Other Goings On

In my absence, besides temporarily dropping out of McGill, I somehow made my way to MAC and am now in possession of a reasonable stash of make-up.

Yes, I know that those two ideas seem incongruous, but bear with me. I never wear make-up. Well, hardly ever. I was never really taught the correct way to go about the application of various facepaints and the like, so on the rare days when I tried, I would religiously blend and blend until I may as well have been wearing nothing at all. Even my prom in high school. I did my make-up myself because I had spent a ridiculous amount of money on my dress, which ended up amounting to tinted gloss and mascara, with the barest of eyeliner. I did my hair too, which with all my skill was left to dry in all of its curly, thatchy glory. I was Boadicea at the top and Audrey Hepburn from the neck down. I shaved my legs, yo. I tried my best.

Anyway, I figured I could at least try and learn the ropes. So, I begged my most fashionable friend to be my wingman at the MAC store. Fortunately, the salesperson was a kind, earthy type in a pixie cut, instead of the vampiric, cult-eyed foundations mavens you sometimes see working the aisles. She gave me a nice, basic look that doesn't make me look like a lady of the night, and I am almost capable of repeating it at home. I would grade myself at a B+. Now, I just need to get my hair cut again and I'll look semi human.

And yes, I know that cosmetics are just another tool of the patriarchy, or something. Women's Studies students, take the lead here. But it's a useful tool to have in my arsenal, and I'm too damn lazy to match my actions up to my feminist ideals. I even wear heels sometimes, the horror. But they are Fluevogs, which I think should be given a pass- I need to support my countryfolk.

My adorable foster cat Oliver is still looking for a home. I want him to find a good place before I have to go back to Guelph. He went to one adoption day, but I guess no one wants an adorable love magnet with a yen for food. Maybe his size puts people off- he's a little girthy, but the boy is a big cat. I swear he's about the size of my old Sheltie, Brydie. I would adopt him myself, but my parents have a new puppy, and just hate cats as a united front. He's calm, and patient. He's never malicious, and he wants nothing more than to be around us. He'll lay on the couch and watch TV with us, or on my bed as I work in my room. Like a good child, he loves his parents equally and will spend one night with me and the other with Katie, sleeping at the foot of our beds. He's come up with many clever ways of getting more food. Waking us up at separate times so he'll be fed twice. Opening the latched cabinets to eat his food. Tearing into a bag of Temptations cat treats like it was a freshly killed zebra carcass. But he has sweeter moments too- rolling on his back to show off his orange belly, or nuzzling my head while he purrs. He's simply an awesome cat, so if you know anyone in the Montreal area who could give him a fabulous home, get in touch with me.

Knitting Cowboy

Here we have a pile of brown wool, also known as the finished back and sleeves for the 1.50$ Cardigan. Since my last knitting project, Poppy, turned out a little hinky in spite of my best attempts, I'm just winging this. Like the decreases for the sleeves. Sure, I understood part of the instructions, but then again I understand part of Russian, and where did that get me? Making speeches about "easy pens "and "really big shorts". The prof used to dread my speech time. So, I decided to be a knitting cowboy and just do things my way. Yeehaw. It may not work out, but at least it will be an educational experience.
Yesterday, I went on a mini used bookstore crawl. Ever since dropping out of all my courses this semester (oh, the shame), I've had a lot of free time. And you can fill only so much of it by baking before running out of eggs, and starting to think of your now dim future. So, I decided enough was enough, I was going to do something productive, and that something would be trolling the used bookstores. I was hoping that one might have some Graham Greenes in the editions I've been collecting, or dare I hope, one of Elizabeth Zimmerman's knitting books, but no dice. I did find a copy of Rowan #31 for twenty bucks. And while this is not a bad deal, it was a bit more than I wanted to pay for a book whose designs, while lovely, just weren't firing me up. J. Westcott Books, close to my place, finally redeemed the whole thing. Not only do at least three cats live there, and as we all know the mark of a good bookstore is the quantity of cats, but they also had a trove of vintage knitting pamphlets. This Monarch Yarn pamphlet is from the twenties, and it features some truly awesome patterns. They are also very insistent that they are "MADE UP TO A STANDARD AND NOT DOWN TO A PRICE". Suck it, Toronto Dominion Woolens, and your skank-ass yarn, too! Some of the instructions have become hard to decipher with time. No gauge, naturally, and I think "ridges" means either garter or reverse stockinette stitch. But dabbling in some knitting archaeology would be worth it to knit an updated version of that jacket, no? I'm thinking a touch shorter, with buttons all along the button band. Maybe a bit more fitted too, but I love the art nouveau design. The pattern was originally knit in Cherry and White, but I want a different colour scheme.

I'm also fond of the vest in the upper right corner, although I would knit it in worsted, shape the waist and definitely shorten the v-neck. Thank God the colourwork designs are charted. The shawls and hats look interesting too. And there's the rest of my haul. A sock book from the fifties with some interesting patterns, Woolcraft with some nice basic patterns and boffo beehive hairdos, baby pattern book, and Paton's "Astra Easy-Knits For the Family", another artifact from the sixties. My Dad has been angling for a v-neck vest with very specific requirements, and I think this vest fulfills them. Plus, it's from one of his glory decades. I'm thinking Silky Wool, Calmer, or Wool Cotton. He has heat issues.

The Worst List Yet

This post is just turning out awkward any way I try and write it, so I'll just try and be as businesslike as possible. Okay. In a list. I like lists, as you may have gathered. Go list!

• Over the past couple of weeks, I went kind of nutty
• I spent a lot of the time crying
• Everywhere
• Anytime
• And by last couple of weeks I mean the whole damn year
• I realized I was not very intelligent
• Or attractive
• Or charming
• And everyone knew it
• So I started doing shoddy work in a bunch of my classes
• Which led to poor grades
• Which only strengthened my conviction that I was a dumbass
• That's why I started missing a lot of classes
• And phoning home crying every night to Mom and Dad like a homesick kid at summer camp
• Eventually I decided to drop out of McGill and run along home
• Through many events, even too banal to recount here, I commuted that to dropping all but one class this semester
• And not returning to McGill next year
• Which makes me embarrassed, sad, and frustrated
• Because I am coming home a complete and utter failure
• It also sucks that I will be missing out on my delightful roommate and cat for the rest of my life
• Also, Montreal
• Home of delicious chocolate
• And forced to live with my parents
• Hip-flipping Hooray!
  

What am I going to do with the rest of my life? I don't know, peeps, I don't know. I do know, however, that Gerard Butler looks mighty fine in nothing but leather manties, heh heh heh? Am I right, certain ladies and dudes? Crickets? Anyone?

The Top 5: Things That Would Somehow Manage to Make My Fortnight Worse

The last couple of days blew. The blew as if the vessels for the wind of the mighty Zeus himself. I would write more, but then I would get all snotty-nosed and nobody needs that. So, here are three things that haven't happened to me yet but probably will.

1. Herpes. Sure, I know it's not that big of a medical deal, but neither is eczema, and that pisses me the hell off. And rather like eczema, herpes never goes away.
2. While trying to dash out of my trash heap of my room and to class, I trip over my pile of dictionaries and Interweave back issues, becoming wedged underneath my bed. Forced to subside on stale gummi worms and half a bottle of Aberfoyle Springs water, I succumb after a week. Roommate finds me only after Oliver the cat has gotten a touch peckish.
3. I lose my arm in a fake metro accident. Prof asks me to provide a medical note of excuse.
4. I lose all my money to high-tech thievery.
5. Leprosy

The Top 5: Places I Want to Visit In The World

1. Australia
2. Russia and the Ukraine
3. Cyprus
4. Thailand
5. Chile and Easter Island

Almost Snow Day

I woke up in the middle of a snow globe set to spin, and still they didn't cancel school. Public schools were cancelled, but unfortunately not university.
Which meant I trekked out of the house at 8:50 in order to have a super-fun time with Professor Woodlouse and Elizabeth Smart's many cultural allusions. I've been avoiding getting my awful, awful paper back in that class for, oh, a week now. Also, avoiding my drama paper. And my Russian presentation grade. Russian in general. Cultural Studies quiz.
Life, ahem.

Anyway, after my arctic trek and first class were over, I tried to finish up the Foucault reading. Unfortunately, I can barely read him when I'm in a good mood, and trying to do so when I'm cranky and wet... leads to me going "O RLY Frenchie?" and tossing it angrily back in my backpack. Also, urgings to burn my course pack. Decided to just wing it in my Cultural Studies conference instead. Thank God that focused on the Kafka short story we had to read.
Oh, Kafka.












Remember when I had a strange, inexplicable crush on you in high school? Crazy times, you Czech weirdo. Crazy times.

Finally finished "Long Day's Journey Into Night" between naps at the library, which didn't improve my mood what with the morphine addiction and drunkenness. I was ordered by my brother to go to a concert tonight, 120 Days at the Mile End Centre, and I really wanted to, but I was cold, hungry and tired, and... it was all the way in Mile End. So I finished off the day by watching A Room With a View while eating bulk almonds and drinking tea with my roommate. And you know what?
That was actually a pretty good end to a crap day. Tomorrow is supposed to be mild, so I'm going to take advantage of that with a trip up the mountain and then Nuit Blanche.

The Top 5: Things in MN

Protagitron Eats A Cherry on a Spoon in Front of the Cherry on a Spoon at the Walker Art Center

1. The People: Minnesota seems to have been mostly settled by a race of kindly, blonde giants. "O, Giant, I'm not buying anything at YOUR store... but do you know where a store I will be buying from is?" "Oh ya, ya, just go through the intersection and it's right across from the restaurant. The owner was just in my store the other day. Do you want me to drive you?"

2. The Park at the Mall: What a wonderful idea. Gaze upon all of the wonderful things at Nordstroms you can't afford to buy, then you're off to eat some mini doughnuts and ride some mini rides. My favorite was the long ride, especially since all of the safety contingencies are pretty much on the honour system of "Don't stand up in your log ride, please". Also, there's a giant animatronic Babe with sinus problems and a giant animatronic Paul Bunyan who is possibly drunk. Maybe it's just because it's old, but Paul Bunyan's eyes don't open all the way and they roll back a lot. "Whoaaahhhrrrgh Baabe... warrrch out for the acshe, Baabe."

3. The Walker Art Center: I forced my poor roommate to take multiple pictures in front of the famous Spoonbridge with Cherry at the Minnesota Sculpture Park, to the point where it probably looked like I was at some kind of photo shoot (Make love to spoon! Feel the slush beneath your feet. Turn it out!) Then we made her friend pretend to be an elephant to replace the giant elephant sculpture we couldn't find. I also got really excited about spotting a Calder sculpture, since I've had a strange fondness for his work ever since I saw video of his genius mechanical miniature circus. The art collection was pretty good, and the Barney they had on exhibit didn't annoy me as his work usually does. But maybe that's just because I've always wanted a disco saddle. I found the main exhibit, silhouettes by Kara Walker, to be rather disappointing. Here's the WAC blurb on her: "Over the past decade, she has gained national and international recognition for her room-size tableaux depicting historical narratives haunted by sexuality, violence, and subjugation but made using the genteel 18th-century art of cut-paper silhouettes." Uh huh. It seemed puerile rather than provoking and the worst kind of lazy rebellion. The swampy backgrounds are beautiful in silhouette, but after a while all the limb chopping and giant cocks of just become boring.

4. Target: I know this isn't native to Minnesota, but Minnesota was my first exposure to the glory of the Target. It had become a Xanadu to me, a mythical place just out of my reach full of Mizhairi clothes and Oldham home items. The first time was a little disappointing, and I left with only some discontinued Sonia Kashuk brushes, but the second time I went in the Proenza Schouler clothes had arrived and Target was instantly redeemed. Alas, my boobliness barred me from all the cute dresses, but I still managed to pick up a really nice and versatile circle skirt. Well done, Target. And Americans- stop holding all of the wonderful target stores hostage. Free them to the North!

5. Cafe Latte: Great place in St. Paul to hang out with some one awesome like Katie. On the menu: scones with creme fraiche and raspberry jam. Under discussion: that biatch who told Katie she wiggled her way into the music faculty. My words of wisdom: "At least YOU don't have a mustache." Heaven.

Things I Almost Wrote in My Canadian Prose Paper, But Thought Better Of

-And it's a good thing SHE DIDN'T, or else it would be an even more spectacularly dull book and I would have to shoot myself in the head.
-As I wish for the sweet release of death, Ostenso's critique of racism strikes me as limited.
-Please for the love of God, Prof. Woodlouse, end my life.
-... and I should just give up now because you're just going to give me a C, right?
-Can't we negotiate to a B-? I'll bake you a pie.
-A PIE OF HATE AND BITTERNESS, you ass. Also, perhaps, cherries.
-Ostenso didn't write about your penchant for wearing buttondowns with the top button undone and mock turtlenecks, but if she had she wouldn't have liked them. Because mock turtlenecks are kind of like the of the...something sucktacular of the shirt family. Trying to be both a crew neck and a turtleneck at the same time, they fail at both and make me hate everyone who wears them.
-Aww, why did we have to start off hating each other? Or, condescending on your part, and hateful on mine? We could have been friends. Braided each other's hair. Done our nails. Burnt your collection of mock turtlenecks in a great bonfire.
-The offer of pie for grades is still on the table.
-FINE THEN. We can play it your way... Asssssstenso.
-Harriet and Ozzietenso: My Title Has Nothing to Do With My Paper
-Honk Honk Honk Went The Geesie, Zing Zing Zing Went Ostenso's Critique of Racism in Wild Geese
-I think we can both agree that what this book needs is more ponies.
-Listen, you cranky old man, you come from Calgary so you lose. LOOOOOSE!
-Also, I'm sick of your yammering about Eliot. I used to like him too, but now I'm going to take my iPod to class and play Cats really loud because you're the type who would find the rampant synth abuse an offense onto Eliot.
-You're just lucky I hate Cats. And Caleb Gare, from Wild Geese! YAY.
-This is The End of my paperLOL!!!!!!1!!!!! -xoxoxoxoxo1234student

I live, and the Top 5: Sodas

I went one week without posting, and then another few days, and just decided to make it an even two. But I'm back! Many things happened during my hiatus, some good, most bad or merely humiliating, so expect more tomorrow. Until then-
The Top 5: Sodas
1. Fanta: Sweet nectar of heaven, why aren't you more readily available in Canada? Orangina has this weird crap floating around it. Apparently it's pulp from something called "real oranges". To which I say pah- isn't this why we developed artificial flavors that tastes like oranges in Vegas? So we wouldn't have to deal with the throat tickling sensations of the dreaded pulp. Fanta is also less sickly-sweet than regular orange soda, but still with that kick you just don't get from juice, no matter how sugared up.
2. Canada Dry Ginger Ale: Delicious and comforting with o.j. when I'm sick, refreshing when drank plain.
3. A&W Root Beer: Much better than Barq's, its ill-mannered cousin who still watches Jackass. Also includes big bear with an orange sweater and no pants. Deliciously perverse!
4. Brio: Oooh la la, I'm walking along the Plateau, drinkin' my Brio! It's like Coke, but with herbs and crap, so it's just like I'm scootering around the sunny streets of Florence, instead of dodging dog turds as I sacrifice various extremities to the bitter kiss of Montreal winds.
5. Grape Crush: In a strange way, I'm fond of the taste of grape cough syrup. Maybe because it meant a day off school watching all the daytime television one could wish for. Or maybe I just liked my Dextomethorphan HBr. Either way, I like Grape Crush too.

The... Weekly Protagitron?

I had a half-written post from Monday I kept on meaning to finish at various times through out the week and post. Then I realized that it was a week later, and I may as well start a new post from scratch. Last week's top headlines:

KITTY TOUCHDOWN
Alright, last week they shelter phoned right after I posted, and told us they thought it would be too traumatic to break up the litter of kittens, so we wouldn't be getting a cat that weekend. Cue wailing and rending of garments. Then they wanted to know if we could foster a cat with leukemia, but when they found out about Gibby the degu (see my user pic) they were worried that it would transfer to Gibby. Wait- there's a crazy trans-species Mexican jumping cancer? Scary. Anyway, no cat for a week. But then the shelter phoned again on Friday and told us a big, fat male cat would be coming our way. And he did. And then he promptly heaved his girth under Katie's bed to hide. He's come out twice since then, but he seems like a pretty nice, chill cat so I think it won't take long before he's lounging on the couch with us. Preferably watching Law and Order. He just came out to walk around the kitchen, but when I came to see he ran bakc under the bed. He lets me pet him under the bed though, and purrs adorably.

WRITERS' BLOCK AFFLICTS PROTAGITRON, DOCTORS NOT OPTIMISTIC
For the past month I've been trying to write an essay that's due Monday. I'll sit down, try and think of a decent thesis, and then abandon my efforts because my brain is a big puddle of mush and I hate Ibsen. Well, that's a lie. I just hate the poorly worded, limited topic on The Wild Duck Prof. Hammy gave us. It will be finished by Monday, but probably not finished well. So far I have three words. "The", "Wild", and "Duck".

ANXIETY ALSO AFFLICTS PROTAGITRON, EXPERTS PLACE HER AT "JOB" STATUS
As you may, or may not know, I've been trying to deal with some personal issues with a limited degree of failure, er, success lately. And it's beginning to manifest itself in annoying physical symptoms. Stop now, before it gets all TMI. I

I'm not sure what's going on with my health right now. What will tomorrow hold? Testicular cancer? Teratoma? Suspense! Alright, I'm being just a mite hyperbolic (CONSUMPTION?!?!?), but really. For some reason, I was embarrasingly anxious all through Monday. Hyperventilating, jaw-clenching, the works. And the strangest thins is that logically, I could recognize that this was ridiculous.

I even tried to fix it, but quiet time in the library didn't work. I was breathing all "heeeeeee heeeeeee" as I tried to read The Woman in White. Then, I tried eating my salad. Still extremely tense. Next thing, retail therapy, which led to me going all "heeee heeeee" in the middle of Chapters. Which, speaking of, why aren't there any decent pattern books focusing on fair isle and/or intarsia? There are lots of lovely lace books, sock books, cabling... "Hip Graphic Knits" sounds promising, and then... BEGONE COLOUR SCHEME OF THE DAMNED! THE DAMNED BRADY BUNCH! Then, I had to go to The Word to buy a book, Kant's A Critique of Judgment for class. The Word is McGill's local used bookstore, selling old textbooks, occasionally some class materials, and secondhand books in an absurdly small space. Maybe I'm just judging it by the two secondhand bookstores I'm most familiar with. Macondo, back in Guelph, is about two rooms crammed full of books of all kinds. Mainly fiction, but also kid's books, craft books, coffee table books, travel books... all packed in shelves, stacked on tables, and piled on the floor. It's a bit of jumble, and a pain to navigate when there are more than two people in the entire store, but since these are the kind of people who decorate with dried flowers and photos of Kafka, and insist on using an antique register, it's part of some ill-defined charm. J. Westcott Books is local to my apartment, and is right next to an adult store, in a nice Montreal touch. I've often wanted to have all of my dildo and Durnell needs conveniently taken care of. It's a shade more of a collector's store than Macondo, but is still fairly large, with the suitcase of 50cent pulp books and the fleet of cats. Compared to these too, the Word is about the size of a pimple, and the stock turnover outside of textbooks is very, very slow. So, I get there and the entire staff is engaged in some sort of debate over the new American passport laws. I take a tour of the store, pretending that I'm really interested in buying... whatever it is I can find on the shelves. A guidebook to Turkey! Yes, I will buy a guidebook to Turkey. From 1998. Yes. Please look at me, staff, heee heee heeee. Finally succeed in getting their attention, buy my book, and decide to try and eat my troubles away again. A bran and date muffin from Timmy's. Saturated fat has curative powers, right? Heeee heeee heeeee. Nope. Then, back to the Arts Building to try and read away my tenseness. Narrowly avoid Prof. Woodlouse. Heavy breathing worsens, my last class of the day begins, and I slowly make only a semi-ass of myself as I haltingly participate in class discussion. A slightly better end to my day.

Then, on Tuesday, I came home after my only class of the day so tired, that I pretty much just fell into bed and passed out until nineish. Figured it was just a reaction to the anxiety of the day before, but then I was tired and cranky all through Wednesday and Thursday, and then on Friday I was so tired that I had to go home before my last class. That, and my skin was a distinctly unhealthy shade of chamois, which combined with my newly resurgent eczema to make me look as if I had a new and exciting skin condition. Scarlet leprosy, say, or roving plague. Now, I know I'm probably being all hyperbolicn and it was only the flourescent lighting in Sherbrooke 688, but still. Next week I'm going to try and CALM THE HELL DOWN so I don't have a stroke, or a repeat of the stairs incident.