(A Random Post)

Blanket Statements

High And Dry – Radiohead

I’ve had the same blanket ever since I was a child. Actually, I use a three-blanket system. The top blanket has varied over the years. The second layer I’ve had for a while, it’s got a bunch of trucks on it. The bottom layer, my favourite, is alphabet themed. All the letters are accompanied by a picture of something starting with that letter. It’s perfect in its simplicity. It’s way too small for me, it has been for years, so I have to curl up in a ball to get it to cover me properly. I’ve heard that’s the proper way to sleep anyway. This blanket is pretty torn up and it’s probably time to let her go. She will be missed.


I was telling Jess the other day about a little disagreement I had with Annia the other day. We (Annia, Cheryl and myself) were watching the finale of American Idol when Mary J. Blige showed up for a guest appearance. I hate Blige. She’s the most overrated R&B artist of all time. I mean that. As soon as I voice my displeasure, Cheryl and Annia jump to her defence. Then Annia says, “Actually, that’s okay. Because I don’t like The Arcade Fire, so I guess that’s the same thing.”

It is not the same thing.

I explained to her that there was a crucial difference. Mary J. Blige sucks. The Arcade Fire is amazing. Somehow, she could not understand this. Needless to say, we did not come to an agreement. After having some time to think about it, I realized that there is a simple rule that we should all follow (and that allows me to indulge in my own guilty pleasures):

It is okay to enjoy performers that other people don’t like. That comes down to personal taste. It is NOT, however, okay to dislike performers that are widely acknowledged by intelligent people as being good. In other words, it is okay for me to like Lillix, even though they are obviously devoid of any significant talent. It is NOT okay for me to say Radiohead sucks, even though I may not enjoy their recent albums. It simply means that I do not understand them and that is my own failing. Check the end of this old Penny Arcade post for a better explanation.

To paraphrase, not liking The Arcade Fire says more about Annia than it does about their ability to make music.

She’s leaving for Vancouver this Sunday. I miss my combat baby already.


My hearing has been messed up for the last month or so. I went to the doctor today and apparently there was a lot of wax in there. He had to dig in real deep to get most of it and now I have to put baby oil in my ear every night. At the end, I was like, “I think you touched my piano lessons while you were digging around in there.” Barely a chuckle.


I’ve been getting the odd MSN message or phone call from acquaintances I’ve made over the last couple of years. Almost all these conversations end with, “I’ll call you for lunch sometime.” I will, really. It’s hard for me to pick up that phone though and I don’t really know why. I should call Arlene. And Natasha. And definitely Angel. I also want to see Nitasha Puri very badly, but I’m not sure what she’s doing. There are a lot of people I need to see this summer.


Strangely, I find myself deeply affected by the passing of my grandmother. I loved my grandma, but it’s not exactly like we could talk or anything. And I only saw her once or twice a week. Even though it’s been two weeks I remain restless. I am attempting to become comfortable with my usual summer groove of goofing off and working at Food Basics, but the feeling escapes me. I’ve always considered myself to be someone who is good at dealing with death, but I am having some difficulty with this one. Hurm. This could be a problem.

Here! Dr. Dorian! Take my shirt!
You think you’re better than me…with your rock hard abs and your dynamite areolas? Well, you’re not.



Destined to fight the world's evil, The WAMBAG endures massive battles involving impossible stunts, races on horse-pulled carriages, and the desecration of enchanting medieval castles (all done with dizzying computer graphics). Not only does the eye candy keep on coming, the tongue-in-cheek writing and deep Transylvanian accents perfect the film with a dose of dark humor.



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