i am sic

Memories...

2006-12-04T09:05:00.000-05:00

He's sad because Lisa said he was so ugly.

You may as well give up then

2006-08-03T15:12:00.000-04:00

I went to the Wäscherei to catch up on some laundry. The place had self-serve facilities open until eleven, and full-serve open until eight. At halb neun (half past eight), while I was putting my stuff in, a man came running in. He asked me where the full-serve staff person was. My pants! She has my pants.

I told him she'd gone. This seemed to represent the end of the world as he knew it. I suggested he come back in the morning.

But I have no wife! Who will iron my pants?

Lost in the past

2006-08-03T07:11:00.000-04:00

Took a detour along the way from Munich to Amsterdam. I'm in Lindau, where once upon a time I spent a summer.

It's pouring rain. Will leave soon to head back to Frankfurt, where I'll stay another night. I leave for Amsterdam in the morning.

Blah

2006-08-01T03:47:00.000-04:00

In Munich now. Can't think of anything interesting to say. Train ride was uneventful. Hostel is okay. Has rained most of the time since I got here.

Europe is having a heat wave

2006-07-30T12:09:00.000-04:00

If you know me, you know I love the heat. But the thing is, they're not prepared for it here. Nobody has air conditioning. Fine, I can deal with that. Nobody has fans. Um... Okay... That's not so good. The few places that have fans, they have them pointing in completely the wrong direction. Buildings were not designed to encourage airflow.

I'm at an internet cafe right now, and I'm reminded of Kolkata. Not because it's as hot as Kolkata here, but because it's so much hotter than the funny pink internet cafe we always went to on Sudder Street. They had fans in there and they knew how to use them. They have one fan here. It's sitting in the corner, pointing at no one.

I did some stuff today. It was all very interesting and nice; however, I'm too sweaty and gross to stay in here any longer.

Wiedersagen bitte

2006-07-30T03:12:00.000-04:00

I wrote a post yesterday. I think it said 'I am at Stansted airport and I might be dead'; however, the lovelz computer in Stansted aiport ate it. All that survived was 'c'. Zep, 'c'. That was the entiretz of mz post.

Now I'm in Frankfurt.

German kezboards are strange. Thez don't use the letter Y verz much, so thez moved the kez. It's there; it's just not where I expect it to be. Also, somebodz please enlighten me: how does one make an @? Without resorting to copz/paste, I mean.

Not onlz are German kezboards strange, but this one has some charming uniquenes to it. The O kez works onlz some of the time. Other kezs don't work at all. Scrolling kezs, not tzping kezs. But still... Thez're there. Thez're labelled and everzthing, onlz nothing happens when I press them. Fun.

Anzhow... I'm off on a mission to get lost.

Stansted Airport

2006-07-29T06:52:00.000-04:00

Scotland in pictures

2005-06-04T11:18:00.000-04:00

Five'll get you started.

See... It doesn't always rain in Scotland

The Edinburgh castle
It costs £10 ($25!!!) to go inside, but it's free to look at from far away.

I can't remember what this was
But it's pretty, no?

The Scott Monument
That's Sir Walter Scott, not a Star Trek reference...

Canadian Hot Dog Bagel £1.99
Is that one menu item? Three? What would it be?

Vegemite tales

2005-06-04T11:00:00.000-04:00

29 May 2005
Globetrotter Inn, Edinburgh

Can't sleep. Presumably this is because I've done almost nothing but sleep for the past 2 days.

So now I'm lying here awake, and I'm thinking about food. More specifically, I'm thinking about brown toast with butter and Vegemite.

Not that my stomach could hack it right now, even if it were on offer...

In the morning there will be toast, both white and brown. There will be butter. And, of course, the staff will all have their little jars of Vegemite. We guests, however, will get jam.

Life is so unfair sometimes.

Unmasked

2005-06-03T22:07:00.000-04:00

I went to see my new doctor today. We sat down to go through all the medical history papers. She asked me questions about how I lost my voice and where I was when I got sick and where I'd been and what I'd been doing.

'I'm sorry. I don't want to alarm you, but I think I need to go put on a mask'.

She kept her mask on and continued asking questions. Then she disappeared for what seemed like quite a while. When she came back, she said it was probably nothing, but that I should go to the emergency room right away for all manner of tests and bloodwork and X-rays.

What was supposed to be a one-hour doctor visit somehow became a six-hour emergency room non-event. The last hour and a half of the evening was spent waiting for somebody to discuss my results with me so that I could go home. The results were in, the nurse told me; it was just a matter of waiting for a doctor to come and go over them with me. An hour and a half for a doctor to tell me that I had a run-of-the-mill flu and it was nothing to worry about.

Yes, thank you. I knew that. Ya big bunch of paranoid monkey-brains...

Calcutta in pictures, part two

2005-06-02T10:34:00.000-04:00

A few more gems for ya...

A little piece of Brampton in the heart of Calcutta
There's a chain of coffee shops in India called Barista. They're very, very western and seem to be the hangout of all the rich local teenagers in their jeans and tiny t-shirts. We went there for lunch one day. I had a combo: cappuccino, Texan potato sandwich and a free bag of Lays. It came to 62 rupees. Lisa had the same thing, but didn't use the word 'combo'. Hers was 85 rupees.

Oh look it's another little piece of America
Oh. No, never mind. It's gone.

A busy Calcutta street

Even in Calcutta...
And, yes, my group-mates ate there. Ugh.

Danger!

Calcutta in pictures

2005-06-01T11:26:00.000-04:00

I still have more posts to enter, but I'm going to take a break for a bit. Before I go, though, I'll upload a visual feast for you.

The view somethingwards from out hotel rooftop

Looking down the alley from our hotel

The morning walk to Prem Dan
Walking on the railroad tracks just feels so wrong, and is therefore strangely satisfying.

Ous afternoon transport back from Prem Dan
These auto-rickshaws are about the size of a golf cart and have about the same horsepower, yet they drive on the street and carry as many as eight people.

The Modern Haircutting SALOON
Could I get a sasparilla with that?

My little friend
Again... 'Cause I can't stop showing her picture. Every time I passed her she'd get up and trot along beside me for a ways, trying to get me to play and wrestle with her.

A traffic jam of goats

I have a lot more pictures left to post, but I've started messing up the titles and skewing the images all funny. Maybe I should go find some lunch.

I'll show you irony

2005-06-01T10:33:00.000-04:00

29 May 2005
Globetrotter's Inn, Edinburgh

Psst! Hey you! Remember when we were in India? You said you thought it would be funny if I survived India with nary a gurgle from my tummy, while all around us people were dropping like flies, only to get food poisoning in Scotland. Right. Frickin' hilarious.

For some reason, I keep thinking it was you who said it, but it can't have been. You weren't even with us in India, were you? That must be just my own deep-seated resentment of you and my desire to blame you for something.

But enough about me. Let's talk about you. Whoever you are...

Since this was your idea, I just wanted to let you know how much I hate you. Even as I write this, my stomach loudly voices its agreement.

I'm writing tonight because I finally feel well enough to. I've actually eaten two pieces of toast and two tins of thin soup today. Oh, and some Immodium. Mustn't forget that...

Was it really food poisoning or was it just a stomach flu? Was it actually a BAD cheese sandwich? Or was it merely an unpleasant cheese sandwich shortly before a case of the flu? I don't know. I don't care, really.

Right now there are only two things I do know.
1. I don't recommend the cheese sandwiches at the Edinburgh train station.
2. I really hate you. Whoever you are...

Randoms

2005-06-01T10:21:00.000-04:00

27 May 2005
Highlander Explorer bus, Scotland

The Edinburgh paradox: From wherever you are to wherever you're going, it's uphill.

1987 is alive and well and living in Scotland. I can't even count the number of times I've heard Walking on Sunshine, Love Shack, Nothing's Gonna Stop us Now... Now we're driving through the Scottish highlands listening to my local boys singing If I had a Million Dollars.

Rumour has it that Edinburgh employs a person to walk around the city on Monday mornings, collecting all the traffic cones from the tops of the statues.

Rebus's Edinburgh is not the one I've seen. Not by a long shot.

Dude in front of me is hitting on the chick next to him. She asked what this stop was. The guide had told us, but she said she'd forgotten. He told her it was the Blackfriars monument and chided her for forgetting and made a big deal of it. And he somehow actually used the word 'aiiiiight' (or however one spells it).

By the way, for the record, just so you know... It was the Black Watch monument. Idiot.

Colourful

2005-06-01T10:03:00.000-04:00

26 May 2005
Regis Hairstylists, Princes Street, Edinburgh

I've got colour on my hair, so I've got 45 minutes to sit and think. Sit and write. Sit and drink instant coffee (Blech! I asked for tea.). Sit and stare vacantly into the mirror. Sit and whatever. Just so long as I sit.

I'm tired. Sitting is good. I'm looking forward to tomorrow. The Highland Explorer. I can turn my brain off and on as needed. Castle Doune. Waterfalls. Lochs. Mountains. Stone circles. A whisky distillery.

It's not Skye, but I think it will serve its purpose in being as unlike the Calcutta experience as possible.

But then... It's a tour, which is of course a group thing. If I don't want to be part of a group, then why do I keep signing myself up for things that involve so much group togetherness? And If I do want to be part of a group, then why do I hate it so much when I am?

Whenever I find myself in a group, every part of me rebels. I kick and fight and struggle to be set free. Once I achieve my freedom, I spend a little bit of time on my own, ruing the day I ever joined myself to any group.

A few minutes/hours/days pass and suddenly, impulsively, for no discernible rhyme or reason, I run out and find a group to attach myself to.

And the whole process begins again.

Am I really still searching for some elusive community of people who will tolerate and even embrace my double standards, my whims, ambitions, apathy, strange passions, incomprehensibility, megalomania, my need to dominate all situations? What kind of community would that be? Why would I want any part of it?

I have a tendency to resent any team that would have me on it. That probably says something, doesn't it?

I wonder what colour my hair will be.

Making plans...

2005-06-01T09:41:00.000-04:00

27 May 2005
Globetrotter Inn, Edinburgh

Well, I did it: cancelled my reservation in Skye. Booked a room at the Globetrotter Inn in Edinburgh. Selected and paid for a Highlands tour for tomorrow. I've also chosen a tour for Saturday as well. Not sure why I didn't book it yet. Guess I'll do that later.

I'm disappointed I won't make it all the way to Skye, but relieved that I've lightened my load. It's much simpler to go for day tours, leaving my stuff locked in a locker.

The hostel here is well removed from the city centre. They run a shuttle bus every hour. We're technically still in Edinburgh, but the feeling here is quite rural. We're bounded in on three sides by green and on the fourth by water.

I wish I could move today. Well, I could, but I'd forfeit the money I've paid at Highlanders. I don't really like it there, but I'm not bothered enough to lose out on money I've paid already. Tomorrow will be here soon enough.

Chocolate soup

2005-06-01T09:22:00.000-04:00

26 May 2005
Chocolate Soup Café, Royal Mile, Edinburgh

They actually make their hot chocolate from scratch here. I ordered a mochaccino because I could. I'm only not allergic to the very finest things, you see.

I'm not loving the hostel where I'm staying. It feels a bit like I'm staying in somebody else's home. And that person doesn't really want to talk to me...

Everybody else there is really long-term. They seem really friendly with one another, but it kind of feels like peering through the windows of some cool secret gang you're not a part of.

Also, there are eight of us in a room smaller than my bedroom back home. And since they're long-term that means a whole lotta luggage. There's no room to sneeze. And you know I always need space to sneeze.

Plus the bathrooms are just... er... weird.

I've heard good things about the Scotland's Top Hostels chain. I'm staying with them when I get to Skye. Guess I should have stayed with them here, too.

Ah well... I go back there each night to sleep and that's it.

I do believe the city has now woken up. And I've finished my fabulous mocha. Time to get going.

Home!

2005-05-31T20:55:00.000-04:00

I'm back. I made it. I survived.

On the bus home back from the airport I kept looking around and feeling like I'd never seen this city before. Maybe it's because some stuff is actually new. Maybe it's because I'm still in tourist mode. Maybe it's because I'm usually in the driver's seat when we go that way, and so pay my attention to the other drivers on the highway than things around it. Maybe I don't know why, but everything looked so strange.

The Stinky Monkey ran out the door to greet me. He danced on me and around me and beside me for two hours straight. Aferwards, I walked up the street to collect my Beandog. He looked at me and then walked away. But now he's sitting at me feet, watching my every move. You know, in case I drop some food or something.

I'm going to go through the stuff I've written and start posting it. I'm also going to start adding photos to various posts, now that I've transferred them to my computer.

One more time

2005-05-31T07:15:00.000-04:00

Two hours to go. I should be at the airport by nine, and it's just past seven now. This afternoon I'll be home. Not sure if I'll have anywhere to sleep when I get there. Sounds like we've got a full house right now. The guy I sublet my room to is still there, which is fine. By rights, I guess it's his 'til tomorrow. But we also have a guest in our living room on the spare bed.

Don't know where that leaves me. I'm not sure I'll care. I might just curl up with the Stinky Monkey on the bathroom floor and go to sleep.

My stomach's feeling better today. Not great, perhaps, but better. I probably won't be up to my usual caloric intake for a few days yet. Not sure. My congestion, on the other hand, is not sounding good. I'm coughing from pretty deep. I've got a doctor's appointment booked for a few days after I get back, which I think is a good thing.

Right now I'm obsessed with food. Everything I see, I want to eat. Well, not everything... But I keep fantasising about various things, like: cheese sandwiches, vegemite on toast, rhubarb yogurt. It's weird. I'm perpetually hungry and yet -- at the same time -- can't bear the thought of eating. So I just sit, daydreaming about all the food I'd love to have.

Back in London

2005-05-30T16:59:00.000-04:00

Okay. I made it back to London all in one piece. I'm going out with a friend of mine tonight and I'm going to brave some more soup. We'll see how that goes.

The hostel I'm staying at this time is really posh and sterile. And I don't mean sterile in an overly clean way (although it may be that too). It seems pretty lifeless. But the front desk dude's name is Baggy. That's interesting, right?

On the bright side, I've lost some serious weight in the past four days! Oh, er... Wait. That's not actually good news, is it? That's, erm, precisely the opposite of good news.

I've got a whole whack of posts I've written but not put up yet. Guess I'll have to finish them from home.

Farewell Globetrotter

2005-05-30T08:31:00.000-04:00

Okay. I went back to bed for an hour and a half. I feel somewhat better now. My stomach's still pretty displeased with me. Hopefully, before I get on the train, I can pick up some antacids or something. Maybe that will help.

My stuff is nearly packed and I've still got more than half an hour before the shuttle into the city leaves.

That's not good

2005-05-30T06:40:00.000-04:00

If possible, I feel worse today than before. In spite of this, I have to somehow get myself from the hostel back into Edinburgh, from Edinburgh to Glasgow, from Glasgow train station to the airport, from there to London. In order to make my flight, I need to be on the 10.00 train to Glasgow, which means leaving the hostel by nine. I had originally planned to be on the eight o'clock bus, but there's just no way I'm going to make it.

Although I haven't slept well all night, maybe I should go back to bed until the last possible second.

Good ideas

2005-05-29T15:47:00.000-04:00

Good news everybody! I had soup this afternoon. I'm not sure it was such a good idea, though.

What really wasn't a good idea was leaving all my stomach remedy stuff in India. There's none at the hostel here, and we're miles away from anything.

Still sick

2005-05-29T08:25:00.000-04:00

Yup. Still sick. Still in Edinburgh. Now I'm really glad I cancelled my trip to Skye. Taking a ten-hour bus ride there, just to spend the day in bed and then another long bus ride while still sick just does not sound like fun.

I ate this morning. First time in about 46 hours. I had two pieces of toast. It was a struggle to finish them. I know, I know... I can't afford to lose any weight. Thanks for pointing that out.

I was supposed to leave for Glasgow today, but I've cancelled that as well. Tomorrow I fly from Glasgow to London, which I can't miss. I'll have to catch the bus first thing in the morning. Hopefully I'll be better by then.

I am feeling a bit better this morning, and I'm hoping that by tomorrow I'll be well enough to move on.

Blech

2005-05-28T09:40:00.000-04:00

So now I'm sick. For real sick. Fever and chills. Aches and pains. Sinus pain and congestion. Lethargy and more lethargy. I'm going to take it easy for the day and just hang out at the hostel. Mostly in bed.

Right now I'm really glad I made the move from Highlander to Globetrotter.

(No) vacancy

2005-05-26T11:59:00.000-04:00

I think I've just booked myself into the Edinburgh Globetrotter hostel for Friday and Saturday nights. I checked at Scotland's Top Hostels, which is where I was hoping to stay. All three were fully booked. This is a long weekend here.

Then I checked out Brodie's Hostel, named for the original Dr Jekell and Mr Hyde, Deacon Brodie. They were full and so was their other location. I came to an internet cafe and checked at hostelworld.com. According to it, all hostels in Edinburgh were fully booked, including Globetrotter. I stayed with Globetrotter in London and they were absolutely palatial in comparison with the Highlander Backpacker, which is where I'm staying now.

I decided to check Globetrotter's website, though. You know, just in case... Lo and behold, I found vacancies. I booked myself in.

I have also booked a highlands tour for tomorrow. It looks to be a lot of fun. And it involves spending much less than ten hours on a bus. And it means I get to see Castle Doune. Perhaps I can shout insults about people's parentage from the top of it. You know, in a bad French accent...

You don't know what I'm on about, do you? Well, never mind then.

Not sure what I'll do on Saturday. Perhaps another tour of some sort.

My internet time is nearly up, so I should head off to the Globetrotter to see if I really am booked in.

Thinking...

2005-05-26T10:02:00.000-04:00

Thinking I might stick around Edinburgh for the next few days instead of going up to the Isle of Skye. Much as I want to see it, I'm just not sure ten hours on a bus is really what I need right now.

Definitely switching hostels, though...

My dad won't like this

2005-05-25T16:58:00.000-04:00

25 May 2005
The Elephant House Cafe, Edinburgh

I bought a better pen, so I'm much happier now. Sadly, I've no concluded that it's not as good as the one I used up, but it's a good deal better than the one I was using in its place.

I'm waiting for two o'clock, as I'm going on a tour of Edinburgh's underground vaults. I've read about them, and I'm curious. Later on I'm going on a 'ghost' tour. It focuses on the city's macabre secrets. I should be good and tired by the time I make it to bed tonight.

The cafe I'm in now is famous. Once upon a time a certain woman came here every day, pen and paper in tow. She wrote a novel in this very room, a story destined to become an international bestseller.

She's too rich and famous to show her face in here these days, but the tourists flock here in droves, hoping to catch a bit of her magic.

If I were a better writer, I'd surely come up with a better way to end this post than by telling you that I'm thinking about getting my hair done.

But I'm not.

Or at least not now.

I guess there really is no magic here.

Running on empty

2005-05-25T16:49:00.000-04:00

25 May 2005
Costa Coffee, Princes Street, Edinburgh

Woke up early this morning. Not surprising, since I got to bed shortly after ten last night. Nobody else was stirring, but the sun was up. Checked my clock: 7.00.

Got up. Showered. Dressed. Made breakfast. Wanted to check my e-mail, but the computer was shut off. The one other person up and about filled in the blank. They don't turn it on until 7.00.

What?

Looked --

Interruption: I have just used up the last of the ink in the pen I bought at the start of this trip. How sad.

-- at the clock on the wall: 6.20. Checked my clock again. Still said 7.00. It was stuck on 'set alarm' mode. [rolls eyes and shakes head]

Took my time getting ready. When I left the hostel I decided to walk back down --

Interruption: I really hate this pen. I'm going to have to get another one like the one I just used up.

-- to Princes Street in search of coffee. Instead spent an hour climbing and descending the streets of very pretty but dull parts of the city. Everybody in Edinburgh must have utterly fantastic calves.

Eventually retraced my steps and found where I'd gone wrong. Now I'm sitting in an over-priced chain coffee shop, drinking a decent enough latte, eating a mighty fine piece of shortbread and listening to 80s tunes.

The city outside is gradually waking up and it's time for me to get moving again.

Switching gears

2005-05-25T10:11:00.000-04:00

from a few days back...

23 May 2005
Cafe Paris, Hammersmith, London

Guess I'm still on Calcutta time. I woke this morning at what would be just before six. Too bad it was quarter past one here. Read for a bit before drifting back to sleep. Got up for real at six local time.

Have several goals for today. Needed an all-zone tube pass to get everything in: £12! Eek. Price drops to £6, though, if I can hold off until 9.30. So I've strolled about the neighbourhood for a bit and now I'm sitting in a falafel shop trying to disguise itself as a French cafe.

The hostel I'm staying in is decidely posh in comparison with the fancy hotel we stayed at in Calcutta. It felt sort of strangely luxurious having my own bed. The beds even have privacy curtains around them and individual reading lamps. Hence the reading in the middle of the night without waking my dormmate.

Yup. Singular. Booked myself into a six-bed room, but there's just one other person. She's a quiet but friendly person visiting from China.

The hostel is relatively expensive, but worth the price for somebody wanting a clean, quiet place to relax and take it easy. It's clean, safe, huge and incredibly well equipped.

Hammersmith is... Hmm... Trying to think of a Toronto comparison. It's like High Park and Bloor West Village. It's trendy and stylish in an upper middle class sort of way. It's by no means downtown, but not really far enough out to qualify as suburban. It's right on one of the main tube lines, so it's an easy jump to the city centre.

Yeesh! This little shop has its radio set to a top forty station located somewhere in 1987. The walls are lined with the tackiest Native American art, all shimmery and 3-D.

So far I'm really enjoying London. I've got only two complaints. First, the recycling facilities: there aren't any. Second, the cigarette smoke: it's inescapable.

London is so much more fashionable than Toronto, in a dressed up sort of way. Just about all the men who've come in here have been in suit and tie. The women all put my work wear to shame. They can't all work for investment houses, can they? Why are they so dressed up?

Coming here from Calcutta's making my head spin. There, you don't even bother with clean clothes, never mind fashionable ones. I feel very under-dressed right now.

Time to get moving again. Almost 9.30.

Gibberish

2005-05-24T22:00:00.000-04:00

I'm in Edinburgh and I'm at least part way alive. I've been advised to try the Tennant beer, but aside from that I have no plans as of yet. And no, I will not spend the next three days drinking Tennant beer. Or any beer. Or at least not much.

Old friends

2005-05-23T18:09:00.000-04:00

An friend of mine moved to London a year and a half ago. She doesn't check her e-mail very often, so we haven't been able to keep in touch as much as I'd like. She was back in Toronto at Christmas and we went out then. I've e-mailed her a few times about getting together while I'm in London. No response.

This morning I went into the place where she worked and asked about her. The first girl I talked to said that she didn't work there anymore. As I was about to leave, she suggested I talk to one of the guys in the produce department as they might know how to get in touch with her. I did. The first guy I talked to said he'd run into her on the street a few weeks back and that her phone was still kicking around some place. He found it for me.

I called her and she didn't sound at all surprised to hear from me. I asked her about that. She said that she'd e-mailed me her mobile number several times and was surprised that I hadn't called her back yet.

Anyways, now I'm off again to go meet up with her.

Mental vacation

2005-05-23T07:35:00.000-04:00

I've decided to give my brain a few days rest. I need to sift through and process everything that happened in India, but first my brain needs some time off. While I am exploring London, it will be staying at the hostel in my locker, catching up on some much needed rest.

Foggy-headed

2005-05-22T19:58:00.000-04:00

Back in London. Made it in one piece. Barely.

There's been a nasty cold or flu going around the volunteers in Calcutta. A few of our team got it, and I managed to pick it up the day before flying out. It made the flight here distinctly unpleasant. Luckily, though, it seems to run its course in 24-48 hours. Or at least it has done with most other people who caught it. Here's hoping!

Palak paneer aloo muttar naan mango kulfi

2005-05-21T14:48:00.000-04:00

Today was my last day at Prem Dan. Tomorrow I'm off to London and my vacation before I head back to work.

It was difficult. The women all wanted to say goodbye to me and wish me well and tell me complex, intricate stories in a language I cannot understand. Sonda, the woman I've spent most of my time with, was very emotional.

Earlier in the week she swiped an extra mango from the breakfast tray and gave it to me. I thanked her and then waited until she wasn't paying attention before I put it back on the tray. A few minutes later she patted my apron pocket and discovered what I'd done. She yelled at me before stealing two more and putting them in my pockets. Every 5 minutes or so she checked to make sure they were still there. I put them back in the kitchen once we'd left for the day.

Many of the patients have little packets of personal belongings, which they guard like the Stinkey Monkey with a used tissue. Sonda keeps hers in a plastic bag tucked under her dress in her armpit. Most patients have a few photos, newspaper clippings, letters... Sonda has food. Whenever she can, she nicks a bit extra and stashes it away for safe keeping. It's like an armpit compost.

Today she pulled out her packet, opened it and removed what was once a boiled potato. It was slightly orange. I think it may have been halfway to vodka. It was by far the ooziest, slimiest, reakingest thing I have seen in Calcutta. She looked at it. Looked at me. Looked back at it. I ducked out of the way and grabbed the closest Sister.

I explained that I thought she might be preparing to give it to me. She smiled sympathetically and said I should just thank her and accept it and then toss it in one of the bins in the next building. First off, I don't think she understood just how rotten this thing was. Secondly, the mango... I was not, no way, no how, about to carry that thing around with me for the next four hours.

The Sister took the potato from her and gawked at it for a bit. She showed all the other Sisters. The head Sister came and took the plastic bag away from Sonda. She threw a fit, but when the Sister assured her that they just wanted to rinse it out, she relented. The bag contained bits of partially composted food and a sealed, plastic package of biscuits.

Before I left Sonda tearfully and clumsily tore open the package of biscuits (all her worldly possessions) and gave me one. I thanked her and accepted. She got out of bed and followed me down the stairs and out through the building, not an easy task given her motor skills.

I gave the biscuit to a street child on the way back to the hotel.

There is also a Chinese woman in the home who speaks no Bengali, Hindi or English. She can't really speak much at all, but seems to understand Mandarin. She probably has the mental capacity of a 5-year-old. She looks confused and frightened all the time. Nobody seems to know anything about her history or how she came to be there. We only know that she understands Mandarin because one of our girls tried talking to her. She nods, shakes her head or whispers single syllables in response.

I've spent some time each day sitting with her. She looks at me when I do, but neither smiles nor shows any other sign that she cares whether I sit beside her or not. As I left to day she began to cry.

Two women told me this afternoon for about an hour. Their tale was elaborate and involved and I understood none of it except for the odd word. As with most languages I've come across, my vocabulary is limited to yes, no, you, me and the wide range of food words. Periodically throughout the story, I caught the words 'Bengali' and 'English'. I think the gist of it was you'd better learn Bengali because we can't speak English.

I need to get back to the hotel and pack up my stuff. I have to arrange for a cab to take me to the airport tomorrow morning at twenty past four.

Doggone crazy

2005-05-21T03:04:00.000-04:00

Before I came here, I was warned about the dogs. They're stinky, skinny, scary and mean, everybody said. They're flea-ridden, mangy and insane, I was told. They will chase you and attack you, people insisted.

To all of you who told me such things, I say bah!

Well, okay... They are mangy, and they undoubtedly have fleas, but still... They about as well nourished as anybody else on the streets of Calcutta, and for the most part they seem pretty content with their exitence. They just walk, sit or lie about, looking all pleased with themselves.

For the most part, they're shy. They tend to run away from people.

But not me. They follow me. When I walk by, they get up and trot along beside me for a bit before strolling off in a different direction. There are a few puppies in the street across from our hotel, Piss Alley. One in particular jumps up and runs after me whenever she sees me. And, trust me on this McJen, she's not attacking me. The look on her face is pure, unadulterated affection and joy. She jumps up and tries to get me to play, much the same way my own dogs would. Well, not Beandog... He's far too dignified for such tomfoolery.

I got some great pictures of her. When I get to London, I'll upload them and show you.

Calcutta lesson

2005-05-20T15:07:00.000-04:00

Everything costs more on Thursdays.

Redemption

2005-05-20T15:03:00.000-04:00

The Americans have redeemed themselves.

Well, okay, so the Americans I mentioned previously are still every bit as irksome as before, but a new team started this morning. They're med students from Nebraska. They are pleasant, helpful, and generally able to carry on a conversation without bursting into spontaneous church-speak. I like them.

Oh gosh, y'all, we're going for dinner tonight with the Californians. They are not large. They're tan, blonde and beautiful. And perky. Did I mention perky?

I have a headache.

Emotional

2005-05-20T14:58:00.000-04:00

18 May 2005
Prem Dan, Calcutta

I'm sitting with Sonda again. One of the American girls offered to take my place with her 'if I needed a break'. As if sitting here with her was some sort of necessary but unpleasant task, like cleaning the toilet...

She doesn't need company; she wants company. I don't sit here because it needs to be done; I do it because it feels important that I do.

On my first day I sat with her for a few minutes. On my second day there were a few more volunteers, and so less work to be done. I walked past her, and she reached out to take my arm. She giggled as she patted the bed for me to sit. I did.

For a while we sat in silence. I felt stupid just sitting there, not doing anything, but it felt important that I do.

After a bit, she began to laugh and then to talk. She babbled excitedly, giggling and gesticulating. As she spoke, her mood changed. She became much more emotional. Her eyes welled with tears, and she began to weep. She continued to speak as she cried, clearly telling a story. She lacks the motor skills to form words, though, so her story is known to her alone.

I'm sure there should be more here, but I've run out of words.

On the roof

2005-05-19T10:57:00.000-04:00

18 May 2005
Hotel Astoria, Calcutta

Can't sleep. Again. I'm up on the roof of the hotel, listening to crows. A murder of crows, right? The sound is coming from every direction, though, so it must be a few murders.

Periodically, a dog will bark. Every other dog in Calcutta wakes up, hears the sound, and joins in the barking.

It's hard to write about the work we do. I'm used to writing the funny, and so much of what what we're doing just isn't. But then a lot of it is, too.

I've been working at Prem Dan in the mornings. It's a long-term care facility for chronically ill patients. Most of them are quite old, but there are a few as young as teenagers.

For the first two days there were only a few volunteers. There was a lot to be done: laundry, serving food, feeding those unable to feed themselves, washing dishes... Then a few teams of large Americans showed up. They're very eager. And perky. And very American*. They go to a private Christian college and just ooze Christian culture.

I try to stay out of their way.

I've spent the past few mornings sitting with a crazy lady. The crazy ones gravitate to me. Actually, I think I gravitate towards them.

At first I thought she was fully nuts, but now I doubt it. She can't speak, not that that stops her. She talks more than I do, but it all gibberish. I mean not my sort of gibberish, but the sort that's not even made up of words. I think she's in there. Like, she's stuck inside her head, perfectly sane, but unable to communicate anything more complex than a frown, a laugh, a slap.

And I think she understands English.

Most of the patients don't. They speak to us in Bengali and then laugh hysterically when we fail to understand. They think we are the stupidest thing ever.

One woman speaks to me, endlessly repeating the same sentences. Eventually, I repeat stuff back to her. She nods, clearly pleased with herself and with my progress. Then she'll ask me a question. When I smile and shrug, she turns to the other patients, laughing and shaking her head.

It's nearly five a.m., time to get ready for the day. I should go back down to my room.

The sun is up now. I wanted to take a picture of the sunrise, but there wasn't one. The world just gradually became lighter over the course of the last hour. I still can't tell which way is east.

* Why is it that if you meet one American, he/she'll be a sensible, rational person, but where there are teams of them they become loud, abrasive, opportunistic, naive idealists? Maybe it's just the mentality of those Americans who choose to travel in teams, 'doing good' all around the world...

Bargaining power

2005-05-19T10:27:00.000-04:00

17 May 2005
Hotel Astoria, Calcutta

Bargaining. It's just like arguing. Well, okay... It is arguing. To win one must be more stubborn than one's opponent.

Ha! Finally, something I'm good at. I'm a natural at it. Sadly, though, I haven't got a clue what things ought to cost. Am I a tough bargainer? You betcha. Are the prices I'm insisting so doggedly on really all that low? No idea.

One man quoted me 375 rupees for a saree. I bargained him down to 250. Decent price? Not sure. It's more than half his original quote, but what does that prove?

Walked another block and saw a man selling sarees of similar quality, fabric and colour. He quoted me 2050. Not sure what to think.

A man on the street quoted me 120 for a shoulder bag. No matter how tough I was, he wouldn't go less than 90, which is less than anybody else in the group had paid. Since then he's hounded me every single time I've walked by. He wants me to send everybody else on the team to him. He's probably thinking something along the lines of Stupid white people are going to make me a rich man!

Calcutta paradox

2005-05-19T08:29:00.000-04:00

The sweetest, freshest, coolest air in Calcutta is in the underground metro stations.

Name that movie...

2005-05-17T16:47:00.000-04:00

14 May 2005
Hotel Astoria, Calcutta

We went to mass this morning. Not being Catholic, I found the whole thing rather perplexing. Stand. Kneel. Sit. Do a little dance. I don't get it.

Anyways... The priest dude gave a little sermony-type deal. He opened it up by saying that there were three theories about working towards Pulp Fiction*. I don't remember the second and third theories, but the first one was forty-two**.

Good ol' 42. It's the answer to everything, you know.

* Pulp Fiction = perfection
** forty-two = fortitude.

Rehydration

2005-05-17T16:36:00.000-04:00

14 May 2005
Hotel Astoria, Calcutta

Seriously? How?

I got to bed last night just after nine. I slept all right, I suppose. I froze, though. I turned the air conditioning down before I went to bed. The room was coolish, but definitely not cold. My bed, however, is next to the AC unit.

I woke up at four and couldn't get back to sleep. I lay here and listened to music until it was time to get up at five.

We got dressed and walked to the Mother House for the six o'clock mass. I nearly passed out during it. And not just because Catholics are seriously weird, either...

I was dizzy and weak. I felt nauseated and head-achey. I couldn't stand at all the predetermined times.

As soon as the service was over, I told Mr Army Dude. He laughed and told me I was dehydrated. He gave me a packet of rehydration stuff to drink.

How? I drank 5 or 6 litres of water yesterday and had already had another 1.5 by seven that morning. So really, how could I be dehydrated?

Apparently, dehydration is more than just water. It's also about the salts and electrolytes that are being sweated out.

So I've been shipped back to the hotel to drink salty gatorade and sleep while everybody else is out doing the work we came here to do. Nice.

I should be well enough for the afternoon shift. The salty gatorade seems to work pretty quickly.

On the bright side, the guys were right: the Mother House does serve the best chai anywhere. Three cups of it and I've almost stopped craving coffe.

Sleep now.

In brief

2005-05-14T18:41:00.000-04:00

Short post tonight. I wrote a longer one in my notebook today, but forgot it at the hotel.

We ducked into Netfreaks on our way home from Kalighat. We're going to be late for dinner. Oh well, had to get my fix.

Survived my first day of volunteering. Well, sort of. It was actually a half day for me. More on that later...

In other news, we've discovered Elven cakes. They're really good and very addictive. Will have to see if they're available anywhere else in the world.

My internet fix

2005-05-13T20:13:00.000-04:00

13 May 2005
Netfreaks internet cafe, Calcutta

Finally made it to the internet cafe. Checked my e-mail. Pestered one of my partners in snark over e-mail. Posted four things in quick succession. I feel better now. I'm actually making this post up as I go along, instead of just reading it out of my journal. The cafe is spacious and compfortable, but the computers are ancient and funny. They keyboard's freaking me out, so if you find any typos, it's not because I can't spell. You know that, right?

Anyways, my hour's almost up. More tomorrow after my first day of volunteering. Should be interesting. Especially the part where I have to get up at five...

First impressions

2005-05-13T20:06:00.000-04:00

13 May 2005
Hotel Astoria, Calcutta

Calcutta is nothing like I pictured. It's exactly what I'd expected. I don't know. I tried not to form any expectations, but they have a way of sneaking up on me.

The roads are insane. That much is certain. I love all the random honking. It's sort of like the Stinky Monkey sitting on top of my trunk and barking at the top of his stupid little lungs. At everything. At nothing. At the world. At himself. Whatever. Just barking. Like that. But honking.

Our cab driver really liked fourth gear. He used it for everything.

One girl asked me if we were on the highway. What a question! There's no way to answer that. It's a busy thoroughfare, packed with cars, three-wheeled beasts, bikes, motorbikes, pedestrians, goats, chickens, etc.

Somebody else asked me which side of the road they drive on here. The answer is simple: all sides. They'd drive on top of one another if they could.

The guys have assigned us to our rooms. They put me in with the two Girliest Girls in the bunch. Yes, yes, they're nice and all, but come on! They're just a little too, you know, femmanen. They're asleep now and I'm waiting for lunch.

It's Calcutta in May. Apparently there's a heat wave. It's hot enough to bake a human being. If anything, though, our room's too cold.

I so want to go check my e-mail and post all the stuff I've written, but I'll have to wait until after dinner. We're not allowed to leave the hotel on our own. Nobody else is about. Besides I haven't yet changed my money into rupees.

Are we there yet?

2005-05-13T19:45:00.000-04:00

12 May 2005
Sitting on the runway at Heathrow Airport

I'm on a plane that will take me from London to Calcutta. We should be taking off soon. It's 15:16 GMT. This means that I haven't been online in 18 hours and change. I bought a notebook in London so I could ease the hypergraphic withdrawal somewhat.

I'm writing this entry with a small stick called a 'pen'. How novel.

Oh look. We're departing. Ah, yes, the safety video... The oxygen mask scene... How very Fight Club.

This is London

2005-05-13T19:41:00.000-04:00

12 May 2005
Heathrow Airport, London

I'm in Heathrow. I'm drinking a fair-trade cappucino from AMT. It's the best cappucino on earth. Or at least it feels that way. I'm sitting in a tiny, 4-seat waiting area. I should be going through security, but coffee's not allowed in. I tried, but the ornery security dude sent me away.

I sat down here. I put my coffee on the vacant seat next to me so I could pull out my notebook. A woman promptly approached the seat and glared at me until I moved the coffee.

Now she's talking loudly and excitedly in Tagalog with her companions. She interject periodically with a loud belch and then excuses herself in English.

Well, my coffee's nearly done, so I should get going.

Incidentally, why are there no garbage bins in this place?

Almost perfect

2005-05-13T19:30:00.000-04:00

12 May 2005
Flying from Toronto to London

Dear British Airways,

I love you. No, seriously. You're awesome. If airlines were living organisms, Air Canada wouldn't even be the same species as you. It's kind of like companing a human being to a Bush.

The free toothbrush. The free socks. The free booze. 18 different channels to choose from on my personal TV.

Wow. Air Canada hands out free peanuts (limit: one per person) and tap water. With a bad attitude.

So, really, you guys rock.

I do, however, have one complaint. Of course I do, right? I mean, how could I not?

The vegan dinner was great. You could maybe skip the salad next time, though. There's just no food in lettuce.

The vegan breakfast, on the other hand, wasn't quite up to par. It consisted of a little cup of fat-free yogurt and a pre-packaged, run-of-the-mill, made-with-eggs muffin. So, maybe you could look up the word before you go slapping that big green VEGAN sticker on any more packages.

Hint: It doesn't mean I'm on a diet.

Well...

2005-05-11T15:45:00.000-04:00

It's just about time for me to get out of here.

See you around!

Bored now

2005-05-11T11:01:00.000-04:00

I hate packing. It's not fun. Don't worry, Marcia, I am doing it. I just don't like it.

I'm too easily distracted for this. I pack a couple of things, check my e-mail, drink some tea, change my shoes, wash a dish, look for my tea, play with my iPod, pack a couple of things, flip through the pages of the book I bought to read on the plane (the Moon is a Harsh Mistress, in case you were wondering), check the time, ad nauseum...

But I am getting it done. Really. Just more slowly than I ought to...

So there!

2005-05-10T23:36:00.000-04:00

Several of you will be extraordinarily pleased to know that I have now packed one bag. Go me.

It's green!

2005-05-10T16:19:00.000-04:00

it's green

Look ma, I gots me a new toy!

People are strange

2005-05-10T12:51:00.000-04:00

What the heck? Everybody keeps asking me if I'm finished packing. Seriously, what's up with that? I'm leaving tomorrow. I'll pack tomorrow. Duh!

Tulips in the yard

2005-05-08T09:58:00.000-04:00

tulips in the yard

So, I got me a snazzy little camera. I like it. I'm going to use it to entertain you with endless photos of crap you don't care about from all around the world. While you're waiting, though, here's some crap from closer to home. These are tulips growing in my front yard.

One week

2005-05-05T12:06:00.000-04:00

One week from now I will be on a plane from London to Calcutta.

St Elsewhere

2005-05-04T08:43:00.000-04:00

I'm not ready for this trip. There are probably still a gazillion and a half things I need to buy, do, plan, or whatever. All the same... I so need to be elsewhere right now. Anywhere. Just somewhere different.

Can we leave this morning instead? Please...

I'm sorry; was I snoring?

2005-05-02T13:17:00.000-04:00

I am soooooooooo exhausted. I have been running around like a Beandog on chocolate for the past two or three weeks.

Art show: check
Art show funds rounded up: check
Passport: check
Indian visa: check
Monster house party: check
Vaccinations and various medications collected, injected, and/or swallowed: check
Forms signed: mostly check
Paperwork turned in: check
Insurance obtained: check
Bedroom cleaned and subletter moved in: check
A whole bunch of other crap: check

I think I'm finally done with most of the prep work. Mostly. I'm exhausted. I want to sleep for about a week. But I can't. I still have too much to do before I leave. Beandog has to go to the vet tonight. Tomorrow I'm going to see Hitchhiker. Wednesday I have a thing I can't really duck out of. I still need to buy running shoes, an electrical adapter, an iPod, assorted crap...

I've decided to spend Saturday asleep. I will hang a 'Do Not Disturb' sign around my neck. In fact, I might wear it all week.

Now please turn the lights off on your way out.

The plans, they are progressing...

2005-04-27T15:44:00.000-04:00

I have purchased myself a snazzy little all-Scotland bus pass and plotted out my route.

I'm one step closer to actually being ready for my travels.

Now if only I could come up with the remaining $800 I owe for the India trip...

Maybe I'm a cynic

2005-04-27T10:55:00.000-04:00

No way! You are just so not going to believe this. I phoned England again, to make what I believed would be yet another futile-but-amusing attempt to purchase a train ticket from London to Edinburgh.

Strangely, though, it wasn't. It was not only successful, it was almost pleasant. The ticket agent was intelligent, coherent and helpful. I didn't have to spell Ontario even once! She'd already heard of it.

My ticket is booked. I paid the price I wanted to pay. I got the seat I wanted to get. I'll be travelling at the time I wanted to go.

Something must be wrong.

Oh, the futility of it all...

2005-04-26T09:46:00.000-04:00

Still trying to book my train ticket from London to Edinburgh... Who would have thought one little ticket would be so complicated?

A friend agreed to purchase the ticket on his credit card. Made all the arrangements and then noticed one little, itty bitty problem. I would need to bring his credit card with me to the train station. Right.

I found a contact number on the website. A number for non-UK residents to use... Well, that's what it said on the web, anyways. I called it yesterday and couldn't get through. I called again today. This time I got through to a live human being. He had to ask a supervisor what to do. The supervisor gave him a different number I could call.

I called it. It seems I can book! We went through the whole process starting with my address. My postal code confused him. Just like it did the website. It sounds like a UK post code, but it shows as not valid. Right.

I read him my street address. No difficulties there.

Next line. Toronto [pronounced: Tranna], I said. There was a pause.

Toronto? [pronounced: Tow-rohn-tow]

Yes. Ontario.

Onero?

Ontario.

O-N-E-R-O?

O-N-T-A-R-I-O.

O-N-T-E-R-O?

No, O-N-T-A-R-I-O.

Oh, okay, O-N-T-A-I-R-O. Ontairo.

No, O-N-T-A-R-I-O.

Right, Ontairo. O-N-T-A-I-R-O.

No, O-N-T-A-R-I-O.

We finally got the spelling down pat, but we couldn't put the transaction through because I haven't got the security code on my credit card. I haven't got the card here. It's at home. I called my roommate to see if she can grab the card and call me. If she does, I'll have to go through the process all over again.

Sweet!

2005-04-25T16:43:00.000-04:00

I believe [fingers crossed] I just found a subletter/doggie-walker for while I'm away. He's a musician (of the classical variety) from Ohio, and he's in town for just one month.

Oh, and my roommates will be happy, since he's a he. We've been e-mailing back and forth for a while and I fully thought he was a girl. But he's not.

I was attacked by a bat

2005-04-25T13:12:00.000-04:00

I had the brilliant idea to buy the ticket at a travel agent. Simple, right?

First I had to wait in line behind a woman who undoubtedly has eight cats. She couldn't just buy her stuff and get out, no. She had to stand there and chat with the disinterested travel agent. It was a bit like a scene from Monty Python, but less annoyed rant and more 'when I was a lass'...

Finally I got to the front of the queue. I asked about the ticket, and was told that I could certainly book it there. Perfect.

Ten minutes later and she'd found the price: £85/$212. Er... Right. Not so perfect.

Tickets are £24/$60 right now, but most of the tickets are going for £90/$225. If I wait until I get there, I'll have to buy the most expensive one. Or I can skip that and buy the expensive one now.

I don't like doctors, okay

2005-04-25T10:40:00.000-04:00

Okay. A solution has been found. I can go to India after all.

Mr Army Dude Trip Co-ordinator found a form that I can sign on my own behalf, which will suffice in place of the doctor's form. It's a two-page form, stating that I really, really, really, really promise that, to the best of my knowledge, it is unlikely that I will spontaneously combust whilst on the trip.

He most earnestly recommends, however, that I continue my search for a family doctor. 'Cause your health is important, you know...

I'm not dead yet...

2005-04-23T00:26:00.000-04:00

Well, the art show was more of a success than I expected. We actually made money, so that's a good thing, right?

So anyways...

2005-04-22T11:10:00.000-04:00

If I can't go on the trip, then I'm going to go bum around Europe for three weeks. Could be fun!

We'll see. I don't know what's going to happen.

Let it be

2005-04-22T11:03:00.000-04:00

A friend told me that her doctor was accepting new patients and that he was rather [ahem] free with signing and prescribing things. I called. He's taking new patients, yes, but not until July.

I was advised to look up GPs taking new patients on the Ontario Physicians and Surgeons website. There were a couple. Except most of them weren't actually GPs... One was a mental health specialist. One was a sleep specialist. Two appeared to be plain old family doctors, and they worked at the same office. I called. Yes, they're taking new patients. In June.

Really. What, are they waiting for their old patients to die or something? Good grief!

Somebody else told me about the family clinic at Mount Sinai. The doctors don't take new patients, but the residents do. I can get myself a family doctor. Well, a doctor-in-training at any rate. Whatever. That'll do.

I left a message for them to call me back. Hopefully they will. I doubt they'll agree to sign the form, but at least I'll have a doctor.

Update:
The clinic called me back. I have an appointment to see my new family doctor-in-training. I made the next appointment open to new patients: the 3rd of June.

A long and ranty post...

2005-04-21T21:57:00.000-04:00

Well now. That's just ducky.

I should preface this story by saying that at no point did I yell or behave in a menacing or threatening way. I did, however, give voice to my frustration and I... er... Well, I waxed a bit sarcastic. Shocking, I know.

I went to the travel doctor this afternoon. I got four needles and three prescriptions for assorted travel-related medicines. The doctor was pleasant and helpful. He even had a sense of humour. The nurse was good. The receptionist was nice. I got everything I needed in a relatively short period of time.

Then I walked up the street to the next doctor. I haven't got a family doctor, because no doctor in Toronto is taking new patients. I have been going to the same clinic for five years, though.

I waited my turn, and then the receptionist showed me to the exam room. She asked me the reason for my visit. I told her I needed some prescriptions renewed and a form signed. The form is a very simple one. It says this person appears to be in reasonably good health.

No, she replied tersely in her thick Spanish accent. We are not doing those-a forms here. Only jore family doctor canna sign such a forma.

Me: I haven't got a family doctor. I only ever come here.

Receptionista: Jou must go to a different clinica.

Me: So, you're telling me that the trip I just paid for, well, I can't go.

Receptionista: We have a policia for many jeers.

Me: Fine, I'll just talk to the doctor.

[time passes]

The doctor starts to enter the room. He's talking over his shoulder to somebody out of my view.

Doctor: What's wrong with that? Why shouldn't I sign the form?

Receptionista: Jou choulden't signa the forms becowse... Mebbe jou chould come in here for a minuta.

[doctor disappears]

[doctor reappears]

I tell him the same thing I told the receptionist. He says he cannot sign the form because they cannot accept liability for me while I'm in India. What a load of crap!

Me: So, that's it. I just can't go on the trip then?

Doctor: You should see your family doctor. He should be the one to sign the forms.

Me: I haven't got a family doctor. I've been coming here for five years.

Doctor: I can't verify that you're in good health. How would I know?

Me: You've got more medical history on me than anybody else on the planet. I can't just walk into a clinic and expect somebody I've never seen before to sign the forms.

Doctor: Well, obviously you'd require a complete physical first. And, of course, since it's for travel purposes it won't be covered. You'll have to pay for it.

Me: [exasperated] Whatever. Can you just renew my prescriptions and I'll deal with the rest later?

Doctor: Clearly you're angry. I'm not going to talk to you when you're angry. I'll leave you to calm down for a while.

Me: No, I'm fine; I just need the prescriptions.

Doctor: What ones?

Me: For my asthma and eczema. The eczema one isn't working very well. I heard about a new one I'd like to try.

Doctor: I'm not going to prescribe that. Not now!

Me: Why?

Doctor: Look, clearly you've got an anger problem. I don't have to take this from you.

Me: Why won't you prescribe me that medicine?

Doctor: Oh, because there are cancer concerns. I won't prescribe it to anybody until the issues are resolved.

Me: Okay. That's a perfectly reasonable answer. That's all I needed.

Doctor: Here are your prescriptions. I'd appreciate it very much if you never come back here again. I'm going to make a note in your file. You're obviously not pleased with my service and you've got anger issues.

I took the paper from him and left without another word.

So... The short version is: I might not be able to go to India. And now I have no doctor.

Stop calling me Shirley

2005-04-21T12:37:00.000-04:00

I'm annoyed. I called the insurance company about my shots and vaccines. They were unhelpful, but polite. They gave me the run-around and generally irked me.

But then they did it... They pushed me over the edge. They crossed a line that is not to be crossed.

They called me Mrs.

I told them never, ever to call me that again and hung up.

Why must they do that? The cable company calls me Mrs. The phone company calls me Mrs. The bank calls me Mrs. My cell phone company calls me Mrs. That one really bugs me. I've been dealing with them for seven years. Every single time I talk to them they call me Mrs. Every single time they do it, I yell. They stutter and they stammer and they tell me that's what's written in my file. I tell them to change it and I yell some more.

And the next time I talk to them? They call me Mrs. And then we start the cycle all over again. Every single friggin' time.

Don't call me Mrs. Okay?

Warning: reading this may cause inanity

2005-04-21T10:19:00.000-04:00

So, I'm looking into the various shots, pills and horrible medicines I'm going to need before going to India.

One of the recommended (as opposed to mandatory) ones is Dukoral. It protects against cholera and traveller’s diarrhea. Sounds good. I'd prefer to avoid that, if at all possible.

Okay. So what are the side-effects? Quick research on the internet. The hand on the little clock goes round and round... Ding! Results are ready!

Q: What are the side effects of Dukoral?
A: Some people experience diarrhea or abdominal pain.

Right. 'Cause that makes sense...

Co-operation with others: needs improvement

2005-04-21T09:36:00.000-04:00

Stupid!

I bought my plane ticket from Glasgow to London last night. No problem. It was all quite simple. Today I tried to buy my train ticket from London to Edinburgh. Nope. No go. No can do. Why? Because my credit card has a non-UK billing address (duh!).

It's an e-ticket. They send me a reference number by e-mail. I quote the number on the day I travel, they check my ID and let me on.

It should be simple. It should, but it's not. First the stupid thing informs me that my postal code is not a valid UK post code. The fact that the country I selected from its list was Canada should be a dead giveaway that my address isn't in the UK, but that's beside the point. They don't need to send me anything, so what difference does it make?

Fine, I try over again, and this time plug in the hostel's address. So far, so good. Then I get to the billing section. I click the little button that says 'click here if your billing address is different than your mailing address'. Okay. It asks for my billing address. Again, I select Canada from the pulldown list of countries. It helpfully advises me that Canada is not in the UK. It then informs me that we will be unable to complete the transaction because I am refusing to co-operate.

If I don't book the train until I get there, it's going to be much more expensive.

Grr. Argh.

On a related note, train fare from Glasgow or Edinburgh to London is £90. From London to Glasgow/Edinburgh, on the other hand, is £24. Riddle me that one, Batman!

Planes, tranes & automobiles

2005-04-20T21:15:00.000-04:00

Congratulations to me! I have just purchased my plane ticket from Glasgow to London.

Why is it that the train, which takes five hours, costs £90, whereas the plane, which takes just over an hour, costs £34? The bus is only £6, but it takes more than nine hours!

Set a course for elsewhere

2005-04-20T09:29:00.000-04:00

Not that I'm going to Italy any time soon... If I were, though, I think I'd stay at the Navigator. It sounds like a classy, welcoming place.

BugEurope Review
Hostelz.com Review

Good news for me

2005-04-19T16:34:00.000-04:00

I have a fairly good insurance plan through work. I knew it included some travel coverage, but I wasn't sure what. I finally checked into it today.

My health insurance covers me while I'm away, so the only extra insurance I need is for things like lost luggage and missed flights. I took care of that today. It was much cheaper than it would have been if I'd needed medical coverage as well.

I'm fully covered as far as shots and vaccinations go. I'll have to pay for them and then wait to be reimbursed. I won't get my money before I leave on my trip, but I will get it back eventually.

Wow, this entry was seriously deficient in sarcasm! Hmmm... How 'bout this then: have a look at the new pope, eh.

Ack!

2005-04-18T13:01:00.000-04:00

I leave in just over three weeks! That can't be right.

Blue skies

2005-04-16T11:49:00.000-04:00

I've finally booked all my hostels for my UK trip. For the most part, I booked the hostels that sounded the best, the ones with the highest ratings and the glowing reviews.

There was one exception: the Blue Sky hostel in Glasgow. I wasn't even planning to stay in Glasgow, but this place was just too good to pass up. It got terrible reviews, but the manager's responses to them are classic. He gets attitude, and he just can't let it slide. He has to respond. He gives as good as he gets.

Note to self

2005-04-16T00:09:00.000-04:00

While in London, visit Fenchurch station.

Who said it

2005-04-15T23:57:00.000-04:00

I may end up spending all my money,
But I'll still be alive!

It’s only a trifling matter

2005-04-15T14:16:00.000-04:00

I lost my health card a while back. I have to get a new one before the trip. Actually, I need to get it before I can get any of the shots and meds I need beforehand.

Luckily for me, the ministry of health opened a brand new office not far from where I work. So instead of begging for time off and trekking out to the burbs to queue up for endless hours of government bureaucracy, I just had to walk up the street on my lunch break.

As I walked up the street I passed a busker. He was playing his guitar, but not singing. The tune was familiar, but it took me a moment to place it. Pretty girl on the hood of a Cadillac, yeah...

I laughed all the rest of the way to the ministry office. When I got there, the place was empty. Well, no. There were about 10 employees milling about, looking for ways to pass the time. I was finished in no time flat.

On the way back I passed two angry drunken buskers murdering Nothing Else Matters.

Tell me where to go

2005-04-14T13:04:00.000-04:00

Okay, all you world-travellers out there, tell me where to go. I want interesting ideas of places to go and things to do while I'm in London and Edinburgh. And don't give me a bunch of 'go to the museum' crap! Did you think I had culture? Class? Nope. Got none.

So far I've got plans to go to this place while I'm in London. The rest is all up in the air.

Planning, dreaming, avoiding work...

2005-04-14T10:49:00.000-04:00

This week hasn't been busy, so I've spent a bit of time planning my trip.

The India trip is relatively easy:

get money (half a check)
get shots
get visa (check)

Aside from that sort of preparation work, all I really have to do is show up. The trip is planned out for me so I don't have to worry about what to do, where to stay, where to eat, what to see, blah blah blah.

But...

After I leave Calcutta, I have an eight-day layover in the UK. That I have to plan. Where to go, what to do, what to see, where to eat... It's not remotely surprising that there are a gazillion hostels in London to choose from; however, it's a bit of a shock to learn that there are almost as many in Edinburgh. And there are 19 on the Isle of Skye! That's kind of weird, no?

So now I'm trying to come up with a plan. It's fun. I think I'm most looking forward to hiking in Scotland.

From the filthy, stinky, sweaty, crowded streets of Calcutta to the wide open spaces and coastal breezes of the Isle of Skye. From daytime highs of 40 degrees to nighttime lows barely above freezing. That's toque weather! From polluted streets to... er... wait... According to BBC weather atmospheric pollution on the Isle of Skye is quite high. What's up with that?

I'm looking forward to visiting my old housemate in London, assuming she ever checks her e-mail. I'm excited about visiting Scotland. I'm a bit apprehensive about India, but in a good way. I'm looking forward to the whole trip, but somehow none of it seems real yet.

I don't think any of it's going to sink in until I'm actually on the plane.

Fun at the Indian consulate

2005-04-13T14:41:00.000-04:00

We had to go get our visas for India this morning. A group of us went together. We had to wait for more than an hour to submit our applications. It was entirely uneventful. Well, almost...

I lost my little ticket-number thing. How? I don't know. I snuck in with another girl whose number was right after mine and all was well.

Oh, and...

What does it mean: exact change?*

What is this a bus? What kind of place doesn't have change? For that matter, what kind of place doesn't take debit? Hello! We are still in Canada, are we not?

*A bunch of points for the first person who can tell me where that quote comes from.

Passport drama, part the not-related-to-this-blog

2005-04-13T12:30:00.000-04:00

When I was younger I spent a summer working in Germany. It was good. Happy fun. La la la.

Eventually, the time came for me to return home to Canada. By that point, I'd accumulated enough stuff that I couldn't carry it all at once. I took my carry-on bags and stowed them in a train station locker near the hostel I stayed at in my last night in Germany. Then I took my luggage and hauled it to the Frankfurt airport. I checked my stuff in and then headed back to the other end of the city to retrieve the rest of my crap.

I got back to airport and proceeded to the appropriate gate. The attendants asked for my boarding pass, which I gave them. Then they asked for my passport. No problem. It's... um... er... crap... I jumped out of the queue and began rummaging through my backpack. I emptied the contents onto the floor. I up-turned my crammed-full shopping bag onto the floor. No luck.

Wait. I didn't! No, surely not. I couldn't have. I wouldn't have. Did I?

I had packed my passport into my luggage, which had been thrown into the plane's hold two hours previous. Oops.

I confessed my error to the attendant, who was somewhat bewildered. He called his co-worker over and I explained my story again. Pretty soon all the attendants had gathered around and were staring at me and at each other in utter disbelief. I had to tell my little tale to each of them, one by one.

Finally, somebody called a manager over. In typical German fashion, he informed me, You should not have done this.

I know. I'm sorry.

Why, he demanded in English, would you have done such a foolish thing?

I'm sorry; it was an accident, I repeated for the 8,642nd time.

Look, he informed me in German, you must not do this.

Exasperated, I responded (also in German), I didn't do it on purpose!

Up 'til this point, everybody had been reacting as though I were a Canadian citizen trying to board a flight to Canada. Suddenly, they stopped dead in their collective track. They all stared at me, open-mouthed. The pause was uncomfortably long. They gawked at me. They looked at each other. Finally, one of them timidly ventured, You are German?

No, no, no. I'm Canadian. I am a Canadian citizen, trying to get on a flight to Canada. I have accidentally packed my passport into my luggage, which is currently in the hold of that plane there.

They sent luggage handlers out to search for my bags. Since my luggage was checked in so early, though, it was at the bottom of a very full hold. It could not be retrieved without completely unpacking the plane.

After much thought, the manager decided to let me on the plane. You must retrieve your luggage when you get back to Edmonton, and go through customs to show it to the attendants there.

Fine. No problem. Whatever. Thank you.

And, he oh-so-helpfully advised me, you must never do this again.

Right.

Fast forward eight hours. The Edmonton Internation Airport. I haul my luggage off the conveyor belt and dig through it to find the passport. I get it out and queue up for the customs desk.

After half an hour's wait, I get to the desk. The man looked at my passport and laughed. You're Canadian. You don't have to come through customs. Next!

Grr. Argh.

God does love a good joke

2005-04-11T15:20:00.000-04:00

Well. It's official. God hates me. There's no other possible explanation.

There are two groups of people going to India: one in May and another in July. There are about 25 people going all told, but I didn't know who was going on which trip. Yesterday I learned that the May trip (the one I'm going on) consists of the two leaders, one other guy and nine girls.

And they look to be some very girly girls. In fact, I know one of them to be the Girliest Girly Girl alive.

So now you're probably thinking 'Ohmygosh! How could she say that? That's awful!'

But, really, I'm sure you're fine — you know, on your own. You're probably a super-nice person. (No, please don't cry.) One at a time, I'm sure we'd have a swell time together. Honestly. (Oh, for frig's sake! Stop the infernal crying. And wipe your nose.) It's just sort of the whole agorafemiphobia* thing I've got going on.

Put a bunch of women together in a room (particularly a bunch of Christian women) and suddenly all rational thought gets defenestrated. (I love that word!) It's all babies and weddings and Bridget Friggin' Jones and femenine** hygiene products and recipes. Inevitably, somebody's going to start crying.

Okay, so there are three guys on the trip: the two leaders and one other. Now, I suspect that the two leaders will stick together quite a bit. That leaves me with one guy to hang out with. He's a good guy. He can sarcas with the best of them. So far, so good, right?

I've actually lived with this particular guy, so I know a bit about him. He very much values his alone time. He won't get much of that in Calcutta, so I imagine he'll be spending every spare minute locked up in his room on his own.

Somebody pointed out that one of the leaders met his girlfriend on last year's trip (she was there as a volunteer as well). He said that maybe the same'll happen to me. Oh great! That's something to look forwards to: maybe I'll meet a lovely woman.

Ugh.

Can I get my money back? I've changed my mind.

*agorafemiphobia: [noun] the fear of large groups of women.
**It would seem I can't even spell feminine right!

What do you mean you'll give me money?

2005-03-24T10:16:00.000-05:00

All of a sudden everybody at work knows about my trip. They're all asking questions. What am I doing? Where am I going? How long? Why?

They're also making fundraising suggestions. As in intra-office fundraising... As in they might be willing to contribute...

I don't like this fundraising thing. Well, not when it comes to raising money for myself. I would have no trouble raising funds for the trip if I weren't going. Does that make sense?

But I am going. So, all of a sudden, asking for money seems ridiculously selfish. Why do I need their money more than they do? And yet, they might just be offering. Earlier in the week I posted about how hard it was for me to ask for money, and it resulted in at least one person giving me money. This whole thing is really uncomfortable.

I dreampt up a fantastic idea for a fundraiser the other night. No, I mean that literally: it came to me in a dream. A fifty/fifty draw! Tickets would be $2 each (or something). Winning ticket takes half the pot and the rest goes to cover the cost of my trip.

The guys at work suggested the same thing before I even mentioned it. I like the idea, since it isn't quite a flat-out demand for cash. It gives people the opportunity to get something in return.

I don't know. We'll see. I'll keep you posted.

Gimme your money, please

2005-03-22T09:26:00.000-05:00

I've been procrastinating. I need to write letters to raise funds for the trip. I didn't think it would be difficult, but it is. What do I say?
________________________________

Dear friends, family and people I barely know:

Please give me money so that I can go to the other side of the world and volunteer to work with people you've never met. In exchange for your generosity, you will earn the right to behave smugly.

A donation of $25 will entitle you to one day of smugness. For only $175 (Canadian), you will earn an entire week of smugness. I will present you with a certificate somewhat akin to a get-out-of-jail-free card. When somebody berates you for acting like a smug jerk, you will proudly show them the card proclaiming your right to behave thusly. Your accuser will then kneel before you and beg forgiveness. Unless, of course, he has a Smugness Entitlement card too. Then you're on your own.

Additionally, you will receive my undying gratitude, covering the same period of time as the Smugness Entitlement card.

Sincerely,
sic
_________________________________

See? Do you see why I don't want to do this? It's no fun. It's humiliating and unpleasant. I'd rather just pay for the whole trip myself. Except I can't, goshdarnit.

Maybe instead of going to India, I'll just go to Indiana for a couple of weeks. Surely there's some poor folks there in need of assistance.

PS: If for some reason this letter actually inspires you to swing a couple bucks my way, go to http://www.freedomizeindia.com and click the 'donate' button. In the 'payment for' box, enter my initials (they're sic, in case you hadn't guessed). Canadian taxpayers will get a tax receipt for all donations above $20. Your Smugness Entitlement card will be mailed out.

Passport drama, part the fourth

2005-03-16T12:52:00.000-05:00

I'm back.

The whole process was quicker and more successful than I could have hoped. It was, however, every bit as bound up in red tape as the laws of comedy dictate.

I walked into the passport office to discover 12 people ahead of me in the pre-check queue. The office was hot enough to fry a block of tofu on the floor and as dry as my father's wit. Boy, I sure was glad I brought that can of ginger ale with me. I reached into my bag and pulled it out. I was about to crack it open when a voice screamed 'NOOOOOOOOOOOOO!' The security guard was shaking his pencil at me in disapproval. 'No drinks in the passport office'.

When I got to the pre-check desk, the woman looked over my form and assigned me a number. I made a bee-line for the corridor outside so I could drink my ginger ale. Of course, it occurred to me that bringing a can instead of a bottle was pretty stupid. If I opened it, I'd have to finish the whole thing before going back into the office to wait my turn.

Eventually my number flashed onto the screen and I approached the passport-issuing desk. The woman glanced at the photocopy of my driver's licence and advised me that I had done it wrong. I had photocopied only one side of the licence. But the instructions that came with the application form didn't say anything about copying both sides. She laughed at my foolishness and informed me that there was information on both sides, so any idiot would know to copy both sides. But the only information on the back is the expiry date. She shook her head, clearly amused at my astonishing ignorance. The form, she patiently said, required the date of issue of the driver's licence, so how [please, for the love of pete, tell us how] could I fail to understand that they would want to see the photocopy of the date of expiry as well? It's just so obvious!

That was the last time she looked at my driver's licence. She didn't actually need it for anything. I had already put the licence number on the form when I had filled it out. That was all she needed. When the process was complete, she very helpfully shredded the copy I had made. You know, to prevent it from falling into the wrong hands...

I drank my ginger ale in peace as I walked back to the office.

Passport drama, part the third

2005-03-16T10:40:00.000-05:00

Wish me luck; I'm going in!

If you don't hear back from me within the next 72 hours, please contact the Canadian goverment, the Associated Press, my parents and Thermoman. Notify them that I am being held captive at the Passport Canada office on Victoria Street in Toronto. It is entirely possible that I will:

be trampled to death by the masses;
suffocate to death in the fight for the limited quantities of oxygen available in the waiting area; or
die of sheer boredom.

Of course, it's also possible that I will be flogged to death for failing to wait until the sun is in the correct point in the sky on the second Tuesday of the week when the Oilers return to their former glory in a month beginning with the letter 'ی' before signing all my application forms in pentuplicate.

Crap. I knew I forgot something.

I'll see you on the other side.

Um, okay...

2005-03-08T14:50:00.000-05:00

I spoke to my boss. I ran into him in the kitchen and so I took the opportunity to ask him if he had a few minutes this afternoon to talk. He asked me to give him a brief synopsis. 'Summer plans', I said. He asked me to elaborate slightly. 'I need to take three weeks of vacation all at once in order to go to Calcutta to work in Mother Theresa's hospices', I responded.

His response was predictable. He laughed, shook his head and said 'ooooooookay'.

A few minutes later he called me into his office. He asked for some details of what and when and that sort of thing. He said it would be fine if (and only if) New Chick could work the day shift for the time I'm gone.

Somehow I walked away from his office with permission to go, his respect and a new weekly reposibility. And yet I still spend the vast majority of my time writing sarcastic drivel.

[shakes head and goes downstairs for coffee]

Yikes!

2005-03-08T13:35:00.000-05:00

I have to talk to my boss this afternoon. While I am entitled to three weeks of vacation per year, taking them all at once is an unwritten no-no. In fact, it might even be a written no-no. I don't know where it'd be written. My employment offer letter, maybe? I still have it somewhere. I think...

Whatever.

I need to ask him for permission to do this. He could conceivably deny me such permission. He could also try to pressure me to cut my vacation time off and come straight back to work after leaving Calcutta.

I should maybe see what hear what he actually has to say before freaking out about what he might say, eh?

Rough plan

2005-03-03T13:27:00.000-05:00

I know. It's been a while.

It has taken me this long to figure out what I'm doing. I'm still not sure, but a plan is in the works. I don't think I can do the full trip. It's four weeks. Plus I know me and I know I'm going to need some time on my own afterwards. I have to go off for a bit and do my own thing.

If I go to India for one and a half weeks, and then go off on my own for another week and a half, I'll use up all my vacation time for the year in one go. At least I won't have to take any unpaid leave, though. I'm thinking I'll leave Toronto with the rest of the team on the 11th of May. I'll stay in Calcutta until the 21st or 22nd.

If this can be done within the context of the planned trip, that's great. If not, then I'll see what I can do about going on my own.

Once I leave Calcutta, I'll head to London for a few days of hanging out with my super-cool former roommate. Then a few days in Edinburgh bumming around on my own. Then this.

Then back home to Toronto, my dogs, my house, my job, my life...

Passport drama, part the second

2005-03-02T16:03:00.000-05:00

Hey, here's a spiffy idea for you. Why don't make me look as bad as you possibly can. Then you can charge me $20 for the privilege.

Gee, thanks.

Passport drama, part the first

2005-03-02T15:02:00.000-05:00

You're no longer allowed to smile in passport photos. Apparently, only terrorists smile. If you see people smiling as they walk around the office, you should shoot them. Clearly, they're up to no good.

Oh

2005-02-04T09:35:00.000-05:00

I just thought of something.

To go on this trip, I'm going to have to take time off work. (No, that isn't the part I hadn't thought of yet, silly...) I was planning to use two weeks of vacation time and request a four-week leave of absence. I'd be paid for the first two weeks, but I wouldn't get anything for the following four.

I think I can deal with that. There are certain bills that need to be paid whether I'm here or not, but there are others that will drop if I'm gone. I'll still have to make my car payments for the time I'm away. My car insurance, on the other hand, I may be able to suspend while I'm out of the country. I should be able to sublet my room while I'm gone, but I'll have to get a puppy-sitter. If I combine the two, I can probably get about half rent in exchange for s0me of the puppy-looking-after duties.

All in all, I can live without four weeks' pay. I think I can. It has just dawned on me, though, that I'll be sacrificing my bonus.

Where I work, we make a base salary plus bonuses. Our bonuses can account for roughly half of our income. They are paid out in two lump sums: one for the first half of the year and one for the second half. In order to qualify for bonus, the entire period must be worked. By taking a four-week leave, I won't qualify for bonus for the first half of the year.

Blink. There went a fifth of my annual income. (Apologies to those who read this earlier. I'm usually quite good at math. Honestly...)

And that's on top of the four unpaid weeks.

That's a lot of money.

The resolution of issue number two

2005-02-01T09:12:00.000-05:00

Issue number one
Re-work blog: check

Issue number two
Crap! Crap, crap, crap. My passport. Haven't looked at it in a while. Think it expires before the trip. Crap. Must get new one.

Shouldn't be a problem, right? Wrong.

I need a guarantor. Canadian citizen and resident. Member of certain select group of professions: doctor, lawyer, engineer, professor, pastor... Somebody I've known for at least two years.

Crap. I know several people who fall into the approved categories. I haven't known any of them for two years. I've known my pastors for a year and a half. Maybe they'd lie. Right. Crap.

Hmm... I'll look up the criteria for a guarantor. Maybe they've dropped it to one year. Maybe I'll be reminded of somebody I've forgotten to think about. Maybe pigs will fly. Crap.

What's that? Right there at the bottom of the list? Veterinarian, eh? Sweet! Saved by Beandog's health issues.

What's next on the list?

The re-rebirth of Beandog

2005-02-01T08:36:00.000-05:00

Hmm... I wish I could remember what I wrote here yesterday before my computer ate it. I have a feeling it was good. Crap! Oh well.

I'm thinking about going to India this spring. The purpose of the trip is to spend three weeks volunteering for the Missionaries of Charity, the organisation started by Mother Theresa. Frankly, the idea scares me. It's completely unlike anything I've done before.

I was feeling pretty torn up about whether to go or not, so I held a vote. I didn't want to colour the issue with details, though, so I didn't offer any. I asked people one single question:

Should I stay or should I go?

I waited for the votes to flood my In Box. I received a total of eleven before declaring the polls closed. One gave a conditional no. Ten opted for an unconditional go. At that point, I figured I had no choice but to at least make an effort.

Thus far, I have taken the all important first step: modifying this blog for use as a travelogue. I'm going to document my efforts for ~~future generations~~ ~~your amusement~~ no particular purpose at all. If I'm successful, I'll then document my journey.

I have a few issues to resolve before I'll know for sure if I can go, but I'm working on them.

I talked to a doctor, who told me that with increased levels of asthma meds, I should be fine for a few weeks.
My annual bonus is due in a few weeks. I'd prefer to talk to my boss about taking a leave of absence after he decides how much I'll be getting.
I'll have to take an unpaid leave, so it could potentially be a very career-limiting move.
I'll have to sublet my room, arrange for somebody to look after my household responsibilities and find a puppy-sitter.
I'll have to deal with all the paper-work and logistics of everything.

Aside from the whole leave of absence thing, it's not insurmountable, but it is work. I'm working on it.

But I told the guys co-ordinating the trip that I don't work with babies. I draw the line at breakable humans.

The rebirth of Beandog

2005-01-31T18:15:00.000-05:00

I wrote a whole thing here, but it's gone. Stupid network connectivity issues.

More to follow...

Thanks for stopping by

2005-01-17T15:13:00.000-05:00

Dear Reader,

Unofortunately, I don't live here anymore. I'm trying to regain some of my misplaced anonymity.

If you found your way here by my profile, you should back up and click on either the Rally or the Truth.

If you found your way here any other means, you may visit me at here. You may also sit and wonder about any other blogs I may have; however, you may not visit them. The reason is simple: I probably need to talk about you in front of complete strangers.

Sincerely,
Beandog's Mama
(aka sic)

Beandog

2004-11-08T23:51:00.000-05:00

sleeping_dino.JPG
Originally uploaded by beandog.

Beandog spends his days guarding the Stinky Monkey. I'm still not sure whether he's protecting him, or protecting everything/everybody else from him. Either way, he earns his rest.