Oh, to be able to check my email on my cellphone. ~sighs~

Apparently this is one of those feces-travelling-at-velocity-towards-an-air-recirculating-mechanism sorts of days.

This is made extra fabulous by my nasty cold. I may drop dead before the end of the day, so if I'm slow to respond to emails, you'll know why.

A flash animation set to Radiohead

Found via Squirrel X.

Dear Limegirl,

This is your body writing. The various organ systems decided to get together and let you know what we think.

We understand the vacation was a bit of a whirlwind, but falling off the lifestyle wagon has left us feeling really fucking lousy. The brain has been complaining about dehydration headaches, the stomach has been bitching about the coffee-to-fresh-vegetable-matter ratio being out of whack, and the whole rest of the body thinks the lack of exercise and sleep has been really unnecesary and cruel.

We would like to ask that you reinstate a healthy lifestyle, or some of the organ systems will be forced to go on strike. We didn't want it to come to this, but nevertheless, you've been warned.

Your Body.

I don't think Momo would want me to be sad, but sometimes it's hard to ignore the void that used to be occupied by the smooshy tyrannical despot.

Momo, yours was a love of the ages. You redefined rabbits, you broke the mold. No one could tell you what to do unless you let them, and yet you loved so much, so deeply, that you seemed so happy to do what people asked of you.

You entered my life headstrong and brutish, and became the sweetest, most outstanding rabbit I have ever had the privilege of knowing and loving. We taught each other about people and bunnies, and shared something entirely unique. You were the Yuki of rabbits, the one after whom no one could ever really follow.

You melted my heart because you chose to love me. You didn't just love me because I always fed you, I had to earn your trust. I had to show you that people weren't dreadful, and could be treated gently instead of with your sharp incisors.

You showed me what an office bunny is. You showed me your thunderous binkies of delight. You showed me how even the largest of cats would cower before you, even when you presented yourself in friendship.

You showed me a love unlike any other, and for that I can never thank you enough. Run, dash, binky . . . devour the green meadows across the Rainbow Bridge and leave a trail of pooties so that others will always know how to get there. I love you, Momo.

a wee movie of Momo - ignore the painfully unfunny dialogue in the background

My luggage is sitting on the Winnipeg tarmac in a downpour because they can't risk the baggage handlers getting struck by lightning.

I have also determined that while no airport is particularly fantastic in the middle of the night, the Winnipeg airport is among the places I would least like to spend 7 hours in the middle of the night in.

Allow me to paint you a picture . . . I'm running behind schedule, but still manage to get to my gate before they start boarding. Twenty minutes go by. The flight crew finally arrives. They start boarding the plane around the time we are scheduled to take off. Twenty minutes goes by again. The captain comes on to say that due to some labour dispute, the plane has not been stocked with enough food. While waiting for the food, it comes to light that Toronto is having radar problems. An hour after we were supposed to take off, we actually take off. When we arrive in Winnipeg (really hoping this doesn't turn out to be the worst place to sit around for 7 hours), it turns out that our gate is occupied. Never a dull moment, I tell ya.

Attention trend whores:

As I am not above following the odd trend, take note that girls in Montreal are coveting $8 mesh slippers as the footwear to go with just about anything.

This concludes the trend whore announcement. We now return you to your regularly scheduled lives.

I have a confession to make.

Back in 1995, when Quebec had the referendum to decide on whether to separate or not, I was very much against Quebec leaving Canada. I even had a friend send "NON" posters from Montr�al.

But it wasn't for the reasons one might expect. I'm not sure I could explain why, but I've always felt really strongly about Canada having two official languages. I've always felt that the Quebecois were an important part of Canadian culture, and to lose that would diminish Canada culturally.

I knew nothing of life in Quebec, the life of a Quebecois, what it means to be one, how it feels. From my home in Edmonton, it often seemed that things were pretty good for the Quebecois, and I couldn't understand what would compel them to leave Canada.

Then I came here. I don't know what other people's preconceived notions about Montr�al were, but I had pictured a gloriously metropolitan Francophone city, open-minded enough to be bilingual, but clearly saturated in Quebecois culture.

I was a bit off. There are Anglophones here who can't speak a word of French. At all. I grew up in Edmonton, of all places, and I speak more French than some people who live here. In fact, there are some Anglophones who, not only can't speak French, but really don't care. At Anglophone schools you often make Anglophone friends and go on to live Anglophone lives, perhaps barely brushing elbows with the Francophones.

It floored me that it was possible for people to live that way. Living in Quebec without knowing French? Without having Francophone friends? It seemed almost inconceivable.

I suppose growing up as the child of immigrants in Montr�al further complicates the issue, with parents often having expectations and demands of their children that are rather removed from the issue of French-English biligualism. But it struck me to realize how many people I know in Edmonton who were in French immersion classes, versus the number of Anglophones here who can't speak a word. I didn't even know Edmonton had a Francophone community until high school. You'd think the Anglophones in Quebec would have more use for that skill-set.

What struck me most profoundly was walking into Chapters on Ste. Catherine Street. I thought that, obviously, this being Quebec, they would be selling French books. I was wrong. The whole place is packed with English books, with a section way in the back for French books. Maybe I'm weird, but that horrified me. The rest of the goddamn country is so English, that in Alberta the provincial government doesn't even bother having a French version of their website. But in Montr�al, Quebec for crissake, you'd have an easier time finding books and magazines to read in English.

I don't think any one side is 100% right, being that there are thousands of perspectives on the issue. But I could suddenly understand the anger, the feeling of unjustice, and I'm not even Francophone.

Back in 1995, I was far from even beginning to understand what was really playing into the decision of "Oui" or "Non".

"1� for a smile/1� pour un sourire"

Panhandling in both official languages. How grand.

Arrived in Montr�al without incident. Currently operating on far less sleep than I should be, and spending much of my waking hours daydreaming about a big comfy bed.

People are insanely fashionable here. I can't believe how much of a weird Prairie-girl I feel like sometimes, even though I'm about as non-country-bumpkin-ish as you could get.

And where are the mosquitoes? Every bar and restaurant has the front wide open, as though the whole place were a giant patio. There's no ducking and covering while smothered with DEET. It's weird, and totally awesome.

I shall now resume praying to any available deity that my wide-eyed-awe will dull a bit before I start looking like some hillbilly caricature.

My heart has been torn apart, but I'm trying really hard not to think about it. I have a flight to catch tomorrow morning, and I can't afford to completely lose my shit when I have stuff to organize.

This has been both the most amazing and shittiest weekend ever. The wedding was stunning, fantastic, beautiful. I saw friends I haven't seen in months, some in years. I laughed, I danced, I shared in a beautiful day. And Momo died.

But what can I do? I feel like becoming distraught over his death would serve no purpose. It wouldn't bring him back, and wallowing in self-pity won't make me feel better.

I don't know what else to say.

Goodbye Momo. I'm on the road right now. I'm sorry I wasn't there when you died. Sitting in a car seems a strange place to say goodbye, but I guess we don't get to choose these things. I wish I could have had the chance to have done more for you. I will always love you, my bunnyboy. I hope Yuki will take care of you for me. May angel wings carry you to where fields are always green and bunnies are always free to frolick and binky. I love you.

So! Wired! Vacation! Time!

One of these days I might be able to be one of those super-organized people who has everything ready a week ahead of time. Now is not that time.

It's gonna be a loooooooooooooooooooooong night!

Vacation time! Vacation time! Four more days! Four more days! GOGOGO!

Wedding, and then exploration of the undiscovered country. Time to go shopping for wedding clothes. WOO!

Guilty country pleasures:

Alison Krauss - Oh, Atlanta

It just goes to figure that the one time a hot incarnate dharma comes to this Prairie city, I'll be on vacation. ~sighs~