Holy Crap!

Over the last month, I have been a woman obsessed! My current obsession? The BBC series Jekyll.

Only 6 episodes long, I missed the first one, but caught the second one by accident. After 10 minutes, I was hooked. I started telling everyone to watch Jekyll. On Wednesday, I saw episode 5, and yesterday, the DVD of the show I ordered from Amazon showed up, so last night I watched episode 6.

WOW! wow. It's all I can say. After episode six ended, I actually muttered the words, "Holy crap."

I don't think I've ever seen anything that intelligent, well acted, well scripted, well lit (for crying out loud!) on tv!

I'm off to meet Chant for breakfast today, and as I got her hooked on Jekyll, I'm bringing the DVD and she simply MUST watch it before Monday so I have someone to talk to it about!!

Coffee!
I love coffee. I really do. I love it as much as I love Portia, and that's alot (she's so darn cute). Jenge and I brew a pot every morning. Chances are at least 1 (if not 3) pot gets brewed at the office, and most evenings I make a pot when I get home from work too. It's how I relax, it's how I get going, it's how I escape. I use coffee as my shield - I cannot possibly roll out of bed and get dressed and go to work immediately, I must drink that cup of coffee first. And it cannot be rushed, or I might burn my tongue.

There are two kinds of coffee drinkers out there. The ones like me, who turn to coffee as a beverage just about any time of day. Thankfuly, I work with these kind of coffee drinkers. No one bats an eyelash if you start crying because the only coffee that's left in the office is the Emergency-only-if-your-life-depends-on-it can of Maxwell House. The second kind of coffee drinkers are those who think they love coffee as much as the rest of us, but have been known to go days, nay weeks without a sip of the lovely brew. I'm not saying they don't love it, I'm just saying they aren't as... dedicated as the rest of us.

My all time record for coffees per day was back when I worked for the Mother Ship, Starbucks. On an average working day, I would have at least 3 cups of coffee and 8 shots of espresso. And sleep like a baby at night. Working your ass off all day will do that to you. Right now, it's 10pm and I'm wishing I could have a cup of coffee. I'm not worried about caffeine keeping my up. My only concerns are
a) I don't have time before bed to drink more than 1 cup from the pot (although my cup is 20oz) and that just seems like a waste of good coffee
b) I'll be getting up all night to go to the bathroom.

I miss my carafe coffee pot. That machine brewed the coffee right into a stainless steel carafe that would keep the coffee warm all day. If I still had it, I could be drinking this morning's coffee right now - and it would taste just as good. Instead I'm staring at our current glass coffee pot wondering how bad it would taste to microwave some life into that bad boy.

It's Love!

Last Sunday I was sitting at my computer updating my ipod Mini. I must have blacked out for a few minutes and Evil Margarita took over, because the next thing I knew, I was printing out the invoice for a new iPod classic in black (I would have taken his picture, but my camera batteries are kaput). He arrived on Friday and it's been love ever since. I named him Mr. Big, since he will hold 20000 songs! I don't even know 20000 songs. In fact, my computer currently only has 1411 songs, but whatever. Since I got Mr. Big, I have spent about 8 hrs this weekend trying to find album artwork for all the stuff in my iTunes library. The only snag seems to be some sort of an iTunes glitch in which some songs will not let me modify the artwork, but I think I'm about 90% there. I've also downloaded two books to listen to on my morning commute. And I put my Mexico pictures on him so that I have somethign to cheer me up when I am sad about the monotony of work. And you know what? Mr. Big is not even 10% full. AMAZING! He's so handsome and shiny. I will have to knit him a cozy so he doesn't get my grimy fingerprints all over his shiny black and silver casing. I think he's man enough to handle pink and chocolate brown.

Mathology

I have a math degree. I am horrible with numbers.

These two statements, despite your first thought, are not mutually exclusive. When in the math faculty, I rarely had to use numbers. If I did, they were not bigger than 10. Or they were irrational numbers or numbers as words: pi, e, the sqauare root of 2, cos of 0, epsilon.

When people find out I have a math degree, they automatically assume I am good with numbers and some even bark out a question like, "What's the square root of 5692?" - Got me. But if you have a calculator, I'm wicked awesome with a number pad due to my time as a safeway cashier.

Like any good grade school student, I memorized my multiplication tables up to 12*12, and because I like numbers, I know 13*13, 14*14, 15*15 - just cuz I think it's fun. I factor in my head when I can't sleep at night, bringing all numbers down to their prime factors. It's very relaxing and distracting. You try getting upset about deadlines at work when you are trying to break down 120 in your head (120=2*3*4*5 - which actually fascinates me because other than it's prime factorization, I see nothing else extraordinary about 120 but there you have it). But splitting the cheque, knowing how much to tip, or figuring out 3% of my paycheck for my health benefits, and I'm reaching for my trusty keyboard calculator.

I'm more interested in how math forumlas work, why they work, why they are true all the time, and how it is that anyone ever possibly figured out imaginary numbers (no joke! they exist!) than trying to figure out how much is left in my bank account.

I leave you with this thought:
It is not the job of mathematicians... to do correct arithmetical operations. It is the job of bank accountants. ~Samuil Shchatunovski

What a way to start a week...
Raise your hand if you suffer from Sunday night insomnia.

Are we so used to passing out exhausted after working all day that two days of doing nothing (aka: grocery shopping, laundry, vaccuuming, lawn work, socializing, hobbies, reading and watching telly) screws us over so much so that we can't fall asleep? I was up until at least 2am last night (which was when I stopped checking the clock). Even Portia, tired of my tossing and turning, was like, 'Do you mind? I'm trying to get some shut eye here!' Is it because we don't want the weekend to end? Some studies have even suggested that Catholics suffer the most from this Sunday night insomnia as they ponder with copious amounts of guilt all the things they didn't get completed on the weekend.

All I know is, it's a crummy way to start my week.

Affairs, Exile, Poison...Another day at Meerkat Manor!

I've seen the ads for this show over the past couple of months, and I have to say, I was dying to watch it. I tuned in tonight for 2 episodes on Access - and boy was it fun! The show follows a family of Meerkats, The Whiskers, as they try to survive. Narrated by Bill Nighy, tonight's two episodes were jam packed!
Flower, the Whisker matriarch, exiled her daughter, Mozart for having pups. As the matriarch of the pack, only Flower is allowed to have kids. Mozart got beaten up and then exiled for having a litter. Alone, with no one to groom her, and no one to watch over her while she forages, can she survive??
Mitch, big bully pup of Flower, got greedy and stole food from another pup. But after eating too much scorpion, he go sick. Will he make it through the night?
Tosca, another of Flower's daughters, also made the terrible mistake of having her own pups. She was beaten up and exiled as well. Luckily, she had Mozart to keep her company.
But then! Flower has a new litter of pups, and Mozart uses that small weakness to get back in the pack! Mitch survives the night! Tosca is still exiled. And in a terribly naughty move, Mozart hooks up with Carlos from a rival pack. Flower, too busy foraging after giving birth doesn't appear to know - but the rest of the pack does. Will Mozart repeat her terrible mistake and give birth again?
Tune in to Meerkat Manor to find out!

Points to Ponder

Why DO the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles need to wear eye masks? Are there really THAT many Ninja turtles that by wearing masks, we won't know who they are? Or is it so we can tell them apart? Or they can tell each other apart? Because if that's the case, they could put their names on their shells, kinda like the FBI puts 'FBI' on all their jackets. So it must be some sort of a disguise, but can you really disguise a teenage mutant ninja turtle? They're gonna stick out no matter what kind of mask they wear. And I'm pretty sure this conversation isn't going to happen:

Cop: Can you describe who it was that stopped the Evil Overlord Ninja from taking power?

Bystander: Omg, it was like a mutant ninja turtle, a teenage mutant ninja turtle! But I couldn't see his face because he wore a mask!

Cop: (sigh) Chalk another one up to anonymous good samaritan. Nuts.

Maybe I don't have a black thumb after all!
Those are roses from my front yard. They bloom first in yellow, then deepen to orange and finally to red. This year, the sun was so hot, it bleached the red to white. IT's like 4 rose bushes in one!

Big Dog, Little Dog

I don't think Portia knows she's a big dog. She tries to cram herself into Rocky's doggy bed (having destroyed her own). Paws, tail and head all hang off the side, but to look at her, that's her bed now. And she's afraid of cats. Cries and whines when she sees one (although this may have to do with the fact that our neighbors gave their cat a poodle haircut - you know, with the fluffy tail and feet, but shaved everywhere else). And we have a tough time sharing a queen sized bed. She tries to curl herself into the back of my knees, but you can see, paws are hanging off the side. She also tries to make friends with all the little dogs at puppy daycare, but as soon as she comes in, they all lie down and roll over on their backs to show submissiveness because she's big! But she just looks at them like, "What are you doing? I'm a little dog like you!" She also tries to crawl under the fence to see the neighbors, but gets stuck. and she seems really surprised that she got stuck.
Maybe Portia knows what we all wish we could learn - It's not your size on the outside, it's how you see yourself mentally and in her mind, she's a little dog.

What I've learned. . .

I was thinking really hard all week on how to end the Week of Dad. What was the best story I knew? What was the best advice I ever got from him? Everyone has had their favourite Dad-ism (I'll try to list most of them!) but as for advice, I think that the most important things I learned from him, I didn't learn from him telling me, but I learned by example:

Family is important, and when family needs something, you do it/get it/say it. No whining, no complaining, no bartering. You shut up and deliver, because they are your family.
Treat your closest friends like they are family.
Have fun with your family and friends.
What someone does for a living or how much they make does not factor into whether or not they are a good person.
If you only raise your voice once in a while, people will stop and listen when you do.
Make sure you save some money in the bank for rainy days
Play when you can (especially with kids! - Dad played with us alot, and he played with my nephews too)
Be nice to people
You can frame, drywall and paint yourself, but always get a professional to plaster and tape (okay, so that one is not sappy and sentimental, but it's true! Taping well is a hard job!)
Work hard and take pride in your work.

I'm sure there's more that I don't even realize I learned, but those are the things that stick out the most.

For my friends and family, if you have a dad-ism you don't see here, put it in the comments!

More Dad-isms:
When you tell me things like this, it's like a bullet in my head [Said to Jenge when she was 16 after she told him she had a crush on the courtesy clerk at Safeway, who was very cute, but really dumb]

Listen . . . [said in a deep serious tone, and with a finger point, and then followed by the World according to Dad]

How you fixin'? [for money - it was his way of asking if we needed any]

Merry Christmas, Brandi [Said to the dog as he dropped large hunks of meat on a piece of tinfoil that he carefully folded up as a plate and set on the ground]

Something between here [my dashboard] and here [my engine] is no connected. [Which is how he explained to me why my check engine light was always on]

I know what he is thinking, he is thinking 'That Goddamn Greek is still there.' [part of his toast at my sister's wedding]

Split-bannanas, Berry-Knots Farm, Torture 86

We go for schvimming [Dad learned english from german and sometimes you still heard a little bit of the german]

Nice to know you still alive! [said when we finally called home after not calling for a few days]

Slow, eh, slow [repeated MANY times whenever one of the kids was using the video camera]

Look at all the cars you hit!! [said when we drove over the yellow lines in the parking lot while he was teaching us to drive]

If you build it. . .

It has been 365 days since I last saw my dad in person. There have been moments over the past year where I think every member of my family has thought that they were finally feeling better and moving on, and just as many moments where they found themselves back at the same place they were at the moment he died. The most bittersweet aspect of the greiving process has been the stories of my dad. Generally very funny and touching, they are at the same time a great comfort - reminding us who he was - and a crushing reminder of what we lost.
Dad was a builder and over the years, built us many things. Our house, our bikes, a table for parties downstairs, a plastic rocking horse (whose springs used to pinch our chubby legs when we got too big), a tree stand for our Christmas tree (although that was after many years of jerry rigging it with string and nails), shelves for all our rooms, walls for new rooms when we got older and needed our own space, a desk for my mum, a bathroom in the basement, a dog area for my dogs (although he postured that he didn't like them), a deck for my house, a deck for Ann, and his greenhouse (oh, lord, the greenhouse. What an eyesore!) I liked to watch him work. He was a man of few words, and if you wanted to learn, you learned by watching. You could ask him questions, but I found it worked best when I found a quiet place to sit out of the way and just watched. Watched him snap a chalk line, or put up drywall, or re-wire a socket. It never in a million years occured to me that not everyone's dad could do those things. Those were Dad things - done with Dad tools. And I was surprised when I found out that not everyone's Dad had been able to build a bathroom without any plans. Over this past year, we've slowly been learning how much we depended on him, for even the simplest task - hang a picture, hang a gate, fix a shelf - all things that we saw him do a million times.

Dad-ism of the day: My mum once said it would be nice when they got older to move into a bungalow. Then they wouldn't have to go up and down so many stairs. My dad looked at her and asked a very familar dad question: "Who are you? The Queen of England?"

The importance of higher education

Growing up poor, Dad didn't have the opportunity to go to school past a certain age. His father had died when he was only 3, and pretty much everyone in the family had to work. We used to hear stories about how when he was in school as a young boy, the American soldiers would hand out chocolate milk at lunch to the kids. Then later, we heard how he would take the animals up into the mountains and he would sleep in trees. Our education was very important to him, which leads me right into my next dad-ism.

Dad-ism of the day: God help you if you EVER EVER complained about having to go to school, or whined about how you didn't want to go. This would spark Dad off and his lecture always started with the same words:

What! You wanna be a dummy for the rest of your life!??!!

At the end of the lecture, you were sufficiently chastised, realizing that your education was super important and you were ungrateful for not using the opportunity. I can't remember what he used to say for the rest of the lecture, but my sisters and I ALWAYS remembered the opening line.

Do as I say, not as I do!

When we used to go to Greece as kids, we loved going down to the river. Just a short walk from Grandma's house, it was great. No matter how hot it was, the river was nice and cold. Freida used to go down there every day and get drinking water from the small spout (that's me standing next to it in the background). But no matter how often we played down there, we were NEVER, EVER allowed to walk across the river on the big log. NEVER. And SHAME on you for even CONSIDERING IT! But dad would sashay back and forth across it all the time! We were so jealous! Sometimes, I remember he would stand on it, as we watched him from the balcony at Grandma's and he would thumb his nose at us!

Dad-ism of the Day: Dad was told by his doctor not to have spicy, salty or fatty foods. I caught him once making a german salami sandwhich (with Peppercorns!) with thick slabs of velveeta cheese and a heavy helping of Dijonaise. When I confronted him his response was: "Don't eat this, don't eat that. . . May as well lay down and die."

And he took his sandwhich and left the kitchen.

A Week of Dad!

In order to commemorate the 1 year anniversary of my dad's death, and to celebrate his life, I bring you A Week of Dad!

Born in Greece, Dad moved to Canada in 1965. He only knew one word "Eggs" and he ate them for breakfast all the time, since he couldn't order anything else. He had his first meal at the Homestead restaurant, which he ended up buying.

It's pretty funny that a man who NEVER surfed the internet, never had an email address, didn't even know what Google was, is now posted on a blog for anyone to see. In fact, when I lived in Vancouver, my mum used to chat with me on MSN, and she tried to show it to my dad once, and he was pretty unimpressed, from what I hear, asking how she knew it was really me.

'Dad'ism of the Day: If you don't have at least $5.00 on you, the police can and will arrest you for vagrancy. Hence you must always have some "Walking around Money" in your wallet.

MONDAYS

If I had a look that expressed how I felt about Mondays it would be like Portia's face in the above photo.

• My coolant light came on again
• I overslept by THREE HOURS
• I had to park 3 blocks from work
• I couldn't find the missing docs
• I forgot my massage therapy appointment
• I didn't bring a lunch

Sigh.

Did it Self!
When my nephew was younger, if he wanted to do something on his own, instead of having help, he would proclaim "do it self!!" very loudly.


Well I'm proud to say that about my garden gate! Did it self!


Dad made me a fence for my garden, as Portia likes to eat plants, flowers, grass, weeds, plant food. . . you know. But he never put the gate up. Dad was really good at starting projects, but sometimes lacked the follow thru needed to fully complete a project. Especially the tiny finishing details.

And a year passed. And another.

And then Dad got sick. And then he passed away. . . .


So, I told myself it was time to do it self! I could install a garden gate! I found a half open bag of hardware in the garage! I have a math degree for crying out loud!


But I couldn't make the pieces fit. And neither could mum. So I took a picture of my gate, and my bag of hardware and went to the home depot! Turns out, I was missing pieces, and the gentleman there showed me what the finished product should look like!

So I went home and put it up! I was so proud of myself, I could have burst! I called my mum all giddy, "I did it! I put the gate up!"


Heck, it's been two weeks, and I'm still proud! I pull the curtain up on the window everyday and look at!

Portia, No!

She did it again. She went ape-shit and attacked Rocky over the broken crumbs of some dog cookie. It's like she's back in the wild and if she doesn't get that crumb, she will starve to death, on the spot, and keel over.
Jenge tried to grab her and failed. I am generally the muscle in this situation as a) I have no fear of getting in the midst of a fight (sorry, mum, don't want to worry you, but it's true) and b) I will grab whatever part of a dog I can and pull it to break the fight up, while walking away with said part of a dog clutched in my grasp. Jenge always tries to go for the collar or the waist. I do not waste time trying to get such a grip. I've learned you can pull a 50lb malamute off a 22lb sheltie as long as you have part of an ear and a tail. And a tail is usually all you can grab. And then she gets put in her kennel for an hour and ignored (as instructed by my vet who said "Be decisive!! Be in control! And don't fall for crying!!" My lip quivered and I sniffed and said, "okay.")

Mum says I should find some nice place in the country for her, and that she's too big. But she's my baby and I love her!! She only goes ape-shit once every six months or so and just when you have forgotten the last time, she does it again.


Poor Rocky. He's been hiding in Jenge's room most of the night.

It's time to go back to the Dog Whisperer, Larry, and see what he has to say.

A Tale No One Would Believe. . .

So I was up late watching national geographic and they were doing this special on this aquarium in California. Beautiful, huge glass walls showcase marine life.
One of the things they talked about were the sea otters. And they showed them playfully cavorting in the bay. They also showed them rolling themselves in kelp so they can have their morning nap without drifting out to sea. . .
And then they started talking about how the sea otter, having previously bounced back from extinction, was now declining again. So they wanted to track them. They wanted to know how often they dove for food, how long were they staying under, and how deep did they have to go.
The only way to do this, apparently, was to implant them with a data mining device!
So, as the sea otter is happily rolling him self in preparation of his morning nap, divers are far beneath him, with special breath apparatus that recycles the air so they don't release bubbles. And then with jumbo sized nets, they scoop the otters up! Stuff them in a kennel! Drive them on a truck to the vets! Knock them out! Implant the device! And put them back in the ocean!

This got me thinking. Is this the sea otter equivalent of getting kidnapped by aliens? Imagine this conversation. . .
Sea Otter 1: I'm telling you! I was minding my own business and then outta no where, I was taken! stuffed in a box and put on some large machine! It moved over land as fast as we move in water! and there were bright lights! And strange sounds! and they put me on a steel table and I'm telling you, they put something in me!
Sea Otter 2: Sounds like someone had too much kelp last night.
Sea Otter 1: I have a scar! A scar to prove it!
Sea Otter 2: Bob, c'mon, you probably ran into a rock again like you did back in '95.
Sea Otter 1 (aka Bob): I can't eat! I can't sleep! I know they are coming back. . . .

Sadly, Bob is right as after a while, they must capture the same sea otter again and take the data mining device out so they can download the data. Poor Bob! Kidnapped by humans and no one believes him.

Death, Decay and Madness - Yes please!
I came home the other day and was looking for something to watch on the telly to kill some time. I finally found, "The Tomb of Ligeia" (which I've seen before) staring Vincent Price, based on an Edgar Allan Poe story. Let me tell you, as soon as I see the name Vincent Price combined with "Based on Edgar Allan Poe" I'm flipping in immediately. I loved "The House of Usher." It occured to me that I loved this sort of Gothic horror the best, so I wikipedia-ed it:
(from wiki):
Prominent features of gothic fiction include terror (both psychological and physical), mystery, the supernatural, ghosts, haunted houses and Gothic architecture, castles, darkness, death, decay, doubles, madness, secrets and hereditary curses.
The stock characters of gothic fiction include tyrants, villains, bandits, maniacs, Byronic heroes, persecuted maidens, femmes fatales, madwomen, magicians, vampires, werewolves, monsters, demons, revenants, ghosts, perambulating skeletons, the Wandering Jew and the Devil himself.
Important ideas concerning and regarding the Gothic include: Anti-Catholicism, especially criticism of Roman Catholic excesses such as the Inquisition (in southern European countries such as Italy and Spain); romanticism of an ancient Medieval past; melodrama; and parody (including self-parody).

Seriously, does it get any better??

In the Wee Small Hours of the Morning

Okay, I'm a night owl, so anything before 10am technically classifies as the wee small hours of the morning. Since January, I've had a heck of time waking up. My alarm goes off at 6.15 - if I'm lucky, I'll hear it and get out of bed before my alphabetically organized CD hits songs that start with S.If I'm not lucky, I wake up to silence meaning I have slept through the entire thing. And if I'm really not lucky, I wake up to Jenge standing at my door saying, "Hey, it's 7.45. Are you going into work today??"

So Jenge has been my last resort backup. But she's a teacher and about start holidays in July. Who's gonna get Evil Margarita out of bed (because, dear reader, it's evil Margarita who's in charge that early in the morning and she DOESN'T CARE).

Maybe I can rely on the puppies to wake me up!

I'm so screwed.