uh oh

What do you mean mommy is getting tired of breast-feeding already? It's only been three weeks! Where is she anyway? What do you mean "unsupervised"? What happened to all of daddy's beer, anyway? What do you mean it's safe to drink and breast-feed? What do you mean I have blackouts? What are blackouts? What do you mean it doesn't matter? What do you mean by "magic formula"? What do you mean by disambiguation? Who left the back door open anyway?

the new CBC news

Accidentally, bewilderingly, I watched CBC's The National the other night.

I see they're making Peter Mansbridge stand up now. No more sitting down on the job for you, Peter. CBC is getting serious about selling the news! How making Peter Mansbridge stand around, looking sheepish, will accomplish this, I don't know. Maybe it makes him seem more dynamic. Certainly it makes him less anchored behind the news desk. You know: like a news anchor. Now he looks like he's in line for something. Now it's like the coffee counter at Starbucks. Or the line-up for some H1N1 vaccine.

They have snappy music, too. Crystalline new-media-type music, the kind that even *sounds* shiny. The new set is vast, expansive ... so much so that I thought the weather guy -- just within shouting distance of Peter -- might get sucked into the whirling-cloud vortex of his own map.

Why does CBC do this? If they want to more people to watch the news, all they have to do is tell richer stories. I don't want news in gleaming bits, offered up by grinning Peters. I want deep stories, in many parts. I want complex, investigative journalism. I want some people (sitting) at a table, talking at length about issues, or history, or culture. I do. I'll even take the time to download it. In fact I do it all the time, from the BBC.

I guess I just like to hear smart people taking the time to say interesting things.

Never is the CBC more embarrassing than when it tries to be flash. The 'hip' stuff it does have comes in long, relaxed formats -- Definitely Not the Opera, Q -- where it has the time and space to stay low-key and keep the self-awareness to a minimum. But when it tries to *announce* its coolness, its now-ness -- and here there is no more egregious example than the embarrassing audio spectacle called GO! -- then Mother Corp starts to look like an old drag queen out way past her bedtime.

The slogan for the 'new' news is "At the end of the day, it's what you know that matters." Well, the CBC is over seventy years old now. That's old enough to know who it is: too old to care about being trendy, and certainly old enough to be offered a comfortable chair.

and now for something inappropriate

Possibly Inappropriate Responses to "How's the new baby?"

What new baby?

Oh no, we couldn't afford a new baby. This one's previously-enjoyed.

Not really fitting in, I'm afraid.

Let's just say that some people aren't always who they say they are.

Let's just say that sometimes evil things come in small packages. And diapers.

Never attends team meetings.

You know, that pilot license of hers is only good if she uses it.

Really, really lazy.

Fine, thanks. We visit her at least twice a week.

Hangin' out, trying to make it happen. Crunch, crunch.

Honestly? She's kiiiiiiiiiind .... of a weirdo.

The kings of the earth, and the great men, and the rich men, and the chief captains, and the mighty men, and every bondman, and every free man, hid themselves in the dens and in the rocks of the mountains; And said to the mountains and rocks, Fall on us, and hide us from the face of him that sitteth upon the throne, and from the wrath of the Lamb: For the great day of his wrath is come; and who shall be able to stand?

Last night we had a long talk. A long talk.

So far, so good: we've been able to maintain her birth weight.

I don't know. You tell me.

Stinky.

why yes, I am The Poop

Peanut, Pooper, The Poop, Stinky, Stinker, Little Stinker, Stinkmaster Flash, Screamy, Miss Screamsalot, Screamer McScreamerton ... so many aliases, so many diapers to fill.

* * * * *

Hey ... the Leafs finally won a game. One game. That was enough for CBC morning radio to justify a play-by-play clip of Niklas Hagman scoring a goal. It was also enough to remind me why I and everyone else outside of the GTA pray with all the power of our wretched hearts that the Leafs never, ever, make the playoffs again. Can you imagine how strenuous and relentless the coverage would be? It would be like orangutang mating season, only with more howling and blue blazers.

* * * * *

The word for today is wait.

erratic

My posts here are going to become *erratic* -- to put it mildly -- over the next week at least. Not only do I have loads left to do in order to be out of my studio by the 31st (not just packing and moving but finding a place for all this stuff) but there's always tons to do at home as well, as Oona has her good days and bad days, and C isn't feeling well with cold/flu. So it goes. I'll see you when I can.

*Nicole*

More packing away my studio last night when I came across this, a framed picture of my friend *Nicole*. I remember when this was taken, a winter night in Winnipeg, Nicole coming by my apartment just off Corydon, that apartment a vast and creaking place, like a leaking ship, and hissing too, with the steam heat, yet still chilly with its high ceilings and windows all around, and the Hungarian girl I lived with, the one who cried all the time, but she wasn't home that night, and here is Nicole standing on a chair and looking through my cupboards, for just the right glass, because she is about to *mix drinks*.

long haul week

Who's that crying? What's that noise?

Oh, it's the [blankety-blank] cats.

Yes honey, it's going to be a long week for each of us as daddy tries to clean out his studio and make a defining point about the cats.

You see Gorgeous, daddy's studio is so crammed full of stuff because when he moved out of his bachelor pad, he didn't want to inconvenience mommy with his personal effects. Because mommy can't stand daddy's stuff, and mommy would lose her mind. So he packed and stacked and shuffled all sorts of things between his office and his studio. He did that for months! It was fun!

Yes I know Sweetie, that kind of consideration doesn't go both ways. Because mommy's cats are so spoiled these days that they cry all the time. Yes they do! And the fat one who looks like an inbred Russian peasant in a stolen fur coat kept daddy up all night, crying at his window, after he put her out for the third time, between mommy letting her in again, even though it was as warm as summer last night, and once she got in all she did was cry at mommy's bedroom door, trying to wake you up. Yes she did!

And daddy is so sick of listening to cats crying all the time that he can hardly stand it, the way they cry in the kitchen in the dining room at the back door at the windows just about anywhere. And the way mommy lets them in and out and in and out. I guess cats are higher life forms than humans! Yes they are! And daddy's going to lose his nut soon. Yes he is! And then the cats will be on 48 Hours Mystery. Yes they will, Sweetie!

And we know it can be different because it was different when Krazy Auntie Krista was here in the summer, looking after the house, when the kitty kats were left out for days at a time. Yes they were! And mommy had to work really hard to re-spoil them after that, and daddy said nothing because mommy had you in her tummy, but now you're out, and we both could use a break.

monday morning link

Untitled, 2001; silk-screen print over lazartran print on aluminium, 0.9 × 1.5 metres, part of the Beak Street series by Shariff Miller, a collaboration in photography and silk-screen.

wet head

Untitled, pencil & ink on onion paper, 8 x 9 inches.

I've got some wet head today, or wet brain at least, I can focus but it's just not quite right. Got a good sleep last night too, Oona being a star, yet while morning was workable, Friday afternoon is death. Writing is semi-painful. I need more or less sugar in my diet. Let's try more.

Two things we've been watching: Dexter, Season 1 on DVD and Survivor: Somoa on Thursday nights. Both feature sociopaths, one fictional (Dexter) and one semi-fictional (Russell Hantz, who spends almost every confessional proclaiming his evil genius). Dexter is a serial killer who has bent his life into the shape of a normal person's ... with the exception of murdering those who deserve it. Russell is a demented goblin who tries to bend his "puppets" to his will ... except when the usual forces of the game (unpopularity, attrition) take over, which is pretty much all the time. Both are paranoid and sporadically delusional. One has been a joy to watch, while the other is (so far) rather ugly. Guess.

less screamy, more sleepy

More pictures, for those I haven't send some to already (and more going in the mail today). She looks pretty with it here, although I have to say that her opinions on the Middle East are bit limited, if you know what I mean. Still, we had a good night last night, with less screamy and more sleepy.

* * * * *

And on leaving Screamytown this morning I was struck by how flippin' cold it is suddenly, any breeze making you twist away and look for a side street just to change direction. The causeway was awful. So it's toques I guess, and gloves and scarfs and keeping one's head down, going straight into it, hello winter.

girls and their projects

Just got off the phone with a friend, was telling her a (short) anecdote when she interrupted to say that she had to go, had to get going, because she has a project, you see, and every moment is dedicated to that project, fully and completely (I guess), because it is a project, a very important project. A project! And in the time it took for her to say that, I could have finished my story.

Girls and their projects.

There is an apocryphal story about how the German GSG 9 are trained to shoot the women terrorists first. This is because the ladies are more committed, more hardcore and therefore more dangerous.

Guys always know how to surrender.

We've seen *that look* and we know what it means. It says: I have to do this thing and oh my god don't you understand how important this thing is, this thing I have burning like an electric cross at the front of my brain right now, right now, and oh my god I have to do it, I have to do it right now, and it has to be done right, so I will be sanctified. And also: you are expendable!

Ah, the breathlessness, the hair-pulling, the double-glazed focus.

And it can apply to little projects, too. Meaningless projects. Because you can micromanage anything. I once had C almost hyperventilating when she thought I wasn't going to return the grocery cart to its little shed in the parking lot. Trouble was, I hadn't finished unloading the groceries yet. And she was sitting in the front passenger seat saying, You're going to put that cart back, right? You're going to put it back. You're going to put it back, right? Please tell me you're going to put it back. At which point I sent the cart -- very slow and straight -- coasting about thirty yards to the collection shed. And while I laughed, I looked back to see C covering her eyes with her hands. Yes, it was all very embarrassing. I hope Loblaws still invites us to the Peach Cream Social.

And yes, I am a monster.

my achoo trilogy

Well, here's one strictly for grandma and granddad and aunties and as-good-as-aunties ... three short videos of Oona having a sneeze. I call it my Achoo Trilogy.

* * * * *

Back at work today, sifting through a mountain of correspondence. My apologies to those I've been slow to get back to, but emails and cards and pictures are on their way soon. Promise.

packing up my studio

Stole away from Stinkytown for a few hours this morning to work on packing up my studio. Sigh. C wants me to burn everything in the backyard but I said, What if I get a new studio someday? and then she just laughed in that I-swallow-lightning kind of way. So much stuff that has no other place, like my framed Gashlycrumb Tinies poster. Try bringing that one in the house. Sigh.

more peanut pictures

More peanut pictures ... two from the hospital, two from home. I'd put up more but it's a bit slow/awkward from home (and my wee netbook), so until I get back to my Mac you'll have to be patient. Everything is going really well -- lots of feedings, changings, bm's and burpings (I guess these are the terms of my new calculus) -- and we really appreciate all the warm wishes from everyone. Thank you!

the peanut has landed

Enter ...

... ... Peanut. Otherwise known as Oona Louise Berger.






Born 5 a.m. Sunday morning, after some very efficient efforts by mom. 6 lbs, 6 ounces. Both baby and mom are doing very well.

last jets

So we've had the scans and the pokings and the proddings and the Man With The Plan has us going to the hospital tomorrow afternoon to be induced over the course of the weekend. He said it's like "turning over a cold engine", and that it might take a couple of days. So we have the end in sight now, and everything looks good, and all we need is for Peanut to stay on course, and maybe fire some last boosters, before floating down to that ocean called Home.