Fire on the mountain - run boys, run!

Ecch. I had me some plans for this here New Year. Big plans. Good plans about what I'd do, starting bright and early Jan 1. Then Jan 1 came, and all I could do was languish in bed coughing and choking on my sore throat and cursing my social activities over the holidays -- because that's where germs are, boys and girls. On other boys and girls!!

I had every single solitary intention of starting this blog over with much more positive thoughts than I had in past. But heck, since the year's already blown anyway :

Note to Tortorella: Saturday's face off was an abomination. Period. But if you send your dancers out to what you suspect will be a promenade, you have no right to track the fiddler down at first intermission feigning outrage that a square dance broke out.

Happy 2014!

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A Picture Puzzler

A friend sent me another picture from the wrap party. As I looked at it, and recalled the good times, I was struck by something really unusual. See if you can spot it: I'll give you all some time to guess...

Batten down the hatches -- we're in it for the long haul!

Given that the weather reports for Edmonton this weekend are grim grim grim (lows of minus 33, highs of minus 25 -- with wind chills of around minus 35 to 40), I woke up early this morning to get all errands for the weekend out of the way in one fell swoop. I barely needed a coat this morning as I headed out to my car to embark on my mission. With each passing hour, the thermometer dipped a degree or twelve. By time I was done driving around (and paused to catch a movie at the neighbourhood googolplex), it was chill-lay outside. I am now snuggly boarded up in my apartment, with no plans to so much as peek my nose out my window until Tuesday (when the temps shall return to a balmy minus 15). Groceries? Check. Toiletries? Check. Magazines to curl up with? Check. Christmas Presents? Check. Lessee, I got my father what he's been asking for since I was old enough for him to give me his Christmas wish list: And I think my mother will enjoy her bungalow by the stream: For my sister and he...

"I used to think maybe you love me, now baby I'm sure"

I just got my first reference letter to submit with my admission package to film school this fall. And I quote: "I found her grasp of the craft of writing to be first-rate and she has an original voice, a rarity among writers." I'm a rarity. Which is similar, perhaps, to being "special" -- which, yes, people say of me only in association with making quotation marks with their fingers. We all gotta be something.

A Skewed View

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