The Goat Market

How you know it's probably genetic:

At the Manderson family reunion (or, as the cake-maker who misheard the instruction of "It's like 'Anderson' with an 'M'" would tell you, the Amderson), I saw a whole bunch of second-cousin types who I haven't seen in, apparently, 8 years.

What I've learned is that: they are exactly like the ones I see every week. There was lots of free beer available, which was the first sign, and one of the grandkids informed us that half of their side is stoners, which also carries through. Loud and obnoxious, check. As is the way it always goes when more than two of the grandkids on our side gets together, we began telling horrible jokes, at which point the pretty blonde sixteen year-old grandkid from their side asked, "Ohh, tell me your best dead baby joke."

They also had a home cotton-candy machine (to which I say: where can I procure one of these), and after my fingers and mouth stained blue, I received various accusations of sexual intercourse with tiny blue creatures.

The only difference I could discern is that, apparently, they are loaded, and we are not.


Unrelated work side anecdote: today marks the first time I served a quadriplegic at the golf course. He did not want to golf, but he did want beer, and I was to pour it into the... liquids bag thing he had hanging on the back of his chair. At some point when I began contorting his tube so that he might better sip his beer, I think it might have gotten a little surreal, especially because I began to worry about him drinking too much and trying to drive his chair home.

Late in the game, but hey: concert post!


( Rilo Kiley at the Phoenix, May 28; Also books )

1. Much of my family went to another fallen firefighter memorial thing for my grandfather yesterday. This one, though, was outside on a pristine section of beach in front of the firehall on a gorgeous day, meaning a swarm of camera crews. They, of course, know a story when they see one, namely an older lady being wheeled up to the big memorial by a younger man in a firefighter uniform. So she got interviewed for television. Three times. Lolariously, half of us are hovering in the background of half of the shots on the story when we saw the news that night.

1b) Because it was mild, none of us thought of sunscreen. I currently have the most ridiculous burns possible: just the top of my arms, and just one section of the back of my calves, halved red and white from where my shorts ended. It burns like a bitch, but I am trying to derive funny from it.

2. Rilo Kiley on Wednesday whooooooo!

3. My boss recently suggested a regular schedule for work! You mean I won't be on-call for my minimum wage job? Yay!

I... I have nothing to do.

This is a very confusing feeling. I have spent the last 6-8 months with a constant something to do. There was either an essay, an exam or a chapter to handle, and if handled, there was always another on the horizon to probably start early on. I can't remember the last time I had fuck all to do.

I'm so confused. Do people still have fun? Do they still enjoy recreational activities? I think I'd like to get back into those.

So, something cool that my city did:

My grandfather died in 1980, about 7 years before I was born, and years before a good half of my cousins were born. He was a firefighter, and he was one back in the days where the protective masks were shit, so they inhaled a lot of smoke and chemicals, not knowing the effect it would have. He had a heart attack almost 3 decades ago. Now, there's a lot of ceremony when firefighters die in the line of duty, and apparently some sort of pension bonus. Their international unions just decided to recognize that chemical and smoke induced deaths (heart attacks, respiratory disease, various cancers) count as Line of Duty Deaths, so yesterday, my gram, along with about 25 of us from the family, went to the big ceremony dealie to finally see Harry Manderson recognized for his LODD. And that's pretty cool.

And also: my gram is not wheelchair bound, but she's not good with walking long distances, so we brought a wheelchair for her to sit in at this thing. For the reception, we had to go to an upper level, so there was this mini-elevator thing to boost her up. It didn't work, so my uncle wheeled her over to the stairs. In front of everybody else at the reception, she hops up and quickly walks up the stairs. My whole family, as loudly as possible: "IT'S A MIRACLE! HALLELUJAH! SHE CAN WALK AGAAAAIN!"

And on an unrelated note: do you guys fear elevators? You probably should.

FUCK YEAH EXCLAMATIONS ALL CAPS YEAAAAAAAAH

You may have noticed that it is the last week of classes. Even with my ear still clogged with some sort of obnoxious fluid, this is time for total fucking rejoicing, because oh god, I am almost done with this shit. This semester hasn't been bad overall, just tiring as hell. I finished my Hinduism in-class exam today, then it's essays tomorrow and an assortment of three hour exams in late April to top it off.

For the summer, I am thinking of returning to work for the golf course. It meets so many of the criteria I have for a summer job: decent money (tips, you say?), astoundingly easy to do, and no actual responsibility whatsoever. I cannot imagine John got that screen replaced on the snackbar, as last year it had become so damaged that we left the thing wide open (golf patrons: the honour system demands you do not steal our overpriced beer). If it remains broken, this means I will be even less responsible than last year and can probably develop kleptomania without much difficulty. I would say a monkey could do my job, but this is insulting to monkeys. Snackbar jockeying is beneath monkeys. A three-toed sloth doped up on opium and missing one and a half of his eponymous toes could perform my job. Here's hoping they rehire me!

World of LJ: I need more new music, please deluge me with recommendations. As it is spring, I need something energetic and manic. I have been getting back into Architecture in Helsinki, so a youtube video might give you an idea of the kind of freneticness I desire:

If nothing else, watch this video because it is so fucking weird.

Ugh, I feel like ass, hence the lack of recent actual entries. Either my niece or my sister brought some horrendous, fluey plague into the house, leaving me reeling into sniffles, whooping coughs and near-menopausal heat issues. Need to recover soon. Exams looming.

In lieu of real, substantive livejournaling, know that there are concerts soon! April 28th, Eisley at Lee's Palace, and May 28th Rilo Kiley at the Phoenix. YES PLZ.

So I'm at that point in the school year where my patience for pretty much everything related to the university has dwindled. For one, right now is student election time where nobody actually votes yet the UTSU is able to pass various bills that make students pay more for dumb extra buildings, all the while whipping out megaphones and accosting people with flyers every five feet you walk on campus. For two, the snow has not fucking let up, and apparently UofT cannot afford salt, the last few mornings have seen repeat performances of Students on Ice, the rip-roaring icecapades show wherein young people frantically try not to break their legs while hobbling to class every morning.

But I am also getting annoyed with my classes. The Hindu ones? Fine. For one, my prof is as old as the fucking sun, and he basically tells us to leave when he doesn't feel like teaching, and completely cancels classes all the time. Plus, I got to go to a mandir last week, which was actually pretty damn cool. But some of the other classes: obnoxious as shit. The Jung class? Pretentious kids, claustrophobic room. The psychopathologies of childhood class? Too many damn readings.

The worst is my Sex Roles and Gender class, which is also rife with pretentious windbags, though particularly of the genus that likes to prattle on endlessly about their own opinions and feelings like it matters one fucking iota. There is no participation mark: please shut the fuck up. The professor, also aged like bad leather, alternates between acting like she is Moses handing us stone tablets from God and acting like she knows nothing at all about the subject, deferring to students who seem to have specious knowledge about the topics at hand on a good day, and allowing them to spout useless, inaccurate, boring as hell garbage on bad days. And also: one of the TAs forgot to mark a whole quesiton on my midterm, which blows, although he was pretty cool about taking it back, but I need to add to my rolling ball of distaste for that class, because GAAAAH.

In an effort to bring cheer to my LJ, I bring you a song by Sons and Daughters, a band for whom by obsession is rapidly re-growing. They'll be here this month, and I am seriously trying to get my friend to come with me to see them.

Whoo! My university is closed due to the honking snowstorm! They didn't, of course, think to close it until after I carted my ass all the way down to campus and sat in class for an hour, but it kept me from having to try to make it through the city during rush hour tonight, so it's all good.

Now. Two things I saw on the TTC today:

1) As an example of how the collective IQ of the city is directly negatively correlated to the rate of snowfall, I saw the leftovers of a bus accident. One of the TTC buses on Jane & Wilson had fully crashed into a bus shelter (status of people who would have been in said bus shelter at the time: unknown) and taken out a traffic light in the process. When I was passing by, the police had already arrived. I didn't see ambulances or too many rubbernecks, and I haven't seen anything on the news, so I imagine people are okay, but whoa shit.

2) As the train came to a stop in the tunnels, not near any station, an unlucky dude about two feet away from me totally passed out. Just dropped as we were coming to a stop. There were a bunch of people around, so he couldn't clunk right to the floor, and he recovered right after, but it was weird to see. As I was squished in between a very large, decrepit woman and the side of the door, my ability to intervene pretty much amounted to watching impotently. It was interesting to see people rushing to pick him up, yell at him not to stand too quickly, and one teenager spinning frantically in circles to find that yellow emergency strip thingy.

How to play a very illogical drinking game when there are not enough chairs to join in with the logical one:

1. Sit on couch
2. Change the channel to whatever station will play badly subtitled Chinese martial arts films.
3. Drink every time one of the subtitles includes the word "I"
4. ???
5. Profit.

Happy New Years. Here's hoping your 2008 is an amazing one.

...mostly, because, you know, it is.

Merry Christmas, O fair people of the internets! May your day be filled with boozed up nog, amazing gifts, sedated family members, and enough turkey and tryptophan to throw you into a coma through boxing day.

And to the internetters I know who don't celebrate: happy belated Hannukah, Eid, or just a nice day off.

Until my valiant, camera-wielding companions forward me their photos of the Stars concert, a brief peeing-myself-with-glee post will suffice.

Let's just say that the Stars concert? Was ten shades of awesome with a side-order of pure brilliance. They were energetic, enigmatic and completely on fire the whole set, which was surprisingly rock-band for a group more prone to melodic, dreamy pop. The whole experience was phenominal, and it was aided by the fact that my friend and I (and the people we met in line) were adhered to the stage. Even the opening act was excellent, especially given the guest star that appeared which threw me into spasms of indie kid joy when I figured out who it was.

A picture post is immanent. Until then, enjoy this video I found on youtube. If you look to the left of frame, when Torquil steps to the edge of the stage, you can kind of see where we were positioned. Close enough to almost get knee'd in the face!

Well, not fully yet, but it did already snow enough to make traffic a nightmare. And I now have to penguin-walk down the street whenever I go to class, because apparently UofT can't pay for sidewalk salt. If I break my neck, do you think they'll pay my tuition?

Ignoring the weather and the fact that I have to edit my damned essays today (Moral development on a Saturday! Thrills! Chills! Spills!), things have been going well. My classes have been running smoothly, by which I mean with little actual material and lots of filler. Maybe it was because that Indian classical dancer my Hindu prof brought in did a dance to Ganesh, who is being extra awesome and removing the obstacle of boring lectures? Thanks Ganesh! Because this week, I've watched several different videos in class, taken a lot less notes, and have been able to drift off quietly while the luddite professors desperately tinker with the projectors and televisions while trying to overcome technical difficulties.

And also: concerts! This Thursday I'm going to see Stars (AWESOME YES YES YES), which should be awesome, in the pleasantly swaying style of awesome (I'll post some samples when I do an inevitable post-concert post). And, in January, I'm seeing the Dresden Dolls! On the last day of my holidays! Vanessa is officially my new best friend. She seems open to me dragging her to whatever concert.

On a later, edited note: I really shouldn't post to LJ soon after I get up. I used the word "awesome" like three times in one sentence. I am Jack's strained vocabulary.

Oh god. First snowfall today. Please to be killing me now.

Also: make the essays die, please. Make the essays die.

You guys, university is so haaaaard.

No, but for real, I am tired as hell. I had two midterms and an in-class essay earlier this week (all of which I am... confident about? Hopefully?), and two more coming this week. Here's hoping that that dose of prasad I received in my Hinduism class keeps by blessedly awesome on the rest of these tests.

Today, I am tireder than usual, because I went to the Green Room last night for a friend's birthday. I am honestly surprised at how awesome the food is there, especially because it's kind of a dank hole in the wall. Anyway, it was mostly awesome, although our group was told to quiet down, because we were making too much noise. In the raucous, barely-hear-one-another bar. At midnight. Just because we managed to do The Wave, which caught on and got another group to do it too. Well, I never! So, while that was fun, as was the late night walk afterwards, I got to enjoy one of my insomnia nights and now I am running on no sleep and I will be studying and researching all day. Whoo-ee.

Okay, so some things are going to be minorly changing soon, which blows like hell.

For one, it's back to school soon. I've been missing UofT to some extent over the summer, as it did provide stimulation, interesting people to talk to, and lots of shit to do. But I recently went downtown to sell off all my books (dragging along a friend who I took to see Stardust afterwards (which, to any Gaiman fans, ended up being pretty damn awesome)), and I realized I like the life of leisure that summer brings in comparison to the constant slogging back and forth downtown, and the hours upon hours of reading. Also, something that's putting a damper on my Back to School Boner: although the university has like a hundred buildings, every single one of my classes is in one building. Sid Smith. The building with all the annoying hippies, hipsters, communists, protestors, abortionists, antiabortionists, and pot-supporters chilling outside every damn day. Fnargh.

My job is coming to an end, and at least that change I am stoked about. For one, it's customer service (though at a golf course), so I'll spare you the requisite, multi-paragraph, vocabulary-stretching bitchifying that I could go into about how much customers suck. You know they suck. But the employers suck worse, because, for real: what retards. They don't keep a close eye on anything, they don't ever check the stock numbers (easier to steal stuff, whoo), they never bring you the shit you need, they are ALWAYS high out of their gourdes, etc etc. The main fuckeries of late: we finally have Interact and credit card available for pay. AT THE END OF THE GOLF SEASON, MEANING I HAVE HAD TO SAY "OH SORRY, LOLZ, BROKEN" for two and a half months. And the other main thing: the screen-gate, the little roll down thing to cover up the snackbar like they have in those personal storage facilities, has been broken since before I got there. It shakes and rattles and flies down a foot at a time when you put it down at night (Nadia, a coworker, already sliced her finger open on it), it gets constantly stuck, and every morning we literally must cajole the two burliest city workers we can find into rolling it up by hand, because there is no other way. We have been vociferously whining about this forever, and not a fucking thing has been done, so a severe work hazard has been sitting a few feet above my head every day for my entire stay there. At least I get paid to read on the slow days.

And finally, Theresa, one of my closest friends, is off in China teaching English(speaking of: I HAVE NOT HEARD BACK YET ABOUT HER ARRIVAL, VANESSA, IF YOU STUMBLE UPON THIS, SEND NEWS PLZ). She got the offer this month and ended up quickly going for it (which worked out well because she had to take a year off school anyways), and so I was only able to see her a little bit. It brought up a lot of ~*feelings*~ and shit, the usual ones you could expect: excitement, supreme jealousy, sadness, anger at the sadness, resolve to give support. It's an amazing opportunity, and so of course I feel stoked that she gets to go off for almost a full year and everything, but there's that little twinge of "Oh crap, you don't get to see her until January, if even" which is hard to sublimate, because, well, I've known her for a long time. Still, she's creating a new LJ for her Chinarific experiences, so I'll hear from her soon, at which point I can do the cheesiest thing I thought of, which I should have done when she called me just before I left: sing, as loudly and a-tunefully as possible, "Leaving on a Jetplane" into the telephone receiver in order to embarass her.

No spoilers, I promise.

I'm not one of those people who sped read the whole thing in order to burst onto the internet to wank (it took me two days to read, heh). I have to say... I kinda really dug it. JK Rowling is not a great writer and she sure as shit wasn't in the past six books either, so I've fully acclimated to her clunky, sometimes annoying prose. By now I've also gotten used to the fact that she is the most long-winded person ever, and has apparently murdered all of her editors and pretends to be them on phonecalls in order to maintain the illusion of their continued existence. I've gotten used to the bad stuff, and I'm not particularly into any ship, nor was I horribly attached to any of the characters who died, nor was I too annoyed at any of the major plot turns so... I liked it. It was good, entertaining and, except for some major slow-downs near the end that could have been avoided (seriously), I thought that it was a well-paced ending to a long-ass, mostly well-plotted, seven book saga (it only occurs to me now that JESUS CHRIST ALTOGETHER IT'S A LOT OF PAGES).

But then, I am not the usual internet HP fan. Which is why I link again: Fandom Wank. Whether you're into HP or not, the pure, unadulterated craziness HP fandom is going to produce is going to be so funny, you have no idea.

It occurs to me that I'm really not up to writing the next entry in the brother-in-law chronicles, as I've been really tired lately and I can't figure out why. So instead, here are some slightly less monumental developments from the goings-on of my life.

First, I hate UofT's god-forsaken course enrollment system. ROSI operates in ways specifically geared to infuriate and depress your average university student. Each student gets a day to start based on their year of study, and on that day you get a randomized start time. I'm a third year, and I need mostly third year courses. The problem: there are very few fourth year courses at UofT, and you technically don't need any to graduate, as many are kind of mini-thesis classes. This means that the fourth years tend to jump in to all the third year classes, filling them up. And then on my day, my start time was 12:05, about six hours after the earliest start time (though it could have been worse), meaning half the other third year students also got an earlier crack than I did. I end up? With wait-lists. Motherfucking waitlists. Because my school, the richest one in Canada, is so up its own ass with how well it thinks it knows demand for certain classes that they just set an enrollment number and tell you to hope others drop out of the classes you need to that you might get in.

It turns out, my boss is a retard. I know of no way he could possibly ever find this journal, but just in case, this gets f-locked. But seriously: fucking moron. He's a totally nice guy, and he's easy to deal with, but he is high all the time and has the memory of a goldfish. You realize, ten minutes after he has left (usually taking the money for the day), that he has not done what you needed him to do, and that everything you told him to order or get will be completely forgotten within the hour, because the stupid motherfucker is too lazy to buy himself a ledger. GRAAAARGH. The thing is, I've never had to deal with the uppity-ups (or sons of uppity-ups) of companies before, so I can just blow off any major stupidity as being a minor cog in the system. But John is the son of the owner of the Grenadier group, and his dad is kind of a blow-hard doof as well. It makes me wonder how in the hell they keep their businesses afloat.

My friends are being very hard to reach at the moment. ANSWER YOUR DAMN CELL PHONES, YOU KNOW WHO YOU ARE.

A few current happenings that may be of interest to you, my internet peoples:

My job is going pretty well. I have now learned to drive the mighty golf cart, and I am finding it supremely fun. Apparently I will be getting my own with some sort of attachable barbecue, with which I shall careen around the greens serving up beer and burgers to hopefully generous patrons.

Speaking of beer: I am Smart Serve certified, which pretty much means I have a personal approval of the government to serve alcohol. ...which I was actually, apparently, supposed to have two weeks ago when I started serving alcohol, which my boss didn't actually mention.

From what I can tell, I will have no more night classes this year (probably)! Rejoice! Rejoice on my behalf.

And finally: the next entry will be (sigh) another entry in the Brother-in-Law chronicles. Oh yes. Le Grande Douche has returned, and there is a long entry waiting to be written, with all sorts of uncreative invective which I will fling in his direction.

Okay, sorry for the seriously sporadic communication lately. My laptop has been on a mondo fuckup roll, and the fact that I'm even using it now is miraculous (and god knows how long I'll have to actually use it before it craps out again). I've been making noise about getting a new one, and even though it'd be on my own dime, my parents are still particularly averse to the idea. I think the thing would probably need to explode before I can go to Best Buy. Anyway: sorry I'm not chattering away in your journals (and the board) like I'd like to be, and if I stop talking again within the next few days, you know it's because the laptop has dropped out of usefulness once more.

On the positive front: I have a job! Finally! Holy fuck, you have no idea how difficult it has been this summer just to get employment. Soon I shall be working some snack bar at a public golf course. It is, apparently, incredibly easy, and will give me time to catch up on my very large to-read pile.