The sound of ego

Here's a little ditty that came to me the other day, meant to be sung to The Sound of Silence:

Hello ego, my old "friend"

You've come to piss me off again

You've come to make me feel inferior

Of you I couldn't be much wearier

And your voices that do echo in my head

Fill me with dread

So I won't listen to the sound of ego

My gratitude for inspiration goes out to Simon & Garfunkel, Eckhart Tolle, and of course, the letter "I"

Halloween 2007

Holly Golightly & Cap'n Eyeliner (dude utterly wrecked my mascara filling in 

that *rugged* beard!)

Fun with urbandictionary.com

Kudos to my newest cyber-pal, raindog, for posting this on his blog and giving me the idea. Now obviously i have to try it.

Go to www.urbandictionary.com and type in your answer to each question in the search box, then write the first definition it gives you... (The italicized bits are examples urbandic provides.)

1) Your name?
Lili: A sweet girl who's always there for you

ur sucha lili

I kinda like the second def too: The hottest bitch around... A pimpette.. will pimp your sorry ass anytime, anywhere. You will fall upon her great majesty, she will seduce you in all manner.. beware all men

Damn Lili... u own me!) :^)

[Uh, yeah... if only! Why, then, weren't my uh, feminine wiles enough to get Manu Chao to come perform in Vancouver this year? Why? Huh?]

Papillon: Isn't defined yet. Hmm. I kinda like being indefinable.


2) What Should You Be Doing?
Writing
a kind of love that thats annoying as hell and makes you want to pull your hair out. It keeps you up at night, and it makes you think about the world entirely differently. Its a passion that is unlike any other. It overides everything in your life.
What do i want to do with my life?

I want to be writing.

[Okay now, is this thing part Ouija Board, or what?]

3) Favorite Food?
Paella: Anal sex with a Latina. (!!)

Ben Affleck left because J-Lo wouldn't give him any of that sweet paella. (Wonder if Marc Anthony got any luckier?)

[I'm not even going to dignify that one with any sort of comment or analysis. Though I do think Latinas are hot. Maybe a sexy dance together to some compelling Cumbria? Oh, except of course, I can't dance. Kay. Let's leave this one well enough alone.]


4) Hometown?
Vancouver: Vancouver is a city on the west coast of Canada. It has been voted and said by most to be the most beautifull city in the world. Mountains wall in the city and the ocean crashes downtown. In ten minutes you can be walking in old growth forests. Greenpeace, adbusters, legal pot, safe injection sites and things like this make Vancouver Hated by right wing nuts. Vancouver has the highest density, highest property values and best heath standards of Any city its size in the world.

In Vancouver I sit by the ocean in peace. Every other city seems empty to me after loving Vancouver.

[Hey, it's not utopia, but it's home and I love it. Having said that, I'd still love to spend winters somewhere in Central or South America.]

5) Word to describe yourself?
Diplomat
A person who tells you to go to hell in such a way that you actually look forward to the trip.
A Diplomat is a Diplomat. Theres ur example.

6)Last person you talked to on the phone?
Husband
1) Someone who has your back when you need it, but knows when to get the hell out of your way when he has to. Useful for fixing things, keeping you warm, and that fuzzy soft happy feeling that he usually creates.
2)Also, apparently something most of the previous definition submitters haven't the personality to attract.

1)"I love my husband, he managed to fix the toilet after it exploded and started spitting zombies out every fifteen minutes" - Random Female Victim of Zombie Attacks
2)"...In short he is about useless." - Well, I suppose you'd think that, being completely unable to attract a decent guy.


7) What are you drinking?
Wine:
form of dance, involves gyration of hips, can be slow or fast must always be sexy. performed to mainly west indian music like reggae, calypso and soca.

If you don't mind...would you take a wine with me?


8) Favorite color?
Purple
Extremely potent marijuana, specifically marijuana buds that have a purple hue to them. Also accompanied by a fragant, usually fruity smell and mad perma-grin.

Yo, you gotta come over and smoke, boy! I got the purple!

Two (2) regrets in life...

... And they were both due to lack of motivation on my part in junior high and high school. So:

(A) I wish I had made more of an effort to learn French. Tabernac! We never should have tormented that petite Mademoiselle Quelque-chose, straight from Paris and nervous as one of those little Farside dogs that had consumed too much espresso. Twenty-some 13-year olds, probably doomed to pay off bad karma for (rumour had it) causing our rather delicate teacher to have a bit of a melt-down and eventually quit. CAVEAT: I wasn't one of the top culprits; the worst I ever did was pass notes to the kids around me, but I never went out of my way to annoy the pauvre petite. I didn't need to -- a few other kids were exceptionally gifted in the mind-fuck arts. Sheesh! You couldn't pay me enough to teach teenagers!

(B) I wish I had taken my road test and tried to get a driver's licence in my teens. Now the thought of driving in Vancouver scares me more than diving 90 feet to explore a shipwreck. (Well okay, that doesn't scare me at all!)

At the end of the day (and the weekend, for that matter), I have to admit, two regrets in life for a woman of my, um, advanced years is actually not too bad. Anyway, I'm more interested these days in learning Spanish than French. It's easier to learn and widely spoken in the countries we travel to. ¡¿Y ahora... qué hago?! I guess the smart money says take classes, huh? I've tried the self-teaching thing with CDs and books, and behold! I could actually understand some of the people in Bogota. Whether or not they could understand me is a different issue entirely. And when we travelled to the Caribbean coast, where everyone talks so fast you'd swear they were on speed (or maybe a more obvious substance, considering the locale), well, I was hopeless without my trusty little phrase book, which really should have had the Spanish version of "Please excuse me. My IQ is only twice as big as my shoe size." But I digress...

Hope everyone who reads this has a great week. I'm going to have one even if those mofos, er, I mean those nice, nice people don't let me into their stupid, elitist club, err, I mean their dynamic and productive networking group. So THERE. :-)

The Life Olympics (or, Too Much F***ing Competition)

I’m not a competitive person as it is, but this shit is beyond the pale. As some of you know, G-man and I have been trying very hard lately to grow the business, because the alternative would be standing idly by and watching it go tits-up. We both detest schmoozing, but realize it’s essential to small business survival, so one of us had to suck it up, get out there, and try to network. Since G-man has been doing what little work we’ve had come in lately, since he stays on top of the financial logistics and such, it seemed only fair that I step up and take on the role of what? Small business community liaison, I guess one could say.

To that end, I’ve applied to join a networking group. These groups are set up to provide members with sources of word-of-mouth referrals for each other. Only one profession can be represented in a given chapter, so there’s no internal competition, no conflict of interest. I applied as a graphic designer; we were told I was the only one applying.

This whole process started several weeks ago. The way the thing works, one gets to attend two meetings free (lunch not included) before determining whether or not to apply for membership. So I went to two of these events, sucked up my morbid fear of public speaking, got to know the group (of about 25) and the individuals in it, even learned names. Decided these were nice people and I would happily go to bat, promoting any of their businesses to friends and business acquaintances alike. After submitting my application, I came in for a third meeting a week ago, after which I was interviewed – a step we’d been led to believe was a mere formality. Okay, this is where it gets good. The interview goes fine, but I’m told – get this – they have to interview ANOTHER GRAPHIC DESIGNER late next week (that would have been yesterday); then a decision would be made and they’d let me know. Late yesterday I receive an email. One of the guys on the membership committee is away, so now they’re going to meet on Monday (today is Friday), supposedly make a decision and let me know then. This is the SECOND major delay now… thanks for the gift of a nice, relaxing weekend guys. I need more anxiety like I need a good, swift poke in the eye with a knitting needle.

And have I mentioned the best part? Wait for it… All this, all this stress, all this self-doubt and gnawing on non-existent fingernails, all this is for the privilege of shelling out nearly $600 to join the chapter. I’M COMPETING TO PAY TO WORK. And it is work; it’s all very give and take, this stuff; during the days between meetings, you’re expected to be looking for opportunities to promote others’ businesses. Fair enough, though; other people will be out there promoting yours… this stuff is really supposed to work, hence my desire to get in.

Still, I can’t believe it’s come to this. Over the course of a year or so, we’ve gone from being (as G-man so poetically puts it) “balls-to-the wall busy” to barely keeping afloat. Colombia may have seemed like an extravagance under the circumstances, but it wasn’t really. A, we took the trip with a bit of a nest egg we’d built up, and B, we were “guaranteed” to hit the ground running on our return. There was a big-ass project in the works that would have translated into more than a month of work for both of us. At the eleventh hour, our client’s client decides to bail and go with an entirely different team of suppliers. Nobody’s fault, but that’s scant comfort. I keep seeing Nelson (the Simpsons bully) going “YOINK!” as he separates some poor little nerd from his bag lunch.

So, yeah. Frustrated much? Oh, just a tad. Maybe next I’ll take up walking on hot coals… It sounds like way more fun than life is offering right now. And hey, then I’d get to smolder on the outside too!

Manu, Part 2

The following is a journal excerpt from June 27. I post this with 3 new cyber-friends in mind. Piggytat, Nubiasol, and Bixo Chango, if this shit doesn't scare you away, you may be brave enough to check out Manu, Part 1, titled Cruising on Martinis and Exhaustion.

I'm chillin' at the Goddess K-belle's Sunshine Coast cottage. It’s just about 10:30 pm, and still barely darker than twilight. K-belle is on the deck having what seems to be a fairly intense conversation with someone on her mobile. I imagine it must be one of the people unwittingly rocking the boat that is her tumultuous life right now. Wow, I don’t envy any of them, that’s for sure.

So, yeah, I was going to start writing about Manu (or more to the point, what it is that Manu symbolizes for me), but then K-belle and I had more beer, and I smoked more weed, and then we clearly had to go to the beach. We both had our inaugural swim of the season, and other than the rocks (which were no match for my mighty Keen sandals), it was pretty effin’ great. Much warmer than I’d expected – not balmy by any means, but pretty damn doable considering we’ve had no real hot weather so far.

Anyway… glass of merlot within arm’s reach, Gogol Bordello serenading me on the stereo, I’m at least going to say this much: Manu Chao symbolizes my passion. And since I’ve yet to figure out what my source (and outlet) for passion might be, it only makes sense that this issue (and its symbol) have been on my mind (and in my heart) a lot. I can say with some conviction and clarity that… what? Oh shit, after K-belle finished her call and came back in, we got to talking and I totally forgot my train of thought! Now she’s checking her email so I have a chance to think, but noooh! I’m still having a brain fart.

I can say with some conviction and clarity that… hah! I remember! I can say with some conviction and clarity, looking back now, that I was not completely bat-shit last summer in identifying Manu as my muse. He really is that. When K-belle and I were sitting around on the deck this afternoon, I told her that seeing Manu perform live for the first time literally changed my life, as I’d never seen anyone perform with such passion.

So no, it doesn’t really matter that Manu and I don’t have an art form in common, that he’s probably a considerably bigger leftie than I am (or at least so his PR team would have us believe), and that he grew up in a (for me) phenomenally enviable bohemian environment, whereas I grew up in a repressive, redneck, Catholic soul vortex. It’s about the fucking PASSION. As I’ve said to Little Miss once (or more), and as I reiterated to K-belle today, it’s not so much a case of wanting to do Manu as wanting to be Manu. Does a person have to cultivate that kind of passion from childhood, or can we start any time? Please tell me it’s not too late.

You're all invited to my party!

I have to admit, my horoscopes on the Google main page are sometimes downright uncanny. Take today's, for example:

You are moving out of your comfort zone and reaching toward a new way of expressing your creativity. You may not be clear about where you are going, but you are still ready to head on out. Don't start your new venture quietly. Turn it into a party and invite the best people you know. The bigger the splash today, the better the show will be in a few months.

So? Who's bringing the gin?

:^)

Where have I been?

First off, thanks for all the great comments re: the Small, heroic actions post.

My Blogosphere buddy, Sandy from India, said "BTW, long time no see. Where were you?" I think his question deserves an answer, so here goes.

For the past year or so, I've been to:

• Despondency
• Dispiritedness
• Dejection
• Despair
• Depletion
• Desolation
• Depression (that one comes as a surprise, no?)

... And then I was in Colombia, which lovingly offered me a reprieve from all those *D* words. But I had to come home.

The good news is, I'm finally seeing a competent and compassionate shrink. I believe he'll help me find the joy and self-confidence that have eluded me for too long.

Peace, love & hippie beads,

Papillon

Small, heroic actions in a big, f***ed up world

I posted this story on the forum of Manu Chao's website. (I've made a few cyber-pals there and enjoy *hanging out*.) Anyway, I thought I'd post it here too, as it got some positive response. I'm going to make a real effort to blog more frequently, so do visit again.

****

Those of you who have read a number of my posts know that there's a Mr.Papillon in my life, but because I don't want to make my cyber-friends puke, I generally refrain from bragging about the guy.

Well, I'm violating that personal policy now to share this little story with you. I hope it makes you smile.

The other day the two of us were walking along the seawall close to our home when we saw a small group of women standing around looking at something at the bottom of a hill. They were looking at a mama duck and her brood (10 or so) of teensy little ducklings. (Soooh f***ing cute!!) The mother seemed distressed, and one of the women pointed up the hillside to where a baby duck had gotten caught in a thorn bush. It had a branch twisted around its little neck and was struggling to get free.

The bush was several metres up, the hill very steep and full of small, loose rocks. I looked at my guy, and didn't even need to speak. He knew my expression meant "Can you please try?"

Without hesitation, up he climbed, although it was extremely difficult to keep his balance on that kind of terrain. The other women and I watched anxiously as he stretched out his arm to reach the duckling. Very tricky to take hold of the little critter without crushing it AND without falling on his ass, but he managed. Meantime, Mama Duck was going nuts, quacking up a storm, like "Get away from my kid, ya big freak!"

Mr. P slowly, carefully made his way back down the hill with the little duck held loosely in his hand. At the bottom, it squirmed out and fell (a couple of feet) into a puddle, where it gave itself a good shake and then quickly motored over to catch up with its mama and siblings. Mr. P had actually thought its neck might be broken from hanging in the bush, but miraculously, the little guy (girl?) was uninjured!! In a few seconds, it blended in with the others, and I couldn't even see which one it was anymore. (They all look the same, those duckies!)

The women (one older lady, and a couple of young ones) and I all cheered as the little family waddled away. Mr. P, well, he won an instant fan club at that moment... but *I* got to go home with him!

That's it, then. My apologies in advance if anyone lost their lunch! ;^)

Happy Weekend. Quack!

!Colombia te quiero!

Barranquilla Carnaval. White powder everywhere!

To say that we had a great time would be an almost absurd understatement.

I have pages and pages of journal to sort through, and G-Man took about 1,300 pictures -- no exaggeration.

Anyway, there's waay too much information to upload it all here, so I'm going to build either a shiny new blog or a proper website.

Will keep you posted.