A rolling stone gathers no moss - apparently

I keep finding jobs I want to apply for in various locations around the world. At the moment I have three projects ongoing (well, ongoing in the sense of being in my head); MS research in Vancouver (current status - still at the e-mailing for forms stage); Forensic Anthropology and body recovery, based in Hawaii but working in Laos/Vietnam/anywhere where American servicemen have been killed in action (current status - e-mailing referees to get references); and last but not least, working on recovery of remains from mass graves in Iraq (current status - thinking seriously about dying, but wanting to go anyway, deadline for applications this Friday).

Looking at these three options (or soon to be two, if we're going to be realistic about my parents letting me go to Iraq) it seems that I should lead a really exciting life. So why is that not reality?!!

Anyway, it's fun applying for all this stuff anyway, and getting excited about where I could possibly be in six months' time. Luckily the MS research and the Hawaii postings have no deadline for applying, so I am not restricted, which is good as I am currently overrun with the most boring job ever; transcribing calls made to mystery shop a place in England and assess them on their telephone service. There are 334 calls waiting to be transcribed in my database; I have done 183. At the rate of 5 per hour. I am going mad. MAD I tell you!!

Today I went to an audition for a 'Glacier Girl' to be in some random series of beer commercials for next year - well I was bored when I saw the advert. In actuality, I got off the bus, walked to the bar, saw that it looked like a bit of a dive and there were lots of old guys playing pool, looked harder and saw lots of obviously-under-25 year old girls in too tight tops looking to impress the "celebrity" judges, got back on the bus and went to Safeway to do my food shopping. I wasn't that bored.

Peppered with lyrics

Well I'm an energetic hypothetic version of another person
Check out my outsides there ain't nothing in here
Well I'm a superficial, systematic, music television addict
Check out my outsides there ain't nothing in....

This morning there was a lot of snow on the mountains. There is something inherently satisfying about standing at the sink washing up, and having a view of snow topped peaks and cloud, with North Vancouver in between. Fantastic. The view is apparently amazing from the top floor of the house, but I haven't bothered to sneak up there and check yet when the landlords are out. It reminds me how close we are to the wild here, even when in the middle of a big city.

Denise and I were watching some random programme on tv the other day which was reliving 1986 (there is a different year every show) and since then, we've been getting into downloading music from our younger days. Every now and then there will be a "Do you remember this one?" and something will float through the doorway of one or other of our bedrooms, to many screams of excitement (Boy Meets Girl), cheerful nostalgia (Vanilla Ice) or apalled-ness (Eiffel 65 - not 80s, but bad enough). Today I downloaded some Simple Minds, Mike and the Mechanics, and Chicago (the band not the film). Roll on more programmes with eighties cheese in.

Let's bypass the bullshit and move on
Because the minute hand moves faster than you think it does
And by no fault of yours, and by no fault of mine
The bottom line is laying in the bed that we've been playing in tonight
We've been playing in tonight

I had the urge to e-mail a friend I haven't seen for about 6 years over the weekend; a lovely French guy who had the potential to be a boyfriend but never quite managed it (due to my complete ineptness) in my first year in halls. He is about to graduate from Berklee after having worked through a scholarship in piano, and is about to move to New York, presumably to forge a music career. What is it about guys who are good at piano that is so attractive? Some of the best nights in Allen hall were spent catching the strain of music that came from the chapel room, leaving our rooms and creeping up to see who was playing in the dark; if it was Romain, we would inevitably slip through the door and find a chair at the back to watch him practise. He has the uncanny ability to switch between classical and modern music halfway through a song, but his biggest acheivement was jazz. Slowly, as he played his way through a piece, the audience at the back of the hall would grow bigger and bigger, as girls from all the blocks in halls came up to get lost in the music; at the end of the practice he would pause for a minute and then inevitably be taken aback when turning round to see that there were tens of people admiring his playing. It never failed to amuse me, or indeed to captivate me.

Anyway. Strange how you get lost in a memory sometimes, and wish that it would happen again just once, so you could remember how good it was. Hopefully I can get over to NY at some point and see him - and who knows, maybe then it will.

The only other thing to mention - a programme called MXC (Most Extreme Challenge) which is the funniest thing ever. It is an actual program (called, I think, Takeshi's Castle) which broadcasts in Japan, but here it is dubbed in a sarcastic way by American people. It goes on the same basic premise as the Krypton factor, mixed with It's A Knockout. People compete in events that are basically indescribable, but which include running over big rollers, jumping from stepping stone to stepping stone, dodging big boulders, running through a maze being chased by people in monster suits, and my personal favourite, riding a mechanised surfboard over a number of obstacles. All of which are conducted on a background of water, mud, more mud, and general crap. Add to this the fact that all the names of the competitors are turned into parodies, the voiceovers by the Americans are hilariously funny, the commentary bears no resemblance to what is going on, the jokes are full of sexual innendo, and the categories of contestants are complete bollocks ("this week, the sex workers versus the fast food workers") and you end up with a hilarious show. Which doesn't make any sense. At the end of every episode they have the 10 most painful eliminations from the show, which are usually, well, quite painful.

So none of that post was related to anything. My thoughts are very random today. But finally, a lyric that seems to echo the timing of my leaving and coming back to England:

No way November will see our goodbye
When it comes to December it's obvious why
No one wants to be alone at Christmas time
And come January we're frozen inside
Making new resolutions a hundred times
February, won't you be my valentine?
And we'll both be safe 'til St. Patrick's Day

Thanks John Mayer.

Does someone love me after all?!

Generally, a day of good things.

Firstly, there was excitement for me this morning when the community coroner's jobs that I have been keeping an eye on yielded three new vacancies in the Vancouver Metro area. Sadly, it quickly became obvious that even with the best of my speeding ability, there was no way that I lived within the mandatory 30 minutes of the areas to be covered, and therefore could not apply for the jobs. Cue much swearing at the road map of British Columbia, and at people who thought 40 minute ferries from Vancouver to Gibsons were better ideas than building bridges that got you there in 10 minutes.

However, on the plus side, I shall be writing a research proposal in the near future (which hopefully I shall be e-mailing to a few people to read over, if they don't mind and have the time) to try and get a grant from the MS Society of Canada. It will probably be a pilot grant, valid for a year of research, to the tune of quite a bit of money.

The background to this is that whilst an undergrad at Manchester, I did a third year project (under the supervision of Cliff, for Maria's info!) which involved evaluating the effectiveness of a yachting holiday that was set up for people with Multiple Sclerosis. The project was extremely successful, and the yachting holiday seemed to be even more so, so after I left the research was carried on by a DPhil student.

After reading the MS Society website here, I e-mailed them on a whim to tell them about my research and ask them whether they had any similar interventions in place here, and today they e-mailed me back to say no, but that if I would like to apply for funding from them they thought it was "a wonderful research idea." So, after getting excited about the fact that someone in Canada might actually want me to work for them, and after shirking the work that I actually had to do today to trawl through the websites of possible sponsors, I settled down to scribbling ideas on pieces of paper. And have to spend the weekend working out how to pitch for a shed load of money.

Other events today included getting a letter from my aunt chiding me for passing my driving test after six lessons when she has just passed hers on the fourth attempt, going out for Denise's friend Mel's birthday, trying sushi (undecided), and watching Casablanca.

Here's looking at you, kid.

Too broke to drive?

After having received a phone call which alerted me to two potential cars that could be mine, I was prompted to get my arse to a broker and find out about insurance. I am beginning to wish I hadn't......

The system here is that everyone starts on the same basic insurance level; it doesn't matter how old you are, insurance is only calculated on how long you have been driving. Hence I am already at a disadvantage. The good thing is that the basic insurance (which is mandatory for every driver) does not change depending on the model of car you drive, or the year it is. Only the optional extras change in price. However, since the basic insurance is already $1171............ my plan to spend less than $2000 on a car looks to be kind of pointless, as if my insurance is going to be that much I might as well get a decent car. But then this means that I have to plan for more than a year here, or sell the car again. It's all too stressful! Plus here you have to buy your license plates and take them with you, since records are linked to drivers and not cars ($18), get the car Air Cared so that there are no smog emissions ($23), pay a license fee ($50) and register the ownership papers ($28). All in all, a large chunk of my budget........

So, I'm not so sure that buying a car is the most intelligent thing I could be doing now; but then again who wants to be intelligent?

The good thing was that there were more Cadburys people downtown giving out free chocolate - so two bubbly Dairy Milks and a Caramac for me then.

Cheese, anyone?

Tell me do you think it'd be all right
If I could just crash here tonight?
Cos you can see I'm in no shape for drivin'
And anyway I've got no place to go

Not much to report today; I haven't left the house as it's been pissing it down constantly. I made brownies though, always a good idea. And watched Regency House Party, and did some work. And decided to try and get fitter, or at least work off the brownies that I will now be eating, so did some sit ups and crunches (note to self; do this every morning and stop being a lazy cow).

At this point I wanted to put a link to a fantastic advert that is on tv here, but I can't find it on the web! It is for Canadian cheese - no honestly, bear with me on this one. Remember the 'Escape' perfume adverts with Christy Turlington and some bloke on a beach, in black and white? Well it is the same as that, with a girl and a bloke on the beach, looking as though it is going to be a perfume ad, until after all the breathiness and lovely scenery comes the line:

"It's timeless......... addictive.........Gouda.......... for him. Gouda.........for her."

And the girl leans over and starts gnawing on a piece of cheese. Cut to the end scene of a rock with two carved bits of Gouda, made to look like perfume bottles.

Bloody brilliant. There is a cheddar one as well. I am so impressed with them that I have even e-mailed the Dairy Association of Canada, or some such, to ask whether the ads are available to view on the web. Funniest thing I've seen in ages!!

And finally,
Amare et sapere vix deo conceditur.

Semantics

I am sure I am echoing a past post of someone else here, so I apologise, as I am far less eloquent than them. But listening to the Charlie Mars CD today led to thoughts about how bizarre words are. One of the songs that I particularly like has the confusing lines:

You want to hear some truth
Truth is I'm so damn good at lying

Which sounds rather like the person who is singing the song is a right git, until you realise that the next line is:

Here with you

And then it all becomes clear. I kind of like that. Stop the song prematurely, and you're left with a bad impression; stick with it, and suddenly your perception of the singer totally changes.

I am sure there should be some moral or deep thought to come out of this, but like I said, I'm not that eloquent. Deep thoughts are welcome from others though.

Charlie Mars

Firstly, I apologise for any spelling mistakes in the following blog. I have had some vodkas.

Denise and I have just got back from seeing the guy that opened for REM, Charlie Mars, at a little place called The Media Club downtown. He was so good the other night we had to go and see him again doing his own gig. This time there were only about 40 people in the club, and we had a table at the front. He was just as good tonight. Initially we got chatted up by a couple of blokes who thought I was Australian, but then luckily the music started. Vodka and tequila shots later, we fell out of the club plus one autographed CD each, and plus the phone numbers of the guys who had chatted us up. Which, I hasten to add, I gained appropos of nothing, and vowed to chuck away when I got out the club. I think they're still in my bag though. Anyway, they were both a bit mental. Trust these two to be my first phone number offerers - twenty five years old and I have never had anyone give me their phone number before. Canadians must not be as picky as English people. Or just more short-sighted? Maybe I looked desperate?

Anyway, my legs are still not really attached to my body, and I have a slight headache, but the night was very good. As for Charlie Mars, you can listen to his most recent album (the one we bought tonight) at http://www.charliemars.com/charliemars.html. The fourth song, White Out, sounds like a Smashing Pumpkins song I think - does anyone see what I mean? I particularly recommend tracks 6 and 7. I think he was smashed when he autographed my CD, but at least he spelt my name right.

So, not as much work done today as I should have got done, but vodka wins every time. And it was bloody strong. Sadly I am more sober than I was about an hour ago, when I probably would have blogged for England, so I am going to bed.........

Just to end, a quote from the back of the cute card my mother sent me to congratulate me for passing my driving test: To every dog, every man is Napoleon; hence the constant popularity of dogs.

Concerts and coronets

Today's quote is from Kat's lair. I hope she takes it as a compliment that I have borrowed it from her blog.
We are a little weird, and life's a little weird, and when we find someone whose weirdness is compatible with ours, we join up with them and fall in mutual weirdness, and call it love.
I like this statement!

Before getting into the main blog, I would like to state a couple of things.

1. Thank you to all my friends (and a few strangers too!) who posted comments or e-mailed me to ask if I was ok and encourage me that life isn't really that bad most of the time. It's nice to know there are people out there who continue to look out for you through good and bad times.

2. For all those friends who I have pissed off over the past few weeks, I apologise. This is not me. And I hope you know me well enough to know that. The trouble is, I was in Manchester for five years. And for four of those years, since the first day of University, I was in love with someone - who for a while I thought was in love with me too. This meant that I was emotionally vulnerable, especially when it became clear that I was never going to be able to make things work. The last year in Manchester was spent trying to get over the past four years. In fact I am still trying to get over those years. I became an emotional person, and passed this on to my friends, making strong attachments which turned into firm friendships. However, from this failed and pretty miserable relationship came my need for support and reassurance. I am always there for my friends (and this is known by some to be my failing) but I need to know that they are there for me too. Being here means that I cannot determine by seeing with my own eyes whether my friends are still my friends; I have to rely on e-mails instead. If I seem to be needy, or bitter because you are having fun, don't take this as personal. It just means that I love you all enough that I miss you like hell; that I am envious of your ability to see the people you care for, go out with the people you are friends with, and find a shoulder to cry on; and that I want to be there to share all the things you're doing too. Please try and take it as a screwed-up type of compliment; if I didn't care about you so much, I wouldn't be so hurt.

Moving on. As I should do.

I passed my driving test on Wednesday, for those people who haven't spoken to me for a while. Now I am looking for a car, which looks to be an equally difficult task. At least one stepping stone has been passed, rather than tripped over.

So, tonight was the long-awaited REM concert. IT WAS FAB!!! The opening act was called Charlie Mars, who looked like a band but turned out to be one bloke with additional people. Denise and I spent the entire time he was singing turning to each other and saying, "He is so good!" and muttering about buying the CD that was lurking promisingly outside the theatre. If you have the chance, get hold of their music. At the end of their set, the lead singer mentioned that they were playing again tomorrow night in town, and of course.... Denise and I just have to go!

The place where the bands were playing (the Orpheum Theatre) holds only 2,795 people, so it was a great atmosphere and we felt very privileged to be there. Once again, many thanks to Denise for having the foresight to get tickets! And then.... REM. What can one say about them? Michael Stipe was just as small, just as skinny, and just as mental as he always seems to be. And just as talented. A combination of the old and new was presented; the audience of course going mental for Man On The Moon, Sweetness Follows, Losing My Religion, Leaving New York, The One I Love, and What's The Frequency Kenneth. My first choice of Nightswimming is apparently never played at concerts, but I coped manfully with the rest of the lineup. My hands are sore from clapping, my feet sore from dancing, and my throat hoarse from singing. It was a fantastic night, and at last something to raise the spirits. See Denise's blog for pictures, hopefully.

For the person who commented on my blog that they wanted more of my thoughts on Vancouver (cheers Sam), here are some observations from tonight.

Observation 1: Vancouver looks fantastic in the dark. It is amazing coming over the Granville bridge into downtown, and going past the boats on the inlet, the high rise apartments, Granville Island and all the buildings. If anyone ever comes over here to see me, I want to take you on the bus downtown just to see the skyline. I love this city.

Observation 2: If anyone is thinking of coming here and hiring a car, be as cunning as a fox with petrol stations. I don't fully understand their system yet, but the pump prices vary between times, between streets, between cities, and seemingly at will. Tonight going into downtown for the concert, the Jet pumps were at 70 and so were the Esso pumps; however on the way back, five hours later, the Esso was at 88.9 and the Jet still at 70. The other day half the stations were at 69.9 and the others were at 91. Why is this?? If you get a car (and this is something I will have to worry about fairly soon), drive around to get the best deal. Apparently some places have low pump prices in midweek but not at weekends, others do good rates at night. It's all too much.

Observation 3: Shops here do not open at 9 and shut at 6. Instead they usually open around 10am and close at 10pm, sometimes later. The big Chapters on Broadway is open until midnight, and it is common to see people doing their shopping at 9pm in most of the big stores. The Pitta place we were in earlier opens until 5am most nights, and finding you are out of supplies late in the evening is really not a problem. The only things that have restricted hours seem to be banks, like England. Again, a reason why this place is fantastic. Shopping at night is always fun........

And on this note, I leave you. To sleep, perchance to dream.

Pointless

With someone's gain comes someone else's loss.

There is no way I can compete, and nothing that I can offer - so why am I bothering?

In the post today came four parcels from my mother, and one from a friend. And instead of making me happy, they just made me cry.

Detox? No chance!

Realising that I don't drink enough water, I tried to remedy this today by setting myself the task of drinking at least a litre and a half of the stuff. This was easily accomplished, but cancelled out by the eating of crap later.

The day was spent tinkering with some work that I should have done earlier, watching Denise make Rice Krispie squares, and then eating Rice Krispie squares. Plus ordering Greek takeaway for dinner as we couldn't be arsed to cook. I then got bored with being semi-unemployed and started looking up courses to do on the UBC website, eventually progressing to the research page of the MS Society of Canada and sending them an e-mail begging for some research money to continue my undergraduate project into Multiple Sclerosis. Chances of them giving me money or even replying? Nil. But anything is worth a try.

Best moment of the evening: seeing Anna Nicole Smith trying to introduce an act on the American Music Awards whilst being completely, utterly and totally wasted to hell. It wasn't immediately obvious when she walked up on the stage, but after grabbing at her cleavage, pulling it earthwards, and asking whether the audience liked her body, things began to get a little weird. Cue much slurring of words, forgetting of cues, throwing of hands into the air whilst laughing maniacally, and not actually introducing the next act. Cut to next act.......who remain anonymous until the show's compere intervenes with their name. Classy.

Sorry I have nothing more exciting to report - I'm short on money and things to do. Miss you all!!

Applications are open........

.........to come over here and keep me company. As I progress towards being more settled here, I also progress towards being more lonely in the evenings. I'm not sure which will win over the other. If you catch me at the right time, I'll even pay your airfare.....

Psychopaths and number plates

Today I discovered that people here apparently take their number plates with them when they sell their cars. I hope no Canadians try this when they come over to England, otherwise they may find they have a slight prison problem on their hands. This strange state of affairs begs the question: how do you get a number plate in the first place? And where from? I am continually confused by everything that happens here. If you think England is screwed-up, come here and prepare to be really muddled.

Having spent some of this evening watching Die Hard 2, I can also tell you that they took out every swear word in the film, which as anyone who has watched Die Hard will know, is pretty much all the dialogue. It seemed a bit pointless seeing as it wasn't on a 'family' channel, and also since kids can watch WWE constantly here and see blokes bashing chairs over each others' heads.

I started reading Patricia Cornwell's account of the Jack the Ripper murders and who the Ripper was today. A strange choice of reading matter you may think, but I explain this by my Psychology background. I was however slightly perturbed by the fact that the DSM whatever version we're on now lists the symptoms of psychopathy as lying, stealing, substance abuse, financial irresponsibility, an inability to deal with boredom, cruelty, running away from home, promiscuity, fighting, and lack of remorse. Approximately half of which I can at some point have laid claim to. Does this make me a budding psychopath?

For those of you who also doubt your own mental stability, either because of this list or just in general, a little test. This is allegedly used in some tests of psychopathy, though I have yet to actually come across any that use it, so think of it as a reading comprehension test with a slight twist instead. Maria has probably come across this, but I don't know how many of the rest of you will have.

While at the funeral of her own mother, a young woman met a man whom she did not know. She thought he was amazing, so much her dream man that she fell in love with him immediately; but she never asked for his number, which she deeply regretted. A few days later the girl killed her own sister.

Assuming no facts other than what is written above, tell me:
What was the girl's motive in killing her sister?

Apparently we should watch out for those of you who answer this correctly, as you think like a psychopath. So let's hope you all get it wrong. I will post the answer in the comments...............

It's official - I am a heretic

So, jumping on the hellish bandwagon with everyone else, I did the Dante's Inferno test, and - no surprise to anyone who knows me well - ended up in the City of Dis, where all the devilish non-believers go. What did surprise me was that I came out as moderate on a large number of the other levels - including ones that I wouldn't have thought I had any claim to belong in, namely 3, 4, 8 and 9. This may be me running away from my true nature, but I think it may have had something also to do with the fact that nearly all my answers to the questions in the test were No, and there were only a few that were Yes. So there wasn't really a lot to differentiate between levels. I think I am in the right one however.

Level	Score
Purgatory (Repenting Believers)	Very Low
Level 1 - Limbo (Virtuous Non-Believers)	Low
Level 2 (Lustful)	Low
Level 3 (Gluttonous)	Moderate
Level 4 (Prodigal and Avaricious)	Moderate
Level 5 (Wrathful and Gloomy)	Moderate
Level 6 - The City of Dis (Heretics)	High
Level 7 (Violent)	High
Level 8- the Malebolge (Fraudulent, Malicious, Panderers)	Moderate
Level 9 - Cocytus (Treacherous)	Moderate

Take the Dante Inferno Hell Test

Denise and I have just got back from seeing Death Cab for Cutie at the Commodore Ballroom downtown, which is a fabulous building, and one that I hope to be in many more times during my stay in Vancouver. Death Cab, and the band who opened for them (Stars) were fab, and with REM on the way next week, I think my musical social life is faring pretty well. Having vowed to spend no more money, I came back with a T-shirt, but contented myself with the fact that I actually really like it, and it was only $20. Picture on the way when I don't look so rough and it's not half one in the morning.

Thanks to all the people who commented on my last blog on the phenomenon of recognising an action or an expression, but not knowing where your familiarity with it comes from. It's nice to know that I am not the only person in the world who has mental moments like that! It's nice to know that people actually read this site, as sometimes I wonder if I've managed to scare everyone off with previous rants and depressive moments..... I'll have to try harder!

It's also kind of nice to know that everyone whose blogs I have been reading seems to be refusing to conform to the age-old tradition of getting horribly depressed during the winter months, and they all seem to be finding life ok at the moment, with some people even veering (god forbid!) towards actually being happy with how things are going. I'm sure someone will write to me and dispute this, but you all sound fairly sane at the moment! Although I can't say I am as sorted as you guys, things could be worse. So let's hope the good news continues.

On empathy

Occasionally there are moments when you hear someone say something, or act a certain way, and you immediately feel a powerful affiliation to them. You see yourself performing the same actions, or feeling the same emotions, or maybe you just recognise their behaviour in someone you know. A strange feeling.

And this evening, I have had this twice. From unlikely sources, I must confess. The first being the trailer for the new Alfie movie with Jude Law in.


The part of the trailer which got me can be no more than two seconds. It's not an essential part; in fact it is just a single action. Jude Law is at a pool table, pool cue in hand, saying how just when you have finally fallen for a woman, they shatter your heart, when he kind of does a mock swooning action. He turns a bit towards the camera, with his hand on his heart, and sort of twists around, sagging at the knees, as though he was falling and having his heart shattered, all the time with a cheeky grin on his face. I have no idea why the action caught my attention, or why I felt such a rush of feeling for that particular movement, but something about it just punched me in the stomach. There must be something in that action; something that reminds me of someone, or of an event, or perhaps of neither of those things, but just of how I would like someone to look. It's hard to explain. And suddenly, I found myself madly in love - not with Jude Law, but with whatever his action reminds me of, or symbolises. But I can't remember what that is. And so the epiphany is incomplete.

And the next moment of empathy? Watching the first ever episode of Six Feet Under, and remembering how dark it is, I suddenly realised - I am Brenda. Something about her was familiar from the beginning, but when she is standing with Nate after his father's funeral, explaining why she's just given Nate her phone number, we suddenly became one person. Everything about her was, and is, me entirely. So now I face the prospect of having to watch the remaining episodes, and the second and third series when they are available, to find out how I end up.... and it scares me.

House and Home

I thought about getting involved in the philosophical discussion that is going on elsewhere, but decided against it. For a start, I'm not that intelligent or well up on philosophy. Secondly, I don't think we can work out logically why we're here or why life is as it is, so my thoughts would probably just go round in circles. And thirdly, even if I did make out a good case for anything in particular, I'd probably just end up with conclusions about the world that I didn't like, and realisations that I couldn't change anything. Maybe one day someone will work out how the world runs, but I doubt it. Until then, I'll just live with the pain and confusion.

And so. Yesterday I was informed that if I wished to get three month's supply of the contraceptive pill, which I am taking to try and stop my face being so much like a pizza, that I would have to pay $50-100 for a doctor's appointment alone, and then about $45 for the pill. This is because you can't get Provincial Medical Insurance here until you've been here for 3 months, so mine doesn't kick in until January. I do have insurance, but it's that crap emergency medical care only thing, which wouldn't cover the costs of something that is deemed non-urgent. So, it looks like I will have the worst skin ever encountered for the next three months, until I can get back to England and get another prescription. Which is something to look forward to. On the possibly-positive front, and on the advice of my mother, Denise and I have ordered some Boudreaux's Butt Paste (I'm not joking) which was originally developed for nappy rash, but has now been touted as a miracle cure for many evils. I'll let you know when it gets here, dear readers, and whether smearing baby arse cream on my face is any better than the tens of other products I have tried to no avail. Any acne tips gratefully received.

I bought more stuff yesterday: snow boots, ski gloves, ski pants, and a body warmer. However the total of all this was about £25, so it's not like I went overboard. Still, when you weigh this up against the lack of a job, I suppose it's money I can ill afford. After advice (cheers Dan!), I posted my resume on Monster, so let's hope that someone really needs a forensic worker really soon.

Next week, a program starts here which looks good, like a combination of ER and CSI. It's called House and stars Hugh Lawrie as a maverick, American, limping doctor, and Robert Shawn Leonard as an oncology specialist. Sound bizarre? It's worth it just to hear Lawrie using an American accent. It actually does look as though it will be worth watching - the basic premise is that Lawrie (Dr House) is a disease specialist, and gets sent the patients that no-one else knows how to diagnose or treat. It's directed by Bryan Singer, the bloke who did The Usual Suspects and X-Men, so I'm giving it a try.

Nothing much else to report - first driving lesson in the dark today, my best one yet, so damn the fact that driving tests stop at 4pm and aren't at night!

Making the most of it?

I'm looking in on the good life I might be doomed never to find
Without a trust or flaming fields am I too dumb to refine?
And if you'd 'a took to me like
Well I'd a danced like the queen of the eyesores
And the rest of our lives would 'a fared well.

Having read Maria's blog, I agree with her that you have the make the most of life and take all your chances. However, I think that whilst this is a good resolve to have, it generally wears off after a few weeks of thinking positively. You have good intentions, but then something comes along that kicks you in the teeth, and you're back to wondering what to do with life. If we made the most of every day, there would be a lot of excessively happy people in the world - and since there aren't, it seems we must be going wrong somewhere. What makes one person happy will not make another happy - so by being positive you may be inflicting something negative on someone else! An unintended side-effect of living life to the full. I think it is human nature that we regret things; we think back after the event, wishing we had said/done/felt certain things before it became too late. And sadly, I don't think this will ever change, at least not until time travel is invented.

Don't get me wrong, I wholly support the philosophy. But if I was to make the most of every day, I would be acting quite differently from how I am acting now. Believe me, this would be a wonderful thing, and I would embrace the chance to do the things I most want to! But I am constrained by the actions and feelings of others, by the state of the world in general, by a lack of money, and to some extent, by my own feelings. And so, we continue "getting around to it." At least I hope I'm getting round to something. I may well just be sitting here wishing my life away - at the present time I just can't tell........

On a lighter note, it's good to see that the Sorry Everybody website is now up to 150-ish pages of photos and apologies, whereas the rival Not Sorry one is still on - wait for it - two. Hmm. I myself have submitted a picture (to the first of these of course) but as yet, it has not appeared.

An observation about Canada: nobody rings you back here. You phone people/businesses and leave messages, and they never bother calling back. So you have to ring them again, and it just goes on. Like you hardly ever get rejected from jobs, they just don't bother contacting you if you're unsuccessful. Which is really annoying! So far I am waiting for calls from two jobs, one person selling a car, and a film extras company. And have any of them called? Have they bo****ks.

In listening to my music, I have resdiscovered Vertical Horizon's song 'Everything You Want' which I had forgotten I liked so much. There is something about it that makes it a good song to cry to, shout to, laugh to - whatever. Even though it's really a depressing song by nature. However, the lyrics seem to resonate with a lot of people - yes, including me.

I am everything you want,
I am everything you need,
I am everything inside of you that you wish you could be.
I say all the right things,
At exactly the right time,
But I mean nothing to you and I don't know why.........

Total cookies today: too many. Have tried to compensate for this by eating pasta for dinner with mushrooms, red pepper and bok choy. However I then had another cookie. Damn Safeway offers on ready-mixes!!

Diet tips below please. Actually, good cookie recipes also :o)

Sorry? Not sorry? Who knows......

Although I was tempted not to put the link on my blog, I have to say that there is now competition for the previously-mentioned Sorry Everybody website; We're not sorry. I put the link here because I find it funny that there are about 10 pictures in total on the site, as opposed to the 34 or so pages that the Sorry website is up to, most of which involve people with guns or people vowing hatred against the rest of the world. And this is meant to make us more inclined to work with Bush and his policies? Convince us that the 51% knew best? Forgive me if I don't immediately see the temptation to join the Republicans just yet.......

Sport, politics and music - what a combo

Today I added an example to my list of people I admire - a skater called Emmanuel Sandhu. It seems that he won the Skate Canada championships this past Sunday in Halifax, and having seen the way he skates, I'm not suprised. I mourn the fact that my other favourite, Elvis Stoijko, isn't skating any more (or maybe I just haven't seen him recently) but this kid dances like a pro. Anyone who can do a program to Justin Timberlake's "Like I love you" and pull it off deserves plaudits in my book.

For those of you who think I am mad - you should know that if any sport is on tv, I will watch it.

Anyone who hasn't seen the site, check out http://www.sorryeverybody.com. The non 'intellectually challenged' half of America is offering their apologies, in visual form, for the half who decided to vote for four more years of devastation. And a particular mention goes to Dan from Boston, who likes my boots, so check out his blogsite too.....

Denise and I are currently toying with the idea of getting on a plane and going to New York, just to hear John Mayer play a gig for 250 people. Tickets are only $25 for the gig, but the plane fare is of course another story.... I stayed up to check a website that offers $1 fares on Sundays last night, but sadly there was nothing to NY - so if anyone out there knows of a good site for cheap flights in Canada, or works for Air Canada/Westjet/US Air etc, let me know! Yes, we know this is a waste of money, but it could be our only chance to meet the man and get into his apartment.... John, if you're reading this (don't you have anything better to do?) two of your loyal fans would like to come and hear you play. Do you have a private jet perchance?

Hey Big Spender

Total purchases for the day:
One pair of Kamik wet weather/snow boots (kids size 5) as I am underprepared for winter
One pair of completely ridiculous and not-at-all needed calf length boots (also kids size 5)
One book by Patricia Cornwell on Jack the Ripper (my ex-dissertation topic)
One book by some random about a detective and their cat
One pair of speakers plus subwoofer for the laptop
One very nice burgundy top
Total cost of purchases = $120, or about £50. Flipping bargain!



Slogan of the day, from the unwisely-titled garage and vehicle maintenance place down the road:
Mr Lube: Do it right. Before your eyes.

Total interviews next week for random crappy jobs: two.
Total driving lessons next week: two.
Total number of times out for dinner this week: two.
Total days since vowing to stop being a muppet: two.
Total days of not being a muppet: two (100% record!)
Total hours of work I have to do for my company this weekend and haven't started yet due to a shopping frenzy with Denise: more than 14. Bollocks.

A fatal flaw?

Quote of the day, from a tv commercial for some beer or other: "She's got hungry eyes, and I'm an all-you-can-eat buffet."

Picture of the day: me in Halloween costume, aged about 4, after my mother had slaved on it for weeks. As my father is fond of saying, I was cute in those days.


Today, the drawbacks of personal blogging were brought home to me, randomly and for no discernible reason.

Blogging is like therapy in a way. You can talk about all the stuff that's pissing you off, that's happened to you during your day, that's in your head and you can't tell anyone face to face, or that's just occurred to you and you need to talk about. However, there the distinction ends.

Although there is no doubt that it is therapeutic, it's also kind of - well, for want of a better word, empty. Most of the time you are asking rhetorical questions, since most of what's in your head is pretty unanswerable by those who read your blog. Whereas the therapist would be able to supply you with some answers, or at least point you in the right direction to find answers yourself, the blog just kind of sits there and reminds you of all the problems you've had over however long you've blogged for. Many of which are still problems, or have changed in form slightly and still manage to piss you off.

Another problem, and one that is paradoxical in that it is also an advantage, is that people read your blog. You can't say too much about friends and family on your blog if any of them are going to read it and take offence, or if there are things they don't know about you which you need to talk about; at the same time a blog where you could be brutally truthful but where no-one read your comments would be rather pointless. You want people to respond to what you write, but since you can rarely write exactly what you want to, you don't get the responses you wish for. Again, incomplete therapy. People can always e-mail you if they want to respond to you in private, but then it turns into this whole other side issue which you have to blog about later to fill everyone else in on.

The act of blogging it is in itself addictive and cathartic, but sometimes you just can't help wishing that you could say what you wanted to, or that someone would come up with the answers to all your questions. Does blog therapy exist? Should I start it? Trawl through the 'Next blogs' online, leaving psychologist-type comments as I go? Would people think that I was taking the piss, or would it actually help anyone? It could be the next big dot com business. And solve my job problems........

Untruths

Whoever said that things happen for a reason, was lying.

Now is the winter of our discontent

Why is it that we seek out things which we know will hurt us? When faced with the choice of whether to know, or not to know, humans will invariably choose to know, even though a few seconds after the information has been taken in, we will regret the choice. And we never learn. Like the curious cat, we just keep on going until finally there is nothing left to discover. We know everything. Afterwards, we wish we knew nothing; but at the same time we strive to know more. And so the cycle continues.........

Today

I mostly did:
Not a lot. I got sent some work to do on the computer, which turned out to consist of corrupted files, so there went my pay cheque and most of my plans for the day. I got a phone call about a job that I don't really want, but may have to take (though I only have to cope with it for December). I had a driving lesson, and then got booked in for a test sometime in the next month (anyone else think this may be slightly too quick?).

I mostly watched:
Crap tv. Namely; 'Lost' which is an awful but highly entertaining drama about survivors of a plane crash on an island; CSI Miami, which still can't hold a candle to the original Vegas one; 'Everwood' and some of Sleepy Hollow.

I mostly ate:
Again, crap. Is there a common theme here? Chinese from last night, birthday cake for Denise's 24th, I did eat an apple earlier, but it was waxed to within an inch of its life.

I mostly thought:
About the next few months. And about getting a car, and how I am going to cope on the roads of Vancouver.

I mostly received:
Bills in the post. Plus one job refusal and my new driving license, as well as a continuing saga of postcards from my mother, who seems to be going through one entire range of cartoon cards, and I don't know how long she can keep this up.

I mostly got pissed off at:
Commercials. They show them at the very beginning and end of programmes, just after the opening credits and just before the last 30 seconds of a movie. So you don't know whether it's started or finished yet, and have to watch through all the crap to find out. The last action of Sleepy Hollow after the commercials was Johnny Depp and Christina Ricci getting out of a carriage and walking down the street, and couldn't have been more than 40 seconds of footage. Why?

I mostly missed:
Holding someone's hand in mine, and just walking.

I mostly dreamed:
Of winning the lottery, having a balcony, getting a hot tub, and sorting my life out without the need for restrictions. Dream on.........