Tag Archives: The UIG

So that actually wasn’t spring after all.  Well technically, according to the calendar it is now spring, but around here we are back to 4C and rain, which causes me to whine and shiver and gives me a pissy headache.  But, you know, onward and everything.

I am one of those people who does a lot of stuff, but if I am ever asked point blank “what are your hobbies?” I have no list at the ready.  Karate?  Sure, I do that, but is it a hobby?  I don’t know.  Maybe, I guess, if you consider sweating a lot and throwing people around a hobby.  Gardening?  Yeah, I do that too, but not in an organized fashion with a real plan or even anything resembling continuity.  I used to do yoga, but again…hobby or exercise or lifestyle?  I’m not sure.  Reading?  Um, doesn’t everyone read?  I have always kind of thought of reading as a skill as opposed to a pasttime or hobby.  You know, a large percentage of the population can read, so it’s not rare or anything.  And again, what constitutes a bona fide hobby anyway?  Wikipedia (I know) defines the word hobby thusly: “A hobby is an activity or interest that is undertaken for pleasure or relaxation, often in one’s spare time.”  Huh.  Ok, well if you put it that way. 

If you ever visit Michael’s or any other crafty-type store, you might think that the true definition of hobby is “Pursuit of an activity or interest that will cost you shitloads of money, leaving you unfulfilled and with a whole lotta crap in your house that you will probably need a whole other room for eventually”.  Because wow.  In the past couple of years I have watched the scrapbooking section of the Michael’s I occasionally frequent go from an aisle or two to nearly half the store.  Want to find coloured paper?  Well you can’t.  You can find acid-free scrapbooking pages in a variety of rainbow colours for about a thousand dollars a package.  But just want some green or yellow paper for everyday use?  Did I just hear you scoff at me, Michael’s employee?  Yes, I think I did.

I have to be careful, because I know a lot of scrapbookers (actually just saying that makes my teeth hurt) and they are hardcore, people.  They speak a different language, they use special expensive scissors (that look to the uninitiated anyway, just like regular scissors!) they spend a fortune on embellishments and stickers for their pages, they speak in special coded languages about weights and types of paper and they attend weekends away where they engage in special scrapbook activities and events (I assume, anyway).  And for all my mocking and scoffing at their way of life?  I am actually, deep down, a little envious.

Not of the forking out thousands of dollars for stuff, of course.  But more for the ability of the scrapbooker to organize their activities, family events and outings into photo essays, complete with appropriate slogans and nicely crafted cut-outs of relevant items of interest.  I find the whole thing fascinating and repulsive at the same time.  And while I occasionally will wander the aisles of the scrapbooking paraphenalia in awe, and browse through my friends’ well-organized scrapbooks replete with smiling babies surrounde by hearts and flowers, I am never, ever tempted to start down that path.  Why?  Because I know it is something that would set me up for complete and utter failure.

I started this post by saying I am a person who does a lot of stuff, and it’s true.  But I am entirely guerilla in my approach to these things.  Take knitting for example.  I have a friend who is an excellent knitter.  I decided I wanted to knit.  I bought needles and yarn and busted out a whole bunch of scarves last fall, some of which were nice enough to actually give away as Christmas presents.  But would it occur to me to, you know, take a course or learn to read a pattern?  Hell, no.  It’s all about being in the moment.  I want to knit!  NOW!  And I do.  And I will again, and eventually I might even branch out to an actual pattern, but it’s the initial burst of excitement that does it for me.  Gardening is the same.  Last spring I created a bed and planted a bunch of stuff.  Was it stuff that grows well together?  Maybe, maybe not.  It was just seeds I bought at a garden show on a whim.  Let’s have lettuces!  Cilantro!  And OMG tomatillos!  Why the hell not?!?  Yay gardening!

And you know, my guerilla approach has worked for me, for the most part.  Even my foray into yoga was guerilla-based, as was my introduction to running.  (Ask me about the time I went to return some books to the library and came home with a new pair of running shoes and all signed up for a 10 week learn-to-run course with a 5km race at the end of the 10 weeks.)  So stuff works out in the end for me, but there is something about the scrapbook world that just dooms me to failure, I can feel it.  Maybe it’s because my thousands upon thousands of photos and souvenirs are in boxes in my attic.  Maybe because my parents’ thousand upon thousands of photos and souvenirs are in similar boxes and suitcases in their attic.  I don’t seem to have the scrapbooking gene, perhaps. 

And besides, what’s the fun of beginning a hobby only to continue it?  And be good, and successful at it?  And complete entire projects from beginning to end?  Why would I want to do that when there are so many other things to dive into guerilla-style?  Like photography!  Or baking!  Or sewing!  Or wine appreciation!

Actually I might start on that last one tonight.  Suck it, scrapbookers.

ETA:  After I posted this, I realized that the premise of the post reminded me of something I had read previously.  So I did some digging and lo and behold, the Pop Culture Librarian did this “lack of a list of hobbies you can just bust out for people when they ask”-type post first, way back in 2007.  Clearly I have no original thoughts.  So props, kudos and apologies.  And everyone needs to go read the PCL on a regular basis, because she is outstanding.  That is all.

Last Friday I was walking down the hallway at work towards the water fountain to fill up my water bottle, when I passed a colleague’s desk, caught her eye and said “Hello” as I passed. She looked at me, startled. Then she said “Oh, hi!” in a very pleasant manner. Initially I kind of did a mental “uh, wha’?” reponse to her startledness at seeing me and did the head to toe check: something on the front of my shirt? buttons undone and cleavage exposed? fly open? toilet paper on the shoe? What the what?  So anyway, later on that day I met up with her in the washroom (not on purpose, let me hasten to add) and she said the following: “Sorry I seemed so out of it when I saw you earlier. It’s just that I’d never seen you wearing pants before, I was shocked!”

Now, as you’ve probably realized from the amazingly witty title of this blog post, it’s not that I go around pantsless at work, it’s that I am a skirt person. Or a dress person. I am not a pants person. But, on the occasional casual Friday, or on days where I am doing dirty jobs (stop it) like cleaning out my storage room or reorganizing our bookshelves in the library, I will often wear jeans. But every other day of the calendar year? It’s all legs, all the time, baby.

I came to this realization a few months ago when something similar happened while I was waiting in line for a coffee. Another woman with whom I am acquainted at work joined the queue right behind me and when I noticed her there I turned around to say hello, and she said “I thought it was you, but I just have never seen you wearing pants before”.  I sort of did a “huh” kind of thing, and when I got home that night I had a look in my closet.  And you know what?  No pants.  At any given time I have about 6-8 skirts in rotation, plus a few dresses.  Lots of tops, tights and kicky shoes.  But no “work appropriate” pants.  How did this happen?  I’m sure I used to have and wear pants.  I know I did.  So what happened?  I think what happened is that with some of the pairs I owned, I just got tired of them, or they no longer fit properly, or they were no longer in style and I just got rid of them.  Shipped them off (not all at once, but every so often) to Goodwill or Community Living.  And then?  Then I just didn’t replace them.  If I needed a new outfit or something new for work?  It came in skirt form.  I love skirts.  LOVE. THEM.  So it really just seems like a waste of the wardrobe budget to invest in pants, which I don’t actually like to wear much.  Unless it’s jeans.  Jeans I like.  But I guess it just never occurred to me that people would actually, you know, notice.  Or care.

So it makes me wonder – is this a thing people?  DO people actually notice things like whether or not a certain person wears pants or skirts?  Would it be the same with long-sleeved shirts?  Or vests?  Or scarves?  Or any other item of clothing?  Really?  Both times I was a bit surprised that these women actually paid attention to stuff like that.  Huh.  I see loads of people every day here at work and I will be damned if I can tell you which of them solely rock pants or dresses.  Except maybe for the men.  I think it’s safe to say that they all are wearing pants every day.

So I’m baffled.  The only thing I can think is that the two women mentioned are strictly pants ladies.  One works in a more physical job, and is therefore usually in jeans or very casual pants.  The other has a desk job, but after our chat in the washroom, she mentioned that she’s the opposite of me – only ever wears pants.  So maybe that’s where the fascination lies?  I don’t know.  And incidentally, I don’t mean the fascination with me per se.  I just mean the fascination of seeing someone in skirts every day.  Cos you know, fascination with me would be unwarranted, really.  And also a bit creepy.

So help me out, blogfriends.  Would you notice one way or the other?  Would you think to comment? Or would you just do the mental “skirt again today, wonder if she owns any pants?” thing?  Because I am, by nature, an extremely observant person, but am apparently missing the part of the brain that pays attention to the clothing habits of her colleagues. 

And in case you’re wondering?  Jeans today.

Has anyone else ever started their day with someone asking them for books on death, only to be told that it’s not the coping with death kind of books, it’s the kind where you can “tell how long someone has been dead, because the guy that died on my couch was all wormy, so I just wondered how long ago he died, you know?” 

Yeah, that was a first for me, too.

So anyway, I was reminded yesterday that it is exactly a month until I have to present at a conference.  No big, I’ve got lots of time to get organized, and since I’m a last minute type, I have more time than most people.  The email from the conference organizer had an attachment which included all the details of my talk, what time to show up, etc.  Everything looked fine – except my name was spelled wrong.

This is not a new thing for me.  I have a two-part last name – my own original last name, then a hyphen, then The Genealogist’s last name.  Not a huge deal on its own, except that both names are, to many people, impossible to spell and/or pronounce.  So I am used to people spelling my name incorrectly and pronouncing it even more incorrectly, and that’s fine.  I’m used to spelling it out for everyone, and correcting pronunciation, I’ve been doing it since forever.  What I find really annoying is those people who refuse to even try to say my name.  The ones who, when introducing me will say “this is Elizabeth….oh…buh….er…oh forget it, YOU introduce yourself!” or the ones who flat out say “I am not even going to try to say your name, I’ll just make a mess of it, dontcha know!”  To them I say, yes, you probably will, but out of respect, you really ought to try.

Growing up with a “complicated for many” last name, you often are the butt of jokes, where people will rhyme something with your name, because hey!  That’s funny!  And among my friends and people I love, it can be really funny.  But if you’re doing it to a) insult me and my heritage or b) take the pressure off yourself and the fact that you don’t know how to pronounce my name by making light of it?  Then that is not at all funny.

We have tried to instill in the boys how hurtful name-calling can be – words matter.  And they get it.  In addition to this, we’ve also tried to explain how teasing about a given name or surname or altering it for fun can also be hurtful – sometimes even more so, because there are underlying prejudices at work here, consciously or subconsciously.  And that is a way bigger thing that I can even do justice in this post.

I used to shy away from my name and the attention it drew, vowing that if I got married it was going to be to someone with a “normal” last name and I was going to lose my last name forever!  But what happened?  When I did get married, I realized how much my name was a part of me, and how sad it made me to think that I’d ever wanted to “lose” it.  So I chose to hyphenate – which still gives many, many people the vapours, I know – and I’m really, really happy with my decision to do so. 

So.  My name.   I’m not sorry it’s long, and I’m not sorry it’s “unusual”, but I am  sorry for you if you think I’m just being difficult putting two long-ish names together to “prove something”.  It’s my name, and if you think I’m going to get up and present at a conference where the moderator can’t pronounce my name, or refuses to do so based on the grounds that it’s “difficult”?  I am so going to call you out.  I am also sending back that letter with corrections made to my name, and an offer of free lessons in how to properly pronounce it before the conference, because I refuse to feel badly about it any more.

Shout out to The Ting Tings.  That is SO not my name.

So the wasps have been eradicated, in case you were wondering.  We survived the weekend, and the good people from “Die You Mofo Wasps-R-Us” arrived promptly at noon today, so The Genealogist tells me.  Within 10 minutes they had the ladder up, and shot some wasp killer shiz into the hole and that was it.  Hell, I coulda done that!  Except, you know, it was wasps right?  And, well, ewww.  Anyway, apparently we’re not supposed to block up the hole for awhile, or that could force them inside.  More than they were already getting inside, I guess.  I never thought to find out what happens to the giant throbbing nest that seemingly fills our bathroom wall.  What if we want to to a bathroom renovation and tear out walls, redo drywall?  Again I say:  Eww.  People, I am really starting to wonder what else might be living in our walls.  We already have a theory about the guest room ceiling because it just doesn’t match up with the rest of the ceilings upstairs…ah, but that’s for another post.

Right now I really just want to talk about the non-winged scourge currently facing our planet.  Y’all know what I’m talking about right?  Big virus?  Vaccines being invented as we speak?  WHO on top of it like the plague it is?  That’s right, H1N1 is rocking the hizzouse and causing the crazy.  The hospital system where I work has today released Canada’s first bedside pandemic triage protocol, I have been fitted for a N95 respirator mask, hand sanitizer is everywhere and staff are being trained in case of a pandemic.

And can I just say?  I am giddy with anticipation.

Now, before you get all up in my bizness about my cold-heartedness, and possibly insanity, hear me out.  I don’t enjoy pandemics or wish at all  for people to get sick.  My excitement lies in the fact that I have a thing for infectious diseases – from a purely scientific point of view.  Which seems odd, I suppose, in that I am not a science-type person normally, but for some reason infectious diseases of all types fascinate me.

I have an undergraduate degree in history, and in my first year, I had a really excellent teaching assistant assigned to me.  She, at the time, was working on her doctorate, and her specialty was the history of medicine.  I was immediately enamoured both with her, and with the subject.  I did several papers over the course of my career related to disease – the Black Death, influenza and others – all with a social and cultural slant, how the disease affected society at the time, etc.  It made for some of the most fascinating reading and some of my better essays.  Likely because I enjoyed the topic so much (duh) and I would do extra readings just because. 

My excitement with how diseases spread – not only throughout the body (you probably wouldn’t have wanted to have me as a dinner guest during those heady years of my favourite subject) but throughout society, how they spread from region to region, crossed country borders and onward.  Of course now, through sciences like epidemiology, we can account for a lot of what went on and why, but reading personal accounts of people’s experiences were both remarkably interesting, and remarkably sad.  And it continues to fascinate me to this day.

I know there are conflicting ideas about this latest virus: that it’s nothing to worry about, that “Big Pharma” is snowing us all under with scare tactics and that governments are paying too much attention to H1N1 and ignoring other important illnesses.  And maybe that’s true.  I think though, that western society has kind of forgotten the damage a virus like influenza can do.  We have beaten so many infectious diseases – either through vaccine and/or better living conditions and sanitation, but they can continue to bubble under the surface, often never completely gone – remember when tuberculosis made a brief comeback a couple of years ago?  The same can be said for outbreaks of whooping cough, something we thought had gone the way of smallpox.  But then, maybe smallpox can reappear too?  We don’t really know for sure.  Then there is a virus like AIDS that is just as deadly, but because it was originally regarded as something that affected only certain societal groups, to a large percentage of the population, it has never really felt like a threat.  Infectious diseases do still exist in other parts of the world too, and with the amount of people flying back and forth all over the globe…well, there’s a lot that can happen.

So now we come to 2009 and H1N1.  Will it produce mass illness as the flu season gets underway?  It remains to be seen, but I know I will be taking all the precautions offered as it starts rolling along.  For all those who scoff at the idea of a pandemic, just remember that the Europeans in the 14th century probably felt the same way:  “It’s just a few rats, don’t worry about it.”

So this past weekend was one of our busier ones.  There is something spectacularly difficult about a busy early September weekend, people.  At least for me.  It probably has to do with school being back in session and the resulting craziness from that, combined with the fact that July and August weekends are just so damned lazy.  And even if July and August weekends are busy busy, they are not busy by the standard of September weekends, am I right?  It’s just not the same level of busy and perhaps I’m just putting too much pressure on September, I don’t know.  All I know is that for the whole weekend and even a few days leading up to the weekend, I was going on about 4 hours sleep per night.

Start with Tuesday night, where I went to bed at a decent time but managed not to fall asleep until the wee hours, which was ok because I actually had Wednesday off!  I had arranged to look after my friends’ baby so they could attend her cousin’s wedding, because they are among those people who thought the 09/09/09 wedding thing would be rad.  Which it totally is, and was, but it was a Wednesday.  So while I had an awesome time chilling with a super excellent 8-month old (and I hope he had a nice time with me) it was a bit of a later night – later than I am really used to for a weeknight – and plus it involved looking after a small child that does not belong to me, so there is added pressure there.  So the day was fun, but exhausting,  but ok on to Thursday!  Thursday night, well I just stayed up way too late drinking some wine and chatting with The Genealogist.  By Friday morning I was mainlining coffee and dragging my ass.  Then!  Of course on Friday night, we attended a dance/fundraiser for the Canadian Kickboxing Team, because one of our karate instructors is on the team, and so of course we wanted to support and represent.  So another 1am bedtime!  Then up early to do a 5km run to raise money for breast cancer research at the cancer centre where I am employed!  Then home to shower, shop for groceries and then walk over to the Locke St. Festival with the boys (more about the fabulous LSF in another post).  Then home to make lasagna for dinner and collapse into bed around 9:05pm.  Finally.  Did manage to sleep way in Sunday morning, but then did a bunch of housework, and a whole lot of cooking for the week, had my mum over for dinner, got organized for the week, and then collapsed into bed around 10:30ish. 

Seriously?  This is how I inaugurate the first weekend after the start of school?  Dive headlong into every activity I can think of?  Apparently.  The lack of sleep really does take its toll though, I tell you.  I know I used to be able to do this, but man, it’s just not as doable as it once was.  In some ways I miss the ability to function on little sleep, continue the party, as it were.  But in a lot of ways I am also very happy with my jammies and my grandma bedtime, even on the weekends.  Fortunately, this coming weekend is a lot less busy.  So far, anyway.  After all, it’s only Monday.  Oy.