crazywonderful

For Ken, Who Doesn't Like Being Poked With Sharp Metal

I have a wee brother who bitches
When he sees or hears the word "stitches"
Calls it "medical thread"
Cause he's soft in the head
With a sister who laughs when he twitches.

On the Side of Women

Yesterday I stopped a man from walking in front of a car that was running a red light. Grabbed his suit sleeve, silk, said probably too loudly on account of the earphones and music, "Watch! Watch!", and watched the car float across the intersection thankfully under the limit, because it took the silk suit longer than is genetically probable to stop and back up. He would have never made it in the jungle.

Two weeks ago, on that same corner (Pender and Burrard) I was nearly run over myself by someone running a red light. Which is what made me so vigilant yesterday. Which is why I don't wear the really lovely isolating earphones when I am "commuting" anymore. Because most of the world, including myself, is not paying attention.

Case in point: Today on that corner I saw this headline in the Asian Pacific Post:

"Women get themselves raped to go to Canada"

It was a tape-recorded interview and apparently it's been verified, but the President of Pakistan denies saying, "This has become a moneymaking concern...a lot of people say if you want to go abroad and get a visa for Canada or citizenship and be a millionaire, get yourself raped."

Of course, after I saw it today, I was all like, "Shit, I was hoping that wouldn't get out..."

I know y'all have already processed this. Considering I came across it in a week-old bi-weekly paper. But I'm new here, and don't get out much. So:

Dear Pervez Musharraf, THAT IS NOT HOW IT WORKS. Thank you for being a total asshat. Please commence stabbing yourself in the groin. Sincerely, A Concerned Canadian.

Since my rage is always the goggle-eyed incoherent kind, I should just stick to seconding Mukhtaran Bibi, the woman the interview with Musharraf was partially about. "Such thinking about women is not good."

And Now, a Few Found Objects For Your Viewing Pleasure

This on the way to work a week or two ago:

It’s packaging for some kind of play cell phone for girls. When they come out with a Malignant Girl line they can totally call me up.

And the next was not found by me but by a couple of carriers of the Y chromosome who visited the "fantasy showroom" (the name of which - up at the top - is hilarious and I would type it here rather than make you look but the hits I inadvertently get already scare me) in question and gave the flyer - the cleanest copy they could find - to me on the condition that they would remain anonymous "if you ever blog about it." It’s funny because this here stripper (What’s the politically correct term for this? "Modernized Entertainer"? "A lady who took all her clothes off and spent a good amount of time dancing around"?) and I have the same names. Sort of. (Her last name is spelled differentlee):

Um, yeah. I'm with Kermit. And apparently she’s gone up an evil eye size since this photo was taken. Praise be to Pam (she who was so recently here en route to Shanghai, stopping only long enough for Toby "I Know I Have Saggy Drawers But Will You Still Marry Me" Jones to catch his breath) for the gift of the eye magnet, without which I would not be able to display this picture on my fridge without feeling disturbed - and not in a good way - every time I walked by. Largely because the other Dana sports a frontless hoodie. Braless, of course. On account of being modern and all. How could anyone not love a girl who carries a hockey stick and a six pack minus one of Canadian beer around? Especially one who has a reported fondness for hot wax on her bits? I really need to know.

Everybody's Doing It

Not only did it get to me within a week, it's soft and stretchy and arrived in a tyvek envelope folded up neatly right in my mailbox with Mrs. Kennedy's writing on. I sleep with the envelope. You think I'm kidding.

Grandparents

Did I tell you the part where I started writing a sentence and then couldn't remember how it ended?

I hate when that happens.

Just got off the phone with my grandmother, Ken (currently reading a Time magazine article on what went wrong in New Orleans and sighing frequently and heavily) and I (and Bill Gates) were trying to remotely assist her (she was having trouble printing her cards) and then we were catching up on the latest (last few days') news. I said I was going to Poke's on Friday, Ken said he was driving to an Ultimate tournament in Vernon with a friend. She told us how Grandpa, now home from the hospital but strangely weak, not quite himself, ate good today, but the doctor is concerned about his liver. He may still have the infection. If he has to go into the hospital again, I may not be able to stop myself from grabbing one of the doctors, pulling them up by their shirtfront and hissing, "GET. IT. RIGHT. YOU. FUCKER." If you are thinking he is 80, and this is the way things go, that's fine, but...not yet. Please.

Anyway, these were Grandma's parting words:

"Have fun, Kenny. Win your game this time. Drive careful."

We love her too.

Can't Talk Now

A quick entry to say my computer is not even turning on anymore, and I can't bear to take it in because what if they can't rescue all the photos and music and journal files that I haven't backed up in the last year or so? What then? Then I have to kick myself in the ass until I feel even more horrible, and I am not ready for that quite yet. So after about fifty tries and some light tapping of my forehead on the monitor, I remembered what the string was to get into MT (it's bookmarked at home, don't ya know) and here I am at work letting you know it's not working. Have a nice day.