irritated Dustin Hoffman getting up from his sofa. "I have to go, I can't wait any more. When I command a belly dance performance I expect it to be timely."

I couldn't think of what to say, so I blurted out "By the way, I loved you in 'Stranger than Fiction'..."

He paused, considered me with a glance, and said grudgingly, "I guess I could stay for a few more minutes."

___________________________________

Meanwhile, on the other side of the bed, Mr HSBoots was running desperately down a long ridge toward a restaurant where Sting was waiting to take him out for dinner. After a couple of courses, Sting stood up, threw down his napkin, and strode out of the door saying, "I'm leaving because you're a cranky bastard."

The crowd went wild.

Meh Meh

Olga tagged me to do this "seven random things about me" meme.

If my elementary school teachers are to be believed, I don't normally play well with others. However, I will be a good sport and dredge something up to titillate and inspire you.

1- I am psychic. I often have either prophetic or concurrent dreams. (i.e., I dream about things and then find out later they really happened while I was dreaming them...actually, maybe I am telekinetic?)

2- The strongest pulse in my body is right above my navel. It's visible to the naked eye when I am lying on my back.

3- I love writing with blue, medium ball point pens on brown ruled looseleaf paper...what we used to call "foolscap".

4- I learned how to draw several cartoon animals very well, from Mr Dressup.

5- I think body piercings are about the sexiest things ever.

6- My special power is Super Strength. I am like an ox. Or a Clydesdale.

7- I am still nursing my 3 year old.

8- I have a degree in Classical Studies - now known as "Greek and Roman Studies".

9- I can't count to 7.

Pop a Wheelie.

In (very late) honour of Earth Day, some interesting information from an article in the current issue of the Canadian Institute of Planners' publication Plan Canada. This article, written by John Pucher and Ralph Buehler, is entitled Cycling in Canada and the United States: Why Canadians are so far ahead. (Misleading title, by the way - as if some self-congratulation is in order...instead of which, no matter how "far ahead" we are, we still only use bikes for about 2% of work trips.) I am bulleting this information ruthlessly: there's a lot more where this came from, trust me. (Also: Emphasis mine - all mine.)

You might want to grab a cup of fairly-traded joe, by the way: this post is long and random, though its components are bound together by a strong theme: "We're Freaking Doomed".

One might assume that the colder climate in Canada would deter cycling and thus lead to a lower bike share of urban travel in Canada than in the United States. [But]the Yukon Territory - roughly the same latitude as Alaska - has a bike share of work trips more than twice as high as California's (2.0% vs. 0.8%) and more than three times as high as Florida's (0.6%).

...higher densities and mixed-use development in Canadian cities promote even greater transit use, while the lower densities and single-use zoning in most American cities encourage car use. ...Canadian cities [are found to be] 50% to 152% denser than US cities.

...lower levels of car ownership in Canada encourage cycling, just as they encourage transit use. Canadians have 41% fewer cars and light trucks per capita than Americans. Not only are incomes lower in Canada [average $30,500 USD vs. $37,000 USD], but the overall costs of owning and operating a car are higher. Perhaps most strikingly, gasoline prices in Canada have been about 50% higher than in the US over the entire period from 1990 to 2003.

...car parking in Canada is less available and more expensive than in the United States...American cities, on average, set minimum parking requirements three times higher than in Canadian cities.

The greater availability of transit services in Canada complements bike use by serving those trips too long to cycle, thus facilitating a less car-dependent lifestyle. ...Canadians average 46 transit trips a year compared to only 24 transit trips per American.

Canadian cities average almost three times as many kilometres of bike paths and lanes per capita as the American cities sampled. [These stats] do not include signed bike routes on roadways or traffic-calmed residential streets....

One obvious factor that can discourage cycling is the risk of death and injury in traffic crashes. Graph 2 shows rates of cycling fatalities per 100 million kilometres cycled in each of seven European and two North American countries.

While the bike share of work trips is three times higher in Canada than in the US, it still represents only about one percent of trips, a very small share indeed. ...many European cities have fully integrated, comprehensive bikeway networks, something that no Canadian city currently offers.

Forgive me for a moment while I stagger in shock at the news that Canadians average only 46 transit trips per year. What?!?! That means Canadians only take the bus/train every EIGHT DAYS.

Take the quiz and find out just how awful you really are. Telling the painful truth about things, I end up at 4.7 global hectares. Apparently, if everyone lived like me, we would need 2.6 planets.

_____________________

Sometimes I worry about how dependent North American - and particularly US - culture is on oil and gas. Sometimes I think those who have a vested interest in such things might be willing to go to diabolical lengths to maintain their fossil-fuel-driven lifestyle.

Realistically, we Canadians are married to the US. If They go down, We go down. Eventually we're all going to be out of oil...They might run out before We do. When that happens, what will become of us, the pacific northern neighbour with all that nice black sand, and all the pretty sparkling miles of protected oceans?

Hey, no worries, right? Dubya himself said we're in this together. Boy we're lucky.
_____________________

By the way - here is another addition to my ongoing meme. Probably unnecessary considering the content of this post.

3- I literally lie awake nights worrying about the state of the planet and the fact that I might have doomed my precious children and all our subsequent descendants, by the act of creating them, to a short cramped life in some biosphere somewhere, maybe on the ocean floor where the toxic rays of the fiery sun are filtered and therefore unable to instantaneously burn the flesh from their helpless bodies. Like Battle School - the water you drink has been through everyone's kidneys seven times.

And yet, with all that going on in my head, I still manage to worry that the gelato dispenser scorns me.

Lastly, a bit of beauty to soften the ragged edges of this random post.

Ode to Bicycles

I was walking
down
a sizzling road:
the sun popped like
a field of blazing maize,
the
earth
was hot,
an infinite circle
with an empty
blue sky overhead.

A few bicycles
passed
me by,
the only
insects
in
that dry
moment of summer,
silent,
swift,
translucent;
they
barely stirred
the air.

Workers and girls
were riding to their
factories,
giving
their eyes
to summer,
their heads to the sky,
sitting on the
hard
beetle backs
of the whirling
bicycles
that whirred
as they rode by
bridges, rosebushes, brambles
and midday.

I thought about evening when
the boys
wash up,
sing, eat, raise
a cup
of wine
in honor
of love
and life,
and waiting
at the door,
the bicycle,
stilled,
because
only moving
does it have a soul,
and fallen there
it isn't
a translucent insect
humming
through summer
but
a cold
skeleton
that will return to
life
only
when it's needed,
when it's light,
that is,
with
the
resurrection
of each day.

Pablo Neruda

Yes, I was very tempted to mess with the line breaks in this poem. But I didn't.

I'd Worry, but I'm Too Busy Watching Hockey

You Are 12% Girly

Um... you're a guy, right? If not, you're the most boyish girl in the world. And for you, that's probably the ultimate compliment.

How Girly Are You?

Ask, and it Shall be Given You

In order to reinforce your commenting behaviour, I think it's time to give some answers.


The Decision on the Rheingold Wrap



Ames, to answer your question: I decided on the Rheingold Wrap, longer but no narrower. If I am going to go to all the trouble and expense of ordering an authentic Starmore kit, I'll cough up for a few extra skeins, hopefully enough to knit another 10 inches or so. After all, when you're spending $250 you may as well spend $300 and make sure you'll be happy with the finished product.


The Grapes (and Pears, and Melon, and Pineapple) of Wrath

In answer to Lizbon's "how do you get such pretty fruit in midwinter" question: there is a wonderful grocery store on Vancouver Island, which goes out of its way to excel in the produce department...and in meat, and dairy, and pretty well everything worth excellence. They have done more for organic farming in BC than any other organization, I'd wager.


The Story of the Common Welsh Green Socks


Sue, the Common Welsh Green socks are an invention of mine, not a specific pattern. The idea was inspired by a series of sock yarn skeins for sale on etsy and named after the dragon species listed in the Harry Potter books (most memorably in the first task of the Triwizard Tournament ["Goblet of Fire"], where each of the four champions has to steal an egg from a dragon). Each skein was beautifully dyed with evocative colours, and named (left to right) "Swedish Short Snout", "Welsh Green", "Hungarian Horntail" and "Chinese Fireball".*
Knowing there were two major HP events this year, I immediately wanted to knit some dragonish socks with that yarn, and started cruising for a pattern. I found Marnie Maclean's "Wyvern Socks" by chance while surfing some blogs, and the chart had an ideal "scale" look. Unfortunately, I hadn't bought the dragon-dyed yarn when I saw it (lesson learned) and now it was sold out. So, I spent another few months waiting for the perfect semi-solid dragon-coloured sock yarn. I was hoping for something in a silvery-blue, to make the "Swedish Shortsnout" socks, but couldn't find it. Sweet Georgia's chartreuse "Dragon" colourway, when I found it, was exactly right for a Welsh Green...and aptly named.


Questions No One Asked (or, My First Meme)
I hate memes.
But I love memes.


I have never published one.
But I have written several.


After wrestling with my principles, I have at last decided to give in to the craze, a bit. I am going to include a tiny note at the end of any given post, when I have something interesting, or funny, or freaky, to share.


1. When I was 12, we were coming home from our grandmother's house one rainy night. As we drove down a (deserted) rural road, we passed through an isolated pool of light cast by a streetlight at a lonely intersection. I got a prickly feeling and looked back immediately, to see a woman standing in the middle of the light, a split second after our car had driven through it. She was dressed in a grey skirt and jacket, with blonde hair, standing absolutely still. I kept watching her until we were out of sight, and she never moved. I knew, and know to this day, that she was a ghost. Believe it, or not.


2. I hate the very thought of people touching any fruit that I might later eat. When restaurants put that wedge of orange on your breakfast plate, beside your toast and eggs? The very thought of eating that makes my skin crawl. Someone in the kitchen has obviously touched the cut edge of that orange. It's a nauseating combination of hand-warmth and bruising.

I, and only I, know exactly how to prepare fruit for myself. Icy hands (run them under the water first, right), a very sharp knife (bruising = sick-making) and minimal contact. Also no wood or plastic cutting boards. (Possible taste-contamination resulting in faint traces of onion, garlic, or, God forbid, meat.) You may think I am too fussy, but here is my breakfast: a fruit salad made by me, with absolutely no crushed edges, warm bits, or flavour cross-contamination. And see how pretty:
Pineapple, pear, mango, apple, watermelon, honeydew, starfruit, orange, banana. Nary a bruise in sight.

_______________
Postscript: I can't figure out the hard returns on this stupid new Blogger. The composition window shows regular single-space returns, but once published the spaces between paragraphs take on a random hugeness, or tininess. So it's a crapshoot whether the spaces in this post will be Lilliputian, Brobdingnagian, or a titillating combination of both.

* Picture dredged off the vastness of the web.