Category: Uncategorized

The last session in my poetry class happened on Tuesday night. Few actually showed up, but it was a good class, and we all got to workshop our poems. Now, the question remains whether or not I can find the courage to send the series out. Who knows?

Oh, then the teacher invited me to come for a beer, and in my infinite wisdom, I decided I’d rather be home watching Corrie Street. Bah! I’m a goofball.

Goodness me, do I love a good virtual showdown. Neil Pollack wrote about the death of his persona in the NY Times. Then, Dave Eggers replied on McSweeneys (links via bookslut).

Remember the heyday when Dave Eggers and Neal Pollack would show up at the Horseshoe half an hour late, weird diagrams and fake superhero costumes in tow? Remember how we all swooned when Dave told the stories about his brother Topher and the tragic deaths of his parents interspersed with crazy stories of meeting whales in kayaks? Sigh. Somehow, the pretension of all of that just couldn’t last. It was like Shift magazine, too hip for its own good.

But again, I guess the debate rages as to whether or not Eggers’ form of self-publishing empire is still relevant and whether or not his website still matters, because Neal Pollack’s piece was in the, ahem, NY Times.

As many blogs were reporting today (bookslut, Confessions of an Idiosyncratic Mind, and so on), the newspapers around the globe are atwitter with Summer Reading Lists. And it’s not that the beautiful warm weather and long, quiet nights at the cottage don’t inspire one to pick up a book that they’ve been meaning to read, but more that there’s a certain connotation that goes along with the whole Summer Reading idea.

So when I landed up a Salon list today that was out of the ordinary, I thought to myself what does Summer Reading really mean? How is it different than Winter, Fall or Spring Reading? To me, it isn’t really, but it is a time to catch up and read more, for some reason, most of which being that the television truly sucks ass this time of year.

Now I’ve decided I’m going to try to read as many books on this list from The Guardian as I possibly can. And watch as my 50 Book Challenge kite sways, flutters and then eventually takes a nose dive for the Earth.

What I’ve already read? Ahem, not as much as I should have being the one with the MA in English from U of T. Snippets of Pilgrim’s Progress, all of Robinson Crusoe, Emma, Frankenstein, Jane Eyre, half of Moby-Dick, Madame Bovary (yawn), Little Women, Jude the Obscure (one of my all-time favourite books), The Rainbow (I heart DH Lawrence), half of The Good Soldier, Mrs. Dalloway, A Passage to India, The Great Gatsby, As I Lay Dying, Brave New World, Nineteen Eighty-Four, Catcher in the Rye, half of Wise Blood, Charlotte’s Web (when I was like, five), Lord of the Flies, On the Road (oh, how I love thee, Kerouac), Lolita, Things Fall Apart, One Hundred Years of Solitude, Song of Solomon, Waiting for the Barbarians, Oscar and Lucinda, and Atonement. How many is that? Maybe 20? Man, I’m in for a busy summer.

I’m not necessarily a mystery reader, although I read a lot of them as a child growing up (Nancy Drew, Agatha Christie, and so on). There’s been a lot of talk lately about Alexander McCall Smith and his No. 1 Ladies’ Detective Agency series, and upon the recommendation of Sarah Weinman, who loves all of the books, I decided to read the first one. And, I’m hooked. Seriously. I loved the story, the writing and especially Precious Ramotswe, the main character in the series.

Upon the death of her father, Mma Ramotswe inherits his cattle, promptly sells them and opens up the one and only ladies’ detective agency in Botswana. She solves crimes, but not the gruesome-Hollywood sort; instead, they’re tales of straying husbands, lost children and everyday life in Africa. It’s a marvelous little book, a perfect quick summer read, and one I could not put down.

…but so little sleep, between getting home from Winnipeg to getting up and going to work, I’m so tired! More tomorrow, I promise.

Was wonderful. If you can believe it. The opposite of Scarbie’s crusty experience, here is my Winnipeg Top 10.

1. Lake Winnipeg

Lake Winnipeg is absolutely beautiful. We stayed in a Victoria Beach cabin built around the 1920s filled with original folk art and imbued with years of happy family living. The atmosphere around Victoria Beach is one of almost a 1950s summer resort community. It felt a lot like the vacation spot from that Diane Lane film, A Walk on the Moon, except there was no Viggo Mortensen in sight.

2. The Great Outdoors

What there was in sight, however, was nature, and lots of it—and I’m not just talking about the mosquitoes, of which there were plenty. Especially when one was using the biffy (and please don’t ask me to explain why an outhouse is called a “biffy” in Manitoba, because I just can’t, if anyone has any ideas, please let me know). I spent most of the few days we had there straining my eyes and neck to catch a glimpse of the wonderful white pelicans, especially those resting at Pelican Point. There were tonnes of birds there, many that I couldn’t recognize and/or identify, so there’s no point in describing them, but also deer (we saw tracks), foxes (our friends spied them on a store run) and other fun stuff.

3. Spoiled Rotten

I think I gained back all the weight I’ve lost because of the Cellcept, and thank goodness. We ate so well over our holiday that it was a crime to come back to TO and order bad delivery because we had no energy to cook. We were wined and dined by two exceptional entertainers, and they get nothing but love from me in terms of how wonderful they treated both of us…

4. Good Friends

…for the entire time we were there. We were pampered, treated to great conversation, and fully entertained. Oh, and we played cards, which is my all-time favourite thing to do at a cottage, ahem, cabin (that’s what they’re called in Manitoba).

5. Oh, Canada!

There’s a gentle delight in discovering different parts of Canada that you’ve never been to before. I’ve travelled from one end of the country to the other, and even spent time at a cottage on the Lake of the Woods, but have never been around the area of Lake Winnipeg. It’s marvelous, from the delicious bakery at the Lake, to the really cool townie bar we visited on the way in, discovering hidden gems in Canada’s back roads is one of my favourite things to do on vacation.

6. The Sights of Winnipeg

When we got back to the city on Monday night, we went to go see Mr. and Mrs. Smith, which is a silly summer movie with beautiful people that are both solid actors and who do a good job with terrifyingly bad dialogue. Oh, and I got to eat Milk Duds, my absolute favourite candy. Then we did some sightseeing, where I saw the Forks and other downtown ‘Peg highlights. So. Much. Fun.

7. The Perfect Soundtrack

Fading echoes of Neil Young and the Rolling Stones, alongside some fabulous Canadian stuff including Elliot Brood and the Cons made for a perfect soundtrack while we were at the cabin.

8. Champagne

Need I say more?

9. Stupid F%&king Disease

Only made me sick maybe half the time I was away, cause for celebration indeed!

10. Getting Along w/ my RRBF

Ususally travelling together means at least one major blowup, but this time, we spent a few days actually enjoying each other’s company and having fun. He drove me crazy for a couple of hours while speaking too loudly and doing general RRBF antics, but they were minor when compared to previous trips spent being so mad I won’t even talk to him for, like, hours. Oh, and he came up with the goofiest RRBF saying I’ve ever heard. When discussing the asexual nature of one Sarah Harmer (according to us girls and having nothing to do with her exceptional musical talents), RRBF chimed in about how “cute” he thinks she is, and I rolled my eyes. His response, “What do you care about where I get my appetite as long as I come home for dinner?” Bah!

The RRBF and I are going to Winnipeg for a few days. Updates when I get back. Fingers crossed the meds only make me sort of sick for our “mini-break” in Bridget Jones terminology.

…will be planned around this map. It’s kind of like what we sort of did in London last February. With the exception of it being so organized and interactive and all that jazz. Ahem, that tour ended with me coming out of the tube exclaiming, “This is Bloomsbury!” And then looking around in wonder and amazement until we got to the pub where I had a great glass of beer and some crisps. Ah, I love London.

It’s so hot in Toronto these days. When we went out for Chinese food this evening it was actually 37 degrees Celsius. That’s a bit crazy. We discovered that of all the things in the house that are wrong (the ants, the smell, the rotten garage roof, the bowing walls in the basement, the bad pipes, the faulty electricity, and I could go on but won’t because the list makes me too sad), there is one thing that’s actually right: the air conditioning actually works. Hallelujah. I feel quite guilty about using it though, so I’m going to re-start my donations to the David Suzuki Foundation and the Canadian Parks and Wilderness Foundation next paycheque.

My stomach hasn’t necessarily been coming out of me these past couple of days because the doctor lowered the medication to see if my system could tolerate it better. I’ve stopped throwing up in the morning, and have managed to have a bit more energy than usual, but am still having to curtail my extra-curricular activities. I hate that. Having the disease is one thing, having it totally interfere with my life is completely another.

My head is drowning in blogs. For the past few days all I’ve been doing is reading page after page of posts. A couple of interesting things have come up over the past few days, though.

1) Far, far too many people are thinking about Oprah and her summer reading pick of three William Faulkner novels. The posts range from the sublime to the ridiculous. More on my personal relationship with Faulkner later.

2) I’ve been reading all about the “war” between Curtis Sittenfeld and Melissa Bank. Well, more like Sittenfeld’s comments about Bank’s new novel in the New York Times last week has erupted in a crazy-ass blog debate on the merits of chick lit and those who write it. This afternoon, Buzz, Balls & Hype alerted me to the fact that Jennifer Weiner has now entered the fray.

Technorati reports that there are a whopping 255 posts in the last little while in the “blogosphere” referring to Sittenfeld, the majority of which are either agreeing or disagreeing with her review and the subsequent fallout. Entertainment Weekly‘s review, written, again, by Weiner, gives the book an unmitigated “A.” Now, remember, this is the same magazine that gave the truly audaciously bad Lords of Dogtown (see: my review) an “A” as well.

Yet Weiner is a self-proclaimed chick lit supporter, one whose books realistically and necessarily fit into the genre. It’s no mistake that EW picked Weiner to write the review—a pop culture magazine needs a pop culture reviewer to read the book. There’s no shame in that, there’s no shame in ensuring that you’re writing for an audience, a very particular audience that will be receptive to your point of view. And maybe that’s where the NY Times went wrong, or right, depending upon how you look at it. Weiner’s comments on Sittenfeld’s review are on the mark, that maybe the negativity that so many people are reading into her words stem more from how Prep has been treated a) by its publisher (the white cover w/ the pretty pink belt, the free belt giveaways, the marketing of the book as chick lit) and b) by the legions of people who steadfastedly claim that it’s not chick lit as they defend it open on their laps while on vacation in the Florida Keys.

Maybe having someone whose fighting against the chick lit label review a book so steadfastedly within the genre written by one of the originators of the trend wasn’t the best way to go. And instead of making the fight personal, oohhh look at Sittenfeld attacking Bank, oohhh look at Bank rising above it all, maybe examine the debate from a different point of view and wonder why the NY Times asked her to write it in the first place. Who doesn’t love a bit of controversy?

I read A Girl’s Guide to Hunting and Fishing and didn’t really like it at all, felt it didn’t contain a cohesive and/or coherent narrative, and I really didn’t like the main character. But I’m willing to give The Wonder Spot a try, but I’ll wait until it’s in paperback. But let the blogs go on battling—it’s making my day interesting…

I had a bad dream the other night that the Rock and Roll Boyfriend and I were trapped on a reality television show about home improvement. Perhaps because I’ve been watching way, way too much Holmes on Holmes. But, whatever. I don’t really watch capital “R”, capital “T”, Reality Television, with the exception of a bad American Idol audition or two and the last half of the last season of The Amazing Race (congratulations Lynn and Alex!).

But now after seeing commercials for Dancing With The Stars, I am now convinced that television can sink no lower. No, let me rephrase, C-listers, D-listers, and those even further down, can sink no further—this show feels like the ballroom equivalent of the ridiculous Lorenzo Lamas hot show that was on a couple of years ago. I mean, how much humiliation is honestly worth a) a mediocre paycheque and b) tepid and highly tenuous claims to fame?

Why aren’t people fighting poverty and the AIDS crisis in Africa? I know, it’s a moot point. But I still need to go for the jugular sometimes.