The Twins

A lovely little tart was waiting for me in my room today. I ate most of it, including the ears, but then felt too guilty to finish...

I'm a tiny mouse tart. How could you eat me?

So I left the wee mouse face, feeling very guilty about the fact that I did, in fact, eat his poor little minty ears. At least I didn't eat his face. Right?

I flew back "home" today. Again. My grandpa Fred is quite ill and so I am home to do, whatever one does when they have an unwell grandparent. This afternoon, I was driving up island to see G-pa F (which incidentally would make a pretty sweet rap name), when the freaking Trans Canada Highway came to a screeching halt. Apparently there was some kind of accident, and even now, 5 hours later, the highway is closed. Go figure.

Anyhow, when I was telling my mom that I felt too sorry for the poor mouse tart to eat his face, my dad decided to tell me that the wee mouse had a very lonely twin.

We are mouse tart twin brothers. Reunited. Partially.

I am a monster. 

Gary

Guess who Kitty LaFleur is going to be for Halloween?

Edu-ma-cated

I somewhat recently decided to take up reading. Fiction. OMG, don't tell anyone. Well, I am sort of playing catch-up anyways. Since I didn't go to high school, I didn't do all the readings that most kids do. Plus, I really like the classics, so I figure can use some time to get edu-ma-cated in the literary world. I started with the short stories of Kafka and then dove into Dostoyevsky's Crime and Punishment. That was a good warm up, but I have officially jumped into the deep-end of the novel pool: War and Peace (Tolstoy).

This is not a book to be taken lightly. 1400 pages, 5 volumes, 2 epilogues, battle histories, maps, character keys, and hundreds of footnotes, will certainly keep me busy for the imminent future.

I've been looking for a list of the best or most noteworthy fiction, but haven't found one I am committed to yet. This is the contender at the moment: http://www.harvard.com/shelves/top100/

On another note, LOOK:


















For the second time ever, a Starbuckian got my name! Wow!

Oh, and just in case you were wondering what Leishmaniasis can do to your grill, check this out:

I took the picture at the Museum of Man and thought it was fairly awesome.

Ok, back to work at on non-fiction...

PJ 20

mmm, bacon.

On Tuesday night Ron and I went to a special event at the Stone Brewery (or beer-making-place, for those of us that have difficulties with that word). It was dinner, beer, and an outdoor viewing of the Pearl Jam at 20 documentary. It was a pleasantly warm night and I got to wiggle my toes in the grass. A fantastic evening, equipped with a dude I like to call "Pearl Jam's biggest fan" and bacon crostini.

I know that this sounds lame and people generally recoil in horror when I admit this, but I am not really into music. I mean I like it an all, but I also like quiet. Some peeps would shrivel up and die without  music, but meh,  I certainly wouldn't. That being said, not only did I enjoy the music in PJ 20, but it certainly did take me aback.

"Pearl Jam's greatest fan." He whooped and whistled all night. Ron said, "you'd be so pissed if I was that guy." Yes, I would. But he certainly enjoyed himself. Oh, FYI, all three of his kids when to PJ concerts while in utero.

I was 13 when Ten came out and I distinctly remember the first time I saw the video to Jeremy. I was at in my parents living room in the house on Resthaven Dr. We had a tini tiny 13 inch tv and I was running laps around the couches while watching videos on Much Music. As one does. I recall pausing in front of the tv to watch this video, as I was memorized.  It seemed so scary and serious, and everyone was paying attention to what a kid had to say. Granted, a kid had to blow his head off in front of his class to get that attention, but he certainly got it.

There was a clip in the movie of Andy Rooney complaining about teenagers and asking why they think life is so rough when they actually have it good. Ok sure, grunge kids didn't live through the holocaust or anything, but it is hard to be 13. Not only is the world completely dismissive to you, but you are all mixed up and mad and sad and a generally lost. Or at least I was. At that period in my life, music was very important to me. BTW- I tried to find a pic of 13 year-old Marni, but I seem to of erased that Marni from my collection of photos. I was like me, but rounder, and with a lot more lipstick.

One of the aspects of getting older that I really enjoy is the inherent respect you get with age. People listen to you. Granted, I am fairly bossy, but I generally get what I want and I get called 'ma'am.' Nobody f*%ks with MA'AM. Well, maybe they do, your f*%ked-with quotient definitely diminishes with age. OOh, maybe ma'am is what my cup said:

MaAy? MaAM? Who knows.

One last pic, just to make you drool:

mmm, donut icing.

TTYS. Oh, and if you know a 13 to say 15 year-old jerk, be nice to them. Its hard being them.

Mystery LaFleur

I've recently got quite interested in digging up some family history. First in the literal sense, but really more now in the figurative sense. You see, 1937 my great-grandmother (Alice) died rather quickly and unexpectedly 9 days after being checked in to what was then called a "mental hospital." As a result of her death, my then one year-old grandfather had a pretty rough go at being a kid.

Alice LaFleur

First order of business: why did Alice die? The family narrative says that she died after falling off a horse, however, a person who falls of a horse isn't generally checked into mental health facility. Also, a family member visited Alice while she was in the hospital and said that she had a number of broken bones and was in bad shape, although she didn't go into the hospital in that condition. To boot, my grandpa inquired about her death a number of years ago and part of an old doctor's note said that she essential died of heart attack induced by acute psychosis and religious mania. Oh, and the doc said Alice dislocated her elbow, but said nothing about the broken bones. Things are getting pretty fishy!

Next order of business: what happened with my grandpa? He remembers being bitten by a dog at a residential school facility, living in a place under a bridge, living at some peoples home who beat him for wetting the bed, and being sad because he didn't have a mother. Poor thing! My grandma also said that he burned down a house when he was one year-old, after being left alone. Yowzer.

 I've been poking around trying to get more information and got the following record, which was written by one of the attending school nun's, sent to me yesterday:

September 4, 1941

Today while Mr. Hogg [the caretaker] was herewith our dog “ZYX*” at his heels, little Freddie LaFleur, six [age is different in student register], reached out and pulled the hair on his head. At once ZYX jumped and bit the boy’s lip, tearing it.  The child’s screams attracted Mr. Hogg who at once called and punished ZYX.  The little fellow was then taken to Dr. Moore in Duncan who advises keeping him in hospital as few days.  The Doctor sewed it up so well, that it healed perfectly in a short time.  The dog does not like children and they have been told repeatedly not to touch him.  Now Freddie and the others have a salutary lesson. (Verbatim  from1941 Chronicles)

* I replaced the dog's name with ZYX, as the actual name is one of  the only word I won't say. Which is saying something, given that I drop f-bombs every 20 seconds.

Can you even imagine?! A five year-old gets bit by a DOG WHO HATES KIDS YET LIVES AT A KIDS SCHOOL and the nun figured it was a good lesson. Things certainly have changed! 

So now I am curious about the conditions surrounding Alice's death and whether or not she had broken bones (remember the digging I wanted to do?!), and the paper trail of dog bites and mean nun's that my grandpa had to endure...

But for now, I have to get back to my actual work. Veloma!

Its not every day that you stick your hand in a hippo

I have been on somewhat of a blogger's hiatus. I got busy with a paper and then went to Canada. Then it had been so long that it felt like I needed to have something awesome to say before I could write again. And then I just got busy taking a nap or whatever it is that I do.

ANYHOW, today got to both touch a big momma hippo and feel the inside of a baby hippo's mouth. Can you even believe that s*%t?! I have a keeper friend at the San Diego Zoo who took me foe a behind-the-scenes tour. OMG. I was like 6 inches between me and three different tigers! Oh, and one of the tigers had even killed a human. Sure, there was metal and all between us, but I was scared. Its hard to tell your brain everything is ok when you are that close to a 250lb growling cat. Crap. Kitty'll f*%k you up and she weighs 9lbs. Wow. I also got to see animals that are off exhibit, including red ruffed lemurs, RTLs, and FOSSA. The fossa may have been the highlight of the day. One male named "Marmaduke" was so friendly and just plain beautiful. I also got to see the gorillas up close, including two year old Frank and his silver-back papa Ndume. Ndume has fingers like a bunch of bananas, and he waved them whenever his keeper stopped throwing snacks. What a day!

A few pics to prove it:

Oh, I missed out on the tiger pics, while trying not to pee my pants. You'll have to take my word for it!

Awe. Momma and baby hippo.

Inside of a hippo mouth!

Momma and baby hippo bums.

Marmaduke!

Ndume and his banana fingers.

Pheww. I'm beat!

Rules

Kitty LaFleur was fairly pissed that I left. I got out my suitcase and she turned her nose up at me. Then she took herself into her little cat house and played dead. Luckily though, she now has Hammy LaFleur to entertain her when I am away.

Here she is, looking for Hammy LaFleur:

And trying to figure out how he is so fast:

Don't worry. I made it VERY clear to Kitty LaFleur that Hammy LaFleur mustn't "disappear." Lest we forget Fish LaFleur. RIP, brother. Plus, Hammy LaFleur bites. Hard. So there shouldn't be any problems.

On another note, I was forced to agree to the following rules:

For the record, mom, I DO NOT pee in the shower.

I think we are going to get my horse skull out of storage later. Should be a good night!