Not To Be Trusted With Knives











{January 28, 2007}   At The Grocery Store

As a nutritional scientist, I consider it my duty to assess the contents of other shoppers’s purchases when waiting in line at the grocery store checkout. The vast majority of the time, what people are buying is appallingly bad for you and I get to feel all smug and superior in a “what is this world coming to? why isn’t anyone buying any whole grain products??” kind of way.

Today, I’m standing in the line up at Safeway and a cute boy walks into the line up behind me and starts emptying his basket onto the conveyor belt thingy. Oh my god, he’s buying sprouted grain bread – not Wonder Bread! Look at that, he’s getting whole grain crackers! And oatmeal! And the eggs with the omega-3 fatty acids! And then I look at my pathetic order… frozen french fries; pre-manufactured veggie burgers; the cheapest, omega-3-less eggs they sell; a huge vat of salsa. Oh my god, does he see I’m buying the cheap eggs with artery clogging saturated fats in them? Is he judging my frozen french fries? I want to yell, “but I’m on my way to the produce store to buy my fresh fruits and veggies next! I swear! And I’m getting multigrain bread at the bakery on the next block! Honest!” I can’t even bring myself to look at him, lest his eyes tell me what he’s surely too polite to say aloud: “Your grocery order is pathetic.” Or perhaps not everyone is as critical as me about other people’s groceries. Or perhaps he wasn’t even looking at my order and he really was interested in the headline on that tabloid* he was looking at. Hard to say really.

It seems like there really should be some sort of grand conclusion to the posting, some moral to this story. But there isn’t.

*FYI, did you know that Katy Holmes has been turned into a Stepford wife?

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  • Justify buying toaster waffles in order to use up the last of the syrup you have in your fridge.
  • Use up the last of the syrup.
  • Justify buying syrup on the grounds that you need it to eat up the last of those toaster waffles you bought.
  • Repeat.


{January 21, 2007}   Overheard in Vancouver

Having recently read two fellow Vancouver bloggers postings about things “overheard in Vancouver” (Barefoot, 2007; Doppelganger, 2007)*, I was inspired to record this comment that I overhead on a bus in Vancouver today**:

“A gun license is good for 5 years, but my medicinal marijuana license is only good for one. You do the math.”

*Sorry. Flashback to APA*** citation style.

**“today” was actually “yesterday” but the time I have posted this, possibly further back in history by the time you read this. I heard this on a bus heading downtown and wrote**** this posting on my Palm Pilot with attachable keyboard on the next bus I was on, heading out to the ‘burbs. I ❤ technology.

***No, not the American Poultry Association. Although they do have a book called “Living with Chickens,” by which I am intrigued. However, I’m not sure what citation style they use.

****Ever since I first saw 8 Mile******, which I saw in the theatre when it first came out, everytime I take a long bus ride, I feel like I should be writing a rap song. Granted, Eminem wasn’t writing on a Palm Pilot and I couldn’t write a rap song to save my life, so writing blog posts will have to be sufficient.

******I just have to say that the sex scene between Eminem and Britney Murphy in 8 Mile is one of the hottest sex scenes I’ve ever seen on film*******.

*******Have you been able to follow all these footnotes? Is it nerdy to have more writing in footnote form than in the actual body of the posting? Is it nerdy that I wrote the HTML code to superscript the asterisks******** while composing this on my keyboard on the bus? Was it nerdy, as Danielle contended, that I went to the library and took out the a book on computer programming, by Stephen Hawking, and the Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy*********? I also got Timothy Findley’s Not Wanted on the Voyage, but Danielle said that just made it look like I was trying not to look to geeky by throwing some literature in there.

********I would have written the HTML code for the hyperlinks as well, but I didn’t have the URLs of those things to which I wanted to link.

*********Which I picked up so as to complete my Hitchhiker Trilogy entries on my other blog



So, I finally got off my butt and scanned the grad photos that I finally got. I had originally hoped to send my grad photos out with my Christmas cards, thus saving a bunch of $$ on mailing, but when I got the proofs in mid-December, the photographer informed me that it would take 5 WEEKS to print my photos. I’m not sure why I can walk into Shopper’s Drug Mart and print digital photos in a matter of minutes, but it takes these guys 5 WEEKS to print their digital photos, but, hey, I’m not a photographer, right? But, seriously, 5 WEEKS?? No one will even remember, let alone care, that I graduated by 5 WEEKS after the proofs are in… at least as evidenced by the fact that no one wants to hire me. Hmph. Apparently I am in a mood today.

OK, so back to the main point of this posting, which was not, despite all evidence thus far to the contrary, to complain about the slowness of digital printing these days. The point was this: to share with you my two favourite photos from the shoot. I love these photos because of the sheer ridiculousness of them.

First up, we have Beth and the pole.

Why I am standing like this? Am I in love with this pole? Why am I caressing it? Did the photographer actually position my hands like that, since apparently I am incapable of knowing how to hold my hands against a pole? Where does one find such a pole? Why is there no background in this pole-centric location? What am I looking at? What is behind that mysterious smile? Why is my robe so very, very pink? And, of course, what’s the deal with the puffy hat? Clearly, this photo raises more questions than it answers.

Second up, is Beth sitting on a throne-like chair. I’d like to point out (not that it is strictly necessary, as how could you miss it really?) the sheer number of props in this photo. The big leather chair, the book I’m holding, the globe in the background, the puffy ha, the bookcase full of books behind me… and they are *real* books, not a facade and not a pull down screen with a picture of books on it. *Real* books… JUST LIKE THE GREAT GATSBY!! I was highly disappointed when I got this photo back, as the proof had a clock on one of the higher shelves behind me, but it was cropped out in the final print. Because I really feel that this photo needs one more prop. I like to think of the props as each representing something. The books represent the large body of knowledge that I learned over the years and then forgot. The globe represents all the places in the world that I didn’t visit because I was spending all my time and money on school, the book that I’m holding, but clearly not reading represents all the procrastinating that I did. The leather chair represents… um, can someone help me out with what the leather chair represents? And the clock, well the clock represents how friggin‘ long it took me to do the Ph.D. (or, as phrased ever so eloquently by my supervisor, “Don’t you think you are getting a little long in the tooth?). So really, without the clock, it loses the full effect, don’t you think?



{January 11, 2007}   30

1 – # of neices I have
2 – # of countries to which I have been*
3 – # of continents to which my neice had been before the age of 1
4 – # of blogs for which I currently write
5 – current +/- of both of the Sedin twins
6 – # of homes in which I have lived**
7 – # of provinces to which I have been***
8 – # of email addresses I have
9 – # of weddings I’ve been to in my life
10 – # of servings of fruits & vegetables you should be consuming per day
11 – # of years of postsecondary education I have
12 – # of biological aunts and uncles I have
13 – movie that I want to see
14 – # of cousins I have
15 – current # of points Taylor Pyatt has this season
16 – age at which I got my driver’s license****
17 – # of feeds on my Google Reader
18 – # of items on my blogroll
19 – jersey number of Canucks captain, Markus Naslund
20 – age at which I got married
21 – # of kilometers I’m planning to run in May
22 – age at which I got my B.Sc.
23 – age at which I got my M.Sc.
24 – age at which I passed my Ph.D. comprehensive exam
25 – age of my neice, in months
26 – # of songs currently on the “sex” playlist on my iPod
27 – 33
28 – # of blog entries I currently have labeled with the tag “photos”
29 – age at which I got my Ph.D.
30 – number of times I’ve traveled around the sun

*pathetic, eh?
**for the record: (1) my parents’s house in Milton, ON, (2) apartment in Hamilton, ON, (3) apartment in Milton, ON, (4) apartment in Burnaby, BC, (5) first basement suite in Vancouver, BC, (6) current basement suite in Vancouver, BC
***BC, Alberta, Saskatchewan, Manitoba, Ontario, Quebec, PEI
****and it was like 2 months after my 16th birthday, FYI



{January 9, 2007}   Meez

Darren got himself a Meez avatar and, like everyone else who reads his blog, I just had to have one.

I had made a cool one of me doing some wicked stick handling, but then discovered that I would have to pay “5 Coinz” to have my Meez hold a hockey stick. Kind of surprising, given that I didn’t think Americans were all that into hockey, so I wouldn’t imagine that it would be a popular item that they’d want to charge for. Perhaps they had to pay a Canadian to tell them what the heck a hockey is?

Also, most of the animations made the avatar look like they are having a seizure, so I chose this relatively low key “drinking coffee” animation. And I also happen to drink a lot of coffee. I couldn’t figure out how to change the hair colour (I’m sure it was right there in front of me, but I couldn’t find it), so I just left it with brown hair, even though my hair is more red now since I tried to dye it blonde).

Oh ya, and I’d like to point out that I’m wearing platform shoes.

Update: I figured out the hair colour thing (as you can see, I know have my red hair). I know you must all be terribly relieved by this.



{January 8, 2007}   Stoled

As you know, I like to steal ideas from pay homage to other fine writers of the blogosphere. I noticed that Rebecca over at Larocque and Roll made up her New Year’s resolutions by hitting random play on her iTunes and devising resolutions based on the first ten songs that came up. Go here to read her list. Good resolutions, yes? So I decided to give it a whirl with the songs on my iPod… check out what I ended up with:

#1 – The Jeep Song by the Dresden Dolls – I should get an SUV this year? That doesn’t seem very practical for someone who lives in a city.

#2 – Gravity by the Dresden Dolls – Yes, I really should start obeying the law of gravity. All this flying around I’ve been doing is arousing suspisions.

#3 – Fake Tales of San Francisco by the Arctic Monkeys – I should move to San Fran… no fair, I’ve totally been trying to do that! Hmmm… maybe it means I should be telling more lies?

#4 – Animal I Have Become by Three Days Grace – I guess I really should tame this animal I have become. Or, wait, animal… animal… perhaps it means I should get a kitten!

#5 – First Orgasm by the Dresden Dolls – Oh wow. What do I do with this one? I need to have more orgasms??

#6 -I Love Myself Today by Bif Naked – Good song, but is this really how I should be getting these more orgasms?

#7 -38 Years Old by The Tragically Hip – Ah, perhaps this is where the more orgasms should be coming from – a 38 year old. Not the one in the song, mind you, because he’s never even kissed a girl.

#8 – Basket Case by Green Day – Clearly I am one, to still be writing this posting….

#9 – Underwhelmed by Sloan – Hmph. That doesn’t sound promising at all.

#10 – Only Love by Groove Coverage – I give up!

OK, that didn’t quite work out as well as Rebecca’s. So, I think what I really need to do this year is stop saying “stoled”*… I have no idea where on earth I picked this up, but I’ve said it for as long as I can remember. And it sounds soooo trashy! So, if you hear me saying “stoled”, unless I’m referring to someone who is wearing a stole, please berate me accordingly.

*As in “I stoled this idea from Rebecca.”



The other day I happened across this site: Dave Wear*.

And it got me thinking about how I’d been meaning to write a posting about all the Daves I Know, I Know.

Of course, I have to start with none other then Dave, of Touch You Last fame**. I went to high school with Dave, although I can’t say that we really knew each other very well back then. He’s married to one of my bestest friends in the whole wide world, so I know him much better now. As I’ve said before, Dave introduced me to the world of blogging, so anyone who likes my blog has Dave to thank.

Dave B. He was my first… um, something that I shouldn’t be putting on the record, seeing as it’s illegal in most places***. I met Dave B when I taught him how to teach PBL. He also plays on my ball hockey team.

Dave S-J. He’s also on my ball hockey team. Sometimes he and Dave B. play on the same line — the Double Dave line, as it were.

Dave K is a colleague of mine and he promised me a birthday drunk for my upcoming b-day. I thought it was a typo and he meant birthday “drink,” but no, he did, in fact, mean “drunk.” Dave is from Newfoundland.

Dave N is another colleague of mine, who also happened to teach a course I took. He runs this website and his email address is “db@…” where the “db” stands for “drinking buddy.” And that’s his work email.

Another Dave N – my little cousin, he lives in Montreal. Dave S. was a prof that I worked with on a number of projects; Dave H. is married to one of Sarah’s colleagues and I met him the last time Sarah was here, as he and his wife were here on a house hunting trip. And then there’s another Dave B. who once got really mad about a comment on my blog, so let’s not talk about him.

And, of course, there’s the Dave from whom I’m divorced****.

Hmmm…. it seems like I know more than just these Daves, but I can’t seem to think of any more. So, who are the Daves you know, you know?

*You’re welcome, Dave.

**Also known as Daav.

***No, it’s not what you are thinking. But good guess.

****effective as of today, actually. Please refrain from making comments on this Dave.



{November 8, 2006}   The Saga of the Jersey

On Sunday, I saw a really nice Canuck jersey in the window of the Sally Ann Thrift Store on Broadway. So, being the naive girl that I am, I thought I could go into the store and buy said jersey. But alas, life is not that simple. When I went in on Monday* and inquired about the jersey, the woman at the counter looked at me like I was slightly crazy and said, “The items in the window are on sale on Wednesday. First come, first served.” “OK,” I said, “what time do you open?” “10 am,” she replies. And then she cryptically adds, “And people usually line up early.”

So, today, being Wednesday, I got myself up early** and made the trek down to Broadway, arriving around 9:30. No one is there, so I rejoice: the jersey will be mine! I sit outside the store, eating my rice cakes*** and reading my book until about quarter to, when another couple shows up. We start chatting and ask each other what item in the window we were there to get. To my relief****, they are after a fleece sweater and a jacket, so we figure we will all go home happy.

Then, a monkey wrench arrives in the form of a dark haired woman, who asks us, “Do you have numbers?” We look at her quizzically, “Numbers?” She points to some slips of paper on a table that we hadn’t noticed before… 5, 6, 7, 8, and 9. I grab 5 and my new friends grab 6 and 7. Dark Hair informs us that she is 4, but 1 to 3 are nowhere to be found. “What item are you here for?” I ask, hoping she wants something different than the rest of us. “Oh no!” she exclaims, “I’m not getting into THAT again!” More puzzled looks from myself and the couple. “What? Why not?” I ask. “Because if you tell people what you are here for, they will take it just to spite you!” So I’m thinking, “Paranoid much lady?” But I, quite rationally I think, state, “Well, you are ahead of me and there is no point in me wasting my time staying here if you want what I want.” “OK,” she says, “but I’m only telling you because you aren’t ahead of me in line. I want the Canucks jersey!” “Damn!” I think. My new friends give me sympathetic looks, but I know are secretly happy that she didn’t want the fleece or the jacket. I admit defeat: “OK, well, I’m outta here then, because that’s what I wanted too.” Dark Hair then says, “But it might not fit me. You should stick around in case it doesn’t.” Then adds, with a hint of venom in her voice, “That is, if numbers 1 to 3 don’t get to it first.” OK, good point, it might not fit her, and since I’d already waited that long, what’s a few more minutes, right? So we wait, pondering on the whereabouts of numbers 1 to 3. It gets closer to 10 am and more people arrive. We inquire as to their numbers. Some people don’t have numbers and have no idea what we are talking about when we ask them… they stare at us with a look of confusion completely befitting the situation – they just want to go in to check out what’s in the store and this whole Wednesday morning madness is beyond their realm of comprehension. Then a boy with an X-box shows up and says he’s number 3. “Don’t tell anyone what we discussed,” Dark Hair whispers to me, “I only told you because you are behind me in line.” “Don’t worry,” I say, “I won’t tell.” I want to add, “I will take your secret to the grave!! No amount of torture would force the secret from my dying lips!” but I think better of it… she might buy the jersey even if it doesn’t fit her, just to spite me for making fun of her. I start to think the thrift store paranoia is rubbing off on me. More people arrive. Numbers 1 and 2 are now there. “What time did you get here?” we ask. “9:05” Number 1 informs us, adding bitterly, “I was late.”***** People start to crowd around the door, although I don’t understand why, since we all have numbers that determine the order in which we will purchase things, so crowding the door won’t help you get that coveted thrifty item. An older lady arrives and starts chatting. It turns out that Older Lady is like the Yoda of the Thrift Store. “Canucks jersey you desire? Hmmm. I sense much impatience in you, young Jedi. Sith Lords, I fear, seek to spite you, they do.” She informs us that we must never tell anyone in the lineup what we are there for, as people in front of you in the lineup will buy it and then offer to sell it to you for a higher price. Or they will buy it just to spite you. Looking around at the crowd with narrowed eyes, she tells us in a hushed tone, “some of these people are regulars.” We look around too, wondering which person or persons could be the buying-thrift-store-items-for-spite culprit. Or culprits. She tells us the Tale of the Louis Vuitton purses, where the young UBC student lost out on the 2 LV purses she wanted, which turned out to be knock offs, but ended up finding a real LV purse in the store instead, restoring our faith in the venerable principle of “what goes around comes around.” We stand, entranced by her story. OK, maybe not entranced. Maybe entertained by the sheer ridiculousness of this situation.

10 am. The moment of truth. The keepers of the coveted thrift store items open the door and declare, “Number One.” Number One enters the store and they close the door behind her. “They used to just let people in and trust that everyone would be fair about who got there first. But there were too many fights,” Yoda of the Thrift Store tells us, “Now they only let us in one by one.” Next Number Two goes in. Then Number Three. Then it’s Dark Hair’s turn; she rushes in and finds that the jersey is still there! She picks up a Leafs jersey and shows it to me through the window, pointing enthusiastically at the hideous thing, as if to say, “Ha ha! You are stuck with a friggin’ Leafs jersey, sucka!” And I’m thinking, “Can she really be so cruel as to taunt me this way? What did I do to her?” And I say, “I’d rather slit my throat than wear a Leafs jersey!!” to much laugher from the crowd still waiting outside. When they let me in, I head over to the fitting room, where Dark Hair is about to enter. I’m hoping against hope that the jersey won’t fit her. She calls out, “It’s a kids size!” To which I reply, “I fit into kids sizes!” She comes out of the fitting room, with the jersey clearly being way too tight for her and exclaims, “It fits me!” Then she adds, “I’m really sorry.” I know that if I say what I’m actually thinking (“Are you kidding me? You look ridiculous in that jersey!! You’ll need to change your name to Lumpy McLumpyson!!“), I would just sound like I was trying to get her to not buy the jersey so that I could have it. So instead I said, “No need to be sorry. You got here first, so you get the jersey. You win some, you lose some. The jersey looks really nice on you and I hope you enjoy the game tomorrow.******” And then she says, “Well, you can always get the other jersey.” I’m dumbfounded. It hits me that she actually thinks that if you don’t get the Canucks jersey, you would just wear a Leafs one. Is she on crack?? “It’s a Leafs jersey! A Leafs jersey!” I exclaim, the incredulity dripping from my voice. “I’m a Canucks fan! I’d honestly rather slit my throat than wear a Leafs jersey!” And as the realization that she wasn’t truly a Canucks fan, she didn’t understand the ways of hockey like I do, but she was going to get that cool jersey for cheap and I was going to walk away empty-handed, I felt that maybe all wasn’t right with the world. Or maybe, just maybe, it’s just a freakin’ shirt and this whole seedy underworld of thrift store Wednesday morning free-for-alls is not a place I want to become accustomed to!

*since they weren’t open on Sunday when I saw it.
**getting up before 10 am constitutes “early” in my books.
***still detoxing
****because I would feel bad if they had come for the jersey and would be disappointed that I had been there first. Not bad enough to let them have it, but still.
*****I don’t know why she sounded so bitter, she got the first freaking number!
******as she had told me that she wanted the jersey because she was going to the Canucks game tomorrow night.



{August 18, 2006}   I heart weekends!

But not for the reason that you think. As I’ve discussed before, weekends are rather meaningless to me, as my schedule is rather unconventional. But the past few weekends have been good because there are some smoking hot guys fixing a roof down the street from me. They only seem to work there on the weekend. And the weather has been nice so they work with no shirts on. And, coincidentally, I have to walk right by there on my way to the bus. Or when I’m just heading to the shops on Dunbar. And I tend to go out a fair bit when the weather is nice. And today, on my way out to meet my friend Jen for coffee, guess who said, “hey!” to me? And on the way back too.

Happy weekend everyone!



{August 1, 2006}   My apartment eats things

Like my watch. I know my watch was in my purse one minute (I’d taken it off and put it in my purse when I was out because I didn’t want to get a watch tan) and the next minute, it wasn’t. I remember seeing it in my purse and I was standing right beside my coat rack. And then it was gone. It has to be in my apartment somewhere, right?

And then there is the case of the missing articles. I’d printed up two journal articles that I wanted to read and when I went to read them, I couldn’t find them anywhere. I thought, “oh, perhaps I left them at the lab (where I’d printed them up)”, but I went to the lab and they aren’t there either. I’m sure I brought them home and my apartment decided that they would make a nice midnight snack.

I’m typing this posting in my office on campus, because I don’t want my apartment to know that I’m on to it…



{July 16, 2006}  

I’ve been wearing my left contact lens inside out for the past two days.



{July 13, 2006}   Sweet Obsessions

Regular readers of my blog will know of some of my current obsessions: my shoes, David Emerson (see: hatred thereof), the Vancouver Canucks (sub-obsessions include: how ugly the Sedin twins are, how I would like to have Brendan Morrison’s babies), Cobs Country Grain bread, Vancouver restaurants*, being a scientist, my neice, the TTC (specifcally, hot guys therein), I Saw You.

But I also have a number of other obsessions that I haven’t really given any air time to here in the blogosphere. In no particular order, they include:

  • filling out surveys – perhaps I just like being deluded into thinking that if I’m asked to fill in a survey, someone actually cares about my opinion on things, but I love filling out surveys! I don’t even care what they are about. I’ve piloted several questionnaires for various people’s graduate research projects, participated in any research project I’ve been asked to. I especially like when I have the possibility to win something for filling out a survey. In both of the last two Censuses I received the long version and was absolutley in heaven!
  • Simpsons quotations – I really do believe that there is a Simpsons quotations for all occasions. Ones I use most frequently include: “Mama’s watchin’ her stories” (used when I want someone to stop bugging me), “I dunno, internet?” (used when I don’t know the answer to (or don’t care to waste my time thinking about) the question in question), “And now we play the waiting game. I’m sick of the waiting game – let’s play Hungry, Hungry Hippos!” (used in situations involving waiting, obviously), “Sitting still, writing down numbers, paying attention. Yes, science has it all!” and “Batman’s a scientist” (used several times during an average workday in the lab), “Me fail English? That’s unpossible” (used to make fun of the grammatically impaired), “I’m somewhere I don’t know where I am!” (for me, used frequently)
  • weird pluralizations – octupi, matrices, ulnae – I can’t get enough of that shit.
  • the Young & the Restless – this one started in my first year of university. Whenever I came home from my afternoon labs, my roommate, Laurie, would have Y&R on her TV. And being tired from lab, I would always drop down onto my bed and watch it. And thus I became addicted. And even though I haven’t had access to television for the past 5 years, I’ve still kept up with the storylines by reading a spoiler site. And now, in my new place that has a TV with bunny ears that gets only one channel, Global (which happens to show the Y&R), I can watch again! The acting is terrible, the writing is worse and the special effects would make those who produced Tron go “wow, that’s some lousy FX.” But yet I still tune in. I mean, where else can you hear a woman who’s had several affairs (and whose husband had also had several affairs) say to another woman who got impregnated by her husband’s brother and never bothered to tell him, letting him believe that the kid was his (and whose said husband left her ‘cuz she wouldn’t give up her career, but then they got remarried) say “Oh, Drucilla. I always thought you and I had the most stable marriages.” Or where else can you see that same women sleep with her brother-in-law (who just married her sister-in-law mere weeks before, and who also was engaged to your mother-in-law and whose step-daughter is the child of his wife’s former step-mom and her father, but only because the former step-mom stole his sperm from a lab)? Now that’s entertainment!
  • caffeinated beverages – especially diet Pepsi and coffee. Especially Tim Horton’s coffee. This addiction stems from two sources: (a) I worked in a donut shop when I was young and having to open the store at 5 am, combined with access to all the free coffee you can drink during your formative years, is a recipe for caffeine addiction, and (b) my family’s tendency to express affection via the delivery of hot, caffeinated beverages. In my family, saying “want a cuppa?” or bringing someone a Timmy’s is the secret code for “I love you,” which they would never be caught dead actually saying.
  • my boots – although I have gone on ad nauseam about my beloved sexy shoes, I don’t think I’ve yet rhapsodized about my boots. Referred to as CFM boots by some** and bitch boots by others, I love my boots. I only seem to have a couple of not very good resolution photos of my boots***, but here they are:

(would you believe that these photos were taken, of all places, in a bathroom?? Moxie’s on Broadway. In the pic on the left, I’m sitting on one of the make-up chairs. In the one on the right, I’m next to the fire place, below the big screen TV. Nicest.Bathrooms.Ever)

  • libraries – OK, I do realize how nerdy that makes me sound. But combine my love of books with my abject poverty and there you go. Up until I moved (and decided it was easier to return most of them than to move them to my new place), I had about 15 books checked out of the UBC Library (including one book, which I still have, that I’ve been renewing for over 4 years) and I just checked out 4 books from the VPL, to accompany the 3 that I already have (and the 1 that I’ve requested).
  • Harry Potter – And if you don’t believe me, email me at halfbloodbeth {at} mugglenet {dot} com for more details. And don’t even think about calling me a nerd for this obsession, or I will curse you. And since, according to a certain person who threw out my Tarot cards (!!), I am, in fact, a witch, I totally could.
  • lists – Grocery lists, to-do lists, Christmas gift wish lists… if it’s in list form, I’m all over it. As evidenced by the list of which this is a part. I actually add things that I’ve already done to my to-do list, just so I can cross it off****.
  • my shoes – I may not have mentioned it before, but I bought these shoes on ebay…

*see Dave‘s blog entries from April 12 to April 23, 2006 for more details.

**mostly by people who want to CFM.

***my kingdom for a digital camera!!

****come on, I know you do this too.



{March 24, 2006}   My Bicycle-tastic Adventure

Today was Bring Your Bike To Work Day at UBC. I only knew this because my friend, Danielle*, from my hockey team told me so. Tonight is the annual UBC Farm BBQ and she suggested that we bike out to the Farm**. I thought this was a great idea because, much like Dave thinks he can prevent Ottawian winters from coming by running around half naked, I think that bringing my bike out of hiberation will force Vancouver spring to actually arrive. Of course, since I am an uber-wimp who doesn’t use their bike all winter***, it needed a little work. So I brought my bike to the Bike Hub on campus (a cool place where nice people help bicycle-maintenance-neophytes such as myself to do simple things like fill their tires with air) and when I got there another girl that I know from hockey, Anabelle****, was there and not only did she fill my tires with air, but she also oiled my bike chain (which had just about solidified from sitting around, unused, all winter). Good times! Later on, I saw another former hockey colleague, Jill*****, at a “decorate your bike” stand****** outside the student union building and decided that rather than going to my office to do the work I was planning to do, I should really decorate my bike with lots of blue tape. It now looks like a blue candy cane*******. I’m hoping that will make it less likely that someone will want to steal it (bike theft is a HUGE problem at UBC), ‘cuz who the hell wants to have to take all that tape off it, right? Anyway, as I was finishing my decorating, a dark, scary cloud crept across the sky and there was thunder! Thunder!! We don’t get thunder in Vancouver!! Honestly, I’ve been here 5.5 years and that’s probably the third time I’ve heard thunder in this city. So I decided to boot it on over to my office to do that work I was meant to be doing and, rather than locking my bike up outside, I brought it up to my office (because of the aforementioned bike theft problem, I never leave my bike outside if I can help it). And was I ever glad I brought it in because right as I got inside, it started to hail! Hail!! That would have ruined my lovely decorating job! So I squirreled myself away in my office, a little concrete-bound cupboard, to do that work of which I have most recently spoken. And I was sad that my plan of bike un-hiberation had not forced the start of spring, as I had planned. I was starting to lose faith in my spring hearlding abilities when I opened my office door, looked across the hall to a classroom that actually has a window********, and what to my wondering eyes did appear? The sun!! Apparently that angry cloud********* had hailed itself out and now the glorious, glorious sun is shining! So Dave, don’t lose faith in your magic powers over the forces of nature!! You, too, can control the seasons!

Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to ride my blue candy cane bike out to the Farm to celebrate the sunshine will my fellow Aggies!

*aka Tenacious D; defence.
**The UBC Farm is awesome! It’s on south campus and is a functioning farm and in the summers you can go there and buy their organically-grown produce… not something you often see in an urban centre.
***To those of you from out east, this is considered extremely wimpy in Vancouver. Despite the fact that it can rain for a month straight in the winter (and that we had one of the rainiest winter on record), everyone here still bikes to work/school year-round.
****former goalie
*****former defence
******in celebration of the aforementioned “Bring Your Bike To Work Day”
*******if candy canes could rust
********unlike my crappy little hole-in-the-wall excuse for an office
*********stratus? cumulus? cirrus? goddamn, the ONLY thing I remember learning in science class from grades 1-8 is the types of clouds and I still can’t remember which is which.**********

**********I footnoted this footnote to point out how many freaking footnotes I have. Because I know that Katie reads them. =)



{December 4, 2005}   Superstitious

Although I’m generally a logical, scientific-type of person, I must admit that I am superstitious. Case in point: when I first emailed the profs in California about postdocs positions, I put their replies into a folder marked “postdoc” (I’m a bit neurotic about keeping all my emails, so I have a well-developed e-filing system… I know, I’m a nerd). Then I didn’t hear back from them. When I got a response from the guy at McGill, for whatever reason, I didn’t file that email right away, but left it in my inbox. Then he offered me a job. So now I’m terrified to take any emails from either the McGill prof or the Stanford prof out of my inbox, for fear that it will jinx my chances at a postdoc. And so my inbox is cluttered with tonnes of emails. Am I crazy?



et cetera