It's started again.

The random need to sob.

FFS.

Well only three point five days to holidays and nothing done.

Nothing.

Of course, Scotiabank didn't help.

Scotiabank.

The bank that likes to say 'fuck off you presumptuous little immigrant, coming here stealing our jobs and men, and then on top of that, expecting twenty first century banking procedures.'

The new green Grinch

I was reading an article in The Globe and Mail the other day about the new green grinch, who is a nasty type of new person stalking the planet, stealing Christmas from everyone else by moaning about consumerism and packaging and waste, etc.

Ahaaaa, Queenie thought, so that's what I am!!

I knew there'd be a label for it somewhere.

My grinchiness is deeper than my greenness however. My greenness is just a mask for a far deeper flaw.

I am just a grinch at heart.

The apple doesn't fall far from the tree.

The Queen Dad texted me this week.

'Don't buy me a Christmas present. I am not buying any this year. Dad'

Okey dokey.

Firstly, I am flying home to be with you for Christmas, oh grinchmeister, so that's your flippin' present.

I'm sure he'd come up with some smart ass reply to that if he actually read my blog.

Secondly, if he had thought his daughter's grinchiness through correctly, he would have known that I have already bought the Queen Dad his Christmas present, so that I could read it before I had to wrap it.

Which is what I always do.

And furthermore, he would have guessed that I got it in Doull's.

Which is even grinchier.

It being the second hand book store par excellence in Halifax.

But actually, I bought it there because I'll never find it again.

It being a hard to find copy of the first novel by one of our favourites. And Doull's being a place that's hard to find books in. Despite it being a bookstore.

But that's okay.

I'll just keep it.

Or give it to someone else.

Who doesn't even like this writer.

This is my point.

I hate buying Christmas presents.

Unless I wake up one morning and realise that I have thought of the perfect present and then I have to go out and hunt it down.

Then I love Christmas shopping.

But that day when you have to head out into the cold with a list of people and NO FRIGGIN' IDEA what to buy any of them.....

I hate that.

So I have been staring at my list for what seems like forever. Trying to think of the right present.

And I had only managed to buy two. Two spectacularly correct presents for the people for whom they were purchased.

I was really proud of both of them.

And one of them doesn't want it now.

I hate Christmas shopping.

One of the columnists in The Coast was talking about how difficult it was for her this year, because she's having 'a year of not buying anything new', so she has to make all her gifts.

It got me thinking.

I was thinking of trying a year of not buying anything new.

I discussed it with Himself last night.

'Dude, I think we should do a year of not buying anything new, what do you think?'

Himself was turning over potatoes from the new bag of PEI roosters, trying to find the best two bakers for supper, so he wasn't really concentrating.

'Well, what do you mean?'

'Well, we don't buy anything new for a year. Apart from food. And liquor. So if we need something we have to find it second-hand. And then we help save the planet.'

'But that's what we do normally, isn't it?'

I considered this. Having had the finances relatively stable for a while, I had noticed that my purchasing of never used items had crept up a little. Particularly with regard to clothes.

And shoes.

When I got my new job I treated myself to two pairs of the cutest damned shoes in the world. As a reward for all my hard work.

Well, we buy new clothes.

I don't.

Yes you do.

Only when you make me, and I have enough now to do me for three years.

I voiced the opinion then that maybe I should stop buying new clothes.

But women have to buy new clothes. So they'll look nice.

Don't you just love this guy!

And he's right. We engage in very little consumption.

So maybe I'm as green grinch as it gets.

But I still have to do the Christmas shopping.

Better go get ready.

The wrong end of the schtick

So some poor pretty Irish girl who wanted to be a celebrity so much she became one of those famous for being famous people took too much cocaine and died.

Along with the other two people who took too much cocaine at a twenty first party in Waterford a few weeks back, and died this week.

And apparently some actor called Tom Murphy earlier this year (I hope it's not the Tom Murphy I know), who died of an overdose.

Not to mention all the non-famous for dying of cocaine overdosing people who will die this year.

Shouldn't we be talking about who sold them the frickin' cocaine, instead of wondering what it all means for the dying embers of the tiger?

Mr. Newspaperman?

The end of the beginning

From Saturday

That's what today feels like.

Last night I went downstairs for supper with my neighbour. Himself stayed home as he thought it was going to snow and he would have to run a snow plough in the middle of the night. So he wanted to get some sleep.


Sleep has been in short supply in this house for a bit.


Queenie is a little concerned that when she gets to Ireland all she and Himself will want to do is sleep for two weeks.


Anyways, Queenie got home about one and was in a lovely deep sleep when the Snow Plough Cell from Hell rang loudly and Himself fell out of bed to answer it.


Wrong number.

Ah well.


Himself got up at four anyways and went to do his Snicking (something to do with ice and salt and carparks).

Isn't it FANTASTIC that November is over and it's December today.


December's exciting news is that Queenie has to work out her notice in the Tree House for two weeks, then start her new job, then go to Ireland for two weeks.

Today, Thursday

Well, it stopped snowing eventually on Monday and Himself got home eventually around midnight, and then had to go back in to work four hours later, but not before I told him that I had watched The National and it said it would be the worst winter in fourteen years or something equally horrible, so I guess this will be the winter of not enough sleep.

At least I just get woken up and can go back to sleep. He's the one who has to get up and go out in the freezing cold at four am.

I am definitely getting the better half of the deal.

Speaking of terrible news on the radio, CBC are talking about a longitudinal study this morning, undertaken in the States. Apparently if you get laid off when you're in your forties your life expectation is reduced by a number of years.

Due to the stress of financial and emotional meltdown.

Well, there's a big surprise.

I wonder, if you have the same kind of meltdown due to the breakdown of your marriage with consequent poverty and emotional stress, whether the same results will ensue.

Another study on the radio news this morning says that if you have a big ass it doesn't matter so long as you are fit. It's is only a big belly that is a problem.

Apparently.

I spend my time wondering who sponsors these studies.

The belly-reducing stretch-o-rope people this morning, no doubt.

Anyways, Queenie is not worried about her life expectancy, or her health, or anything at the moment.

This month marks the end of the beginning of the Canada adventure.

Roll on the middle bit.

May it be taut and muscular and life-enhancing!

Andrew's an Auld Dog

Andrew's a stranger in a not-very-strange land. He's been living in London for just over two years now, and recently took the quite-rare decision to stop letting things slide and set up a time by which he'll start talks about talks about growing up.

I've learned later than I should have that form is not content - just because what someone is saying to you now has the same informational payload as what they might have said before, it doesn't mean they're just repeating themselves.

I've learned that an interest in what's going on and a willingness to lend a hand will get you pretty far into any scene, but those things plus really memorable hair will get you further. I haven't learned what happens when I go back to the usual, or how much I'm worried that, Samson like, the hair is the star.

I've learned that you don't need to have a perfect match with a girl before making a move - a lesson that the rest of the human race learned not long after the one about how if you leave these gourds out in the sun, they taste FANTASTIC. Then again, I've also learned that an honest heart and simple desire will get you so far, but not compared with that plus three pints of cider in you.

I've learned that you have no idea what's happening until it's passed: my best friend the first year I was here, I met by going out to a gig. The reason that I went out to the gig was that I'd posted something asking my then-circle of friends if anyone was going to a pub of a Friday evening, and received no response. So I went out anyway, and met a new friend, and was still so convinced that the weekend was a washout that I threw a very undignified strop at my friends on the Monday.

I've learned that most people act as if they have no idea that the world existed before they were born, or will continue after they die. For example, the convulsions amongst record companies about the modern state of record sales, contrasted with the fact that my grandfather who passed away this year can remember a time before there was ever a prospect of people making money from someone selling recordings of their music. But people assume that because the flow of history was in a particular shape when they arrived, they have a divine right to pin it to there by any means necessary. The clearest projection of this view into the future is the refusal of anyone to believe that we have an effect on the environment. It was like that when we found it! Just let it walk it off for a few minutes, everything'll be grand. The specific attitude of certain fundamentalist Christians not unadjacent to the White House on this is particularly galling.

I learned early on that there was love in the world. My parents taught me that, and so many other things that I didn't notice while I was shoving books in front of my face as fast as possible. It's kept me better than anything I was learning at the time.

I have learned that there are people who like my writing, who can form an attachment to it unconnected to actually knowing me. I still find this a little hard to believe, and expect them to just wander away at some point.

I've come to believe that compatible senses of humour are the largest part of a connection between people. Even one that's unidirectional -I can't think of any artists that I feel a connection but find unfunny.

I've learned that I'm tougher than I thought, and unless I'm mistaken, tougher than almost everyone else thought as well.

I've learned that I should have talked to Queenie more when we were in the same city.

Auld Dog is an intermittent column on this blog, where people offer their pearls of wisdom for the rest of us to ponder. If you would like to be an Auld Dog, send 600 - 700 words of wisdom, along with a bio and photo (or I'll write/ pick them) to auld.dog@gmail.com and I'll post it here.