Last Friday, during all the dreadful events in Mumbai, I was woken up by my dad at 6:30 PST.
Eufemia: ....huh-low?
Papa: You see what's happen in da news?
Even though it's 6:30 a.m. and I'm barely aware that I'm a concious living thing, I know he's referring to the upsetting situation in Mumbai, and not the possible crisis in Canadian Parliament.
Papa: I say to myself thank God Eufemia no still there. They say this India's 9/11.
One guy said it. Quite the sound-bite. Then it becomes the headline, and now I've seen pictures of fellas with the giant numbers 26/11 written on the backs of their vests.
Eufemia: Papa, come on, I didn't even go to Mumbai.
Papa: Doesn't matter. India is India.
Can't argue with that logic.
Today, my dad calls at 7:30 a.m. and says "You see what's happen? What Governor General do? Because Stephen Harper go crying to her."
There are days when I love the guy so much it hurts.
Friday, December 5, 2008
Thursday, December 4, 2008
OMG, WTF, & Any Other Useless Short Forms
I really should try to write more, and I keep meaning to, but somehow I get caught in in my daily grind that involves work, avoiding more work (of a personal nature - not the paying kind, the writing, the projects on backburners, the LAUNDRY. Dear God, the laundry) But I just have to spell it out loud -
OH MY GOD!
Stephen Harper (or as my friend Cathy refers to him Mr. Crazydevileyes) - what are you saying? What kind of Bull is this? Referring to what's happening now in Parliament (which is all your fault, in case you were wondering) as "undemocratic"? Man, you are a piece of work. A disturbing, lying, arrogant, wanker-speaking piece, to be sure. And if that wasn't enough, you've delayed my "Harper Goes Down & I'm Happy Dance." (It looks a lot like Snoopy's Happy Dance)
How dare you call the process undemocratic? It's our Canadian process, even if it's unprecendented. And it kicked in to kick you in the nuts because you deserved it.
As my hero Bugs would say "Da noive of some peeple!"
OH MY GOD!
Stephen Harper (or as my friend Cathy refers to him Mr. Crazydevileyes) - what are you saying? What kind of Bull is this? Referring to what's happening now in Parliament (which is all your fault, in case you were wondering) as "undemocratic"? Man, you are a piece of work. A disturbing, lying, arrogant, wanker-speaking piece, to be sure. And if that wasn't enough, you've delayed my "Harper Goes Down & I'm Happy Dance." (It looks a lot like Snoopy's Happy Dance)
How dare you call the process undemocratic? It's our Canadian process, even if it's unprecendented. And it kicked in to kick you in the nuts because you deserved it.
As my hero Bugs would say "Da noive of some peeple!"
Tuesday, October 14, 2008
Elections Day
The last several conversations I’ve had with my mom have been peaceful, calm and tranquil: we were both cracking jokes and talking about more than just the weather. This is so unusual for us. It’s eerie. I almost considered giving her my phone number, but then I thought about the times she was in psychosis and calling non-stop. Then again, maybe I won’t.
When I spoke to her this thanksgiving Sunday, she told me a guy called Patrick “Doyle” stepped out in front of her and shook her hand as she was heading up into Sunday Mass, and then another guy tried to shake her hand but she got scared and hurried into the church.
I said “Patrick who? Gosh Ma, I hope you didn’t shake a Conservative guy’s hand,” but she couldn’t tell. Then my mother says to me, in the same concerned voice she used when she beat the pants off me in a game of Monopoly 4 years ago “They’re all the same, and they try, but sometimes they have to clean up the mess the man before them make, and then they can’t change nothing for better because they too busy clean up the problems from before.”
All I could say was “Uhm….yeah.”
I’ve spent years thinking of my mother as shrewd but simple, not concerned with the bigger picture at all, a person who would have preferred to have stayed in the village, life in a new country, a big city was too overwhelming for her. Everything unfamiliar was intensely feared. So it took me by surprise to hear her commentary.
Sadly, I looked up the riding I grew up in and of course, stupid Patrick Whathisface is a Tory. Like they give a damn about people with mental illnesses, people like my mother. I wonder who the other guy was….and MAN do I ever wish I’d been there. Though I doubt I woulda said anything, let alone even smack his hand away, but I’d like to think I’d try….that I might say “Hey Pat, when will we get a National Mental Health program working? Shouldn’t we be ashamed of ourselves as a highly developed nation? I know I’m ashamed of your Party’s platforms, so don’t shake her hand. I’d rather you just spit in her face, and we-the-people kick you in the shins on Election day.”
Then, after I already made my prejudiced decision, I decided to look at Patrick’s website and it seems like the guy has done some good work, but then it is his PR page I’m reading. Doesn’t he know he works for the devil? The one that goes by the name of Stephen Harper?
Whenever my father used to say “better the devil you know than the devil you don’t” I’d think, can’t I see the new devil first and decide?
Because the devil we know will destroy us.
When I spoke to her this thanksgiving Sunday, she told me a guy called Patrick “Doyle” stepped out in front of her and shook her hand as she was heading up into Sunday Mass, and then another guy tried to shake her hand but she got scared and hurried into the church.
I said “Patrick who? Gosh Ma, I hope you didn’t shake a Conservative guy’s hand,” but she couldn’t tell. Then my mother says to me, in the same concerned voice she used when she beat the pants off me in a game of Monopoly 4 years ago “They’re all the same, and they try, but sometimes they have to clean up the mess the man before them make, and then they can’t change nothing for better because they too busy clean up the problems from before.”
All I could say was “Uhm….yeah.”
I’ve spent years thinking of my mother as shrewd but simple, not concerned with the bigger picture at all, a person who would have preferred to have stayed in the village, life in a new country, a big city was too overwhelming for her. Everything unfamiliar was intensely feared. So it took me by surprise to hear her commentary.
Sadly, I looked up the riding I grew up in and of course, stupid Patrick Whathisface is a Tory. Like they give a damn about people with mental illnesses, people like my mother. I wonder who the other guy was….and MAN do I ever wish I’d been there. Though I doubt I woulda said anything, let alone even smack his hand away, but I’d like to think I’d try….that I might say “Hey Pat, when will we get a National Mental Health program working? Shouldn’t we be ashamed of ourselves as a highly developed nation? I know I’m ashamed of your Party’s platforms, so don’t shake her hand. I’d rather you just spit in her face, and we-the-people kick you in the shins on Election day.”
Then, after I already made my prejudiced decision, I decided to look at Patrick’s website and it seems like the guy has done some good work, but then it is his PR page I’m reading. Doesn’t he know he works for the devil? The one that goes by the name of Stephen Harper?
Whenever my father used to say “better the devil you know than the devil you don’t” I’d think, can’t I see the new devil first and decide?
Because the devil we know will destroy us.
Monday, September 22, 2008
Some Half-Baked Alaskan
Forwarded by a friend, and just what I've been thinking about these days...
Eve Ensler, the American playwright, performer, feminist and activist best known for "The Vagina Monologues", wrote the following about Sarah Palin.
Drill, Drill, Drill.
I am having Sarah Palin nightmares. I dreamt last night that she was a member of a club where they rode snowmobiles and wore the claws of drowned and starved polar bears around their necks. I have a particular thing for Polar Bears. Maybe it's their snowy whiteness or their bigness or the fact that they live in the arctic or that I have never seen one in person or touched one. Maybe it is the fact that they live so comfortably on ice. Whatever it is, I need the polar bears.
I don't like raging at women. I am a Feminist and have spent my life trying to build community, help empower women and stop violence against them. It is hard to write about Sarah Palin. This is why the Sarah Palin choice was all the more insidious and cynical. The people who made this choice count on the goodness and solidarity of Feminists.
But everything Sarah Palin believes in and practices is antithetical to Feminism which for me is part of one story -- connected to saving the earth, ending racism, empowering women, giving young girls options, opening our minds, deepening tolerance, and ending violence and war.
I believe that the McCain/Palin ticket is one of the most dangerous choices of my lifetime, and should this country choose those candidates the fall-out may be so great, the destruction so vast in so many areas that America may never recover. But what is equally disturbing is the impact that duo would have on the rest of the world. Unfortunately, this is not a joke. In my lifetime I have seen the clownish, the inept, the bizarre be elected to the presidency with regularity.
Sarah Palin does not believe in evolution. I take this as a metaphor. In her world and the world of Fundamentalists nothing changes or gets better or evolves. She does not believe in global warming. The melting of the arctic, the storms that are destroying our cities, the pollution and rise of cancers, are all part of God's plan. She is fighting to take the polar bears off the endangered species list. The earth, in Palin's view, is here to be taken and plundered. The wolves and the bears are here to be shot and plundered. The oil is here to be taken and plundered. Iraq is here to be taken and plundered. As she said herself of the Iraqi war, "It was a task from God."
Sarah Palin does not believe in abortion. She does not believe women who are raped and incested and ripped open against their will should have a right to determine whether they have their rapist's baby or not.
She obviously does not believe in sex education or birth control. I imagine her daughter was practicing abstinence and we know how many babies that makes.
Sarah Palin does not much believe in thinking. From what I gather she has tried to ban books from the library, has a tendency to dispense with people who think independently. She cannot tolerate an environment of ambiguity and difference. This is a woman who could and might very well be the next president of the United States . She would govern one of the most diverse populations on the earth.
Sarah believes in guns. She has her own custom Austrian hunting rifle. She has been known to kill 40 caribou at a clip. She has shot hundreds of wolves from the air.
Sarah believes in God. That is of course her right, her private right. But when God and Guns come together in the public sector, when war is declared in God's name, when the rights of women are denied in his name, that is the end of separation of church and state and the undoing of everything America has ever tried to be.
I write to my sisters. I write because I believe we hold this election in our hands. This vote is a vote that will determine the future not just of the U.S. , but of the planet. It will determine whether we create policies to save the earth or make it forever uninhabitable for humans. It will determine whether we move towards dialogue and diplomacy in the world or whether we escalate violence through invasion, undermining and attack. It will determine whether we go for oil, strip mining, coal burning or invest our money in alternatives that will free us from dependency and destruction. It will determine if money gets spent on education and healthcare or whether we build more and more methods of killing. It will determine whether America is a free open tolerant society or a closed place of fear, fundamentalism and aggression.
If the Polar Bears don't move you to go and do everything in your power to get Obama elected then consider the chant that filled the hall after Palin spoke at the RNC, "Drill Drill Drill." I think of teeth when I think of drills. I think of rape. I think of destruction. I think of domination. I think of military exercises that force mindless repetition, emptying the brain of analysis, doubt, ambiguity or dissent. I think of pain.
Do we want a future of drilling? More holes in the ozone, in the floor of the sea, more holes in our thinking, in the trust between nations and peoples, more holes in the fabric of this precious thing we call life?
September 5, 2008
Eve Ensler, the American playwright, performer, feminist and activist best known for "The Vagina Monologues", wrote the following about Sarah Palin.
Drill, Drill, Drill.
I am having Sarah Palin nightmares. I dreamt last night that she was a member of a club where they rode snowmobiles and wore the claws of drowned and starved polar bears around their necks. I have a particular thing for Polar Bears. Maybe it's their snowy whiteness or their bigness or the fact that they live in the arctic or that I have never seen one in person or touched one. Maybe it is the fact that they live so comfortably on ice. Whatever it is, I need the polar bears.
I don't like raging at women. I am a Feminist and have spent my life trying to build community, help empower women and stop violence against them. It is hard to write about Sarah Palin. This is why the Sarah Palin choice was all the more insidious and cynical. The people who made this choice count on the goodness and solidarity of Feminists.
But everything Sarah Palin believes in and practices is antithetical to Feminism which for me is part of one story -- connected to saving the earth, ending racism, empowering women, giving young girls options, opening our minds, deepening tolerance, and ending violence and war.
I believe that the McCain/Palin ticket is one of the most dangerous choices of my lifetime, and should this country choose those candidates the fall-out may be so great, the destruction so vast in so many areas that America may never recover. But what is equally disturbing is the impact that duo would have on the rest of the world. Unfortunately, this is not a joke. In my lifetime I have seen the clownish, the inept, the bizarre be elected to the presidency with regularity.
Sarah Palin does not believe in evolution. I take this as a metaphor. In her world and the world of Fundamentalists nothing changes or gets better or evolves. She does not believe in global warming. The melting of the arctic, the storms that are destroying our cities, the pollution and rise of cancers, are all part of God's plan. She is fighting to take the polar bears off the endangered species list. The earth, in Palin's view, is here to be taken and plundered. The wolves and the bears are here to be shot and plundered. The oil is here to be taken and plundered. Iraq is here to be taken and plundered. As she said herself of the Iraqi war, "It was a task from God."
Sarah Palin does not believe in abortion. She does not believe women who are raped and incested and ripped open against their will should have a right to determine whether they have their rapist's baby or not.
She obviously does not believe in sex education or birth control. I imagine her daughter was practicing abstinence and we know how many babies that makes.
Sarah Palin does not much believe in thinking. From what I gather she has tried to ban books from the library, has a tendency to dispense with people who think independently. She cannot tolerate an environment of ambiguity and difference. This is a woman who could and might very well be the next president of the United States . She would govern one of the most diverse populations on the earth.
Sarah believes in guns. She has her own custom Austrian hunting rifle. She has been known to kill 40 caribou at a clip. She has shot hundreds of wolves from the air.
Sarah believes in God. That is of course her right, her private right. But when God and Guns come together in the public sector, when war is declared in God's name, when the rights of women are denied in his name, that is the end of separation of church and state and the undoing of everything America has ever tried to be.
I write to my sisters. I write because I believe we hold this election in our hands. This vote is a vote that will determine the future not just of the U.S. , but of the planet. It will determine whether we create policies to save the earth or make it forever uninhabitable for humans. It will determine whether we move towards dialogue and diplomacy in the world or whether we escalate violence through invasion, undermining and attack. It will determine whether we go for oil, strip mining, coal burning or invest our money in alternatives that will free us from dependency and destruction. It will determine if money gets spent on education and healthcare or whether we build more and more methods of killing. It will determine whether America is a free open tolerant society or a closed place of fear, fundamentalism and aggression.
If the Polar Bears don't move you to go and do everything in your power to get Obama elected then consider the chant that filled the hall after Palin spoke at the RNC, "Drill Drill Drill." I think of teeth when I think of drills. I think of rape. I think of destruction. I think of domination. I think of military exercises that force mindless repetition, emptying the brain of analysis, doubt, ambiguity or dissent. I think of pain.
Do we want a future of drilling? More holes in the ozone, in the floor of the sea, more holes in our thinking, in the trust between nations and peoples, more holes in the fabric of this precious thing we call life?
September 5, 2008
Friday, September 19, 2008
Cruel and Unusual Punishment
It's day 5 with no coffee. NO COFFEE. I 've had forms of caffeine in various power bars, green teas, matcha tea, and even a green-kombucha tea combo. But I miss my coffee. I have to say, this was a new and unwelcome addiction entirely. Years of being offered espresso under conditions that can only be referred to as terrorist hospitality gave me a throat-jerk dislike for the bitter sharp taste of coffee. Add some hot milk and sugar and now you're talking... As one dearly beloved said, this is "desert in a mug" and I agree. Pure Liquid Gold, as the Spanish conquistadors said to the Mayans.
The Mayans predicted something big goes down, or the world would end, in 2012. I know, I'm mixing it up...but if coffee were to run out in 2012, I could totally see that day of destruction: So long Starbucks. I hardly knew ya.
For a very new habit, why am I so attached? It all started last year, hangin' out with those wild non-fiction writers in coffeeshops around town. Coffehouses. Coffeebars. First it was a cappuccino. Then a small latte. When I wanted to have an I.V. hook-up to double-shot Grande Latte, well it's GAME OVER.
So day cinq sans coffee. I'm building up to removing caffeine entirely. [COUNTDOWN: 2 weeks]Today was harder to take..it's overcast and I had a deaf man yelling at me through his Telus-relay operator. Truly an experience that would drive one to drink Draino, let alone strong, cheap coffee. I replied to all his frustrated and angry questions and waited during the time-delay for his reply and the relay operator raised her voice to repeat his typed out message to her, so I heard "I SAID I SPEAK TO SOMEONE RIGHT NOW..." then she lowered her voice and said in a conspiratorial whisper "It's not like this is your fault, he just isn't getting it..." I said "Thank you for saying so. Could you tell him I've now been on the phone with him for12 minutes , I've run out of options to reroute his call and I need to terminate the call. He can call back later."
I really, really, really wanted to yell back. I wanted to swear, actually, he'd been so rude for the duration of the call. Rude and a tad incomprehensible. I think there was an ESL problem, compounded with a touch of psychosis. So it couldn't have been fun for him, and I imagine he's under a tremendous amount of stress.
Still, it's really hard to hear a relay operator say "I SAID I SPEAK TO SOMEONE NOW...why you follow my kids and harrass family...I...call media in half an hour ...you don't get me ...phone.... my fax sent and last year WHY YOU STILL HARRASS ME AND MY KIDS?!" and not respond with
"What the FUCK are you saying?"
Sadly, my schedule this Fall doesn't allow time for a non-violent communications course, but I'm already looking into the Spring schedule. I wonder if I really need it, cause I didn't say it. I just wanted to. Big difference, right?
It's just, there's this part of me that wants to say to people, in the nicest, most non-violent way possible: Nothing gives you the right to be an asshole. Nothing.
Maybe he was giving up coffee too. Poor jerk.
The Mayans predicted something big goes down, or the world would end, in 2012. I know, I'm mixing it up...but if coffee were to run out in 2012, I could totally see that day of destruction: So long Starbucks. I hardly knew ya.
For a very new habit, why am I so attached? It all started last year, hangin' out with those wild non-fiction writers in coffeeshops around town. Coffehouses. Coffeebars. First it was a cappuccino. Then a small latte. When I wanted to have an I.V. hook-up to double-shot Grande Latte, well it's GAME OVER.
So day cinq sans coffee. I'm building up to removing caffeine entirely. [COUNTDOWN: 2 weeks]Today was harder to take..it's overcast and I had a deaf man yelling at me through his Telus-relay operator. Truly an experience that would drive one to drink Draino, let alone strong, cheap coffee. I replied to all his frustrated and angry questions and waited during the time-delay for his reply and the relay operator raised her voice to repeat his typed out message to her, so I heard "I SAID I SPEAK TO SOMEONE RIGHT NOW..." then she lowered her voice and said in a conspiratorial whisper "It's not like this is your fault, he just isn't getting it..." I said "Thank you for saying so. Could you tell him I've now been on the phone with him for12 minutes , I've run out of options to reroute his call and I need to terminate the call. He can call back later."
I really, really, really wanted to yell back. I wanted to swear, actually, he'd been so rude for the duration of the call. Rude and a tad incomprehensible. I think there was an ESL problem, compounded with a touch of psychosis. So it couldn't have been fun for him, and I imagine he's under a tremendous amount of stress.
Still, it's really hard to hear a relay operator say "I SAID I SPEAK TO SOMEONE NOW...why you follow my kids and harrass family...I...call media in half an hour ...you don't get me ...phone.... my fax sent and last year WHY YOU STILL HARRASS ME AND MY KIDS?!" and not respond with
"What the FUCK are you saying?"
Sadly, my schedule this Fall doesn't allow time for a non-violent communications course, but I'm already looking into the Spring schedule. I wonder if I really need it, cause I didn't say it. I just wanted to. Big difference, right?
It's just, there's this part of me that wants to say to people, in the nicest, most non-violent way possible: Nothing gives you the right to be an asshole. Nothing.
Maybe he was giving up coffee too. Poor jerk.
Monday, September 15, 2008
Caw-fee, Sugah, Foamed Milk & Other Reasons to Live
I went to a TCM place last week, that’s Traditional Chinese Medicine. Where, for a paltry sum, I got herbs that look AND taste like un-used cat-litter, and accupuncture. All to help with this little problem I have of feeling exhausted all the time. You say gluten, I say anaemia. Let’s call the whole-wheat thing off.
They measured my pulse, and described it as “slippery” and “witty”. I’m not making that up. I was reading it upside down though, so there is some margin for error and interpretation. As I lay there with needles poking into me from my forehead to the arch of my foot, I tried to think of what other word it could possible be. Watty? Wotty? Wetty?
No. Clearly, I have a brilliant pulse. Slippery when wet, and genius.
Sure.
My pulse could win the Throbbing Pulse of a Brainiac’s Wet T-shirt Competition. If such a thing existed.
I didn’t bother to ask if I should eliminate any items from my diet, I just sat there and listened to terms like “chi stagnation” and “tonify the liver”. I was told “there’s a lot of pain” and I said, “Well yes, I’m exercising a lot and feeling it too.”
[Blogger’s insert: bootcamp….some Brainiac that makes me…more like a glutton for punishment. Is there a Glutton for Punishment Wet Something Contest? Or does that just about cover all those disturbing reality shows I haven’t seen? Okay, I’ve seen some excerpts, but I had to turn away. Shield my eyes. Pray for the fate of humanity.]
The woman said “No, emotional pain. You hold it here and here.” She pointed to her lungs and her stomach. “This is the weakness you feel, the tired all the time.”
I didn’t say “Emotional pain? Well, I’m human.” I wanted to, but I didn't. I mean really, did everyone else get through puberty unscathed? Survive middle school without severe trauma?
Well bully for you.
You won’t need acupuncture.
I guess that makes you special.
Big deal.
As if I believe you.
As if.
They measured my pulse, and described it as “slippery” and “witty”. I’m not making that up. I was reading it upside down though, so there is some margin for error and interpretation. As I lay there with needles poking into me from my forehead to the arch of my foot, I tried to think of what other word it could possible be. Watty? Wotty? Wetty?
No. Clearly, I have a brilliant pulse. Slippery when wet, and genius.
Sure.
My pulse could win the Throbbing Pulse of a Brainiac’s Wet T-shirt Competition. If such a thing existed.
I didn’t bother to ask if I should eliminate any items from my diet, I just sat there and listened to terms like “chi stagnation” and “tonify the liver”. I was told “there’s a lot of pain” and I said, “Well yes, I’m exercising a lot and feeling it too.”
[Blogger’s insert: bootcamp….some Brainiac that makes me…more like a glutton for punishment. Is there a Glutton for Punishment Wet Something Contest? Or does that just about cover all those disturbing reality shows I haven’t seen? Okay, I’ve seen some excerpts, but I had to turn away. Shield my eyes. Pray for the fate of humanity.]
The woman said “No, emotional pain. You hold it here and here.” She pointed to her lungs and her stomach. “This is the weakness you feel, the tired all the time.”
I didn’t say “Emotional pain? Well, I’m human.” I wanted to, but I didn't. I mean really, did everyone else get through puberty unscathed? Survive middle school without severe trauma?
Well bully for you.
You won’t need acupuncture.
I guess that makes you special.
Big deal.
As if I believe you.
As if.
Thursday, September 11, 2008
Youtube? Metube too!
I posted on youtube! This is quite the feat for a luddite such as myself:
http://www.youtube.com/results?search_query=eufemia+stand+up&search_type=&aq=f
Now I'm a recipient of the Time Person of the Year Award 2006, right? Like I can add that to my resume? No, seriously, tell me....'cause I'm calling my dad and telling him. Okay, it's no Nobel Prize for Peace, but then again, I'm no Kissinger.
http://www.youtube.com/results?search_query=eufemia+stand+up&search_type=&aq=f
Now I'm a recipient of the Time Person of the Year Award 2006, right? Like I can add that to my resume? No, seriously, tell me....'cause I'm calling my dad and telling him. Okay, it's no Nobel Prize for Peace, but then again, I'm no Kissinger.
Wednesday, September 10, 2008
Painkillers vs. Killjoys
There I was, standing in my local all-night super market at 5:30 am. I was enroute to my 6 a.m. bootcamp class, and I was on a mission: get painkillers. At first, the young man trying to help me points me down aisle 4. I hardly ever shop at this place, but even I know that they would never stock painkillers on aisle 4. Or any aisle, for that matter. The boxes are small and a bit too easy to steal in a neighbourhood that gets pilfered a lot. This guy must be new.
After he points me in the direction of a locked glass cabinet – I stand there trying to decide which painkiller would best suit a roommate with a fever. There’s Cold & Flu, there’s Sore Muscle & Back Pain Relief, there’s even Extra-Strength Existential or Mid-life Crisis Relief! Okay, no, I wish. I could not find the one for Fever, and all around pain that would wake said roomie at 5 am.
I mean, I had to get up. I paid good money to get up that early and run around outside, doing push-ups while someone in charge of my workout routine mocked my general lack of athletic ability. For anyone who knows me, I’m a morning person, but this would mean I was a ‘pre-dawn person’. Can’t say that’s my happy hour at all. I pick out what I think would work best, walk back over to the cash.
The young fellow rings it up at says “Drugs are bad. In the long run, it’s not good for you. But they do offer relief I guess.”
I’m in a bit of a stupor, standing there at 5:30 am, with a look on my face that I think says “Are you talkin’ to me?” It’s just past 5 am, fer crying out loud, do I know where I am? Not really, but hey, I’ve got an idea, why not engage me in conversation when you erroneously sent me down aisle 4 when I knew you were wrong but I humoured you anyway.
I wait until he hands me my change, at which point there’s another man next to me in line (doesn’t anyone sleep in this ‘hood?) and I say “You’d probably need painkillers at least once a month if you were female. I think that’s more the issue.” And I stalk away. Actually, more like I stumble away, as I tripped on my shoelace, but I repeat: it was really, really early. In the morning. All I could think was: does this guy actually know the meaning of pain? True physical pain? Of course he does, he’s human, but still what does he do? Bite down on a wooden spoon?
I know, not all women need painkillers. I know some females who can control the pain factor with reduced caffeine, sugar and gluten (Amazons, I tell ya, these women are modern-day Amazons) but like I’m going to be rude enough to go into all that while standing in line at the supermarket? Before day-break, when I can barely put a coherent thought together?
I thought about it.
Some days, that’s enough.
After he points me in the direction of a locked glass cabinet – I stand there trying to decide which painkiller would best suit a roommate with a fever. There’s Cold & Flu, there’s Sore Muscle & Back Pain Relief, there’s even Extra-Strength Existential or Mid-life Crisis Relief! Okay, no, I wish. I could not find the one for Fever, and all around pain that would wake said roomie at 5 am.
I mean, I had to get up. I paid good money to get up that early and run around outside, doing push-ups while someone in charge of my workout routine mocked my general lack of athletic ability. For anyone who knows me, I’m a morning person, but this would mean I was a ‘pre-dawn person’. Can’t say that’s my happy hour at all. I pick out what I think would work best, walk back over to the cash.
The young fellow rings it up at says “Drugs are bad. In the long run, it’s not good for you. But they do offer relief I guess.”
I’m in a bit of a stupor, standing there at 5:30 am, with a look on my face that I think says “Are you talkin’ to me?” It’s just past 5 am, fer crying out loud, do I know where I am? Not really, but hey, I’ve got an idea, why not engage me in conversation when you erroneously sent me down aisle 4 when I knew you were wrong but I humoured you anyway.
I wait until he hands me my change, at which point there’s another man next to me in line (doesn’t anyone sleep in this ‘hood?) and I say “You’d probably need painkillers at least once a month if you were female. I think that’s more the issue.” And I stalk away. Actually, more like I stumble away, as I tripped on my shoelace, but I repeat: it was really, really early. In the morning. All I could think was: does this guy actually know the meaning of pain? True physical pain? Of course he does, he’s human, but still what does he do? Bite down on a wooden spoon?
I know, not all women need painkillers. I know some females who can control the pain factor with reduced caffeine, sugar and gluten (Amazons, I tell ya, these women are modern-day Amazons) but like I’m going to be rude enough to go into all that while standing in line at the supermarket? Before day-break, when I can barely put a coherent thought together?
I thought about it.
Some days, that’s enough.
Tuesday, September 2, 2008
Mr. Harper, what were you thinking?
Dear Mr. Stephen Harper,
The first year I was old enough to vote, Brian Mulroney won the election with a majority vote for a second term. I myself would have to sustain a massive head injury with a blunt object before I would ever vote for you, or any member or the Conservative Party. I thought I should be upfront. Not that you care what I think, but I still wanted to mention, in my opinion, you suck.
I was really hoping to make an argument that was much more articulate, but I am beyond the ability to think clearly and rationally. I am surprised to have to tell the leader of a great nation the varied and multiple benefits of building and maintaining a strong artistic community.
Often, the arts work as our ambassadors to other countries, other cultures. I admire artists for so many reasons I don’t even know where to begin, but here’s one I thought even you would understand: Artists are the ones that entertain the troops. I should explain I’m expanding the definition of troops not only as the folks overseas, but as the people here at home, working day by day, building their families and their communities into a country we could all be proud of, a country many could admire.
Simply put, I think art saves lives. It changes people, it heals the masses. The only way I could ever applaud you, sir, is in the level of this stupidity:
Only last week, the government had announced it would slash the following programs because they were deemed out of date:
Trade Routes ($9 million).
the A-V Preservation Trust ($300,000).
the Canadian Independent Film and Video Fund ($1.5 million).
the National Training Schools Program ($2.5 million).
PromArt ($4.7 million).
All programs will disappear by the end of March 2009.
Shame on you, and shame on your political party. Make that a pox on your political party. When they go down in those figurative flames, I’ll be dancing in the streets to music by some Canadian artist, I’m sure.
Wednesday, August 13, 2008
Ghumshuda
When I get songs stuck in my head, it’s a very sad state of affairs. There’s a limited selection I can draw on, due to my musical ineptitude and downright ignorance. Hence I’ll find myself humming The Little Drummer Boy while strolling down the city streets in the merry, merry month of August. Sometimes it’s an 80’s song. Then I really worry, imagining myself rockin’ out to Spandau Ballet at the future senior’s facility I will inhabit.
Right now, I can’t get this song from a Bollywood movie - Bagwan help me!- out of my head. It’s from the movie Chalte Chalte (According to Wikipedia, the title translation is While Walking) and the song is called Ghumshuda – which is the chorus I keep repeating ad naseum – “Ghumshudaa! Ghumshudaaaaaaaaa! It means “Lost! Looooooost!” I’m addicted to the song and the dance number, which you can view too, thank you youtube: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mhHRnH3InGI
I just looked it up and felt that weird shudder you feel when someone walks over the fireplace mantle where your loved ones will keep the urn with your ashes in it. It’s very appropriate for how I’m feeling these days. I back in my home town; everything is as familiar as can possibly be. I’m gainfully contributing to society and proudly paystub-deduction-paying my taxes again. Feeling lost seems an odd way to describe the circumstances I find myself in, but “if the shoe fits princess, buy it.”
Right now, I can’t get this song from a Bollywood movie - Bagwan help me!- out of my head. It’s from the movie Chalte Chalte (According to Wikipedia, the title translation is While Walking) and the song is called Ghumshuda – which is the chorus I keep repeating ad naseum – “Ghumshudaa! Ghumshudaaaaaaaaa! It means “Lost! Looooooost!” I’m addicted to the song and the dance number, which you can view too, thank you youtube: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mhHRnH3InGI
I just looked it up and felt that weird shudder you feel when someone walks over the fireplace mantle where your loved ones will keep the urn with your ashes in it. It’s very appropriate for how I’m feeling these days. I back in my home town; everything is as familiar as can possibly be. I’m gainfully contributing to society and proudly paystub-deduction-paying my taxes again. Feeling lost seems an odd way to describe the circumstances I find myself in, but “if the shoe fits princess, buy it.”
Wednesday, July 2, 2008
It Seemed Like a Good Idea at the Time
Yes, She thought, thinking back, it seemed like a good idea at the time.
It was not a dark and stormy night when She made the decision to return to the land of Her birth (okay, suburb of Her birth if you wanna get all technical about it, but it sounds stoopid) to visit her father for his 70th birthday. That decision was a God one. Yes, exactly right, God one.
What She was not sure about was, would She, should She tell her mother?...and so very quickly now because Papaji has finished his espresso and is tapping his feet waiting for her to finish with denternet. As in: How long you need denternet? I can just wait, why for I go some place else, I just drink my espresso and wait here.
It is called an espresso because you can drink it super fast and then tap, tap, tap: You finish?
She would like to tell you as well - "ees some bigga problema with this espresso-sports bar internet because no makea de punchooation, and also, She only gal here looky very loosy-goosy gal, no good for repewtation. Sorry for the no good punchooation everyabody."
Today, five minutes after She said "MAYBE WE SHOULD TELL YOUR BANK MANAGER NOT TO MENTION SEEING ME BECAUSE MOM DOES NOT KNOW I AM HERE" - they fatefully run into said Mom, with her faithful sidekick, Guiseppina, who She has come to refer to as that bullshitting-backstabbing-false-goody-goody, because Guiseppina tried to explain to Her last year how "Her mother truly loved Her and Her mother got sick with a psychotic illness because she (Mamma-She, not me-She) was soooo worried about this daughter after She left home."
This was when She (the daughter) replied: "Did she (the busybody) think she (the mother) was worried because she (again, the mother) thought someone else would kill me, did she (Ms. Idjit Busybody) think? Especially when she (the mother, in the library with the candlestick. Aha, that's the most important clue to solving this mind-puzzle) kept threatening to do that throughout my entire childhood and adolescence.
I am not proud of yelling at children in India, nor am I proud that I yelled at a septuagenarian and told her she was a no-good-busy-body-idiot, implying by my tone she could go F herself while jumping off a cliff, she understood absolutely nothing about me, my life, my mom the psychotic illness that had robbed me from having a mother.
That was last years visit. This is now. This time, I ignored them both and walked on, saying to my dad "KEEP WALKING, DAD, KEEP WALKING" - because I had not actually seen my mother. Only the busy-body, who clearly ignored my advice. When I realised my mom was in her car, in the passenger seat, I nearly threw up.
I gotta go, my dad has practically started the engine on the car, and I have tied up the phone line here. Old school, totally old school.
It was not a dark and stormy night when She made the decision to return to the land of Her birth (okay, suburb of Her birth if you wanna get all technical about it, but it sounds stoopid) to visit her father for his 70th birthday. That decision was a God one. Yes, exactly right, God one.
What She was not sure about was, would She, should She tell her mother?...and so very quickly now because Papaji has finished his espresso and is tapping his feet waiting for her to finish with denternet. As in: How long you need denternet? I can just wait, why for I go some place else, I just drink my espresso and wait here.
It is called an espresso because you can drink it super fast and then tap, tap, tap: You finish?
She would like to tell you as well - "ees some bigga problema with this espresso-sports bar internet because no makea de punchooation, and also, She only gal here looky very loosy-goosy gal, no good for repewtation. Sorry for the no good punchooation everyabody."
Today, five minutes after She said "MAYBE WE SHOULD TELL YOUR BANK MANAGER NOT TO MENTION SEEING ME BECAUSE MOM DOES NOT KNOW I AM HERE" - they fatefully run into said Mom, with her faithful sidekick, Guiseppina, who She has come to refer to as that bullshitting-backstabbing-false-goody-goody, because Guiseppina tried to explain to Her last year how "Her mother truly loved Her and Her mother got sick with a psychotic illness because she (Mamma-She, not me-She) was soooo worried about this daughter after She left home."
This was when She (the daughter) replied: "Did she (the busybody) think she (the mother) was worried because she (again, the mother) thought someone else would kill me, did she (Ms. Idjit Busybody) think? Especially when she (the mother, in the library with the candlestick. Aha, that's the most important clue to solving this mind-puzzle) kept threatening to do that throughout my entire childhood and adolescence.
I am not proud of yelling at children in India, nor am I proud that I yelled at a septuagenarian and told her she was a no-good-busy-body-idiot, implying by my tone she could go F herself while jumping off a cliff, she understood absolutely nothing about me, my life, my mom the psychotic illness that had robbed me from having a mother.
That was last years visit. This is now. This time, I ignored them both and walked on, saying to my dad "KEEP WALKING, DAD, KEEP WALKING" - because I had not actually seen my mother. Only the busy-body, who clearly ignored my advice. When I realised my mom was in her car, in the passenger seat, I nearly threw up.
I gotta go, my dad has practically started the engine on the car, and I have tied up the phone line here. Old school, totally old school.
Monday, May 26, 2008
There's No Such Thing as a Free Lunch
Oh my God!
Yes, that's right, in a world gone mad with text-messaging, I can't help but spell it out for you:
http://www.freerice.com
Please visit this site, test your vocabulary, get smarter and save the world, one word at a time.
Yes, that's right, in a world gone mad with text-messaging, I can't help but spell it out for you:
http://www.freerice.com
Please visit this site, test your vocabulary, get smarter and save the world, one word at a time.
Saturday, May 24, 2008
Time Heals All Mother's Day Memories
It's been two weeks since I yelled at my mother on Mother's Day.
But you know what they say, "time heals all wounds."
And "This too shall pass."
And my personal favourite "Everyone you've ever cared about and you yourself are going to die"
Okay, I made that last one up, but I still think it could enter the fray of comments we use to calm distressed folks down. I don't think it would talk them off the ledge, so some personal powers of discernment would be required.
Sometimes I think of a friend who used to say "I'm over it," almost immediately after something had upset them and I would think "You sound like you've convinced yourself, well done." Because that's what this world really needs, more deluded people.
Four years ago, my father left in an ambulance and never went back. That year, I yelled at my mother on Mother's Day and her birthday, which happens to fall in mid-December. Then I found myself bawling at my counselor's office about what a terrible person I was, yelling at a woman who's been struggling with a mental illness since before I was born, and if that wasn't enough, I was yelling at her on Mother's Day! On her Birthday!
Things like "This is all your fault!" and "You're so crazy you drive everyone else around you crazy!" and "I left home to get as far away from you as possible, understand? You're toxic and dangerous and that's why dad left too!"
Have you seen these things written on any Hallmark cards? I thought not. I know I would be better suited to coming up with names for nail polish than working in the greeting card industry. I think it even said that on my grade 8 Future Careers Evaluation.
This is what my counselor said "You still have Christmas. You could make it a 3 out of 3."
I thought that was pretty good, as a reply. It made me laugh.
I can't remember now what I said to her that Christmas, but I'm quite sure I didn't yell at her. She didn't tell me she was living off her preserved peaches for a week because she had spent all the money the bank had given her. (She insisted they never gave her the money)
All I know is, four years later, it's still a struggle to not lose my patience. Last week I realised I need to get off the phone much sooner. Still, that's hard to do when someone is telling you, volume on high, every single thing they've told you a million times and they are still wanting you to do something about:
"Give me your phone number. Where is your father? Why do I have to stay here and you there and him where he is? This is wrong. All our problems started when you left home. Who told you to go? Who? Won't you give me your phone number so I can call you? I'm so alone all the time. I'm alone and I'm scared and I'm too much by myself."
So I say "I'm only going to say this another 50 million times: no, no and no AND I'm sorry I can't do anything about that, ma. You exhaust me."
Truth is I exhaust me, and it's been a long time that I can't see another way of coping but just listening and fulfilling my duty as a daughter, as one very wise doctor advised me to do, long-distance. It's true what they say - listening is a skill. It's an art. It's one I'm trying to master. And she's the hardest person in my world to listen to, so I'll keep practicing.
Every Sunday is another opportunity.
After all, Mother's Day comes but once a year.
Thank the Good Ganesh for that.
Om Gam Ganapataye Namaha
But you know what they say, "time heals all wounds."
And "This too shall pass."
And my personal favourite "Everyone you've ever cared about and you yourself are going to die"
Okay, I made that last one up, but I still think it could enter the fray of comments we use to calm distressed folks down. I don't think it would talk them off the ledge, so some personal powers of discernment would be required.
Sometimes I think of a friend who used to say "I'm over it," almost immediately after something had upset them and I would think "You sound like you've convinced yourself, well done." Because that's what this world really needs, more deluded people.
Four years ago, my father left in an ambulance and never went back. That year, I yelled at my mother on Mother's Day and her birthday, which happens to fall in mid-December. Then I found myself bawling at my counselor's office about what a terrible person I was, yelling at a woman who's been struggling with a mental illness since before I was born, and if that wasn't enough, I was yelling at her on Mother's Day! On her Birthday!
Things like "This is all your fault!" and "You're so crazy you drive everyone else around you crazy!" and "I left home to get as far away from you as possible, understand? You're toxic and dangerous and that's why dad left too!"
Have you seen these things written on any Hallmark cards? I thought not. I know I would be better suited to coming up with names for nail polish than working in the greeting card industry. I think it even said that on my grade 8 Future Careers Evaluation.
This is what my counselor said "You still have Christmas. You could make it a 3 out of 3."
I thought that was pretty good, as a reply. It made me laugh.
I can't remember now what I said to her that Christmas, but I'm quite sure I didn't yell at her. She didn't tell me she was living off her preserved peaches for a week because she had spent all the money the bank had given her. (She insisted they never gave her the money)
All I know is, four years later, it's still a struggle to not lose my patience. Last week I realised I need to get off the phone much sooner. Still, that's hard to do when someone is telling you, volume on high, every single thing they've told you a million times and they are still wanting you to do something about:
"Give me your phone number. Where is your father? Why do I have to stay here and you there and him where he is? This is wrong. All our problems started when you left home. Who told you to go? Who? Won't you give me your phone number so I can call you? I'm so alone all the time. I'm alone and I'm scared and I'm too much by myself."
So I say "I'm only going to say this another 50 million times: no, no and no AND I'm sorry I can't do anything about that, ma. You exhaust me."
Truth is I exhaust me, and it's been a long time that I can't see another way of coping but just listening and fulfilling my duty as a daughter, as one very wise doctor advised me to do, long-distance. It's true what they say - listening is a skill. It's an art. It's one I'm trying to master. And she's the hardest person in my world to listen to, so I'll keep practicing.
Every Sunday is another opportunity.
After all, Mother's Day comes but once a year.
Thank the Good Ganesh for that.
Om Gam Ganapataye Namaha
Friday, May 16, 2008
I Made to the Hot of the World, Ma!
In the spirit of the just past Mental Health Awareness Week and Mother's Day - an opportunity for a double-whammy few words from our sponsor - since I thought perhaps you were all wondering how my mom handled my global travel. I started this in India, so I'll finish it now. That would be my anxiety-ridden, self-medicating with alcohol to numb the effects of auditory hallucinations mother, in case you were confused about who I meant. I was. Confused, I mean. And I've known her my whole life.
Mamma: I know you in Toronto now. They see you at Sherway Garden Mall.
Eufemia: Who saw?
Mamma: They!
Eufemia: I hate they. You mean the voices. Do we have to go over this again, because I'd rather hang up. It's really hot here.
Mamma: Your voice is so clear, I can hear you like you're next door.
Eufemia: Well, I'm not. I'm 10 hours ahead of you, like I've been telling you since December.
Mamma: Where?
Eufemia: IN INDIA.
Mamma: Oh, ya, India. What's the weather like?
Eufemia: IT'S REALLY HOT.
Mamma: What's the time now?
Eufemia: Ten hours ahead. It's 5:30 p.m. [PLEASE NOTE: For 19 years my mother has been asking me, with a degree of regularity that makes me homicidal, what time it is in Vancouver. As if the Teutonic plates shifted again and Vancouver was suddenly in the same time zone as Japan]
Mamma: Did you eat dinner already? What you eat there?
Eufemia: Pasta.
Mamma: No, come on you.
Eufemia: Rice.
Mamma: Ya, I think they eat rice. Did you get my letters? I sent you some money for Christmas and your birthday.
Eufemia: I DON'T KNOW BECAUSE I'M IN INDIA AND YOU SENT THEM TO VANCOUVER.
Mamma: You sure the girl* no steal what I mail you? I send you money. I send presents for Christmas and the birthday.
*By the girl, my mother means my God-sent roommate, who even called my mother to reassure her I was fine while I was away at the ashram without regular access to a phone. My mother's concerned Caroline would steal the 100% polyester blouse that looks like a sequin factory exploded and all these shiny, ugly bits and bobbles got stuck on this red fabric and some dear slave-wage seamstress decided to make the best of it.
Eufemia: She wouldn't steal anything. I'll be able to tell to you when I get home, stop asking me to tell you now.
Mamma: Are you coming home to Toronto?
[ANOTHER NOTE PLEASE: Toronto has not been home for 19 years. There was a house there, for a long time. It's been sold. But it was a house, not a home.]
Eufemia: No
Mamma: Why no?
Eufemia: I DON'T KNOW BECAUSE I'M IN INDIA AND YOU SENT THEM TO VANCOUVER.
Mamma: You sure the girl* no steal what I mail you? I send you money. I send presents for Christmas and the birthday.
*By the girl, my mother means my God-sent roommate, who even called my mother to reassure her I was fine while I was away at the ashram without regular access to a phone. My mother's concerned Caroline would steal the 100% polyester blouse that looks like a sequin factory exploded and all these shiny, ugly bits and bobbles got stuck on this red fabric and some dear slave-wage seamstress decided to make the best of it.
Eufemia: She wouldn't steal anything. I'll be able to tell to you when I get home, stop asking me to tell you now.
Mamma: Are you coming home to Toronto?
[ANOTHER NOTE PLEASE: Toronto has not been home for 19 years. There was a house there, for a long time. It's been sold. But it was a house, not a home.]
Eufemia: No
Mamma: Why no?
Eufemia: Because you live there.
A Day in the Life of Love
Love likes to get up early in the morning to greet the dawn
some days, Love likes to sleep in.
Love washes its face and brushes its teeth
sees signs of itself growing older –
through laugh lines gathering at its mouth
and in the maps of many smiles past,
showing up in the creases by its eyes
This makes Love very happy
Love likes to see itself as both the roots of an old growth Oak tree,
burrowing down towards the earth’s core,
as well as the branches swaying in the breeze, reaching skyward
leaves dancing in the air
Love likes to dance
Love snaps its fingers to jazz &
hums out of tune with the car radio
Love, as it turns out, likes to rock out,
Love likes to play the Harmonium
and belts out Kirtan at the top of its lungs.
Love likes to chant mantras & recite prayers,
sometimes Love sings in the shower
Love likes to play Scrabble & knows a few card tricks
Love likes to go for walks on bridges over rushing water
Love likes to trapeze without a net
Love likes to place its head in the jaws of a lion
some might think this means Love is a daredevil
and this makes Love laugh
because Love knows
it can never die
Love gets in a full day, tilling the fields, gathering the crops
& also finding time to take a nap
Love as mother watches over you when you sleep
Love as father carries you on his shoulders
Love is both the family you’re born into and the family you find
Love taps you on the shoulder
steps on your toes
bumps into you on the sidewalk
bumps into you in India
Love moves continents because Love is a verb
at the end of the day,
Love reflects on its journey and realises
it is itself the destination
with this new found awareness
Love joins hands with Gratitude & Devotion
Love has expanded –
which is all it ever came here to do
some days, Love likes to sleep in.
Love washes its face and brushes its teeth
sees signs of itself growing older –
through laugh lines gathering at its mouth
and in the maps of many smiles past,
showing up in the creases by its eyes
This makes Love very happy
Love likes to see itself as both the roots of an old growth Oak tree,
burrowing down towards the earth’s core,
as well as the branches swaying in the breeze, reaching skyward
leaves dancing in the air
Love likes to dance
Love snaps its fingers to jazz &
hums out of tune with the car radio
Love, as it turns out, likes to rock out,
Love likes to play the Harmonium
and belts out Kirtan at the top of its lungs.
Love likes to chant mantras & recite prayers,
sometimes Love sings in the shower
Love likes to play Scrabble & knows a few card tricks
Love likes to go for walks on bridges over rushing water
Love likes to trapeze without a net
Love likes to place its head in the jaws of a lion
some might think this means Love is a daredevil
and this makes Love laugh
because Love knows
it can never die
Love gets in a full day, tilling the fields, gathering the crops
& also finding time to take a nap
Love as mother watches over you when you sleep
Love as father carries you on his shoulders
Love is both the family you’re born into and the family you find
Love taps you on the shoulder
steps on your toes
bumps into you on the sidewalk
bumps into you in India
Love moves continents because Love is a verb
at the end of the day,
Love reflects on its journey and realises
it is itself the destination
with this new found awareness
Love joins hands with Gratitude & Devotion
Love has expanded –
which is all it ever came here to do
Thursday, May 15, 2008
Mai Canada Ka Houn
Alright, so it's been a bit of a bumpy week - well, Tuesday, that was a bit rough. Wednesday and Thursday weren't exactly picnics either though the Sun came out on Thursday (today) - I could see it from the windows of the day-long Celebrating Recovery Together Conference I attended. Though it being slightly warm (wait for it, I'll tell you when it's hot enough for ya) made me yearn for the hottest state - no, not Texas Mr. Ethan Hawke, Rajasthan. Maybe you should check your Geography and stats before you going naming your novels all willy-nilly and wrong like that.
Now begins the Tribulations part of this blog.
Why not, writing it kept me together in India and I think that's what I was missing here, what's keeping me together here? Figaro? Nay. Figaro Amadeus Furud* Fantetti, my feline soul mate, had this to say about my return:
"Where were you, you over-sized piece of mouse-dung? Enjoyed yourself? Thanks for missing Christmas, New Years, my birthday and our anniversary."
He did not apologise for the 5 pairs of shoes he wrecked (of mine, not counting the roomies!) including leather Puma runners. ("Puma this, sistah" I believe were his exact words.)
*The recent Indian addition/expansion to his name, Furud, means unique, matchless. He's okay with the name, he just wants me to grovel a little more.
What I wanted to tell you but forgot was - on the return flight, during the stretch between Singapore and Korea, I practiced my Hindi on Singapore Airline's Wiseman System, (it has the Berlitz Language program) and it asked the question:
Aap kahan ke rahne wale hai? Where are you from?
Never mind that all I could recognise in that sentence was You and From because it's worded completely different than any other way I've heard it before - (did I mention they have at least 5 names for the Moon in Hindi and everyone I asked could only tell me 2? Swamiji's comment: "There's more than 5, there's many" Me: "That doesn't help me at all, Swamiji.")
The answer popped up Mai Canada ka houn. Doesn't that rock? Or pardon me, bangra? Even the Airline's Berlitz Language Learning Tutor System says it's from Canada.
Though I admit, after a full day of rain and struggling with getting out of apartment, and getting winded when going up a hill/incline of a 15 degree angle, I didn't see the greatness of it so much anymore. Though I understand these things take time. Really? Things like gratitude and counting your blessings?
Nay.
This is what I've been using as a mantra, now that I don't have my daily dose of chanting to Durga, Ganesha, Gayatri and Shiva to start the day off right: Suck it up, cupcake. Some people have real problems.
I am my own worst enemy, it's true.
Now begins the Tribulations part of this blog.
Why not, writing it kept me together in India and I think that's what I was missing here, what's keeping me together here? Figaro? Nay. Figaro Amadeus Furud* Fantetti, my feline soul mate, had this to say about my return:
"Where were you, you over-sized piece of mouse-dung? Enjoyed yourself? Thanks for missing Christmas, New Years, my birthday and our anniversary."
He did not apologise for the 5 pairs of shoes he wrecked (of mine, not counting the roomies!) including leather Puma runners. ("Puma this, sistah" I believe were his exact words.)
*The recent Indian addition/expansion to his name, Furud, means unique, matchless. He's okay with the name, he just wants me to grovel a little more.
What I wanted to tell you but forgot was - on the return flight, during the stretch between Singapore and Korea, I practiced my Hindi on Singapore Airline's Wiseman System, (it has the Berlitz Language program) and it asked the question:
Aap kahan ke rahne wale hai? Where are you from?
Never mind that all I could recognise in that sentence was You and From because it's worded completely different than any other way I've heard it before - (did I mention they have at least 5 names for the Moon in Hindi and everyone I asked could only tell me 2? Swamiji's comment: "There's more than 5, there's many" Me: "That doesn't help me at all, Swamiji.")
The answer popped up Mai Canada ka houn. Doesn't that rock? Or pardon me, bangra? Even the Airline's Berlitz Language Learning Tutor System says it's from Canada.
Though I admit, after a full day of rain and struggling with getting out of apartment, and getting winded when going up a hill/incline of a 15 degree angle, I didn't see the greatness of it so much anymore. Though I understand these things take time. Really? Things like gratitude and counting your blessings?
Nay.
This is what I've been using as a mantra, now that I don't have my daily dose of chanting to Durga, Ganesha, Gayatri and Shiva to start the day off right: Suck it up, cupcake. Some people have real problems.
I am my own worst enemy, it's true.
Wednesday, May 14, 2008
What happens in India
Unless you are rich, and can convalesce in a sanatorium estate (where visitors come down a tiered, oceanside lawn to find you at your easel), you have to keep going when you're depressed.
- Virginia Heffernan
A Delicious Placebo
A Delicious Placebo
In other news, there's a rumor that it's going to be 28 degrees in Vancouver tomorrow. I'll believe it when I feel it in my rheumatic bones.
In other other news, when the cable guy came by yesterday to see why my internet/phone signal was so weak, he confirmed that in the movie Iron Man they speak a version of Hindi-Urdu-Farsi-Mishmash. After I told him I'd spent most of my time in Rajasthan, he asked if I'd been to Jaipur, as 7 car bombs had just gone off there, killing several people near a Hindu temple and in the tourist district.
Later that day, my dad called, right on schedule to see if my phone was finally working. Dad called my roommate's phone my first day back and said "Thank God you're home. Tonight I finally gonna sleep good."
Out of my good Catholic girl guilt I apologised for causing him so many sleepless nights, "but you know there was nothing to worry about."
No, I'm not going to mention Jaipur, bombs going off in popular tourist zones, etc, and neither are you.
"Of course," my dad insisted, there was plenty to worry about. "Everything happens close to India. See what's happen in Burma? And in China now? Those places close to India, everything happen close to India."
Perhaps because the bombings in Rajasthan were a blip on the world news radar, he didn't catch it. But also, he didn't really know where I was in India, he never asked, I never clarified. I didn't even bother to say North. God forbid the man should pull out his atlas and take a look at the part where Rajasthan borders Pakistan, because then, somebody gonna get sleepless nights like you no believe and somebody else gonna get a talking to like she no need.
Like they say, what happens in India stays in India.
In other other news, when the cable guy came by yesterday to see why my internet/phone signal was so weak, he confirmed that in the movie Iron Man they speak a version of Hindi-Urdu-Farsi-Mishmash. After I told him I'd spent most of my time in Rajasthan, he asked if I'd been to Jaipur, as 7 car bombs had just gone off there, killing several people near a Hindu temple and in the tourist district.
Later that day, my dad called, right on schedule to see if my phone was finally working. Dad called my roommate's phone my first day back and said "Thank God you're home. Tonight I finally gonna sleep good."
Out of my good Catholic girl guilt I apologised for causing him so many sleepless nights, "but you know there was nothing to worry about."
No, I'm not going to mention Jaipur, bombs going off in popular tourist zones, etc, and neither are you.
"Of course," my dad insisted, there was plenty to worry about. "Everything happens close to India. See what's happen in Burma? And in China now? Those places close to India, everything happen close to India."
Perhaps because the bombings in Rajasthan were a blip on the world news radar, he didn't catch it. But also, he didn't really know where I was in India, he never asked, I never clarified. I didn't even bother to say North. God forbid the man should pull out his atlas and take a look at the part where Rajasthan borders Pakistan, because then, somebody gonna get sleepless nights like you no believe and somebody else gonna get a talking to like she no need.
Like they say, what happens in India stays in India.
Tuesday, May 6, 2008
Home Again, Home Again, Jiggety Jig
Apparently, according to Mother Goose it's "Home Again, home again, not dancing a jig" - all these years and no one corrected me - how embarrassing to misquote Mother Goose, I mean, who's going to trust my Shakespeare or Biblical quotes if I can't nail down nursery rhymes?
So here's what happened: I went to see Iron Man with my friend Jenn (That's God Bless Jenn) and there were scenes where the bad guys were speaking Hindi! Possibly it was supposed to be Urdu but not being a linguist or even remotely close to fluent in Hindi, I can't tell these two languages apart. I heard difficult, what are you doing, very and nothing: mushkil, kya kara, bahut, kuch nay. It was great to hear Hindi outside of my Bollywood fare. And I liked the movie too.
Then walking home, I jaywalked across Georgia and Granville - when there was noooooo traffic for like miles and miles, but since the light was red - everyone was standing back, waiting and being extremely polite. I looked at them and thought "Aren't they cold? Don't they want to get home as fast as I do?" As far as I can see, we live somewhere where the traffic slows down because of insurance, and premiums, and stuff like that.
Just in front of HBC, a little mouse ran out, crossed my path and ran into the concrete planter. It might have been a baby rat, once again, this, like languages, is not my area of expertise as it were. It was the size of a Purdy's chocolate hedgehog, and no joke, it was soooo cute!
Well, my last rodent activity was standing on the train platform in Delhi and praying that the rats that were as big as the small cat that was at The Lotus Hotel in Pushkar would leave me alone by running the other way. I was praying very hard, because I didn't want Delhi-folk to remember me as that shrieking woman on the platform.
Here's the thing: I followed this mouse, it stopped and looked at me, and I actually said "Oh my gosh - Hello!" I wanted to cup my hands and see if I could pick it up - AND then this thought occurred to me: "What the HELL going on?" The mouse, being the smart one, ran away, and I stood there wondering how such a tiny guy survives - I'm sure it's not easy to hide without a lot of trash around for cover, to dart around under. I felt strange and weird, in a way that I couldn't put my finger on it and then I realized; oh my good Lord, I'm worried about this baby mouse-rat surviving in downtown Vancouver.
I walked on towards Granville skytrain slowly, making sure I had my ticket in my hand as twice now I've accidentally been on a moving train before realizing I had not validated my ticket ("Ahhh, I'm sorry officer, I'm a little out of it, I just got back into town and while I'm late paying my taxes this year can I just say that if any of my taxpayer monies go towards paying for you to patrol skytrain for people who don't pay for their fare I think that's fishing ridiculous.")
And all I kept thinking was abi kya? Kya the hell waa?
Now what? What the hell happened?
So here's what happened: I went to see Iron Man with my friend Jenn (That's God Bless Jenn) and there were scenes where the bad guys were speaking Hindi! Possibly it was supposed to be Urdu but not being a linguist or even remotely close to fluent in Hindi, I can't tell these two languages apart. I heard difficult, what are you doing, very and nothing: mushkil, kya kara, bahut, kuch nay. It was great to hear Hindi outside of my Bollywood fare. And I liked the movie too.
Then walking home, I jaywalked across Georgia and Granville - when there was noooooo traffic for like miles and miles, but since the light was red - everyone was standing back, waiting and being extremely polite. I looked at them and thought "Aren't they cold? Don't they want to get home as fast as I do?" As far as I can see, we live somewhere where the traffic slows down because of insurance, and premiums, and stuff like that.
Just in front of HBC, a little mouse ran out, crossed my path and ran into the concrete planter. It might have been a baby rat, once again, this, like languages, is not my area of expertise as it were. It was the size of a Purdy's chocolate hedgehog, and no joke, it was soooo cute!
Well, my last rodent activity was standing on the train platform in Delhi and praying that the rats that were as big as the small cat that was at The Lotus Hotel in Pushkar would leave me alone by running the other way. I was praying very hard, because I didn't want Delhi-folk to remember me as that shrieking woman on the platform.
Here's the thing: I followed this mouse, it stopped and looked at me, and I actually said "Oh my gosh - Hello!" I wanted to cup my hands and see if I could pick it up - AND then this thought occurred to me: "What the HELL going on?" The mouse, being the smart one, ran away, and I stood there wondering how such a tiny guy survives - I'm sure it's not easy to hide without a lot of trash around for cover, to dart around under. I felt strange and weird, in a way that I couldn't put my finger on it and then I realized; oh my good Lord, I'm worried about this baby mouse-rat surviving in downtown Vancouver.
I walked on towards Granville skytrain slowly, making sure I had my ticket in my hand as twice now I've accidentally been on a moving train before realizing I had not validated my ticket ("Ahhh, I'm sorry officer, I'm a little out of it, I just got back into town and while I'm late paying my taxes this year can I just say that if any of my taxpayer monies go towards paying for you to patrol skytrain for people who don't pay for their fare I think that's fishing ridiculous.")
And all I kept thinking was abi kya? Kya the hell waa?
Now what? What the hell happened?
Saturday, May 3, 2008
Not Yet Famous Last Words
For those of you who know my fabulous roommate, this exchange may not surprise you, but for those who don't, Caroline is a creative soul with much insight, and bahut genius.
To set the scene, first full day back, first FULL POWER day back and everything was normal (whatever that means) and fine. At around 4 in the afternoon I was calculating it was really 5 a.m. for my body and that I should go to bed, that it might help me stop walking into the walls. I decided to get into the bath instead. I flipped through a magazine and at some point burst into tears. Then I crawled over to bed, and then, Thank God Caroline (her full Christian name. I know! I thought it was weird that her parents gave her a Christian name too, especially when she's Jewish) came home.
So I got up and followed her into the living room because now I don't have to sit by myself with these thoughts any more. I mean mostly. I mean, now, or then, yesterday, she was there and I was extremely grateful.
This is my favourite excerpt our conversation (where I don't think I made much sense but just kept going on about feeling at a loss and clueless and confused and no idea what happens next and how I felt so alone in India and well, you've read it all before) :
Caroline: We're all creatures that are going to die-
Eufemia: That doesn't make me feel any better-
Caroline: But I think that that's a good thing
To set the scene, first full day back, first FULL POWER day back and everything was normal (whatever that means) and fine. At around 4 in the afternoon I was calculating it was really 5 a.m. for my body and that I should go to bed, that it might help me stop walking into the walls. I decided to get into the bath instead. I flipped through a magazine and at some point burst into tears. Then I crawled over to bed, and then, Thank God Caroline (her full Christian name. I know! I thought it was weird that her parents gave her a Christian name too, especially when she's Jewish) came home.
So I got up and followed her into the living room because now I don't have to sit by myself with these thoughts any more. I mean mostly. I mean, now, or then, yesterday, she was there and I was extremely grateful.
This is my favourite excerpt our conversation (where I don't think I made much sense but just kept going on about feeling at a loss and clueless and confused and no idea what happens next and how I felt so alone in India and well, you've read it all before) :
Caroline: We're all creatures that are going to die-
Eufemia: That doesn't make me feel any better-
Caroline: But I think that that's a good thing
Friday, May 2, 2008
Om Shanti Om
After 53+ hours of traveling: train, plane and stop-overs, I'm home.
During those 53 hours I couldn't sleep, but thrice I shut my eyes and then my mouth fell open and I started drooling while sitting straight up in my seat. I believe I nabbed good 4 hours of rest that way. I wanted to stretch out at several stop-over points but was too worried about falling completely into the oblivion of dream-land and missing the connecting flights. ("I'm sorry, why is this called a connecting flight if I have to wait many hours for it? Where's the connection, exactly?")
It was a very sunny day, with some clouds. The Captain said it was 9 degrees outside. I looked down at my purple flip-flops. Then I looked around and saw everyone was better prepared for the weather than I was.
No matter, my friend God bless Jenn (That's her full Christian name, 'God bless Jenn') was there with Thrasso (surprise! - and fyi his full name is Om Namo Thrasso) and they hussled me home quick and fast. Jenn asked if I wanted to have a shower, and I was awake enough to realize it wasn't just a question but a matter of dire importance when I'd been wearing the same clothes for the last 3 days, and on the first day it had been 42 degrees - in the shade. On the second, 37.
And how do I repay such dear friends? I made them watch the 'Pain of Disco' sequence from Om Shanti Om. I can now sing this part in Hindi: My heart is full with the pain of disco, pain of disco, pain of disco. At least I think I can, and who is going to correct me?
Exactly.
Sigh.
Who?
Then I got dressed as best I could in a combination of clothes left behind and shoes from Caroline and went for some tea with said friends. Thrasso commented: You look like you fell down in Value Village. Even though it was 3 p.m Thursday, it was really 4 a.m. Friday India time, and I thought I was doing quite well, even if I couldn't finish a sentence without trailing off and wondering what words meant what, in English.
Then I saw Cathy, and I had the same speech impediment, and then, I slept, after 64 hours of travel and reading and movies and trying to catch a rest and some sleep, I fell asleep for 14 hours. I got up a few times but kept wandering in a daze back to sleep.
Now I'm up but I'm not really awake.
And my heart is full with the pain of disco.
Om Shanti All, Om Shanti Om.
During those 53 hours I couldn't sleep, but thrice I shut my eyes and then my mouth fell open and I started drooling while sitting straight up in my seat. I believe I nabbed good 4 hours of rest that way. I wanted to stretch out at several stop-over points but was too worried about falling completely into the oblivion of dream-land and missing the connecting flights. ("I'm sorry, why is this called a connecting flight if I have to wait many hours for it? Where's the connection, exactly?")
It was a very sunny day, with some clouds. The Captain said it was 9 degrees outside. I looked down at my purple flip-flops. Then I looked around and saw everyone was better prepared for the weather than I was.
No matter, my friend God bless Jenn (That's her full Christian name, 'God bless Jenn') was there with Thrasso (surprise! - and fyi his full name is Om Namo Thrasso) and they hussled me home quick and fast. Jenn asked if I wanted to have a shower, and I was awake enough to realize it wasn't just a question but a matter of dire importance when I'd been wearing the same clothes for the last 3 days, and on the first day it had been 42 degrees - in the shade. On the second, 37.
And how do I repay such dear friends? I made them watch the 'Pain of Disco' sequence from Om Shanti Om. I can now sing this part in Hindi: My heart is full with the pain of disco, pain of disco, pain of disco. At least I think I can, and who is going to correct me?
Exactly.
Sigh.
Who?
Then I got dressed as best I could in a combination of clothes left behind and shoes from Caroline and went for some tea with said friends. Thrasso commented: You look like you fell down in Value Village. Even though it was 3 p.m Thursday, it was really 4 a.m. Friday India time, and I thought I was doing quite well, even if I couldn't finish a sentence without trailing off and wondering what words meant what, in English.
Then I saw Cathy, and I had the same speech impediment, and then, I slept, after 64 hours of travel and reading and movies and trying to catch a rest and some sleep, I fell asleep for 14 hours. I got up a few times but kept wandering in a daze back to sleep.
Now I'm up but I'm not really awake.
And my heart is full with the pain of disco.
Om Shanti All, Om Shanti Om.
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