Apfelsaft, Radler and the merits of Deutschland

Vacation time. It's such a wonderful thing. And how great is it that I'm entitled to at least 20 days of it a year by Czech law. Bright and early tomorrow M and I will be making our way to one of our favourite places in the world (so far): the wonderful city of Munich.

Which means I'm going to be AWOL for awhile with the blogging. But I'll be thinking of all of you while I drink the best apple juice in the world and roam around the Bavarian countryside. It will be nice to get away, have a break and perhaps enjoy a large pretzel and a stein of Radler (Weissbier and Lemonade). I can also provide myself with endless hours of amusement trying to speak German as all I can remember from my German course of 3 years ago is how to count (Eins, zwei, drei, vier, funf sechs, sieben, acht, neun, zehn, elf) which I'm sure will be useful when I'm counting the number of times I'm going to speak Czech or French when trying to access the German stored away in my brain and how to say where I'm from (Ich wohne in Prag. Ich bin Kanadierin.).

It should be a great time. See you all next week.

HRH

When friends look alike

I was taking photos of myself to send to friends and family far away when something occured to me. I went over to my computer and called up the photo that Kari sent me of her present hair style. This is what we do. We send eachother pics of our hair cuts and she more than graciously sends me sections of North American magazines I can't get my hands on. It's so wonderful when people get you.

Anyway, I looked at the photo of Kari and I looked at the photo of me that I so cleverly took of myself using my bathroom mirror and something my mother once said to me popped into my mind. "Kari looks more like your sister than Susan (my sister) does. You both talk and move the same way too." To be fair to my sister, you couldn't have two siblings that looked more unrelated. I'm tall and dark haired, while she's short and blond. So below you will see links to photos of Kari and I showing off our current hair styles. What do you think? Separated at birth, though born a year apart?

Kari
Chelsea

HRH

My hair is going to be on TV

It was a quiet day at the salon. Kuba was doing a fantastic job giving me my semi-annual or bi-annual hair cut (I can never figure out which one means twice a year - I think it's semi). The man spent almost an hour and fifteen minutes just blowing out and styling my hair after spending forty-five perfecting my layered look all the while discussing the merits of hockey, table tennis and Steve Vai. And I look good. Really good. Chic, groomed and just a dash of cute. Which is good because during the final portion of my styling was caught on video. Indeed as my freshly snipped locks were being dryed, Czech pop-star Petr Muk came in, camera crew from Nova in tow, to have an interview while he had his hair cut. So I'm going to be on Nova, assuming they don't edit me out. Part of me hopes they just catch me in the establishing shot, but I think they're going to use me for some cut-aways. At least I was appropriately coiffed for the event. I think I should have been wearing more blush mind you...

HRH

We've got beat, we've got the beat, we've got the beat... Yeah!

I got to play drums yesterday! I got to make all kinds of exciting sounds learning Arabic/Persian/Middle Eastern drumming. It was my first class and it was so fun. I really miss music. Drumming yesterday has made me even more keen to get home to my double bass and piano. It's just been far too long without them.

The only other events of note this past weekend were a wonderful afternoon-long bike ride through Letna and drinking with Tania and Klara that resulted in me reviving my infamous Sir-Mix-A-Lot performance and shamelessly singing along to Take That.

I also put in my vote for the MTV movie awards today giving heavy preference to LOTR and Chicago. I'm wondering if I can somehow find a way to suck out votes for Jackass and XXX. The fact that those movies were even made gives me the chills. The hardest choice was "Best Villian". Wilhelm Defoe was great in Spiderman, but that creepy ass girl from the ring was the one who actually scared the hell out of me (or was it just the effects?). In the end I had to vote for Colin Farrel. If I'm going to be spending my time voting in the MTV medium, then I might as well be as shallow as possible with my choices.

The next challenge of choices was "Best Virtual Performance": Yoda or Gollum. It's like a divided loyalties nightmare. My solution is that I'm going to vote from work and from home (different IPs) thus giving each of them a chance. Brilliant!

HRH

How to not pick me up

It's not like I've ever been easy to pick up. In fact if memory serves me correctly the only "pick-up" I was ever invovled it, I was the agressor and I got a year-long relationship out of it. In spite of this fact and my generally frosty demeanor towards strangers, some men still try to pick me up. I won't deny that in some cases it's awfully flattering to be noticed by some guys, but in other cases, like the case I'm about to recount to you now, it's a pain. Sometimes it's less offensive, sometimes it's more offensive, but it always ends with an eye-roll and some cruel laughter, if the guy is a really star.

It happened at lunch yesterday. I was innocently enjoying my usual tomato soup when what appeared to be a mass cry for fledgling masculinity walked into the restaurant I was eating at. This cry can be generally described as an Irish Rugby team on a drinking/tournament weekend in Prague. In all fairness they all seemed to be a bunch of gentle giants and with the early hour they weren't too far gone. Anyway, now that we've set the scene let's learn how not to pick me up.

First off, make lots and lots of loud noises and be drunk. People always look their best when they're slobberingly drunk. Make sure you're wearing really short shorts to show off those legs you've been working so hard on at the pub all winter. When you call your mates nasty names and make a huge 5-year-old-type fuss about Andy dropping some cutlery on the floor, do it obnoxiously and for a really long time. Once you notice me, and you can decern through your drunken gaze that I'm not a cow, you should totally start giving me the eye. It's so attractive when someone has been drinking and their facial muscles aren't quite contracting right and they try to make a sexy face at you. Be sure to stare at me while I eat and try to ignore you. I REALLY like that.

Then turn back to your rugby mates clad in rugby jerseys with charming little nick names written on the back. Speaking loudly again, making sure that you're spitting your just swigged beer out of your mouth as you yell. If you pat your growing beer belly at the same time, I may just swoon. Then you simply have to start talking about the Russian girl band Tatu. Every girl just loves hearing guys give their opinions on teenage lesbian girl bands. When you're yelling to the boys about it, try something like this: Start off by singing the words to one of their hit songs and then make a barely witty comment about it. Example (done in grown man trying to sound like a teenage girl voice) "You're not gonna get us. You're not gonna get us." Then reply to your own singing in an excessively gruff manly voice with "Oh I'll FOOOKING get ya!" Just thinking about it gets me SO hot.

Once you've made your awe inspring displays of bravado and felt all of your team mates up in that "so totally not gay" jock way, make your way over to me. By then, I'll be primed. Clearly women only pay attention to what you're doing and saying when you're paying attention to them, so being a girl in my right mind I wouldn't have noticed your earlier classlessness (so many s-es).

By the time you get to me, making that "I'm just an innocent boy" face I'll be urging the waitress to get my change as quickly as possible as you stumble...er-I-mean...saunter over to me. Put your Guniness glass down on my table as I'm putting my coat on, being sure not to make eye contact lest that enourage you. Ask me what my hurry is and stand back in wonder at the horrifed-dear-in-headlights look in my eyes as I say "Have to get back to work." Make a comment about an American in Prague. Note my pause as I consider staying to clairify my nationality and then check out my oft practiced eye-roll as I say "Yeah. Later!" and haul my ass out of the bar.

You have now sucessfully not picked me up.

HRH

Footie

This week's topic of facination is Premiership football. I haven't watched a match in months and I couldn't actually tell you the names of all the positions on the field, but this week I can't stop reading about football. I'm not British, I've never even played the sport. Yet it's presently all the rage for me. And I really couldn't tell you why.

I had some schooling in it when I worked at the pub. Matches would be on most nighs and I learned about point spreads and the good teams from the bookie that used to come to our pub. What a way to get an education. Despite the bookie's teachings I still stuck to my tried and true formula of cheering for the team that wears blue and in the case of the Premiership, has the least ridiculous name. I'm not sure if they're uniforms are blue, but you'll never catch me supporting Chesterfield. I would just feel like a total fool cheering for a couch.

So using my formula, it's pretty clear that I'm meant to be Chelsea fan. After all they have the most beautiful name in all of football, and they wear blue. Destiny! It did get a little irritating when I was waitressing during Chelsea matches... "What!?"... but such are the cards we're dealt when you're named after a geographic location. In fact I've had a pretty good laugh at the whole thing. The inevitable jokes ("Hey I hear you're playing Fullham tomorrow"), and the conufsion ("Oh you're not talking about me."). What gives me the most joy are the football headlines from the BBC about the club. "Chelsea pair not for sale" made me laugh out loud.

Anyway, the team is in 3rd (I don't think they can win the Premiership, but they should get into the Champions League) and since my other blue sporting team (The Leafs) aren't doing much anymore, I might as well get excited about football.

Next week's facination? Polo.

HRH

File that under stupid

I have a couple of deadlines today and I thought that I would get up early and knock one off before I got into work. I had originally planned to finish my article last night, but was too easily waylayed by watching my first ever episode of Six Feer Under (has potential) and continuing to work my way through the battle arena in Final Fantasy VII. If I had been more focused I would have tried to open the file that I sent to my PC laptop from my "apparently" compatible Mac at work and discovered that my PC cannot open the file. When I think about the swtich campaign and the part where Apple claims that millions of documents are sucessfully sent between Macs and PCs, all I can think is that none of my documents were included in that list. I'm going from Microsoft Word for Mac to Word for PC, why can't I open my file? I guess I'm really ticked off about it all because I woke up at 6 to get my article done and the office doesn't open until 8...

HRH

Jackass

Like I needed another reason to loathe Creed (from the beloved Eonline!):

PLAY OR PAY: Creed concert goers suing the band for a refund Monday because lead singer Scott Stapp "was so intoxicated and-or medicated" he couldn't perform at a December 29 show outside Chicago. The band has apologized to fans for the "unique show" but refused to issue refunds.

Why is it okay for rock stars to show up drunk to work? If it was a banker you can bet your ass he'd be fired. Sue on fans, sue on.

HRH

Sloth

When most people are given a long weekend with wonderful start of spring weather they usually capitalize on it and spend as much time as possible in the great outdoors. Me? I spend almost 3 full days playing Final Fantasy VII on my playstation, eating tortilla chips and salsa, drinking copious amounts of peach flavoured mineral water. Pretty disgusting, no? I took a couple of breaks to sleep, head to the mall (he he) to watch Daredevil (meh, but there was Colin Farrel-y goodness), have a couple of people over to be indoctrinated into the growing cult of Clone High and one really, really long walk that I just got back from.

Even sadder than the fact that I've owned Final Fantasy VII for almost 6 years and NEVER finished it, is the fact that I really enjoyed my weekend. It was lazy and reclusive and I didn't feel bad about it for one second. It didn't clean like a freak in fact I just did the bare essentials. Yeah I was lazy, but it was healthy. Sometimes you just have stay in bed for an extra hour, not because you're still tired, but because your bed is soft and your cat is being cuddly.

HRH

The Sounds of Silence

"Hello laryngitis my old friend. You've come to silence me again.
When I awoke my voice was creaking.
I guess I lost it while I was sleeping
And sleeping... is something that I need to do, the whole night through.
Rest, and stop the sounds of silence."

HRH

Get out your funbrella Mr. B, 'cause it's raining style

Mike has often accused me of being a mall lover. A label my inner snob would always scoff at. "Malls are for uncreative shoppers and cookie cutter people," says my inner snob "and darling, we are neither of those." For some reason my inner snob sounds exactly like Lauren Becall. Yet despite the wisdom of my inner snob Lauren, I would spend a suspicious amount of time in shopping malls. Trips to big cities wouldn't be complete without some mall time. And my first visits back to Canada had a mall visit within the first 48 hours. "I don't like Malls" I would reply to those who called me a common mall lover "it's just easier to get most of my shopping done there." I would make argument after argument that I was very adept at street shopping and online shopping. That the only reason I spent time in the mall was because I worked in one for 5 years, so I always found them kind of comforting.

But now it's time for the truth to come out. I like shopping malls. I confess. I confess like a junkie at an intervention. I like malls. Do you hear me? I like malls. I understand if many of you find it necessary to stop adoring me, but I just can't live this lie any longer. And god I hate it when Beltzner pegs me like that! And he does it ALL THE DAMN TIME! STAMOS!

Note: In truth I actually adore how well Mike knows me. It's just scary that he often has my thoughts sorted out before I get to them.

Phew! It's like weight has been lifted from my shoulders.

So why the confession? I realized that I can no longer hide my mall addiction when my Editor assigned me a survival guide on Prague Malls. That and the fact that I went to 2 different malls last weekend and had SO much fun. In Prague, they're some of my favourite places to spend my time. Walking from store to store, trying to see what kinds of bargains I can get my materialistic little hands on. One of my favourite things to do is to go to the mall with a set amount of money and see just how much I can skillfully bargain shop out of it. Some people see the malls as one of the inner circles of hell, but not me. One of my favourite places to eat in this city of fantastic dining experiences is in the mall. Horrible I know.

I guess in my defence, I've actually lived in the downtown shopping areas of Kingston and Prague, so street shopping was never really a big deal as it just meant walking outside. Going to the burbs and those big towering institutions of shopping look kind of like the Emerald city after driving through Oz.

Anyway, the secret is out and for the next week or so I can totally rationalize all my trips to the mall. Research. He he. (Insert devilish grin).

HRH

Your task is to be better than me

It's kind of odd interviewing your replacement or in my case, the last of 4 replacements. It's good in that you know excatly what is needed to fill your position, but disappointing in that no one seems to have that spark. I have 4 days of interviews ahead of me and I'm just dreading it. I've already had 2, and I'm not going to comment on them as the whole process hasn't finished and frankly it's just not information you all need to know. I know, I just know, that as soon as I've given the postition to someone that is "pretty good" the most perfect person ever will call to see if we're still hiring. It always happens that way.

Having to interview people requires that you have a modicum of professionalism, which I have in scads, but I've been feeling kind of devlish these days. Maybe it's because the job is coming to an end and I've already got my references or it's spring and the nice weather has me fixin' for trouble. Either way I find I have to restrain myself from doing unreasonably cruel things to these candidates (I guess there's never anything that's reasonably cruel is there...). I want to ask questions like "If you were an animal, what kind of car do you think would run you over?" or respond to everything they say with a quack. I friend of mine did a comedy sketch about being interviewed by a totally crazy person and moments from it keep popping into my head.

Of course I won't be awful to any of these people. I'll just be my charming and likeable self and have a good chat with them. I know how awful it is to be on the other side of the interview and I feel kind of bad for even entertaining such cruel thoughts. Kind of bad... not totally bad. The point is that I want to find someone who's confident and competent. I want to be able to see the desire to do something well in their eyes. I want to be able to say to someone "I need someone who can do this job as well as I did" then I want this person to reply "I will do it better than you did." Wish me luck on my search.

HRH

Return of the Matt

Holy hoppin' grasshoppers! M has blogged again! So go look at it.

Speaking of my wonderful man, I feel compelled to tell the readership of this blog about a recent "habit" of his. While we are a perfect match in many ways, sadly we do not concur on the merits of Episode II. Namely we disagree rather passionately about the acting skills of one Hayden Christensen. Of course a little passion is good for every relationship.

Recently this debate has degraded into mockery. M says that HC's dialogue sounds as though it's been spliced together by an editing machine. Knowing GL's penchant for reworking actors' performances after the fact with all of his ditigal toys, I don't imagine this is too far from the truth. Still not HC's fault. Anyway, in light of this "revelation" on M's part he's taken to quoting HC's lines from AOTC (Episode II for those of you who don't speak geek) using the style of The Movie Phone Guy. I have to laugh at it... like really hard... in spite of myself.

M assures me that The Movie Phone Guy is a North America-wide phenomenon. Sadly I haven't sorted out audio blogger otherwise I'd make him recite a couple of lines for everyone's "benefit." I guess you'll all just have to make him do it in person when he comes home in July.

HRH

"Hm...Upgrades."

It looked like it was just going to be another rainy Friday, but then I remembered that the final Matrix Reloaded trailer was up as of 8 p.m. EST April 10th. What would have been a dull and damp morning has turned into repeat viewings of incalcuable goodness.

HRH

If it walks like a duck...

An excerpt from my conversation with Klara at Sushi Sandwich:

C:"...because I'm a geek."
K:"You're not a geek."
C:"I'm not?"
K:"You like to say that you are, but you're not."
C:"Really?"
K:"Really.
C:"But I spend a lot of my time doing really geeky things."
K:"That doesn't make you a geek."
C:"Oh...(pause)...Cool."

HRH

Mental Dental

Damn my cat has clean teeth.

The cleaning went really well and the vet was so nice. Sadly Zeus is going to have to have his two big fangs pulled in the next few years as they're getting a little loose.

I think the strangest part was when we were holding Zeus while the vet was injecting the sedative. It went into action pretty quickly. One moment Zeus was really tense and I had to work to restrain him (While he only weighs about 5 and a half kilos, he's a strong little thing) and the next he was limp. Totally limp. Like a rag doll. Eyes open, fighting the sedative, but he was like a doll. Mental.

The cleaning took less than a hour. While Zeus has his dental visit, M and I grabbed some dinner. When we returned to the vet, there was a farily awake and grumpy kitty waiting for us. We took him home and kept an eye on him as he just kind of sat there and tried to fathom just what the heck had just happend, and why were his teeth so tender. I was allowed to give him water last night, but no food until this morning. While I don't think he'll be jonesing to have it done again, I do think he's forgiven me, as he spent a good part of last night curled up with me in bed.

I still feel like a horrible kitty mother, and M still thinks I'm completely paranoid and insane when it comes to our cat, but we all seem to have survived the cleaning without any trauma. Next adventure: getting him to take his antibiotics. Spit-up-tastic.

HRH

Note:It turns out it takes two grown adults to get a cat to take his medicine.

I am a horrible mother

I feel awful. Tonight I have to take my sweet grey kitty Zeus into the vet to have his fang-like teeth cleaned. The little greek god has a genetic pre-disposition to gum infections. Usually cats get gum infections because they're eating too much soft food and not eating of the crunchy stuff. This can't be said for Zeus. We won't even eat soft food. He'll lick it, but that's about it. In the 5 years I'd had him, I've never known him to eat soft food. For him it has to be crunchy. The crunchier the better. You can hear him crunching away with glee in the middle of the night as you're trying to sleep. Even his treats are crunchy and made for dental care. So I can safely say that his gum infections are not a result of diet or parental negligence.

Zeus is going to be knocked out for his teeth cleaning. Mostly for his comfort and for the comfort of the vet. My cat is a totally sweetie, but he'll fuck you up if you relaly piss him off. I have a hunch that having his teeth cleaned will really piss him off. Like humans, cats have to fast before they're put under, which means Mr. Crunch-pants hasn't had a thing to eat since 7 p.m. last night. In about half an hour I have to go home and take his water away, as he can't have water for 4 hours before he goes under.

I know that not feeding him is for his safety, but I feel so horrible for doing it. I'm sure it's all totally anthropomorphicizing, but I can feel him looking at us, wondering why he's being punished like this. Even M is feeling I. I heard him say "Don't look at me like that." to him this morning. And of course, he's being a total angel throughout all of it. I can never be a parent.

HRH

Boob-a-licious

I have a problem with using the word "boob" to describe decoletage. It's just one of my things. I think that when you're describing something as beautiful and awe inspiring as breasts, you should not use a word that's a synonym for "idiot." Call it my "rack", call them "the twins", it's all good. "Breasts" or "the most beautiful things I have ever laid eyes upon" will also do. But call them "boobs" or worse yet "tits" (I feel dirty even writing it) and you are so not getting a peek.

There's just something about the "t" word that instantaneously wisks me off to a world of seedy porn stars and mullets. For some, that's a happy place. For me, it's like one of the inner circles of hell. I do not work in the porn industry and as such don't find it necessary to be addressed with porn vocab. It's even a stupid sounding word. And if I hear someone using it I suddenly see them as one of those white-trash skids from highschool who'd walk up to just about any girl and say "lemme see your tits baby" with an backwater accent to match. Oh I could just swoon.

This may make no sense, but in my mind of convenient distinctions "tits" are objectified, whereas "breasts" are admired. "Boobs" aren't so offensive, but the word just makes me feel silly. And unless I suddenly come over with a clown fetish, silly is never going to get me to sexy.

So, if I have such an aversion to the term "boob", why did I title this entry "boob-a-licious." It's all my friend Tania's fault really. Tania is really laid back and has very few issues when it comes to body vocab and she continues to love me in spite of how remarkably uptight I am (see above rant). Tania has an excellent vocabulary, proper and gutter wise. The interesting thing is that she's someone I can hear swear a blue streak (not something she often does) and it doesn't bother me in the least. Take any slang term that's applied to female or male anatomy that would usually have me going "gah", have Taina say it and I'm not phased in the slightest.

Anyway, Tania has this great term for a top that makes yor cleavage do what you want it to do (which is look fanastico). And my prudishness aside, I think it's a really great term. I was sampling some clothes at Mango today. I tried on this really cute biege top that's so fitting you have to zip up the sides. Had it been a size larger it would have been perfect for me. Sadly it wasn't made for women with long torsos and there wasn't enough fabric in the body to keep me from looking like I had a yen to be teen pop star. But even as it was all I could say as I looked in the mirror was "Boob-a-licious."

HRH

When I get you alone

While M and I were enjoying the spring snow at his' father's home in the country this weekend, we were given a chance to enjoy some satellite television. Which for us, meant a 2 hour spree of music videos. Not just MTV Europe, but MTV hits, MTV2, MTV Base, The Czech music channel "O", VH1, VH1 Classic, the German channels Viva and Viva2 (I totally love this station for the following reasons a) They play a totally mental mix of music b) Their VJs always have really cutting edge make-up and c) one of those VJs - who is kind of channeling Joan Jett in the 80's - is this really petite girl with what seems to be a pot belly and not a preganacy. I love it!). Truly a orgy for music-philes (dictionary freaks and let me know if there's actually a term for that in the comment section below) like M and me.

Televsion in Europe is always an adventure. You really have no idea what you might discover when you change the channel. Wonderful moments of absurity usually come from dance bands. Video's of Japanimation a la Daft Punk, puppets galore thanks to Mr. Oizo or, my recent favourite Junior Senoir with"Move your feet." Download the video from their website. Pixels haven't had this much fun since Pac man. I totally adore the squirrel that likes to blow things up. (Speaking of Pac Man... anyone know where I can get a copy of Pac Man world for PS1, NTSC?)

On the whole the selection was dire. It seems that these days, no matter where you look there's a boy-band singing in the rain or on a sail boat or somebody covering Sting's "The Shape of My Heart." If you're really unlucky you get stuck with MTV2 and that Iann guy who's constantly giving the "Rock and Roll" symbol with his hands. That guy just totally bugs me.

There were cool moments like seeing "Just Like Heaven" by The Cure, or the new video by Queen's Of The Stoneage (oh so red, black and white). And even seeing the latest Our Lady Peace Video ("Innocent" I think), where OLP managed to create a new sound in spite of Rainn Maida's attempts to emulate the Frodo Baggins look.

I'm amazed to say that the coolest thing we saw during our extravaganza was the first single by Alan Thicke's songwriter son Robin, who simply calls himself "Thicke." Normally, I'd mock the crap out of this guy. Not for any real reason, but just because he's Alan Thicke's son and it's apparently really cool to make fun of Alan Thicke. Isn't that why everyone does it? Anyway, parentage aside, the song "When I get you alone" is D-amn funky. A little bit Stevie Wonder but more Michael Jackson in the pre-psychotic Thriller days. Muscial influence math might have you come up with Jamiroquai, (a lot more Stevie Wonder, a more funk vs. soul ) if you forgot that Jamiroquai is also 2 parts pothead and pop. Some say he's like Remy Shand... never having heard Remy Shand (save at the expense of Ed the Sock) I can't really compare.

We heard the song twice and like with our previous MTV Europe discoveries Muse, I was able to tell that I was digging the groove because I wasn't even tempted to change the channel. After the song finished for the second time we just looked at eachother and said "Damn! That's a good song." Apparently Thicke has been writing and producing pop hits for the likes Mya, Christina Aguilera, Rowan Keating and other big fat smelly stars. Let's hope he saved the good stuff for himself. His Dad, Alan (you remember him from the mocking earlier) wrote the theme songs to The Facts of Life and Different Strokes. Who the heck knew?

Also the video is just cute. Thicke as a bike messenger in NYC (M pointed out all the parts of the city that he knew from his recent visit), rockin' out to his sound and having in such a good time it's infectious. Call me a sucker if you like, but I'm impressed and I'm motivated to purchase.

Anyway, it was a pleasure to be back with the music TV. I'd missed it so very very much. Enjoying the good and mocking the hell out of the bad. We even got to see a little bit of George Michael... just for Kari.

HRH

Worry Wart

You all know by now that I have a tendency to overreact. I'm fantastic at worrying. It's been a gift I've had since I could walk. As a child I would be unable to sleep sometimes because I was sure that we were all going to die from a huge nuclear holocaust, or a really big earthquake (it depended upon the day). Whenever my Dad would travel I would have stomach pains because I was so sure that his plane was going to be hijacked and he would be killed as an "example". When he was in the South Pacific when I was 9 or 10, I actually had to see my doctor because the stomach pains were slowing me down so much.

I occasionally wonder about the merits of my parents choosing not to censor what I watched on TV (not like they could have stopped me from being with my beloved Television), but I now applaud their decision to do that. They were always willing to answer my questions about the things I saw on the news and to frequently haul out the National Geographic atlas and show me the map with the lines of fire on the globe, thereby assuring me that Kingston was one of the least likely places in the world to have a massive earthquake or a sudden explosion of volcanoes.

I'm good with the worry. The only wrinkles I have are worry lines from my often furrowed brow. Something a gentleman was ever so kind for pointing out to me the other night. Yes, that's a brilliant way to impress a woman... point out that she's got wrinkles, at 26. Drunk men are just the most charming, aren't they? But I digress.

So with all this SARS stuff going on in Canada, namely Toronto, I've been a little bit on the over-reactionary side. Sending my mother all kinds of emails asking her exhaustive questions about what's going on. While my parents still live in Kingston, my mother works at the hospital there. The hospital right beside the University, with piles upon piles of students from Toronto. Not to mention how many people travel back and forth between the two cities on a daily basis. As of yet have been no cases in the K. The hospital is doing entry screenings none the less -- which my mother volunteered to do!!! Is she nuts? So I'm not as worried about my parents.

I am, however, pretty terrified about almost everyone else I love and care about living in the city that's coming down with the Plague! My sister lives in China town and has a predisposition to respiratory problems. Dawn is sick, not with SARS, but I'm still worried about it. It doesn't help that I can really only get information from it via the news (they're always sooo objective). My mum would never make it out to be scary because she knows it would scare me and being my mother she's spent a good part of her life making sure I'm not scared of things. So I have my very rational and knowledgeable mother telling me it's going to be okay and I have the news reporting some good news and some bad news.

I think a lot of my anxiety about this is related to guilt. Shocking I know (Chelsea feeling guilt?). I feel guilty for not being there. I know there's nothing I could do except become another body that's potentially infected. I just feel really powerless. And I'm worried that someone I care about is going to get sick and maybe die and I'm not going to get to see them again. I know, I sound like I'm that 10 year old with stomach pains. Stating the totally obvious in a simplistic way. But being an adult doesn't mean you don't have those worries any more. It just means that you can't let them slow you down.

HRH

Grow man! Grow!

Another reason to love Colin Farrell, from E online:

E: "Still, it must have felt good when Daredevil took off and your performance was considered the best thing about it."
CF:"The only reason I did the film was because there'd be a Bullseye doll, so I could play with myself and not put my hand down my pants. "

HRH

Doutnik

This is the Czech word for cigar. This, I suspect, is the reason why I'm been wanting to puke all day. It's not like a was smoking one or anything like that. I was just in the vacinity of two people smoking some pretty heafty ones. I'm not going to go on my cigars are evil rant, as these smoking folk were celebrating the fruits of a years worth of work. The culmination of which was the opening of a musical. A very funny and well presented musical, so they deserved to smoke their cigars and enjoy themselves. But today I must lament the sick feeling in my stomach and the light headedness I've got going on.

Iccccck!

Thank you.

HRH

All style before content...

Until about 10 minutes ago, I was running the risk of being an absentee blogger. I let 4 whole days pass without writing an entry. I am very sorry and will endeavor not to do that again. That said, I now realize that I've let four days pass without updating the no doubt suspense ridden masses as to the minutae of my life.

So a quick recap in lazy girl format:

::Thursday::

Saw The Sneaker Pimps again at The Roxy and had a totally amazing time. I've seen these guys 3 times now and they've impressed me every time. Their live sound is different from the studio but it really shows the integrity of their music in that in changing the instrumentation and style the songs still kick the kick-iest of ass.

Also had chance to to go out wearing fun make-up at said show. Black liquid eyeliner and bright pink eye shadow are just too much fun.

Had a reallly good potato with curry.

::Girl Friday::

I can't remember what I did on Friday, but I seem to remember having had French food, good conversation and wine.

::Saturday's alright for fighting::

Took a little time for me and sat on the banks of the Vltava reading Kavalier and Clay, thinking about Golems and how to write the word for "truth" in hebrew. It was a gloriously sunny day and was able to catch a few freckles.

Saw "The Recruit" and can say with some certainty that Colin Farrell is really hot. Sadly 5'9". Still, that was some fantastic hair. And not a bad movie either. Just something fun to see on a Saturday night and I was able to counter most of M's arugments about plot holes. That's always fun. Farrell used to drink at the pub I worked at in Prague while he was shooting "Hart's War." He was quite the charmers the waitresses would tell me. Could be one of the only times I wished I hadn't quit. It's also comforting to see a sucessful actor who was born in 1976. Someday I'll explain my theory of birthdates and fame. When M heard it he exclaimed "That the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard." Which he says to me a lot. I take it as a good sign.

::Sunday, Sunday, Sunday::

Shopping!

And I got to see a preview show of the Czech version of "I love you, you're perfect, now change" which, considering I'd never seen or heard the original was really fun and easy to follow. I read the English script today so I'll be able to get it all at the premiere on Wednesday. Either that or I'll just laugh when M laughs. It's one of the tricks I employ at these Czech shows.

::Just another manic Monday::

Taxes were due yesterday and I had to file. For the first time I found myself on the other side of the tax line. On the having to pay more side. I guess it's a sign of adulthood that Tax time isn't something you look forward too, but are instead grumpy about. Also a thousand cheers to the Canadian Customs and Revenue Agency for making taxes so easy. Meaning you don't have to file IN PERSON! And then go to another desk to actually give them the cash. Gah!

Managed to encounter the nicest woman ever at the Prague 1 financial office. She deals with registrations from A-G. Thank god my last name isn't Hay.

Taught a class where it took me more than 30 minutes to get the idea of "to annoy" across. Must be losing my touch.

Failed to do weights like I said I was going to.

Didn't sleep enough and have been tormenting the world by walking around with Frodo-ring face all day.

HRH

Daylight savings time

I'm not sure what time it is in North America or if you've even done that clock changing thing yet. We did it in Europe this past weekend and it's messing me up. How one hour of time difference can have you making Frodo ring-face for most of the day, I don't know. But it is.

As I was falling asleep for too late last night, I was having all of these wonderfully creative thoughts. I was actually debating turning on the light and writing them down. Better yet, even blogging them. But then I got stage fright and decided that expressing sudden creativity like that would ultimately be like other fantasies, in that it would never be as good as it was in my head. All I have to show from by creative brain wave is a post it note with the words "The vanity of the abstract" written hastily in pencil. I know I was awake for a long time, thinking creative thoughts and now I'm regretting that indulgence. I was exhausted yesterday, and was totally ready to fall asleep at 8:30 when I got home, but I didn't. Even when I got into bed I was tired, but I didn't fall asleep for another 2.5 hours after getting into bed.

I fully blame this on reading before bed. When I just play a lot of "Text Twist" or "Bejeweled" on my Clie my brain is focused on patterns and puzzle sovling and I can easily nod off into la la land having dazed myself into the vegetative place I like to call "gameland." When I read, I think. This isn't a bad thing in general. Thinking is good. But it is silly to put your brain into turbo thoughty mode just before you're trying to shut it off for the day. So I read, and I thought. I even thought so much I thought I could write poetry (he he). And today, I'm sitting at work, with a deadline breathing down my neck doing nothing but making Frodo ring-face.

The moral of this story: Reading will kill you.

HRH