He ain’t heavy, he’s my monkey

Ok, it’s the last day of June, and I’m finally (and somewhat ironically) getting around to the June Monkey.
This time, blork and Martine wanted to know about “the monkeys on your back… you know, those tasks or chores or one of these days items on your “to do” list that you can never quite get to even though you feel like it’s holding you back.”
This post notwithstanding, I do have a few things that have lingered, some to the point of actually festering, on my to do list. Alors, somewhat thematically:
– review my short stories and select one or two to rework
– look into publication of same
– ditto my play, ‘Brawling Women in a Wide House.’
– finish (ten years later) stripping the mouldings in the upstairs hallway
– finish (as above) the giprock in the bathroom
– paint the bathroom
– finally convince Dr. T. that he no longer needs his extremely large amp/PA thingie, or at least propose that if he knows exactly where it is, without looking, he can keep it another year.
– student loan
– mortgage
– find a job slightly closer to home, or get a jet pack for the commute.
I’m sure there are many more monkeys back there, but I’m ignoring them.

Hi ho, hi ho, it’s off to vote we go

So the polls are open, the pundits are primed, and no one knows what the heck to expect. Sure, we’ll end up with a minority government, but who? In cahoots with whom? Suffice it to say we’re headed back to the polls soon, mark my words.
One last thing, for those who would vote for the Green Party:
Just because a party calls itself “The Fluffy Bunny Party” does not make it a good party. Similarly, “The heroic white hat wearers” – not necessarily good guys.

click for more cartoons

The Green Party has a good name. C’est pas mal tout. Yes, the party supports Kyoto, but that’s neither here nor there, since there’s not much to Kyoto beyond a display of global goodwill. The Greens are fiscally and socially conservative. We’re talking Harper in a Greenpeace t-shirt.
Thus endeth the rant.
Go vote!!! For whomever you want, just do it. Remember – no vote, no bitching.

What I got for my birthday

1. Perfume, from Dr. T., proving that he does listen occasionally;
2. A g-mail account from Bill (and inspiration from blork – the address is gmaggie[at]gmail[dot]com. Gthanks, gblork.);
3. Mystic River from Steve ‘n’ Dina;
4. Incense and scented candles;
5. Half a Caesar salad from my buddy who only discovered it was my birthday halfway through lunch;
6. A tree from the world’s greatest mother-in-law, albeit sans partridge; once the massive, horrible, dangerous current (not currant) tree is removed, a new, lovely, flowery crab apple will take its place and all will be right in the world;
7. A Stone Angel, from Mum:
She’s real stone, too. None of this resin crap. Well done, Mum!
Dina believes this means that my mother wants to be buried in my garden.

What’s in a name?

For years I have been spelling my name for people. In fact, when asked for my last name, I immediately start spelling, because if I say “McDonnell,” the other person invariably writes/hears “McDonald.”
My uncle, whose last name is MacNamara, has similar problems, especially with people whose first language is not English.
For instance…
Last week he and my aunt went to their favourite Chinese take-away. The procedure is this: you make your order, leave your name, and sit and wait until they call your name. My aunt and uncle have been doing this for ages, and everytime, the counterperson has difficulty with the family name. It takes longer to get the name issue resolved than it does to place the order in the first place.
So, last week, my uncle tried to make things easier. When the counterperson asked him for his last name, he said “It’s too long. Just call me John.”
Then he and my aunt sat waiting for ages, wondering why “Mr. Tulong” wasn’t picking up his order…


da da da da da da, da da
da da da da da da, da da
da da da da da da, da da
da da da da da da, da da

I say, it’s my birthday.
And, may I add, all I want for my birthday is a %^#$*& blog that doesn’t %^#$*& disappear every %^#$*& time the %^#$*& cat rubs up against the %^#$*& phone jack, %^#$*&.
Thanks, Dr. T. (K)