I Distinctly See Ramsay's Aneurysm

Just a quick entry for now... I just have to mention "Hell's Kitchen". The more I watch this show; the more I'm convinced that Chef Ramsay is destined to be the first star of a reality show to die live on camera of an aneurysm. That or be killed by a kitchen-utensil-wielding contestant who just can't take any more of his abuse.

I know most, if not all of this show could very well be scripted, but if it's not, there's no wonder these wannabe-restaurateurs "f**k" up so frequently and so thoroughly. Ramsay is a tyrant. A raving, maniacal tyrant. But there lies the dilemma: if he treated the contestants with any level of human kindness or dignity, the spectacle that is "Hell's Kitchen" wouldn't be nearly as entertaining.

That being said... "Thanks to all that is good in the universe that Aaron will not be returning to the game." My threshold of pain was weakening with every moment he was on-screen. And I can't help but wonder how he made it on the show. I'm guessing the retirement home he cooks for must have held a blue-haired rally to convince him that he simply makes the best stewed cabbage and prune puree that have ever passed over dentures, and surely he could win on that delightful reality TV program.

Goodbye Joanna. Good luck getting another kitchen job after nearly poisoning half a restaurant with rancid crab.

Man, this show is riveting. I say that without even the slightest hint of sarcasm.

Tonight Ted and I are going to the "True Colo(u)rs Tour" (w Cyndi Lauper, Deborah Harry, Erasure and a bunch of acts we've never heard of.) Outdoor show... so wish us luck. The tickets were free, so I guess I shouldn't complain if we get rained-on.

Back to work.

"Hat Full of Stars" by Cyndi Lauper (one of my favourites by her from the now, very-old CD of the same name)

I was folding up your letters
Unpacking winter clothes
Searching for my hat I thought I left it by the door
So I tore around the room
Like a bird without a head
I saw your picture waving back at me
From underneath the bed
From a long, long time ago

When all I had
Was a hat full of stars
The one I'll always treasure
The one that you wore
You loved the look
But you never looked inside
You would have seen us there
You could've seen far
You should've seen the magic
In my hat full of stars

I'm trying to live in the present
But I keep tripping on the past
Finding out reality,
well clarity comes in dribs and drabs
No we never had the time
For everything we had
So it felt like we had nothing
That's what makes this hat so sad
It was a long, long time ago

When all we had
Was a hat full of stars
The one I'll always treasure
The one that you wore
You loved the look
But you never looked inside
You would have seen us there
You could've seen far
You should've seen the magic
In my hat full of stars

Now whenever I'm alone
And I think I might forget
I wear my lucky hat
Just like a crown up on my head

'Cause all I have
Is a hat full of stars...
The one I'll always treasure
The one that you wore
You loved the look
But you never looked inside
If you could see me now
You would've seen far
You should've seen the magic
In my hat full of stars...

Woofstock Part 2

As promised... the riveting 2-parter continues.

Here's a pair of spoiled pooches taking in the scenery before plunging headlong into a cascading sea of wagging tails, wet noses, and of course... butts to sniff.

Last year, we didn't make it to Woofstock, but the year before it was in the Distillery district, which was cramped and provided an entirely cement/paved terrain. This year Woofstock took place just a block north of the St Lawrence market and stretched about 2-3 city blocks in a couple of directions. Among this closed-off-to-traffic area was a park with plenty of trees and just enough grass to do your doggie thang. (as doggies tend to do... or is that "doo doo"?)

First impression this year? WOW even more dogs than the last time we came. (estimated 140,000 dogs - WHOA!!) And among them, more Great Danes than I've ever seen in my life.

These 3 (pictured right) were quietly attending a vendor booth with their owners. They're the second largest dog in the world, and certainly one of the most docile. We saw at least 15 of these gentle giants walking about, and I cannot stress how much I love them. They're so majestic and kind. I'd love to have one, but I don't forsee it anytime soon. For one, they're frickin' HUGE and would most certainly need a domain a little bigger than any apartment we've ever lived in, and secondly, I don't think I could handle the heart-break of their short life-span. They only live to be 8 or 9 years old (best case scenario) and that would just devastate me.

I already think that dogs (in general) don't live long enough. But maybe that's part of the beauty of their existance.... to touch our hearts with their tender neediness and boundless unconditional love, and then show us how to deal with one of life's greatest hardships: loss of a loved one.

Anyhow. These big galoots were everywhere. And above is a little comparison of how a Dane stands up to my boys (size-wise). Hee hee... my midgets.

This was a picture taken during a lull... just one of those scenery-type dealies. ->

<- And this is Cole, letting me know he was having a good time. He had just finished jumping up on me. Which he rarely does.

Woofstock is largely a vending opportunity/public awareness venue for Toronto's big dog-loving community, but I think the best part about being there is the interaction with the dogs, between the dogs, and between the dog-owners. It's great to have a venue where nobody's horrified to be approached or jumped-upon by your dog. It's a mutual-appreciation society of the four-legged variety. Dog owners are a special breed all their own. Most of us are only-too-happy/proud to tell you our pooches names and talk about them like furry little offspring, so it's also nice to know you're not boring the hell out of someone when the exchange is goin' on. And there's quite a bit of that.

<- Hee hee... Dane next to Chihuahua... too cute.

We also saw a great number of Basset Hounds (none of them quite so handsome as Porthos, of course) and discovered that there's actually an organization called "Basset Rescue", because they are a largely abandoned breed of dog. Heart-breaking news to 2 guys who have come to realize how sweet a Basset can be in spite of their short comings, (ie: astounding stubbornness and mischief). We met a couple of the hounds there at the booth and one had only one eye. I didn't ask how this came to be. I'm never eager to hear stories of abuse (if that was even the case).

I'll end this particular post with a few MORE pictures of the boys in the car. We stopped off at Sobey's and I stayed with them while Ted and Tammy went in the store. A good time was had by all.

<- Does this seat make my butt look big?

"We" called "shot gun" ->

<- Hey dad. Whassup?

Who's leg do you have to hump to get the air conditioning back on 'round here?? ->

<- Can I drive home?

Woofstock Pt.1

Y'know last Sunday night I was thinking woo-hoo "this was a day with things to blog about", and fully intended to do so on Monday. ...Yeah...

Quite obviously I'm running low on free time at work. Which is... I suppose the detriment doing all my blogging "from" work... it has to take priority. I wish it were "fun" work, instead of the steady stream of tedium I'm forced to deal with. But anyhow... enough about work.

On Sunday... we went to Woofstock. And the boys loved it. So without further adieu, I give you more doggie pictures. They are the loves of my life after all.

Here we are in the elevator. There's a little bit of excitement here, but nothing quite worthy of the cornicopia of butts to sniff that's in store for Pordiddly and wee-Cole.

They do know what "car ride" means. But there's no real way to teach them the meaning of "big doggie orgy". Which is just as well, because they're usually wound-up enough about the car ride as it is.

Here's Porthos on my lap in the back seat. I've been banished to the back of the car to play chaperone to his delicate state of balance and motion. Meaning if we leave him back there with Cole or just by himself, he pukes from one end of the seat to the other. Whereas, if I'm holding him, he's as happy as a clam and doesn't barf. We're actually in motion; headed up Kipling to the Gardiner. The little pink, horrified creature beside Porthos is "Shmirla"... she has a matching blue doppleganger on the driver's side named "Mirla". They're little stuffed slugs that came with our DVD copy of "Flushed Away", we named them after Charla and Mirna from the Amazing Race.

Nobody enjoys a car ride more than sweet Cole. Here he is, moving as fast as he does in his dreams of espionage "Cole Shannon-Kozlow: Squirrel Assassin".

Porthos on my lap. ->

<- Cole on Ted's...

And now with the magic of blogging time-lapse (a potent mix of co-worker and client interruptions) it's time for me to go home. But I'll get to actually talking about some of the fun stuff at Woofstock tomorrow. Wow... a "to be continued"... how exciting. Or not.

Wouldn't You Like to Be a Pepper Too?

Hey there,

I know I haven't blogged in over a week, but I promise that nothing exciting has gone down in the interim. Of that... you have my word. I've been sick and it's been a nasty week pretty much. That sums it up. Seriously.

I wasn't even going to blog today, but then I caught THIS on Ananova.com, which is a story I read in the paper on the subway this morning. So ... go read THIS (same link as the first THIS) and then come back here and resume reading about what a horrible person I am. Mmmkay?

Yeah... I'm terrible 'cause I thought this was hysterical. Like... I was physically moved to laughter on the train. It's unfortunate that they didn't use the same picture that was printed in Metro this morning because you could clearly see that this poor tubby American was wearing a Dr Pepper t-shirt... and all I could picture was him... hurtling down the highway like a big pork roast in a wheelchair, pinned to the front of an 18-wheeler with only the bold words: "I'm a Pepper" to caption his predicament to any bystanders. The only thing that saves me from eternal damnation for laughing at this poor man, is that no one was harmed.

Although, I'm thinkin' Dr. Pepper couldn't buy a better TV commercial. It's too bad they didn't catch it on film.

Yeah. I know. Evil.

My Previously Undisclosed Pink Fun-Fur Fetish

Remember this post??

Well lookie, lookie what my friend Lori posted on Facebook!!

I hear that Gold Bond Medicated Powder is good for unsightly Bunny Itch.

Classy huh?

Demo Me This, Demo Me That

It is Wednesday May 30th, and John still has no demo tape prepared. Wasn't I talking about this in like late December/early January? D'AAAH! I'm completely ridiculous. (Deborah, if you're reading this, I'm really sorry to have not taken you up on your offer of passing along my non-existent demo. And I have no excuse.) I have clips here and there of stuff I've voiced, but can't bring myself to impose on my producer-co-workers to put it together for me. Well, one of them I wouldn't trust with it to be honest, but needless to say, I'm getting nowhere under my own steam. Wanna hear something you might find funny...? I bought a book of children's stories to narrate as a portion of my (non-existent) demo. It calls for quite a few different character voices... which is the whole strength of my appeal. It's not very good reading though. The characters are under-developed and the dialogue is infantile. (wink wink)

I'm not really in "Blogging" mode lately. I wonder what the term is for that.... Have I lost my "blojo"? Hmmm.... that sounds like something else entirely.

If you're reading this, I hope you're happy and well. I promise to be upbeat and some-what entertaining sometime soon.

Today's song is an old tear-jerker by Sinead O'Connor from the album "Universal Mother". Yeah, the lyrics are simplistic, but if you can find the song, I highly recommend it. It's beautiful and loving, with a twist of pain.

"Thank You for Hearing Me"

Thank you for hearing me
Thank you for hearing me
Thank you for hearing me
Thank you for hearing me

Thank you for loving me
Thank you for loving me
Thank you for loving me
Thank you for loving me

Thank you for seeing me
Thank you for seeing me
Thank you for seeing me
Thank you for seeing me

And for not leaving me
And for not leaving me
And for not leaving me
And for not leaving me

Thank you for staying with me
Thank you for staying with me
Thank you for staying with me
Thank you for staying with me

Thanks for not hurting me
Thanks for not hurting me
Thanks for not hurting me
Thanks for not hurting me

You are gentle with me
You are gentle with me
You are gentle with me
You are gentle with me

Thanks for silence with me
Thanks for silence with me
Thanks for silence with me
Thanks for silence with me

Thank you for holding me
And saying I could be
Thank you for saying "Baby"
Thank you for holding me

Thank you for helping me
Thank you for helping me
Thank you for helping me
Thank you, thank you for helping me

Thank you for breaking my heart
Thank you for tearing me apart
Now I've a strong, strong heart
Thank you for breaking my heart

Pop a Wheelie, Not an Ankle

Thus far... I don't foresee a lot of rollerblading in my future. I had no idea it would hurt in the way that it hurt. No, I didn't fall. Not yet anyway. But my ANKLES!!!! Owie. Owie. Owie.
I thought I was so much stronger than that. Although, I've been assured by a few co-workers today that it's very little to do with the strength of my ankles and much more to do with my skates not being tied tightly enough. I'm hoping that's the case, 'cause I have a feeling I'm going to be discouraged very early-on if it hurts this much every time.

At any rate, I got to talk to a cute guy last night because of my "baby deer taking it's first steps" rollerblading technique. We were on the bicycle path on Eglinton and Ted and Tammy went another block further than I did. (I had visions of walking two blocks home in my sock feet.) But while I was working my way back home, this guy comes skating up the path on his roller blades looking like a pro, and I just spoke out loud "You make that look so easy.", and he wrenched off his headphones to say "What?".... and I was embarrassed that he heard me and that I had interrupted him with something stupid, so I just apologized and said "It's ok. I didn't say anything important." Evidently he was curious, 'cause he skated back to me and said "sorry I didn't hear you." And I just filled him in, and he asked me if it was my first pair of blades and told me about the "bending the knees" thing, and said, "don't worry, you'll get it". Nice guy. Of course by this time I was all sweaty and just standing there like a boob, wishing I'd kept my mouth shut. But oh well. Sometimes strangers surprise you with kindness.... even cute strangers.

Ted and I are going to try again tonight pending the predicted crazy thunderstorms have passed by then. Also on the agenda: Chinese food, and "Lord of the Rings: the Two Towers" (that directors special extended edition thing). We watched the first one a month or so ago, and just want to work our way through the trilogy again. We've only watched the extended versions once each since we bought them, and they're such amazing movies (even though they're as long as a root canal - but infinitely more enjoyable of course).

Lots of family stuff going on with Ted lately. The other night his dad called to tell us he's been diagnosed with colon cancer and is about to start treatment. The good news is that they've caught it quite early and the prognosis is good for a complete recovery. Ted's decided to follow his dad's optimism about the whole situation, and try not to worry too much. He's a reasonably healthy man. Maybe I'll just do the worrying for Ted. I sometimes can't help myself. (Ok, I can NEVER help but worry.) Colon cancer is scary though. My mom's husband Jan was diagnosed with it about a year ago and he's undergoing treatment, but it's progressed beyond what they can stop, so his outlook isn't quite so positive. When last I spoke to my mom, he was feeling pretty good, all things considered though.

Ted's also making the trek to Belleville tomorrow for his grandmother's 90th birthday. He and Mel are going, and meeting their dad there. I would've liked to have gone since I lived in Belleville for 2 years and I'm always up for revisiting old haunts, but it's better that I stay home with the dogs so they can take their time - not to mention - we can avoid all the inevitable "this is Ted's friend John" b.s. that comes with extended family gatherings. In stead Ted will just have to endure "are you married yet?" from whomever he hasn't seen in however many years it's been.

I'll likely just be boring and do housework and add music to my iPod.

On that note... have a good weekend peeps. These are the lyrics to one of my favourite Lenny Kravitz songs.

"Sistamamalover" by Lenny Kravitz.

I've gone from talkin' to walkin'
You touch me deep down inside
Oh can't you see that I'm fallin'
And I can no longer hide

You are my everything
my sistamamalover
You give me everything
I have no need to borrow
And when I think of you
You take away my sorrow
I'll always love you baby
Like there's no tomorrow

When I get up in the morning
I feel like I'm so alive
With you it never gets boring
'Cause you always get me high
High

You are my everything
my sistamamalover
You give me everything
I have no need to borrow
And when I think of you
You take away my sorrow
I'll always love you baby
Like there's no tomorrow

I'll never go with another
'Cause baby you are so fly
Don't have to live undercover
Because I don't have to lie
I don't have to lie baby

You are my everything
my sistamamalover
You give me everything
I have no need to borrow
And when I think of you
You take away my sorrow
I'll always love you baby
Like there's no tomorrow