Please let me give you my money!

Today I bought a new bike from MacQueens. I have yet to take a photo of the bike, seeing as it has been in my possession for about five hours. However, I am eager to share with you what my bike looks like. I could show you the stock photo from Specialized's website, but that's too easy. Instead, I present to you my artist's rendition of what my bike would look like under water.


You will note that there is a mermaid riding the bike. Trying actually. She's actually on an invisible trainer because she has no legs to straddle the bike with and no feet to pedal with. Poor Ariel. She is also holding two candy canes, because it's Christmas (symbolic: today was like Christmas for me!), and she's distributing the candy canes to the fish.

Obviously.

Alors, now I'm a thrilled owner of a Specialized Dolce Elite. I decided the price tag was justified as it was about the same price (before tax) of a scholarship I received in first year university. I won't tell you how much the scholarship was, we will say it was somewhere between $100 - $4000.

My new Lady Friend and I went for a ride this evening, and it was darling fun. Kind of have to get used to the vibrations on the hands though. The first time I rode a road bike in Feb 2009 I wasn't wearing gloves and could hardly stand to touch the lovely thing the next morning my hands were so wonky.

There are two bike shops in my city. The one where I bought my new bike (also where I bought my hybrid a couple of years ago), and the other one. Many people love the other one, but every time I go in there looking to buy something they are just ridiculously unhelpful. It's like I have to pull information from their brains, beg them to tell me more and try to actually sell me the bike. I don't know if they assume I won't buy something because 1) they don't recognize me, 2) I'm a girl, 3) I sound a bit confused, or 4) because I'm not wearing lycra and fancy shoes. I went to both bike shops for both bike purchases. I can't even be bothered going to shop no. 2 anymore. It's also the super simple things that matter, such as at preferred bike shop they hold the door open for customers when they are taking their bikes in and out. Shop no. 2 doesn't, and then I somehow foolishly managed to cut my leg on their door last Friday.

Housemate no. 3 said I should write about our shared crappy customer service experience at Captain Sub from last Sunday. I said I would! I'm pretty sure the girl working there hated us for buying subs. HATED US. Jared asked for sub sauce, some sort of weird Upper Canada thing. The chick basically starred at him and said no. But she didn't bother asking, "What type of sauce is it?" and looking for something similar. Then he asked for his big sub to be cut in three pieces instead of two, and I'm convinced she had flashes of cutting Jared into three pieces (instead of the two she was originally planning!) It was hard to tell whether she hated us (pfft, fooish, everyone LOVES US), hated her job, or just hated everything in the entire world and has a massive chip on her shoulder. I would go with the last option.

On a much more positive note, the people who work at my preferred bike shop are awesome. They note if the bike I'm about to test ride will fit, or if the seat was too high. Kid at the other shop didn't clue in at all.

Maybe he just does too many drugs?

Ahh, bicycle. You and I will be having a very enjoyable summer together. I'm sorry I didn't like your colour scheme at first, but I don't consider black or white to be real colours. I wanted you to be teal and red - like Superman. But now I see your thin strip of purple and approve, and think I should put star stickers on the fork, and maybe some ribbon on the handle bars to give some more splashes of colour. I also find your sexy factor to rise to alarming levels once I actually sit on you. I am also sorry that I had so many thoughts, wondering if you were worth the extra $400 over the lower model. Obviously you were, because I, umm, couldn't reach the brakes very well on the other one.

Yes, mon amie, we will have a good summer together. Now we just need to work some voodoo magic to keep the rain drops to seasonal levels.

Go Maki, Go!

This past Saturday I was one half of a two-person team for the Red Island Relay. Overall, it was tonnes of fun and I'm so glad that I got to go in last minute. The Relay is in five parts: 1) run 7.5 km, 2) road bike 27 km, 3) run 10 km, 4) trail bike 19 km, and 5) two-person canoe or kayak for 6km. I did legs 2, 4, and 5. After a panicked Thursday night, I arranged to borrow a road bike for the road portion (THANK GOD) and would use my usual happy-commuter hybrid on the trail. They said "mountain bike portion", but there is absolutely no need for a mountain bike when the trail is dry - which is was. It was actually probably some of the best portion of the Confederation Trail that I have biked on recently.

Here is how my road bike started:


Excellent. Remember to wear helmet and sport huge, unsporty sunglasses. The ride went very well, and there was a nice tailwind going down a huge hill. The wind also did not seem as bad as originally forecasted to be.

However, this is how my ride ended:


Nice one, Jen Mac. At about kilometre 22 (I'm not completely sure, but I was pretty close to the end) I suffered from a race-ending flat in my back tire. So I walked back down the giant hill I was conquering to some people directing cyclists. We shuffled awkwardly.

"Umm, I have a flat and no spare tube or pump. I usually would bring a tube and pump... but just not today, I guess."
"Huh. Well, that's too bad."
"It is. I'm not sure what I'm supposed to do now."
"I suppose I could give you and your bike a lift in my truck? Where do you want to go?"
"I guess to the finish line/transition area."
"Okay - off we go!"
"UGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGH."

We load the bike into the truck and drive off, passing a few cyclists going up the big hill. I wave. Then I note a car ahead of me that looks familiar. My parents' car - they were going to snap some pictures and say hello. They pulled over to let us pass, thinking we were part of some race convoy. We pull up next to them and I knock on the window, smile, and wave.

Mother waves back, also with a big smile, thinking, "That is my daughter, it is nice to see her smiling in that truck with the stranger man!"

Papa looks at me, looks absolutely disgusted, likely thinking, "HOW DO YOU MANAGE TO SCREW UP ALL THE TIME?" or perhaps, "Of course, she crashed, and now she is excited because she hurt her ankle and is secretly thrilled that she'll get to use crutches and have something to laugh about."

The Kind Stranger drove me back close to the transition area and I wheeled/walked across the timer mat. We took a weird route back, I actually probably have a recorded time pretty similar to what my actual time would be.

I stand in the transition area awkwardly, basically saying over and over and over again and again, "I have a flat tire!!!" and was unable to find my team mate. A delightfully eager volunteer sprints over, concerned that I can find my team mate. She asks who he is, and I reply, "He's tall with curly hair and we call him Mike!" and she takes off. Mike comes running over a few moments later, surprised to see me so soon. And off he goes!

I take the hour to do healthy athlete type things: eat chocolate, put on my fleece to keep warm, use the washroom, guzzle some gatorade (red, please), fiddle with my front wheel, and pat a dog I see on the way to the toilet.

Mike comes back from a triumphant run, and I take off for Leg 4. The trail ride went very well, and I think took me about 48 mins. High five for fantastic trail conditions! I even passed a few people, which made me feel smug, particularly as one was decked in hardcore geeky bike gear. Mind you this person was probably doing the whole thing on his own... but anyway.

Coming back down into the transition area was awesome, and you have pedalled hard you could easily hit 45km/hr, even on a hybrid. My nose was getting curiously runny, and it turned out I had what I like to call a "fake" nose bleed. It dripped, like, five drops on my arm, then I rubbed my nose a few times, and it appeared to end.

I sprinted off to the boat area, while Devin captured a wonderful photo of me basically yelping, "I think I have a nose bleed!" to which he responded by looking at me bizarrely. Likely because what I yelped probably sounded like, "I klhejlon mweeeee!"

I hopped into the canoe with Mike and off we went! I would like to say we raced off and won the whole thing, but the wee cyclist of the team had one large drawback: she had never paddled a canoe. She got the hang of it, but didn't want to push too hard for the first bit in fear of burning out for the last bit.

Cyclist = me

Also, something about being in a canoe makes me think "relax!" A kayak I tend to think GO GO GOOOOOOO! So I realised towards the end that I wasn't really trying that hard. I think Mike fell into the same groove a wee bit. Had we both tried harder (particularly the cyclist) I'm sure we could have shaved ten minutes off our time. Alas, perhaps next year. Overall time was 4 hours, twenty-four minutes.

Text to self: Things to do on the moon

I generally have a lot of trouble falling asleep at night but then sleep like a drugged baby until my alarm sings in my ears. Sometimes I think of things that I think would be wonderful to write about, but refrain from powering up Laptop and just hope I remember them in the morning. About a week ago I came up with what seemed like WONDERFUL ideas and text them to myself. The text reads, "Blog: things to do on the moon, bf list half-duck, things my kids can do."

Things to do on the moon is self explanatory and I recall thinking of a few great things (hop!). Boyfriend list half-duck somewhat makes sense as I remember my train of thought about the list (pertains to an email sent long ago), but I'm questioning the half-duck thing. Perhaps I had some sort of boyfriend requirement that the male should not be a half mutated animal, specifically a duck? I even remember laughing as I typed it into my phone.

In a timid attempt to do this week-old brain wave justice, I present to you, Things to do on the Mooon:

- Hop around. Be sure to attach yourself to something sturdy via a strong rope.
- Weight yourself. Moon gravity = stunning weight loss!
- Do the moonwalk. It's only appropriate.
- Search for signs of life. There has to be something there, even if it's only the dead carcass of a june bug.
- Nap.

Like I will do now.

Public Service Announcement

Friends:

I am here today to offer constructive criticism on your choice as consumers.


You may recognize the product featured in this photo. If you have ever consumed this product (and obviously you have otherwise our relationship is quickly spiraling downwards) your brain should have instantly flooded with memories of a delicious, tender chocolate ball sitting on your tongue, the chocolate slowly sweating onto your taste buds with "So Happy Together" playing in the background. The interior holds a careful secret: love. The inside of these chocolate balls were invented when God, Buddha, Allah, and Zeus were having a tea party.

Although my relationship with the Lindt brand has generally always been strong and solid, it did waver when I descending the train in Zurich, Switzerland. I was full of optimism; an innocent lassie with a hop in her step. As much as one can hop when weighed down with a 30-lb backpack... so, heavily stepped, really. Into the train station's visitor centre I go. In my best German I say, "I vould like a map, please," borrowing a friend's method of quickly becoming a linguistic master of any language (say the words in English, but with a stereotyped accent of the local language). I am provided with a map, and an awkward smile. I inquired about the location of the Lindt chocolate factory that had me drooling in my Rough Guide. The kind Svisse-Germhan informed me that the factory and its tours were temporarily closed for renovation, refurb, donkey control, something. I felt overwhelmed with grief; the same grief one feels when she thinks she has one cookie left, but actually has none.

Instead, I had to settle for a large advertisement of Lindt chocolate.


Needless to say, the sign didn't compare to the goodness I expected to come from the actual tour/unlimited tasting session (belly ache factory?), but instead I drank beer with hostel people, explored, enjoyed the sun, and, surprise, went on a long bike ride.

So, based on these preceding ramblings, you should derived that I take my Lindt chocolate quite seriously. Thus, when I came across a knock-off version of Lindt Lindor chocolate balls I as a bit skeptical, almost nervous. Usually I would just snark and buy the brandless substitute... But this is clearly different. The package stated the product was made in Switzerland (+1 point), but the truffles (so said the packaging) were wrapped in blue wrapper instead of red. Not being a fan of blue, particularly light blue, I felt a twitch in my shoulder. A panicked discussion with my co-shopper wasn't comforting. We both felt concern with faulty fakes. Eventually, I decided to take a risk. I bought the fakes, in the name of science, of course. The "buying slightly overpriced but oh-so delicious chocolate with groceries" habit is/was supposed to disappear after leaving France. Success = questionable.

Fake truffles in light blue wrappers were placed in basket, taken to the register, paid for, and ripped open about 100 paces out of the grocery store. Co-muncher had the first truffle. Verdict that we shared: not the same, not bad, an okay substitute in the event you are lacking the extra $.70 for the true taste bud delights.

Conclusion:
Lindt Lindor Truffles: +9,000
President's Choice Milk Chocolate Truffles: +2 (photo to perhaps be added later)

This has been a public service announcement in the stylings of Maki.

The Numbers Game

Once, a long, long time ago, (1995-2004), I was a 'numbers person'. This is mostly evident in school marks, and high school awards that were given nice names but really should have been called, "Science Geek Prize" or "Way to rock finance, Maki!" I'm still a bit of a numbers person, and write many reports involving a plethora of numbers. However, I don't really do anything with numbers anymore. My life is lacking algebraic equations, graphing calculators (kidding! I always hated those), elaborate equations used to determine simple things ("According to this complicated equation, you will die if you chop off your head!"), etc.

It's been so long since I've be able to us pi, dramatic siiiiiigh. Math and physics got even better as teachers/professors insisted that inserting greek characters into equations and results was the right thing to do.

But no one wants to read how I miss math class and wish I could use a geometry set at least once a week. Here are numbers you may enjoy.

The number of...
Times I bought a specific kind of beer because there was an elephant on the can/label/bottle: 2

  elephant-labelled beer that did not taste so good: 1.5

Reports I have written since starting my job in June 2007: approximately 18,742

  Reports I have written that nobody external has read: 17,894

Animals I have contemplated stealing from a zoo: most of them

  Animals I have actually stolen from a zoo: zero

Pennies required to buy a chocolate bar from the University's vending machines last week: 130 (note: machine does not actually accept pennies

  Pennies required to buy a chocolate bar from the uni's vending machines this week: 160.. no more purchases from the vending machine. I'm taking a stance!

Times a week I go to work with wet or still-damp hair: 2 or 3

  Other people who show up with wet hair: zero (this confuses me - hair dryer = ball of frizz, and no one else has frizzy OR wet hair)

Times I've checked the weather today: two

  Times I would check the weather on an average winter workday: 30 million

Seasons of Family Ties owned: two

  Seasons I should own: all of them, but with Baby Andrew scenes magically erased

Blogs written this week: two!

  Blogs that were picked up by my Facebook feed: 0 ... thanks, failing technology

Times today that I thought of ways to make money by blogging: very many!

  Dollars ever made from blogging: $0

Cheers to the Internet for allowing me to share this important information with you.

Fact you may have not known: in French there is no masculine version of the word "esthetician". That means France is sexist. Which is fine, even applaudable, because I would not want a man waxing the lady parts. He just wouldn't know...

Summer's a brewin'...

Signs summer is coming:

• Jewell's Country Market is open, which was my savior at kilometre 55 of what was planned to be a simple 40-km bike ride.


• Boomer, the local weatherman, said winter was ending tonight once the wind died down - and it did die down!


• Sun still gleams on the horizon at 20h45.


• Beer Club is being held outside tomorrow!


• The university feels vacant as profs sneak off for holidays.


• Season finales galore! Highlight being Survivor last night, which I lapped up like a thirsty puppy. Then read all about it online *cough* geek *cough* and then got paranoid the next day that my tribe ("work mates") was strategising against me.


• I'm getting emails about bicycling rides, which I'm too slow to participate in :P


• Not wearing boots, unless it's raining.


• Darling Sparks kids came to my door selling Girl Guide cookies. Having a cold and not feeling well, obviously cookies were a required purchase. Despite the fact I hated Brownies (the pre-Girl Guides) and thought there were too many mean girls enrolled.


• Big movies coming out soon!


• People watering their yards. STOP IT.


• People watering their driveways. STOP IT.

Yes, it turns out I'm quite intolerant of people watering their lawns and cleaning their driveways. It's spring in the Maritimes. If it's not raining today, it probably will tomorrow. Or the day after.

(To be fair it doesn't seem to be raining that much, but often low, moody clouds are taking over the skyline.)

In a lighter note:



I crack up whenever this commercial comes on TV. There is no real explanation for my cackly laughter, but it happens. It also helped last time when one of my roommates squinted at the TV and said, "I still can never see the hippo the first time around..."

The magical world of YouTube lead me to Star Wars Ep I "Duel of the Fates" which made me feel geeky for listening to it. It reminds me of studying for final exams in grade 11, as I used to listen to the Star Wars soundtrack when studying. I had read somewhere that classical music helps studying, and apparently I assumed Star Wars was classical music. In a good note, I aced grade 11 and 12. Thank you, John Williams! Could have used your help in grade 10 "Etudes canadiens", however.

Yesterday evening I sneezed while eating popcorn, all over my arm. Must had been a cursed sneeze as shortly after I felt my head getting a bit stuffy and by evening's end I had developed a cold. Woke up today feeling a smidge less than mediocre and have sneezed approximately 18,752 times today. Sometimes eating, sometimes not, sometimes drinking, sometimes not. I told my cold this afternoon, "Fine, you can stay today, but I am dousing you out with some wicked vitamin C this evening." Then, you know, the cute kids showed up with the cookies.

Cookies are rich in vitamin c, yes?

No.

See you again tomorrow, cold.

Important lists

I haven't written in a wee while because I've been off playing on holiday. On a scale of 1-10 of wonderfulness, after careful consideration and using a coefficient multiplier of the cosecent of pi (3.14159), I have determined this vacation deserves an 11.298. I don't know about you, but I find that to be a pleasing rating.

Now, just because I did not blog while traversing our great neighbour to the south, does not mean I was not thinking about blogging. I think writers tend to always write in their heads. I didn't bring my laptop with me and often found myself narrating my mini adventures in my head in blog style. It's difficult to determine if this is an admirable devotion to my blog and its six readers, or if it is a sad reflection of someone craving attention.

Right now I do not feel like writing a post with proper punctuation and picky grammar rules. I would like to make lists. Although they may be formatted a bit bizarrely as I find blogger defaults lists to be more much spacey than I desire.

Best animals at a zoo
- Sea lions
- Penguins
- Goats
- Elephants
- Any hyper animal under 6mos of age.

Worst animals at a zoo
- The ones that are sleeping waaaaaay in the back of their special animal area. Typically this will be a bear, filling all the bear stereotypes of lazy hibernation. QUESTION: Do zoo bears hibernate in the winter? Probably not. Sorry, bear.

Things that live up to their hype
- Danny Bhoy
- Niagara Falls, Canada portion.
- Golden Gate Bridge
- Earl of Sandwich
- Bahama Breeze
- These two kinds of Milka bars: Caramel and à la mousse praliné. Miam!
- Road-side fruit stands - particularly strawberries
- Goat cheese
- Me. Yes, I live up to the hype.
- *knock on wood* Toy Story 3

Things that aren't as impressive as they are supposed to be
- Chili's margarita chicken, pictured to the right. The only thing you can do is laugh. And build a time machine for a lunch re-do.
- Hershey milk chocolate. Best left for smores.
- Chocolate covered fruit. Don't mess with my strawberries, yo.

Best way to travel to a destination
- Flying carpet; llama

Worst way to travel to a destination
- Ryan Air; sewage pipe

Disappointing ways to start your day
- Waking up on Monday and thinking it's Saturday
- Empty milk jug in fridge after you poured your delicious cereal into its bowl
- Flat bike tire
- Horse poop

Wonderful ways to start your day
- Vodka & tonic with a slice of lime (just kidding... hold the tonic.)
- Sunshine
- Smiling faces
- Free hotel continental breakfast

Things that are awkward
- Eating pasta with tomato-based sauce while wearing a white shirt
- Trying to shimmy into clothes that are too small (thanks FRANCE -- "De rien, Jenny-fair")
- Trying to watch Avatar of the four-inch seat-back tv on an airplane
- Choking
- Promos for Sex and the City 2

When the obvious ties together

In an effort not to lose my dashing French skills, I bought two discounted French novels at the campus bookstore last week. They were used in classes, I suspect, last term or recently and were no longer needed in stock. One is meant for ages 10 and up and the other is a proper adult novel.

I was just about to start the younglings book "Vendredi ou la vie sauvage" this evening when I decided to look up the word "naufrage" on my handy-dandy electronic dictionnaire. I was drawn to this word, used in the description on the back cover, because my province has a region called "Naufrage" along the north shore. Turns out naufrage, when used in context of boats, is a shipwreck. So now I feel a pull to learn about shipwrecks in Naufrage, or PEI in general.

A quick Google searched yielded some poor results (news releases over the past decade - which do have merit but weren't quite what I was looking for) but did point me in the direction of one site: Famous Shipwrecks of the past 400 Years. The only listing for PEI is up in Cavendish, occurring in the summer of 1883. This ship was called the Marco Polo.

Name of one of the main campgrounds in Cavendish? Marco Polo Land. I feel so enlightened, but am disheartened that the campground's website offers no history of the campground or the relevance of the chosen name.

I wonder what obvious factoid I will realise tomorrow? Enlighten me, dear readers!

BTW, you may see this a few days after I wrote this due to Facebook's poor blog feed as of late. But share your obvious information anyway.

Mobile Evolution

Ah, Friday afternoon! Let's discuss something lighthearted yet critical to the development of ones character.

I'm heading off to Florida-land soon to wrestle alligators and save manatees from extinction (hobby in my spare time, of course) and thought to myself, "I should probably look into activating my US cellphone for communication ease." Then I thought how foolish I would look using my US mobile as it's rather antiquated. I purchased it in 2006 and even at that point it was considered to be an older, cheap phone. But before we discuss the Nokia 2115i and its enhanced flashlight feature (oooh!), we shall rewind even further to the first mobile I ever own: the Nokia 3410.



What a sexy phone! Not the traditional black or silver colour. The phone had wonderful features such as: call display, multiple ring tone, texting, minimal web browser capabilities (never figured that out), and GAMES! Including SNAKE, the classic cellphone/grade 9 computer class game of sweat, trauma, and love.

I bought this phone in the UK - the Virgin Store on Princes Street in Edinburgh - for way too much money. Or at least it seemed so at the time because the exchange rate was terrible. I don't remember how much it was exactly, but probably close to $100 CAD including maybe $40 of credit. Maybe more. Maybe less. I don't remember. I don't think this was the cheapest phone available, but I think it was the cheapest once factoring in activation bonus. Shan, Keri, and I (my two flatmates/PEI expats) had the same phone. Like triplets, we could tell them apart by their unique differences. Scratches from being dropped, perhaps a random sticker applied, or what shade of make-up was accidentally smeared on it. This phone lived a good, expat life. It was dropped a few times (shocking in the land of beer and whisky), went on adventures with me, and was eventually passed onto another Islander (and temporary roommate) who used it until she left Scotland about seven months after I did. I'm not sure what she did with it, hopefully passed it on to someone else in need. I think I sold it to her for about 5GBP, which was basically to cover the credit on it. I spent that money on crisps and confectionery in the Glasgow and Belfast Airport, through my sad sniffles. The phone number was about 8,000 digits long: 07981 130 XXX [because I don't remember the last three digits]. I have it written down somewhere though. This phone also developed my love for predictive texting, which was forced upon Keri by Shannon and I.

Next up, the Nokia 2115i/American Phone v2.0:


This is actually the third phone I had. My second one was a different US AT&T pay as you go phone, which died a tragic death after only a couple of months. I was at the gym (at Disney's Boardwalk, for the geeky) and had my phone in my shorts' pocket. As I stood up from using the toilet my phone tumbled in. I fished it out (nae worries folks, it was only a Number 1 toilet use) and tried to turn it on. Lights blinked... and nothing. RIP phone.

Off to the Internet to find a replacement! Virgin had the best price: $20.00 for an older phone that came with $20.00 phone credit. Essentially, a free phone. A simple internet purchase later and the phone was delivered to my delicious, sweaty Disney apartment.

This is the phone I still have as my US phone. It's not activated, but they always happily give me a new phone number every time I feel the need to activate it again and toss on some credit. I haven't used the phone since going to Hawai'i/San Diego a year ago, so I'm hoping when I eventually turn it on it was emit smells of the delicious ocean. Hmm, right.

This phone still had a black and white display and the interface (right word?) was almost the exact same as my UK phone. However, the main upgrade was the FLASHLIGHT feature. You may laugh, until the power goes out or you are rummaging around in a dark hostel dormitory and realise that the wee flashlight is a *very* useful invention.

Onto Canada Phone v1.0: the Nokia 2521i.


We have upgraded to a colour display! I bought this phone in September 2007 right before going to California. I was driving at 1:00am to go to Halifax for an early flight and felt a mobile would be a wise addition to my luggage. It is almost the exact same as my US except the colour display and phone colour. It gave me a source of familiarity, comfort. I believe it was about $60.00, which seemed like a massive rip-off given the free-ness of US mobile. Bonus of being only a slight upgrade to the previous phone is that the phone chargers are the same, and I still have a flashlight which is useful as I don't have a good lamp next to my bed and my room's lightswitch is alllllllllllllllllll the way on the other side of my room, separated by an obstacle course of clothing, books, a random purse... anything really. Could be a snake in there.

My cellphone has not evolved for almost 2.5 years. The phone still works super well. It will randomly shut off once in awhile if I set it down too hard, but that's it. I could upgrade it, but I enjoy the sturdiness of old Nokias. You can drop them and they still work. Unless droppage results in toilet phone, but I think that would kill most phones anyway. I just sometimes feel like a tool using it, but now I like to think it'll only be a couple of more years until it's a cool retro phone. In 2013, pulling out this dandy phone with the flashlight will be like pulling out a Zack Morris phone from Saved by the Bell. Also, you probably have to pay extra to get an flashlight app for your iPhone. Just sayin'...



(Also, let's not even bother getting into the curse of the Blackberry and being 100% accessible to your employer all the time. Fools! Bwa ha haaaa!)

No tengo el tesoro, sólo un sandiwch!

The Internet at my house is wonky and broke. So now when I think of random things to write about I tend to read instead. And the book I'm currently reading makes me think of MORE things to write. Then I fall asleep and forget them all.

I am a bit of a bum for local news and decided last week that I would hate to be the leader of the opposition. Basically her job is to complain about everything the government does. I don't like complaining, I feel guilty when I complain and my head fills with images of starving children or people suffering from incurable diseases. As leader of the opposition, one must never deliver compliments when a success has occurred - even if it is "the best" for citizens. One must find fault with all things. It would not be the job for me - or politics in general. It would be hard to dive into a career path that will lead people to believe you are corrupted, dishonourable, over-paid, under-qualified, and a plethora of other negative adjectives. People expect many public appearances, a perfect background, and that you are secretly a terrible person who likes to kill puppy dogs and set fire to orphanages.

The book I'm reading is a fictional tale about the first king of Canada: King John of Canada (link to Google book if you feel you must read a few pages). I don't really like the narrative style of the book, but perhaps something happens in the end that pieces that together and indirectly hints at why the author chose that style. However, I do like that the book makes me think about the history of Canada, what we've accepted as our norm, and what is accepted because, well, "that's how it is." I suppose books that make us think are good, but I don't feel I'll ever re-read it. I would recommend it selectively, but offer a warning with it. Also, the book has a rather strong anti-Quebecness about it, which I don't so much like.

In news I may have released before, I have recently developed a strong love for goat cheese. Merci, la France! I never really ate it prior to going to France last October. However, on every second street corner in the old town of Aix there was a panini and/or pizza stand/truck/hole-in-a-wall. Having a strong love of sandwiches - particularly TOASTED SANDWICHES, my heart was instantly stolen by the sandwich people after my Euros. On many such sandwiches was goat cheese. A mysterious brand of cheese that I had often heard of, but never tried. Being from PEI, I was well versed in ADL mozzarella and cheddar. In the pub world of the UK I snuck pieces of bree when making paninins for drunk customers. In the happy upscale magicalness of Disney I found myself enjoying the odd sprinkle of blue cheese. Other cheeses were randomly thrown into the mix through the last twenty-plus years (Parmesan, which I don't even know how to spell, swiss, marble, which is hardly worth a mention, and "american cheese"/ew) but the goat cheese still eluded me.

But, oh la France, the changes you have made to me! Not just in my verb conjugation skills, ability to properly composter mon billet, and accidentally rip off the public bus system, but in my appreciation of this delightful soft cheese. Initially I enjoyed only small quantities as it does have a strong taste that somewhat over powers the flimsiness of the accompanying mozza and tomate, but now I so love it. Toasted baguette avec tomate et fromage de chevre. Bien!

Things to get ready for

(Things for which to get ready, if we desire to be grammatically correct.)

1. The Red Island Relay. It's a fundraiser for the Heart and Stroke Foundation consisting of two running legs, two cycling legs, and one canoe/kayak leg. Apparently I am feeling in shape. How misleading I am to myself. The most challenging leg will take place at 7:00am: waking up and being able to function without hissing at people.


2. PEI Biking for Breakfast Challenge. Apparently I think I have the ability to bike 275-ish kilometres in one day. At present, I do not have this ability. There is a good chance I won't have the ability when early August rolls around. However, I have recently seen a few episodes of the Biggest Loser (such a confessional to admit I occasionally watch it) and am intrigued by the prospect of finding my physical limit. The contestants apparently sometimes work out to the point of tears and vomitting. Apparently I want to bike from one end of PEI to the other to see if it will make me cry (very likely) or vomit (very unlikely). This would require a bike upgrade if I even wish to consider reaching and surpassing the halfway point. Another option is to do a portion of the course... we'll see.


3. Closely monitor the most important website ever invented.

After a string of flats and strings of under-the-breath profanity, bicyclette noire got the greatest Easter gift of them all on Saturday: new tires. Front and back. New, skinnier, sexier tires. Eighty kilometres and thirty hours later, still no flats. Amazing.

The screws fell out of one of my toe clips on early in the week. I tried to fixed it using a bobbie pin and a safety pin. Needless to say that failed about 5-km later.

Birds: Pros and Caw-ns

This afternoon I was sitting in a car waiting for someone and watching a crow hop around on a roof across the street. Having a very scientific mind with both a well developed left and right side, I managed to come up with the following list of the pros and cons of being a bird. The bird being observed was a crow (traditional name: it which caws loudly too early in the morning and poops all over everything).

PROS
• The ability to fly.
• No bad hair days.
• Tormenting cats.
• Destroying garbage bags for pure fun.
• "Hunting" for food has been simplified to hanging out in the BK parking lot picking at tossed fries and leftover ketchup packets.
• Living in a tree.
• Being a hot topic in The Guardian AND CBC PEI Online.
• Pooping without even having to stop flying, go to the ground, digging a hole, etc. Go when ya gotta.

CONS
• Not having hands.
• Eyes being on the side of the head so you can't see right in front of you.
• Being hated.
• As a result of not having hands and not being able to see right in front of oneself, all potential food must be touched with mouth. Possibly gross and setting oneself up for disappointment when "food" turns out to be a gum wrapper.
• Being at the very bottom of a "bird watchers' checklist". No one is impressed to know someone who once saw a crow.
• Confusion with a black bird or raven.
• Victims of intimidation tactics of "scarecrows".

After mentally establishing this list in my tired "I just biked 40 km, which isn't a lot, but I ran over something and got a flat in Tea Hill and it was annoying because I wanted to bike further" head, I did a crossworld puzzle and was joined by my friend for patio bevvies. I dared not share this list with her, in fear she would plagiarize and steal this blog post for her own, non-existent blog.

La fin.

(PS ~ I do think of more intelligent things throughout the day, really. Like scientific notation and pi. Merci.)

Super Power of the Day

I woke up this morning to the sound of the rain loudly drumming on the windows. Flashback to last night when the front tire of my bike seemed weak and was likely very slowly deflating. I contemplate how I will get from Point A (my bed) to Point B (my office) without spending the first hour of work looking like I just pulled myself out of a pool.

My first thought was, "Don't go to work!" which was stupid. My second thought was, "Call someone to drive you!" which was almost equally as stupid. (I never claimed to be wise in the morning.) Another thought was, "Take the bus!" which had potential but seemed to admit defeat against the rain, and involved figuring out the awkwardness of the local bus system. The thought was followed with, "Call a taxi!" which was ridiculous. I'd rather straddle a broomstick and wait for it to take flight than to wait for a cab to pick me up -- and pay. That cab fare would be a nice glass of wine, dear reader!

Clearly at 8:15am I am in no good condition to brain storm. I showered and went downstairs to check bicyclette's condition. Initial viewing lead me to believe a miracle had happened and the tire did not deflate much more from the night before, but touching the tire bled the truth into my eyes. Flatter than a bottle of pop left open for two weeks.

I eat breakfast, catching a bit of the news. Flooding in Rhode Island, apparently. After real breakfast, I eat dessert, a cookie. All my best ideas come to me when thoughtfully nibbling a cookie and letting the 8-kg of sucre and 9-lbs of shortening and butter awaken my corpse. I decide the rain will STOP NOW and I will walk to work.

Magically, the rain stopped.

Now, this could have been a coincidence, but I prefer to think my brain is mysteriously connected to precipitating clouds. It certainly makes for better blog ramblings.

No-Go Earth Hour

Despite being a quasi-environmentalist (quasi: having some, but not all of the features of) I did not participate in Earth Hour. The primary reason was 1) I forgot, and 2) I'm scared of flames and candles.

I was watching the Weather Network a couple of days before the event (such quality tv) and a man was discussing what he hopes people get out of Earth Hour: realising that they do not need to rely so much on electricity. He was hoping people would hang out their laundry that day, and not use the dryer. He hoped people would wash their clothes in cold water. They would turn off the lights when they leave a room.

I am the meteorologist's hero, for I already do those things. Therefore, according to him, I did not need to participate in Earth Hour.

But maybe I'm not the norm, and I hope someone who did participate in Earth Hour on Saturday night realised where they were using electricity when it was not necessary.

I'm actually having feelings of catholic guilt for having two lights on in my office a la moment. My usual light is a mini one attached to my desk, above my laptop. It's all I really need until late afternoon unless it's particularly dark and gloomy outside. However, I have the actual lights to my office on because my office is cold, and the lights heat it up. Maybe I'll dash around the building to warm up.

Upon re-reading what I wrote, I sound like a tool. I blame the dark clouds in the sky, they increase my tool factor.

Oh Monday morning. So tired.

Leaky Clouds

And now, a haiku about the rain.

It is raining out
Splashes on my windowsill
Liking my raincoat

What I enjoy about haikus is that they don't really have to make sense, but follow the 5-7-5 rule.

When I went to the market last Saturday I was wearing a short-sleeved sweater and flip-flops. It was a bit chilly on my feet, but doable since I was going to be inside anyway. But even chillier was the dirty, rude look someone gave me feet as she was exiting the building and I was entering. She didn't look at me, only my feet. Unfortunate that my selection in footwear offended her. She will be relieved to know that I will not be wearing the offensive sandals this week for the forecast temperature is a high of -4C.

Please take with food.

I sucked it up and went to the Doctor to whine about my broken ears. Indeed, my whining turned out to be justified and now I have two fancy pill bottles to make my life less awkward. This brings the prescription grand total of the last two years to.. *drumroll* TWO!

Hopefully I'll be able to hear again by Tuesday because that's when I run out of pills. One of them is actually steroids. So now if I'm suddenly drafted for a sports team I will fail the drug test. Tellement tragique.

A big fancy yellow sticker on one bottle tells me to 'take with food'.

Are mini-eggs food? I certainly hope so, because that was the accompaniment of choice. In a related note, I am done with Mini-Eggs. A bientot, mon ami, je ne te mangerai jamais encore (until Easter 2011). Also taking temporary hiatus from red peppers. Apparently I felt the need to eat them excessively recently.

In other food news, I'm also 'over' chicken. I haven't purchased any in ages. A French friend helped me realise why in a random explanation as we strolled the streets of Aix: French restaurants don't serve a lot of chicken, and the French don't eat a lot of chicken, it's considered a cheap meat.

So then I thought about it. I recall reading a stat somewhere about chicken consumption in North America and how much it has increased in the past x years. Basically, North America likes to jump on random healthy wagons (apparently acai berries from the rain forests are the new make-love-to food?) and chicken was cleverly promoted as a great, lean meat and source of protein. There's a bit of a catch though: chicken is boring. To quote a friend, chicken is "unoffensive", which is why you get it at every wedding and every luncheon and ever catered business-y thing you will ever go to. It's true, no one *dislikes* chicken. It's bland on its own. The only way to really enjoy it is too add bunches of other flavours. If you have a chicken veggie stir-fry, it's the sauce and veggies that give it the flavour. When is the last time you bit into a plain chicken breast and said, "Mmmm! So delicious!" Chicken can be good, but I sort of think of it the same as toast: toast on its own is boring, toast with peanut butter is a culinary delight.

My new roommate is a student at the culinary centre and agrees with me, so I must be right, yes? You can eat a relatively plain piece of salmon and it is good. Ground beef ("hamburg", in PEI) is good.

Of course, I may be biased as the last point in my life during which I cooked a lot of chicken was in third year uni when I was living in Ottawa. I guess I was convinced I was going to die from salmonella or something because I would put a chicken breast (because it was healthy and wonderful?!) in a George Foreman grill and basically cook the crap out of it. Ugh. My mind sometimes travels back to cooking class in junior high: why didn't they teach us to make real food? We made muffins, baked potatoes, and in our final exam class: chocolate chip cookies. That famous delicacy that most children assist in the making of when they are four years old.

Why didn't we learn about spices? How to properly cook steak? (Or at least explain that all steak doesn't have to be cooked extra well done a la PEI.) Maybe show us what a sweet potato was. Other bizarre fruits and veggies. To be fair, I don't think the fruit and veggie sections of the local groceries stores were nearly as diverse as they are now, but still.

Unrelated, but I received my first flat of the year yesterday. I noticed it this evening when I suited up for a bike. Ugh. If I have as many flats this year as last year I'm going to have to get a lot more efficient at changing them. Also, I don't have a bike pump. My bike here has schrader valves, and my bike in France had presta valves. My wee pump is apparently good for both, but seemed to commit suicide after trying to use it on my schrader valves at home after using it in France for a few months. So I, naturally, lost my temper and threw the wee pump at a tree when it wouldn't pump my tire post-basement storage retrieval. Eventually I composed myself after fishing out another other pump (first other also was faulty) and did retrieve it, but I don't remember where I put it. I'll probably find it after my unborn (unconceived) child graduates from university and leaves the nest. The entire point of this paragraph is that I had a flat tire and no pump. But my bike desperately needs a tune-up, new cables, and new brake pads, so I'll take it somewhere tomorrow morning and get my darling all shiny and sparkly new-like again. Except the scratches. And the pedals (I broke the originals somehow?!). And the Hawai'i stickers I put on the frame.

Ah, 1:00am. You always come so quick. Happy daylight savings, children.

The other sponsors

As I rambled to anyone who would listen, I was in Vancouver for most of the last week of the Olympics. I don't even really consider it a trip to Vancouver, more so a trip to Magical Olympic Land of Medals and Line Ups. During this time spent immersed in seas of red and white clothing and capes fashioned from flags, I made careful not of who (what) the real sponsors of the Olympics were. I now give you this thoroughly researched list, accompanied by some appropriate photos.

• Beer - specifically, Kokanee Beer.


• Televisions.


• Giant flames, matches, general manufacturing of flames. (Fireworks fall into the sub category of giant flames.)


• Pizza. (Tied in with no. 1 - beer.)


• Believing. Yes, just general, overall believing. Thank you, CTV!


• High fives. To strangers.


• Security. Subcategory, boat police.


• Walt Disney World -- Epcot, as pretty much everyone I hung out with had worked at Epcot, or was with someone who worked at Epcot.


• Me. That's right, me.

(The image didn't turn out quite how I wanted, but it's getting late.)

In an unrelated note, the flight home pretty much destroyed my ears. My ears have been plugged since the impending landing of the first of my three flights. Actually, slight lie, they would properly pop when the next flight took off, but they never popped after the last flight landed. It feels like I am in a dream sequence voices are weird and muffled and I cannot understand things. For example, I watched the movie Munich with a housemate. I doubt the movie is truly that confusing, but when one cannot hear so well it is like trying to assemble a puzzle with pieces from four different puzzles. It didn't help that I didn't really like the movie thus was not so much paying deep attention, and was instead hanging my head upside because it seems to temporarily allow sound to enter yee olde eardrums. Too bad after I sit back up I'm deafened again.

ALSO! For some reason, it sounds like there are crickets living in my ears. Everytime I take a step I hear a cricket cricketing in my head, like the sound of tiny bells. I actually can't hear my alarm in the morning due to my plugged ears. So if anyone feels the need to ring me early in the am (early = 8ish) please do so.

I have started late-winter bike riding and so very much look forward to getting my bike tuned up. I need new brake pads, cables, general guck removal, and about 18-L of lube on my chain. I could clean and lube it myself right now, but that involves using water outdoors which will result in my wee hands going numb. When hands are numb, I cannot use them properly which could result in a comedic cleaning DISASTER!

At work we were doing a walking challenge. There are teams of eight in the various departments across campus. We wear pedometres and record how many steps we take weekly. I was doing well until, of course, I lost my pedometre. And by "my" pedometre I mean Hannah's pedometre. So I bought another one with the intentions of giving it to Hannah upon completion of our wee challenge.

Until I lost the second pedometre. I think it is somewhere in the Ottawa Airport, or possibly sitting on a plane. So I lost two pedometres. For those that are unfamiliar, a pedometre would be the size of a small, thick calculator. It attaches to your pants, skirt, etc. ATTACHES. CLIPS ON.

Yet I managed to lose TWO?! No longer am I allowed to participate in events that rely on not losing something that is small.

Time to sleep! I don't think I woke up today until 2:00pm. I made myself some hot chocolate, waited ten minutes, and attempted to drink it. I semi-burnt my tongue and fussed to myself, but it woke me up. Silly kettle being all hot-water-production like.

Amateur Sporting Events

I'm flying to an amateur sporting event tomorrow, although some professionals are allowed to participate in select sports (hockey). It takes place mostly in a large city on the west coast of Canada called "Vancouver", which is Canadian for "city without winter". The events which require snow take place in the mountain, such as Whistler. Whistler is Canadian for "mountain that apparently isn't that snowy in late February and is warmer than the low regions of the Maritimes".

I don't actually have tickets to any of the events (hence forth referred to as 'The Olympics') but figure there might be some cheerful spectators and athletes wandering throughout the area, just enjoying the atmosphere of the city, and perhaps wearing an item of red/white clothing or two.

Yup, it should be fun. One of those "once in a lifetime" experiences that you are bouncy excited for.

Fashionably yours, Olympia.

I am in LOVE with the Olympics. I have watched more tv since Friday than I've watched in the previous eight weeks combined.

Having watched so many Olympians fly down hills, plunge through moguls, and dash around ovals I have discovered that the Olympics are filled with memories that will never fade.

But it is also filled with fashion faux-pas that will be eternal. Actually, I shouldn't say faux-pas, they are more so "different" selections than what would be deemed the norm.

Exhibit A: Ukraine's Atiana Volosozhar, Stanislav Morozov, figure skaters in the short program.

(link to image as I obviously do not own the copyright)

Now, the shiny blue unitard may look a bit awkward, but let's think logically. If you were the female, would you rather wear a full body suit while being tossed and lifted into the air, or wear a fluttery skirt which is two inches long that sort of covers your hip bone. All of a sudden you are lifted into the air by your partner, skirt fluttering in the breeze. The equivalent of a bathing suit bottom is covering you. Your legs are spread wiiiiiiiiiide open. A mere centimetre displacement of fabric will make figure skating become an x-rated event.

Jen Mac chooses unitard.

Exhibit B: Norway's male curling team

AMAZING!! [link to picture]

The shirts are hideous. Just kidding, clearly the bottoms are the focus. They look like they belong on the joker in a deck of cards. But, i must confess, I have owned pants with bizarre prints back in the day. I had a keen interest in plaid pants, and vertically striped pants. Perhaps they were supposed to lengthen my legs?

Bonus Exhibit C - 1992 - Snowglobe
Opening ceremonies, 1992, Albertville, France

I was looking for a picture of Monaco's sweaters from the opening ceremonies and came across this gem. The first Olympics I really remember were those in 1992, but the ones in Barcelona, not Albertville. France is supposed to be very fashionable, so they chose to dress their sign ladies in... giant snowglobes.

There are others to discuss, and more that will need to be discussed in the future, but I must go to beer club. I wasted too many minutes looking for the perfect picture and, alas, did not find it.

United didn't break my guitar, but they make me nervous

In the last minutes of last night/the first minutes of this morning I encountered bizarre American business practices that reminded me of bizarre British business practices.

Last year when travelling to Hawai'i I took a bump. Someone needed on the flight from Chicago to LA (which had already been delayed) and I volunteered to take a bump on the overbooked flight. Since United was so gracious for my humanitarian act and overall wonderfulness, they provided me with a hotel stay for the night (which sure beats the original plan of arriving in LAX at 1:00am - plunked with a four-hour time change), a first-class seat on a flight the next morning (didn't tell me first class, I was pleasantly surprised!), a meal voucher (which they didn't even tell me about), and a free flight anywhere within continental US. The flight had to be booked within one year (aka tomorrow). I, of course, chose to wait 363 days before booking a flight. Originally I was planning on going to New Mexico because no one from PEI EVER goes to NEW MEXICO (so silly is that Jennifer!) and I wanted to ride a llama (so WISE is that Jennifer).

Well, based on the fact I kept putting off booking my flight, I apparently was not overly confident in this decision. Instead I found other important things to do, like watch television, be pretty, chatter on msn, go to the gym, laundry, pick my nose, tromp through snow, etc. I realised last night that New Mexico was perhaps not the vacation spot for me. I'll see llamas another day (maybe on the weekend?.. one can only dream) and although Santa Fe and Albuquerque apparently have many miles of wonderful bike trails, so do many other cities.

Such as San Fransisco!

Research shows that I have fun in places whose name starts with "San".

Exhibit A: San Diego



GET A ROOM.

EXHIBIT B:


There is no exhibit B. I think San Diego is the only San place I have been too. Except we stopped at a gas station in Sandwich, Massachusetts. But that's not official San. I suppose Santa Monica could count, for it's a feminine "San".



Oh! And San Juan. But I can't seem to find a decent photo I have of San Juan at the moment.

Anyway, so yes, San and Santa = good.

HOWEVER!

There is word of caution to this tail, and now I shall continue on the Scotland experience referenced way back up in the first paragraph.

Originally I couldn't figure out how to book using my voucher. Online there was no help, so finally I called the call centre which was borderline helpful, but did at least point me in the first direction. Since I had already arsed around with their funny commands and go-nowhere voice instructions I decided to complete the task another night: last night.

This time I knew what to do. I went through United's call centre and arranged to make a booking using their automated voice system. ("Please state your name and then spell it... F**k your last name is weird, Valued Customer. Just spell it. Please.") I eventually got put through to an agent who semi-finalised my booking. I say semi, because in order to complete the process I had to a) go to an airport with a United counter, or b) send my voucher to them via post.

So... what's the point of all the funny tracking numbers on my stub?

And the only thing I was told to send was the voucher. On the back I would write my last name, reference number (actually a series of letters, but I won't get too picky with the India call centre folk), and the date and number of my last flight.

*twiddles thumbs*

Why oh WHY do I feel there is so much possibility for things to go wrong? I said my voucher would never get there before my ticket expired and she said that was fine, as long as it's post marked by Feb 12.

I believe it is foolish that this transaction can not be completed online. Or perhaps I could fax in a copy of my voucher? Perhaps then follow-up by post?

WHY DO THEY TRUST THE POSTAL SERVICE??

the closest airport I could go to would be... hmm...

I have no idea. United *might* fly into New Brunswick or Nova Scotia, but that would be at least two hours plus Bridge fees away.

So, in theory, I am going to San Fransisco. I half expect to find out in three weeks that they won't accept my voucher, and that I am a bad person for thinking I could use it. Or, they never got my voucher. And they think I'm a bad person who probably kicks puppies.

The experience kind of reminded me of trying to open a bank account in Scotland. Or do anything banking related, really.

"We will send it to you in the mail."
"Oh, don't bother, I can sign this right now."
"We will send it to you in the mail then you will mail it back to us."
"Well, you send it, and I'll drop it back in."
"No. You will mail it."
"Riiiight. Sooo, email options?"
"ROYAL POST!"
"WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!"

(scenario overexagerated for comedic purposes. But not too far from the truth.)

Or, take one of my temp agencies.
"Mail in your time sheets."
"Well, I walk by your agency on my way home, how about I drop it off?"
"No, you will mail it to the head office in Fancy Pants London."
"Well, the fax machine has been a valuable invention, perhaps I will fax it?"
"No, you will post it overnight to London."
"Of course. You with your tiny tiny tiny country yet 13-line long mailing addresses."

Example of UK mailing address:

Jen Mac
Bedroom no. 2
No, not that one, the other one
Right, that one!
123 Pretty Street
Flat 2
(Flat with blue door)
(Not red - BLUE)
Ding Dong Woods
Telpoohpooh CountyTownFace
Somethingshire
Scotland
(Found North of England)
Great Britain
United Kingdom
DD12 345

Example of Canadian address:
Jen Mac
RR 5
Littletown HU T5H 1B4

and DONE. In this vast empire of land. It actually baggles me how some people do receive their mail here, specifically those on rural routes which include many houses and where the same postal code is applied to 1,000 houses (Cornwall, much?)

I think it is snowing again. Quel surprise. Peut-etre, en mai, nous aurons un jour sans neige.

... and she survived.

It's a good day.

Okay, so the windchill is minus eight-hundred and thirty-six (aka -27), but I still have my health. (Please don't push me down the stairs. Then my health will likely be temporarily gone.)

I'm so pumped for summer. Sure it's months away, but I feel it's reachable. This winter has been lovely and splendid thus far. And, a critical point has been met:

JANUARY IS OVER.

It's done! We survived!

I figure summer will officially start around May 6, when I return from spring holiday. I'm going on a delightful adventure to Florida and one other state, likely New Mexico. "Why New Mexico?" you may find yourself asking. To which I HUFF! and say, "Why NOT Nuevo Mexico?" Do you not love the thought of bicycling and llama trecking? Have you no sense of adventure? HAVE YOU NO DESIRE TO LIVE?

I will also acquire lovely tans lines and eat gogs (a new unit of measurement) of tortillas.

I am supposed to be donning my excessive quantities of clothing for a wander to Tuesday Night Beer Club (I'm a founding member - such a visionary, she is). But... despite me saying it's a lovely day, I don't have so much ambition to re-layer. I hate changing clothes. The idea of simply calling a cab, or paying a friend to pick me up, is increasing in desire. It would be about a 25-minute walk to the bar, not much longer than simply walking home. The advantage of walking home, then putting on a sad/cute/rockin' hot face to mooch a drive from Darling Roommate is that I wouldn't show up at the bar in thirteen layers of clothes. I could show up like a "normal" person in fewer clothing articles. Though anyone wearing only one layer of clothing in this chilly weather is clearly not to be trusted and likely a follower of the Devil.

Game plan hasn't completely been constructed, but will leave and take notes on who of Beer Club's key members are devil worshipers. Will post names, photos, personal phone numbers, and addresses to make the town rally more efficient in organizing their exile from society.

Changing Tides...Moon... Party on, Garth!

Last night around 1am I had very strong urges to text, "Party on, Garth!" to a variety of people.

So I did.

Anyway. I'm supposed to be sleeping, but I hate going to bed. It's so... not fun.

Stranger: You know what's fun?
Jen Mac: WHAT?!?! *giddy*
Stranger: Going to bed!
Jen Mac: *blink*
Jen Mac: YOU SLEEP ON A BED OF LIES!
Stranger: But at least I go to bed and can function before 9:30 in the morning and don't accidentally poke myself in the eye with a spoon when eating breakfast.
Jen Mac: You didn't see that.
Stranger: But I bet that has happened.
Jen Mac: You can't prove anything!

Anyway, something extremely significant happened earlier this week. As many of you already know due to the communication advances of "email" and social networking of "Facebook", I have found a new Scottish Love.

It has left me torn and confused. Does my heart no longer pine for Ewan McGregor? He has one of my favourite first names, is brave enough to wear make-up, and belts out "Your Song" in Moulin Rouge with such gentle fierceness (such a delicate balance) that the soul becomes stronger with each subsequent listening experience. I watched him eat cow testicles ("nuts", if you will) in Long Way Round, read his achievements in Long Way Down, admired his lightsaber in Star Wars. I have belted out "Elephant Love Medley" at inappropriate, off-key levels for YEARS.

YEARS!!! That is more commitment than buying a DVD PLAYER.



But now...



I have watched this video much too many times already. I crack up at concerning decibels. I sent it to people who won't get it (i.e., have spent little to no time in Scottie-land). I made my parents watch it when I was at their house eating their food (a parent-child tradition once the youngling has left the home), and while they seemed amused (more so the Father), they seemed more concerned that my lung was going to splatter out of my mouth and smack them in the face from my loud, gasping for breath, convulsion-inducing, seal-lion-like laughter.

It's just.. he makes fun of so much! With such GENTLE SKILL.

"... Scots speak the Queen's English. That is, if the Queen developed a serious case of turrets."

The chav outfit.

"They say that traditional cooking comes from the heart. But here in Scotland it comes from the liver, lungs, and eyelids as well, all wrapped up in a sheep's stomach and boiled to perfection to create our national dish of haggis."

"As you casually wander the winding cobbled streets, you may start to hear what sounds like someone f***ing a cat. Relax! This is none other than the sound of Scotland's famous bagpipes."

He's coming to Charlottetown in early May. I need to pretend to be a reporter to meet him. Then I will offer to house sit for him in his empty Scottish home.

... the plans are falling into place. See yee soon, Danny Bhoy!

To bed she says.

It's just a little tickle! - - uh oh

Today I and co-workers trudged through the spring (printemps!) weather to go downtown for a meeting. A few things usually cross my mind at some point before or during the meeting:

1. I shouldn't drink too much water (l'eau!) in the two hours preceding the meeting (meeting! - said in a funny accent).
2. I should not eat things with creamy, delicious sauces the day of the meeting.
3. Oh yeah, bring a pen (stylo!).
4. If food or drink is served at the meeting, consume these things SLOWLY (lentement!).
5. I hope I don't start coughing.

The evil dry cough that occasionally develops at the end of or beginning of a cold (rhume - I am teaching you French today). I dislike the general discomfort of it, but I hate the awkwardness of it. I recall in grade 5 having one of those dry coughs. It would be fine, and suddenly a burning tickle would develop in the back of your throat (like a UTI in your mouth!! Ew, jen mac.) and a small throat clearing would be attempted. It cause the tickle to length, to plummet deeper into the throat. A pang of stress flashes through the eyes. Attempts to wet the throat occur. Excessive swallowing of non-existent saliva. And, if you are too be so lucky (avoir de chance!) to have a liquid close by, drinking a fluid.

In grade 5 I recall classmates were giving a presentation at the front of the class, and I was trying to very hard not to cough. Holding my breath. Staring at the upper right corner of the room. Trying to think about other things.

You see, in grade 5 one is not allowed to simply stand up and get a drink of water without asking the teacher. And one does not interrupt another student's presentation with such a juvenile request (demande).

One must SUFFER (oh la la!).

And suffer this wee lass did. To the point she remembers it and memories still flood her brain in effort to develop pro-active strategies.

Today in my meeting I started to develop a small tickle in the throat. Luckily, in this case, I successfully formed saliva in my mouth and swallowed it enough to take the tickle down to a pale pink, then non existent. (Yes, tickle intensity is measured on a scale of not-there, to white, to shades of pink, up to intense red. When the red starts glowing, the cough starts flowing.)

Maintenant, on danse.

And now, we dance.

Sorry, I Don't Speak French

Title above is actually in reference to a book I'm ready. As clearly I, personally, would be polite enough to apologize about my lack of French skills in the actual language. "Désolé, je ne parle pas français."

Or, you know, I would just speak French.

The book cost a shiny tooney from Indigo, Chapter's sad cousin of uncomfort. If you have not been to an Indigo, but have been to a Chapter's, just picture a Chapter's without comfortable chairs for sitting, and no place to buy coffee. Decor is not quite as welcoming either. I had seen this book on the shelf long ago, but had forgot about it until seeing this random copy on the SVP!! ACHETEZ-MOI!! table.

I started in the middle of the book. I usually wouldn't do this, but it was late at night and I thought, "Just read a little bit, so make sure it's a bit that catches your eye."

I actually don't know what the general consensus is on bilingualism among Canadians. I think it's delightful, but I'm clearly a bit biased based on my love of randomly blurting out words in French. But, that's not really looking at what it truly means for Canada to declare itself a bilingual country. Frankly, I don't really think it's a bilingual country. This book makes the point that we are not - we are actually a country with two official languages. Frankly, it's true. Related, but did Belgium ever declare itself bilingual? Or just having multiple official languages? As with Suisse - three official languages, but I don't think it declared itself trilingual.

So I kind of wonder how far French-speaking regions should bend to serve anglophones, and how far English speaking regions should bend for francophones. In some of tourist surveys we receive at work (most surveys are translated into French) francophones are angry at the lack of French service here. I'm not sure if they had been mislead to thinking that French would be widely offered, or if they just assumed since it was part of Canada. It's true that we do have a French-speaking population (as a first language), but it is quite small. I mean, remember that time the English deported many Acadiens from the Maritimes? (Although I think PEI was effected to a lesser extent). Funny thing: the English didn't really invite any more French in, nor did any French made great efforts to immigrate to PEI.

I wouldn't expect to be served in English in a French region - with the possible exception of a major hotel chain.

I'm not really going anywhere with this. Just killing time.

Je le trouve bizarre que je ne parle pas français maintenant. L'exception c'est au travail. Des fois je travaille en français (comme ecrire les mails ou faire les petits traductions pour les sondages), mais pas beaucoup. Le français? Tu me manques :(

Aujourd`hui c'est comme un jour de mai. 7C et beaucoup de pluie. En anglais il y a une expression - April showers bring May flowers (la pluie d'avril grandi les fleurs de mai - wow... terrible translation effort :D ). ici c'est plutôt comme, les dernieres flacons de neige d'avril changeront à la pluie pour mai, et le debut de juin.

L'année passé il y avait un tempête de neige le derniére jour de mars. Je crois que c'était le derniére tempete de l'hiver. A ce point, il n'y avait pas un tempête de neige encore. C'a me stressée. Je veux que la neige vient maintenant, pas à la fin de mars et pas en avril. Au mellieu de mars je voudrais monter à vélo. C'est necessaire.

Hier j'ai lu un article a propos les accents different d'anglais. Il y a plusieurs des accents d'anglais aux États-Unis, mais pas ici au Canada. Quand on fait du "recherche" à Internet, on trouve qu'il y a cinq accents d'anglais au Canada. Je crois qu'il y a les accents differents ici. Si on voudrait les entendre, demande au canadien(ne) de dire pasta, car, tomorrow, et Calgary (comme la ville). Et peut-être Vancouver... Je trouve que les canadiens de la côté l'ouest mets un petit g dans la mot, et moins qu'un c. "Vang(c)ouver". Et Calgary - il y a les personnes des prairies qui dit Cal-gary. À l'ést on dit Cal-gry.

Et "tomorrow"? Ah, mon mot préferé des insulaires. TA-MOR-AHHHHHH. Et les mots avec 'ar', nous sommes commes les pirates. "I will drive my carrrrrrrrrrr to the barrrrrr."

La fin. Je travaille maintenant. Je vais m'amuser beaucoup. Oh, oui.

"Pint of vodka, love?"

In PEI we have 19 retail outlets where we can buy liquor, wine, beer, liqueurs, etc. Omitting bootleggers. Someone (the public? local MLA? not sure) was pushing to get a liquor store constructed in Cavendish, one of the busiest tourist destinations in PEI (think Green Gables). There was a cabinet shuffle last week, and the minister now in charge of the PEI Liquor Control Commission stated that the gov't will not open a liquor store in Cavendish, as there is already one 7-km away in Rustico. Residents of Rustico do not want a liquor store in Cavendish as it will hurt sales in their own store, and visitors/people from Cavendish will no longer drive to Rustico to spend money, thus hurting surrounding businesses.

The Guardian (local newspaper) and CBC PEI both allow comments to be left on their news articles/postings. I hate the argument, "It's fine, that's how it is, that's how we do it now."

Just because we do it now does not mean it is the best alternative. Residents also argue, "Oh, we shouldn't spend money on that." However, the liquor store generates REVENUE. I assume they turn a dandy profit, given how much liquor is taxed in this province... Okay, I don't actually know how much liquor is taxed here. But we like to think it's high. The gov't already lends money to blundering local businesses.

A liquor store in Cavendish could be small and seasonal. It could even be in the western part of Cavendish, closer to Stanley Bridge, thus even further away from Rustico. I'm not sure why so many people are so quick to say no.

Maybe they're bootleggers in the Cavendish area?

Proximity of other liquor stores
Stratford LC to Downtown LC: 3.3 km
Downtown LC to Oak Tree Place: 1.3 km
Oak Tree Place to West Royalty LC: 4.2 km
(and yes, I realise Charlottetown serves a greater population than the North Shore.)


Summerside has two liquor stores, both which are about 14 km away from the one in Kensington.

Now, a really innovative idea would be selling liquor in gas stations, corner stores, and grocery stores, à la Québec, United States, and what I`ve seen of Europe. Also believe Alberta, but can`t say that for 100 percent. Or even just select gas stations, as in New Brunswick (although I`m not sure if this law has changed at any point.)

But that`s okay PEI, we don`t want to make things too convenient for tourists and visitors.

In a related note, I kind of want a beer now. Mmm.

French makes Jennifer MacMuscles popular

I recently learned that many of the random people that come across my blog (i.e., those to whom I am not related nor am friends with on Facebook) often find me my Googling random things, often in French.

Is the French blogosphere so small that I give decent search results?!

Not really, because I re-searched the key phrases that people entered into Google to find my blog. I must be on search result page 842 or something, as I lost interest after page 8 or so.

Some of the great things people search for, and somehow find me:

"pop a wheelie" vélo

c'est jolie et c'est bonne mais ce n'est pas que je veus

chat for mac students english

es que la vie est cher au canada en 2010

et maintenant translation

français grâce à google je peux : translated to english

fun francais parlent anglais

i like my boobs

je fait froid et fatigue means

je n'aime pas maintenant. translate --> I am the SECOND search result for this on google.ca

je suis a sept mots maintenant translate - TOP SEARCH RESULT.

je vends beaucoup de gym equipment - Fifth search result?

je vois que tu essaye de parler français.

jennifer mac muscles - Top result again?! I am MacStrong.

la voyage á paris c'est formidable

les produits swipe en france

magasin jen macet

malheursement vertaal

my sexy point

my sexy point sign in

non porte quoi translate

parler anglais

pas que tu dit maintenant in english

"translate, j ai un mal de tete aie aie aie . alors que je dois preparer voyage"

translation je parle anglais aussi

what does this mean in english je veux faire le bonbon vous aimer en ce moment

So there we go. I am easy to stalk. And with every word I type, I am being more easily found. Type type type.

Time to get a pen name?

Anyway, still not that cold here. I dress for the arctic on my walk to/home from work, and am a pool of sweat by the time I get there. But, you know, MacMuscle sweat. The best kind of sweat there is! Winter is one-quarter over, and it seems so weak. It does snow a little almost every day, but where is that BIG January storm that blows around small puppy dogs? I need winter to get big NOW so that it will clear up by mid March and I can start biking again without eight litres of snot dripping from my nose. And you are very welcome for the delicious visual. It's winter, people get runny noses. C'est la vie.

I *finally* decided what I'm giving up for the remainder of 2010: the Bulk Barn. Or, more specifically, candy from the Bulk Barn. I shall permit myself to buy grains, nuts, and other random things that the top three ingredients are just various forms of sugar. Apparently they are "bad" for me. Aisle three, I be taking you DOWN.

I started running at the gym. So much more battering on the body that biking, per unit of time. I could bike for three hours and still prance about happily afterwards (provided seat is at the right height). I play on the treadmill for 30 minutes and become concerned that the outside of my foot is going to snap off in an extremely painful way. It also could be bloody. Hard to tell, I've never had the side of my foot snap off.

I watched "Come Dine with Us" this Sunday afternoon. It made me miss the UK, something I haven't felt much lately other than during my mini-holiday stint there in Nov/Dec. Le sigh. Take me back, Scottie-land?

Ne pas, ne pas, ne pas!

Title of this post inspired by friend's terrible, yet terribly entertaining, francais.

"Le bateau et le cove de Peggy???? Ne pas."

NE PAS.

Obviously the above is grammatically incorrect, but I let it slide.

It's winter! And... I like it. I can't believe I'm saying that. But it's fake winter. The temperature rarely dips below -5C. The snow is wet and heavy, instead of fluffy and soft. Also, it helps that Christmas Break was fantastically fun, and included some outdoor fun.

Things I like about winter: (note, this is pre-deep freeze that will eventually come, and when I will flee to Mexico like a criminal)

• The white snow reflects light, so even though it's dark early, it doesn't seem quite as dark as it would without the snow.
• Functioning winter clothes, e.g., the kind that actually keep you warm. Although Charlottetown isn't too much colder than Paris was (though much damper is the Isle), I have my real winter clothes here and it makes a huge difference.
• When you are walking outside, it's snowing, but the wind is at yee back so it looks like snow is dancing in front of you, yet you do not freeze.
• Sledding.
• Adventures of walking in unexplored land. This weekend we explored PEI's highest "peak". It was a very daring adventure. Appropriate write-up will eventually follow.
• My 'stompy' winter boots that make me feel like I can kick in doors and stomp through the cruddiest of snow.
• Snuggling under many layers of blankets.
• Listening to the wind.
• Power outages. Yes, I like them. They force you to do nothing but relax and slow down. NOTE: this bullet is omitted if power has been out for so long that one must seek shelter due to lack of heat.
• Watching the kids at the daycare outside my window play in the snow, oblivious to any cold.
• Hair is generally not frizzy!

However, winter is not without its flaws:

• Static electricity
• Hat hair
• Learning the hard way that ones boots are not waterproof
• Car accidents
• Feeling really, really pale
• Deep freezes with ridiculous windchills

C'est tout que j'ecris a propos d'hiver.

I did the Polar Bear Dip this year! This is my pre-game face of nerves.


Yes folks, that is the look of a strong-hearted, confident champion. One who laughs in the face of uncertainty.

I had a spotter that day, on hand with towels, slippers - the supplies one must have when crashing into just above freezing water. However, the most important tool she was armed with was my camera. She correctly pointed out that she would not be able to photograph my reaction upon entering the water, so I displayed a fake reaction, which was perhaps more dramatic of my real reaction which I don't remember. However, somehow.. I don't think I cursed upon entering the water.

And before you know it... it's done. I feel like I should be famous among the mortals who did not participate in the icy endeavor. HAIL JENNIFER! We were about 3/4 of the way back in the crowd. Strategic, as those first in would have to crush through the ice with their shins, AND face the oncoming crowd when trying to hustle out of the water.

In the end, I did not dunk under the water, but I believe I went waste deep. I could have went deeper, but the water gushing into my sneakers was causing slight panic to creep into my brain because, well, the water was pretty damn cold. As I turned around to come out, the rocks were super slippery and I recall having a flash oh, "WHAT IF YOU ARE NEVER ABLE TO GET PAST THE SLIPPY ROCKS AND YOU FREEZE? AND NEED TO BE RESCUED AND LOOK LIKE A KNOB??"

Luckily that did not happen.

And standing around after was not so bad, except the feet. I have never had so little feeling in my toes ever before. Taking my sneakers off was hard, like picking up a sleeping uncooperative animal. Putting on slippers was also challenging. It felt like trying to to put a small plastic bag around a giant box or something.

So it was done! I feel it's a good way to start off the year. Something a bit whacky, a lil' nutty, hopefully foreshadowing for the year to come.

Et, la fin.