Welcome to Labville.

I'm home again, I'm home at last, I'm home, I'm home for the first time in years! Greetings and good day to you all -- I'm writing this from the writing room (naturally) of the brand new condo!

The move in was no problem at all. The move out was even better -- as a matter of fact, my damage deposit was larger than expected -- and unpacking box after box of childhood memorabilia, although arduous, was hardly unenjoyable. So why am I so happy to be done at last, and after such a long absence?

Let us just say that Telus and I have reached an agreement, by which the healing process can begin.

Enough of that, then. On with the future!

...

Hm. You'd think I would have thought of something clever and pithy during that week of downtime.

Ah, well. Now that I'm back, I'm sure I'll be more entertaining tomorrow.

børked, børked, børked.

Once again, it's made clear that I'm no longer the culinary master I once pretended to be.

It started out with an encouraging mix of inspiration and circumstance. Ever since moving to the Hat, I go a little "import crazy" when I'm in a large city. Arabic lemonade, Italian pasta dyed black with squid ink, Lebanese couscous... it's a cultural mosiac in my larder by the time I'm done. Unfortunately, sometimes that leaves me with a freezer full of marlin belly, and a pantry full of instant goulash. I had no idea how I was planning to cook the marlin belly, but the goulash mix helpfully suggested it could be used in a fish soup. Really... you don't say.

The first thing I learned about marlin belly is that it stinks. Imagine if octopi were hairy, and didn't leave the house very often. It was an illuminating discovery, if not enjoyable... as for subsequent lessons, they were considerably less important. So in an effort to dull the approaching disaster (which I was anticipating to resemble fish-based pork rinds), I tossed in a package of rice noodles. The aroma of octopus-belch persisted, but the noodles had mellowed enough of the flavour to make it slightly palatable. After the trial bowl, I tucked it away in the fridge, content in my accomplishments.

I returned to it after an extended absence (much like this blog) and found that its quality had declined considerably (much like this blog). The soup had solidified, gelled, receded into itself. I cut into it, and it quivered, possibly enraged with its own existence. I created a soup with just enough sentience to despair.

Or, perhaps I used too many rice noodles. Either way, happy meals and happy posts should resume this week.

Thanks for your patience.

The Long November.

Four weeks of laundry -- check.
Four weeks of clutter -- check.
Two weeks of dishes -- check.
Two weeks of take-out meals when the dishes ran out -- check.
Four weeks of unpaid bills -- check. (is in the mail.)
Three nights with more than ten hours of sleep -- check.
One apology to supervisor for lost productivity -- check.
Resume regular blogging activity -- check!

All right. It took me a week, but it looks like I've successfully recovered from another wonderful NaNoWriMo November. It was a wonderful month, when long-forgotten plot points seem to resurface at just the right time to almost look intentional, and when characters launch into rants and observations that manage to crystallise what you've been thinking about for weeks. It's also a time when I get to write about a giant monster walking over a strip mall, its roof supporting the behemoth's weight as well as a thick crust of snow would, before it finally gives way. The ending may have been a tad videogamey (hit the weak point for massive damage, etc.), but so long as I didn't have to involve more giant monsters, nuclear drill bits, the power of love, or "oxygen destroyers", I think I held my weight against the originals. If anyone wants to read a copy, send me a message, and let me know whether you'd prefer the rough draft with all its blemishes, or if you'd rather wait for a slightly edited (i.e. half as lengthy) version.

I've been doing NaNoWriMo for five years now, and it's incredible how much of a social event it's become. For instance, check my Facebook profile, and you'll see a video of me at the Edmonton wrap-up party, phonetically reciting a typographical slaughterhouse. The audience is in stitches, but it's not because they're laughing "at", or even "with" the excerpt. Each and every one of those authors is laughing with each other. Who would have guessed that Edmonton would mean more to me now than it did when I lived there?

It got me thinking, though, that I haven't visited Regina since April. So, I threw out an e-mail, asking who was going to be in town next weekend. One response I got said, "Why, are you coming home for a visit?"

Note the wording there. You can hang your hat wherever you wish... but when your friends tell you you're home, you're home.

And if that wasn't proof enough, I got another response asking me if I wanted to join in on a 2nd edition AD&D campaign that weekend. Let us not squabble over the merit of such an offer -- the fact that such an invitation was even made is proof enough that a piece of me will always be stuck in a snowdrift on Grant Road.

It's going to be a grand December.

When a tree falls in the forest...

My previous article was just a bit of philosophical wandering. The real issues for homeless people are in articles like these:

http://www.cbc.ca/canada/edmonton/story/2007/09/27/fortmc-favours.html

This is why Andrew was grateful that Edmonton had abandoned buildings. Comparing his problems to mushroom circles doesn't do him any justice. Sorry, Andrew.

Soundtrack For The Night.

Road trips make for fun travelogues, and better anecdotes, but what they do best is package a whole week of experience into one tangible moment. For me, that's usually done with music.

In Newfoundland, that was Wagner's Ring Cycle. CBC was the only radio station I could find in those rocks, and since I was driving out to a viking settlement in the middle of a storm, the mood was too perfect for me to complain.

In Halifax, the song was Hawksley Workman's "Almost A Full Moon". Why? No fancy symbolism here -- that's just what I was listening to as I fell asleep in my rental car in an underground parkade. It is a great song, though... it's actually a recipe for pumpkin soup, with the title repeated incessantly in the background like a mantra.

Ottawa 2005: Dance Me To The End Of Love, Leonard Cohen. What can I say? I was at a wedding.

Ottawa 2006: Jumping Jack Flash, the Rolling Stones. What can I say? Elite Beat Agents is a fantastic game, and I finished it during that trip.

So, what about Yellowknife? I'm tempted to say "Go West" by the Pet Shop Boys, but really, that sort of karaoke lightning and thunder happens every time my friend Jason and I are together for too long.

Actually, my official soundtrack for Yellowknife, I turn to Kytami. She's a violinist from Whistler that eschewed the Royal Conservatory for her mix-master friends. The resultant sound is eclectic and electric. But more than just being nice to listen to, it's the sound of the Northwest Territorities. The strings of her violin humming over the thumping beats are like the crying winds, rushing over the heavy foundations. They're like the bush planes touching down on the lake, kicking up a spray as the sky meets the water.

Blast. I'm getting overly poetic here. Sorry about that.

Let me try this again -- the entire trip was a series of unexpected and incongruous discoveries. So's her music... and the sooner I re-discover each, the better.

This now concludes our ten-day writer's block, in which your faithful blogger could not seem to say "I had fun in Yellowknife". Please tune in tomorrow, when we return you to your regularly scheduled commentary about life in Medicine Hat, and/or Bangladesh.

Interruptions at dinnertime.

Whoops.

I was planning the list of ingredients to pick up for Round 2, when I find out that my parents are visiting the next night.

Round 2 got pushed into a dark little pile in the corner of my bedroom, right next to a pile of unopened bills, two stacks of CDs lying on my coffee table, and a few days' worth of laundry.

Round 3 was pre-empted by an evening of Vietnamese food, served by a kind man who unlocked the door for us when we arrived ten minutes after closing.

My parents left today, but Round 4 would still seem self-indulgent, after seeing the care packages my mom snuck into my fridge when she wasn't looking.

And so, as it is wont to do, life gets in the way of my little plans.

At least I've still got the aubergines.

EXCITING LATE-BREAKING NEWS: There've been way too many shirt-of-the-day posts lately, and now it's time to correct that. I'm off to do some photojournalism!

Correction Notice.

Item the Ferst: Actually, Bumblebee's a Camaro, not a Corvette. Still a GM vehicle, still nothing resembling an insect.

Item the Secounde: The Rebecca Kraatz comic I mentioned refers to an archaeologist digging up dinosaur bones, which is a paleontologist's job. Normally, I'm a stickler for these things, but the comic never says that he dug up the bone as part of his job. It might have been his hobby.

...Furthermore, she's gone on record saying that if Saskatchewan were a man, she'd marry him. In other words, she can say whatever she'd like, and there will be no reprisal from this blog.

Unclean.

Ugh. I've tried to go about my normal Sunday routine, but I just can't do it. I'm burdened, nay, haunted by those awful awful things I posted this morning. If only I could take it back...

(And yes, I do realise that I can edit my own blog. But I write Labville like it's Settlers of Catan: Laid is played, and there's never enough mud.)

Anyway, I would never do such a thing to the good people of the Cypress Club, and I hope that they see it in their hearts to forgive this man, who foolishly spoke of destroying something beautiful.

Honestly, though, now that I think about it? Settlers of Catan at that table would be absolutely incredible. I'm going to have to look into that.

The Accidental Goth.

Sorry about that last post. I started off just wanting to say, "Siegfried's Funeral is an awesome piece of music", and the whole thing just snowballed. That's one of the drawbacks to NaNoWriMo -- you lose the use of your "delete" key for a month.

It is an awesome piece of music, though.