It's overrrrrrrrrrrrr!

Which means Coronation Street is back on tonight. That is all.

Just a little note to mark W.E.B Dubois' birthday today. Dubois was one of the first urban sociologists, the father of the pan-African movement, an early civil rights fighter, writer and poet. I highly recommend looking upThe Souls of Black Folk.

Cake as fuel = stalled engine

So, while chocolate cake as breakfast is a totally valid lifestyle choice, it doesn't exactly provide the best fuel for one's work day. I'm hitting the slump, wading through dense minerological explanations of the formation of the Parisian catacombs and am starting to feel as lively as the millenia old crustaceans I'm trying to describe and translate from the French text.

Windy

Well, last summer I cursed them through the window and stomped around yelling "God, why doesn't the City hire actual arborists to trim the trees instead of these chainsaw wielding maniacs"? but this morning, cozily tucked in bed with a purring beast on my stomach, I have to say that I had a little moment of appreciation for the tree butcherers. The wind was furiously whipping the branches in every direction, the kind of whipping that says "here's a branch through your window, just for laughs...all the best, love nature". Due to a team of highly paid and aesthetically warped city workers (with no seeming training beyond "here's how you start a chainsaw"), none of the branches obeyed (having been stripped off the trees within an inch of their lives) and I was able to stay in bed for an extra half hour. Would real arborists have also prevented branch-borne tragedy in these winds? Well, sure. But for today, I'm saying a little thank you to Bubba and Joe, the dudes with the love of machinery and the hatred of branches.

Cassis et autres divertissements

Things have running along smoothly for the last few days, despite piles of work to do in every direction I turn. To celebrate a week of constant production in the thesis realm, as well as to say thank you for writing a great letter of recommendation for a major fellowship that I am applying for, I took Red out to lunch at Cassis Bistro. This is a nice little place that is entering its second year, having had a successful first filled with local accolades. It's hip, nicely decorated and the food is pretty good, if a little pricey for lunch. There is a bit of a feeling of trying too hard to be posh, but judging by the fullness of the room, most people aren't noticing it.

I had the thin crust pizza with wild mushrooms, truffle and goats cheese which was pleasantly earthy and filling. Red had the prosciutto, caramelized onion and Raclette version of the dish. We also each had a glass of house wine. Mine, the white, seemed a bit insipid and weak for my tastes. I was also bemused to note that there is only one cassis based drink on the menu, which seems like a bit of a missed opportunity.

We looked over the desserts, and the flourless chocolate cake certainly looked tempting but at $9.50, cost more than a fancy drink, and more than most of the meals on the menu. The desserts here are good (particularly the tangy lemon torte), but come in tiny artistic portions and are way overpriced compared to most local restaurants (even the fancier places nearby). Another wee complaint would be that the lunch menu hasn't changed since the last time we were there in July. While there is something to be said for focusing on something and doing it well, some diversity to the line up would be nice. I think it's a little déclassé to offer "summer organic salad" in the dead of winter, but that's just me. Overall, lunch was great, but I suspect this had way more to do with having a sparkling companion and a good view of the cute chef. I think Cassis is best as a people watching spot, as it seems to attract a very handsome crowd.

Well, off to finish my translation work and put a few more miles behind me on the latest chapter.

As you may have guessed, my thoughts are slightly oriented towards the realm of travel right now. I thought I'd post a picture from my last trip to the continent, and since my stomach is growling, give a little snapshot of a memorable street food experience. The photo is of Rue Mouffetard, in the 5ième arrondissement. It was here I bought a copy of Fred Vargas' excellent Pars vite et reviens tard on T's recommendation. It was also here that I had my best crêpe experience while in Paris. Midway through a day of walking the Left Bank's literary trail, we started to find that our stomachs were growling. The Mouffetard farmer's market had drawn us all the way down the hill with promises of great selection but seemed to be having a rather anemic day. Nothing really appealed to us, and we wanted to try something different for a snack. During the climb back up the hill, we spotted a little place with an open window and a crêpe pan. A group of Macedonian men stood around, drinking, idly watching the footie game on the tv and giving their buddy, the crêpe maker, a hard time. Deciding that this looked promising, we leaned in to order our first crêpe salé. The guy working the pans, in between insults and vaguely lewd commentary from the peanut gallery, made us a crêpe stuffed with thick, tangy pieces of feta, sweet red peppers, onions and lettuce. It was exceedingly simple, but perfect for a snack in the hottest, laziest part of the day. I had a few more crêpes during my stay, but none were worth the bother, particularly the thoroughly regrettable jam-based monstrosity from a "ye olde breton crêpe"-type shack on tourist clogged Montmartre. And to think, I'll soon be just 14 hours away by train. Okay, back to work!

My new home, as of next year

Photo J. Skok

This just in: Willie Nelson awesome

Man, I love this guy. From boing boing

Willie Nelson unleashes gay cowboy downloads and biofuel

Just in time for Valentine's Day: Boing Boing pal and Texas-native-songwriter Ned Sublette shares news that Willie Nelson has recorded Ned's ode to Dorothy-befriended cowpokes, "Cowboys are Frequently Secretly." The song is available on iTunes, and a ringtone's on the way.

"There's going to be a Cowboys Are Frequently Secretly ringtone, and I'm told there is also a video, though I haven't seen it.," says Ned. "It was covered by the queercore group Pansy Division, who changed it from a waltz to 4/4. I tried to place it in Brokeback Mountain, but the word I got was that it was too funny for a tear-jerkin' movie."

Snip from lyrics:

"There's many a strange impulse out on the plains of West Texas
There's many a young boy who feels things he don't comprehend
Well, the small town don't like it when somebody falls between sexes
No, the small town don't like it when a cowboy has feelings for men.

Now I believe to my soul that inside every man there's the feminine
And inside every lady there's a deep manly voice loud and clear
Well the cowboy may brag about things that he does with his women
But the ones that brag loudest are the ones who are most likely queer".

The Dallas Morning News today quoted a prepared statement by Willie as saying, "The song's been in the closet for 20 years."

In related news, Nelson has launched "BioWillie," an eponymously-branded, clean-burning fuel made from soybeans.

BioWillie went on sale Wednesday at an alternative fuel station in San Diego where the 72-year-old singer filled his tour bus from a pump emblazoned with a picture of himself strumming a guitar.

Of work, drought, dreams and challenges

The wind is whipping the branches into a frenzy outside my office window but the sky is blue and the sun warm. Finally, finally, my chapter is in the hands of my advisor, and I can move on with my other work. I've got three interviews lined up for this week, one set of follow-ups to send out and a cartographic translation to finish. I've done the peer review of the interdisciplinary conference abstracts, participated in the cooperative development workshop, given the bedroom a right good cleaning, finished 10 units of Russian and helped a friend apply for a PhD program. I've also reconnected with the part of me that loves to read and write for hours, which I'm thankful for at this stage of my thesis work.

I've always had vivid dreams, and last night was no exception. The CBC piece about the drought in Northern Kenya worked its images of starving children and cattle so weak they couldn't stand into my sleeping mind. I had that awful dream feeling of having an idea how to stop the worst effects of the drought but not being able to put my ideas into motion. Images of food aid, in the form of grain (in a region which was once the breadbasket of Africa), pouring in to the area (which helps in the short term but can destroy the local economy in the longterm) while the underlying effects of climate change, desertification and access to water went ignored woke me up in a sweat*. The ideas my mind was turning over and over were along the lines of Wangari Maathai's Green Belt Movement, permaculture design for drought control, and worldwide action on climate change. Those are projects and ideas that will need a long time to come to fruition. In the interim, we can do something by contributing to organizations like GBM (follow the link above) and MSF (who are currently pulled out of Madera due to security issues, but maintain a treatment feeding clinic in the region). Something else that is important, is to try and reduce one's ecological footprint and the amount one contributes to climate change. Can you tell that I'm in a "do-something" mood?

So, here's a two-part challenge if you read this, to be started on Valentines Day: 1) donate time or money to an organization working to give people improved access to health care, nutritious food, clean water or the means to reduce environmental devastation in their region. 2) figure out your footprint, and your emissions, and choose at least one way you will try to reduce these. Feel free to leave a comment if you want to join the challenge. I think it's a nice way to send a valentine to the planet and our fellow human beings, flowers be damned!

*Anon. points out that this can be an excuse for inaction by world organizations and governments when there are very real and immediate needs for aid to stop starvation. Definitely, anything that lets our governments stand by and waffle while an area goes critical isn't a good thing, but the way a lot of aid is done also needs to be rethought since it often means dumping of surplus in order to help one's own economy at the expense of others. In any case, aid is a big bloody complex issue which is beyond any explanation or even coherent argument here, so maybe, check out some books on it that say things better than I can. Both of these are very good, and should be available at your local cooperative bookstore. Hugs to anon. for the work she does with MSF and for just being her!

On the road again

Finishing up out-of-town business, long work days and endless meetings in dairy-farm country. Jumping on the greyhound in less than an hour. Will stop talking like this soon, promise.

Short shorts

This past week has been crazy busy, and yet nothing feels like it has gotten done (how's that for passive voice?). It's sunny and gorgeous and I'm off to hole up in a Main street cafe with a borrowed laptop. I will emerge with a completed chapter.

Sunday

Finally, feeling better, though I've got a bit of a (sexy) raspy voice and smoker's cough (at least, that's what it sounds like). I'm back to work, after a few days out of the city and then another spent administering the LSAT. The test work was easy, like being a TA without the teaching and responsibilities, if a little boring. Managed to get to campus for 7am on Saturday, which meant taking the bus at 6am. Despite the early hour, and the 90kmph winds (I really did think an errant branch might take me out while walking to the bus stop), I have to say: I love taking the bus really early in the morning. There's a cool solidarity about it, since everyone is on their way to work (not office jobs, though), or coming off the night shift. People say hello, and smile when someone else yawns.

The rest of Saturday was spent lounging around, drinking tea and watching the BBC show "Spooks" about MI5 agents. It's a good (though, not great) series, quite entertaining to watch, especially if you are a big Brit-tv dork like I am. Some of the pacing and dramatic dialogue is a bit off, giving the impression that it was written by a young or less polished writer. The weak points don't hamper enjoyment too much though, so I've been watching season 1 in its entirety. To my great delight, an old favourite pops up in the fourth episode. Season 1, ep4 is about anti-Bush demonstrators and features one Anthony Stewart Head (and Hugh Laurie! it's almost too much), looking ravishing as usual. He's an old spy in love with a young "anarcho" (*giggles*), and it's definitely worth a download.

Today, back to work. Then enjoy some sun (finally!) and join la famille urbaine for a round of Sunday dinner and Buffy, season 2.

On mysterious orange cats, the flu and a stalled chapter

The onset was a tickle in one of my tonsils. Hmm, I thought to myself, that's unpleasant. I blamed an errant shard of tortilla chip and kept on with my day. Within hours, I was a snivelling, whining mess. But this time, with a flu! Or maybe it's a cold, I can never remember which is which, no matter how many times I see that ad with all the children singing a jingle about not medicating colds/flus with antibiotics. I know about washing my hands, already, stop singing! Anyways... Despite all the handwashing (and I'm frickin religious about it), I've got something. I blame public transit.

I'm in the process of editing my chapter, and the going is slow. Well, to be accurate, it's stalled. It's spinning its wheels and mud is flying everywhere. I've resolved to edit 5 pages a day and push my deadline back to Sunday evening. I figure my throbbing throat, achey back and sinus unpleasantness buy me a pass until this weekend.

Over lunch I was watching a comforting episode of Buffy, only to be interrupted by the insurance corporation calling to get a statement about the accident I witnessed. Apparently it's my lot in life to be a witness. Actually, I'm okay with that cuz I've got a pretty kick ass photographic memory and like to talk about random things with strangers. Side note to the driver of the grey car who tried to dash across 6 lanes of rush hour traffic against a red light: you might want to get the chequebook out, honey.

While I went over the details of the witnessed crash, A. investigated a noise he'd heard in the other room. When I hung up, he called me over and urged me to get down to the Beast's eye level. I found myself looking at nothing. "Um, hang on a sec, there was an orange cat in here a minute ago", he said. The neighbour cat, whom we call Cheese, had apparently snuck in the house when A. came back from the corner store. We didn't notice until Beast had backed him into a corner in my room. A. had grabbed the Beast and locked him up so we wouldn't have a fight on our hands, but now Cheese was missing. I'd have been tempted to leave Cheese alone until he decided to come out of his hiding place, but he's a pee-er. He's been marking our door on a daily basis, and I wasn't about to let him have free reign over my room. So we searched every nook and cranny, and then expanded the search to the rest of the house. No Cheese. What the hell?

All of a sudden, a low growl resonated through my room. Then another. We followed the angry-Wookie noise and it led us to my dresser. Apparently, Cheese had climbed in an open drawer and lodged himself in the back of the dresser. And really, really didn't want to come out. There was a lot of growling, some scratching, some hissing and the ever present threat of urination, but we managed to get him out of there, using the old "sweater wrapped over the hand" trick. Then he took up position behind the door, cursing us out for daring to dislodge him from his tactical vantage point. Luckily, he was afraid of the door, so pretending to close it on him made him run out of the room. Then it was merely a matter of using the sweater to herd him down the hall, down the stairs, out from behind the bike storage area and out the door, hissing and attacking the sweater all the way. The Beast placidly watched all this from the vantage point of my arms, a subtle tail flick the only indication of interest in the proceedings. I attribute the sense of calm to an overwhelming confidence that he is, indeed, Mr. Dominant in the household. The leader of the failed orange revolution slunk off the porch, pausing only to pee defiantly on the doorframe. Coup d'etat denied.