Finders keepers

Yikes it's warm in my apartment right now! The weather network claims that it's 21 degrees outside. Unfortunately it seems like none of that coolness has leaked into my living room. Luckily for you, this means that I'm too slothful to move away from my computer. Therefore I'm going to start working my way down my "things to blog about" list. (Yes, such a thing exists.)

Today I will tackle how I "acquired" my Kobo e-reader.

Once upon a time, my father, bibliophile that he is, gave into the urge and splurged on buying a Kobo e-reader. He was supremely happy with his purchase. He frolicked (well, with his burgeoning arthritis, the action would be better described as "gimped") about the house raving about how amazing it was and how grand life was, etc. and so on.

And then one night, the unthinkable happened. He went to get some takeout for my mother and I (somehow I think he blames us for this) and came back sans-Kobo. How this could happen, I'm not quite sure. I was under the impression that he'd had the device surgically attached to his hand. But I digress.

He immediately returned to the restaurant, suspecting that he left it on the counter there. No dice. He searched the area where he parked, wondering whether he'd set it on the roof of his car and driven away unknowingly. Nada. My mother and I made the appropriate noises of sympathy as we gnawed away at the egg rolls. He searched inside and outside the vehicle. Big fat zero.

Several weeks passed and soon my father gave in to the withdrawal symptoms and bought himself a replacement Kobo. All was right in the world again.

One weekend, my sister, Steve, and I visited Owen Sound. It was a joyous and fun occasion. My mom and them tried several times to go to Casino Rama despite the winter storm road closures. Oops. That's their story, not mine. Back on track now.

The next day, the family and I decided to forage for breakfast at a local restaurant. Mel, Steve, and I squeezed into the backseat of my parents' car, but on my way in, I noticed something.

That Kobo that my dad searched high and low for? The one that forced him back to the restaurant twice for? The one that he bitched and moaned for? Yes. That one. It was in the backseat of his car the entire time. The ENTIRE TIME. To be fair, the Kobo is black. And it was facing downwards. But it was right in plain sight!

I cackled and showed it to Mel and Steve, and when she joined us, my mother too. We all snickered at my father who was locking the house.

When my dad joined us in the vehicle, I told him, "Dad, look in the rear view mirror."

"What?" He grumbled.

I held up the Kobo so that he could see it and pronounced, "By the ancient law of 'Finders Keepers', I hereby claim this Kobo in the name of Mau."

And that ladies and gentlement, is how I managed to get a Kobo for free.

Back to Ontario

It seems that many a peeps has been disappointed by my lack of posts lately. Since I am laid up with a bad back today I’ve decided to give my fans what they ask for: A burst of nothing but Mau! Oh happy day!

Before I begin though, I’d like to share a funny/sad fact. I’m truly losing the skills I learned in Quebec. Yesterday, I realized that I was no longer making typos on my English keyboard. Yup. When I first moved back to Ontario, I was constantly fumbling at typing – inserting the wrong character here and there. I’m pleased that I don’t have to stop, scratch my head and wonder, “Where the hell is the proper key?” But it’s also kinda sad.

Anyways, there are a few key things I’d like to write down before I forget because, damn, they were funnier than hell when I moved back to Ontario.

• During my first weekend here, my friend Shruthi came to visit. When she finally arrived, she looked very hesitant when she knocked on the door. It turns out that right before she came to my apartment (I live on the second floor of a house), she accidentally went to the wrong house. How the hell is that possible? Well, I live on Ellis Avenue. She went to my house number on Ellis Crescent, which is right down the street. When she arrived there, she knocked on the door and asked for Maureen… And was escorted to the little 90-something-year-old Maureen who happened to live there. Yup, I have a senior-citizen twin living down the street from me. Whoops! Needless to say, when friends come to visit now, I emphasize that they visit Ellis Avenue, not Crescent.
• On my first day of work at RIM, my manager took me around and introduced me to a zillion people. I was overwhelmed with names and faces, but one stood out. I interrupted my manager and asked the guy, “Wait, don’t I know you from Ottawa?” It turns out that I didn’t know him (which was a relief, because I kept thinking, “I thought his name was Dave! Not Greg!). Nope. I know his twin brother. Hell, I went to SCHOOL with his brother. What are the chances?! For my first month of work, whenever I heard the guy’s voice, I kept wanting to make sarcastic and inappropriate remarks, but then I’d remind myself, “Wait a second Mau, you don’t know him well enough to say that.”
• On my second day of work, I decided to go explore the building on my own a bit. I visited one of the kitchens, didn’t recognize anyone and was about to leave when some guy randomly asks me, “Hey, are you Melanie’s sister?” I was like, “Who the hell is this random person, and how does he know who I am?!” It turns out that he’s one of my sister’s patients, and they had been gossiping about me. When he heard there was a new Tech Writer in his building, and heard my sister’s description of me (hmm, wonder what she said?) he put two and two together.

One of the other big changes in my life since moving is that I have now joined the ranks of automobile owners. That’s right. I got me a car! That being said, it was not a simple or easy process.

Because I’m vehicle incompetent, I enlisted my father’s aid in car shopping. He gave me the task of test driving a few cars before he came, so that I’d be familiar with the different feels of them. Well zomg. The day I arranged to do some test drives, it was raining. And I don’t like driving at the best of times. However, I was more afraid of my father’s reaction than of driving, so I forced myself to go out. I tested a Nissan Versa and a Mazda 7 Hatchback (which I was drooling over).

The moment I drove out of the parking lot in the Mazda 7, I was stressing out madly. I could NOT figure out what was going on, but it kept losing all power (not stalling, but the engine would have absolutely no oomph). I wasn’t even sure if the damned thing was an automatic or standard, because the shifter looked like a zig-zagged automatic and nothing I’d ever seen before. I made it all the way down the street before I turned back and pleaded for help from the salesman. It turned out that the car had the option to drive like an automatic OR a manual, and I had accidentally put it in manual mode. Umm, oops?

The day we went car shopping for real, also turned out to be a blizzard. How lovely! My dad and I braved the highways to go to Stratford, where I test drove a multitude of vehicles. (I was hell bent on finding something, just so I could get this ordeal over with.) However, we finally gave up and returned to KW. By the time we visited a few other lots with no luck (but many more test drives – each with me, white-knuckled behind the wheel) I was ready to give up. (Did I mention that there was one car where neither my dad nor I could figure out how to turn off the damned windshield wipers?)

Before we called it quits, my dad and I decided to visit one last random dealership. And that my friends, is where I met the love of my life. The most hilarious car dealer came out and introduced us to a black 2009 Kia Rio5. It was like at first sight, admiration at the mention of the price, and adoration after I slid behind the wheel. While test driving, I told my dad, “Dad, I want this car.” He started chattering about how we could look at others, etc. and I interrupted him again with, “No. Dad, I WANT this car.”

That, ladies and gentlemen, is how I came to be the proud owner of Utjabanish, which means “car” in Cree. (I briefly contemplated naming it “The Dark Knight/Knave” but this stuck.) My legs have practically atrophied from lack of use since I got it. And I swear, the first time I went grocery shopping, I could hear heavenly choirs singing. I never realized what freedom could be had with a vehicle. I no longer have to consider the weight of the stuff I’m buying in case I have to lug it home. I don’t have to plan my trips around bus times, etc.

Another… Interesting (I use this word hesitantly) experience I had was right before Christmas. My sister texted me, “Want to see Hendel’s Messiah?” A quick Youtube search revelead that I liked that Christmas/Christian song so I said sure. Thank God there are gun laws in Canada because by the end of that night, both Steve and I were ready to put a bullet through either our own heads, or my sister’s. It was long. It was boring. And at the crux of the show, my sister sent me into a massive, MASSIVE giggle fit that had my crying with the effort of containing myself. And at the end of the show, my seat neighbour, a former member of the choir, asked me, “So, did you enjoy the show?” I was beyond impressed with my ability to lie through my teeth and assure him, “It was absolutely lovely!”

That’s it for now folks. It’s time to go put a hot water bottle on my back and self-medicate with cookies. Until next time!

Lovely Loos

Zomg! Why didn't anyone ever tell me about this contest? Lovely Loos It fits right in with my bathroom obsession. Must visit Toronto and Vancouver now.

Mail

They say you can’t teach an old dog new tricks. My father (who reads this blog) aptly demonstrated this saying.

A couple of weeks ago he mailed me a package. I was unaware of this fact until my mother asked why I hadn’t phoned them about it yet. She gave me the package’s tracking number so I could figure out when it was going to arrive. The next day I checked the number and I could follow the package’s progress from Owen Sound to Montreal and… Back to Owen Sound?

My father, in all his educated glory, forgot to write my apartment number on the package. Therefore the post office received it, sent it to Montreal, discovered they didn’t know which of the 17 apartments in my building to give it to, so they returned it to my parents.

This isn’t the first time this has happened either.

A couple of months ago my dad did the same thing. Luckily my landlord happened to be there, so he accepted and delivered the package to me.

The best thing about the story this time is that my mom double checked and asked him, “Did you remember to put the apartment number on it?”

He replied with a roll of the eyes and an exasperated, “Yes dear.” (I can totally picture this and hear his tone of voice.)

Now that I think about it, mail has been around since forever so the adage about old dogs and new tricks doesn’t apply. How about this instead? He’s just getting senile.

Where there's smoke, there's fire

Sometimes it's hard figuring out why you don't want to get up in the mornings. Today I woke up and really didn't want to get out of bed. More so than normal. And by the time I got to work I was feeling ill, but I couldn't quite put my finger on why. I had several theories:

1.  I was randomly sick.
2. I was up later than normal last night. Sometimes lack of sleep can make me feel sick.
3. I hadn't eaten enough this morning. Again, sometimes lack of food can also make me feel sick.

I couldn't see options 2 or 3 being the culprits. It wasn't until I checked out the local news that I discovered option #4: I was feeling sick due to the layer of smoke laying over Montreal.

Wait, smoke in Montreal? Yes, that electrical fire smell that I first thought was in my apartment, and then thought was outside in my neighborhood, and then thought was inside my head (since how could a small follow me across half the city to work) is real. It's the result of 52 local forest fires in Quebec, 8 of which are burning out of control.

Environment canada even updated their forecast to have a "smoke" warning. Yikes! And looking at my friends' facebook statuses from Ottawa, they too are seeing and smelling smoke. That's just crazy!

The New World

Too funny! This is a pic from the Montreal Gazette on the topic of the Kahnawake reserve. I couldn't help but laugh.

Signs of spring

Spring has arrived. Some might say that it's been here for over a month. After all, the snow has been (mostly) gone since late March. We've had temperatures that fluctuate anywhere between 10 to 30 degrees. Trees and flowers are starting to bloom. Birds cry out, squirrels chitter, and the little old lady is wishing everyone a good day.

Wait. What?

You heard me. On my daily walk to work there's a little old lady who sits on her balcony (or at least pokes her head out the door) and calls out, "Have a good day" or "Passez une bonne journée!" as you pass. (This morning she told me, "Bon appetit" because I was eating a muffin.)

The whole thing both irritates me and amuses me. I get irritated because it means that I have to rouse myself out of my morning lethargy to smack a smile on face and acknowledge her. I'm also amused by how persistent she is. She makes sure that she calls out to everyone - even if they're wearing headphones or talking with other people.

I am Aboriginal. I’m not a good Aboriginal, but I am registered with the Canadian government. While growing up, I picked up a few Cree words from my mother but I never learned to speak the language. During high school, I found a Cree/English pronunciation guide and tried it out on my mother. I had her so confused that at times she forgot how to speak her language herself!

However, my incompetence with the Cree language isn’t only due to my lack of learning. Sometimes I’m just too lazy to learn how to say the word properly, or sometimes I’m just too inept to get the inflections right. And sometimes, my entire family has adopted the mangled word too!

The prime examples include:

• Pissonacat (pronounced “Piss on a Cat”) should actually be Attawapiskat. This is the name of my band. I coined the new name after getting tired of having to pronounce all the syllables for the proper word (among other reasons).
  
• Couchcaching. I don’t even remember if this is a Reserve, lake, river, or what. I found this word when I was at Casino Rama with my mom and sister. I didn’t realize that it was a real name – I thought it was a joke with the “caching” being the stereotypical sound of a slot machine. My sister laughed and immediately started making fun of me.
  
• Wannagosomewhere - I was recently wasting time looking to see how much it would cost me to fly from Montreal to Attawapiskat. To get there you had to transfer through a place called Waskaganish. Do you think I could remember how to say that word while talking with my mom on the phone? Wakasomething. Wakawhatsit. I kept saying "Wannagosomewhere" until my mom finally realized which reserve I was talking about. I thought she'd drop the phone she was laughing so hard.
  
• Go go gadget– I used to own a shirt that had really really wide sleeves. My mom and sisters called it my “butterfly” shirt. Somehow we started using the Cree word for butterfly. Well, my mom and sisters did. I could not for the life of me pronounce butterfly properly. To me, it sounds like someone is saying, "Ghoghomenahgeishish” but when I try to replicate the sound it’s apparently intelligible. Instead I gave up and started calling it my “Go go Gadget shirt.”
  

Traditions

One of my favourite things about having gone to HK is that the learning never ceases.

I read my friend Ida's blog regularly (she's from Finland) and she just posted some pictures of kids dressed up as "witches" for Easter. Obviously I had no idea why kids would dress up for Easter, but a quick google search revealed that in parts of Finland, there is a custom of dressing up like witches (I guess we'd describe them as "crones" rather than our stereotypical image of a witch).

Donating blood

My family prides itself on being tough. We always joke about the wimps who can't stand seeing blood on TV. Our byline in the house was, "Suck it up!" If we weren't feeling well my mother would tell my sisters and I to either gargle with salt water, have a hot chocolate, or take a tylenol (those were her miracle cures; I could have had a broken leg and she'd tell me to gargle with salt water).

Well, I let the family down this week. You see, in our house it was a rule when you were 17 that you had to start donating blood. (Okay, so it wasn't strictly enforced - but we were strongly encouraged to donate when we could.) I've donated at least 7 times in the past. Unfortunately for me donating was a bit more of a pain because apparently I have tiny veins. The nurses always have trouble finding one, and then it takes me about twice as long to donate as other people just because it takes so long for the blood to flow. And to encourage faster blood flow, they give me something to squeeze and release, squeeze and release, etc. so by the end of my donation, my arm is aching where the needle is poking out.

Twice while I was in university I even had a bit of a fainting spell after donating. (I never actually fainted, but the room would start to brighten and/or darken and I'd have to lay back down for another 15 minutes. Usually these were caused by my own stupid fault for not eating properly or because it was really hot outside.

Well, I'll admit that I've been a slacker over the past year and a half. While in Ottawa and Owen Sound I just didn't think of donating, and then when I was in Toronto I was always too hungry after work to even contemplating donating (and from my fainting spells I learned not to try to donate without eating first). So when Héma-Quebec (the Quebec equivalent to the Canadian Blood Services) started an ad campaign promoting blood donation, I felt obligated to go.

So on Wednesday I trooped over to the local blood drive being held at the Université de Québec à Montréal and managed to wrangle my way through the registration process. (I like the Quebec system a bit better - maybe it was because the nurses had to slow down to speak in English, but it felt less rushed and more personable than in Ontario.) I was a bit nervous - it had been a long time since I last donated of course - I wasn't looking forward to the extended unpleasant ache that I mentioned before.

But the moment I sat down in the cot, my nervousness level jumped up. I tried to focus on the posters and other university decorations, but I also watched the nurse. She couldn't find my vein. She tried both arms and finally settled on the left because she could very faintly feel it. So she finally stuck the needle in... But there was no blood. Now, the moment the needle entered me, my uncomfortableness started ratcheting up again just from the memories of my other bad donation episodes. She didn't dig the needle around, she didn't twist or do anything, she just gently moved it in place, etc. I couldn't even feel it moving... But knowing that it was there was freaking me out.

Throughout it all she kept asking if I was okay, did I want to stop, etc. I kept reassuring her that I'd be okay once we got started. Well, five minutes later she still couldn't find the vein. She asked if I wanted to give up, or if I was willing to try the other arm (and she promised that she'd get another nurse to try instead of her). I told her that sure, she could try the other arm. However, in the few seconds that it took her to get the needle out, I could tell that the room was alternately becoming brighter and darker - oops, I recognize this feeling! I'm going to pass out! I hastily tell her that no, I can't donate today afterall. I guess I was whiter than I realized, because she didn't seem surprised when I backed out. (I suspect that I had turned white the moment I sat down - I was just too stubborn to admit how nervous I was!)

I ended up having to sit in a "recovery" cot for 5 minutes even though I didn't donate (it was their requirement). And after that, I was forced to go to the refreshment table, and sadly I'll admit that having juice and a granola bar did wonders to restore me to my senses. (The whole ordeal reminds me of when I got my nose pierced - you're so nervous that you have to go get a bite to eat to raise your blood sugar levels to fight the shock you kind of go into.)

So I feel like an utter wimp and failure because I started to pass out before I even donated blood! Granted, I did sit there for 5 minutes with the needle stuck in my arm, but still! Even just sitting here and typing this memory is making my left arm ache. I honestly don't know if I'll be able to donate blood again. I'd like to think that I'll make the effort, but I'm so nervous that I'll have an episode like this again. So we'll see what happens. I think I'll try donating again... But I might have to bring along some moral support next time - if only to distract me from what's going on. At least I can take comfort in knowing that I have donated in the past. That I have made more of a difference than someone who has never given blood.

Email subject lines

I learned somewhere that a lot of internet advertising is tailored to the reader - whether it decides which ads to display to you based on your internet history or your personal preferences on certain websites, etc.

I wonder if spam is sent the same way. I get the generic emails asking me to buy cheap drugs or viagra, but lately I'm getting more fake pharmaceutical company emails. Since I deal with pharmaceutical companies on a semi-regular basis at work, I wonder if somehow someone caught on and is trying to lure me with emails from Pfizer, etc.

I don't know what the point I'm trying to make is, but I have to admit, I was very amused by today's spam with the subject line of "Mass geek suicide." If spam is sent in a manner meant to deliberately pique your interest, I wonder what this email said about me...

Humor appetizers

I like to capture the funny points in my life, just so I can look back on them and chuckle. Therefore I'm writing these down before I forgot.

Rosemary
Many of you have met Rosemary, the creepy creepy doll that has become my family's mascot. I was joking with my family that now that Rosemary has emigrated to a French-speaking province, she should have a French name. Well, in one of my rare moments of wittiness, I decided her French name will be "Marie-Antoinette." Why that name? Because Rosemary's head isn't very well attached.

Lost
Have you ever received one of those email forwards that list what best friends do for each other? One of the lines in them reads something like, "I'll answer the phone and help explain to you where you are on your map. Dumbass." I never understood that particular joke until last Thursday. I decided to walk home from work because it was such a nice day. Unfortunately I didn't pay much attention to my directions - I just glanced at them before I left the office. I knew I had to turn somewhere, but couldn't remember where. I ended up just walking along one of the streets. I was 97% sure that the road I was on would eventually meet up with the giant highway near my house, but I wasn't quite sure.

Well, I'm walking. And walking. And walking some more. No highway. Walk some more. By now, it's been at least an hour since I set out on this foolish expedition. I start to wonder, "Hmm, am I sure the streets intersect? What if the highway starts further North...? What if the streets curve?" So I bite the bullet and phone my parents. The conversation goes kind of as follows:
Mau: Hey!
Mom: Hi!
Mau: So uh, are you at your computer right now?
Mom: No, I'm just having dinner. Why?
Mau: Umm, I'm kinda but not really lost.
Mom: ... What?
Mau: Well, I'm pretty sure I know where I am, but I'm getting tired and I just want to make sure that I'm not going to walk longer than I have to...

We ended up hanging up without finding out where I was, but I finally stumbled upon the intersection I was looking for. Unfortunately it didn't look anything like a highway, but I set down along it heedless. My mom eventually phoned me back, this time from her computer and she was able to tell me that I was on the right track. In the end it came to naught as 5 minutes after we hung up (again) I came across one of the metro stations near my area. Oh great and glorious God! Thank you! All in all it took me about 2 hours to get home.

Note to self: Like Paris, Montreal is a lot bigger in real life than on a map. :|

(Hmm. I just googled the route that I took - apparently I walked 7km! (It would have been 8.5km if I completed the walk instead of taking the metro home.)

Similes

I just had a minor heart attack over an April Fool's post on a blog I frequent. The blog posted a news item. saying that Walmart was buying the CN Tower and was going to rename it the Walmart Canada Tower, etc.

Firstly, good job on the April Fool's joke! I was momentarily horrified before I clued into the fact that it just had to be a joke. Secondly, I loved the one reader's comment, "You guys had me. Damn, I was about to tune into the TV news to witness Toronto liberals jumping from high rises like lemmings."

Ha! Lemmings. I like that.

Good thing I'm not claustrophobic

I've had my morning chuckle already. I got into the hospital at 8:20 yesterday and still ended up being 5 minutes late into the office. Why's that? Because the newly renovated elevator decided to stop working just after I, and 10 other people got on it.

I think it was the first day the elevator was put into comission since it was renovated. We all piled into it, pushing our various floor buttons, and then the elevator sank several inches while the doors closed. Everything went still, followed by an electronic voice saying, "We are experiencing minor difficulties." Heh.

The safety features in the elevator left a lot to be desired. The people near the doors tried hitting a bunch of buttons but nothing was working. (I was at the back of the elevator.) The elevator told us to hit the alarm button but no one responded. I guess that someone finally found the "call an operator" button because an operator called into the elevator saying that she'd find someone.

Annoyingly, the woman nearest the control panel kept pushing the alarm button even though no one was obviously paying attention. Another few minutes crept by and she called the operator again. Unfortunately it seemed like the operator can't tell who's phoning her (e.g. no call display) so we had to go through the spiel again. I just thought it was obnoxious because the woman who was leaning on the alarm button told the operator, "Can you please hurry, it's getting really hot in here!" Yes, it was uncomfortably warm, but she was only saying it to try to make it seem like an emergency to get us out.

Another minute went by before someone finally called to us through the doors. The asked us to hit the "door open" button first. Gee, you think we didn't try that? They finally ended up having to pry the doors open to let us out. LOL. The whole experience wouldn't have been so bad, but it was too bloody hot in the elevator!

The only other elevator issue I've had was that I once accidentally hit the emergency call button in an elevator at Carleton University. The buttons in that elevator were really really low, and each was the size of my palm. I was juggling a bunch of grocery bags and accidentally knocked one bag against the button and then I had to wait for someone to answer so I could assure them it was a mistake.

I am not a statue

Before Christmas I had an incident with pigeons. I was braving a snowstorm to go out and buy some milk. Along the way I had to walk through a flock of pigeons.

Now, correct me if I'm wrong, but when you get too close to pigeons, they're supposed to fly away, right? At least, that's how it's supposed to work? Right? Right?!

Not so in this case. When I started getting close to them, yes, they started flying, but instead of flying away from me, they flew upwards and hovered in the air around me. They were so close that I actually felt their wings beating against me! I was beyond freaked out. I ducked and started scurrying along, but the little beasts continued to follow me for several meters!

It wasn't until I was going back home that I found out why they acted as they did. It turns out some guy had been feeding them. He was there when I was returning. I made a small joking comment to the effect of, "Oh, so you're the reason why the pigeons attacked me!"

The man got a bit defensive and replied (rather snarkily or so I thought), "Well they have to eat too!"

I personally have no sympathy for pigeons or any kind of bird during the winter. They've survived hundreds of years without our help in feeding them in the depths of the season, and let's face it, pigeons are scavengers - they'll eat practically anything! Even more amusingly, the guy was feeding them literally across the street from a homeless shelter. I can't help but think that's just really unclassy!

Truly an international city

I cannot believe how small this world can be. I was walking around Toronto's Eaton Centre a couple of weeks ago when I thought I recognized someone from my time in Hong Kong. I wasn't sure it was her though, so I called out, "Vris?" Lo and behold, the girl turns around and it IS Vris!

I met Vris through my friend Minnie when I was in HK. We didn't hang out all that much, but we did spend Chinese New Year's together with a bunch of other people while renting an apartment on Lantau island for a few days. She was super nice and fun to hang out with.

Prior to moving to Toronto, Minnie told me through Facebook that Vris was coming to Canada, to the University of Waterloo (where I studied!) for an exchange! The day that I saw her, she was in Toronto shopping with another former exchange student who apparently arrived in HK right after I left.

I just couldn't believe that I could run into someone from Hong Kong in the largest city in Canada! It's crazy!

Morning calm

The one thing I look forward to about going to work every is walking by Alexandra Park. There's nothing special about the place - it's just a regular city part.

What I enjoy about it is the people. It's close to Chinatown, so every morning there are little old Chinese men and women there doing their morning exercises. My absolute favourite moment though is watching the group doing Tai Chi on the baseball diamond. They look so serene going through their movements with the sun shining on them.

I see dead people

My cat totally creeped me out last night. We were sitting on the couch, me watching a movie, her being petted by me, totally content and relaxed with each other. Suddenly, she launches upwards on point, growls deep down in her chest, and stares at something just over my left shoulder.

I'm at home by myself, it's night, and my back is to the empty hallway. I was almost afraid to turn around because I half way expected some burglar to be standing there. But there wasn't. There was nothing at all behind me, but the cat was still staring fixedly on nothing.

Makes you wonder if animals can sense spirits after all...

50 Facts that Should Change the World

Found this interesting link on the web today: 50 Facts That Should Change The World. Some were scary, some were sad.

The only facts that I urge you not to take too seriously are the ones that are criminal in nature (especially the ones that mention the developing world). E.g. the child soldiers fact - no one can truly know how many child soldiers there are. The number, 300000, appeared in literature somewhere and no one has been able to figure out its origins. So the numbers could be higher or lower.

Ghost busters

Several weeks ago the doorbell to our apartment rang. I answered the door to find two young guys around my age standing there. They introduced themselves, saying they were from Pennsylvania and were from the TV show, "Ghostly Encounters." (I had never heard of it.) The one fellow explained that my home town was apparently as a "hot spot" for ghost stories and they wanted to know if I, or anyone I knew, had ever experienced an encounter from a non-earthly being.

Throughout this whole spiel, I was nodding like an idiot. Sure I don't really believe in ghosts, but a TV show (which I have heard of) actually did recently come to Owen Sound to do a feature on an older building in our town, the Billy Bishop Museum. So I didn't really question that these guys were who they said they were.

After they asked me about any potential "encounters," the dude doing all the talking started laughing. It turns out that they were actually representing Foster Parents Plan and were looking for people to sponsor needy children. They laughed when I explained why I didn't question their cover story.

But still, that conversation was beyond strange. Their whole joke about being ghost hunters took about 3-4 minutes to get through. So what was the point? It was so random.