It Was Like an Episode of Lost

But totally not.

On the Edmonton - Hamilton leg of my flight home today, I sat across the aisle from a corrections officer. Who sat beside a prisoner being transported. In ankle and wrist shackles. Who sat in front of another corrections officer.

It made me think about how, if the plane went down, it would probably be in the middle of Manitoba. And it would be damn cold. And the polar bears? Would probably be real. A little of their beaten path, but real nonetheless. And I was disappointed. Especially since neither Choooorlie from Party of Five (you know he will ALWAYS be Choooorlie from Party of Five) nor Sayid nor Sawyer or Jin were seated anywhere near me.

And then I opened up my book (the latest Max Barry) and plugged into the on-air entertainment system, and whiled away the hours until we landed.

There were SUVs with flashing lights awaiting the prisoner transport on the tarmac. And no polar bears.

The end.

Grey. Rain. Yes, I am Still in Vancouver

But even with the grey and the drizzle, I really am starting to feel something for this city. If this city was a boy, it would be making me think about planning, say, two or three weeks ahead instead of taking it day by day.

Not a lot of cities make me feel this way. Not a lot of cities feels, well, right when you're smack dab in the middle of it. In fact, I can count those cities that do on one hand. And I hope they're not too angry about adding another member to the small, exclusive harem that they are in my head.

Anyway, back to the grey and the rain. That's what it's like today. But the city? Well aware of the depressive end to it's personality. And the people here? They just work around it, not complaining, but not tiptoeing around the fact either. This is the only place by that I've been where hotels stock a free to use umbrella in every room. It's also the only place I've visited where upscale boutiques like Betsey Johnson and Coach place galvanized steel milk buckets inside their doors in order to provide a lovely parking space for those umbrellas.

The only thing that I hate about being here is the time difference - just enough to make me want to look for my bed when the evening here is just about to start. And just enough to make my body wake up, ready to start the day, when most people are just stumbling on home from a night out.

Speaking of such, I need to crawl into bed. Until tomorrow, kids.

Hey You, I Know You! I Know You!

I know you! Seriously, I don't even remember what 80's movie I'm quoting, but I can hear the sing-song way the lines above were delivered, and can see the pointing finger dance that goes with it.

That being said, not only is one of my favourite profs from library school (Indexing and Classification. Which makes we wonder why I was suprised to see him on the presenter list) giving a seminar at the Information Architecture Summit this weekend, but someone that I had an Archiving class with, who is currently enrolled in the PhD program at my old school, is presenting a paper as well.

Holy crap, I said. And then tracked them down to say hello.

Today, thinking of the random strangers, along with kids from my Masters program that I haven't talked to in the four years that have passed since graduation, I have come to the conclusion that I really don't have a shred of shyness left in me. Which, I think, people from my past-past would totally and completely think I was lying about.

Okay, back to the conference, kids.

There's Pocky in my Mini Bar!

That must mean that I'm in Vancouver. And still on EST time!

Here's a picture of the morning city from my balcony:

It's Like Being A Polygamist

But a secret one, very much completely not like the happenings on Big Love. More like the ones that you see on documentaries on A&E. But without the actual polygamy. So it's not actually like being a polygamist at all.

For the next few days, I will be running between two houses, mine own, and my parents, because crazy Zoloft needs a dog sitter, and as a big sister of sorts, it falls to me. Unfortunately, the sweet fur face is set in her ways, and would become a terror if forced to stay anywhere but at her own home. So the zooming about from house to house is nothing but inevitable.

I think I disappoint her, though, I have to tell you. For not being my doting parents, and merely raising an eyebrow when she's all LOOK AT ME! LOOK AT ME! I am counting down the hours until she pulls out the run into the middle of the room, pounce at nothing, check to see if I'm watching and then chase her tail ploy.

She's predictable like that.

I Am Yogurt's Bitch

I have a mess of things to do before I set off for a dog sitting stint at my parents' place. Amoungst them are making yogurt. Through the wonders of technology, I now sit at my kitchen table, a measuring cup full of hot milk perched beside me, thermometer immersed in its depths, waiting for it to cool the hell down.

I am yogurt's bitch. I would never make it in prison.

The Most Excellent Thing I've Looked at Today

I know, I've already posted another image from this shoot, but, DUDE! Tim & Andrae at Red Lobster? It's the stuff spinoffs are made of.

There's Nothing Wrong with Love

Years ago, a friend introduced me to a record that completely and utterly freaked my shit. Built to Spill's There's Nothing Wrong with Love hit my head and my heart in a way that few things have before or since. And the tragedy? They've never played a show in Toronto. Ever.

Which is one of the reasons that I'm so very excited to be heading down to New York in May. Along with an excellent conference to attend (check out Thursday's "experience" tours), and an awesome hotel to stay at, weather hopefully better then we had my last visit into the city, and incredible friends to catch up with (and hopefully tempt one or two to trek into the city from points nearby as well), dear, lovely Built to Spill is playing at the Irving Plaza as well.

Oh, my. Oh, my, indeed.

PS: Project Runway / Jay Excellence

First, Project Runway, Season Two. A picture stolen from another site, of my pretend mentor, Tim Gunn (Make it work! Carry on!) and ousted contestant Andrae, outside of...wait for it...RED LOBSTER.
















And second, Project Jay. We're actually getting episodes just a few weeks after they air in the US. Starting this Sunday on Life, at 8PM EST. Oh, man. I am ready to see the seedy underbelly of Heidi Klum. What? Okay then.

World Tour, 2006

I'm a lucky wee lass. Amoungst other things, I work for a company that thinks it's important for their employees to keep on learning and bringing new things back to the fold. And who puts up with my food-from-scratch-because-I-don't-have-cats-old-lady craziness, but that is beside the point.

What, a point? Right, I got one. 2006 travel starts next week! I'll be hitting the shores of Vancouver, spy cam in tow, to learn me a little more about Information Architecture. I build structures out of data! But, really, doesn't every one? I'm looking forward to a number of the Summit (Summit! DUDE! What happens when you get a large number of Information Architects together in a room? They pretend that their cog-in-the-works important enough to call that gathering a Summit!) session, but, not so secretly, really looking forward to catching up with the lovely Joolz over dinner, post-first day sessions.

NYC and San Francisco, I'm giving you fair warning. I am coming to visit in the next few months. I am hoping that we will be able to show each other a verra good time.

Winter is Like that High School Ex

That you dumped on his ass for his constant lying and moodiness. Lovely and fawning one day, cold and demeaning and horrid the next.

I wore a skirt today. A skirt. With bare legs. Because it was forecast to hit 17C today. Tomorrow? Windchill of -5C.

That's right. The winter? He's a controlling, deceitful bastard, he is.

Is That A Stack of Tortillas on Your Counter, Or Are You Just Happy To See Me?

Both, really. This morning, I cobbled together a whole wheat flax meal recipe for tortillas. And like any good scientist, I documented the experiement.

After combining all of the ingredients, and finding myself with a slab o' dough, I divided it into 8 individual balls.















And then rolled them out into the shape and thickness of a tortilla:















Those suckers were then slid into a hot, dry griddle. Here's side one. When it starts to bubble, then it's flipped onto the other side:





























Resulting in a stack of eight lurvely tortillas!















I can now live off the store bought tortilla grid! What? Yeah, I don't know what I'm talking about either.

Rat Feathers

Indeed.

An Early Grave. And I Am Doing It To Myself.

Control freaks (read: me) are driven to frustrated distraction by things outside of their (read: my) control. And I swear to god, the time spent stewing in irritation over such matters? Is time that is just being shaved off of my allotment on this here planet.

And yet, and yet, I can't stop my hands from turning into claws when I walk through a shared space and see cupboards and drawers ajar for no reason. Or coffee dumped into a sink and not rinsed down the drain.

Hands! Into claws!

***

A bargazillion lifetimes ago, a brilliant band recorded and released one of the best rock and roll records ever. EVER. Did I say ever yet? Because, baby, I mean it.
























Tricky Woo's Sometimes I Cry made me sing along, and shake my ass, and sing along and shake my ass AT THE SAME TIME. The band then went through a couple of line-up changes and a streak of bloated psychedelia which confused me to no end and made me question whether or not the world was spinning on its correct axis.

This year, with 3/4th of the Sometimes I Cry line-up back on board, they're back to on-stage rock freakouts and I feel like the band that made me want to fuck shit up is back. And that the world is a-okay. And I feel very emphatic about it. Have you noticed?

Cravats! Facial hair! Getting up in the morning just to get down!

Oh, men of the Woo, I do love you. Welcome home.

International Velvet (But Secretly, Peanut Butter)

I sent out my first cross boarder peanut butter sample. And I am worried. Worried that it won't get to it's destination, even though homemade foodstuffs sent as gifts should be allowed to cross, unmolested. Worried that the package will be placed in a crazy-hot place, and will melt the chocolate chunks in the cinnamon chocolate flavoured one, and both it, and the simple cinnamon will destabalize and perhaps evaporate in transit. Worried...well, I just worry. Because it's what I do.

The Science of the Art

I've spent a selfish weekend (which, let's face it, is nothing new), focused on researching and designing and producing batches for the Peanut Butter project (taste testers, I really am making you eat this stuff for a reason!) and on the art. Since the PB project is still a glimmer in a plan's eye, and since I finally got off my ass and bought myself a new camera. It's not the original spy cam that I was coveting, but it is EVEN SMALLER. And speaks with an accent. And smokes clove cigarettes. And is therefore, more spy-like. Wait, what was I talking about?

Ahhh, right, the camera that I took pictures the start of the work that goes into making my, admittedly funny, and hopefully, fun, art.

Earlier on this year, I committed myself to exploring making the art, and seeing how far I could take it. And now that I can work a pair of scissors, I've started the first of a series of five spring-inspired works.

Oh, sparrow, you look so naked, sitting on that branch.















And so very cardboard, but at least you are popping off the canvas.

















The next stage will see a mess of colour added to your plumage and background, kind of like this:














And you will be naked and cardboard no more!

And We Have Yogurt

It's like freaking magic, man! I may have clapped my hands with glee when I woke up this morning to find the milk turned into yogurt. And it is delicious. Oh, yes, it is.

Documenting Kitchen Experiments

Peanut Butter - Finally! And new on the schedule, Yogurt.

So I seem to make peanut butter for myself every couple of weeks. These, below, are being sent out to one of my excellent volunteer taste testers. Simple cinnamon is on the left, cinnamon chocolate is on the right. To my previous guinea pigs, I dumped a bunch more chocolate in that there peanut butter.


PS: Aren't their traveling togs adorable?

And on we go. My brother got me a yogurt maker for my birthday, and I couldn't be more excited. I started my first batch this afternoon and can't wait until tomorrow, when milk becomes lurvely yogurt.

Organic milk on the stove, heating up:


Bacterial starter in the form o' organic plain yogurt (Wondertwin powers, activate!)




Milk off the heat, cooling down to the point where the starter can be added:




Adding the starter (mixed with a bit of the heated milk) to the milk:





Filling up the containers:




Snuggling the containers in their warm and toasty home:





Plugged in, and with cover on, milk begins to turn into yogurt:





To be continued...

The Arms, They Seem Useless. Like a Tyrannosaurus Rex.

RIRE.

Jeff, my trainer, fairly murdered my biceps and back this morning. I have been walking around all day, arms cradled around each other, perhaps making dinosaur noises. Just because I can.

If anyone out there has ever had thoughts of challenging me to an arm wrestling match, let me tell you, today is the day.