i've got soul, but i'm not a soldier...nope, just an asshole

Ok I'll admit it. I like The Killers. The music, that is. I have the cd, and when they play 'Mr. Brightside' at Lee's Palace in Toronto, I feel compelled to jump up and down. I'm a fan of that whole revisited new wave style. What I'm not a fan of is Brandon Flowers going all Gallagher Bros. on everyone now that they've sold a few records. Today the band was on Much on Demand (which I watched because I have no life) and they were really rude during their interview plus they were jerks about answering questions that their fans had for them. The way I look at it, they've only got two singles and their album is barely a year old...thus the whole diva behaviour that Nick loves so much is somewhat premature at this point. They don't seem to show any signs of stopping either, as they've been taking the opportunity to publicly take shots at other bands in their genre, specifically The Bravery. Brandon slagged them in an interview recently by saying "They're signed because we're a band".

Excuse moi? High and mighty much?

It's prompted me to write the following open letter:

Dear Brandon Flowers,

Before you talk shit about how your holy existance is the sole reason for every other band with a keyboard, you should remember the fact that your band wouldn't be signed were it not for The Smiths, Joy Division, New Order, Interpol, The Strokes, Franz Ferdinand and this funny little movement in the 80's called New Wave. Your snooty, nose-in-the-air attitude is making other natives of Las Vegas look bad. (That's for you, Underhill)

P.S, Eyeliner doesn't make you look ironic, just weird and girly.

Sincerely yours for time immemorial,

Diadima


note the use of a single 'k'

We're, like, twins!

I've been such a lazy asshole about blogging lately. I used to be all about it and then I got a job and was forced to surrender the hazy, radiating glow of my monitor for an apron and a couple of jugs (of beer, that is).

That, and every spare second has me watching season four of Buffy on DVD. It is my opinion that season four is where things all started to go downhill. No matter which way you look at it, Riley just doesn't compare to Angel (Who obviously was my sole reason for watching the show).

In other news, a Canadian girl (no, not me) won the Miss Universe contest in Bangkok yesterday. Natalie Glebova beat out Miss Puerto Rico and took home the crown and sceptre, along with random ass grabbings from pagent security.

And now, like, all morning long, people have been, like, asking me if I'm, like, that girl who won the Miss Universe Pagent, cuz, like, we totally look like sisters, psha![insert insipid giggling and snorting].


It's uncanny!

Beer bad

So this job at the art gallery was wicked easy. A lot of the time we just stood around making fun of the ridiculous attire donned by our exorbidantly wealthy patrons. For anyone who has been around the catering business before, you know that it is customary for the employees to get drunk as shit at the end of the night. Lucky for me, I'm pretty good at remaining subtle while intoxicated, so as far as I know, I didn't make a total ass of myself. I did, however, see a good number of my co-workers getting jiggy on the dance floor with their ties on their heads.

Oh yeah, this is a picture of me from last night.

am I the only one who feels lost?

into the mystic

Yeah yeah, so I haven't blogged in five days. Whoopedy-doo. Don't you people have lives?

Yeah, me neither.

Anyway, I've got a gig tomorrow afternoon at the Art Gallery of Hamilton that I'm kind of excited about. Anyone familiar with the area is aware that the AGH has recently undergone major rennovations inside as well as complete re-facing. Tomorrow, the gallery is hosting a huge gala event for the grand opening. Why am I excited? Is it because some of my pieces will be included?

Na, I'm one of the 60 waitresses with the catering company.

I went to a meeting at the gallery last night where they basically told us that they've hired more servers than they need because it'll look really good if they have a lot of people around. The tickets for the gala are around $1500 per person, so they want everyone to feel like they're being very well attended to. So we're getting paid (very well) to mostly stand around and look good.

It just so happens that's my stock in trade.

clutch it like a cornerstone, otherwise it all comes down

What a piece of shit day.

After a wonderful morning of miscommunication and whatnot at work, I decided to take my millions that I've piled up over the last week and a half of waitressing and hit the malls. I started downtown, got a few tank tops, then I decided to head uptown to Limeridge. When I got off of the bus, I was feeling a little parched so I went to A&W to buy some delicious root beer. It wasn't until I went to pay that I discovered I had lost my wallet.

Where's the worst place to lose your wallet? In Toronto, it's most definitely the subway, due to all of the thieving bastards who frequent the lines. In Hamilton (due to a lack of subway), it's the bus, due to all of the thieving bastards who frequent it. Where did I lose my wallet today? Oh, that would be the bus of course.

I love how you never lose your wallet when you have no fucking money. It's only when you've just been paid and have everything gathered together for a shopping spree that this sort of shit happens. Out of sheer desperation and faint hope, I phoned the Transit Commision to see if anyone had turned it into the driver of the bus. Surprise, surprise, it was no where to be found. They took my phone number and promised to call if anyone turns it in. Which they won't. Because people suck.

Anyway, before someone else points it out, I'll admit that it's totally my fault for leaving it on the bus like a moron...

But come on. There's a difference between finding a twenty on the street and playing finders keepers with it and finding a wallet with someone's driver's lisence (i.e, contact information) and pictures of cute nieces and nephews. Common decency would denote returning the wallet to the poor, desperate idiot; perhaps with the advice that they put things back into their purses when travelling on public transit.

Ah well.

People suck. Just in case you missed it earlier.

As we say in Quebec, Bonne fête bébé

I normally bear a certain disdain for me-mail, but seeing as today is Loz's birthday, I will play along for celebratory reasons. (Also I am a giant ego maniac and secretly adore talking about myself)

Three names I go by:
1. Adria
2. Dia
3. Mistress (maybe I made that up...maybe I didn't)

Three screen names that I have had:
1. diadima
2. bellina
3. diabella

Three things I like about myself:
1. I speak four languages
2. I can cook
3. I don't pretend to like people that I actually loathe

Three things I don't like about myself:
1. I procrastinate
2. I am inable to admit when I'm wrong/apologize
3. I sometimes lie about trivial things

Three parts of my heritage:
1. Italian
2. French
3. Canadian (hey, My family has been here for a solid 45 years, this counts!)

Three things that scare me:
1. Snakes
2. Poets (see above)
3. Tiny elevators that smell like curry and cheese

Three of my everyday essentials:
1. Coffee
2. Music
3. Shower

Three things I am wearing right now:
1. Team Italia tank top
2. White pants
3. Socks

Three of my fave bands or musical artists:
1. Matthew Good
2. Tori Amos
3. Maynard James Keenan

Three of my fave songs:
1. "Blue Skies Over Badlands" Matthew Good
2. "Northern Lad" Tori Amos
3. "Nautical Disaster" The Tragically Hip

Three new things I want to try in the next 12 months:
1. Learn to play the guitar that I bought off of Ebay two years ago
2. Unpack all of the boxes my my recent move (a month ago)
3. Choose a major and stick with it this time

Three things I want in a relationship:
1. Honesty
2. Chemistry
3. Leather

Two truths and a lie:
1. I once ran my sister over with a small tractor
2. I had a hard time thinking of two truths
3. George Bush is my hero

Three physical things that attract me to the opposite sex:
1. hands
2. mouth
3. secret tattoos

Three things I can't do without:
1. Coffee
2. Family
3. Sleep

Three of my fave hobbies:
1. Blogging
2. Writing
3. Photography

Three places I want to go on vacation:
1. Australia
2. Italy
3. Cambodia

Three things I just can't do:
1. Dishes (substitute can't with won't and bingo!)
2. Look cool when rollerblading
3. Write legibly

Three kids' names: (hypothetically speaking)
1. Isabella
2. Aidan
3. Avery

Three things I want to do before I die:
1. Get published
2. Work for Amnesty
3. Live a non-medicated life

Three celeb crushes:
1. David Boreanaz
2. John Cussack
3. Monica Belluci

The Belinda Show

I'm such a bi-polar blogger. One minute I'm all, 'ooh, can't wait to blog about my exciting, fun-filled life' and then the next I'm all, 'ooh, can't wait to suffocate myself in a pillow'.

Just Kidding.

Not really.

Actually, it's tricky. But I won't get into it.

*On a side note:

Today everywhere I turned, all I saw were headlines and newsbytes regarding Belinda Stronach leaving the Conservative Party (of which she recently campaigned to be the leader) and joining the Liberal Party. Of course, the media is focusing more on the fact that her jerk-off conservative big shot boy toy dumped her over it. Attention Canadian Media: No one gives a fuck that some rich bitch politician got her own ass served to her. Let it go.

Angelus

what is it about him?

This Karma Machine only takes quarters...

Analysis.

It's one of my favourite things. It's something I do a lot. Too much, maybe. They say that goldfish have a memory span of only three seconds.
If that's true, then why do they swim to the top of the tank at feeding time?
If that's true, then I'm envious. If I had a memory span of only three seconds, nothing would ever sit on my mind long enough to be analyzed. If I had a memory span of only three seconds, then no words, no thought would ever hurt me. In the time that it would take for words to be spoken, to travel through my ears and then register thereafter...they would be forgotten.

Here
and then gone again.
Near
but so far off in it.

I'm sensitive, I guess. I used to be insensitive- to other people, to whomever, I didn't care- because I was insensitive. The person you are, the person you were, it couldn't have mattered less. You couldn't have mattered less. And that was that.

Until...

Sensitivity has tied me into knots. I've found the whole thing mystifying. I can't explain it. I feel a tension in my chest that stretches accross that plain of muscle just beneath my skin. Tonight, you're so close that I can feel you. Miles away, yet every time you sigh, the curtains in my window sway, trapped in your breeze. Miles away, yet the steady drum of your heartbeat shakes the pictures from my walls.

Wait...

I've been here before, I've seen this movie before. Same story, same characters, new actors, but this is the same fucking movie. I'm like a goldfish. I keep swimming to the top of the tank with this eerie feeling of deja-vu. I feel like something is pulling me there, but I can't quite remember. Not that I'll do anything about it. Not that it changes anything.

That's my style. Do nothing. Non-reactionary.

Me, I like to just sit and soak in my sadness until I'm sad through and through. Until you're finished being someone else for now. Until you're finished slipping away into oblivion. Then you reel yourself back into my boat, back onto my earth, the earth from which you sprang, where I absorb you and your every feeling into my chest. Here in my boat...we're sugar-free.

Fast forward...

You. You're just a lyric now. So barely there, so tenuous is your place in my mind that you're just barely swimming along the shores in my memory now. But what can I say? What can I explain? What possible analysis is there at this point? We'll save it for our next life, next time, when we're both goldfish.

Man.

I liked me better when I was insensitive.

A deer in your headlights, so gun it

It's been suggested that I post some poetry. Suggestion noted.

Into The Pavement
a long night of nothing
no thoughts to think on
no actions to act on
and all of my inhabitions
crash into the pavement
slip in between the cracks
where they take shape as seeds
and grow like weeds
in search of the sun
in search of the one
who could bring me back
again

Jerk in the Works
tonight it's the in-betweens
the closet cases and demi-tweens
caught by the transcendence
and decadence
of a life's worth of indecision
and always wondering... but how?
so if i'm branded now...
well, you're not the first to say
not the first to show
and i'm not the first to grow
out of apathy
or any other antithetical stakes
that you might claim
that you might shackle
to my name
it's these moments of
sheer insanity
sheer complacency
that leave me unseen
the lie that wraps you
in a cement dream
stay safe and ignorant
safe and clean



Head Full of Water
head full of water
like my head full of water
i only care about what's brand new
but that's me
all skin
and skin deep
used to be time was crucial
but now i could just sleep
for twenty one out of twenty four
if i thought i could get away with it
like so many other things
i just lie
lie like its the end of the world
and all that's at stake
isn't my integrity
it's yours
and my head full of water
like a head full of water
i only care about
whats in your pockets
but that's just me
all skin
and skin deep
used to be faith was crucial
but not for pagans like me
not for bastards like me
and now they're one in five
by your nineteenth birthday
like so many other things
it's not me praying
it's just me hearing
what i want to
through a head full of water
like a head full of water
i only care about your next one
but that's me
all skinned
and skin deep

Sum of the Parts
tell me it's time
to abandon the familiar feel
of internal organs
put delicious metaphors
in place of them
a sticky sweet concert
of eclectic geometry
better to bleed blood
than words
better to seem aesthetic
than honest
and then eventually
we just eat each other

G Spot rocks the G Spot

Exciting news is a-brewing. While perusing Matthew Good's site today I noticed that he's coming to a city near me (St. Catharines, Ontario) in a mere two months time to play a show at Arizona's. Mere words do not fully express my excitement as I was working the last time he was in Toronto and missed the White Light Rock and Roll Review tour entirely.

For those of you unfamiliar with MG, he is a Vancouver-based solo artist (and former frontman of the Matthew Good Band), political activist, blogger and champion of human rights. Click here to experience musical genius.

For those of you who know all about him and are totally bored by the above synopsis, I expect to see you all at the show in two months. Smart asses.

Something else that's worth a listen.

Another time, another place, another face, still me

Today I was walking up Hunter St and I saw an apartment for rent sign in the window. I guess my eye is sort of trained to notice them lately because of the whole moving thing last month. The sign was for a bachelor apartment on the first floor of a house. For some reason every time I see a sign for a bachelor apartment I immediately begin to fantasize about living a secret life. I would still have this life, but in my spare time I would have a second life where I work at another part-time job, where I have a different name and different friends and I would keep a little bachelor apartment that was sparsely but tastefully furnished. The apartment is key; although I would probably never sleep there, but I could have people over for coffee and use the emptiness to produce better art and writing. Bachelor apartments down here are usually between $400 and $450 so it’s entirely doable. It’s that whole idea of having your own secret space that no one knows about. I completely understand why people used to build secret rooms in their houses. It’s weird how I’ve obviously thought about it to an extensive degree. It’s not that I’m unhappy with the life that I’m living right now, it’s just that I want to see if I could get away with it. I want to find out if I could put this over on everyone. There have been so many times that I’ve said to myself “I wish I could just start over…”

Then I see a sign that tells me how for $400 a month, I could.

I am a scavenger between the sheets of union

So last night I worked my first closing shift at West Town. I was on the non-smoking side and it was boring as shit, but I did surprisingly ok money-wise. Tomorrow I get my first paycheck (on a wednesday, I know, strange) and I'm already thinking of ways to spend every last cent of it. Of course, there are things like groceries, utilities, outstanding tuition fees (anyone else notice that all of those words rhyme?)...

But I say bump that! I'm thinking more along the lines of shoes, jaunty scarves and junk food. Hells yeah.

In other news, the apartment is starting to come together nicely. On the weekend, Mark and I hung up most of the art so it has more of a homey feel going on now. We also finally found the speaker wires (in the same box as the cookie cutters and small kitchen appliances, figure that one out) which means I can now listen to Take You on a Cruise at outrageous volumes. Of course, that's just until 7pm when my neighbour accross the hall turns his hearing aid on to watch Wheel of Fortune.

Mark and I are thinking of going to see a movie tonight. Any suggestions?


'Two Faces' A. Di Maggio 2004

I had a dream last night, and it fit me like a glove

Holy shit I haven't blogged in three days. It's almost like I grew a life over the weekend (except that I didn't). Actually, I hosted a little family dinner yesterday where I expressed my goddess-like kitchen prowess with breaded chicken breast, roasted potatoes and honey carrots. Also, Mark brought a bottle of wine for everyone to have with dinner, but somehow I ended up drinking it all myself and spending the rest of the evening trying to look sober in front of his mom.

After everyone left, I made like the classy bitch that I am and passed out on the futon. Of course, I woke up around 11 which left lots of time for Mark and I to watch that episode of Buffy where Faith accidentally stakes a human and pretends to be all upset but it turns out she doesn't really care. She's so bad-ass.

So it might have been the booze, it might have been the Buffy, it might have been neither of those things, but I had a crazy dream last night and despite my drunken state, I managed to write it down:

It's summertime and really hot and so I decide to go for a walk. When I get outside, I see that it's snowing (even though it still feels hot). I'm standing in front of my apartment building and there's not a single person or car in sight. I head toward the crosswalk and I see a 1930's Ford roadster (pale yellow with burgundy accents) driving through the snow with the top still down. He's swerving all over the road because it's covered in slush and his car has those shitty thin tires. He crashes into a fruit stand (or something) and hits a van which begins to skid in the opposite direction somehow (towards me) but it turns out I'm on the other side of the street so I just watch it pass in front of me, hitting some other cars and objects I'm not sure of. All of a sudden, there are hundreds of people milling around - some taking pictures, some cops, some EMS and some just rubbernecking. Then a man appears and he hands me two plastic picture frames that are marked as evidence with times and dates on them. He says to me, "These are your cards" and I have no idea what that means. I look closely at the frames and I see a note that says "Can you tell us what happened" and I realize that I'm supposed to take them to the police and give a statement. But when I look at the frames again, and hidden like a 3-D image are photos of the accident. Only they're just a little different than how I remember things taking place. When I look at the photos again, I begin to think that they are right and that what I saw was incorrect. Then I wonder for a minute why they need my statement if they already have pictures of what supposedly happened. I can't find the guy who gave the "cards" to me so I decide to go to the police and give them my statement but then I just put the "cards" in my pocket and go home instead.

Man, I have to try and curb my sunday drinking from now on.

Public Service Announcement

This post is for Mister Underhill...

What I'm into right now.

For your listening pleasure:

The Arcade Fire

For your viewing pleasure:

The Corporation

For your reading pleasure:

Shopgirl

Who said vegan food had to taste like crap (oh wait...that was me)

I came across something while perusing the Goodness Me! Organic Whole Foods store today and I feel that it is imperative that I share it with everyone immediately.

For most of my demi-vegetarian life, I've been on the fence about vegan cuisine. I don't particularly enjoy soy, I have serious texture issues with tofu and nayonaise makes me gagonaise. What I have learned recently, however, is that not all certified vegan food has to taste like dirt. In fact, I picked up a bag of Mrs. Mays Organic Crunch today and I have to admit that it's delicious. What I was most excited about was that I knew that this was an organic, vegan delight in which Mark might actually partake (as he is a man who shuns all things natural and/or healthy). But then things went terribly wrong.

I poured some into a bowl and sat down to write my earlier weather post while snacking away. Though it may not seem like it, I do put some time and effort into writing these posts and so before long, I had to refill the bowl. Of course, since I hadn't eaten since breakfast, I was a little hungry, so I had just a little bit more. I'm sure you can guess what happened from there...

Meh, Mark can get on board the organic train some other day.

Mrs Mays.
Buy it.
Eat it.
Love it.

Hide the bag.


Yum

With cold weather comes nostalgia

It's especially cold out today at an unwavering 9 degrees celsius (that's barely 50 for all my yankee friends). That's certainly not going to coax the May flowers out of the ground. Out of all of the sterotypes than most people associate with Canada, the cold weather is the one that's closest to the truth (that's excluding Vancouver, of course,which is off in its own little westcoast world where the temperature rarely drops below freezing in midwinter). I've lived in Toronto for the past few years and it gets pretty damn cold here. In fact, a couple of years ago, the city was hit with almost 30 inches overnight. Threre weren't enough snow removal vehicles, so the city had to call in the military to haul the snow out. I thought that was pretty hilarious at the time. They rolled into town decked out in snowshoes in their general purpose vehicles (that's right kiddies, the same ones we used in WWII- no expenses spared). A lot of other Canadian cities made fun of us for bringing in the troops, but come on...let's not kid ourselves...it's not like they were terribly busy or anything. I mean, sure, they were a little put off about having to leave their Euchre games for a half a day, but they were home in time to watch CBC's The National whilst sipping Tim Horton's Hot Chocolate. No harm, no foul.

I love this country.


Relax, I'm pretty sure that's just a back scratcher he's holding.

The Anti-Corporate Unbrand: What the hell does that mean??

Man, I remember back in the day when I used to be all about Adbusters. I subscribed, I read, I learned, I absorbed. As it turns out, there's a lot negative bullshit that goes along with being militantly anti-corporate and I'm sick of Adbusters making me feel like a sell-out every time I want to buy a bag of chips. I believe in activism, but the oddities that come out of the woodwork every November 24th (Adbusters' International Buy Nothing Day) and picket outside of the Eaton Centre in Toronto really aren't furthering the cause so much as terrifying small children. Any supposedly liberal publication that takes itself that seriously truly is missing the point of what it means to be liberal.

So while I was traversing the world wide web today, I came accross an Adbusters related link that was discussing the Blackspot V2 Shoe. What is this, you ask? Well, it turns out that the head honchos at Adbusters have decided to get a piece of the antipreneurial pie and start manufacturing a shoe of their own. It's no secret to most of the literate world that Nike is one of the granddaddy's of corporate big whiggery and as such, they take the brunt of Adbusters' wrath (and I concede that they greatly deserve it). So Adbusters has launched this sneaker which is made from 100% all natural hemp and recyled tires for the soles. It sells for $125 Canadian and they're calling it the "un-brand".

Come on.

Whether you call it anti-corporate, antipreneurial or what; an "un-brand" is still a brand. You're still selling a product and thus adding one more item of merchandise to a world that your publication claims is riddled with product saturation.


Whatever

Latest and Greatest

So yesterday I had three times more hits than I ever have had before. Thanks to NAM for boosting my hits yesterday with his Vampire Slayer Post (Now everyone knows!)

In other news, it just occured to me that I posted five times yesterday and that people are going to start getting the idea that I'm some crazed recluse who just sits at her computer hitting the refresh button in the faint hope that people will post comments and validate her existance. Whew, and since I'd like to avoid realizing those suspicions, no matter what happens today, it is imperative that I leave my apartment at least ONCE.

Also, some of you may have noticed that I have added a Make Poverty History white ribbon in the top right corner. This is a cause that I strongly believe in and if it is something that you believe in as well, then please click on the ribbon to visit the website. There, you can add your name to the petition to end poverty as well as obtain the code to add the white ribbon to your blog. Also, you can order white ribbon wrist bands online to advertise your support (they are CAN$1.50 and all of the money goes to support the cause).

For those of you living in the Hamilton Area, check out Goodness Me!, it's a natural food store that just opened up a new location downtown on Locke Street. They have an excellent selection of natural, organic and vegan foods. Plus, they also carry an extensive array of natural soaps, lotions, and shampoos. Also, I found everything to be pretty fairly priced as far as Organic and Whole foods go.

That's the update...stay tuned for more fun and fivolous posts to follow.

They will see us waving from such great heights...

I realize that if I blog one more time today it qualifies as insanity with some obsessive behaviour thrown in, but I swear to you that this one is worth it. I was just reading Zach Braff's blog (we're everywhere!) and I felt prompted to post my unwavering advocacy of this brilliant and cinematically beautiful film. I first saw it in the threatre with Nicole last fall and now that it's out on DVD, I feel a renewed sense of the pure happy that I experienced all those months ago.

If you're not sure if this movie is for you, first give your head a shake, and if that doesn't work, you can view the trailer by clicking here


watch it, learn it, live it, love it

Featured Blog: POSTSECRET

This week's featured blog is POSTSECRET. Readers send in their homemade postcards with their secrets written on them and they are posted into the blog. It's really a fascinating web log that can have you captivated for hours as you pour through the deepest, darkest, and most annonymous confessions of people.

Click here to view Postsecret.

Nam The Vampire Slayer

Anyone who reads this blog regularly is probably aware of a young lad named Nam who regularly posts comments here. (Hint, hint: perhaps the rest of you drive-by-reading-a-holes could take a page out of his comment-posting book and give me a little feedback once in a while).

Those of you who have noticed the aforementioned may have also noticed that Nam hails from Sunnyvale, California (although he has confessed that he sometimes lies about being a Canadian when asked about his nationality).

That's right. SunnyVale, California.

Sounds familiar right?

Sounds a lot like SunnyDale, California, doesn't it?

And what about his name, Nam? Sounds a lot like Vam doesn't it? As in, VAMpire.

Well, it didn't take long for me to put two and two together as I'm sure most of you have by now. It's obvious that there is no Sunnyvale, California. It's even more obvious that Nam is really from Sunnydale, California. And it's more obviously still that there is no Nam LaMore but that in fact, his real name is Nam the Vampire Slayer!! (dun, dun, dunnnnnn)

I know, I know, it's shocking, yet undeniably conclusive*.


Your secret is safe with me, Nam

* It is entirely possible that the above statements are completely untrue , non-sensical ramblings brought on by a six-hour Buffy Marathon and too many Red Bulls

Happy Birthday Halo Vic

Today Victoria Smith, artiste/friend/model of choice/race car driver extrordinaire, is one year wiser as she is turning 22.

However, mass celebration, widespread jubilation and general wackiness in honour of this momentous occasion will have to be postponed as she is jetsetting in Europe at the moment.

And so this will have to suffice:

From all of me to all of you, Happy Birthday Little Miss Muck.

Hey Megalomanic, you're no Jesus, you're no fucking Elvis

Step aside, sponsership scandal, there's a new ruination a-brewing. Although with this one, Prime Minister Paul Martin can breathe a sigh of relief because, for once, it's not his head on the guillotine.

Not that it's making much of a difference, but the recent UK Iraq memo has let loose a landslide of damning information regarding President Bush's longstanding plans to invade Iraq. It seems that he had made the decision in the summer of 2002 and "the intelligence and facts were being fixed around" to support said decision.

You'd think that such volatility would be enough to make at least a few heads roll. However, it seems that the 'impartial' (even in quotations, I use the term loosely) media conglomerates in the US are making damn sure that nary a scrap of detail pertaining to the memo hits the news, or if it does, that it's significantly downplayed. It's a sad day when explosive information regarding an American President's plans to betray his own people makes a bigger splash in Canadian news than on his native soil.

It just kills me that in Canada, if the PM so much as expenses a Starbucks coffee, we're all over it like a fat kid on a Smartie. And yet, when our neighbours to the South come to find out that they were lied to in order to facillitate a war based on economic gain,leading to the death of some 1,600 of their fellow Americans, barely a ripple is made in the river of George Bush's supporters.

This world is a crazy tea party and I feel like the mad hatter every time.

Read this on an empty stomach.


Pope George Bush the Infallible

I'd be more apathetic if I wasn't so lethargic...

Oh how things constantly evolve in my life.

Last week, I was all about just working on my ass-groove in the couch. Now things are more complicated.

Let's just put it this way...I've been playing Burnout 2 on PS2 for about two hours straight and I have neither the ability nor the inclination to stop.

23 Takedowns in the Road Rage event and I think I know now what heroin junkies have been talking about all these years.


Not an addict

So what do I do with all of my shoes now?

So I have two shifts under my belt at West Town as of yesterday. Aside from all of the bitch work that comes with training shifts (i.e. bussing tables and filling ketchup bottles) things seem to be going quite well.

In other news, Mark hosted his first B & B (Beer and Barbecue) Extravaganza yesterday. Basically, it involved Dan coming over at 10 in the morning and the two of them playing PS2 and drinking Kieth's all day. Needless to say, they were both drunk out of their gourds when I got home from work at 2 in the afternoon. Can you say entertaining? So I made bacon-wrapped baked potatoes stuffed with green onion, corn on the cob, sauteed mushrooms, and seasoned steak with homemade barbecue sauce. Then for desert, I made individual chocolate cakes with strawberry cream filling. The verdict: B&B #1 was a success.

On a side note, I spent roughly four hours in the kitchen yesterday and I totally thought it was fun... what does all this happy, domestic behaviour mean, I wonder?

My mom is rad

Today is Mother's Day and as such, I am going to take a moment to honour my mom in the bloggy sense.

Here are some fun facts about my mom:

Name: Rosanna Di Maggio
Age: well...it's mother's day so I guess I'll give her a break

- Raised two children as a single mom
- Worked two jobs, sixteen hours a day, six days a week to keep my sister and I in underoos.
- Took my sister and I to the beach almost every sunday in the summer
- Let me have ice cream for breakfast one time when I stayed home from school because I was sick
- Tried really hard not to laugh when I accidentally hooked my sister in the face with a fish hook when we were fishing one time
- Tried really hard not to laugh when I threw up my Spaghetti-O's after I begged her to let me get them even though she said that they were really gross and would probably make me sick
- Never ever let me meet any of her boyfriends (all two of them) until she met my step-dad when I was eleven
- Sprained her ankle while helping me move once and didn't get mad
- Has donated several tens of thousand of dollars to the 'Adria is a jobless bum' fund over the years.
- Brought me chicken soup and cold medication through the drive-thru when I worked at Tim Horton's in my freshman year of University

- Told me at least a million times that no matter what, she'll love me for the rest of her life.

Just when I thought it was going to be No Frills from here on in...

The Grocery Store Status Line.

I guess everyone has their own idea of what makes a status symbol. For some of us it’s cars and houses, for others it’s bling and loose women. For me, it’s the grocery store. When I have money, I shop at Fortinos. For those of you who live outside of Southern Ontario, Fortinos is basically the Cadillac of all grocery stores. At Fortinos, in every little section of the store, the employees wear different outfits. There’s the coffee house workers, the sushi chefs, the bakers, the seafood guys, you get the idea. Plus, they’re always located in really good areas with lots of nice cars in the parking lot. Adversely, when I don’t have money, I start slumming around the wrong side of the tracks at No Frills where they don’t unload the products off of the skids, nor do they clean up the pee in the aisles and you have you pay a $0.25 deposit to use a buggy. I guess the name of the joint is a dead giveaway, but come on…are pee-free aisles really a frill?

So, at the end of the month, Mark and I sit down at the kitchen table and look over the bills. Then we put them all into a hat and pull out the ones we’re going to pay at random. Sure, it sounds like fun, until someone has to go shop at No Frills because Mark pulled out the expensive bills. Anyway, after playing that game for two months, I decided that if I ever wanted to see the shiny, waxed floors of a Fortinos Grocery Store again, then it was time to get aggressive about this job-hunting business. So this morning, I phoned up all of the places to which I’ve submitted resumes recently. I find that this technique of ambush calling works quite well. If you catch the managers off guard, sometimes they’re so surprised by your initiative that they tell you they just so happen to have your resume right in front of them and that they were planning on calling you just before you called them. Lucky for me, that’s how it went down for me on my first call this morning. I phoned up West Town on Locke Street (which you may remember from earlier job-seeking posts) and managed to finally get an interview with Brandon.

When I got back from the interview, I made only one phone call.

“Hi Mark, it’s me. I got the job. Put on your fancy pants, we’re going to Fortinos”

The Taj Mahal

I bet those Trekkies aren't nearly so coy with THEIR holidays...

So I heard on the radio that today is International Luke Skywalker Day. Why today? Well, because it's May the 4th. Why that day? Well it's not because Cinco de Mayo was taken (that was my first guess too).

May the 4th...be with you. Just say it out loud and it'll come to you.

Man, those Star Wars fanatics get everything: conventions, additional episodes, specialty m&m's, the works. In fact, it's totally acceptable for your average white-collared fellow to shed his pinstipes and don Yoda ears while maintaining respectability. And yet I get mocked for taping over the video of my family's white-water rafting trip with an episode of Buffy the Vampire Slayer. So that's it, I'm making it a point to boycott this whole Star Wars thing. Shennanigans, I say. Shennanigans! Dark side be damned!

P.S, I have a couple of 'Luke 4 Prez' fridge magnets that I'm looking to unload as of tomorrow if anyone's interested.


Bandwagon, what?

Must be the weather

This morning was one of those mornings where you wake up really suddenly, sit straight up in bed, look around your room, and say out loud "Where in the hell am I?". Getting used to a new apartment and, subsequently, a new bedroom is crazy business I tell ya. I've been waking up at 6:30 for the past few days for no apparent reason. Every time I say to myself, "Oh, let's take advantage of this early start and finish unpacking all those godforsaken boxes! Hooray!".

But then something always happens that prevents action. We'll call this thing, 'laziness'. Because that is what it is. It seems that I am much, much happier working on my 'nook' in the couch that doing anything productive. Productivity is the root of all evil. Just kidding. (not really).

I'm actually wondering if the cause of my current state of lethargy has something to do with the fact that it's been raining for the past eight days straight. Although that doesn't explain the past 21 years of similar behaviour.

Ha.

To quote Kitchen, the central character of The Inactivist by Chris Eaton,

"Trying is for suckers".

may our bodies remain, oh yeah, in history i'll treat you right baby, i am honest that way, hey.

my words
hit the page clean
tell me if they compare
to anything you've seen

Knee deep in the moving process, and I'm still taking the time to sift through every scrap of paper on which I've ever written a solitary word. What can I say, I'm a sucker for myself. God, that's vain. Ha. That's me though- all skin and skin deep. So I'm finding all these random lines of prose and poetry that I wrote during those last dwindling weeks of solitary confinement in residence. Well, I guess it wasn't really that bad. Or maybe it was. Anyway, the point is that those few weeks go down in history as my most productive artistic period of all time.

Here's a snippet of halfling that I almost lost forever while moving.

not all pearls
not all girls
are fit for print
tied down in ink
and instinct
now in my mind
i always see you smiling
just you, your star
and your jesus christ guitar
oblivious
to what you've cost me

It's funny how reading it now, it doesn't mean what it used to, but it still touches me to see a picture of my thoughts like this. When it comes to my poetry, it's as good as a photograph to my memory. This is a photograph of me almost exactly one year ago. If I live to be a hundred, I'll read that poem again and see a photograph of myself and remember the frustration I felt. I'll remember what would otherwise be lost to senility and sheer insignificance in the grand scheme of things. Now that's the power of the pen for you.

Memoirs of a Car Thief, or, The Day I Locked the Keys in the Car and Had to Jimmy the Lock with a Coat Hanger

So I'm back from hiatus. Since I've been moving all week, I decided to take a break from blogging until I was mostly unpacked. Alright, so I didn't give any notice, but the truth is that I'm probably only deluding myself into thinking that people regularly read this blog. So that's that.

They say that life works in mysterious ways...and I have proof. Today, whilst driving around dropping off resumes in the faint hope that someone will call me and give me a job, I was wondering to myself what I could write about in my blog today. Nothing new or exciting has really been going on and I was hoping to possibly break my streak of writing entries about absolutely nothing. Then, just when it seemed that all was lost, I stopped at 1010 Bistro in the Westdale Village to drop off a resume (queue forboding music dun dun dunnn)

So I go inside the bistro and talk to some of the chef staff about available positions and to give them one of my resumes. I then walked outside to get back into my car, and guess what?

No, seriously, guess!

Come on, guess!!

Okay, okay, I couldn't find my keys. Where did they go? Oh, there they are...right in the ignition!! Right where I left them! So I'll just open the door and get into the car and drive off into the sunset, right? Right?

Wrong.

How come?

Because I locked the motherfucking doors, that's why. All the doors. And I made sure I rolled up the windows all nice and tight because it's been raining all day.

Raining?

Fucking right, raining.

Okay, okay, so then I try to think rationally about what to do. I don't have CAA and the GM Roadside Assistance expired in 2002. So I decide to start calling everyone I know to come and help me, starting with Mark. Mark says that he'll phone his dad and ask him to come and get me. No problem. Then Mark calls me back and says, "Ok so my Dad is going to come and get you but he has to eat dinner first. Just sit tight because after he gets there, calls CAA and gets the door open, it could be two or three hours".

Say what?

For the love of Zeus, it's raining!

Just then, I leaned on the driver's side back window and it slid down about a quarter of an inch. I swear, if ever there was a time when a ray of light and voices singing hallelujah was entirely appropriate, this was it. I tried to push it down further, but no dice. So then I went into The Bean Bar and the blessed ladies working there were kind enough to donate a coat hanger. At first, I was a little concerned that people would see me trying to jimmy the lock through the window and get the crazy idea that I was trying to steal the car. As it turns out, I look a lot less 'stealthy car jacker' and a lot more 'desperate victim of her own stupidiy' because a nice Mac student came over to help. With the assisstance of this lovely post-grad, I got the hanger in through the tiny space and flipped the lock open (insert mpeg footage of happy dance here). She most definitely has erased her karmic debt today, wherever she is.

So there you go. They say that life works in mysterious ways. When I woke up this morning, I had nothing to write about my blog. Now, a mere eight hours later, I have an entry filled with suspense and intrigue that includes the full range of emotions: Tears, Anger, Laughter, the works!

Well...for me, anyway.

I'll end this with a point of etiquette:

Do I have to return the coat hanger to The Bean Bar? Seriously, because it's all bent to shit now.