A pirate's life for me

It's amazing how quickly you can slide from the moral high-ground. Mike installed Kazaa on my computer a mere week ago and boom! I'm already ingaging in digital piracy. For awhile I was able to live in a kind of grey area, where I would listen to music, play games and use programs that people had pirated for me. Not the most moral thing, as I was still supporting the system of theft, but at least I wasn't on the front lines. But now I'm clearly in the black.

I can't use reasoning like "I used to have that song, but I sold the CD" or "I have this song on tape... I need a digital copy" because it's a lot like saying "Well I bought a black shirt 4 years ago, clearly I'm entitled to take this one. It's not my fault the fashions changed." I'm being bad. I know it. I know that if Ayn Rand had some sort of life after death (which she wouldn't because that's just not rational) she would she shaking her very gelled head at me right now.

I can take some solace in the fact that I basically only stole songs that I'm too embarassed to buy in a store. Can I be a good pirate like Jack Sparrow? Can I at least be that funny?

Morals aside, it was interesting experiencing present day file sharing for myself. Getting track after track that's full of fuzz (I didn't get upset about it) or one track that actually has local advertising recorded over the song in the style of the artist. Brilliant. The best part is that I can now play the "Food Pyramid" video whenever I want to! And even better news for M, is that I'll get to work these really bad songs out of my system on my own, thereby saving him from having to endure really bad music in the car. He does this really sweet thing in that he'll let me listen to something totally awful I'm only going to like for a month at the most, that he simply can't stand, while we drive, just because it makes me happy. It's remarkable what you can get away with when you're giving it up to someone.

Today's sing-a-long song is for M, because he doesn't have to endure it any longer: "Rock Your Body" by Justin Timberlake.

HRH

New Digs

If you look up at the address bar of your browser, you'll note that this blog is no longer located at http://www.thefalseidol.com/herhighnessness. Why did it move? Well, because my fabulous friends Mike and Dawn bought me my very own URL for my birthday. Some people give flowers, the tech savvy give web space. So now my blog has it's very own home: www.herhighnessness.com. It's shorter, easier to remember and is just too cool. Thanks so much guys.

Today's sing-a-long song: "Home Sweet Home" by Motley Crue.

HRH

Happy Birthday To Me

Well, it's official: I'm 27. As of a few short minutes ago I entered my mid-late-twenties. It's been 8 minutes. I feel pretty much the same. Just 27. If I were a rock star, I'd be concerned. That tends to be the age that the really edgy ones buy it. But, much to my dimsay, I am not a rock star. I'm in communications. I don't believe there's an age of fatality for PR types. So I'm good. Mortality is in check. Presents have started rolling in (M managed to wait a whole minute after midnight before bringing out the paydirt - Chasmere Mist perfume) and my boss is taking me out for Japanese food at lunch. 27 is looking just dandy to me.

The cool thing about my life is that it gets better every year I age. I don't know how long I'm going to be able to maintain this kind of growth, but I'm going to enjoy it while I've got it.

Today's sing-a-long song: "I Feel Good" by James Brown.

HRH

It's a small world after all

Part of my job entails writing a newsletter for the Research Institute at the hospital. This means that most people will know my name ("Hey it's the Update girl") and as my boss told me, ensures me a little bit of fame. Which is all good by me. I did my first issue yesterday and introduced myself to the readership and gave them a little but of history as to who I am and where I came from. I received a couple of "Welcome" emails (which was just so nice) one of which was written in Czech. How totally cool is that. Granted I had to call M to help me with a line in my reply, still it was pretty cool.

And well timed because I've been having Prague pangs. Don't get me wrong, I'm so happy it's unsane. I've just had some moments. It's to be expected and actually it's kind of nice. I think it says a lot that I can look back fondly on things, but not feel a heartbreaking desire to go back. I think it means that coming back was the right thing to do and that things have evolved in the best way. Keen.

Today's sing-a-long song: "The Tigger Song." by Tigger (who else?)

HRH

”Now he can go cry himself to sleep on his HUGE pillow.”

I’ve been decorating my office space. Things are still winding up at work so I don’t have as much work as I think I’m going to have, so right now it’s a lot of waiting to learn. With waiting comes decorating. There’s not much you can do to make a cubicle homey, but I’m trying my best. I have the obligatory photos of Zeus and M and a photo taken of Wendy, Kari and I on a particularly drunken kareoke night (you can actually see the bottle of Bohemka in the foreground). I’ve hung up a print of a Japanese silk screen that has a cat chasing a spider and a poster of the Czech version of the movie most I want to see most in the world “Hero.”

Today I added a photo taken of M and I during our recent sojourn in NYC. It was taken at dinner and we’re looking pretty happy and tanned. All in all we’re looking pretty sweet. Except for the fact that my head is friggin HUGE. It’s not like M has a small cranium or anything. Like me, he has a horrible time finding hats that fit well, but the shape of his head and his low hair line means that only his hat tailor would know is secret (is there such a thing as a hat tailor? Does it have a special name?). Me? I have an oval head, a pretty substantial forehead and a long neck. All of that adds up to a big fat head that looks that way too.

There are two ways I can deal with this. The first is to use a sly hair cut to make my head look smaller (long bangs would do it), but then I would have to give up my beloved centre part. Another possibility is “changing the gravitational constant of the universe.” In translation, change my outlook. I’m not a freak for having a big head…everyone else is simply wanting for head size. It could work.

Today’s sing-a-long song: “Can’t Get You Out Of My Head” By Kylie Minougue.

HRH

Toronto: Week 1

I actually moved to Toronto on the 6th of September, but seeing as I wasn't employed for that first week of Toronto residence, I feel that I really didn't have an accurate impression of what it's like living in the big smoke. The first week was a warm up, a resting period. This past week, that was week one. A full work week, watching the nightly news, dealing with the transit system and experiencing the sights, smells and mysterious packages left on the steps of the provincal courthouse of the city.

My verdict after week one, is that Toronto is not bad at all. Sure it smelled like vomit one day and the people at The Great Canadian Bagel on University Ave. could actually learn some customer services skills from Czech shop assistants, but that doesn't really matter. The people I work with are just awesome, my home is so comfortable, I have high speed Internet!!! and the staff at my local Starbucks are not only efficent, but friendly and fun. In fact, my only complaint about Toronto thus far can actually be applied all over the world as it's not a complaint that applies to the city but to a group that exists within society.

My only beef lies with back-pack wearers. My pet peeve is so minute that it actually only applies to said back-pack wearers when I'm in the subway with them. The rest of the time, I have no issue (besides the obvious fashion ones, but if it does what you need it to do, carries your stuff and keeps your back happy, who am I to go all fashionista on you). No, the only I loathe these people is when we're all standing in a rush hour subway car and they fail to take their packs off. Mayeb they don't realize that they're seriously impeeding the personal space of everyone standing around them, or they can't actually sense that they're jamming innocent commuters up against the car doors because their massive pack takes up the space of 2 or 3 people. I've been on the subway 9 times this week. Include the fact that I have to transfer lines, that makes 18 cars I've ridden in. I've been wedged between back pack wearers at least 4 times already.

Sure, there are times when you're nose to nose in a subway car. Personal contact can't be avoided in these situations. But usually there is enough room for travellers to stand and have their blessed personal space. Pack wearers seem to totally forget how intrusive and gargantuan their packs are and thereby apply the personal space rules of non-pack wearers. This is a huge mistake. They're forgetting that they have pounds and pounds of hard pointy things strapped to their backs and are unknowingly attacking their fellow man as they go in and out of the city.

My solution? Besides mandatory makeovers for the general population, is a simple technique called "take your fucking back-pack off your back and rest it at or on your feet." You can hold it with one hand as you use your other hand to hold onto the safety bars. That way you're totally aware of the space you're taking up, you can still protect your property and you're certain not to be poking me with your stupid bag. I rarely encountered this problem in Prague because if you left your pack on your back you were inviting pick-pockets to take all your heavy pointy objects. Is it possible that crime makes the world less irritating?

Anyway, Toronto is okay. Back-packs on the TTC ... not so much.

Today's sing-a-long song: "Romantic Traffic" by The Spoons.

HRH

Good News for Dyslexics Like Me

Those who have known me for years have no doubt learned his reading skill.

"Aoccdrnig to a rsecherear at an Elingsh uinervtisy, it deosn't mttaer in waht oredr the ltteers in a wrod are. The olny iprmoatnt tihng is taht the frist and lsat ltteer are at the rghit pclaes. The rset can be a toatl mses and you can sitll raed it wouthit porbelm. Tihs is bcuseae we do not raed ervey lteter by itslef but the wrod as a wlohe."

Today's sing-a-long song: "More Than Words" by Extreme

HRH

Common Assumptions

When you start working in a new environment or even move countries and cities you have a rare opportunity to see what kinds of assumptions people make about who you are and what you're about. Rarely, if ever, are these assumptions malicious, but more the way people decipher the messages you're sending off. I've found this pretty interesting of late and have noticed some interesting patterns developing.

1. The most common assumption I've incurred has been that I'm a student. From the man at the bus station in Kingston, to the photo ID lady here at work. I'm 26, so it's not strange that a medical student would be about my age, but it still throws me. I graduated 3 years ago and people still don't see me as an adult. It's not like I'm walking around in sneakers and a Linkin Park T-shirt either. It's puzzling, but at the same time I have no problem with having a youthful appearance.

2. Another one I've been getting a lot is that I'm a vegetarian. I tried to be one once, but the fact that I don't really cook my own meals and actually rather enjoy a good cow every so often made that experiment last about a week. I don't eat a lot of meat, mostly because it's pretty heavy. Also I love a good salad. Don't get me wrong, it's great that people are suggesting all kinds of vegetarian restaurants for me in Toronto, it's just a bit odd since I haven't eaten lunch with one of them. That's all. (Aside for Praguers past and present: One of the people suggesting all these places, prefaced their advice by raving about all the great vegetarian scene in Prague. Radost, Maly Budda and Govinda are great, but I wouldn't call them a scene. I though Kari might find that amusing).

3. I'm of Mediterranean Slavic descent. Okay, so only person actually asked me that and he was an elevator operator in NYC, but it seemed really strange and amusing to me. M and I were taking an elevator to visit friends on the Upper West Side and the operator took a look at us and asked if we were related (?). "No. We're boyfriend and girlfriend." Then he asked us where we were from. We told him Canada and he was like "No, where are your families from." M told him that he was Czech and I said basically Scotland and Germany. He looked at me and said "You don't look like that's where you're from. You look Slavic." I thought for a minute, and recalled that when my mother and grandmother traced the family tree they went all the way back to the 9th century, where our ancestors originated in what is now Bosnia-Hertzegovina. I told him this and he was like "I knew it!" He told me he was from Albania and that I looked like I was from that region. I thought to myself that any traces of that Slavic history has surely been diluted and mutated over the 1100 years, but it made him happy. Really I just think I look like your average tall white girl.

In other news, my fellow Kingstonian Ryan Malcom was crowned the very first Canadian Idol last night, which is great. What's not so great is that I've only heard the first single (name escapes me) 3 times and it's already seared into my brain. Damn ballads.

Today's sing-a-long song (in a effort to free myself): "Free your mind" by En Vogue

HRH

Already a Starbucks Junkie

I've been working at HSC for less than 48 hours and even though I can't find my way through the hospital without looking pathetic and lost (so much so that people take a great deal of pity on me and walk me places) I can easily find my way down to Starbucks in the Atrium for a Tazo Chai Latte. It's just not right to make tea so tasty and charge $3.10 for a tall. It's a good thing I bring my lunch with me...

Hopefully as I'm trying to absorb things quickly enough to be of use to my department, M and Mike are currently installing sympatico service on my super-bitchin'-birthday present computer at home. Which means more blogging, more emailing... the digital presence I was meant to have. I'm so thrilled that I have a computer of my own now. A computer that is mine, from the moment it comes out of the box. Not a hand-me-down, or a composite of other machines, but mine. Shiny and new.

Tonight the sucking claw that is reality TV is going to take me firmly in its grasp and have me watch the finale of "Canadian Idol." I watched it for the first time last night as one of the two finalists, Ryan Malcom, is from my hometown. Which means I'm obligated to show him much love and support. Tonight I'll find out if my 7 votes made a difference.

Today's sing-a-long song: "Starbucks" by A.

HRH

Got The Life

After a far too long hiatus, I'm am back. I've moved to the might Toronto and have put together the entire apartment (save the guest room -- best way to get me on that one is to come and visit me -- and the space I've affectionately named "The Matt Cave") with my wonderful boyfriend M. My new computer is arriving from Kingston this weekend and I start my spanking new job at The Hospital for Sick Children on Monday.

Could life possibly be any sweeter? Well only if I had high speed Internet hooked up. But that will come with time.

Toronto is a great city. I think I'm going to LOVE living here. I already love the park outside my front door and have had nothing but good experiences since I got here. Really, I'm living a totally charmed life. And more on that life will come in the coming weeks as the months of limbo come to an end. I have a job, a home, a man, a cat and am seeking a place to bellydance and do pilates. I'm a very happy girl.

Today's sing-a-long song: "Ain't No Mountain High Enough" by the Supremes.

HRH