Sheep and Pigs: The Last Word on IFLA

It's amazing how much I can forget in such a short period of time. For example, I can't remember which session I was in during the IFLA conference when I heard the bleating of a sheep right behind me. I almost jumped. Why was there a sheep at the World Library and Information Congress? I have never seen a sheep librarian (but I have met some sheepish ones). But, sure enough, there was a sheep sitting right behind me. Any sheep farmer sitting in my chair would have said, "Yes, sir, I reckon that's a sheep right behind me."

I considered glancing around to confirm this, but then the bleating stopped. Soon, I heard the distinctive deep guttural grunting of a pig right behind me. Where had the sheep gone and why was there a pig in it's place? I wondered about Animal Farm. Could this be it? Was it Napoleon the pig? Were we about to be overthrown by a collective of disaffected farm animals?

I was so disappointed when I discovered that I had been listening to the bleats and grunts of a sleeping librarian who was clearly suffering from sleep apnea. Imagine being able to sleep during sessions. This would be fantastic, as C. pointed out. What an enviable skill. Think of how much extra sleep one could get, especially during boring sessions. I have to work on this, but I think I need some sort of alarm system in case I start to snore.

OK, so I am moving offices today. The packing starts now.

TCOB

I am taking care of business today, so that I can free up my calendar for tomorrow, when I move offices, again. This will be my fifth office here (actually, it's my sixth, if you count temporary moves). So, that's probably all I am going to write today.

Wait, a few days back, I cycled past a colleague who was being ticketed by the cops for cruising through a stop sign. Later, he told me that the ticket was $110. It made me doubly glad that I took a different tactic when this almost happened to me a few years back.

Why is it that I am acquiring allergies as I age? Suddenly, I am sneezing up a storm in the mornings and using lots of tissues. My eyes are so itchy, I want to rip them out of their sockets. Why? Why? Why?

Reading

Instead of a rant about the arrogance of Stephen Harper and his selfish, childish reasons for breaking his own law about fixed election dates, I will talk about some recent reads. No reviews, mind you, just quick notes. I have no energy for reviews, as I think I might have to read a 56 page document for my half-day meeting today, so a quick sentence or two is all I will commit to.

1) Three To See the King by Magnus Mills - I liked this very much, but not as much as The Restraint of Beasts or All Quiet on the Orient Express. Mills has a very simple style, but his messages are certainly deeper. If you haven't read his books, I would suggest that your go with The Restraint of Beasts. It was short-listed for the Booker. It is bizarre and deeply comic.

2) Under the Frog by Tibor Fischer - At times, this book is absolutely hilarious, to me anyway. Some knowledge of dysfunctional communist regimes might enhance the experience. Previously, I had read Fischer's The Collector Collector and pretty much hated it, so I wasn't sure about this one. Under the Frog, too, was shortlisted for the Booker, back in '93. I have another of his books on a bookshelf, so I might get to that someday.

3) Green Grass, Running Water by Thomas King. I enjoyed Truth and Bright Water, One Good Story, That One, and Medicine River, but this one is probably the best of the lot. I've met the man on two occasions and he is a good chap. He will be running for the NDP in Guelph in the next election (which could come at any time, despite the law for fixed election dates. Thank you, Mr. I-want-to-control-parliament-like-a-control-freak Harper).

In progress:

1) The Navigator of New York by Wayne Johnston - The Colony of Unrequited Dreams is one of my all-time favourite books, and I am looking forward to reading The Custodian of Paradise someday. For some reason, Navigator sat on my bookcase for years before I finally got around to opening it. I am enjoying it, but not as much as Colony or Human Amusements. One of the things that really grabbed my about The Colony of Unrequited Dreams and Human Amusements were the father figures who are absolutely hilarious. Still, this is a solid and interesting novel and worth reading.

I've Been Jesused

It finally happened. Yesterday, one of the Jesus Freaks here handed me a brochure called Good News. When the door-to-door Jesus salesmen and saleswomen come calling, I normally slam the door in his/her face. It's difficult to do that at work. Not that I care if anyone is religious. You can be crazy about god, speak in tongues, go all weak in the knees, and faint in a rapturous heap on the floor for all I care. Just keep it to yourself, please. I wonder if she was on break when she handed out her junk mail, or if she did it on company time. Hmmm.

I do have to describe the brochure to you. The front features an image of two men reading a book, which I gather is the bible. Judging from the smiles on their faces, I would have guessed that it was either the Happy Hooker or The Story of O. The two chaps are rendered in a 1950s children picture book manner, if you know what I mean. In other words, they look cheesy as hell.

Inside, we are treated to a drawing of Jesus (in red) looking an awful lot like Brad Pitt in Kalifornia, but without the baseball cap. There's also an image of a person sitting on the ground in front of a robed man (maybe Jesus, maybe not). The thing is that the person's head is at genital height, making it look as though he is about to service Jesus. To make it more convincing, Jesus has placed one hand on the chap's head, as if to guide the kneeling chap along in his task. Maybe it's a new spin on baptism.

Plus, the grammar is all screwy. For example:

"Sin leads, to hell, but God loves us." - What's with the comma craziness?

"Then on the third day after his death - God raised Jesus back to Life!" - Life gets a capital letter, for some reason. The use of a em dash between death and God is wrong. It should be a comma.

I'll stop with the editing, because there are too many other errors to continue.

So, she handed this brochure to me, and I had to restrain myself from saying something that I might regret. I took the badly folded home-printed flyer from her, and said:" I probably won't read it." That didn't seem to bother her at all. And, the truth is, I did read it, but it had the opposite effect: it added to my conviction that those who proselytize are morons and should go to hell for wasting our time.

Disconnected

I have to say that with my laptop still out-of-service, and having been almost completely severed from the web most evenings and for much of the weekends, I have survived better than expected. So far, I have experienced no sleep disturbance, delirium, shakes, hallucinations, convulsions, panic or anxiety, nausea, fever, or tachycardia. Thank god.

Of course, the Olympics were on, and I am a big fan of that event, so I will have to see what happens now that we are back to our regularly-scheduled programming of crap, crap, and more crap.

Speaking of the Olympics, I have a difficult time believing that those tiny Chinese gymnasts are all of age for Olympic competition. Some of them look like they are ten years old and there seems to be lots of evidence that at least one is only 14. When I first saw a video of them clustered around each other, I thought that they looked like a litter of kittens. Someone observed that one of the gymnasts was missing a baby tooth, although I am not sure I believe that.

Younger gymnasts have the advantage of greater flexibility and agility and are less prone to injury, so I have read. Children are also improbably strong. My three year old can do a sort of Iron Cross with little effort.

China faked part of the opening ceremonies and has been guilty in the past of using underage athletes, so I think that this ought to be fully investigated. As expected, previously-available documents have suddenly been removed from the web. I guess this means that my blog will now be blocked in China, if it wasn't already. How to I find that out?

Dancing Librarians

I chose a slightly blurry photo so as to keep identities secret. It seems like there is some sort of circular bunny hop happening.

I have more, but my laptop, despite a new battery ($157), is not healthy. It won't charge or maintain a charge when powered up, and the battery drains twice as fast as it should, even when plugged in. When shut off, it sort of charges, but the battery light goes out or flickers. Damn computers.

Olympics

Four things.

1) Michael Smith - I've been listening to former decathlete Michael Smith's Olympic track and field commentaries on the CBC. Generally, I think he is a good commentator and clearly knowledgeable about the athletes and the events. But, man oh man, this dude needs a dictionary. He has a penchant for making up words and improperly using others. He made up a doozie the other day, and I wish I could remember what it was. During the women's pole vault competition, he said that the bar had hung there "precociously for a moment." I have to think he meant to say precariously.

2) Usain Bolt - He is amazing, but I have to confess that his 100 metre victory left me a little disappointed. I really wish he had finished the race, rather than just jogging across the finish line. I wanted to see what he could really do. The 200 metre final was much better, since he finished the race properly.

3) Shattered - When a world record is broken by a mere 100th of a second or two 100th of a second, it has not been shattered, despite what commentators might say. One hundredth of a second is inconsequential. It may be a new world record, and it may be cool to see, but shattered, it is not. Broken, it is.

4) Michael Phelps - It's all been said, but I am glad not to have to follow his diet.

J'ai tombé

Walking along Rue Saint-Jean with C, we watched a man tumble to the ground while intimately entangled with his bicycle. As we approached, he said, quite calmly, "J'ai tombé." I half expected him to add "and I can't get up," but he didn't. Naturally, I was shocked at his grammar. He ought to have said "Je suis tombé." Avoir is the wrong auxiliary with this intransitive verb.

Similar errors occur in English. My father, for example, will utter such grammatical abominations as "I done steaks last night," in reference to his bar-b-queuing prowess, or "I haven't ate anything today." My sister, similarly grammatically-challenged, often says things like "I seen mom yesterday" and "I should have went to the store."

Naturally, I am familiar with Stuff White People Like, and have no problems admitting that I am guilty of point 99. But, as it turns out, the use of the incorrect auxiliary verb can be found in the Québécoise dialect. Evidently, the lower the socioeconomic status, the greater the likelihood that être will be abandoned in the passé composé of certain verbs of motion. I suppose this man's early evening drunkenness might indicate a certain socioeconomic status, but that is no guarantee.

We helped this man, clearly quite inebriated, to his feet with the assistance of another gent, who inquired after his health. The fallen man, now temporarily on his feet and looking rather wobbly, said "an accident is an accident", but I cannot remember if he said that in English or in French. We continued on our way, leaving the man of unknown socioeconomic status to attempt to cycle while plastered to the gills, as my dad would say.

Around the corner on Rue Cartier, a car ran a red light. A split second later, the police cruiser behind him at the traffic lights flipped on his siren and sped round the corner on the wet pavement, straight into a mature maple tree. I didn't realize that a police car impacting a Québec tree could be so loud. The violator got away clean and the police officer called in for assistance. I wanted to take a photo of his wrecked car, but thought better of it. It was quite impressive, really. One wheel was completely off the car and there were bits of tree everywhere. I was happy not to have been walking too close to that zone.

The third accident was mine: Earlier, I spilled red wine all over my Programme de Poche and my name tag. Of the three accidents that day, this was the most grievous. Wasting wine is a sin.

I know, you are still waiting for photos of dancing librarians, but I still cannot use my laptop. You will just have to wait a while longer.

Smart Casual

On my way to the IFLA World Library and Information Congress in Québec, I noticed that the dress code for the Cocktail Reception and Fun Night was listed as "Smart Casual". Oh, the horror, the horror. There are just too many things wrong with that. For one, the word 'smart' reminds me of the superlatives my mother would use when describing the ugly sweaters my aunt liked to give me every year at Christmas. "That's a smart sweater," she would say. I quickly learned that smart equaled ugly. These sweaters languished in my closet for years, unworn.

But, if you are ancient, then 'smart' somehow becomes a good thing and the old people in our society start using the word 'smart' in conjunction with 'outfit'. No boy or man would ever want to be seen in anything resembling an outfit. Informing a man that he is wearing an outfit is emasculating. Add the word 'smart' to 'outfit' and you might as well kill him where he stands. It means that his life is over. He has failed.

Once you are a senior, you are permitted, for some bizarre reason, to wear outfits. You know: velour tracks suits or matching polyester jacket and pants and shoes with those velcro fasteners. I guess if you have to bend over for more than a few seconds to tie your shoes, you risk death at certain ages. My dad also started to wear ill-fitting baseball hats even though he doesn't watch baseball and went his entire life without a baseball hat.

So, I hauled a black vintage suit jacket with me and donned that for the night of fun. I did not look smart, but I think I passed for casual.

Back from Quebec with Damaged Lungs

(The bad news is that my laptop is in need of some repair, and this is hampering my web access. I hope to have this fixed soon).

While in Quebec, I almost made the decision to become a smoker. Why not? I asked myself. Everywhere I went, I was forced to inhale someone else's second-hand smoke: while walking down the street, while sitting on benches, while eating on patios, even in stores because people smoked in doorways and the smoke wafted in like a grey plague. Before I left for Quebec, I was becoming more and more irritated with smoke in Toronto, but Toronto has nothing on the cigarette madness in Quebec city. The whole place is cancerous.

My other observation is that the food was not as good as I had remembered from my previous visits. I can cook steak way better than any of the steaks I had there. Even the filet mignon, ordered from a gluten-free menu at a resto on rue du Petit-Champlain in Quartier Petit Champlain, sucked. I did have a couple of nice glasses of wine and a really great sangria, thankfully.

But, by far the most bizarre sight was a pod of dancing librarians. In my entire career in this female-dominated profession, I had never seen librarians eager to hit the dance floor. But, at this World Congress, filled with delegates from Africa, Iran, Iraq, China, Russia, all parts of Europe, Oceania, and dozens of other nations, this was happening. I have photos to prove it, and if my laptop ever recovers, I might even share some with you. Whether or not I tripped the light fantastic (or fandango) will forever remain a secret.

Je suis à Québec

Hey, there is free wireless here, even during the conference sessions. This could be very dangerous.

The train trip was fine, and went fast, partly because I was travelling with three colleagues, one of whom brought about three pounds of red radishes as a snack. I am not sure about you, but radishes are way down my list of good train snacks. I won't bore you with a list of the pounds of food I carted along with me, but I remember looking at those radishes as I bit into a nice hunk of dark chocolate and felt sorry for her husband, who vocally pondered the necessity of taking red radishes on a train. Poor man.

We interrupt this vacation to bring you a special presentation of:
Spadina Spadina Station

If you have travelled on the Toronto Subway system, you will no doubt have heard the station announcements, such as:

"The next station is Spadina, Spadina station." Soon thereafter you will hear:

"Now arriving at Spadina, Spadina station." (or, occasionally "Now arrivin' at...).

I just clued in that my son (age 3 and a bit) has assumed that the names of the stations were 'Spadina Spadina Station' and 'College College Station'. We have conversations like:

Him: Is this our stop Daddy?
Me: What station is this?
Him: Osgoode Osgoode Station.
Me: No, it's not our stop yet. We are getting off at St. George.
Him: St. George St. George station?
Me: Yes, St. George St. George station.

I find this particularly hilarious. Je vais à Québec. À plus tard.

Hiatus

Dudes, I will be ignoring my blog for the next two weeks, unless I suddenly get the urge to post a recipe for tripe fritters or stuffed liver. There is a possibility that I will hop on a wireless network in Quebec City, but don't hold your breath.

I hope that the remainder of your summer is grand. À bientôt.

Holy Crap

I just surfed past the opening disaster on tonight's Canadian Idol and watched eight youngish people absolutely massacre The Who's My Generation. If I were The Who, I would sue, for a lot of money.

Not being at work is impeding my blogging, but I am sure it will get back to normal later this summer.

Right now, I am sitting on my back deck with my computer and camera, watching a squirrel attack the grape vines and listening to the neighbour's air conditioner. It has run continuously since Lord knows when, and for no good reason. There is a nice breeze today, and I am more than comfortable. Oh, I am taking some time off, which I think I mentioned. I am just about to launch Photoshop and create a few masterpieces. Sadly, I didn't have the proper lens on my camera as I cycled past a groundhog today. He was a cute beast and rather chubby. I was within a few feet when he got scared and went back down his hole.

update: ...but, a neighbour just came out to smoke, and the wind is coming this way, which sucks. I have smokers on both side and I just wish they all f@&% off and stop smoking!

If I had a world of my own, everything would be nonsense. Nothing would be what it is, because everything would be what it isn't. And contrary wise, what is, it wouldn't be. And what it wouldn't be, it would. You see?

Off

Well, I am taking some time off work, culminating in a trip to Quebec City for a conference. I will have some time to have a look around the city. I have been there twice before, but it has been ages and I am looking forward to a return visit.

Last week, I had my right eye lasered, picked up my new glasses, had a dental appointment, went back to the optician to check if the prescription was right, went to my optometrist for some in-depth follow-up tests, and then headed back to the optician with a new prescription. I had been "over-prescribed" and am suffering from eyestrain and muscle fatigue. I really hope that the new prescription is correct.

And now, I must go to bed for I am very very tired.

Unmasked

This is me, drawn my my daughter. I think she has a future as a police sketch artist.

I am going back to the Optometrist today to have my eyes re-examined. I am sure that the prescription is wrong. Amazingly, the place that made my glasses will redo the len(e)s at no charge, even though they did nothing wrong. I just walk in with a new prescription, and they do it again. This is weird, but cool.

I can't believe it is raining again. Merde, il pleut!

Overrated, part 10 of 10

(see: parts 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, and 9)

Finally, we are at #1. First, Steven Page. I am not a fan of BNL (they don't make this list, but I am not that interested in their music, tho I once was). I guess that kills my plans to be a rock star. If such a straight-laced and nice guy can fall for the temptations of cocaine, what hope is there for me? I would be doomed. I have met Steven. In fact, I once had a chat when they were busking on the streets. I sat at the next table at the CASBY Awards one year. He seems like a genuine guy, which makes this all the more sad. Anyway, onto something sinister...

1) Tori Amos - Apologies to the Toriphiles out there for what I am about to write. I loved the first Tori Amos song I ever heard, because I thought it was a joke. I even laughed. I thought she was some sort of satirical act, a female Weird Al Yankovic. Oh yes, there was that breathy self-important voice, a kind of small Kate Bush singing Nirvana's Smell Like Teen Spirit with so much faux emotional intensity. Who wouldn't laugh at that? It was a classic case of recasting a song in an opposing style. Strip out the furious guitar riff, the plaintive voice, and make it all soft and warm - I mean weak and pathetic.

And then, I found out that she was serious. I'd been had. The song had been chased up the charts because some listeners, like me, liked her funny one-hit Nirvana rip off. Later, she destroyed a perfectly good Cure Song. Take the time to go to that link and tell me honestly if you think that it is good music. It's a textbook case of a complete annihilation of a good song. Death by Tori. It is waffling, airy garbage. I am embarrassed for her for releasing such a pile of junk. But, the fans adore it. They love her messages delivered in pseudo-whispers, but I find all of her songs to be emotionally vacant and corny.

On close listen, what one discovers is that she cannot sing, not even close. She covers up her limited vocal range with bizarre and quirky vocalizations that sound halting and dumb. And then there's the breathing. I can't think of another singer whose breathing interferes so much with the lyrics. She hasn't the power of someone like Kate Bush. Earlier, I said she was "a kind of small Kate Bush." Kim Hughes might have said it better when she referred to Tori as a "poor man's Kate Bush." I find nothing original in her music, just a weak attempt at imitation.

Some fans are turning on her too. I think this is a reflection of her decision to self-produce, which either means that one has completely lost perspective or one is a musical genius. The latter is certainly not true in her case. Judging by her lyrics, I'd wager it's a loss of perspective. Here a rather bizarre piece of writing from Ms. Amos:

Father, I killed my monkey
I let it out to
Taste the sweet of spring
Wonder if I will wander out
Test my tether to
See if I'm still free
From you

I rest my case.



...but, if you want a good laugh at the pre-Tori Tori, and by that I mean Y Kant Tori Read, try this. If you have a thing for women who can play the piano with one of their legs resting on the keyboard, this is for you. Yes, yes, if you want to leave abusive comments, please go ahead.

I am off to the dentist and then to the optician to figure out why my new glasses don't work properly. The right eye is blurry :-(

Overrated, part 9 of 10

(see: parts 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, and 8)

I was thinking about alternate careers lately, and I realize that it is probably too late to really switch careers, but if I could, I would choose astronomy or psychiatry.

Yesterday morning, the doctor lasered the retinal tear in my left eye. I wouldn't have described the procedure on the right eye as painful, but the left was a different story. Evidently, the tear was very close to a nerve and, man oh man, did that hurt. It felt like someone was repeatedly sticking a red hot poker into my eye and it continued to hurt for the rest of the day. The only other thing that painful, is listening to Queen, my number 2 overrated act.

2) Queen - Brian May is probably a good guitarist, but I am more impressed with his academics. Did you know that he recently finished his Ph.D. in astronomy? His dissertation is entitled: A Survey of Radial Velocities in the Zodiacal Dust Cloud. He has also published a couple of articles and co-authored a book entitled "Bang! – The Complete History of the Universe." That's cool, right? But, how weird is it that he would end up in a band with someone called Freddie Mercury? What are the chances of that happening?

It should be no surprise to see Queen on this list. After all, I chose Bohemian Rhapsody as the worst song ever to the dismay of at least one person. I find is especially bizarre that many Queen fans take this song seriously, as I have already discussed. I violently hate Queen's fake operatic crap. Let's have a closer look at some Queen songs.

Another One Bites the Dust - disco crap.

Flash - This has to be an ironic song. It's very gay, not that there's anything wrong with that. The song just makes me have gay thoughts - you know, Buck Rogers in tights and all that. "Flash a-ah Saviour of the Universe!"

Under Pressure - How disappointing that Bowie brought back this piece of garbage to his concerts. I had to suffer through it the last time I saw him. Bowie even managed to find a woman with Freddie's voice to do the Freddie's parts.

Somebody to Love - More fake opera. "Got no feel, I got no rhythm" I imagine this song being featured in a ballet of lepers.

Bicycle Race - Just go ride your bike, and don't sing about it!

Fat Bottomed Girls - Why does anyone like this one? Please tell me. I need to know.

Crazy Little Thing Called Love - This has to be the greatest rockabilly failure ever. "I gotta be cool relax, get hip, Get on my tracks, Take a back seat, hitch-hike, And take a long ride on my motor bike, Until I'm ready, Crazy little thing called love." Dumb and the video is even dumber.

Radio Gaga - The insipid lyrics say it all:

All we hear is radio ga ga
Radio goo goo
Radio ga ga
All we hear is radio ga ga
Radio blah blah

The video borrows heavily Metropolis.

We Will Rock You/We Are the Champions - Overplayed and underdone. But, go back to that album, News of the World, and cue up Sheer Heart Attack, Fight from the Inside, Sleeping on the Sidewalk, and Get Down, Make Love and you will discover that Queen had a small number of sort of OK songs. That's it, really: the rest are abominations. Have a look at their greatest hits CD and you will see what I mean. It should be called Greatest Failures.

A not-so-bad Queen song:


See: part 10