centre of the universe - the dreaming

I've talked your ear off lately.

What with all that chatter about the Shadow Files LARP at the Flatland Fantasy V games convention that was so gorram amazing. I'll tell ya. That guy *really* knows how to run a one-shot LARP. He has this knack with making sure that every character in the room is only separated by one or two degrees from every other character in the room, and he does a fantastic job of coming up with characters. Really, truly amazing.

Oh, and then i went on about the Nobilis LARP the following night. I didn't have as good a handle on that one, but it was certainly quite a lot of fun. It's tough to run a one-shot when your setting is so rich and vibrant and dynamic. But O. did an amazing job; the set was breathtaking, and the story made my head swim. In a good way.

So, yeah. I'm sure you're sick of hearing about my exploits. What about you? What've you been up to this week?

Labels: LARP

I realised something. I mean, I know I knew this, but sometimes you need to jog your remembery. So this is the thing I realised. Are you ready? Here it comes:

It's all about the connexions you make with other people. Nothing else really matters.

Seriously. What the hell happened to all the swings?

My Da says that "they" have been removing swings from schoolyards because of "all the injuries". And I said, "you're full of shite."
And he said, "no. Seriously. 'They' are afraid of lawsuits."
And I said "that's the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard. Next they'll be only building play structures a foot off the ground so that little jimmy won't fall and hurt his widdle foot."
And my Da said, "wouldn't surprise me."

I don't believe it. I mean, I don't *want* to believe it, and so I choose not to. Who would be stupid enough to remove swings from playgrounds...SWINGS...which have been around since the DAWN OF TIME...because some kid might get hurt? Kids get hurt crossing the street all the time; are we going to get rid of streets too?

Labels: overkill, paranoia, stupidity

It is a mixture of relief, as welcoming an old friend, and a melancholy longing.

This is my home
where I grew up
I remember each corner, each nook and cranny
The roads leading to my front door
Sounds and smells of spring at home.
Telling my children,
"this, this is the bedroom I slept in;
this is where I played.
This yard, here, where my father tossed two pounds of peanuts
on two huge tarps
for my birthday.
Do you see that playground?
That was my playground.
They've taken the swings.
I don't know where the swings are.
Where have they taken my swings?
Oh, and this, do you see this?
I carved my name in this wooden beam when I was ten.
I wonder where they've taken my swings."

I am home.

Labels: Home

Lou Reed forgot to mention laundry hanging on the line, and the squealing laughter of children in the yard. Silly Lou.

This day...THIS is what I have been waiting six months for.

Labels: when there's weather

THAT'S better.

We drove down a squiggly road that wound beside a squiggly river.
We took the long cuts instead of the shortcuts.
We walked along the side of the road and found treasures:
a blue thing, a red reflective deer, and pocketsful of rocks.
We knocked on the doors of every gopher hole we found (we found a lot)
but none of the gophers were home.
We heard them trilling out in the field.
We walked along the berm
We took a detour onto the train bridge.
We tossed rocks in the swollen river.
A beaver swam by, then trudged up the river, then swam away.
We jumped in puddles
and squolked in mud
There were slides down six slides, and on the way home,
We found a stick.

The laundry is flapping on the line, and our sun-warmed faces beam huge smiles.

Thank you, Spring, for this day
with my baby.

Labels: kids, The Nipper, when there's weather

Honestly. I haven't a THING to wear. Erm. Say. Really.

So I'll just return you to your regularly scheduled browsing and say that I'm sure this dearth of adjectival utterance will return to its normal prodigiousness soon.

At least, in theory.

Facebook stole my thoughts.

Happy First Rain of Spring Day.

So I have a friend who is a Rare Coin, and she lent me a copy of "The Time Traveler's Wife" by Audrey Niffenegger.

I'm sorry for the pause, there. I had to take a really big breath to prepare myself to talk about this book.

First, let me say that I am horrified to learn that the book is being made in to a movie to be released this year (2009). There is absolutely no way that this book will not be ruined by being a movie.

Second, it's been a really, really *really* long time since I've sobbed for the last 100 pages of a book.

Third, there's a funny thing that happens, no matter how much you tell yourself you do not believe in coincidence or conspiracy theory. His Nibs said to me earlier today, "What book is this now that you're reading?"
And I told him "It's The Time Traveler's Wife by Audrey Niffenegger."
And he said, "But you've been talking about that other book, about the turtle."
"It's a tortoise," I say, and I smile.
"Whatever. You really liked that one, didn't you?"
And I say, "Yes, I did."
And he says, "Are they kind of the same?"
And I say, "No, not at all. Well. Except for the following things:" This is where the really strange coincidence thing comes in. Do you have your tinfoil hat ready? WHAT? What do you MEAN you don't have a tinfoil hat?
::Sigh::
Please send five dollars in the mail to cenobyte, c/o 2405 11th Avenue, Regina, SK, S4P 0K4, and I will send you by return post, a new tinfoil hat. Jeez.

ANYWAY. On to the conspiracy.

• They are both First Novels
• They are both about longevity, and the tricks that are played by the mind
  
• They are both about a woman in her thirties, most of the time
• Both are written by women
• Both are published by Knopf (I read the hardcover version of both)
• The main character in Come, Thou Tortoise is called Audrey Flowers. The author of The Time Traveler's Wife is called Audrey Niffenegger.
• "Niffenegger" means "Flowers" in Dutch.
• In both stories, there is a fear of travel
• I have read both books (okay, that's not *technically* a coincidence, but I *did* read them simultaneously.

I preferred Come, Thou Tortoise, partly because it didn't make me cry (it did make me sad, particularly at the beginning), and partly because the language was...well...more impressive. The writing was much more clever, much better. The Time Traveler's Wife is an interesting story, told in an interesting way, but if I had only one 34-dollar-bill, I would purchase Come, Thou Tortoise, and not just because Jessica Grant is Canadian, although that helps.

Also, I will never, ever see the movie for The Time Traveler's Wife. Never. It would suck. Even though the author is one of the writers for the screenplay, I shudder to think about all the stuff they will get wrong. And judging from the cast, they've already made pretty much every casting decision wrong. Which doesn't surprise me.

Labels: Books

I have mentioned this on teh Facebook; I have mentioned it on teh radio/in person, and now this will be the third and final time I will mention this. But I need you to really listen.

You need to....no, really...you NEED TO read this book:
Come, Thou Tortoise by Jessica Grant.

The Captain picked it out for me, and it pleases me Greatly.

Also, for a first novel, it's pretty effing amazing.

Labels: Books

1. Remembering to stop the car on the way to the babysitter's so that we can all hop out and jump on the crackly ice, to hear that sharp, percussive sound of breaking glass, and watch in glee as mud splashes up to dot our trousers, jackets, and smiling faces.

2. Shy crocuses peeking out from under the humous and layers of last fall's leaves.

3. Confused Cats blinking in the sun, and taking tentative steps out on to the deck. They are convinced, you see, that their paws will become Wet and therefore Unsatisfactory (although they pronounce it 'uncatisfactory') because they can smell the warm air and they know that somewhere nearby, water runs in rivulets.

4. Finding pucks, shields, swords, mittens, keys, a hammer, and a barbeque that had been buried in the snow all winter.

5. Sounds of joy bubbling up and out of every child who walks past the house on the way to school. Their voices have been muted by the snow too long, and they are hungry for the colour green.

Labels: 365 Days of Grace, spring, when there's weather

So here's the deal.

One of my best friends and I got into a little tussle on another friend's Facebook page. (Like, how rude is THAT. OHMAHGAAAAWD!!!) It is a tussle regarding Theism versus Atheism. Or rather, and to be (I think) more precise: Superstition versus Science.

I've had this discussion many, many times with many, many people.

My friend (it was R:tAG) said that he takes offense when people tell him he 'should' or 'must' or 'ought to' believe in something. Whatever that something is. And I agree with him. He *should* be offended when people do that. I hate that too, and it offends me as well.

One of my points was that I also find it offensive when someone tells me what I must *not* believe in, or when it is assumed that I am less intelligent, less able to think critically, or less able to think logically simply because I choose to believe in something utterly superstitious. Maybe it's God. Maybe it's ghosts. Maybe it's something mysterious that happens when the moon is full.

I am not a lazy thinker. I hesitate to say I am not irrational, because I know myself *fairly* well, and I do tend to act on emotion rather than logic most of the time. I am not stupid for thinking the things I do.

And my friend R:tAG is not stupid for thinking the things *he* does.

I deeply honour and respect his opinion, and I deeply honour and respect his, in his own words, 'militant atheism'. I think it's *wonderful*, to be honest, that he chooses to believe in things that are directly observable, provable, real, and tangible. I deeply honour and respect the fact that he finds most organised religion distasteful, if not utterly damaging, belittling, and, most likely, wrong. (Most? R:tAG, help me out, is there some organised religion you don't find distasteful?)

I have many friends who are atheists. Militant and otherwise. I do not try to change their minds or proselytise (sp?) because not only is it futile, it's terribly inconsiderate and offensive. I respect their opinions and the logic and sensible...um...ness of the way they have come to know the truth of things.** And I certainly don't expect them to understand or want to try to understand why I believe in ghosts and God and the weirdness that comes with the full moon.

I believe in mysteries. I don't need to know the answers. I always look for clues, and I know I will never know the answers. And I'm okay with that.

And on the other hand, I have a deep respect for (and slight romantic interest in) scientific process and theorems and proofs and observable phenomena and hypothesis and provable (or disprovable, for that matter) theses. In fact, in my previous life, I did relatively well in the sciences (with the exception of Chemistry. STupid math.) in University. I think I had one of the highest marks in my class in physics and genetics.

I'm not the kind of person who wants to believe in fantastic explanations for mundane things. I prefer to observe the known facts (Sherlock Holmes-style), apply the knowledge I have, acquire greater knowledge if possible, put my theories to the test, and find out how things work.

So I think what upset me in that conversation on the Facebook wasn't that R:tAG is a militant atheist. I'm pleased that he is. And I support his decision and I even agree with much of what he says. What upset me was the suggestion, and he certainly didn't make it a direct accusation, that simply because I choose to believe in ghosts, God, or how the phases of the moon might affect things, that I am less capable of rational thought. That I have to be one way or the other. That I make judgements about my friends, and indeed about people I've never met, based on whether or not they believe in the same things I do.

It wasn't what R:tAG *said* that upset me. It was the implications in what was left unsaid, I think. I accept that some of the things I believe in make me sound like a fruitcake. I'm okay with that. But does that mean I'm not as capable, intellectually or in my reasoning, as someone who does not have fruitcake tendencies?

Anyway, I've been thinking about this lately.

----
**Just as a point of reference, in my superstitious beliefs, I tend to think that some things are Very Old stories and parables. And that is important. And just because some guy in a pointy hat says that if you don't believe in Jesus, you're going to hell, doesn't mean I concur. I don't even know if I believe in hell. Regardless. This is part of the mystery I believe in - I haven't got a *clue* what happens when we die, and I don't even know that it matters. Maybe we just stop. That makes me feel hollow and empty, and so I choose to believe something else, with certain kinds of evidence. GAH. I'm getting side-tracked. The point *is*; IF something happens to us after we die, I certainly don't believe that atheists or agnostics or different-kinds-of-superstitious people go to "Hell". In fact, I don't think it really matters *what* I believe on that front. Really, if anything happens after we die, I sincerely hope it is one of those things where you get a lot of answers, and get to hang out with all your dearest friends and family concurrently with them hanging out with/existing with all of *their* dearest friends and family, without having to worry about things like temporal travel.

Labels: atheism

So here's my question: is it wrong to question mysteries? Even though you know you cannot ever truly know the answer(s)?

Dear Mum,

You probably know this already, things being what they are. Okay, this is pretty funny, actually. So I was talking to a psychic last night (no, that's not the funny part. Some people go to the bar; some people play MMORPGs (I'll explain that one later); I talk to psychics. It's like sports entertainment Pay-Per-Views), and guess who showed up?

Well, I was kind of expecting you, to be honest, but you're probably in some bonspiel somewhen so you weren't around. ANYWAY, yeah. You'll never guess. No, seriously, you'll never guess. Okay, fine, technically, you *will* probably guess, things being what they are, so I'm just going to tell you.

Great Gram McG!

No, seriously!

I **KNOW**!!

So, when I told my psychic that that was really funny because I was the only person in the family she actually *liked* other than her own pre-marriage-to-Great-Granddad-John A., the psychic said, "oh, she just said 'I *tolerated* her'". And that made me laugh really, really hard, because I remember one time when we were camping with Auntie Isa at Cypress Hills, and Auntie M (yes, I know. It's ironic that I have an Auntie M) was there, and Nama, and you...remember the time y'all got me to plant a pinecone in the dry, dry dust outside the trailer and then pour some whiskey over it and then in the morning, there was a *little wee tree* growing there...(and yes, I'm aware that you all had me utterly convinced that whiskey and my own magic grows trees overnight until I was fifteen)...remember that time? I was pretending to be asleep in the bunk in the trailer and you and the Aunties and Nama were growing trees in your belly with whiskey?

You thought I was asleep. And, as it was wont to do at those times, the conversation in the dark, dry, hot night turned to Gram McG. "Isn't it odd," Nama said, "how that horrible old woman was so keen with cenobyte?"
"Isn't it?" laughed Auntie M. "She hated every other Goddamned person in John A.'s family."
Then the lights in the trailer flickered. Auntie M trotted out to check out the power connection. Ours was the only trailer with flickering lights. She hollered this news in from the place where my tree would grow.
"Jesus Christ, Carrie," Auntie Isa hissed. "We can talk about you all we like now. You're dead, though not long enough."
The lights kept flickering until Auntie M got back in to the trailer. "Always was a vicious old bitch," she laughed. "And you know I'm talking to you!" She said to the air.
The lights stopped flickering.
And you said, "I wonder why she took such a liking to cenobyte?"
And Auntie Isa, the eldest, smiled her powdery, luscious smile and her blue, blue eyes that looked so much like John A's twinkled and sparkled and she leaned forward over the table conspiratorially. She winked over her whiskey and in a stage whisper she announced: "That nasty woman didn't like a goddamned thing. She only tolerated cenobyte because cenobyte was the only one still young enough to believe in witches."

Anyway, I thought it was funny. And I thought you'd enjoy it.

Miss you lots,
love
cenobyte

Labels: ghosts, letters, Mum

In Which Stephen Hawking phoned me last night: he was Very Concerned about my water filtration service. I thought it was odd that Stephen Hawking would be so concerned about my water filtration service, since it was not he who installed it. Nonetheless, he asked me several questions about the system, the service call we'd recently had done, and our overall impressions of the water filtration system company.

Keep your eyes peeled for some Grand Water Filtration System Unification Theory. That dude is SMART. Although you'd never have known it from the way he was phrasing his questions - must have had an undergrad write them.

In Which the Canadian government is being totally hypocritical ... FOR A CHANGE: Television broadcasters in Canada are In Trouble. They're thinking they might have to move out, go to visit an aunt in Calgary for about nine months and when they return, they'll have dark circles under their eyes and fabulous hair. But rather than send them away, the Canadian government has decided that it will...okay wait. Before I get in to this, I want to make a point or two.

Point the First: The Canadian government currently calls itself "Conservative". Usually, "Conservatives" are allergic to socialism and Great Equalisers. They want no one to have the same as anyone, and believe that It Is Okay to run a country so that the people who have the most never have to come in to contact with people who have nothing. They are not really so much about making things equal. Particularly this government, who decided to do away with the Royal Commission on the Status of Women. Oh wait, they didn't *do away with it*; they just cut most of the funding. Or said they were going to. They've also done things like do away with any motivation for some kind of National Daycare Program, choosing instead to give $100 to families for each child under 6 living in the house. Enough about how they don't like to make things equal.

Point the Second: The Canadian government likes to talk big about how it supports independent business and how government should get out of the business of business and concentrate on government.

Now. The Canadian Government saw that many smaller television stations in the country are In Trouble. So, in these times of difficult economic dwindles and thrusts, the Canadian Government has decided they will ...how does that expression go... oh yes. Rob Peter to pay Paul.

In Which cenobyte makes dinner:
The Captain (in a Whiny, Petulant Voice, all the way from the sitter's): "What are we having for supper?"
cenobyte, vigorously: "Turkey brains!" or "Pinecones!" or "Sauteed midget!"
The Captain and The Nipper, at home: "What's for supper?"
cenobyte, filling one pot with water: "Noodles!"
cenobyte places another pot on her head.
"Uh. Mum?"
cenobyte, in a totally neutral tone: "Yes?"
"Um. Why..." stares intently at cenobyte for a moment. "Why are you wearing a pot on your head?"
cenobyte scoffs. "Pot!!?? POT?? This, SON, is a HELMET. We must always observe the Canadian Food Guide's Recommendations for Cookery Safety. At ALL TIMES."
The Nipper shakes his head. "Mum. That really is a pot."
"Oh ye of little faith."
"Moo-oommm. You can TELL it's a POT because it has a big sticky-outy handle."
cenobyte glances up at the big sticky-outy handle. "Oh. You appear to be right." Replacing the pot on the hangar, she retrieves the steel colander. "THIS is my helmet. Remember: Safety first!"
"Mum, that ...thingy... doesn't have any padding. If something hit you in the head..."
"SUCH AS A METEOR!??" cenobyte shouts, interrupting, which is a Big No.
"Uh. Sure. Such as a meteor...if something hit you in the head, you'd still get hurt because there's no padding in there."
Cenobyte pads off to the living room and retrieves a leather fringed purse she purchased as a costume. She places it on her head so that the fringe falls down across her face, then replaces the steel colander and ties it under her chin with a shoelace.

Now the children are *really* staring. Cenobyte grabs a handful of uncooked spaghetti.
"Mum?"
"Yes, son?"
"What. Are you doing?"
"Safety first."
"No," The Captain says, staring.
"The SPAGHETTI!" The Nipper shouts. "What are you doing with that spaghetti?"
cenobyte stares at her children. "Making antennae. Duh. I have to be able to communicate with Command. How else will I know when the meteor is about to strike?"
The boys stare, open-mouthed, at cenobyte.
"That's...that's..."
"Really weird." The Nipper contributes.
"No! That's BRILLIANT!" The Captain shouts.

cenobyte grabs a large steel spoon off the wall. She holds it to her mouth. "This is cenobyte, man on the street. I'm here interviewing The Captain, for your Man on the Street update. The Captain? What are your feelings about meteors?" cenobyte shoves the spoon in The Captain's face.
"Uh. Meteors are huge balls of frozen space debris that cruise through the universe at incredible speeds?"
"Pffft." Says cenobyte. "How long until TOTAL ANNIHILATION occurs, due to meteors?"
"Um. Never?"
"There you have it. The Captain believes we have Nothing To Worry About. As for me, I'm wearing a helmet, so I'm Perfectly Safe."

Moments later, The Nipper grabs the spoon and wanders around the kitchen shoving it in our faces. "What do you think about meteors?" he hollers. "WHAT DO YOU THINK ABOUT DINOSAURS!!???"
"Hi my name is cenobyte and I think dinosaurs will someday be destroyed by meteors thank you very much GO RIDERS!!!"

Again with the staring.

THAT was a good night.

Labels: Canadian politics, dinosaurs, helmet, kids, meteors, safety, smart folks