Just taking the cat out for a walk.
After having gone through yet another pile of unpacking crap, I was relaxing with a glass of wine and listening to my new favourite thing ever: the Strombo Show. I was all “aah, let’s check out Pinterest to see what other lovely additions I can make to my new, fabulous home.”
I saw a recipe for roasted chickpeas and I don’t know what happened, but I decided I MUST MAKE THEM even though it was 9:30 on a Tuesday night. I followed the recipe and got them into the oven.
Right when George was getting into a really intensely punk-focused portion of his show, the smoke detector went off. That’s when I realized I have no air flow in my apartment. Ooops. Relaxation for me (and the three girls who live below me) officially over. So while a band called Venom raged in the background, I yelled to them “sorry, just burning something in my kitchen!” In hindsight, that was not really reassuring.
Chickpeas turned out great, though.
So the people I am leasing from asked me if they could show the place to potential roommates this week, since I am leaving at the end of the month. I said no problem, because the people I am subletting from are AWESOME. I got a little confused and I wasn’t sure if today was one of the days they would be showing people around, but I made sure the kitchen surfaces were wiped down, most of the dishes were done, and my pyjamas were out of the bathroom. As I am sure you could foresee, yes, they brought people in today.
When I arrived home afterwards, I realized that the detritus in my front hallways consists of:
- Vanna White yarn (yes she has her own brand)
- Pale purple ballet-syle “Paris” slippers
- (If your name is Lia, spoiler alert) A Nordic themed child’s puzzle
- My tax history over the past 24 months, printed out and stuffed into a gift bag
Basically, my moral is that it’s weird to see your everyday stuff through someone else’s eyes.
I noticed these two stories today, and emailed them both to myself so I would remember to blog about them:
I am so fascinated by the fact that in both cases, an association with a specific person assigns an actual monetary value to an object. Of course, in the first case, this DNA test would be able to confirm that Van Gogh actually painted the piece. It’s not enough that it’s a beautiful picture, stylistically similar enough to Van Gogh to be able to enjoy for its aesthetic value.
In the second case, it’s beautiful objects owned by a famous woman who is now dead. Famous for her philanthropy — yes, a worthwhile thing to be famous for — but I am going to point out that she did not actually earn the money she gave away. Also, are these things really worth $2,000?
So it took two attempts for me to move. I found a really great apartment to sublet on Craigslist and I brought my sister with me to come see it…because, you know, Craigslist killers. Luckily we met the nicest people with the most adorable dog! The apartment is pretty big, and so they had roommates, but let me know they’d also be leaving as of July 1 (when the lease started). The leaseholders were leaving mid-June, though, and they were ok with me moving in before July 1. The only caveat was that I would be living with the aforementioned roommates until July 1. I went by the apartment twice — these girls were well aware that I was moving in. I show up, family in tow, around noon on a Sunday. We had apparently interrupted them sleeping off some sort of huge Sapphic steampunk bourbon party. The one hungover, naked roommate started getting lippy with my sister. Who gets lippy while naked? Hippies.
My family and I regrouped in what was supposed to be my room, and decided to get the eff out of there. A week later, we returned to find my helpful downstairs neighbour installing an air conditioner in my room and a sparkling clean kitchen and bathroom.
Everyone hangs out on the back stairs of their places. (Well, not me, because I have a job now.) The people next door are punks in the true sense of the word. And they told me the East end was too weird for them. I love it. They are really very nice people. I think they see me as a helpless hamster. In their defence, I have basically delegated all of my bike-related issues to them. But they always help! Including one time when one of the girls physically carried my bike into my apartment for me (I am on the third floor).
So, since I really would love to do communications/PR in the arts, I figured it would be a good idea to sign up to be a PR volunteer for a big festival here. During the screening session, they explained that we’d be working in the media tent signing people in, and so on. Cool, I thought: I don’t really need that kind of experience, but I will get to meet people who are working in the arts.
So, we start to sign up for shifts, and it turns out what we are actually doing is working with photographers. I have done this before. I don’t need to experience doing it again, since I know it entails schlepping. I was once asked to carry a bag into a photo op with Barack Obama. Yes. The President of the United States. I gave that guy a variation on the “bitch, please” look and went in sans bag. So why would I want to do it at a Rufus Wainwright concert?
Needless to say, what I actually learned from this experience is that 1. volunteering is not always all it’s cracked up to be and 2. people lie.
When I lived in Ottawa, I liked to bike everywhere. It was easy: I could bike to the end of my street, which was a quiet downtown street, and at the end the car-free path would take me the rest of the way. On the way to work, I did go down a busier street, but it was a one-way and since it was rush hour, traffic never moved very fast.
As I got more experienced in city biking, I noticed something: cyclists are the worst. Honestly. You never know whether they are going to obey the rules of the road. I am one of them. Rolling stops and ignoring red lights are two sins I commit. That’s why when I am driving, cyclists make me very, very nervous. They are unpredictable! There’s often no way to tell what their next move is. I wish more cyclists were also drivers, so they could understand why it’s a horrible idea to be next to the curb in a right-hand turning lane when they plan to go straight across the intersection. It would also be useful for cyclists to understand the fact that drivers actually have a blind spot and know where that blind spot is.
So, when I am cycling, I try (and I admit, I don’t always succeed) at following the rules of the road. But most importantly, I try and remember that if something were to happen the car will always, always win.
|Me:||I think that's an Olsen twin.|
|Me, minutes later:||nope.|
|Me, the next day, after Googling:||omg, it was Emma Roberts. I am so bad at this!!|
|Them:||So, how about some less serious questions! What's your favourite movie?|
|Me:||I am not a huge movie person. I'd have to say Fight Club.|
So as some of you know, I am volunteering at the AGO. We had our first training session last night. The gallery was also hosting a huge gala. I was told by reception which was the training room, so I went down. As I got closer, I became suspicious. I didn’t recognize anybody, but what do I know? So I asked. The woman had no idea what I was talking about when I said “audioguide training.” She called a dude out of the room who I assume was slightly more in charge. He said “models? Are you a model?” I can’t decide if he was perplexed by me or welcoming me. I am going to go with the latter.