You may have noticed that I added an e-mail subscription feature to this site. Or maybe you didn’t notice, but I assure you it exists, right below the search widget in the sidebar. In any case, if you were to subscribe, instead of coming back to this site as often as I know you do, you can have a light version of the post conveniently sent directly to your inbox! Oh, the technology!
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Last night I climbed onto the roof with a flashlight and a drill. It was dark and wet and I had to do something.

A few days ago, we were enjoying the warm morning sun in our solarium when we were startled by the sudden appearance of a raccoon on the roof. There is a small crawl space between the solarium roof and the balcony above us, and this is where we decided she must be living. We named her Bandit.

That night there was a commotion coming from our kitchen ceiling, and that’s when we discovered that Bandit was not alone. There was a whole family of raccoons living in that area of our house. Somehow they’d gotten onto the solarium roof — already a feat in itself — and then into the crawl space, into the house, and through the walls to above our sink, which is where their den is. The distance that they covered inside the walls is over 5 meters.

Yesterday my landlords came by and blocked off the crawl space that the raccoons were using to get inside. I mentioned that there was a whole family living there and that the babies were probably still inside. My landlords assured me that there were no babies; it was just two adult raccoons, and they were gone now.

And then that night, we heard the chittering of the babies in the walls, exactly where I’d indicated to my landlords. Bandit was back on the solarium, scratching at the blocked entrance, struggling to get to her family. And that’s why, right after she left, I was out on to the roof.

I called my landlords again this morning and told them why I took down the boards. There were definitely babies in there. They agreed with me that we’ll have to wait until they’re big enough to come out on their own, and at that point we will block it off from them. But for now, it looks like we have a family of raccoons staying with us. Cute factor ten.

Months ago I noticed a building on the way home from work, and while the name Organic Lives was interesting, I never looked into it. A few weeks ago a friend recommended it to me, and recently I decided to give it a shot.

The menu was disappointing when I first looked at it. Some of the tastiest-sounding dishes had cheeses or cream sauces, so it seemed there was little to choose from. When the server came around I told her I was vegan and had some questions. I was so completely stunned when she said the entire menu was vegan-friendly that I was sure I misheard. I had to double-check. And triple-check.

“Everything is raw food, nothing is cooked. We don’t use meat or eggs or dairy. It’s all vegan.”

I looked at the menu again. Now everything sounded delicious and I couldn’t make up my mind. Vegetable flatbread topped with a Pinoli cheese, fresh vegetables, pineapple, Peruvian sun-dried olives and fresh pesto. Lavender bread, cream cheese, chive foie gras, with a tomato and mesclun mix tossed in pecan oil. I was in heaven.
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This site isn’t yet what I want it to be. There’s a caption at the top that currently reads, “this site is in training to serve you better.” Training is taking longer than I’d like, but things in life always do seem to take longer than one would like. I’d love nothing more than to commit myself entirely to these things that make me happy but that is not a luxury I can enjoy at the moment. The belief that it will some day seems further each day.

I’m sure we all fantasize about coming into a great sum of money. Oh the time it could buy me.

Most of the writing here isn’t my ideal work. In fact, most of it leaves me feeling hypocritical. I go on about how information is important, but then I write whimsical prose about fragments of memory; things of little importance to anyone. At best I can sometimes develop a moral from them, but it’s still ego writing. I’d prefer compelling articles about politics and news, but the necessary research would occupy time I do not have.

Sometimes life feels so huge and uncontrollable that I hardly have any choices to make. Must work, must eat, must sleep. And I’m so small. I worry about this endlessly. And then the feeling of inadequacy overwhelms me. And I get smaller and smaller, until I can just about fit inside the box that we’re supposed to, the one where work and life are automatically satisfying and we want nothing more.

Yesterday afternoon, we went to a teahouse in our neighbourhood. After carefully picking out our tea, we sat down at a table to enjoy it. An older man behind us, perhaps in his late sixties, asked my dear what tea she was drinking. This was how our conversation started.

We could tell that he wanted to talk, so we did. Through his light accent, he told us that he was visiting from Ottawa, though he has no ties there anymore and may move to Vancouver soon. One of his sons has a family here and he would like to be closer to them, whereas his other son lives in Dubai working as a private pilot for a Saudi family. He would not like to move there.

When he is in Vancouver, he said, he comes to this same place where him and his wife used to come so often when she was alive. She passed away last year.

After he was done his tea, he thanked the girls working there, then came to say goodbye to us on his way out. He smiled and told us to spend time together. It’s important.

The impression that some strangers leave on us is enormous. People we may only see once in our lifetime can still give us hope, can still provide us wisdom if we let them. Every person has a story, and in every story is something beautiful.

We aren’t here forever. Go love someone.

Many people seem to forget that Quentin Tarantino did not write Pulp Fiction alone. His longtime friend Roger Avary provided stories and revisions to the screenplay, but somehow Tarantino got all the credit. And then they went their separate ways.

In September 2009, Roger Avary lost control of his vehicle and killed a friend who was with him. He was sentenced to a year in prison for vehicular manslaughter. Fade out.

His Twitter account stayed active though during his work furlough hours. As someone wrote, “My friend is tweeting from the inside. It’s riveting, horrible strange. Jail in 140 character lumps.” It seems he’s been found out now though, caught after two months of sneakery.

The screenplay bits that #34 wrote on Twitter were particularly interesting. A selection:
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Yesterday was a plentiful day. During, we went as far as Vancouver’s transit system could for Daiya and new shoes from Karmavore. Then we walked up a few hills to a Vietnamese restaurant and walked down them again to the train home. Finished the second issue of the Great Big Project, the revised and extended version. Delicious quesadillas for dinner and then we hurried off to the Biltmore to see Mike Doughty. Sleep. Lose an hour. Wake. Breakfast Dragon Bowl from the Naam, a nap, and now here to write. (This is also known as the idiom, “case in point.”)

The Vietnamese restaurant we went to was interesting. The front of the menu read, “all items on menu are 100% vegetarian and contains no meat, fish, egg, or MSG.” So basically the menu items were things like Spicy Lemon Grass Chicken and Grilled Pork Over Rice. As someone who doesn’t consume animals, I found it troubling to order any of these items even though it was imitation meat. I didn’t have this trouble when I first became vegetarian. Back then I bought a lot of these products, and now I eat a mostly whole foods diet. In the end, we enjoyed our Vegetable Wheat Noodle Soup and Sesame Eggplant Tofu, although neither was overwhelmingly delicious.

Mike Doughty was an amazing show, better than the last time I saw him. I’d previously only known the Biltmore as a loud venue, so I was surprised to see chairs out around the stage and candles on the tables. We found great unobstructed seats center stage and enjoyed the entire nearly two hour set. Some of my favourites from the evening were Rising Sign, Sunkeneyed Girl, and Bustin’ Up A Starbucks. Towards the end of their set, he announced that the evening’s show was being recorded and copies would be available to buy afterwards. I decided then that if he answered my question from the Question Jar, I’d buy a copy. He didn’t, so I didn’t. I’ll have to remember it was a great show.

There are a couple things I want to add to this site soon. In particular, an e-mail subscription option and some razzle-dazzle for entry previews. But for now, I really want to start writing the third issue. So please, excuse me.

This morning I sit thankful to have gotten a full night of uninterrupted sleep. It’s been a rare thing since Sunday when a was urgently overrun by some kind of virus determined to take over the world. Well, ladies and gentlemen, I may have finally beat it. A standing ovation, please.

This was without question the worst flu I have ever experienced. It hit around 10 Sunday night, and until 8 the next morning I was lucky if I ever got 25 minutes of rest. It eased up on me Monday, thankfully, with a few hours between bouts, but that night I was back to about an hour of rest in-between. I haven’t eaten anything since Sunday other than the most delicious saltines yesterday. Who knew saltines would be the greatest food ever?

I’d originally set to write more in this post, but after writing the first few sentences have realized that my mind isn’t working as well as I’d like yet. Days without food have left me with little energy to write, which is a shame since time off from work is best spent working on my writing.

So instead, saltines. Mmm. Save the world, saltines, save the world.

A few days ago I posted a short story called The Ledge. It was written during a particular time when I was most frustrated with my life. For most of a day, it stayed up as it was, but at lunch today I saw it needed changes. What is now posted follows a soy chai latte-induced editing flurry, likely influenced by The Road.

I think it’s interesting how we all go through some pretty bleak times. It could almost be the most bonding trait among us. It’s like we’re digging ourselves a rut we can’t get out of. But all of us can, and nearly all of us do. We take the dirt and build a mountain, and at the top it’s enormous.

When I wrote that story, I’d been digging furiously. My job made me miserable, I wasn’t doing nearly enough writing to satisfy me, and I was falling into such habits that were ruining me. And that story came naturally at the time. I wrote it in one big spurt. Soon after that I started climbing my mountain.

And now I’m nearly at the top.

Yesterday morning I missed the bus. Maybe a minute late. Caught another to Granville, then waited for the next bus on the route I wanted. While waiting, a woman came out of McDonald’s with another man, thanked him, and mingled among us. She then asked all of us for change. Well, everyone except me. Guess it’s time to do laundry.

When it came, she got on the bus and sat in the back. She asked the man across from her for change. She said she was getting a place to live today, she was going to shower and get her act together. She’d been clean for 24 hours.

He reached into his pocket and gave her all the loose coins he had. A sour look, and she said, “Is this all?”

A man dressed in traditional African clothing got on the bus. The woman leapt to her feet and saluted him! “My brother,” she shouted. “My brother! Black power, my brother!”

He looked her up and down. He scowled. He blurted, “Get out of here!”

And she did, at the very next stop, after asking him for change.