Cyber Clean-Up

I have a love-hate relationship with technology.  When it makes my life easier?  Love it.  But when I spend an hour cleaning out my back log of old e-mails (notice the hyphen?) and I'm still not even half way done?   Not so much.  Of course it's my own damn fault.  I'm the one who didn't hit DELETE the moment that piece of junk mail, disguised as something I really need to read one day, infiltrated my in-box.  Because that's the thing with e-mail, isn't it?  We open it up, give it a quick glance and say, 'I'll read that later.'  Well, later rarely comes, does it?  And the next thing you know, there's over a thousand of those messages hiding all the stuff you really do need but now can't find.

Back in the day, this was the sort of stuff that took up valuable kitchen counter space.  Until the day you couldn't stand the mess of it for one more minute and tossed the lot into the garbage.  Except now, instead of getting this junk snail mail every few weeks, it's a daily bombardment.  And just try to unsubscribe.  Hey, I didn't know I'd subscribed in the first place. 

But it's the safeguards that really freak me out.  Are you sure you want to unsubscribe?  Yes, that's why I hit unsubscribe.  You're about to make an irreversible life decision.  I'm willing to take my chances.  Please, take a moment and think about what you're doing -- the fate of the free world is in your hands.  Well, if you put it that way, maybe I better not. 

So, here I sit, finger poised over the delete button, going through my e-mails one at a time so that I don't accidentally get rid of something I need.  'Cause you never know, maybe one day I will read 5 Ways to Lose Belly Fat.

On second thought, maybe I should make that today's top priority.

Do You Hyphen?

I'm good at spelling.  No wait -- I'm GREAT at spelling.  I wish they'd had those spelling bee competitions when I was a kid.  I would have kicked some major spelling butt.  

But I can also be a little anal about it.  I cringe when I see your when it's supposed to be you're.  There, their, and they're can send me off the edge when used incorrectly.  And I want to yell at my computer when it underlines colour or neighbour.  Yeah, like it's doing right now.  Excuse me, but that U belongs in there.

So what's a spelling girl to do when faced with the unexpected conundrum of e-mail vs email.  This one stopped me in my writing tracks today.  I was in the process of editing Chapter 17 of my novel-in-progress, in which I've written the word e-mail several times.  And yes, I'm even hesitating here to refer to e-mail as a word.  Suddenly I'm thinking -- what's the correct spelling?  With or without the hyphen? So I did what I always do when faced with these major life decisions.  I googled it.  (Drives my daughter nuts if she asks me something I don't know the answer to and I immediately say, "Let's google it."  She always goes, "Ugh, don't bother."  To which I reply, "If you're not that interested, why ask in the first place?"  And then I just go do it.  Personally, I think 'Why wonder when you can google' should be Google's motto.)

Where was I?  Oh, yeah.  The hyphen.  So I googled e-mail vs email and of course there was like a bazillion entries.  (Interesting...computer doesn't underline bazillion.)  I read the top few and the definitive answer is -- there is no definitive answer.  What it really boils down to is personal preference.  I've always spelled it with the hyphen.  But I went through my chapter and changed every e-mail to email and you know, it just didn't look right.  So I changed them all back.

Until the spelling gods decree it's to be one way or the other, I'm sticking with the hyphen.

How about you?? 

The Dog Days of Summer

I always thought the dog days of summer were that period when it was just too damn hot to be a dog.  Those days when dog walking is either done before 9:00 a.m or after 9:00 p.m.  (You try wearing a fur coat when the mercury is pushing past 30 degrees celsius.)  Turns out I'm sort of right.  The boring dictionary definition is a period marked by lethargy, inactivity, or indolence.  Indolence?  Who uses that word?  Calling it indolence doesn't make lazy any less, well, lazy.  And hey, there's nothing wrong with lazy.  Lazy has gotten a bad rap.  Just like bored.  It's okay to be either one every now and then. Especially during the dog days of summer.

The more interesting definition is the sultry part of the summer, supposed to occur during the period that Sirius, the Dog Star, rises at the same time as the sun, now often reckoned from July 3 to August 11.  Well, that's certainly another way to say when it's really really hot out.  But here's what I like:  Sirius is the brightest star in Canis Major (the big dog).  So is it just a coincidence that Sirius Black of Harry Potter fame became Padfoot, a large black dog, when he was in his animagus form?  I think not.  (Damn it, JK Rowling -- you're good!)

Personally, I love the dog days.  They are put your feet up and read days.  Drink beer and BBQ days. Doze off on the lounge days.  Eat outside on the deck days.  Write a bestselling novel days.  Hey, any excuse not to clean the house.  We live in such a goal driven society that most people feel guilty when they're not accomplishing something.  I say, "Enough!"  Look at your dog (if you're lucky enough to have one).  Does she look guilty about anything?  (Okay, right now, mine is feeling a little bad for puking on the carpet -- twice -- at 5:30 this morning, but she'll get over it.)

So go ahead.  Be your dog.  Just try not to puke on the carpet.

On another note...Speaking of dogs -- The Art of Racing in the Rain by Garth Stein is a wonderful book narrated by a dog named Enzo.  It's an onion book -- it has layers and it just might make you cry.  At the very least, you'll be looking at your dog in a whole different way. 

Apartment Hunting 101

You never forget your first apartment.  That first taste of freedom.  The first place you could put things where YOU wanted without your mother putting them back where they belonged.  I never got to live in my 'first apartment' -- the landlord absconded with all the rent money before we even got to move in. But the first apartment I lived in with my two friends was a 2-bedroom basement unit in a scuzzy building on a busy downtown Ottawa street.  There were on occasion drunks sleeping one off on the sidewalk pressed up to our windows.  Every now and then a curious dog walking by would stop and stick his head in a window to check out our digs.  Our ceilings were covered with pipes so we painted them chocolate brown and turned them into art nouveau.  We had beaded curtains in doorways and thrift store furniture.  It was a fun, funky place and I had some of the best times EVER in that apartment.

Yesterday I took my daughter on her first apartment hunting expedition.  We now have the benefit of the internet, digital photos, and Google Streetview.  Back in the day, we circled sketchy ads in the local rag and walked through a lot of dumpy apartments (I'm talking boil your skin off when you leave dumpy) before choosing our own dumpy apartment (which we nicknamed The Black Hole of Calcutta. Our friends lived down the street in The Lean-To.  Ah, good times.)  But I digress.

We had three appointments lined up -- a 1-bedroom in a standard apartment building, a ground level suite in a private house, and a unit in a triplex.  We started in the apartment building, replete with narrow hallways, dingy carpeting and the requisite scary elevator.  The unit was nice, she could live there no problem, but it had no oomph, no pizzazz, no personality.

On to the private house.  In a beautiful neighbourhood.  Lots of trees.  Lovely homes set back from the roads.  Okay, so far, too good to be true.  Then we meet the landlords who live in the house next door and they are...the nicest older couple you'd ever want to meet.  Maybe on the planet.  Their daughter and her family live in the house where the suite is located.  The house is immaculate, the grass freshly mowed.  Mr Landlord opens the door to the suite and it is -- Shangra-La.  It's small and cozy and clean and bright and funky and so full of personality and potential it's in danger of exploding. My daughter's face is also in danger of exploding.  She can't wipe the smile off it.  She has found her first home away from home.  I'm jealous.  I want to live there.  We call and cancel the triplex.

The only thing I'm sorry about (other than the fact that I wish I was 19 again) is that she didn't really get the full experience of apartment hunting.  It was way too easy.  I'm happy I got to scruff and scrape and live in a place with drunks and dogs and pipes and beads and thrift store furniture.  And one day my kid will probably be telling people about her first apartment -- that it wasn't even big enough for a queen size bed and full size microwave -- and her eyes will glaze over with nostalgia.

Cuz that's what first apartments do.  

   

Happy Canada Day!

It's over 30 degrees Celsius in the shade and it's just past noon, so I'm giving myself the gift of a day off -- no yard work, no gardening, no cleaning.  A day in the yard to read, write, and watch the birds (who start singing at precisely 04:25.  I know this for a fact.)

I've distributed peanuts across the lawn and am awaiting the arrival of Elvis, Marcus, and Adam.  They're my crows.  I love crows. Elvis is the most recognizable of the bunch -- feathers always poofed up on his his head in a nice pompadour.  And those hips!  That bird has swagger.  Marcus is the biggest of the lot, and just unkempt enough to make him cool.  And then there's Adam.  Skinny little Adam.  He really doesn't stand a chance up against the big boys.  I'll be watching to see who can beat the record for getting the most full sized peanuts in the shell in their beak at one time.  Elvis and Marcus currently share the record with three.  The odds makers are split on this one -- Marcus has the size, but Elvis has the brains.

Later today I plan on conducting an experiment on the effects of sun and beer on the sleep deprived. When I recover consciousness I'll report on my findings.

On another note...I understand how you can grow a seedless watermelon.  What I don't get is how you can grow another one.