Category Archives: Personal Bits

Just things from my personal life

End of an Era

Personal Bits, Tech

…I’m speaking to a Mr Robot?

I’m back from the store. My roommates gather around as I reveal with a flourish: the four head VCR. It cost me close to $500 on special at Sears. Cheers and back slapping ensue for a solid minute. Quickly we hook it up to the TV and settle in for a marathon of movies.

Yes. Can you tell me that figure again?

I’m waiting in line at the College. I see a girl run out of the registrar’s office in tears. I’m worried that that will be me in a few minutes. After supplies and rent and a decent week’s worth of food, I’ve got enough to play a fist full of video games in the common area.

Certainly. After the three payments of $535, $410 and $437 made in the month of May…

I’m staring at my first computer in the dark cave of my living room. I’ve made my first piece of digital art on the tiny 15″ screen: a combination of a picture of myself that I’ve applied a Peter Max type filter and some warped text over my head. I found it easy to do.

…I guess you did your taxes in one go for three years, Mr Robot?

My first web page I did as a joke (much like all my web interactions). It was a hommage to Jon Erik Hexum: All the images I could find combined with a sad midi file; uncontrollably embedded into the page; animated GIFs of torches bookended a 20 second poem I had written. My teacher laughed at the tackiness of it, saying I “grokked” the Web. But he didn’t understand why Jon Erik.

Yes. I did. Which leaves me with…?

I’m standing in the student book shop, wondering if instead of paying the $10 for another pad of newsprint for life drawing class, I could flip all my drawings from the last month over and use the back, meanwhile I could eat cheap pork chops and still have enough to go to Katrinas and have at least two drinks with my friends (who all have paying jobs) this weekend.

Well it looks like we’re showing a balance of $411.05. I guess you’ll be paying this off within 30 days? Just add $3 for the interest.

And with that, the albatross that has been around my neck for the last 20 years flies away.

I have paid off my student loan.

Bad Gifting

Personal Bits

I’m a horrible gift giver. I’ve mentioned before that I buy things I want to get, which is subconsciously greedy, I know. But if I manage to get things the receiver actually wants (usually through HEAVY hinting and suggestion), I always manage to destroy the act of surprise.

I drop too many cautionary suggestions (“You know those underwear you liked? I think you should just forget about buying them.”); or I ask too many questions (“That camera you looked at last week. Did it have a serial number you can remember off the top of your head?”); or in the case of home-made, hear felt gifts, I execute their creation waaay too early (“You may want to wear this now – it’s a scarf I made you!”); or I just leave the damn things lying around without trying to hide them (“What’s this Charlie’s Angels Season One doing here?”), all resulting in the most anti-climactic surprise for the recipient.

So when I finished wrapping the gifts last night for someone’s impending birthday, this someone systematically picked them up and one by one and identified nearly each gift:

(Fondle) “That book I wanted.”
(Shake) “Socks. Probably green.”
(Lift, bend) “That t-shirt I said I liked.”
(Hold, weigh) “Not sure.”
(Hold, poke) “Not sure.”
(Passing to side) “Charlie’s Angels.”
(Passing to side) “Charlie’s Angels.”
(Lift, bend) “Padded CD case?”

Damn it!

My own fault, really. I can’t go up against the master. He had my iPhone sitting beside my bed (hardly hidden) for at least 3 weeks before my birthday with not one mention or hint to me about it. Subsequently I was blindsided, twice (he got me a decoy gift which he also didn’t let on, but gave to me early – the Wii). Cool as a cucumber, he sat on these gifts for a long time without hint of their impending coolness.

Me? I think in terms of the happiness. I’m bursting to see the payoff, but I get disappointed when the recipient makes the all too easy connection: “Want to see what I got you? No? Darn! It’s really cool! It makes toast and is toaster-like! What? No. It’s not a toaster! Fttt!”

Empty Bowl 2008

Personal Bits, Toronto

Has it been a year since our last Empty Bowl? Same amazing bowls, amazing soups, nearly over-crowded room, but this year no oppressive heat. Delish! Same drill: buy a ticket, get an artisan made bowl and access to 20 fancy falootin’ restaurant’s soups…proceeds to Anishnawbe Health Toronto.

Unfortunately Da could not eat anything but still went and supported the staff and had a nice chin wag with the other volunteers at the Gardiner Ceramics Museum.

Enjoy some pics:


Da, not eating, but still with his free bowl.


Get there early or the old ladies will knee you in the shins to get at the bowls first.


Hot Chef Bear from Jamie Oliver’s Restaurant


Da and his friend Keith share a moment.


Hold my bowl!


Seconds after I was told that there were no pictures allowed in the lineup for bowls. Apparently aboriginal sex fetishes have copyrights.


The bearded Bear Chef had intense greyblue eyes and spat out the words “Lobster….Bisque!”


Line up. Wait. Eat. Repeat.

Weekend Update

Distractions, Personal Bits

The above is the result of at least 2 hours of filming and editing using Adobe Premier Elements 3. I have a very slow computer.

Not much else got done this weekend. I did see Narnia but unfortunately Shelly slept through 2/3rds of it so no review. Didn’t see the first one? Don’t bother. Don’t remember much of the first one? Don’t bother. Think stealing Deus Ex Machina ideas from The Lord of the Rings is cheap? Don’t bother. In all… you got it.

We did have dim sum on the weekend and it was delicious. Unfortunately the brunt of the meal arrived as we were taking off our coats. Literally. Seven of us grab a table in our not-so-favorite place on Dundas and within seconds we were set upon by 4 women with steaming carts. Mr Insurance, a friend that I am mentioning here for the first time on Deadrobot.com, actually had to turn to one of the cart women from hell and say “Go. Away.” We were done our meal in 30 minutes. Which is a shame because it’s always super good and super cheap.

We had this interesting discussion about moving the long weekend back one weekend. I don’t recall any long weekend in my alcohol soaked memory where the weather was actually good. Sorry Queen Vic, but the people have spoken.

Dad Goes to MaRS

Personal Bits

Good news! Da is on his way to getting released! He’s still on the nil-by-mouth regime and will still need the bag for nutrients (a nurse will come in at 9pm to get him a fresh one, he’ll use it up while he sleeps and another nurse will remove it by 9am and he’s free from the IV for the day) which willl give the pancreas the needed rests before the operation, but he’ll be in his own bed, away from the semi-private-is-a-joke hospital room. He won’t be sitting in a bed going squirrelly for the next three weeks.

However, the first signs of squirrelly is evident here:

Dad Crashes a MaRS Event

The Toronto General Hospital is linked to the MaRS building, a beautiful research and development centre right beside the hospital. Last night, on our nightly walk, we wandered into the lower atrium and discovered a party in full swing. “See if they can pour a martini into your bag!” exclaims SharkBoy.

“How close to the hors ‘dourves table do you think I can get? Get a picture of me trying!”

He starts to wander towards the suits and gowns with his IV in tow. I can see nervous event planners starting to converge on our location…

I love my father very very much.

Friday Night Follies

Personal Bits

Da back in the hospital again. This time for a couple weeks to get the swelling down on his pancreas. By Monday they might be able to add a stent to the inside of the blocked tube that goes from organ to intestine. Until then, he’s on clear liquids and a feeding tube. So I took some pictures!

On The phone

Shunt

TGH atrium

Sharing Dinner

Memory Core Dump

Personal Bits

My brother emailed me from a writer’s conference in Alberta:

Some guy came up to me today and said he was in Annie Get Your Gun with me at BCI (our old high school, in BrockVegas). He refused to tell me his name. I wouldn’t care, but he works here and I’m still here for another week and a half. Who was it?

My response:

Tim Picotte? Sorry, I’ve core dumped my high school memories and only retained top level recall, like when I had to get past mom while peaking on LSD.

I do remember not liking the songs, though. Again … Sorry.

It got me thinking about just how much I remember about high school, which truthfully is very little. I was counting the days before I left Brockville by the time I hit grade 10 and knew my life was destined to become 100% better after escaping that town. I coasted through high school. No real Judd Apatow kind of experiences to write about, no drama to dredge up into a memoir.

But some highlights would be:

• I did back stage stuff (props, stage hand) for a youth theatre group and would drink lots on the weekend. I don’t recall any specific party, just the amount of them.
• In my head, bored while helping a friend move, I demanded that the dead parents of the girl I was dating at the time, show themselves to me. At that precise moment, the girl came out of her bedroom to show me a photo of them.
• I wore two types of “doctor” shirt to school (the old kind, with the buttons up the side and across the shoulder): One was pure white, the other had blood splatters across it. I also would wear a bolero jacket from Le Chateau.
• I improvised 90% of my lines and songs during our 4 shows of The Wizard of Oz in grade 11. I played the Cowardly Lion.

That’s about it. Now… England stories, I got tons of.

Happy Birthday Da!

Personal Bits

Updated Photos:

Da, Michael

Da, John, kate

Dad, Flamer

I know these past few months haven’t been stellar, and the next few are going to be boring and dull (hey, at least you’ll have a DVD player!), but Meesh and I will be around for you! And then you’ll be able to travel again and squander our inheritance.

I love ya!

Stone Me!

Celebs and Media, Hobbies, Personal Bits

Stone Angel movie I recently saw the trailer for the movie Stone Angel (with my new honest to blog, supa-fave actress, Ellen Page) and it borked up a solid, hard memory nut with two levels:

One of the more clearer memories I have of my alcohol and pot-fogged time in high school was studying this book by Margret Lawrence. You may have noticed that my spelling and grammar is a bit poor, I blame anything other than not applying myself. I would fight with my English teacher because my brother was his golden student and English class was an annoying block of time before art class. I digress.

Stone Angel is a story of Hagar Shipley who recounts her life in shards of flashbacks and fragments of memories as she comes to the end of her proud life. Okay that’s the book in a nutshell (eat that, Mr Darling!). I remember the book not because of it’s structure (actually I did love the Tarantino-like recount of vignettes from her life) but because while we peeled back the themes and metaphors of a life fully lived, it dredged up a horror from my childhood (the second layer of that nut) that I had to deal with, and in some ways, I still haven’t come to grips with when I was a child. When I was even younger, I think in grade 4, I freaked out at a short film where a family visits their aging (grand)mother in a home. She’s so far gone into herself that all that we see on the outside is drool, yet inside, through movie magic, we see she’s lived a full and amazing life and she still has her memory. At the end of the short film, ran from the class and hid under my bed. Mom found me in tears and made me explain what had upset me so.

Dear readers, I am about to share with you something highly personal:

I am deathly afraid of getting old.

If I were ever to get trapped within my body and could not communicate my needs, I’d like notice that I have four days to live and left alone in that time so I could recount my life, a la Stone Angel. Day four would come and some pre-paid orderly would quietly enter my room and make me eat my pillow. The end.

Will I see this movie? I don’t know. Maybe. Should I stop being such a 13 year old in a 42 year old body? Maybe.