While this does fall into the category Saccharine Cutesy-wootsy, I’m still rather proud of my sculpture, “Smoochers”, presented to Carole on Christmas morning.
Note the correct eye colour and correction for height using the old tippy-toe-on-shoe technique. Many of the pieces are dented with my eight-year-old toothmarks.
Now if only slight gusts of wind, such as those from an exhale from twenty paces, didn’t disintegrate the thing.
Now that I’ve caught up to the previous decade by getting an iTouch for Christmas (and a Kindle for my birthday that’s stuck in some shipping department somewhere), I realized that this blog was impossible to read on a mobile device. It’s merely difficult to read on a desktop computer.
So, I installed the WordPress Mobile Pack plugin, and now it should automatically display a much simplified version if you visit using your mobile doohickey. If not, you can always reach the mobile version at m.whathesaid.ca.
…but the rest is really just jazz hands and perpendicular hopping. The real trick of it is not falling in mid thrust on the wet newspaper and rice that has been scattered on the floor by that point.
Yes, Carole and I attended last night’s screening of The Rocky Horror Picture Show at the Old Firehall. While we didn’t dress up — I’m only fit to play Riff Raff, and I don’t wanna be Riff Raff — Carole insisted on bringing the usual supplies: rice, newspaper, playing cards. The folks putting on the show supplied party hats, confetti, and noise makers. Some brought water guns and toast.
I’d been to a couple of full-on costumed performances back when the movie played for a decade every Saturday at midnight at the old Towne Theatre in Ottawa. I couldn’t remember most of the audience lines but belted out the few that I did. A Magenta in the front row seemed to know most of them. Sadly, there were no on-stage performers.
There were the usual risqué and revealing costumes, but the winner certainly deserved his prize: a gentleman in an orange wig with a few extra folds stuffed into bikini briefs and a pink mesh body suit. Not an officially-sanctioned costume, but certainly in keeping with the spirit. Even more impressive was watching him scoot down First Avenue towards his car after the show, still in the same getup.
Of course, were it not for the songs and the audience shenanigans, Rocky Horror would be completely unwatchable. The plot makes no sense whatsoever, and although it’s meant to be a sendup of schlocky sci-fi B movies, it’s far too interested in its own characters to bother with much in the way of satire. Nevertheless, we’ll be back in a year for the next showing with lungs and lines at the ready:
“One! Two! Three! Four! Five! Six! Seven! Why so many fucking forks?”
A good piece of advice for home builders is to not carpet the main entryway. But if you must, go ahead and use a sponge floor covering since that will produce identical results, at much lower cost.
A place for everything and everything in its place. The wooden shelving unit survived the transmogriphication, as you'll soon see. Oh, the suspense!
Sodden grey carpet...Begone! Faux imitation Corinthian burled elm panelling...Begone! Alien autopsy fluorescent light fixture...You stay right where you are!
The Aspen cabin look is starting to come together, if the cabin's logs were stacked vertically, and if the logs had regular, repeating widths.
A do-it-yourself tiling job is the most satisfying project in home renovation, right up until the next step...
Aaah! My beautiful tile floor! Will it ever be clean again?
The answer is no. As in, "No, my tile floor will never be clean again."
Seventeen hours of polishing on bended knee later...it's Miller time.
Ah, trim. The shield atop so many of life's minor seam-related sins.
Organization, illustrated. But for how long, do you suppose? (September update: not that long, actually.)
The final results speak for themselves, but not in the same way that I'll speak for myself on my deathbed, when I utter to the loving family assembled around me, "I wish I had spent more time napping on the couch and watching televised golf."
I had forgotten that kettle corn even existed until buying a bag at last summer’s Dawson City Music Festival. Strange, since it clearly obeys my Law of Deliciousity:
Sugar, Salt, Fat: Pick two.
Advanced corollary to the law: Pick three.
Kettle corn is surprisingly easy to make, extremely economical, and relatively choke-resistant, which is important given the speed that you’ll soon be scarfin’ it down.
You will need:
Heat the oil in a large pot with a lid over medium-high heat. Add a two or three kernels to start, and when you hear their plaintive little pops, turn down the heat to just a little more than medium and add the corn and the sugar.
There are two important rules to obey at this point: don’t peek under the lid, and keep shaking that pot vigorously every five seconds or so. If you have a boiling oil-proof face guard, then by all means sneak a look once in a while.
Keep shaking that pot (oven mitts are helpful to hold the lid on) until the popping starts to slow. Turn off the heat. Keep it on the burner and keep shaking until a second or two goes by without a pop. Remove the pot from the heat, but keep the lid on for a moment lest a corn explosion spray your kitchen with sticky oil.
Pour about half of the corn into a bowl and salt liberally. Pour the rest in (quickly so it doesn’t stick in a lump) and salt that too.
Scarf away.
Every computer chair should come equipped with a built-in floor-mounted fuzzy seat warmer.
Maniacal [common: muh-NEYE-uh-kul, Carole: MAIN-ee-ah-kul]
adj. Of or pertaining to a maniac.
My Carole is as bilingual as one can be in French and English. It’s as if the Leafs and Habs hooked up and had a baby girl. English speakers might be able to detect a slight un-placeable accent, and French speakers can tell that she is from outside Québec — either Ontario or New Brunswick — but both languages sound native. This is just one of the benefits of being raised in Timmins, a town that is actually trilingual: English, French, and Shania.
Groin [common: GROYN, Carole: GROW-in]
n. The fold where the thighs join the abdomen.
And yet she is utterly mystified by the pronunciation of certain English words. The problem is usually in deciding which syllable to emphasize. French doesn’t stress syllables in the same way as English, and it also has all sorts of little decorative ticks on the letters to aid pronunciation. She’s less likely to use French pronunciation rules on English words the way many francophones do, but that does happen.
Horizon [common: ho-REYE-zun, Carole: HORE-ih-zon]
n. The boundary between the earth and sky.
Most unilingual English speakers also have difficulty with these words, a result of the language’s near complete disregard for rules when it comes to grammar, spelling, and pronunciation. Even I, the son of a linguist and a librarian, must confess trouble with “eschew”, “salve”, and “facetious”, to name just a few.
Stir [common: STUR, Carole: STEER]
v.t. To move an implement repeatedly through a substance to agitate it.
When Carole stumbles over these, I occasionally try to point out that French is similarly disorganized when it comes to deciding whether to le or la arbitrary nouns, but more often than not I apologize for English’s endless exceptions. She almost always comes close enough to be understandable anyway.
Melancholy [common: MEL-un-call-ee, Carole: mul-ANK-oh-lee]
n. A gloomy state of mind.
Oh dear. Now I’m feeling a little mulankohlee.
Years ago, my brother sent me a flying Astroboy toy from Korea. I never quite figured out what to do with it, but I did look up the instructions online. While cleaning out some old folders this morning, I came across those very instructions:
Of course, Asian folks probably scream with laughter at the instructions we translate for them.
In my opinion, there just aren’t enough manuals featuring the phrase “Til the cowcomes home.”
Strangely, I never did get Astroboy to fly. Prythee, must’ve skipped a tatelage somewhere.
I really can’t believe no one has thought of this yet.
Two out of every five people to test the new design proudly reported no lasting eye damage.
I can’t think of all that much else to write. The title is pretty self-explanatory.
We dropped it off this afternoon and protected it from the elements as best we could. All the drawers, legs, and fasteners are included.
Artist's conception of free desk left leaning against the free store shed. Not exactly as shown.
The desk looks something like the photograph to the right, but is a bit darker and made with thigh-bruising sharp corners.
I hope someone can give it a home before the next rain shower de-laminates the edge trim even further. The top surfaces are in very good shape.
It’s built like a tank, so bring a friend and a truck to cart it away.
I bought it from a used furniture store in Kingston about 20 years ago and it has served me faithfully for all that time.
I guess I could think of more to write after all. Sniff. Goodbye ol’ Desky McDeskerton. Sniff, sniff.
