Possible reasons I am dressed like a milkmaid today:
I am getting the distinct impression I Tommy Westphall’d my entire childhood until 1991.
I’ll wait a second so you can Wiki the reference and get yourself comfortable inside my head –
Okay then. I am worried about the state of my past. I’ve been online since the dawn of time, and in that time frame, I haven’t found anyone from my past.
Elaborate? Gladly. As the internet grew, I hopped on the bandwagons of all the latest “make and find friends!” fad websites. Most of the time I used these sites to keep in touch with people I already talked to on a regular basis, or to make myself look super cool by seeming to have many friends. In all the time I’ve been online, through all the many different friend-collecting sites, I have never found ANYONE that I was friends with in school. I’ve used classmate finding sites, MySpace, FaceBook, Orkut, Friendster – you name it, and I have an account there and have tried in vain to find anyone I knew in real life before I received my first computer with modem. Every person I know today I know from AFTER the computer was my only social outlet – all my oldest friends are from the STS. I think back and say “Oh, I’ve known ‘nee and Brooks and Mike and Matt forever!” – true, but only if you think of “forever” as starting after 1991. Elementary school, junior high, senior secondary – can’t find anyone. My best friends, my worst enemies, people I never had any dealings with yet I remember their names – nothing. No sign of them anywhere. Can it really be that out of 13 years of school acquaintances, I am the ONLY ONE who uses the internet? That seems incredibly unlikely – we didn’t graduate (or in my case, not graduate) so long ago that technology would be far beyond the capabilities of our generation, especially when you consider that we are (were?) the very definition of Generation X. Where IS everyone? Why can’t I find ANY of my classmates online?
What other conclusion can I come to, other than “they never existed”? Did I dream my entire life until 1992? Was my entire childhood just a fantasy? Did I retcon everything I knew before 1991? Holy shit, am I the Matrix?
Great. Now I’m not going to be able to talk to anyone without wondering if they’re real or just a figment of the Kimli Wangzilla Universe.
On the upside, that would make everything really and truly all about me. Hah!
I want this: 5 People Who Died During Sex: and 100 Other Terribly Tasteless Lists
On the other hand, I *need* this: The Book of Weird Sex
That is all.
Regrets; I’ve had a few – then again, too few to mention.
It’s a nice theory, except this is the internet and therefore I mention everything because I just don’t have the sense to keep things to myself once in a while. With that in mind, let’s talk about regrets.
Personally, I try not to regret things. It just makes for a big headache and a lot of wistful rainy afternoons, the kind they make Hallmark commercials about. Still, it’s hard to go through life without having ANY regrets, even if they’re as insignificant as wishing you had gone with the soup of the day instead of the baked potato at last night’s dinner. I’m really hard-pressed to regret even the major things like not going to university, because that would change where and who I am today – things I’m quite comfortable with, thank you very much. Sure, maybe a university education would have led me to be making more than two chickens today (highly doubtful since I would have gone into the Creative Writing program at UVic – if anything, I’d be making a chicken and a half less), but what sense is there regretting that I never did get to do dormitory life and have all those sexy 90210-style adventures? I got to do a whole range of other things I wouldn’t have been able to do because I was stuck in university, so it all evens out in the end (although I’m still totally open to having sexy adventures – any takers?).
Even though I have a sunny outlook on life and am generally pretty happy with how I turned out, I do have one huge regret that hangs over my life like a pregnant cloud of soggy doom. It’s been 13 years, and I still feel a pang when I think about it.
One of my favourite bands of all time is a ska band from Montreal called Me Mom & Morgentaler. I’ve been infatuated with them for years; their album Shiva Space Machine has been on my Desert Island List since day one. I heart them, a lot. I haul out the CDs a few times a year and get my early 90’s groove on; it’s one of those things that Ed totally doesn’t understand but knows not to fight.
In 1994, they played a show in Victoria. I was going to go – I was of legal age, the show wasn’t sold out, and I had a way to get to and from the venue. Except .. I didn’t go. No real reason; I could have easily gone by myself (I couldn’t find anyone to come with me) and had an excellent time, but at that time I didn’t really have the confidence to go to bars or clubs by myself (she says, like she has the confidence NOW or something). I chickened out, okay. I passed on seeing my favourite band play live because I was too scared to go to the bar myself. I managed to convince myself that they’d be back, and next time I would absolutely go see them play and have an excellent time doing so.
The band broke up two months later.
I’ve regretted not going to that show ever since, to the point of *forcing* myself outside to see concerts because if I don’t, I just know the group will break up the following week and I’ll never see them again. It’s happened once, so I’m not just being paranoid. Don’t let this happen to you – go to shows whenever you can! Pay the outrageous Ticket Bastard “convenience” charges! Don’t live a life of regret like I have! It’s not too late!
Oh, Me Mom& Morgentaler. How I wish I didn’t do you wrong by not attending that show in Victoria all those many years ago. Now I have nothing but your CDs, that awesome poster Mike stole for me from the record shop, and a whole lot of bitter regret in my heart. Damn you, Kimli of yore!
What do you regret?
My weekend was spent doing a whole lot of nothing. The cold that had been plaguing me since early last week decided to turn into a sinus cold just for fun, so my head felt like it had gone several rounds with various angry monkeys. We did venture to the outside on Saturday afternoon for video games and cat food, but other than that I did not leave our apartment until this morning when it was time to drag my battered carcass into the Space Station.
Our brief outing on Saturday was a complete success, however snotty my head might have been. I went through our game shelf to find some things to trade in at EB Games, and came up with 5 titles I was either done or bored with: Hotel Dusk, Phoenix Wright: Justice For All, and the Sims 2 for the DS; Ultimate Block Party for the PSP and Elebits for the Wii. At EB we waited in line for what seemed like forever – all the rich people from West Vancouver were buying video games, including small girls in equestrian gear – but it was well worth it, because when it was our turn at the counter, we found our small pile of games had a trade-in value of $102. Holy crap! The EB Jockey was equally amazed; he showed us a trade-in pile from earlier that morning with about 20 games in it that had a value of about $30. Yay for us! We gleefully tore through the store looking for new games to get, and ended up with SSX Blur for the Wii and Kingdom Hearts II for the PS2. Video games are awesome. Even awesomer were my other finds of the day, which included two new bags (shut up, I like bags) and a huge pile of books from the discount tables at Indigo. Ed dragged me out of the mall before I could do more damage at the book store, and we were off to get cat food from the sketchiest pet store in the world before going home to fall into a heap of fluids and price tags.
I had originally planned to be productive on Sunday, but I instead learned an important lesson – while Tylenol cold medication is yellow for daytime and blue for nighttime; Tylenol Sinus medication is green for daytime and white for nighttime. I was feeling uncomfortable in my own head, so I took some sinus medication in the hopes of clearing things up – unfortunately for my grand plans, I took the nighttime pills instead of the daytime ones and ended up passing out for the entire afternoon. Seriously, I got up at 7:30 and decided to cook a turkey dinner. Sinus meds do not fuck around, I tell you what. Perhaps next time it would be an excellent idea for me to actually read the back of the pills I’m popping before I end up huddled in another heap drooling on a cat or two.
So far today I’ve already had to send a nasty “back the fuck off” email to my most hated client. I’m either in for a terrible or an excellent Monday.
Last night at Costco, the conversation turned to communion wafers (as it so often does with us). This triggered an early memory for me, one that I think explains a lot about the person I grew up to become:
When I was young, my mom went through a holy phase. She would drag our family to church every Sunday in a rather futile attempt to save our souls from eternal damnation, a move I see now as being just adorable. Our particular church was Anglican flavoured. I had long-assumed that we were suddenly Anglican not because of any deep-seeded faith but because it was a handy church to go to, but it turns out I was apparently baptized (bet you didn’t know that) in an Anglican church my dad used to go to in Montreal. Huh! How about that.
Anyway, back to this church thing. We’d go every Sunday, and eventually I started attending Sunday School. I don’t really remember any of it other than thinking I could totally be at home watching cartoons instead of drawing pictures of Jesus, but I do remember that sometimes we had special Sunday services and instead of crayons and holy fire, the kids would stay in the church proper to receive communion with the rest of the grownups. Fancy!
This particular Sunday was a communion one, and it happened to be my first. I wasn’t really sure what was going on and for some reason my parents opted to not give me any pointers at all, so I took what few visual cues I could get from the people around me. I stood in line with everyone else and one by one we were blessed, given a Styrofoam wafer of Jesus flesh, and a sip from the Chalice of Blood. One, two, three. Easy, right?
Well, no. For some reason, our church didn’t have a separate kiddie chalice to commune the underage with – so when it came time to drink of his blood, we were given actual wine.
Remember, I was 6 or 7 at the time. I bowed my head appropriately, received my sip of Jesus blood, and .. was immediately horrified by the liquid in my mouth. Unable to swallow it yet much too couth to spit out the blood of the saviour in front of the congregation, I quickly made my way back to the pew, fished out a Kleenex, and .. spat the blood of Christ into a napkin.
I still don’t like wine to this day.
Next time on Random Childhood Memories: 10-year-old Kimli goes to church wearing black leather pants!
Mmm .. sacrilegious.
Hey, Kimli! You’re looking pretty frazzled these days – what’s up?
These things are currently marbling in my ass as we speak:
Oh I totally don’t have time for ANY of this, and I also need a nap.
Help! I woke up with an irresistible urge to listen to musicals!
This happens at least once a year, usually right around this time. Bring on the musicals! Big, epic ones! I have an uncontrollable urge to rebel against society, expertly choreographed and set to upbeat music!
RENT, of course, is a long time favourite – but today, we’re reaching back a little further. In fact, update the war in question from Vietnam to Iraq, and this entire play suddenly has a lot of current relevance for something set almost 40 years ago.
Don’t mind me, I’m just getting in touch with my hippie roots. I’m also hairy high and low – don’t ask me why; don’t know.
ain’t got no home (so)
ain’t got no shoes (poor)
ain’t got no money (honey)
ain’t got no class (common)
ain’t got no scarf
ain’t got no gloves (cold)
ain’t got no bed (beat)
ain’t got no pot (busted)
ain’t got no faith (catholic)
ain’t got no mother (orphan)
ain’t got no culture (man)
ain’t got no friends (lucky)
ain’t got no schoolin’ (dumb)
ain’t got no shine
ain’t got no underwear (bad)
ain’t got no soap (dirty)
ain’t got no a-train
ain’t got no mind (lost it)
ain’t got no smokes (shit)
ain’t got no job (lazy)
ain’t got no work
ain’t got no coins
ain’t got no pennies (hustle)
ain’t got no girl (horny)
ain’t got no ticket
ain’t got no token (walk)
ain’t got no god (good)
ain’t got no grass (can’t take no trip)
ain’t got no acid (can’t blow my mind)
ain’t got no clothes (you’re full of puss)
ain’t got no pad (you’re full of piss)
ain’t got no apples (we got balls)
ain’t got no knife (can’t cut you up)
ain’t got no guns (we got bananas)
ain’t got no garbage (white trash)
ain’t got no draft card (burned it burned it burned it)
ain’t got no earth
ain’t got no fun
ain’t got no bike
ain’t got no pimples
ain’t got no trees
ain’t got no air
ain’t got no water
city banjo toothpicks shoelaces teachers football telephone records doctor brother sister uniforms machine guns airplanes air force germs
m-1 (bang bang bang)
m-2 (bang bang bang)
a bombs h bombs p bombs q bombs chinese checks hindus bindus italianos polacks germans youse jews ups and downs
vietnam johnson high school sex coffee books food scissors magazines news cigarettes hollywood tuesday weld burton-taylor pop art pop off popcorn popsicle andy warpop pop paper pop up popeye poppers england outer space astronauts jesus air air air air air air
I wonder what would happen if I listened to the above song and La Vie Boheme from RENT at the same time. I am fairly certain it would BLOW MY MIND!
Once again, my game plan of a solid night’s worth of sleep has been shattered by one seemingly insignificant move – I opened up a new book and began to read.
On the upside, I read Douglas Coupland’s jPod from start to finish in one sitting of just over two hours.
I do hate to leave a new book unfinished, is all.
I had most of my hair chopped off yesterday, and it feels soooo much better. I tried taking a picture, but black hair against a black office chair makes it look like I am wearing a cape. I’m not – for once – so I’ll wait and take a picture when I’m not at work.
Okay, here:
Better pictures of me have been taken, but whaddyagonnado.
Once upon a time, I had something important to say.
delicious juice dot com 