Have Angst, Will Travel

One of my favourite bellydancers.

Sorry, prettyh.

Doc: So, you've had a fever? How high?
Me: I haven't actually been able to take it, but it's felt pretty high.
Doc: *haughty sniff* Studies have shown that there are NO reliable ways to tell if one has a fever EXCEPT through a thermometre.
Me: I'm twenty-three years old and I've been sick plenty in my life. I know the difference between having a fever and being otherwise overheated. My problem is that I seem to be stuck in this gross cycle where I have a fever for a few hours, then that breaks and I'm cold and sweaty for a few hours, then I feel pretty much fine for a few hours, then I have a fever again.
Doc: Well, I'm going to go get a thermometer.
Me: I don't have a fever right now, I'm in the cold and sweaty stage.

He goes to get a thermometer anyway, comes back and sticks the thing in my ear (he's really, REALLY not gentle, either).

Doc: No fever, see?
Me: I KNOW. I told you I wouldn't have one right now, but in a few hours, I'll be burning up like paper again.
Doc: (sighing, despairing, wondering why anyone ever allowed the common plebes like me access to schools and books, then grabs my ears again and jams in the thingie that sees into them) Well, maybe you have an ear infection.
Me: NO. I DON'T. I've had a billion ear infections, and this is NOT AN EAR INFECTION.
Doc: (writing prescription) Here's a prescription for some ear drops. It would probably just go away on its own though. Have a nice day.

As he leaves the exam room, he turns off the light, while I'm still in there, groping blindly for my coat.

Asshole.

This was at the Mt. Pleasant Walk-In Clinic, by the way.

I bought a Good Housekeeping magazine today, but I swear it was for a good cause.

After five years of faithful and faultless service, I am selling Yolanda, my Yamaha keyboard. Any musical locals reading this, this is your chance to own a well-loved, but still excellent musical instrument.

Yolanda

Yamaha DGX-550, silver with blonde wood end pieces
88 keys, semi-weighted, and touch-sensitive
More than 600 instrument voices
Multitrack recording capability; can save compositions in MIDI format
Built-in lessons (I can't comment on their quality, I never used them)
Chord dictionary
Many pre-set Songs and Beat styles
Can be connected to computer via MIDI cable
3.5 inch floppy disk drive

In addition to the keyboard itself, I'm including the keyboard stand, which is a NICE blonde wood stand, not a silly cross stand. There will also be the bench (blonde wood with grey cushion), the sustaining pedal, and the songbook and manual that came with it originally.

Keyboard is in excellent condition, no issues with sound. A few scattered minor scratches on the surface, but you'd only notice them if you were looking for them (I went looking for them for the sake of writing this).

I'm asking $300.00, but am willing to be flexible.

You will have to pick up the keyboard from my house, and arrange your own transportation for it. I will dismantle it, and help you load it into your chosen style of conveyance.

If interested, contact me ASAP at tiffany.maxwell@gmail.com.

It's been nine days since I got my little ratties, and now both of them will crawl onto my hand and run up my arm when I put my hand in their cage. I think they're slowly figuring out their names as well. Bonus.

December 2006...

I stumble in the Source a few steps ahead of Steph. The salesguy nearest the front of the store, young, with the wide-eyed and naively helpful look of a new member of the workforce looks at me. "Miss, can I help you?"

I look back at him with the wide-eyed and glazed-over look that's pretty much permanently fixed on my face. "Yeah, I need a cellphone or something."

October 2008...

I stumble in the Source a few steps ahead of my Dad. The salesguy nearest the front of the store, young, with the wide-eyed and naively helpful look of a new member of the workforce looks at me. "Miss, can I help you?"

I look back at him with the wide-eyed, paranoid look that's pretty much permanently fixed on my face. "Yeah, this phone is dead. Can you fix it or something?"

---------------------------

"There must be something about me that just subconsciously cries, 'I need help' to salespeople," I say to my dad as the sixth sales associate to offer me assistance walks away.

"Don't be silly, it's not just to salespeople."

I politely suggest he go to hell.

Meanwhile, the young chap whose help I partook of initially looks up from the computer. "Okay, let me just show you the phones, you can pick which one you want, and we'll set it up for you."

He leads me to a wall invisible under little coloured rectangles I'm told are cellphones. "So, what do you want in a phone?"

"The ability to make and receive phone calls."

"Ah. Do you want a camera phone? MP3 player?"

"I'll buy two tin cans and a piece of string if they have decent range and reception."

"Oh. Well, this one's free with a plan..."

"Sold."

Apparently "free with a plan" still means a camera and MP3 whatever. Not that I'm complaining.


December 2006...

"So, you have the option of either black, or hot pink."

"Any stipulations with that?"

"Black will cost you five dollars."

"Pink, please."


October 2008...

"This one's available in either black, grey, or red."

"I'll take red, if you have it."

"No problem."

Little Chap scurries towards the store room, and I turn to my dad.

"I'm moving along the spectrum, you see."

"You're growing up."

"Maturing."

"Leaving childish phones behind."

"Becoming sophistimicated in my old age."

The little chap scurries back.

"Sorry! I was thinking of the wrong model! Actually, the only colour we have is pink..."

---------------------------

"Well, at least it's a pale pink, unlike that glittery monstrosity you've been carting around for two years."

"Hey, shut up, I liked that monstros---"

Lights flash, MIDI bells ring, the screen lights up, and a nuclear orange corona is visible around the whole device.

My dad sneers. "Maybe I spoke too soon. Tiffany? You okay? Tiff?"

It was too late. I was under its spell. "Shiiiiiiny..."


December 2006...

"Hey mom! Guess what? I'm calling you from an obnoxiously pink cellphone. Yeah! I'm sitting across from Steph in a restaurant, ignoring her, and talking loudly. I've become everything I've ever hated! This is great!"

October 2008...

I paw through the box of goodies the phone came with, and ignore my dad.

I pull out a set of (pink) headphones. "The hell? I guess this thing plays music."

Loathing ear bud headphones, I stick them in the appropriate head holes anyway. Instant peace, a kind I've only glimpsed in dreams, washes over me.

"Are...are these noise-cancelling headphones?!" I'm not sure if I actually spoke aloud, or only thought. The Zen was instant and absolute. "They totally are!"

I turn back to my dad, my new phone glutting itself contentedly at its charger's teat only a few feet away. "Okay, keep talking, I'm listening."

Today I’m going to teach you a game that my two dear friends came up with while we were admiring the pure and tangible pretension of Nuit Blanche on Saturday night.

It’s a game I’ve decided to call, “Stump the Arts Major”.

Required Equipment:

-arts major (English, drama, studio, performance, philosophy, or dance recommended, but any B.A. will do)

Let’s face it, fellow B.A.’s, we all know our degrees are pretty much bullshit. For the most part, we choose to take them because we’re just not all that great at anything considered practical, and yet, we really don’t want to take that Bartending and Hospitality course or Real Estate diploma at (insert local college here). We’re supposedly taught critical thinking and how to see through the masks of society and how to find meaning in the world around us. The problem is, they never really teach us where meaning stops and bullshit starts. That’s how we end up with disciplines like “found art” and events like Nuit Blanche.

That’s where the game begins.

Take any object…actually, “object” is too limiting. Take any entity, physical or otherwise, or combination of entities, present them to your arts major, and ask them to explain the meaning behind the thing. If the arts major comes up with something that almost sounds plausible, the arts major wins that round. If the arts major stares blankly, you win.

Give your arts major about thirty seconds to think. Bullshit is not as easy as it looks.

Examples:

“Extract the meaning behind Hawaiian pizza.”

It represents the watering-down and appropriation of cultures into the lifeless North American cultural identity.

“Extract the meaning behind that mud we just walked through by accident because we couldn’t see it.”

The mud represents the Western *capitalist societies, which herd us into the soulless nine-to-five routine for all our working lives, inhibiting our ability for personal expression and freedom of movement, both physical, creative, and philosophical.

I won every round on Saturday, I’m proud to say. The might will fall one day, but it was not that day. My friends are now convinced I am thoroughly suited for tenured professorship in a respected English faculty. I tend to agree. I’m already a fussy tea snob, and I would absolutely rock a purple and green plaid jacket with brown patches on the elbows, rainbow glasses, and a bubble pipe.

Or I could sell secondhand cars.

TiffanyMaxwell.Com

A friend and I were at FanExpo this afternoon, and went to get lunch at the food court.

Friend: Shit, I don't have cash on me. Can you spot me the money for lunch?

Me: No problem, you just better put out real good later.

Fifteen minutes later...

Friend: Look! Look! I got cash, here's ten for lunch.

Me: You only owe me six.

Friend: ...yeah, keep the change.

Me: Did you hear? Ian Millar led the Canadian equestrian team to the silver. I think this was his tenth Olympics, and the first time he ever won anything.

Mom: Wow! He's still at it? You used to follow him when you were a kid. Maybe he's old enough for me. Wonder if he's single.

Me: He is. His wife died this year.

Mom: Oh.

Me: Go for it. Time it so he's in the stepfather-ish, "trying to impress the girlfriend's kids" phase around my birthday. Maybe then I'll finally get that pony I always wanted.

Fixed that little page of mine so it should look right in any resolution now.

I missed thinking about this stuff. Web page design and making and stuff is fun!

Pink

"It's a thin line between street performers and street walkers. 'Hey baby, I got something for your hat...RIGHT HERE.' That really didn't make any sense, but I stand by it. Which is why I'm not a pick-up artist."

"No, you're not. To pick up a mime you need something more along the lines of, 'Baby, you can get trapped in my box ANYTIME!'"

"....if I use that verbatim, are you going to charge me royalties?"

"I think if you ever use that, originality will not be your overarching concern."

"Touché."

I don't know why this is so funny.

But it is.

Some chap from some company selling office supply equipment came into my office while I was the only one on the floor. He handed me a flier, and started talking about the free evaluation service his company offered where they evaluated your equipment, your "work flows", audited your equipment, and made recommendations for improving productivity, blah blah blah bullshit. I stood and listened politely, but was unable to generate an enthusiastic clown-grin at the exciting prospect of having our one copier and one printer audited for efficiency in our office of three people. It would seem that Chap mistook my bare bone manners for ignorance, or perhaps stupidity. That in itself is not so bad...I really didn't care what this perky bloke thought of me, the details of the office equipment are not my job. He wasn't even terribly good-looking.

It was a mistake, however, to stop mid-sentence, smile indulgently at me and say, "I know, it's over your head," accompanied by that time-tested gesture of assholes, 'whooshing' his manicured metrosexual hand over his square head topped with its boring spiked haircut.

When he finished his spiel, I promised I would deliver the flier safely into the hands of the person who was responsible for the office equipment, and I'd make a whole bunch of Post-it notes to remind myself, lest the rat in the wheel that keeps my limbic system lit up should take a nap. He turned the corner and left, and I took great pleasure in loudly ripping the fancy little flier in half, and making a big clatter with the garbage can as I shoved it into its farthest depths.

Perhaps it was a little cruel of me to walk out to the reception desk afterwards, where I could see him still waiting for the elevator, and flash him a truly winning smile (my enthusiasm for the art mysteriously restored) as he turned a kind of patchwork red and white underneath his spray tan.

Perhaps it was a little cruel of me not to have told him that we just recently got a new copier, and had no plans for any more equipment upgrades anytime soon.

Perhaps he's learned it sometimes best not to try to relate to your customers on a personal level, and just give your pitch and go, if you happen to be socially incompetent.


Later: Just for added fun, when I went to get lunch today, already a little worked up from the morning, I get on the elevator to find myself facing another ride down with the two gentlemen for yesterday's adventures. Thanks, God.

I keep forgetting: who, if anyone, is coming to FanExpo with me this year? I know shayne_kraft is going to be there, any other takers?

You can stay at my house?
I'll love you forever?
I'll bake you cookies?

WOW! Who would have thought the Joker would turn out to be Batman's father?!

And the scene where Harvey Dent left Rachel to go do work as a Jonestown missionary among the indigenous tribes in the Swiss Alps? I cried, I really did.

But I think the most poignant moment was when Bruce Wayne hired himself to do a Strip-o-gram for Alfred's birthday. Definitely a contender for Best Onscreen Romance at the Oscars next year.

As for the other Oscar nominations:

Best Director: Christopher Nolan
Best Actor: Heath Ledger/Christian Bale/Morgan Freeman/Michael Caine/Gary Oldman/that other guy
Best Actress Reprising a Role Originally Played By Katie Holmes: Maggie Gyllenhaal (comes with a special honorary award from the Screen Actors Guild. Really, it took a lot of guts for Maggie to bring herself down to that level)
Best Special Effects: The Dark Knight
Best Onscreen Magic Trick: The Joker
Best Make-up: The Joker
Best Film: The Dark Knight
Best Everything Ever: The Dark Knight.

Downside: It was a little long.

Some days I like this job.

Days when people give me Godiva chocolate bars because "I've been so nice to them" are some of those days.

There's something to be said for a ready, clownish grin.

Later: Also, when people randomly give me pretty rings because they, "bought it in New York with the intention of eventually giving it away to the 'right' person", and because they, "wanted to thank me".

I think I might cry.

"Maybe Grannie got it at a garage sale?"

"I'm quite certain my mother never went to a garage sale in her life. She probably thought that a garage sale meant someone was selling their garage. And then she wouldn't have wanted it, because it was secondhand."

Have you ever loved somebody so much it makes me you cry?

Have you ever needed someone so bad you can't sleep at night?

Have you ever tried to find the words but they don't come out right?

Have you ever....have you ever....

Have you ever carried thirty-five sub sandwiches down Yonge St.?

Gets you some weird looks.

Have you ever had to transport thirty-five sub sandwiches out of an elevator in three trips?

Really ticks off everyone else in the elevator.

Have you ever hit on someone online, only to have it turn out that they work in the same building as you, and are part of a group that's renting the boardroom in your office everyday this week?

Yeah. Oops.