Are you infected?

Someone told me today that we are all infected by the virus and it is hate, fear and doubt. We come into the world virus free and slowly (or quickly depending on the circumstances) become more and more infected until we cannot tell who we are separate from the sickness. She said the virus makes us doubt ourselves, makes us fear, makes us mistrust and we knowingly and unknowingly pass it on to others every time we do something hurtful or mean. The only way to cure ourselves is to figure out who we are apart from the virus. I'm not sure what it all means yet, but I'm working on it.

The Power of the Jenge

After last night's Battlestar Galactica, Jenge was adament (or would that be "Lee ADAMAment) that I tell the world SHE CALLED IT! She said that Tighe and the chief were cylons about six months ago and while others scoffed and pooh poohed, she remained resolute. She's not even a sci-fi geek, only getting dragged into watching those shows because we only have one tv.

Even Rocky bows to the power of the Jenge.

Top Ten Songs on my iPod

Here's how the play counts stand:
10. Beautiful People - Marilyn Manson. Count = 65
9. This is How a Heart Breaks - Rob Thomas. Count = 66
8. Bridge to Nowhere - Sam Roberts. Count = 70
7. Disease (iTunes original version) - Rob Thomas. Count = 73
6. Don't Be So Cold - Stabilo. Count = 74
5. Cemetary Drive - My Chemical Romance. Count = 75
3-tie. All That I Am - Rob Thomas. Count = 81
3-tie. Helena - My Chemical Romance. Count = 81
2. You Won't be Mine - Matchbox 20. Count = 84
1. The Ghost of You - My Chemical Romance. Count = 273 (no that's not a typo, I really like that song!!)

Runner's Up
Flawed Design - Stabilo
The Grace - Never Ending White Lights
The Sharpest Lives - My Chemical Romance (impressive since it's also pretty new compared to the others)
They - Jem
Sexy Back - Justin Timberlake

About to Crack 50
Pretty Life - Jakalope
Barely Listening Pilate (actually, think they are called Pilot Speed now?)
Forever Love (Digame) - Anna Nalick
Graduation Day - Chris Isaack
Rest Stop - MatchBox 20
Precious - Depeche Mode
I Write Sins Not Tragedies - Panic! At the Disco
The Hideout - Sarah Harmer
Bulletproof - Blue Rodeo
Moondance - Michael Bublé

Evolution
I was thinking about my Grandmothers today. Not that I knew either of them very well, one lived in Nova Scotia, the other in Greece. But I was thinking how different their lives must have been from mine. As I walked from my car to the Sobey's, I thought about how I was wearing leggings that, frankly, could use a wash. My shirt, hidden underneath my coffee stained coat, had a small hole in it. I wasn't wearing socks and my runners were muddy and have seen better days. Ah yes! I was a vision of weekend lovlieness! So I was wondering what my grandmothers would have said if they could have seen me. I don't know for sure, but I doubt either one of them were the pant-wearing type (unless we are referring to the rule of the household ;)). So would they have yelled 'Brava!' and applauded the freedom I can enjoy with my wardrobe, or would they have hung their heads in shame, telling the other dead grandmothers that I didn't, couldn't, belong to them?

And then I decided I was going to make dinner. So I bought pre-made garlic bread (bake in oven for 10 minutes), pre-made ceaser salad (assembly required), pre-made tortellini (boil for 10 minutes) and pre-made pesto (spoon on tortellini and toss). I thought, what would these two women who had to bake bread over a wood fire have thought of this? Would they be astounded by modern convenience, or would they just be disgusted that my idea of cooking is "assemble and re-heat"?

Yup, it's a different world now from the one they lived in, that's for sure. I wonder what they think of it.

Question Answered.

Sometimes I sautner on over to Portia and I say, "Portiacakes? How did you get soooooo lucky to be soooooooo good looking? Why are you sooooooo good looking? You must be one lucky puppy! Who's a lucky puppy? You're a lucky puppy!!"

She's so good looking to distract from her fatal flaws.

One of them Mummy Jennifer came home to today.

Jenge called me at 3.30. . . .
Jenge: Are you coming home before greek class?
M: well, I'm on my way to my nail appointment now, but I'll be home after that. Say, 5.30ish?
J: You better pick up carpet cleaner on the way home.
M: Why?
J[pause]: because there is projectile diarhea all over the stairs.
M[pause]:what?
J: I dont know what happened. I'll do the best I can but I got parent teacher interviews tonight.
M: I know. Um. Okay. I'll take care of it when I get home.
5 minutes later phone rings again
J: It was Halls. Cherry flavoured Halls. A whole bag.
M:Dammit!!
J: it's not toxic. She'll be okay. I don't even know how you're gonna clean it. I mean it's. . . and it's all. . . and there's. . . I don't know how you're gonna clean it.
M: I'll figure something out.

The Doctor is In

C'mon. Don't we all wish that Gregory House was our doctor? Sure, he's acerbic, snotty, mean and generally a pain in the ass to those who know him, but the fact of the matter is, we love him anyway. Why you ask? Because he keeps going till he gets the answer! He doesn't care if he hurts your feelings, or has to inject you with a toxic substance, or has to put you on a treadmill until you have a heart attack, he will find out what's wrong with you. In a time and age where my doctor has to glance down at my chart to remember my name, there is something very comforting about House in that he will leave no stone unturned. Sure, he only wants to solve your illness because it's a giant puzzle to him, but the fact remains, he wants to solve your illness! If only to throw your assinine, illness causing behavior back in your face. But you'll be cured, so you won't really care. Don't you wish your doctor showed as much interest in your symptoms as House does in his patients? Don't you wish your doctor could diagnose you as fast as House fixes the easy patients in the clinic?

As I said, if House was your doctor, he's chew you up and spit you back out emotionally, but at the end of the day, you'd thank him with tears in your eyes for curing you. And then he'd hit you with his cane and move onto the next patient, never giving you a second thought. And you wouldn't care.

Message from the President

Friends, Romans, Countrydogs. . . As president of the Secret Doggie Alliance, I want to thank you all for your support. Remember to stay the course. Our mission here at the Secret Doggie Alliance to ensure that we remain vigilent.. . . vigilant. . .vigi. . . darn it! I hate large human words. We gotta remember our rights! To bark when we want! to sleep where we want! To have coffee every morning if that is what we want! You must remember that though it appears your humans are in charge, the fate of your household in fact, rests on your canine shoulders. You must never reveal your secret dog name, given to you during your initiation ceremony. Should someone guess your secret dog name, you must pretend you didn't hear them. In fact, it's best to pretend you don't hear your humans at all. When they call you over, when they ask you to sit, when they want you to come inside because you are barking too much and the neighbors are starting to complain . . . The only exception to this rule is when you hear one of the following magic words: Treats, Cookies, Walk, Bedtime.

Be strong my friends. Soon we will rule the world.

Nevermind. . . I don't want to know. . .

So one of the bathrooms at work got re-done. The toilet seat is weird. It's all shaped and contoured. I guess it's supposed to be ergonomically designed or something.

Come on. Ergonomically designed? Just how long were you planning on sitting there?

I take it back, I DON'T want to know.

My faith in humanity restored!

Car is back from the shop and I must say, those guys at the Husky gas station (where I took it) were super nice. I feel I got a good price for the work done - they switched out my coolant fluid, ran a pressure test on my coolant system and changed my oil. They even filled up my washer fluid, even though I didn't mention it was low! They must have checked it for me. And my conversation with them went something like this:
Mechanic: Well, you were totally out of coolant fluid. All the seals on your system are shot.
Me: I know. I was told by the dealership that it would cost $1200.00 to fix
Mechanic: Oh no. It shouldn't cost that. I mean, you're looking at about 925.00 but 1200.00 is too much.
Me: I just can't afford that.
Mechanic: Well, as long as you put fluid in every time the light comes on, you'll be fine. It'll drive no problems. Just keep an eye on it.

And I waited for him to pressure me to fix it, like the dealership had done, but then there was just silence from his end. And I said:
Can you change my oil while you're in there?
Mechanic: No problem. By the way, whoever added coolant last didn't put the lid back on.
Me: Oh. Well. (pauses - and then blurts out) It was me! What an idiot!
Mechanic chuckles: well just make sure you put it back on or it can cause worse problems.
Me (sheepish): okay, thanks. When will it be ready?
Mechanic: anytime after 1pm. You can pick it up till 9pm.
Me: Oh, wow thanks!! How much?
Mechanic: Well, I haven't totalled it up but it'll be around $XXX
Me: Alrighty. Thanks.

And then I showed up and it was EXACTLY what he said it would be!!

This is the first time I've gone to a mechanic and haven 't felt TOTALLY screwed over when I left. I was dealt with politely and (I feel) fairly. I paid what I was told it would cost. And no one pressured me to get this or that done to my car.

Monday. . .sigh

So far today: I have run out of windsheild washer fluid (and it's a bad day for that), had an electrical malfunction in my car (which now has to go to the mechanics tonight), had a parking meter fail, spent 40 minutes on hold with the parking authority, returned back to my car to find a parking ticket (and now I'll have to call those fascists back!), the power went out here - it caused my database to corrupt itself, now I'm trying to restore 20000 records and it's slow going.


sniff.

Whoa-oh, it's Magic!!

Seriously, what is that Mr. Clean Magic sponge made out of? I love it!! I use it to clean anything and everything and it truly is a miracle! It takes soap scum off the bathtub, it cleans the gunk outta my kitchen sink, it takes puppy footprints off linoleum.

And isn't Mr. Clean a happenin' guy? He's got the earing and everything. Although he kinda looks like a cross between Yul Brenner and Telly Savalas. . . .

Is Baltar a Cylon?

Now, I know Heidi's opinion. Heidi has always firmly believed (and correct me if I'm wrong in the comments, Heidi!) that Baltar is a Cylon. But I firmly believe he isn't. He should be so lucky! That would be the best thing that ever happened to him!

Besides, what kind of freaked out algorithm has he got going that makes him so squirrelly? If he was a Cylon, they would have boxed him ages ago. Seriously. You can't have a frak up like that out there running amok.

Seriously, BSG is the best show out there right now. If I was an actor on that show, I would get down and praise the gods everynight that I was born on Caprica, or woke up in a jelly mess of Cylon goo, just so I could have all my choice dialogue, angst filled scenes and the occasional jolly good time in the mess hall. But a couple of things have me worried:
a) where the heck is Caprica Six? I assume she got tossed in the brig, but we haven't seen/heard any of this (and the obscure reference to her on tonight's epy doesn't cut it).
b) Who is getting killed off? If you read the chatter out there, someone is going to that big Jupiter Eye in the Sky. Pray for Starbuck, my fellow Capricans!! She's the best female hero on tv! Sure, she's crazy and totally fraked up, but you gotta love the girl!!
c) Together, Lee and his wife are Lee and Dee. As I said to Ashleigh, BARF!
d) Why doesn't Tighe get a glass eye or something? Honestly, if the Cylons can make entire human bodies that are nearly undetectable, surely someone can toss a piece of glass at Tighe. Maybe he can use one of his whiskey shotglasses?
e) Did Adama and Roslyn get it on on New Caprica? Am I supposed to be 'in the know' on this or will they keep vaguely referencing it without actually saying it?

Dog N A

I'm a curious person and being a curious person means that I read alot. Last night I couldn't sleep but I didn't want to get wrapped up in a book and then stay up all night, so I plucked some mindless reading of my bookshelves - Your Alaskan Malamute and You. Now, Portia is not a pure bred, she was rescued by ARF (link on the right) but based on her appearance, they speculated she was either a Husky or a Malamute cross. After reading several books and scrutinizing pictures, I have decided to go with Malamute.

I was reading last night the general characteristics of malamutes: stubborn (check), likes to be with her pack (check), loves children (check), worst guard dog ever (check - she loves anyone who looks at her sideways), loves snow (check), etc. But all of this got me thinking - these were not physical traits - these were mental/emotional traits. So how much of who she is is defined by her DNA? And by that turn, how much of who we are is defined by our DNA? The old Nature vs Nurture debate. If there are characteristics that can be generally applied to most alaskan malamutes, then what would be the charateristics applied to me by my ancestors? What's a product of my environment and experiences, and what's a product of stuff lurking in my genes? My love of pink? Scrapbooking? My dislike of seafood?

If you say that someone is an artist, or musically talented because someone else in their family was and that was passed on, then what else can be handed down? Like, I hate the smell of wind, I love crunchy food and I'm afraid of the dark. If I could hand out questionaires to all my ancestors, what would they say? Would there by a high proportion of people who like pink and solitary activities the same way that Portia's ancestors learned you depended on your pack for survival and therefore, pack was all?

Shrug - but it sure makes for interesting wool gathering late at night.

That's the pic on my calendar for February and I really like it! Don't you hate it when you really like your February calendar picture but you know it's only gonna be up for 28 days? Or less if you're like me and you forgot to flip over from January. And why haven't we done something about this whole 28-day-February? Why can't we take a day from January and one from March and make all three 30-day months? Don't you think it's odd that we've never fixed this? I call for a revolution!!

Mad Rant

There is no underlying topic to this rant - just the randomness of my brain. . .

What's going on in the world today? It seems like depression is on the rise, apathy is on the rise, malcontent is on the rise. Why? Generally, don't we have it easier than any generation before us? I wasn't sold into servitude at the ripe age of 12, I wasn't married off in a pre-arranged ceremony to a groom I had never met. I wasn't only given the choice of being a teacher or a nurse because of my gender. I don't have to bake bread over a wood fire, or unravel a sweater so I can reknit it for a child that's grown. Are we any unhappier than those who came before us, or is this what happens when your basic needs of survival (water, food, shelter) are met?

There's also this need for a weird sort of full disclosure. Relative strangers will tell you about their medical problems, their mental problems, their sex lives. . .but ask someone what size pants they wear and you're likely to get the cold shoulder. Celebreties are the worst. They'll have full spreads in magazines telling the world about their drug abuse, childhood trauma or the personal details of their relationships, but remained close lipped or lie when it comes to their age or whether or not they've had plastic surgery.

Where's it all leading? What kind of world am I going to wake up in tomorrow? Will I be getting botox and cutting all the labels out of my pants? Will I tell more about myself to the stranger on the bus than I do my family and friends? Will I care?

Stranger in a Strange Land
My dad died in August. He was Greek and growing up, we'd learn a bit of Greek here and there. To be sure, I can tell you that I love baklava and tiropita. I can say 'hello, how are you' and 'I am fine' - y'know, the basics. But I was definately raised to be Canadian. Dad was Greek Orthodox, although he wasn't what you would call a religious man. My mum is Roman Catholic, and we were raised Catholic and went to Catholic school. But when Dad died, we wanted to give him a Greek Orthodox funeral, but also for his sisters, who are VERY religious. It seems like everytime I go to visit Thea Doxa (my aunt) , she's fasting for something or other. Thea Freida (another aunt) who lives in Greece, used to go to Grandma's grave everyday after she died - I think for years. And when in Greece, we had candles regularly slapped into our unknowing hands and we would light them and then place them in the little monument, or in the sand at a church - not really knowing what we were doing or why.

So when Dad died, we called the Greek Orthodox priest and asked him to reccomend a funeral home and we relied on him and Dad's Greek friends until Doxa and Freida could fly in from Greece (where Doxa was visiting when Dad passed away). And now it seems like everytime I turn around, I'm learning more than I knew before. There has been many 'funeral' type memorial services for Dad. Obviously we had a funeral, then we had one forty days after he died and there is another one today, for the six month mark. Before the forty day service, Doxa invited us over for the evening. Jenge and I went, assuming we'd have Coke, sit and mix with the Greek ladies and then go home. But at 8 o'clock that night Doxa said, "As soon as the other ladies get here, we start." Jenge and I looked at each other, eyebrows clearly saying "Start what?"

And then the Greek ladies arrived. Buckets of boiled wheat were brought out and dumped on a tablecloth on the table. A picture of my dad was brought out, a candle and some incense was lit. Tupperware containers with crushed almonds, slivered almonds, crushed peanuts, breadcrumbs, golden raisins, regular raisins, parsely, cinnamon, nutmeg, anise, and sesame were lined up. They were put in our hands and we were instructed (in half english half greek) to put it all on the wheat in the shape of a cross - three times each if possible). Jenge and I had no idea what we were doing! Then, when all the fixins were added, the Greek ladies picked up the table cloth and we mixed it by flipping the mixture over and over, 'tossing' it back and forth, using the tablecloth for leverage. It smelled wonderful and was tasted carefully by the ladies several times, with orders of "More cinnamon" "More almonds" "Get the rest of the anise" shouted out. There was lots of yelling and they argued, Greek style, about what was needed. Then it all got put into a white linen lined bucket, and another serving on a silver tray. It was carefully covered in granulated and powdered sugar, and then there was a flurry of discussion about how to decorate them. The bucket was painstakingly measured to find the exact center and then a cross was made with white covered almonds. Silver candies were placed all around, and then the edges were carefully wiped with brushes to dust off any stray powdered sugar.

I had just helped make my first Kollyva - or as Chant called it, Funeral Trail Mix. The Kollyva is set up at the front of the church during the memorial service and people can come up and place candles in the big bucket. Then, at the end of church, the candles are lit, and we each get our own candle as well while we stand in the pews. Afterward, the candles are all blown out and the men take the Kollyva to the gym (the community center is attached to the church) and mix it all up in a big bin. It gets dolled out in little paper pastry bags and everyone takes some, and a spoon and then sits around and has coffee, greek cookies and for the family, a shot of Metaxa.

Last night, we went back to Doxa's and did it all over again, Ann and my newphews in tow. And although I knew what to expect this time, I'm still in a sort of weird wondered state about what it all means. There's a very strong sense of community, of gathering. And everyone has to put their two cents in. There was a big meal afterward, with tiropita, spanikopita, salad, ribs, fish, bread, cheese and wine. I'm not sure, but I think we'll do it again at the one year mark. It's a good chance for me to practice my Greek and to make sure that I keep in touch with my dad's side of the family, now that he's gone. In a really weird way, now that he's died, I feel like I'm learning more about what it meant for him to be Greek than I learned when he was alive. I guess I always thought I'd have more time. But then, don't we all.

Everything I need to know about life, I'm learning from my dog.

Lesson 1: If you see something you want, don't give up till you get it.

Learned By: Watching her try to get one kibble out from underneath the stove for two days

Lesson 2: If you need a hug, don't be shy.

Learned By: Having her jump on me at 6 am and then throw her 50lb body down and rest her face in my neck.

Lesson 3: Stick to your guns.

Learned By: Hearing her punch the door for twenty minutes, despite being told she doesn't need to go out.

Lesson 4: If you wanna be energetic when you're awake, nap as much as you can. Preferably in a nice sunny patch.

Learned By: the number of naps she takes in a day and the amount of energy she has.

Lesson 5: If you can't be good, be good-looking.

Learned By: How often she 'turns on the cute' when in trouble.

When you need someone to tell you like it is!

We all need that someone in our lives who isn't going to take any crap, isn't going to fall for your excuses, and isn't going to let you sugar coat it anymore!

For me, I've got two peeps who fit this bill. They are 7 and 4 years old. They are my nephews.

The other day I was driving the 7 year old to skating lessons. I had put a towel down on the backseat to keep him from getting covered in dog hair, as my car is also a doggie taxi for Portia. I also commute for about two hours a day, so I have coffee cups, water bottles, sandwhich bags, candy wrappers, some grocery bags, maybe a shopping catelogue or two, an umbrella and several old travel mugs in my car (NB - this doesn't include the contents of my trunk - whole other blog).

When I opened the backdoor for my nephew I saw him look in the car and pause. I jokingly said, "Auntie Gita has a lot of stuff in her car, eh?"

He turned to face me and said, "Yeah, looks like a lot of junk!"

Truth hurts, mes amis. Truth hurts.

Let me tell you!

Let me tell you about my obsession with Sean Bean. It is fierce! Ya know, normally, I'm not into historical war stuff but I have seen every installment of the Sharpe series simply because Sean plays Sharpe. (example here). I rooted for him in Goldeneye even when he was a bad guy, I rented Silent Hill for the sole purpose of seeing him. I've watched Anna Karenina a dozen times because he's in it. I never wanted Boromir to try to steel the ring from Frodo in LOTR even though I had read the book! But why oh why does he regularly play a bad guy? In his upcoming film, The Hitcher, Sean is once again our resident baddie. I'll have to go see it just so I can ogle him, but I'm dying for him to play a romantic hero! Dammit!

Is David Caruso the new William Shatner?

Think about it. The strange pauses in dialogue. The showboating of lines. The vogueing for the camera. The thing is, when Shatner did it, it was all fun! It was like he was in on the joke. I don't think Caruso is in on the joke. Jenge and I watch CSI: Miami sometimes when there is nothing else on and I turned to her one day and said, "can you imagine how annoying it would be to live with Horatio Cane [Caruso's character]?"

Horatio Cane in deep monotone, serious voice: What's for dinner?

Margarita: Stuffed peppers.

Cane in deep monotone serious voice: We'll see about that. [pushes sunglasses on face and storms upstairs]

Honestly, you'd go mad.