shoebox_dw: (gromit assistance)

Today the diligent social scientists here @ Shoe Central present Helpful True-Life Survival Tips for the Absent-Minded, first in a (now that I think about it) hopefully occasional series: 

  1. When using the washroom for the main purpose, do not – repeat, NOT – stick your iPod in your lowered jeans pocket and hope for the best. Trust us. We will skip tactfully over the details; let us just say that that particular ‘kersplunk!’ is unequalled in the annals of hideous realization…except possibly by the ensuing visual. The old gag about the prospector bit in the butt by a rattlesnake comes to mind. 
  1. OK, if you hesitated and now are lost, despair not. For lo, upon entry into your nearest Apple store the clouds will part, sunshine will stream through, and all will be right with the world once more. There may even have been a heavenly choir involved, although our lawyers wish us to add a caution that we are not a theologian. 
  1. Because, upon hearing your sad story (modified to avoid the REALLY INCREDIBLY EMBARRASSING PARTS) they will: issue you a replacement for less than half-price. No cables or ‘phones, just the iPod, which is all you need (unless you’ve done something in the washroom which, frankly, is your own problem). Those of you wondering when the choruses come in probably do not live with the (Shoe)Mother of All Financial Advisors. 
  1. Confronted by your honesty – except in the matter of bodily fluids – the store associate will want to thank you. This is normal. They have skipped the step where they inform would-be freebie hunters that sorry, they can tell there’s water immersion damage, and then the FH violently tries to reduce their ability to breathe or procreate or both. Given the depth of gratitude on display to us, whatever happens, we are sure it is bad. 
  1. This is the really tricky part. Do NOT get so wrapped up in the gratified glow that you neglect to notice, as you leave, that a) the counter edges are very sharp, and b) your kneecap is in close proximity to – OWIE! OW OW OW OH ^#%&#@! After that, all you can do is stagger out of the store, past all the bemused nerds, your face struggling grotesquely between beatitude and pain. Come to think of it, this may have been the source of some S&M spam we received later that evening. 
  1. Upon arrival home, limp over to computer, plug your New Little Treasure in, and discover that it restores from backup. Including those district assembly notes you forgot to email to yourself. Thus rescuing you from a starring role as Technophile Doomed by Her Own Hubris, and in fact making you look to awed observers like…well, like a daughter who didn’t throw district assembly notes into the toilet.

 Which is a good feeling. Trust us.

shoebox_dw: (kitty sock puppet)
OK, I'm officially on an upswing this week. Found a pair of slinky jeans that fit perfectly and everything. Down two sizes from last year's purchase, too. Turning thirty-eight? Hah! I laugh at turning thirty-eight!

Well, alright, I don't really. But the jeans definitely helped. So did the cute sneakers - do they still call them sneakers? I just realised I may with one word have completely undone all the jeans' good work. Excuse it please. They're New Balance, and according to the endearingly typical salesdude @ Athletic World they're 'very ergonomic fit, good for the high-intensity urban environment'. Translation: I'm all kitted out for the summer's hiking. Which is nice.

So is the response I just got from my very nice former PopMatters editor re: my most recent feature submission: he definitely remembers me, and will be pleased to take a look at my essay ASAP. This, of course, being the flat print version of "OMIGOSH HE REMEMBERED ME! I TOTALLY DID NOT EXPECT THAT! DO THEY REALLY DO THAT?!"
...aaaaaand the sophistication level slips another notch. I don't care. Frankly at this point I am not even really worried about the article getting in or not - although it would be huge if it did, don't get me wrong - I am just so pleased to be remembered. Makes me feel all...professional, and stuff.

Meaanwhile, the plotting ideas for finishing the sci-fi novel keep on keepin' on, popping into my head apace. Apparently, my subconscious really wants to revisit this thing, so I guess the Grand Sweeping Epic of Everything will have to wait a bit. Sorry, anybody who was waiting breathless.

Last but definitely not least, it came time for my bimonthly flash of renewed interest in Kalan Porter, ex-Idol moppet and blond dude with big china-blue eyes and some stubble. There's a ways to go yet, is all I am saying, deliberately ironic blogging or no. Still, they did pose him with a glass in his hand for the scanned article I read, and there doesn't seem to have been any angsting in the fandom about a possible drink problem as a result, which I think qualifies as serious progress.

(I, on the other hand, have regressed dreadfully. Because I now cannot get out of my head the impulse to pop in and start some angsting, just for giggles. I think my next rant post will have to deal with how fandom rots your brain.)

Anyway, in the article Kalan describes his new music as 'kind of uptempo'. Now, as has been chronicled elsewhere, I adore synth-pop. Have done for years. Always assuming Kalan is talking Thompson Twins and not Aqua - the emphasis on 'fun' is especially worrisome - but that's a risk I am prepared to take. Go ye forth into the world and tweak those keyboards, KP. I may yet realise my dream of hearing the Weird Scathing Angst factor performed deliberately, rather than frantically wishing it there myself in an effort to salvage coolness points.

Now, to bed...perchance to dream of the Niceness Wave spilling over Finance. "Why, yes, you can have this new vendor record # processed overnight! Urgent purchase orders approved without budget dollars available? No problem, our pleasure!"
shoebox_dw: (toy story modern art)

But I'm afraid I'm becoming something of a shopaholic in the process. Which worries me not least because it forces me to self-identify with cutesy chick flicks.

At any rate, I decided to head over to the iTunes Store the other night for some serious musical medication. For good reasons; Bruce Springsteen's latest had reminded me that my library was still missing Streets of Philadelphia, and I mean, really. After that, though, things may have gotten just the teensiest bit out of hand...I probably didn't need all that Bruce Hornsby, let's put it that way.

I did find a bunch of Hall & Oates classics that filled the mood-lifting bill most excellently. I have always had a thing for Daryl Hall's, also Daryl Hall's picture staring out at me from the iTouch while the songs play, nice bonus. Seriously, they were among the premiere pop craftsmen of my generation, and when your generation also includes Boom Boom Boom (Let's Go Back to My Room), that is something you hold on to, believe me. 

While I was at it, I picked up a couple tracks off Duran Duran's Arena, another key entry on my Remember Back When I Was Young and Carefree setlist. That I was carefree mostly because I had no musical taste is debatable, but I don't care, it's The Seventh Stranger and I get to feel gloriously hedonistic all over again.

So between the need to organise the new music, the circuit assembly this weekend, and another vow not to write another word unless it's in the furtherance of my fictional ambitions (ha ha ha), things are getting back on track, here @ Shoe Central. Will keep you posted.

shoebox_dw: (pbs happiness fairy), well, basically because I'm an evil bitch who doesn't care about all the sweat and blood Shoemom expends to keep us in the financial black. But I'm sure she'll get over it eventually.

I did have a really good sob story this time, if I do say so myself. Just completed five years of service to the Hudson's Bay Company, and have the commemorative plaque and pin to prove it. (One of the niftier little side benefits of working for a 338-year-old enterprise: the commemorative pin shows its beautiful coat-of-arms. I had half expected it to have stripes.) Plus, one of my supervisors asked me to fill in for him when he goes on vacation in February.

So it seemed an opportune moment to self-reward, and I've needed a PDA for some while now, so the fit was a natural one. The iPhone is much too expensive when you add on the charges, and anyway I don't want a cell phone that does anything more than make phone calls. Did a bit of online research, and everyone - I do mean everyone - sang the praises of the Touch. Such solidarity is rare enough to be un-nerving; I was starting to think it maybe dispensed soma on the side.

So Shoesis gets the old Nano to take with her on her cleaning jobs, and I get to feel a comfortable glow of sisterly solidarity. Now all I have to worry about is finding wi-fi spots here in Toronto. From what I can tell, it seems a complex business. Perhaps the universe's way of ensuring Shoemom gets her own back, after all...?

shoebox_dw: (gf amazing talents)
....Specifically, I am the proud recipient of a 'You Made a Difference' plaque for having completed the most 'tasks' - inventory records created/edited, basically - in the month of October. (Never mind that I pretty much only got it because the actual fastest guy was off for the last two weeks on paternity leave. I was running him really close before that, believe you me.)

The point to focus on here is that the honour came with a $50 gift card. This, as you might expect, tickled me no end, especially since no-one had any idea the prize was even being awarded in the first place. It was like the universe just suddenly went, "Dull, grey Wednesday? No problem! Here, have some free money!"

Catching the spirit of the thing, I immediately went out and blew it all on one DKNYC silk tunic tank. (No, not from Macy's. I work at the Hudson's Bay Company head offices here in Canada, and just occasionally we take off our parkas indoors.)

I loves me my tank, because it is kingfisher blue and twilight, and it makes my eyes look silver. It makes me look overall like the kind of person who has occasion to wear such stuff on a regular basis. Just admiring myself in the bathroom mirror @ Shoe Central I am inspired to tackle any remaining obstacle to getting it outdoors. After all, how hard can working up a social life be, anyway?
shoebox_dw: (garfield monday)
So I'm sitting here wearing my cashmere sweater.

It's kind of like a Bucket List thing, this sweater purchase. While I have no interest whatsoever in actually seeing the movie - as Roger Ebert put it, wouldn't it be nice if just for once, a movie opened with a white character extolling the virtues of Morgan Freeman? - I have always been kind of sympathetic to the general idea. 

I suppose it involves some misdirected wedding-planning instincts, too; I can't have the poufy ivory dress with the rosebud-embroidered bodice (mental pattern borrowed liberally from Catherine Cookson novels), so the ridiculously expensive sweater is like the prize for growing out of it already. You may not have a man, self, but by God you are a successful, sophisticated woman!

Thus, here I sit in genuine two-ply Jones New York Luxe cashmere knit, v-necked, heather grey with a silver-sequinned neckline. Oh, yes, there are sequins. I'm not quite that grown-up, yet. I did however carefully save the little packet with the extras, instead of tossing them up in the air and squealing with glee, so, y'know, progress. I’m so pleased with myself I’m not even going to tell you how long I waited for it to go on sale, which discount is frankly none of your business anyway…


Jan. 1st, 2008 08:49 pm
shoebox_dw: (lucy)
Public service announcement: I really must apologise to all - uh - [glances at statcounter] - any of the readership who may have unwittingly bought seats on the Great Bob & Ray Essay Kaleidoscope these past few weeks.
It started out as just your standard offhand blogger's appreciation I swear; but then an unexpected hit from a Los Angeles IP address started me thinking that it would probably be a good idea, when writing a public tribute, not to leave the impression that any live honourees were deceased. I got interested, and started researching, and realised I'd left out some really great details...well, you can imagine, after forty years there are a lot of details.

So the next thing I knew I was working on a full-fledged little article.
(Should anyone with a personal interest in fact be reading, I'd like to stop right here and say thanks. Not sure what for, specifically, but I have developed a very great need to thank somebody for those forty years.)

'Tennyrate, the really good news is that I've just added the very very last, finishing touches this afternoon. I think. Well, barring any shocking! revelations of late-night cavorting on the set of Bob & Ray & Jane & Laraine & Gilda, the SNL special they taped in the 70's...

...OK, getting grip once and for all. Seriously, as far as I can tell both Elliott and Goulding were perfect gentlemen at all times; even while throwing a spelling bee to a miniskirted Laraine Newman they come off as the dear old grandfathers they were by then. Albeit I do wonder if the little ones were allowed to stay up and watch their Grandpas chorus Do Ya Think I'm Sexy?...

[Um, in business suits. You can put down the brain bleach now. Sorry.]


So life acquires a distinctly whimsical edge anyway, when you conflate vacation days with the holidays...


shoebox_dw: (Default)

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