What happened to our etiquette?

Also available on the Q

I firmly believe that there are times when it is appropriate to send an email and times when it isn’t. Of course, rules for close friends differ from acquaintances, but for big announcements and major life changes, generally, I think a call is in order. Weddings, births, job changes and…well, deaths. Good news or bad, I don’t always want to read about it on Facebook.

Recently, an acquaintance of mine experienced a death in his family. Announced on facebook, it was the easiest, quickest and ultimately, the most compassionate way to disseminate the information. It was the best choice for him. It is sad and I was glad to have been informed about it, especially since I would likely not have known otherwise. It’s difficult enough facing the loss of a loved one and the last thing grieving family members want to do is make hundreds of phone calls. Relatives have only to impart the news once, instead of repeating it over and over again.

What galls me is that upon such an announcement, people have now been commenting on said friend’s status and writing condolences on his wall. Really? Sending condolences for the death of a loved-one via Facebook? This is what it’s come to? You can’t pick up the phone or at the very least send a private email which will not appear on everyone’s News Feed? It may be acceptable and expeditious for the family or friend to make an announcement via facebook. It is not, however, acceptable or appropriate to publicly comment on that. Pick up the damn phone.

Which leads me to other inappropriate status updates on Facebook. Things other people don’t want to read about:

Going Through a Divorce/Break-up/Questioning Your Relationship
Living with Chronic Pain
Women’s Problems
How well your child/ren are doing on the Potty
Really, anything to do with bodily functions of any description

Facebook is just not the forum for that kind of sharing. It is a place where we assume a public persona, not air our dirty laundry. Like a press statement, you want to gloss over the bad stuff and focus on the positive. Kind of like a Highlight Reel. Not to say I have never had a negative status update or talked about having a ‘bad day,’ but there is a difference, in my mind, between life-changing events and the day to day minutiae that make up our lives. It’s that peering into the lives of others that makes Facebook so fascinating; that commiseration, that relating to one another and understanding what it is that connects us as a community and a society. But saying ‘I hate Calgary traffic’ is quite different from announcing: ‘I have the runs.’

I understand that people are busy and I honestly don’t expect phone calls from every single person I have ever known for every big announcement they have ever had. But sometimes I would like to hear about your engagement/pregnancy/new job from you. Facebook is kind of making us lazy and getting us off the hook from taking time to invest in our relationships.

Etiquette is less about worrying about which fork to use and more about treating people with consideration, honesty and respect. So if someone dies, shouldn’t etiquette dictate that a phone call—or at the very least, a private email—be more considerate than a post on a public wall fired off from your cubical at work? It’s about respecting the person enough to take time and let them know that you are thinking of them.

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Working On It

What is commonest, cheapest, nearest, easiest, is Me.
- Walt Whitman

I am feeling pretty lucky these days. Actually, every morning that I wake up, I am still breathing a sigh of relief. Even after all this time. I am so relieved and so grateful that I don’t have to get up, get showered, get dressed and haul my sorry ass to a job I hate. So happy. I just want to shout it out to the world how grateful I am feeling. But here’s the thing with that: there’s a fine line between ‘happy’ and ‘smug’. And not everyone gets to follow their dreams; not everyone is all that happy for me; and not everyone is nearly as lucky.

There are things in life beyond one’s circumstance and control and if I were to be perfectly honest, I have lived my life more or less without adversity: nothing truly horrible has ever really happened to me. Knock wood. So it’s easy for me to sit here and take credit for where I am. And trust me, I do—I believe that I took huge risks to be where I am today. I do believe that we are the creators of our own destinies. But I am also very aware just how much luck played a role in my life as well.

It is luck, yes. But it is no accident. From the outside, I can see how it would seem that I hardly had to try at all; that I have only been writing for six months and bam! I get a book deal. That I am sitting at my desk minding my own business one day and presto! My dreams are handed to me on a silver platter. And I’m not denying that. But what that implies to me, simply is that it was my destiny.

And from the inside, it’s been a whole different and much more difficult story. I have had to make some pretty major changes. I have had, first of all, to completely change the way I think and approach the world, and more importantly, myself; I am negative by nature and plagued by self-doubt. Every self-defeating thought I have ever had of “shit, I can’t do this, what do I know? who the fuck wants to hear what I have to say?”(and I mean EVERY SINGLE ONE--and there are thousands a day) has had to be systematically and painstakingly addressed and then replaced by a 'You can do this', or 'It is possible' or 'What you have to say has value/Who you are has value.'

I also recognize that I didn't make it here on my own; I have had enormous support.

I heard this great quote once:
“So, you can either chase happiness or you can choose to be happy. It really is that simple.”

And I am by no means an expert, and I still have a long way to go. But I am working on it.

So what does this all mean? Does it mean that I am a bundle of sunshine and roses all the time? Uh, not even close. Does it mean that I will never be angry/sad/hurt/scared ever again? Definitely not. Does it mean that I will never bitch and complain about stuff? I hope not. It means that I am just going to stop being my own worst enemy. I am going to get out of my own way and put the stick which I have beating myself up with my whole life DOWN. It means that the days of me putting myself down and pointing out all my faults and shortcomings are OVER. It means that I am going to start thinking as highly of myself as I think of y'all. It means, simply, that I am going to endeavor on a daily basis to be happy and move in the direction of getting closer to the woman I have always hoped to become.

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WORST TRADITION EVER

RUN FOR YOUR LIVES!

Any thoughts who came up with *this* Tradition?

SLOVAKIA:
Red Monday

Easter is a very important celebration both in the Czech Republic and Slovakia, called Velikonoce, or Great Nights. In Slovakia, there is a rather curious tradition on Easter Monday wherein the men go around whipping the ladies and pouring water over them.

Throughout the day, groups of men visit their female relatives and friends demanding “treats” which can range from eggs, liquor, chocolate, or a peck on the cheek and then spank them with special whips. Made from willow rods, these braided branches have ribbons at the end. In the past, it was common for women to add their own ribbons so the whip would say how many women the particular man has already visited.

If the women decide to make it interesting or play along, they will allow the men to chase them around. Otherwise, they just stand motionless and the male visitors spank their bottoms. Willow branches are used because they are a symbol of Spring. According to folk tradition, the fertility and vitality from the branches are thought to have transferred to the women during this act.

In addition to whipping, Easter Monday also involves dousing. Water is the symbol of life and the pouring of water is a gesture meant to encourage vigour and health in the year ahead. Being watered can range from having a teaspoon of warm tap water dribbled over the head to a bucket of frigid well water thrown at the body.

Isn’t that nice? The women get watered and whipped while the men get fed and given drinks, and the little boys are given money or chocolate.

Understandably, this tradition is enjoyed considerably more by the men than the women. But this wasn’t always the case. Traditionally, in each village, the watering and whipping would be done by a group of single young men, who would decide amongst themselves which single young women they would visit. If the group left out a particular girl, it was a sign that none of the boys in the group had an interest in her. Therefore, some people say that girls actually wanted to get watered and whipped.

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Boy, this tradition just keeps getting better and better. And uh, how did the traditional celebration of Easter change to “Hey, Jesus has risen, let’s whip some butt”??

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There Is Always A Way

I have a deadline looming. I just submitted 20,000 words and have 8 days to finish the rest of my manuscript. 25,000 more words. I am averaging about 10,000 per week. I’m not good at Math, but I’m pretty sure that means that I am running out of time.

I called my editor to renegotiate a later deadline today. Can I have another two weeks? No? One Week? Uh…hello? How about an extra couple of days? No go. This sucker has got to be pounded out in time for Valentine’s Day. Which means October 1st is firm and final.

What does that mean? That for the first time in as long as I can remember, I may have to finish something on time. I haven’t been so good at it lately. I tend to self-sabotage and am not so good at the positive self-talk. I am realizing that I have been living inside my comfort zone for a really long time. Simply put, if something is really hard, I just won’t do it. Mostly because I seem to have spent my twenties working MY ASS off with no pay-off. So I just stopped working my ass off. Except that I’m not 20 anymore. And this is something that I really, really want. And. There *is* a huge pay-off. AND. The hard work will be worth it. Truth be told, I’m also afraid of failing. So basically, in the past, I stopped trying. Because then if something didn’t get done, it was because ‘I didn’t feel like it’ and not because I can’t set goals and see them trough. Took the pressure off.

So, head down, ass up. I am going to finish this. To prove it to myself. And it is going to be good. And I am just going to keep telling myself that over and over and over again.

Twenty-five thousand words in 8 days. Seem impossible? The new loop running through my head is this: There is always a way.

One of my friends wrote an entire manuscript (50,000 words) in a month. Because she felt like it. She has a husband and two kids. No editor breathing down *her* neck. Nope. Just wrote a book for the heck of it.

If she can do it, then so can I.

I'm out of commish for a while.

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Have You Ever Googled Yourself?

Weird

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The Camrose Cat Killers Just Won't Die

I am STILL getting comments on this post. Boy, did I ruffle some feathers.


Whenever I am feeling down or need a good laugh, I just go here. Be sure to click on the Calgary Herald link, where there is even more hate.

Oh Yes They Did!

Oh sweet, sweet Tomacco

Esther Walker, a 48-year-old woman from Cheltenham, Gloucester, England, was just cutting open a tomato from her garden, minding her own business, when she discovered an unplanned pregnancy. A tomato womb carrying a strawberry. Behold, the strawmato. “We’re keeping it in the fridge in case an expert wants to look at it,” she told authorities.

This triggers daydreams of other improbable fruit and vegetable hybrids. What would you want? Simpsons fans are clearly rooting for the tomacco, a cross between tobacco and a tomato, Homer's fertilization project when he "planted a little bit of everything."

Chocolate-Fueled Car

Think that chocolate makes the world go round? Well soon it could make your car go round. It turns out that chocolate waste can be made into fuel. All those deformed, discarded Easter eggs and expired chocolate bars that Cadbury throws out could finally have a home other than the landfill! There are several ways which this could be done. One way is to have bacteria convert the chocolate into burnable hydrogen gas; the other is to turn it into bio-diesel.

Feeding chocolate to E. Coli bacteria would ferment the chocolate waste and produce hydrogen gas. Still in its initial stages, the research shows great promise. A cheap alternative to fossil fuels, this method reduce waste organically and economically. In laboratory tests, chocolate produced enough hydrogen to power a fuel cell that ran a small fan. The only waste it created was water.

In December 2007, Andy Pag and John Grimshaw journeyed 4500 miles in a chocolate-powered vehicle. Made from 8,818 pounds of chocolate misshapes--the equivalent of 80,000 chocolate bars--the chocolate biodiesel powered them from England to Timbuktu. The chocolate-derived ethanol was blended with vegetable oil and the Britons used 396 gallons (2000 litres) to complete their journey. Not only was the expedition carbon neutral, it was carbon negative. Ultimately, they used less carbon on their voyage than they would have if they’d stayed at home.

The fuel is made from cocoa butter but sadly, does not look or smell like chocolate.

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It's Time to Come Out Into the Light

So, this is my old blog. I have decided to take the security settings off for all and sundry to see. This is the blog that got my suspended. I know, so sinister, isn't it?

I Heart James Frey

So I never usually buck up the cash to buy books in hardcover. I’m too cheap or too oblivious most of the time to even be aware when an author has a new book out. And actually, it’s usually out in paperback by the time I even realize it.

I have only ever bought two hardcover books in my life, being absolutely unable to wait the 6 months until the paperback version came out. They were both James Frey books. One was ‘My Friend Leonard’ and the other is the book I am currently reading, ‘Bright Shiny Morning.’

I love James Frey. I have to regularly stop myself from getting in my car and driving to New York, knocking on his door, shooing his wife and kid out the door and saying, ‘I’m the gal for you.’

A Million Little Pieces was life-changing for me. I loved this book. I loved James Frey before Oprah loved him and continued to love him after she started hating him. I don’t care if he made the book up; it is still a masterpiece of writing to which I can only hope to someday aspire. And actually, I think way too big a deal was made out of that whole absurd fiasco. And as someone who knows a thing or two about professional scandal and going down in a blaze of glory, it endears me to James Frey all the more. I like him for standing up to the Oprah zeitgeist and standing his ground. I love him even more for writing at the beginning of Bright Shiny Morning: “Nothing in this book should be considered accurate or reliable.” Can I steal that and put it in my book? 'Cause that would really take the pressure off.

So summer is over, and I am finished reading my summer candy. It was great, but as the leaves turn, so do my interests in books. This fat little number has been sitting on my bed-side table blinking up at me since the end of May. And it is probably the worst time for me to be starting a really good book. I need to write and I need to sleep and that’s all right now. What I don’t need is to get roped into an absolutely genius book. I was hooked on Page 5 and actually have to train myself not to pick it up until before bed when all my work is done. My back hurts from hunching, my eyes are sore from twelve hours of computer glare, my wrists and knuckles are irritated from writing...yet there I am, reading, staying up late, devouring.

His characterizations are brilliance incarnate. Joe, the homeless alcoholic? I care what happens to him. Amberton Parker, the closeted homosexual movie star(who incidentally I think is a parody of Tom Cruise...?)I care what happens to him. Lashawn and Anika, Dylan and Maddie,Esperanza,winners, losers, assholes, dreamers. I care what happens to them.


I heard it described as a kindle that gets you hooked right away. And that’s it. This book is like starting a fire with one match. Luminous writing that shines throught the pages. I love his writing style, his sense of humour, his compassion, his irreverence and his realism.

Yes, James Frey. You 'da man.

And you can shine my morning any time you like.

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Bouquet Tradition Should Be Tossed Out

Also available on the Calgary Herald Q

I went to a wedding this weekend and there was no bouquet toss. Being the only two single women at the wedding, my friend and I expelled a HUGE sigh of relief. The bouquet toss for the thirty-somethings is the equivalent of getting a cheek-pinching from an ancient relative who doesn’t realize that you’re too old and it’s no longer appropriate.



One of my friends mentioned that there has been no bouquet toss at the last three weddings she has been to. Hallelujah. Hopefully this means that this horrible tradition is on its way out the window.

You know who loves the bouquet toss? Old, married people.

We single women are there, same as you, to support the union, celebrate the newly-married couples’ joy and get our groove on. But what was once seen as a fun and playful tradition seems to me to have turned into a cringing moment of agony where thoughtless and inconsiderate relatives elbow you and follow it up with “Hey, you’re single.” Jabjabjab. “Head on up there.” Pokepokepoke. Like we needed the reminder.

And then they look at you with that what-are-you-waiting-for look. You know the one—with the popped-out eyes and ridiculous grin and frantically shaking head. They can’t possibly imagine why we aren’t rushing the stage to be the very *lucky* girl who gosh-darn and shucks, might get her grubby little paws on that bouquet.

Dontcha know that it means that you are going to be the next to get married?! What’s not to like? You’re single, arentcha’?

Actually Aunt Ida, I am having casual and unprotected sex with a variety of different men, so I don’t really consider myself single.

I was joking with the bride that maybe she should throw wilted, dried flowers for all us spinsters in the crowd. As if to say, "these flowers are past their prime, you know. Just like you."

The times they are a changin’ and women are waiting until they are older to get married. Like my friend pointed out: the bouquet toss is fine when you’re 19 and half the crowd is single. But any bride over thirty is playing with fire. The last thing your female guests in their late-twenties and early thirties want is a bright, flashing neon sign reminding them of their destitution. Not that we see it that way, but the slanty heads and the furrowed brows from unnecessarily sympathetic onlookers is one thing single women everywhere are *happy* to avoid. Yes folks, let’s round up all the hunchback, hair-lipped second-cousins and herd them like cattle to the centre of a crowded room and see if we have any takers. Can we start the bidding off at Fifty? Do I hear Twenty-Five?

We don’t need your pity. And we sure as hell don’t need your bouquet either.

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This May Very Well Be My Favourite Find Yet!

BORN TO BE WILD

In April 2007, Latvia gifted the small Estonian island of Ruhnu with an 88-pound chocolate bear. This symbolic gift was offered to commemorate the Latvia-to-Estonia voyage made by a live bear the previous year. The seventy residents of Ruhnu were mighty surprised by the visiting bear when it floated into town on a chunk of ice.

The renegade bear eluded capture and lived as a fugitive in the roughly 8 kilometres of forest that cover the island. A summer celebrity, the bear is thought to have voluntarily ended his vacation and gone back to Latvia.

Fortunately, the live bear didn't sample any of the residents of Ruhnu, though the same can’t be said for his chocolate counterpart. The chocolate was viewed as a commemoration of the odd event that boosted Ruhnu tourism, then divided up equally amongst all seventy residents and eaten.

Marquis Marq & the Funky Bunch

That Marquis de Sade was a dirty bird.

A notorious French rogue and writer who had no qualms about penning his exploits to paper, these days, he's what we'd call a Playa.' Sade was known to have done all sorts of salacious things, not the least of which was combine chocolate with Spanish Fly, a well-known aphrodisiac. In the following tale, the Marquis de Sade describes a typical evening out:

“Into the dessert he slipped chocolate pastilles so good that a number of people devoured them...but he had mixed in some Spanish fly...those who ate the pastilles began to burn with unchaste ardour...Even the most respectable of women were unable to resist the uterine rage that stirred within them. And so it was that M. de Sade enjoyed the flavours of his sister-in-law.”

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I Think I Just Found My Mission Statement

Um, so in response to some comments I've gotten re: My Dating 101 Post, which for some reason have been emailed to me instead of being posted in my comment section for all to read, I have the following to say:

"I have come to believe...that what is most important to me must be spoken, made verbal and shared, even at the risk of having it bruised or misunderstood."
-Audre Lorde

In fact, this is the whole purpose of my life and of this blog.

Milestone

I just passed the 10,000 word mark. I am at 10 204 words, every single one of them representing a bead of sweat, a drop of blood, an ounce of crazy.

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Oh Dear

I don't know why I continue to be surprised by the ridiculous things I find on the Internet:

http://obamaschocolatenuts.com/

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East Coulee Musings

A few thoughts penned during my time away:


THURSDAY, SEPTEMBER 4, 2008

4:04 pm

It smells like Lloydminster here. It’s like a moldy, rusty, farm smell. It never smelled like this at *my* house, of course but I remember going out to my friend’s farm house when I was in elementary school and being *really* surprised to discover for the first time that not everybody lived like we did. This girl who had been my best friend was POOR. And worse, she was a poor farmer. Her dad was crass and belchy and dirty and well, he scared the crap out of me. This didn’t diminish my fondness for my friend; I was just shocked and scared and spent the whole night wanting to go home. I cried myself to sleep that night and don’t remember ever going back to her house again. That was the end of my farmhouse sleepover days.

In any case, that’s what it smells like here--Julie’s house.

That being said, this feels more like me than anything I’ve ever done. Yes, I’m out in the middle of nowhere…in the badlands…in a town of 300 people where I really don‘t belong; yet strangely, I belong here more than I ever did in the classroom. Without ever realizing it, I have spent the last six years of my life feeling like a fraud.

I am stepping into my own and feeling deep in my bones that yes! this is what it is I’m meant to be doing. I’ve never felt more complete, more like myself or more centred, calm and focused. And mostly I am grateful for having discovered this truth about myself relatively early on in my life. Thank God I didn’t waste 20 more years of my life decaying in a classroom. I’m sure your children are thanking me.

There is a portable CD player here which the owners have left behind and some speakers, for which I am ridiculously grateful! My ipod, which was freshly loaded with a bundle of new songs isn’t working! I have some CDs in the car, so I am so glad for some musack. And have one of my favourite Craig compilations on the go. Unfortunately, I have forgotten the mouse for the laptop, which isn’t the end of the world, but you know, just would have made things a little easier. Anyhow, there are worse things I could have forgotten, like water. I remembered just at the last minute that the water--though potable--is orange-coloured from the iron, and not that tasty. Stopped to pick up a 10L jug on my way out of Drumheller. I also caved in and stopped at the liquor store. I have a 6-pack of Corona and a beautiful bottle of Shiraz. You know, in case of emergency.

Otherwise, it’s very quiet out here. And peaceful. It’s going to take some getting used to. I might be a convert to the small-town yet.

6:08 pm

Um. So the one thing about being out here: there really is no getting away from the writing. Feel like distracting myself? uh. Yeah. There’s nothing. So I wander around the house or yard until I get bored enough that I give in and figure, ‘well, may as well get back to it.’

I really wish I had remembered the mouse.

Did I mention? No cell phone reception out here either. And uh, oh yeah. No running water.

Saturday, Septmeber 6
1:32 pm We have water! And it smells like rotten eggs.

Sunday, September I-have-no-idea-what-the-date-is.

2:51 pm

I just wrote: By the latte-half of the 18th Century…

Can you guess where my brain is?

Incidentally, I started at 1000BC. So the fact that I am now up to the 1800s is a couple thousand years’ worth of progress in just a few short days.

*sigh*

Back atter.

10:48 pm. I am writing my chapter on chocolate and sex and I don’t think it’s fair that I am having neither.

Monday, Setember whatever it is.
10: 15--It’s amazing how far 4 beers can go in soothing one wicked case of cabin fever. That and the decision to get the eff out of Dodge. I have typed so much over the last 6 days that I actually have sore knuckles. I have carpel knuckle.

So, how much of an idiot am I? I just realized that I could have been playing my CDs FROM MY LAPTOP. This whole time. Picture me holding up a giant ‘L’ on my forehead. Right now. Listening to music through shitty speakers that make the sound all tinny and distorted. Instead of listening to it through my *brand new*, state of the art laptop. Nice. Winner.

10:31-- And yeah, I just reread all that bullshit that I wrote on the first day about me being a convert to the small town yet. Yeah. That was crazy talk. Crazy bullshit talk. Who’s a big talker THIRTY-FIVE MINUTES into her trip? Well, lemme tell you--from the six-day veteran’s point of view, I am going fucking batty out here. What the fuck do people do?!?! I mean, I’m writing a BOOK and I’m bored. I am working my ass off out here--still bored. You can’t write 24 hours a day, for God’s sake. And who the eff lives without cell phone reception and bloody HIGH SPEED INTERNET?! Like seriously, where am I? Guatemala? Oh no, wait. If I was in Guatemala, I would have high-speed Internet. I don’t even understand how it’s possible to be in Alberta and be completely cut off from the ENTIRE REST OF THE WORLD. Ya. Small towns? Not for me. Which of course, I already knew since I grew up in one. I guess I just need the reminder every--oh 15 years or so.

That being said, the writing has been going awesome. Got a lot accomplished. Because there’s nothing else to do.

Last night, I was so desperate for some human contact, that I got in my car and drove 5 kms up the road to a place where there was cell phone reception to ‘reach out and touch someone.’ Seriously. I needed to talk to somebody. I’m staring to act like a crazy person. Sayin’ things out loud to myself, talking, swearing, readin’ passages of my book to the empty room…You do what ya gotta.

Would it have killed me to bring a DVD out here with me? Now that I figured out the whole cee-dee thing, I realized that I probably could have watched a movie on this thing as well. Huh. If my ipod was working, I could probably plug that in too.

I just saw these two quotes and they made me laugh:

**If you want breakfast in bed, sleep in the kitchen.
**I’m looking for a kind, understanding man. Is that too much to ask for in a millionaire?

11:36. I’m on my fifth beer. Should I be concerned? Aw, this place aint so bad. I can’t believe I even *considered* coming here without alcoholic reinforcements. What was I thinking? So, I just wrote my dedication and acknowledgements for the book, so technically, I am still working. Mental note* Don’t do this when drunk. It’s wordy and overly-sentimental. I practically thanked everyone right down to my First Grade teacher and the guys who pick up my garbage.

I am excited because when I get up, I CAN LEAVE.

11:51 I think Arthur Ganong is scary lookin’

12:08 am. I feel sick.

Forrest Mars--aka,the man who built the Mars empire--grew up in NORTH BATTLEFORD, SASKATCHEWAN!! And he graduated from LETHBRIDGE HIGH SCHOOL!!

Crazy. What is it about North Battleford fostering so many success stories?! First Joni Mitchell, now Forrest Mars.

Huh. It's no 'Evil Denizens' story, but still...

You Just Can't Make This Shit Up

THIS STORY HAS MADE MY DAY:

The Izapan were a people closely associated with the Olmec and likely passed the secrets of chocolate to the Maya. They treated cocoa as a divine product awarded to human beings from the mythical Mountain of Sustenance. (Really? The mythical Mountain of Sustenance?) In an ancient manuscript, there is a story in which one of the so-called hero twins--the children of the man and woman who created the universe--is decapitated. His head is then posted on a cocoa tree, where it manages to impregnate the ruler's daughter, who gives birth to other hero twins. These offspring subsequently save humankind from the evil denizens of the Underworld.

So the next time someone tells you that chocolate isn't good for you, you can tell them that it can help save human kind from the evil denizens of the Underworld...but to take heed, 'cause it might subsequently knock them up.

HA!

The Blair Witch Project

SO... I'm leaving town. To go write. I have finagled myself a free hut in the woods, a hideout. There is no cable or internet. All I will have will be my book information, my laptop and...my thoughts?

Lord.

Which could either be the best idea I’ve ever had...or...positively crazy-making.

There are just a few too many sidetractions here in Calgary. Like mindless Internet surfing. And blog updating.

There is no address, so the owners have sent me a picture. You know, so I can find it. I have kindly included it here for you, so if I don’t come back, someone will know to come looking for me.







I don’t know much about it, except
a) there are only two streets
b) 300 people live there
c) There is a tavern

I’ve got my hand-drawn map and an email from the owners of the cabin today which read:

“The neighbor on the other side (white and blue house with a big satellite dish) – his name is Cliff and his wife drives the yellow school bus out front. We mentioned that you would be there for the week, that your name was Karen, and he said if you need anything he’s retired and next door (he even said that if you needed someone to have coffee with because you were getting sick of your own company that you could just pop over). He and his wife are super nice and a great resource is something weird happens”

So, they have satellite, eh?
In case something weird happens?!? Well that's reassuring.
Should I bring my shot-gun?!

Me and Cliff’ll be sittin around, talking about the Harvest and then maybe I can convince him to ditch the coffee and come to the Tavern with me, or save me from the lumberjack hiding in the wood shed.

This could really go either way. I could love it and find it restorative and productive out there…

OR

I could drive back early.

Either way, I’m going down the rabbit hole, so wish me luck.

Song of the day: Goin' Up The Country-Canned Heat

A Few Things I Can’t Live Without

So, although I am writing a book about chocolate, I don’t actually want to LOOK like I am.

And sitting in front of a computer for 12-14 hours a day is not helping matters.

In my cupboards and my belly are:

NAKED GREEN JUICE—

One of my friends introduced me to this when we were in Las Vegas. And not only did it get me through the rest of the debaucherous Vegas trip, but through all the rough times since—countless hangovers, Stampede partying, early and long flights to Central America and now this. Basically, whenever you are treating your body like shit, slam back one of these babies and you will feel…well, better.

It has apples, kiwis, bananas, mangoes, pineapple, spirulina, chlorella, blue green algae, garlic, barley grass, ginger and parsley. But that’s not why I like it.

I like it because it tastes delicious. It has all those healthy things in it, but it does not *taste* like spinach or blue green algae. I think that's important in a yucky-looking juice.



OIL OF OREGANO

The only good thing that one of my ex-boyfriends ever did for me was introduce me to this magic wonder--A literal medicine chest in a bottle. It is good against bacterial, fungal, viral and parasitic infections. I have used it from everything to stave off colds, heal mosquito bites, deal with toe fungus and keep mosquitoes away...you name it.

Five drops under the tongue every morning and you will feel like a Superhero. It's kind of like wearing a Superman suit under your real-person clothes.



SPOONFED SOUP

First, you have to admit your powerlessness over soup. Then you can join the Spoon Federation. And why wouldn’t you want to?! These ridiculously *delicious* soups are organic, home-made, locally-sourced AND DELIVERED RIGHT TO YOUR DOOR.

That’s right. TO YOUR DOOR.

And they come in the most delightful and unusual flavour combinations. Even more endearing, each soup has been named and has a story behind it. You get ‘introduced’ to each of the soups in a weekly email. Each one litre jar lasts about two hearty meals. So for about twenty bucks, I have my lunches for an entire week.

Throw in some heavenly home-made crackers, the fact that they recycle your previous weeks' jars and some *cute* delivery boys and you have yourself the marketing *genius* of Spoonfed Soup.

And of course, because one can’t leave on Spirulina alone, there is:

THE BETTER-THAN-BRAD-PITT BROWNIE:



To get you through the lonely nights.

Who Knew Chocolate Skulls Could Be So Cute?

So, I don't want to show all of my cards before my book actually comes out, but these little suckers are so adorable, that I just can't resist.



In Mexico, The day of the Dead is a ritual in which the living remember their departed relatives. Graves are tended and decorated with ofrendas--offerings--and families expect a visit from loved ones who have passed. Ofrendas dedicated to the deceased, usually foods and beverages, are also put in homes on elaborately decorated altars.

Some people believe that the visiting spirits of the deceased eat the spirit of the food; thus friends and relatives eat the food from the ofrendas in tribute to the dead. Foods can include chocolate beverages, chicken with chocolate mole sauce, and sugar and chocolate skulls inscribed with the names of the deceased on the forehead.

My favourite part? The skulls' black eyes are made with EDIBLE GLITTER! So when you're going to go all-out to remember your dead relatives, a little indulgence is totally warranted.

Also, I love that they give 'an offering' that they just go ahead and eat themselves. That is my kind of gift.

Source: slashfood.com

You *Knew* I Would Get Around to it Eventually...

Look what I found:

The Top 14 Movies About Necrophilia

14. Driving Miss Pushing Up Daisies

13. Some Like It Cold

12. Peggy Sue Got Buried

11. People to Do in Denver Who are Dead

10. Sex, Flies and Videotape

9. Lifeless in Seattle

8. The Right Stiff

7. Dr. Jekyll and Miss Formaldehyde

6. How Stella Got Her Grave Back

5. Four Beddings at a Funeral

4. The Corpse Whisperer

3. CASketball

2. Waiting to Exhume

and Top5's Number 1 Movie About Necrophilia...

1. Blue Vulva

Soylent Green (it’s made of people)

So here I am looking up films about chocolate. There are lists by subject in alphabetical order. I scroll past the following and am disturbed that there are only THREE films about chocolate, but…EIGHT…about cannibalism?!


Cannibalism:
Alive (Action)
Delicatessen (Action)
Eating Raoul (Horror)
How Tasty Is My Little Frenchman (Horror)
The Legend of Alfred Packer (Action)
Soylent Green (Action)
Sweeney Todd (Horror)
The Silence Of The Lambs (Horror)

And it leaves me wondering, how tasty *is* your little Frenchman?

It also makes me want to look up other subjects. Like Necrophilia. But you know, I have a book to write.