An Open Letter to Throat Singing

Dear Throat Singing,

I’m not a fan. Downtown Laurie Brown appears to be though as she seems to play some every night on The Signal.

She’s all yours, Throat Singing. I hope you have a nice life together.

Kim

An Open Letter to Jan-Fat-o

Dear Janet,

I decided that you didn’t need a letter. It didn’t seem to be the way you rolled. No siree. If I was going to do an Ode to Janet correctly, there was only one answer…

An acrostic poem! Vertical brilliance!

Ju-jube bread baking makes you a number one friend.

Always a good sport. Think: Oompa Loompa and Scarf/Shirts.

Never complained about singing that came from the bathroom at odd hours. Celebrate good times! C’mon!

Extra special spoon collections make for hilarious souvenir hunts.

That you so very rarely judge anyone is one of your traits that I most admire.

Changed your last name from Pringle to prevent future acrostic poems from referencing your bosom as Petit est joli!

Has an amazing marriage with an adoring husband.

All-night radio show prize winner! You are the champion!

Probably the most capable (and clearly ready) of us girls to have children. You will be an awesome mother.

Mad skillz at chronicling the lives of a bunch of twentysomethings using only stick figures and captions.

Alone Now, I Think We Are. Once you downloaded this in Japanese.

Never failing to make me laugh. See: Tuning up for Homer Simpson songs, Punk Rock Good King Wenceslas and pulling your weight (pun intended!) as one half of Ethi/Opia.

That, due to geographical circumstances, we do not see each other nearly enough is a point that a) is not lost on me and b) did not make it into the acrostic poem.

Maybe it was all the fish YOU ate…

Kim

An Open Letter to Cupcake

Ali,

I’m going to open this letter with a final plea. Bring back Can’t Stop Reading! Seriously. It enriched my life and helped me to find new and exciting children’s literature and YA titles. You’re no longer backpacking across Australia and have not been for more than a year so what up? Having a real career is no excuse.

And speaking of careers, yours is pretty awesome. When you wrote that you were calling off the Australian Fantasy Trip to come home for an interview, I gave you mad props. Clearly, you were the perfect candidate for the job (because you got it! Shwing!) but had I been in the same position, I’m not sure I would have taken the risk. Or left the beach, for that matter. Everyday you get to do something that you love. But Ali, it’s way more than that – you are amazing at your job. You are and have always been immersed in books and literature. That you spend your days trying to spread the book love is such an exciting opportunity. While we’re on the subject, Christmas is coming and my sister has asked for books – what’s hot for 9-year olds now?

You taught me that laying down is the most superior of all positions in the Hierarchy of Rest. I only wish you were closer so that Bed Lyin’ could be on the official agenda far more frequently. In the years since we have lived in the same household, I have never once met a person who makes coffee and French toast like you.

You can be counted on for birthday phonecalls. That alone deserves an Excellent Achievement Award as I still owe people gifts and calls from 2006.

From shaky Halloween cupcake beginnings, you have blossomed into a Taker of Classes and I was amazed, over-joyed and secretly so proud of the beautiful glass beads that you busted out last holiday season. I’ll not make fun of your craft skills again. Okay, so that’s not true. Making fun will continue as per our regular mocking schedule.

When you were in The Centre of the Universe and Environs this spring, I could not have been happier. Matheson gets to hog you when you’re both trying to stay dry on the West Coast so it was fabulous to get some face time. It was nearly like old times. I say nearly, because we’ve obviously gotten smarter and better looking in the ten or so years since we first started trampling around the Byward Market. Though judging from the amount of sangria we consumed you still believe that “being drunk is the best feeling in the world and (you are) going to do everything in your power to stay that way FOREVER”.

I miss you.

A lot.

Kim

An Open Letter (and Cop Out) to Ali

Dear Ali,

You asked me to stop and so I will oblige.

But only for tonight. And only because I am sick.

Tomorrow? Yeah, bring tissues.

Kim

An Open Letter to RCVS

Dear RCVS,

When I consider that I have known you for nearly 10 years I think two things simultaneously. The first is, that’s a pretty long time. The second is, how did I manage in the 19 years prior? We made a Rainbow Connection and you are my true Blue.

And since your biggest critic has always been you, let me take a moment to remind you why I am so proud of you. We could start with moving across the country to put the K back in Kwality at Carleton University. Had you not made that choice, I’d be writing this letter to some other English major. It’s a big deal to pick up one’s life, even when there has only been 18 years of it and haul ass across the country to get your edumacation.

Do you remember that day we sat drinking hot beverages in a coffee shop in the Glebe on Rod’s dollar bemoaning the outcome of our lives? How we couldn’t take not knowing what in the hell was going on and we were pretty sure that no post-graduate program of any kind was going to want us? Within that very week Concordia declared its love for you. You went on to slam dunk your Masters thesis and now you’re kicking ass and taking names each and every day on the Hill (or Environs).

When I feel down, you are the first call I make. I know that you’ll never laugh at me when I cry (at least not at first). You once wrote me a note, and in that note you said “the most important things in my life are my friends, but that’s only because I have such outstanding people around me”. I see your sentiment and raise you 100 Loving-You-More-Than-You’ll-Ever-Knows.

If I could have only one complaint (and let’s be realistic, you know I always have way more than one), it would be that you are often too far away. Too far for coffees and Laying Around Like Sluts. Too far for spending the kind of time like we used to.

We finally did New York this September and it was a really great time. Not too many people would have put up with Zen navigation and a multitude of yarn and fabric stores, but at the end of the day (too many noodles and locals only bars) we could still laugh as we settled in for a New York-style pedicure. And by New York-style I do not mean Fifth Avenue swanky, but rather Shared Foot Soak at the Milf (ooh… showerheads!). I don’t think I ever got to properly thank you for the awesome that was New York. So let this be your thank you card (with acknowledgement that you’re way better at sending those things in a proper space of time).

There is no amount of time or space that would allow me to put into proper words just how much you mean to me. So insteads, me thinks I’d just be better off saying to you, I says, one word: You’re the best! And when youse gets a chance, remember me what be the right proper usage of that there ellipsis… … ….

At the end of all this, the best thing I can think to say is thank you. Also, lyin’ isn’t easy, you know. I’m making this shit up – it’s all coming from my brain.

With much love,

Kim

An Open Letter to Bella Swan

Dear Bella,

After having read two books in which you feature, I am not sure I have ever met (in fiction or reality) a more tragic charcter than yourself. And I teach highschool!

Truly, I wasn’t even sure that I would get past the first chapter of the book that introduced me to the crazy (albeit fictional) life that you are living in Washington State. It read a great deal like a young adolescents diary and it felt dirty to be reading it. Also cringe-worthy. Have you heard of Cringe? You could surely earn a place in the next book with admissions such as this:

“The hole in my chest was worse than ever. I’d thought that I’d been getting it under control, but I found myself hunched over, day after day, clutching my sides together and gasping for air. I wasn’t handling alone well.”

When you tell everyone all this angst is over a vampire (further complicated by your best friend turning into a werewolf), well, it’s the makings of a train wreck and I’ve found I can’t look away.

As a woman (though admittedly, one who is not in love with vampires), I find it slightly disheartening that at 18 (I’m only just finished with the second book) you’ve let a boy crush you so easily. If I could retake my late teen years armed with all of the things I know now, I daresay that no boy, not even an immortal one, would have had me pining away. Bella! Get out and see the world! You live near Seattle and Portland – both vibrant, liberal communities. Sisters are doing it for themselves, and they no longer need the approval of their vampire lover.

And frankly, if you are going to be with this Edward boy, the least you could do is trust that his 100 and some odd years of experience only wants the best for you. Go to college! Pick a good one, take some enlightening classes and do a keg stand or two! Sure, if you get your wish, you will have all of eternity to learn many subjects in great depth, but there is nothing quite like the first freedom that college brings forth.

Thanks to reams of Internet spoilers and young girls who screech at me whenever they see me with a copy of one of the books, I know how it turns out. I don’t know the in-between junk, but until I get to that place where you take your last human breath and face your immortality (should I have yelled “SPOILER”?), I maintain that the in-between junk is the best part.

Yours in embarassing teenage diaries,

Kim

PS… Congrats on the whole film rights thing.

Goodbye Cakes

This past weekend marked the official end of a little business project that was birthed in the autumn of 2005. I was back on Canadian soil after spending several months slogging it out in an Australian kitchen. I had just started work on my Masters degree and a friend of a friend needed someone to make wedding cakes.

It has been a good run and if anyone in the GTA needs a hip DJ for a wedding or special event, Lisa is totally the Asian Boss Lady for you. Here are a few of hello Cakes! greatest hits:

Wherein I Imagine Requiring a Whole Farm to Sustain my Ridiculous Hobbies

We are in St. Ives and having a lovely time. We’ve drank the Penultimate Beer in this our last stop on the rail ale trail. As soon as my time here runs out you can find me at The Western chugging the last pint of ale and calling a moratorium on all beverages made from barley and hops. I’ve got my free t-shirt and can now say that sometimes things like rail ale trails seem more brilliant in theory. Imagine a pub crawl but with 14 pubs and several hundred feet of eleveation between train stations and drinking stations. Then imagine how full your stomach gets after 2 pints of crappy Labbats Blue. Good, are you with me? If you have ever had beer at Le Bop in Hull then you’re way ahead of me. Now try to imagine how full it might get if you were drinking a beer that felt more like a blended up meal than a thirst-quenching liquid. Yeah, that about sums up the Rail Ale Trail. Pus, I’ve decided I don’t like a brochure telling me where I can drink my ale.

Call me a tourist who goes in for stereotypical claptrap but now that we’ve fully arrived in Cornwall, I cannot get enough of the cream tea! Clotted cream, people! Despite having a not-so-pleasant sounding name clotted cream is divine and I am devising means to ship whole cases home to myself. It can be made and while DM says I don’t need a cow, the recipe I saw called for VERY fresh milk. Obviously, this means I should get a cow. And while we’re at it a sheep and several goats. Maybe a llama. And a chicken. That’s still well within the realm of hobby farm.

If prodded, one might point out here that I’d probably feel a whole lot less bloated on the ale trail if I didn’t wash down several pints with clotted cream and scones. Fortunately, I didn’t prod.

Wherein I am Cured of the Palsy in the Restorative Waters

Alright, we’re in Bath, once the social scene of Georgian England. Thanks to the madness of King George it was no longer enough to see and be scene in Bath, rather one was better off in the healing salt waters off the coast in Brighton. So much for the Romans.

We hit the actual Roman baths last night after the crowd had died down. Please note, if you plan to visit the baths in the future you cannot go dressed as a Roman. Seriously. We didn’t try, but suggested to the ticket agent that it would have been a clever idea whereupon we were told that had we stolen the bedsheets from the university residence and worn them as clothing we would not be allowed into the bath proper. And not because we’d stolen university linens. The audioguide (of which there were three to choose from: regular, children’s version and According to Bill Bryson-style) was long and dare I say a smidge boring? I dare! Boring. Bill Bryson’s version wasn’t all that much better. He didn’t even have the good sense to be funny. I was cautioned by signage to not touch the water, but this only provoked in me a great curiosity to do just that. Untreated water! Gasp. I grew up in Thorold… South!

We also ate a Sally Lunn bun (which should, in my clever opinion, be spelled with a double ‘n’ also). Our server just squeaked in some actual service after a bear 20 minute wait for some acknowledgement of our existence. Hey everyone, Sally Lunn’s bunns? Brioche! Go to France, or your local bakery for that matter. Man, she had everyone fooled.

This is not my first visit to Bath. I was here for Model United Nations debating when I was in highschool.  What’s killing me is that I don’t remember a damn thing. I didn’t think I’d be all forgetting stuff. That happens when you’re old. I can recall shandies. And it being very hilly. That’s it.  What else have I forgotten? Good grief.

Tomorrow we move on to Bristol. It will no doubt rain again, as it has everyday that we have been here. Everyone knows Britain is soggy – how is it I seem to have forgetten? It’s also been chilly and having only brought along a single pair of pants sucked it up (and in) to purchase a second pair this morning. At £6 it was a steal. So Mom, my legs are still pasty, thank you very much…

A Soggy Day in London Town

Okay, so only 10 minutes left on the Internet cafe. (Note: Returned to cafe post-dinner for corrections and additions. Read it fast for a more whirlwind feel.) Here’s the whirlwind wrap up of the past few days, numbered for your reading pleasure:

1. Back at home, our cat escaped. She was in heat. She has returned, thank goodness, but no longer seems to be in heat. Would anyone like a kitten?

2. Hampton Court, home of Henry VIII. Things that are considered fish include beavers and swans. Chow down, eh? I also quite enjoyed the maze. I loves me a good maze, rain or shine, and frankly, more people should have mazes in their backyards.

3. Eye of London and Southbank = pretty cool despite being filled with tourists (like me!). We’re going to head back to check out The Hayward’s exhibition on Pyschobuildings and maybe we’ll catch a performance of King Lear from standing room at The Globe. Right now the London Literature Festival is happening at Southbank Centre. An author whose blog I read is having a tea/book launch on Thursday afternoon. Unfortunately, I’ll be on a train to Bath and will miss the event. At least I’ll be able to obtain a copy of the book well before it is released in the New World.

4. Today is British Museum. We got there a bit late, after having laid in this morning to make up for the sleepless night we’d spent worrying about what happens to kittens in heat when released into a neighbourhood of wild tomcats. Nonetheless it was busy as hell. Of note, the Rosetta Stone and the somewhat controversial Parthenon friezes and sculptures.

5. Also caught a game of cricket. I am just grasping an understanding of how it’s played. They wear white. The ball is hard and instead of shooting t-shirts and hotdogs out of potato guns, they have tea time at the half. How civilized.

6. DM, the astute vegetarian, is getting his fill of meat flavoured things. It strikes me as hilarious and also a tad endearing that he so loves meat flavoured chips. We dined this evening at an amazing vegetarian restaurant called Food for Thought. It’s in Covent Garden and if you’re ever in London you should go, whether you’re a veggie or not.

7. It’s a bit chilly here, but certainly nothing that warrants a winter coat or scarf, though the Britons (King of the who?) have taken this opportunity to preview or haul out cool weather fashions. I’ve seen women in obviously winter coats and young girls in scarves (and for warmth not fashion). Admittedly, DM and I both purchased a sweatshirt today in an effort to increase our range of cool weather clothing. I am however not in need of the incessant heaters turned on everywhere. I feel like I am slowly being broasted to death. What’s broasting? Well thank gawd for Wikipedia (and ranch dressing).

Ack, time is running out and must check gestation period of cats (Approximately 63 days. See you in September, the queue for kittens starts now…) Ta!