I saw Carmen at the Queen Liz with Quack on Tuesday. It was our first official date, and like the sweet pseudo-boyfriend she is, she bought us tickets so I must thank her cyber-style in my blog that orbits the digital corners of the infobahn. I figure a spanning thank-you should do the trick.

My recapitulation goes this way:

I’ve seen one opera before this one and it was in Montreal. The opera was Puccini’s Madama Butterfly and it made me choke on my tears Julia Roberts-style. I l-o-v-e opera and even more so when I’m being simultaneously stimulated both visually and audiologically.

Carm doesn’t really compare to Butterfly because one is considered an opéra comique where the other is simply an opera. Carmen made me smile where Madama Butterfly took my breath away.

Still though, this doesn’t mean I pooh pooh at one over the other. I was just affected differently. Carmen has a beautiful set that transitions in just as dazzling of a way through each act. It entertained me, was colourful, spirited and well choreographed. I might have had a different experience in a different theatre though. I found that the higher up and further you are away you suffer mild effects of tunnel vision. Perhaps the stage was too constricted in a way. I mean, it is a smaller theatre with only so much room to work with and the Carmen set is quite lavish. Acoustically, for such booming and rich arias, they didn’t boooom. Maybe I’m just spoiled from L’Opéra de Montréal.

At any rate, I do recommend seeing it if you like Bizet’s Carmen, or even if you don’t, or even if you don’t know. The orchestra was crisp and enthusiastic and that with the show itself definitely made it an entertaining 3 hours and 10 minutes full off seduction, debauchery, and dishevelled sexual obsession. Like hello. Rinat Shaham plays a great, tempestuous Carmen with really luscious mamms.

I should also mention that I had a very distant (literally), ambiguous crush on Matador Escamillo played by Daniel Okulitch because I thought he had a very nice “stature” as I called it to Quack.

Oh, and if you’re looking for great parking places, Quack’s got them all laid out and even highlighted. She impresses me with her meticulousness and productivity these days.

Thanks QuackAttack!

Avec le bras!

There is something in the way she moves.
Thick, trunky legs that barely bend.
She shuffles when she walks.
SwishSwishSwishSwish
Skunk-trailed hair, pulled back tight. Shiny.Smooth.Old hair.
A potholed, red nose holds pretty black-framed glasses with jewels at the corners.
Red, microfibre vest – zipped up tight to a viscous neck…
Hugs a smokey-blue, crushed velvet blouse.
It’s peculiar.
To say the least.
She is orb-shaped in a comfortable way.
And captivates me with the way she talks with hands that sibilate and cut the air.
They’re the most graceful thing about her.

Ottawa makes me so proud sometimes.

I was just sniffing through CBC.ca/news on my break and although I don’t have time to go into a lengthy article on the below subject I would like to at least point out what I consider to be an absolute masterpiece in the way of product description:

“This is, to me, not a sex toy. It’s an electromechanical device,” he said. “We truly look at it from a scientific point of view; in terms of plotting the x-y charts of power versus performance, versus the third dimension of the human dynamic…”

Sex toy buzz helps launch ex-Nortel engineer’s startup

 © Andrea C.

I am a hyper-sensitive animal lover. If I could scoop each one of them up and take care of them for the rest of their lives I would. I can’t sit near a lobster or crab tank in a restaurant. I HATE walking by the fish department in a grocery store. I don’t like seeing fancy aquariums in 24-hour restaurants because I know fish need darkness and sleep time.

I eat meat, but the meat I eat is “happy meat.” For example, I make a point of eating happy chicken eggs, as I like to call them. I like my chickens to have had freedom to waddle. I like my cows to have had a chance to graze; to walk where they wanted, when they wanted; to sleep in the grass before the rain. I like my pork to have been able to roll in the mud for hours if they wanted to. I believe that an animal who lives a life in fear and anxiety leaves a measure of that behind in their body after they go. I don’t think it’s good that we ingest that. I try to make a point of buying meat from local farms. I don’t like driving past 18-wheelers carrying slaughterhouse meat. It makes me very sad.

I don’t like the hormones they put in meat; I think GMO food is dangerous to human beings. I think this is part of the reason why girls are getting their periods at 9 years old; why 16 year old girls have the bodies of 28 year olds; why young boys are developing gynecomastia; why healthy couples are experiencing fertility problems.

I’ve narrowed my beauty products to companies who don’t endorse or test on animals. I don’t want my shampoo to have been in some rabbit’s eyeball first. They’re also safe for the enviro.

My first product endorsement on my blog – ever. I’ll endorse because I think they’re fantastic in so many ways…

Paul Mitchell Tea Tree Special Line

St. Ives Citrus Moisturizing Body Wash

Moom Spa Sugaring Wax — it’s amazing for “those” areas, btw

Sage Wellness Lavender Luxury Shampoo & Conditioner

I’m not perfect, I’m not saying I’m right, but I think we all have something we believe in. I’m doing the things that make sense to me and I think that’s where it starts. I think we should all be informed, then base our decisions on information. I know there is so much more I can do, and I go slowly … but I still go.

Considering I’ve been such a blogging delinquent, I’ve decided to emerge with a bang. I recently did a major closet-purge and actually unpacked some of the boxes I moved to Vancouver with … a year and a half ago. Of course this part of my purge took me the longest because I enjoy finding things I had forgotten I still had … like all my New Kids On The Block memorabilia from 1988 – 1992. I have a thick pile of love letters to Joe McIntyre that I wrote and never sent. I can honestly say I’m so thankful these letters remained in my possession. How embarrassing, even as a 13 year old. I was such a strange child sometimes.

September 1989, I was 12. Check out “Cute & Cuddly” Fred Savage.

I was an “official member” … I wonder if I still am? I should really check.

My Joey Joe doll makes it into the scanner bed. Too bad you can’t see the hot, diamond ring sticking out of one of his knuckles. The authenticity was unbelievable … hmmm. You should see what he looks like with his pants off.

Personal touches:

Hilarious:

Love letter 1 of 50, I’m sure:

… “or EVEN lovers.” How precocious of me.

No one comes between me and my NKOTB, no one, not even Travis…

…”or remain mutual” – I’m pretty sure I meant NEUTRAL!

ps. Call me, but don’t give up if I don’t answer.

And for this one… I’m not sure of the story behind it. I must have had a serious crush on a boy. I just wish I knew who it was, I would send it to them now.

Posts about my cats are not going to be a trend … or maybe they will. Anyway, it doesn’t matter. This was worth a post in my opinion.

An update on Marshall’s job interview:

After a gruelling hour-long behavioural interview, my little Marshsicle got the job and is now a certified therapy pet. This is such a great service as there are literally hundreds of care facilities in Vancouver that offer pet visitation and pet therapy. We’ll eventually be visiting places like BC Cancer Hospital, Canuck Place Children’s Hospice, seniors’ residences, recovery units, etc.

I have to tell you, watching Marshall last night was so fascinating. I mean, I know he’s pretty unique for a cat. Like it’s actually very strange to watch him. People that come to my place find him very interesting because he’s got these human/old dog qualities and yet he’s neither of those species.

The lady called him from various corners of the room and he’d scurry over to her every time, then she banged some pots around him and he just sat there, perked his ears, then he was all ‘whatever man’ and lifted his leg up to lick his crotch. Then she wheeled a wheelchair right past him while sitting in it and he watched it for a few seconds then looked away and let out a little meow, she poked him with a walking cane, ran it along his tail, and he just sat there and arched his back when she got near his tailbone. She took photos of him. And he just kind of sat and observed while various residents (most with mental illness) just came to stare at him and talk to him.

Needless to say the lady adored my little Marshy and she was happy that he was a cat as most of the therapy pets are dogs. She says that so many people request the company of a cat but sadly, right now there are not many who are tolerant and relaxed enough to handle being manhandled. Marshall on the other hand doesn’t care as long as he’s being touched.

So that’s pretty much it. I’m excited to see how he does in his first job. He’s good in the car too thank god. Last night he just sat in my lap and sang to Tina Turner with me.

(I started this Sunday)
my oatmeal is bubbling over the pot and saturating the burner. It stinks in my apartment. Otis is making a hiding place inside a Caper’s paper bag. Marshall is passed out in the cat basket under the window with his legs dangling over the edge. I’ve been cycling through the Weather Network for about an hour now and can tell you exactly what the weather across Canada is going to be like for the next 7 days. I’m still in my “morning clothes.” That is, I made it out of my pajamas, but transitioned into fleece pants, a t-shirt and a hoodie. My hair is in this very peculiar ponytail that I created earlier because I was going to do a mask but have since become so completely sidetracked that it just took me a minute to remember why it’s sitting on the top of my head like this in the first place.

I’ve been feeling completely estranged from the world over the past week or so, or maybe “removed” is a better word. There has been a lot going on in my life since Christmas and this explains the infrequency of my posts. I find when something else takes up about 75% of my attention then the other 25% is reserved solely for day to day functioning (5% for getting up, 5% for work, 5% for coming home, 5% for sleep, and the last 5% for human interaction) and anything else I require after that feels like having to borrow energy for the coming week. It’s hard to explain, really. Basically, what you’ve read up until this point has taken me two days to write. I find myself sitting here with my fingertips on the keyboard and I could probably open up a floodgate of thoughts but right now I don’t know where the key is. It’s lost in the 75% of emotion overload.

I know what’s caused all this, so at least I have a good grip on that. It’s not like it just washed over me and I’m completely clueless as to where it came from. I have no doubt that in a couple of weeks my shit will be back together, but in the meantime it’s pretty consuming.

On the wall straight ahead of me is a map of the Western United States, it is what got me to San Francisco this past September. To my right is a Century Atlas enlargement of Italy. I want to run away again for a while. Take a vacation where my mind can be at peace with my surroundings. It comes and goes though, I’m sure everyone has tiny moments of packing it up and hitting the highway. I like unknown destinations – running to stand still. I like not knowing sometimes. Sometimes when you stop to know, life lands heavy.

(It’s now Monday night)
I did a very big thing for myself last week. I ended two friendships that spanned two decades. I realised there is nothing there anymore. That certain outcomes of certain situations can really show you who cares about you and who is worth caring about. And I figure, if I have to fight for my worth as a friend, then that’s not worth fighting for. A friend shouldn’t have to prove anything, nor should a friend ever feel like they have to prove something. So that felt good. I had a good sleep that night. I shook the sticky cobwebs of shadowed friendships that died months ago from my shoulders and it felt amazing. I am also going to apply the same philosophy to my life now. When there’s nothing there anymore, why hang on? Why do we hang on? And to what? Just to distract ourselves from the inevitable? A disinterest that we never thought we’d feel or doesn’t feel fair to feel? Maybe things will get better, or they’ll just go away? Do I stay in any relationship to keep the other person happy? Or other people happy? Or do I stay in a relationship because I’m happy. It’s always been the latter for me – always. Happiness in any partnership can only exist when both partners are happy. Not one for the other. I’m living for me now as selfish as that sounds, but the way I look at it, if I spent my life solely living for other people I’d have no idea who the hell I was after a while, I would lose myself. I’m going to make decisions that confirm and cultivate my happiness. To me, it’s the most surefire way to have a mutal happiness between any two people. Resentment can be an awful thing. I don’t mean turning into a cranky old bat who expects the world while throwing bread crumbs to the birds, I just mean finding happiness in making other people happy isn’t a guarantee because not everyone will always be happy with you, and if you base life on that, then you’re kind of putting a lot of faith in the hands of someone else.

I went skiing over the last two days. My ass aches and so do my quads but man it’s such a delicious ache. I got that from swooshing in snow. From nailing moguls. It’s like my life right now, another delicious ache.

I saw Slumdog Millionaire tonight too and I still feel overwhelmed. I wish I didn’t have to say I saw it because my interest was piqued after the Golden Globes. I think if I saw a preview, or tuned into the outside world over the last month I would have seen it premiere night, but I didn’t because I was lost for a while. Justified. I will buy the movie, because I found it so wonderful. And it will become a treasure.

Tomorrow is Marshall’s job interview with ‘BC Pets and Friends‘ so he can be a certified therapy pet. Right now he’s passed out, resting his chin on my forearm. It’s funny because his head keeps bobbing as my fingers move across the keyboard but he’s definitely sleeping, at least I’m pretty sure. His purrs are coming more broken now as he falls deeper. I almost wish I could stay here, he just looks so relaxed, and his head is so heavy. I think he’ll be good at this job.

I’m going to close this trail of nothingness off soon so I can crawl into bed with my big, burly cats at my feet, pillows all around me, clean laundry that needs to be folded at the foot of my bed – ya, it’s my room, my disheveled, cozy room. A true reflection of my disheveled mind as of late and there’s really no use fighting it. I just roll with it because it always passes me by before I even notice. I’m going to open up ‘Eat Pray Love’ and get lost in it like I do every night.

Finish each day and be done with it. You have done what you could. Some blunders and absurdities no doubt crept in; forget them as soon as you can. Tomorrow is a new day; begin it well and serenely and with too high a spirit to be encumbered with your old nonsense.

- Ralph Waldo Emerson

As someone who cannot sit next to, near, or within view of a lobster or crab tank at a restaurant and/or grocery store … this little BBC article made me happysad. I wish George didn’t have to endure this for a week and a half. 140 years old. 140 years in the ocean only to be caught, thrown in a tank with bright lights all around .. people strange creatures taking photos with you, flashes going off … imagine the terror. Now, whether George felt this way during his brief encounter on planet human I do not know. There is probably some research paper on it somewhere. But for me, it’s the principle that irks me, but I’m glad they were human-enough to let him go back home.

http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/americas/7821645.stm