a sunday video

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-c3fvqNlFvc&feature=related

i love, love LOVE this.

norah jones on sesame street.

so lovely.

you're not awesome: the terence kealey edition

university of buckingham's vice-chancellor terence kealey wrote in an article for the Times Higher Education magasine:

normal girls - more interested in abs than labs, more interested in pecs than specs, more interested in triceps than tripos - will abjure their lecturers for the company of their peers, but nonetheless, most male lecturers know that, most years, there will be a girl in the class who flashes her admiration and who asks for advice on her essays. what to do? enjoy her! she's a perk.

uh, excuse me while i power-puke all over mr. kealey.

for the guardian's article: http://www.guardian.co.uk/education/mortarboard/2009/sep/23/kealey-female-students-perk#att-most-commented

for the times online's article: http://timesonline.typepad.com/dons_life/2009/09/sex-with-students-is-terence-kealey-as-misunderstood-as-juvenal.html

mr. kealey - you don't make friends with exploitation.

pigpen diaries

the following post is dedicated to k. mcg.

thanks, lady, for sticking around from the years of oversized roots pull-overs and embellished jeans to the more current button-downs, scarves and powersuits. i hope we take our buttoned-down selves all the way into orthopaedic, velcro-snap shoes. you rock.

you must remember when my parents booted me out of the front door the day of my sixteenth birthday and told me to find a job. aside from a stint at the northside guest home, you must also remember my second and most time-consuming job: that of cashier at the local superstore. you must also remember, then, the grump i put on regarding how i was (seemingly) the only one out of all of the girls to be forced into labour once legal (don't worry, v. i know you rocked a uniform, too!). so when i was appointed from cashier to clean-up during a four month hiatus of store reno, you probably recall the stories from my then alias, pigpen.

i became a pigpen only because i was asked to dust things on free weeknights and weekends. the store was undergoing a massive facelift and the constant changes in size and shape of my former place of employment left me with endless shelves, counters, cans, etc., to dust. i was coated in dust more often than not. my clothes were greyed and my face filthied. i was dust. i voiced my dirty complaints to k. mcg., claiming that if i kept dusting things for long enough, i'd start to wear out friends' hairdos and nasal cavities. i'd rub off of my cat and even she'd slither away disgusted. i was nearly at the point of traveling with my own brown cloud when i was forgiven of whatever grocery sins i'd committed and sent back to deal with the general public.

i thought of that point in my life today, k., because it was time to empty the vacuum filter and dust case. aside from the t-ring on my finger and a different set of cleaning clothes, i'm back to my old, pigpen self. i've been sneezing all morning and i've got a mad urge to keep these clothes on and pigroll myself all over your newly-fashioned apartment. for some reason, this strikes me as hilarious.

the point is not that i'm dirty (and always have been) but that the most mundane, daily tasks often hit a recollective nerve and you are usually involved. it's neat to recognize/vocalize the fact that we've been close since pre-adolescence, it's more neat to have an entire carrying case of memories that back those years up.

i hope my brief entry into the pigpen diaries made you laugh and not regret befriending a little cloud of dust ten years ago. to be safe, perhaps it's best we not see each other today - your curls might fall out.

don't stop 'til you get enough

hello hello!

i've decided to make a mega-quick, super-fun trip to cb this upcoming weekend. hurray! i'm wondering about places and faces: where will my favorite cb faces be and in which places? lads and lassies - would you like to go dancing avec moi? how about a hike through the cabot trail? rock climbing? eating (my favorite!)? tell me when and where and i will meet you there in (likely) inappropriate attire. remember, i haven't laid a foot or a tear on the island since january 2nd. i'm looking to smash in as much fun as physically possible in a period of three days. let's treat this as a challenge: no sleep, no drama, no rollies (please.) and no excuses. on y va!

celebrate good times (come on!)

i have not really written much regarding the state of my father's health post hospital discharge. what i chalk it up to is utter exhaustion and a near-complete fizzle of yearn to talk of all things terrifying, beautiful and hospitalized. he's been home as of july 21st, an exact six months after having been initially admitted to the infirmary. though wordlessly thrilled to go home, he admits he was so afraid to leave the familiarity of hospital life: where, with his every bite of food or cautious step, there would be immediate attention and assistance. it's not that dad was assuming my mother would not be helpful or safe for him to lean on, he was just so used to having an entire team of nurses and specialists following him through his days. anyway, the fear wore off and i'm jubilantly telling you that he's again driving his own truck.

mom and dad came to halifax on wednesday for dad's bajillionth biopsy. dad drove the car from our home in cb all the way to the causeway before mom took over the wheel. when i asked him how it felt to be one more step closer to normalcy and familiarity with driving being an easily-accomplished task again, dad admitted that although it feels nice, it's certainly nice enough for him to be able to get himself a glass of water whenever he pleases. he told me that there's reason enough to smile in his ability to open a door without someone spotting him. he said that just sitting down and not getting exhausted makes him smile for life. when a member of his transplant team called later in the afternoon to confirm that dad's biopsy showed no signs of organ rejection, it was impossible to wipe the grin from his face once again.

he's become so much more mellow than he's ever been. everyone's always told me that i inherited my father's temper so now that it does not exist can i blame my temper on genetics? i likely shouldn't blame it on anything. in fact, i should probably just leave my rage in the dust to die considering how much more difficult life could be. there's not much to feel upset with when you're endlessly grateful for being able to breathe without intubated assistance. it seems petty and infantile to twist about an unpleasant day when there've been days or months lacking memories due to heaps of narcotics pulsing through your system. to feel so angry with another person that raising a voice or hand is an uncontrollable urge is so stupid when anger and violence contribute nothing to a happy heart (or justice, or fairness, or comfort, etc...).

dad's new attitude and grateful heart have rubbed off on the entire family. scars and journals are constant, tangible reminders of hell past, making today that much more worthy of grins and graces. whew.