The Final Countdown

The above song will forever remind me of Arrested Development. RIP. (Will they EVER broadcast the last few episodes?)

Anyway, we leave Feb. 1. It's official. We've got flights, and we've lined up a short-term let for a couple of weeks, which will hopefully be enough time to find more permanent accommodation.

I've gotten surprisingly comfortable hanging out in Kingston, enjoying such luxuries as the world's most comfortable bed, a dishwasher and laundry facilities. (And ceilings that don't leak and drop plaster on you! And a kitchen that doesn't need to be heated by opening the oven door and turning it to "broil"! And electricity that is reliable for more than a week at a time! And a private entrance! And no obnoxious nocturnal clog-dancing neighbour above!)

I'm also realizing that I'll miss the things in my environment that have always made a place home for me. We can't really bring any of the decor, knickknacks, photos, and, most tragically, BOOKS that I'm used to having around wherever I live. I hope it doesn't feel like we're just living out of suitcases for the next few years.

On the subject of suitcases, I have never been any good at packing, so you can imagine how much fun I'm having right now. How can I possibly choose which shoes to leave behind? And sweaters, jackets, scarves, bags ... too bulky to bring them all. I can probably only pack three or four books. Furthermore, cosmetic stuff weighs a fair bit, so I shall be forced to take only the bare minimum (though there IS a Benefit counter in Boots and Debenhams, so I'll be able to get my fix in Oxford).

To my dismay, I've discovered that the carry-on limit for our flight is one item, maximum weight only 13 pounds! What is WITH that? My laptop and backpack alone weigh 6 pounds. (And that's without the power supply, which will have to go in checked luggage.) So much for bringing a change of clothes, a few magazines and a bottle of water. We chose BA in part because they had significantly higher checked baggage allowance, but the seat sale has apparently denied us the 40 pound carry-on allowance of normal tickets. All I can say is that our checked bags had better arrive in a timely fashion, otherwise we're in a spot of trouble! I'll be stuffing my jacket pockets as much as possible, that's for sure. (I've never had a carry-on bag weighed before, but if they are going to have such a low allowance, I'd expect they might enforce it. Otherwise what is the point?)

On the upside, I'm looking forward to doing some travelling again. I hope I find a job that will both finance some trips and allow the necessary vacation time! I fear that will be a challenge. Oh, to be a student, with those handy thrice-yearly breaks. Well, okay, I won't miss all the grotty hostels we stayed at on a student budget. This time I hope to avoid catching the plague. (Or what was more likely a horrific all-over gnawing of flesh by whatever insects were in that "bed" in Budapest. Shudder.)

******
I found a magazine from 1997, and a (tepid) review of a new INXS album, with Michael Hutchence still alive, gave me a brief, unexpected moment of sadness. There was also a review of a book on the Mississippi flood of 1927, which devastated parts of New Orleans. Here's a quote that may sound slightly familiar in light of the more recent disaster: "we watch Commerce Secretary Herbert Hoover rise to power by manipulating publicity surrounding hapless black refugees-many of whom migrated north."

From the Department of Silly Ephemera

In a plastic bag along with other forgotten school assignments, I found my 1988 New Year's Resolutions:

Personal resolution: To work hard at my piano lessons and to practice without as MUCH complaining.

Resolution for school: To remember to write 1988 instead of 1987 on my work.

I've always been ambitious.

Aw, hell.

Quite apart from the Alberta sweep, which was a lost cause, what on earth have Canadians done? Re-elected back half of Mike Harris's cabinet in Ontario! Yikes. I can just shake my head, throw up my hands, and feel glad that I'm getting out of here for the duration of the term. Hopefully no lasting damage will be done. At least it's not a majority. If Harper had free reign for a few years I may never have wanted to return ...

Finds of the day

The archaeological dig continues, and these are some of the more interesting things I've recently discovered (and in most cases tossed):

Exclamation! perfume. Rather unpleasant stuff. Brings back memories of hairspray, frosted pink lipgloss and, er, tapered jeans. Yes, those were the 80s. Also: Cover Girl Navy perfume (which I could never wear again after accidentally blinding myself with it for about two days ... the agony was truly unbelievable), Body Shop Strawberry, and Love's Baby Soft Musk. Did every twelve or thirteen-year-old girl wear this kind of stuff, or did I just read too many YM magazines? (Before I discovered Sassy and punked out. Heh.)

Half-finished Home Economics and Shop Class projects. Most notably a sad little polar bear with an inexplicable bow tie and no legs. Also, a scary eyeless "cat" made out of stocking, and a grizzly bear engraved on a copper sheet, and framed in burlap, which could only look good hanging on a fake-wood-panelled wall next to a collection of dead animal heads. Actually, it should be in one of Douglas Coupland's setups in Souvenir of Canada.

A list, which I THINK is in Dave's handwriting, detailing the fallout from a particularly grumpy day in 1995 (I know, hard to believe I have grumpy days):

Laura's Hit List Part One: Things of Great Badness (in no specific order):
Sheryl Crow
Shabba Ranks
Ricki Lake
Postmodernism
Alanis [ed.'s note: pre Jagged Little Pill, which I still hated]
Full House [the Everybody Loves Raymond of the 80s]
Watermelons
Screechy Soundgarden
Testosterone Rocker Bands

I also found some truly awful poetry and stories, including one written entirely in French by several authors, judging by the handwriting. And further evidence that being creative and possessing genuine artistic talent are two very different things. Ahem.

That's some rabbit

Okay, so everyone else in the world has already seen Donnie Darko. I had my belated initiation last night, and as soon as they opened it with "The Killing Moon" I was hooked. I was promised that the film was kind of like Twin Peaks in spirit, and though it could never match that standard in my opinion, the MUSIC was genius, especially the slow-mo visuals they paired it with. I have always had a secret desire to make a film solely for the joy of choosing all my favorite obscure music and throwing it in at key moments. The ultimate music snob's conceit. There are so many great songs that I can't believe noone has put in a film (unless they've tried and been refused). Or at least not any film that I've seen, and I see a lot of arty/indie flicks.

(Incidentally, I still listen to the Twin Peaks soundtrack a fair bit. It always reminds me of Chelsea's house and Natasha's inimitable rendition of the Dance of the Dream Man.)

In which I get all sentimental, again

For weeks now I've been trying to clean out my room. But I keep getting drawn into reading old cards and letters I've gotten over the years from friends and family. They go a loooong way back, and they sure are funny. One highlight is a birthday card from an early crush, in which he threatens to beat the s*** out of me. Oh, how I analyzed that one, reading between the lines, clutching it to my chest, drowning in the romance of it all.

There are boxes of letters and cards, and I don't know when I'll ever have time to reread them all (er, well, other than now), but I can't bring myself to part with them. Two things are certain: a)my friends, past and present, totally rock my world, and b) if any of them have similar packrat tendencies there is DEFINITELY some incriminating stuff out there.

I wish I hadn't lost touch with so many people, but I'm pretty happy with the posse I still have. One consolation of moving far away from everyone: many more opportunities for mischief by mail!

Tomorrow we'll resume with our usual program of sarcasm and cynicism. Maybe. Gah, what has happened to me? When did I start losing the bitterness and becoming all squidgy and sentimental? It must be the approaching milestone birthday ...

Have visa, will travel ...

Well, we can both officially live and work overseas now, so I can officially begin to wig out.

Return of the Mac

I'm back in the big city for a few days. Much less snow here, although the snow at home is also unski-able. Anyway, looking forward to catching up with as many people as possible, doing a bit of shopping, a bit of merrymaking, and consuming many chai lattes. It definitely feels odd to be here and not have the apartment. It was hardly a nice apartment, but it was home. I miss my neighborhood!

Then this weekend it's back home to finish sorting and packing away my stuff, to vote (how they figured out where I'm living right now I'll never know), to straighten things out with the bank, and to otherwise prepare to move overseas at the end of the month. I feel as if there must be a million things I haven't even thought of that will become very apparent once I'm unable to acquire entry, abode or employment due to some oversight. But part of me just thinks "Oh, well, I'll cross that bridge when I come to it." I will keep you posted on how the ignorance-is-bliss approach to relocation works, in case anyone else wants to try it. And if you've ever moved overseas yourself, advice is welcome.

Have a great week!

New year, old jeans

I have cracked open the vault of my twenty-five-year-old Ikea cabinetry left behind here while I shuttled about for the past ten or eleven years. The intention was to get rid of almost everything to make more storage room, but so much of this stuff is museum-quality and historically interesting that it's hard to let it all go. I've found those weird cardboard boxes that replaced pencil cases for a while in grade five and six. I've found a Vuarnet sticker that no doubt came with a since deceased T-shirt. I've found Expo '86 memorabilia. I've found my early photographic efforts with a Kodak disc camera ... lots of decapitated relatives. In my closet I came across this artifact, likely from 1989 or 1990: jeans hacked off and hand-tapered with loving care. Notice the way they conform to the calf and hug the ankle. I can no longer come close to doing them up, so you just get my feet.

I also uncovered disturbing evidence that my entry into the gifted program in grade three may have been the result of some finagling on my parents' part. At the age of eight, Mozart was already composing some of his more memorable music. Me, I was creating such masterpieces as "A Man in a Boat," meticulously dating them (Dec. 31, 1984) and signing them to be sure noone else could claim credit for my genius. The fact that this sorry little construction of cardboard, pipecleaner, felt and walnut shell is now twenty-one years old, and that it survived this long, against all possible odds, makes me reluctant to destroy it. But this sort of thing can be held against you.

New year, old friends

Returning to the ancestral homestead has brought up lots of embarrassing memorabilia, lots of listening to my favorite maudlin tunes, and lots of memories of old friends.

On that subject of old friends, I'm giving a shout-out to Chelsea for her help in setting up this blog. When we were in high school and I was etching out multiple drafts of my essays on stone tablets, Chelsea already had an email address and was participating in these things called "chatrooms." Years later, hers was the first blog I followed. She has always been a fearless embracer of new technology, and is therefore my polar opposite. (This didn't stop us from constantly being mistaken for one another ... apparently being tall and pale with dark hair and black clothing makes you more or less interchangeable.) In grade ten English class we used to write tales about our fantasy futures and pass them back and forth. In these stories we'd be successful Bright Young Things living anywhere BUT Kingston, with our celebrity partners of choice (or occasionally heretofore unattainable high school seniors). She has become just such a person in real life, with a very cool boyfriend who's not famous yet but is on the rise, and over the holidays they got engaged. I think that even her idealistic high school self would be thrilled.

The evil twins circa 1994.