First of all, I don’t have swine flu. At least, I don’t think. This isn’t really the subject of this ramble, but as far as titles go, it never hurts to go with something topical.
I actually forced myself into work this morning. As I was driving, I knew it was a bad idea. My body was in the vehicle, but my head was still stuck in the sweaty-yet-chilled, between-paranoid-dreams void that was most of my night. I came home around eleven. Collapsed on the couch. Passed out for twenty minutes. Woke up to Bri cranking Aerosmith. She hadn’t realized I’d come home. Anyway, I idled away an hour with the newspaper, reading all about the Canucks matchup with the Hawks, did the crossword (half-completed), did the Scrabble (fail), and the Junior Jumble (win). Bri and I then watched Identity, a John Cusack film I hadn’t seen, but was happy to watch. It gave me hope for the world. Well, that is, John himself did. Not the film. That was pretty bleak.
Anyway, I’m really just rambling now, happy I’m still alive and feeling somewhat better. Just glad I didn’t get sick off a pig. I also think that a potential threat to people getting checked out for swine flu is all in the name. I mean, that’s bad marketing, right there. Who wants to potentially be told that they have something so ridiculously named as “swine flu”? It’s just embarrassing.
I divide my time between a variety of poverty-inducing ventures: writing for fun and writing for torture; watching far too many movies and reading far too few books.
I have lived previous incarnations as bookseller, bureaucrat, filmmaker, zinester, student, and wayward traveller. I studied Film at Langara after seven years at Simon Fraser entrenched in English, Archaeology and about every other Liberal Arts and social science topic you can imagine.
I am very good at Trivial Pursuit.
I am related to Dr. Samuel Johnson, writer of the first English dictionary, which explains my perfect spelling and penchant for black cats.
I once lived in a house in the South Hill neighbourhood of Vancouver with six people, four cats, one goldfish, and a vegetable garden for a front yard. We called it The Commune. It was where I lived with my husband before he was Husband, before he was Fiance, before he was Boyfriend, back when he was just Boy Roommate. Life was a sitcom and we were the “will they/won’t they.”
We did.
Once we ran away to England because we like having adventures. But we didn’t like it that much, so we came home again.
I have the personality of a superhero’s alter-ego. Only I don’t fight crime. At least not yet.
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