A History of Me: In boots!

Fernando and I were shopping today, and we were talking about what I wanted for my birthday, when I spotted this from the corner of my eye, in the window of the home brew store:

When I was in grade 2 or 3, I think, our mother brought home 2 mugs just like this--one for me and for my brother. We loved them. We had a ritual every Friday night where we would watch The Dukes of Hazzard and have a bag of chips and a bottle of pop each, and this became The Favored Pop Mug. If you drank from it at the right angle, it splashed pop in your face... which was the whole fun, of course.

We are now the proud owner of two mug boots.

And the public offer is going out to Brother Pablo--if he wants one of the mugs, I'll give one to him. Otherwise, Fernando and I will sit on our little couch, with our little boots, and carry on the family tradition.

what to reeeeaaaad... the exciting conclusion!

Canada Reads is a "battle of the books" on CBC that started during my days at the bookstore, in 2002, but I've never set out to read one one of the winners.

This year Canada Reads came to a close at just the right time--when I'm cycling 'round to a Literary Mood. Because I was more interested in researching my writing, I didn't read a lot after finishing school last year. Only a couple months ago I got Back in the Mood, and I read:
- a serious mystery
- 2 romances
- 1 chick lit
- 1 *cozy* mystery
- 1 serious mystery

Which means now my mood is turning either to sci fi/fantasy, or literature. So I ordered me up a copy of the Canada Reads winner: The Book of Negroes by Lawrence Hill (45% off at indigo.ca !) Incidentally, it has a different name in the US and some other countries, because the word "negro," which is sort of mildly distasteful in Canada, has much more pejorative connotations elsewhere, and they were afraid black readers would disdain to even pick the book up. The title comes from an historical document the author found, detailing the African-Americans allowed passage up to Nova Scotia in the 18th century.

I expect to get through a lot of reading this month, as I'll be cat-sitting for a friend, and therefore commuting longer.

My parents had to put down their very sick little lovebird today. :-(

The History of Me: In Prince

I'm listening to a Kanye West song. I like the line: "I've been on ya, since Prince been on Appolonia..."

One of the things I like about *being around* black artists (I mean, listening to, reading interviews etc.) is that they talk about Prince. Living in Canada I've only known one big Prince fan, in Cegep.

Then there was that annoying guy in sec V who suddenly discovered that Prince was a great musician, and tried to inform ME that Prince plays 27 instruments, arrogantly assuming I didn't have any appreciation for Prince as a musician... when I had just given an oral presentation on the Utopia theme in Prince songs. (Sometimes Boys think they know more about music than girls. Like cars and football, or something. Hmph!)

And then there's Kevin Smith--who I don't think is a Prince fan. I think he's a Purple Rain fan. (And so he would probably appreciate why I was so thrilled when someone--Pablo or Fernando?--bought me my own cone-puppet. "You don't need them. You don't need anyone. All you need is ME.")

So it's fun when I'm looking at some Prince thing on youtube and other people from the US (maybe it's not about skin color... maybe this is an American--Canadian thing) say Oh cool! I remember when this song was on the radio all the time! My sister and I used to play this every day!! about some Prince song that I never even heard released on radio.

Man. Where were these people when I was 15?? South of the border I guess.

Mind you... my other fave groups were Bruce Cockburn, Kate Bush and Fleetwood Mac, which probably top a list somewhere of Music White People Like. (...Though Stevie Nicks' "Stand Back" is based on "Little Red Corvette" and Prince played the synths on it for her. AND Prince and Kate Bush have both played one song for each other, on each other's albums. ...Pretty sure there's no Prince-Cockburn connection, though. Well they're both top guitarists.)

what to reeeeaaaad...

I don't know what to read next. I read a couple romances, and just read a mystery. I've been in the mood to read the Canada Reads winner, The Book of Negroes, but I ordered it online and it hasn't arrived yet. (Hey, even the indigo.ca discounts are sometimes higher than my store discount! If you haven't heard of Canada Reads, see the end of the post.)

Hmm. I could keep on the mystery theme, and read the Murdoch mystery I bought awhile back.

Or go with the literary mood, and start something I have on hand, such as Pamuk's My Name is Red. I also ordered The Brief Wondrous Life of Oscar Wao, which has very high ratings, and takes place in a country I've never read about--the Dominican Republic.

Oh la oh la. I both love and hate that in-between moment of having to choose the next book!

*

Canada Reads celebrates five Canadian books for three months online, on the air and at public events. It all leads up to a week-long show hosted by Jian Ghomeshi. In this annual title fight, five celebrity panelists defend their favourite work of Canadian fiction. One by one, books are voted off the list, until one panelist triumphs with the book for Canada to read this year.

The History of me: In Cats & Blankets

Everyone knows the great Cat Love of my life was Ernie. My dad is getting all our old slides transferred to digital, and I've given him strict instructions to forward ALL ERNIE PICTURES.

He hasn't found them yet, but here's one of the tabbies who passed our way. (Lost cats I think?) First Mork, and later Rocky. Brother Pablo guesses this is the latter. KITTIES! I don't remember which one loved spaghetti.

I don't remember the book pictured here, but after googling, I think that fairy tale is "Pinkel the Thief." I do remember the jungle animal bed sheet, the Holly Hobby sheets, the flowered blanket, and the green blanket.

Greenie the Blanket: My mother took me to the store to pick out a blanket I was supposed to bring to day care or something, and this is the one I chose. I called it Greenie. Ernie loved to suck/knead Greenie, so I kept it until it was falling apart, and had a gigantic hole in the middle of it. Me, Ernie and Greenie: We were a trio. I'm pretty sure I kept it, since Ernie was put down. ...Must find out.

So as Pablo said when he saw the pic: Oo a photo of Young Greenie!

death!

I dreamt I died last night. I've dreamt of going over cliffs before, or being attacked, but I've never actually gotten to the death part. It was interesting. I'm sure it's because sometime that evening I read an article about how people interpret dreams, and did a little questionnaire on it. The questionnaire asked what you think dreams are--and I chose the option about dreams just being your brain sorting through a sensory mess of the day (something like that.)

And as though to prove it, here's a paragraph from the article:

These instinctive Freudians also considered dreams to be valuable omens, as demonstrated in a study asking them to imagine they were about to take a plane trip. If, on the eve of the flight, they dreamed of the plane’s crashing, they were more likely to cancel the trip than if they saw news of an actual plane crash on their route.

Well, I dreamed I died in a plane crash of course. I was dreaming about something else--a sort of American Idol with underwater aquatics, at which I was a spectator, and I was having a conversation with my friend's boyfriend about my motorbike [combination of story research, and an episode of Corner Gas I watched that night].

Then the dream shifted and I was sitting in the front row of an airplane, next to a guy I knew, but not well (don't know who it was.) The front of the airplane was wide windows--the view we would have if there wasn't a cockpit in the way. I was about to stand up and go to the bathroom when the seatbelt sign came on because of turbulence.

So I sat back down, and the pilot (??) came out of the cockpit to tell us not to worry, we were just going through some turbulence (duh.) Next thing I knew, we were flying low through the downtown of a city, almost at street level.

And I thought: Gee, must be some emergency landing. And then I thought: Gosh, there's no way this is going to end with us alive. This is it. This is how I die. (And someone behind me was saying "Oh my God" over and over.)

We were heading right towards a big bank-like building, at street level. There wasn't really time to be scared. I grabbed the hands of the guy next to me, cause it seemed like the proper etiquette in such a situation [must have read that in the Chesley crash articles]. I thought briefly about Fernando and my family, and how I was about to become one of Those People in News Stories.

The nose of the plane was reaching the doors of the building, and I closed my eyes, and waited for what I expected to be a very painful, but probably quick death. I was waiting for the feeling of smashing into stuff, and then fire.

And I was just starting to feel warm, when my body slowly awoke--I assume because my brain was incapable of imagining that sort of pain. I didn't awake with a start like they do on TV. I just felt this prickly wash of adrenaline taking over the from the feeling of heat, moving from my feet to my head. And then I was just lay there, thinking about the dream.

...If that was my body's way of telling me to wake up cause my bladder was full... it was pretty darn dramatic!