Ticholld Pink

2011-11-09T12:31:00.001-05:00

Is anyone actually reading this shit, or should I even bother writing?

city mouse country mouse

2011-11-08T13:16:00.005-05:00

As I went to sleep last night, I could hear some sort of canine howling, as I had all week. It was a new sound to this site, and that worried me a bit. The U.E.L. are too small for cougars I reminded myself, so, does that mean that they are too small for wolves and coyotes too?
Probably not.
With nothing much to do about the situation, I quietly fell asleep hoping that I would not be woken up by some gigantic beast ripping through the walls of my tent with it's tremendous and sharp claws. Leaving me without even a moment to grab any of the weapons that I sleep with, to clumsily, but determinedly, and without hesitation stab it, and engage in a mortal combat. I wondered, would the animal whimper, and leave, upon being stabbed? Or would it rebound and attack again? It amazes me how animals can fight so fiercely, as though they are unaware that this could result in death. Maybe it is because of that realization that they approach every fight as though it could be their last. I double checked to make sure that my (incredibly sharp and pointy) scissors were in place in the right-hand pocket of my tent. I had mentally prepared myself for having to stab a human attacker, but an animal is a different story, they have power and practice on their side. They could not be reasoned with (like a rapist?).
Around 2:30 am, I was awoken by a rustling that was coming from outside my tent. By which I mean ON the outside of my tent. Slowly I crept my head out from the inside of my sleeping bag so that I could hear better. This was not the sound of falling leaves that I had previously mistaken for animals. But this was also not a large animal, I could hear no footsteps. The fluttering was coming from all around my tent. The back, the side, the plastic bag in my vestibule. My heart started beating faster. Did I dare shine a light on it? I found my phone and used it to illuminate the sidewall. Now I could see impressions half way up the wall, and then again lower down. My half asleep brain immediately turned to ghosts. This was definitely a ghost. There was a ghost outside of my tent, and it would eat me if I went outside to look. I should just crawl back into the sleeping bag and stop making noise, and then it would go away. That's how ghosts work right?
Silly girl, you're a scientist. It is not a ghost. It is not even a large animal. Find your headlamp and go investigate. But the last thing that I wanted to see is a pair of red eyes staring back at me. Just do it, you coward! I sat with my headlamp pointed through the mesh of my tent, into the vestibule for a solid ten minutes before the sound returned. I unzipped the mesh door and waited for it to come back again. And finally it did. Scurrying into my vestibule, came the biggest mouse that you've ever seen (possibly a vole). Upon seeing it, I let out a tremendous screech, which seemed to permanently scare of the little buddy away.
I then ziplocked my applewood smoked cheddar (the strongest smelling food in my tent) in with Pnin and Loose End, and returned to my fitful sleep, promising myself that I wouldn't let my imagination run away with itself so quickly the next time my home is attacked by a worm, or firefly, or even a grasshopper.

Showering

2011-11-07T14:38:00.005-05:00

Showering has presented an interesting conundrum. For the first month, I got up early, and was organized enough to dart over to the gym showers to have a quick rinse before classes. I am petrified that I will smell like feet, or dirt, or old sweat. That people will be able to tell that I haven't come from crisp sheets and indoor plumbing. When things started to get cold though, this stopped being so amusing, as I would wear my shower shoes back and forth to my bike-locker, rather than carting extra shoes with me, and I would freeze in the process. Besides, who wants to strip down to their skivvies first thing in the morning when they're still trying to shake their bodies back up to 37 degrees? Evening showers were inevitable anyway, as I am never on time for anything, something had to get cut from the morning routine.
So I started showering after classes, and didn't think anything of it. Until this particular day, of October 6th, when someone had had the gall to use MY shower. I hummed and hawed, paced back and forth, and marveled at their full bush, until they were finally done.
As she walked towards me, we both realized that we knew each other. "Oh, were you working out?" she said "I didn't see you in there." Fuck. The UBC gym, or 'bird coop' as it is called, is tiny, no way that I could lie. I hadn't entertained the idea of running into someone I knew while I was in camping-mode until just now. And, really, I should have, because, I am a terrible lier, I hate it, and can never make up a story on the spot. I'm also bad at retorts, and never find a good comeback until days later, at which point I kick myself thinking "if only....". I should have had a plan for exactly this event.
"Yeah, I'm going out with some people, thought I'd grab a quick shower first" I said. Who would believe such idiocy? Not me. Neither did she. She wanted more details. I didn't have any. "Don't you have a shower where you're staying? Don't they let you shower there?" "yeah, of course..." "why do you keep shower stuff on campus then?". Finally she had mercy and with a skeptical look on her face returned to brushing her beautiful long black hair. And I returned to picking fir needles out of my chantelle lace.

Gimme Shelter?

2011-08-13T13:52:00.004-04:00

As many of you know, I am going back to school in September. I've been toying with the idea of becoming a teacher for a long time now (some 13 or so years maybe?), and I'm finally going to give it a shot. This is an exciting time, but also a very stressful one, mainly due to financial restrictions that I will have to undergo in order to do this. I don't have much savings, since I am working an entry level job, and trying to pay off loans from my previous education. After tuition is paid, I will have somewhere around $1000 to live off of each month (that is if and when i ever get OSAP). This may seem like a lot, until you try to find housing in Vancouver. Even with roomates, the cheapest accommodation that I have found (that has a toilet, shower, stove, and is not a crackhouse) is still around $700/month. This doesn't leave much for anything more than food and transportation, with much of that food being cheap, overprocessed crap, because that is what you need to eat in order to keep costs down (unless you are growing your own food, but that kind of food security requires the ownership of land, or at least a plot in a community garden, neither of which are productive suggestions for my immediate needs (upon arrival in vancouver, and investigation into this issue, this was in fact, not possible)). I do not mean to complain about my financial 'hardships', as I know that they are small compared to those of others. Yes, I am still an overprivileged middle class girl with a way out, however, the reality is still that I need to choose between food and shelter. Or ask mommy and daddy for money.

*This was a post that I started while living in the comforts of the indoors, but was scared to publish, I have now decided to restrict viewership of my facebook, and hope that this limits visitors to my blog to those who understand what i am doing, and will not put my future job prospects in jeopardy.
**For the last year or so, I found it difficult to write, what is the point? what do i have to say that has not been said a hundred times before? why am i special? who really cares? i have decided that the issues that i am currently struggling with ARE interesting and have NOT been written about in excess. and perhaps my voice DOES matter. so now, i will attempt to relate a few interesting reflections to you, and hope that you do not find them to be too ordinary overdone. These posts may just be little snapshots, as versus a sequential and complete illustration of what is happening. Deal with it.

Ode to my Coffee Grinder

2011-01-13T10:50:00.004-05:00

O Coffee Grinder, how I have missed you
I rejoice in your return, my little burred friend
Woe be the agony of burnt pre-ground supermarket coffee that I drank in your absence
No more! I now delight in the rich freshness with which you fill the air

You were gone so long, two fortnights even!(whatever those are)
I began to worry that you would never come back to me.
Alas, it was not you who returned to me,
For the staff at the Green Beanery suck the big one and lost you, my little Zassenhaus.

Now you have been replaced with new Coffee Grinder
I cannot say that I miss you, V 1.0
For, I am easily distracted by the bright shinyness of new Coffee Grinder, and the powdery fine, even, grind that she produces
O Coffee Grinder, I must away now, for the celebration of your return has now commenced

apologies to any English majors that I have offended by not following any sort of rhyme or meter.
i really wish that i could have gotten a few 'nay's and 'perchance's in there.

In appreciation of women.

2010-11-03T11:38:00.010-04:00

I was riding in to work this morning, distracted by everything except my ride, saying hello to all the other cyclists who are tough enough to be cold-weather riders, when I saw a woman in a bright red dry-suit, walking down to her kayak at the lake. She was in her 70's, and didn't really look all that friendly, but she got me thinking about all of the women that I know. As some of you may have noticed, I like to ride bikes, a lot, and this is a sport that is dominated by men, even on the road, where the ratio of women:men is much higher then that on dirt, and infinitely higher then on the DH and park scenes. It has only been a recent development that I have had female friends, and it got me thinking as to why. It will come as no surprise to any of you that I was a huge 'tomboy' when I was little. I played with the boys, got in to fights with them, sent a few running home crying to their mommies. I had a purse, but carried rocks in it. As I grew up, I still felt closer to the boys then the girls, but society told me that this was not where my place was. Being stubborn, strong-minded, and not liking being told what to do, I fought this every step of the way. Starting in grade 1, we had to line up in front of the doors at the end of recess, and we were supposed to stand in two segregated lines. I did not appreciate this, went straight to the Principal's office to complain, and was granted special permission to stand in the boy's line with my best friend, Lucas. As I grew, I was cultured by mainstream society to befriend other girls. But I never felt connected to them. Maybe this was because I have an older brother, and wanted to be like him. Maybe it was because the qualities and work that are venerated by our society are those linked to men (the underappreciation of the housewife is beyond the scope of this discussion). Or maybe it is because women are cultured to chase after men, and value their own worth only as a couple, and this breeds competition and bitchiness between women, something that I did not much care for. Maybe it was just because I grew up in a home where my parents tried as hard as they could to raise my brother and I the same way. Or maybe it was purely because my interests fell more into the category of what boys did.

Recently however, I have found myself more interested in the friendship of other women. Perhaps it is because I have finally found a group of women to whom I relate, and are tough enough to keep up with me. Or maybe because I have realized that I gain more from communicating and sharing with other women then with men. In any case, I would like to take a moment to celebrate the women that I know.

First and foremost to all of the strong women in my family; including my mom who came to this country on a whim with a few dresses, bathing suites, and $5 sewn into the seam of her coat. She later got in trouble at work (as a high school art teacher) for wearing pants, in the SEVENTIES (emphasis being on the backwardness of things so late in the game). My mom's mom (my Omama), who was a single mother, and the Vice-Principal of a high school, and who also doesn't wear skirts. And then there is her Omama who started the first women's school in Czechoslovakia.

Then there is Alana Tintse, who I thought of immediately after seeing the kayaker. She is one of the toughest chics I know, she was one of the first people that I knew who rode a single-speed, she drove a truck, and refused her boyfriend's help to fix her bike, something that is very uncommon.

Carrie Cartmill, again, tough as nails. Not only does she ride the donut, she leads it, and then carried my ass through it when I decided to try it. As she has said, the boys might complain about how hard a ride is, but they're still never working as hard as the chics are. Not to mention all the women that not only ride, but win races when they have their periods. She made me smile when she asked to borrow my cassette tool, instead of going down the block to borrow one from her male-neighbour. There is something special and empowering about us girls sticking together, and learning from one another, rather then running off to the nearest boy. In addition to the fact that we have a way of explaining things that is encouraging rather then meant to undermine the learner. I could go on and on.

Cait Dmitriew, who, (in combination with CC) really drew the spotlight on how amazing cycling chics are. Whereas cycling boys are just regular boys who wear spandex, cycling chics are a different breed, and fight both societal stereotypes, as well as those of their own families in order to ride, something that I know Cait has dealt with. Once upon a time she simultaneously carried both of our 40 lb hiking packs out of the woods after I had injured myself and was unable to carry my own. She also runs marathons. Not half-marathons, or quarters, full ones. Oh, and there's that whole PhD, evolutionary biologist thing that she does on the side.

Elizabeth Graham, who builds both computers and bicycles, and who knows what else. Who I have yet to see loose an argument. She is the Queen of DIY, and has rebuilt walls, and reupholstered chairs in her spare time. If Carrie is the one who comes to me for bike fixing help, Liz is the one that I go to to learn from. She is utterly fearless. She was once (and then again, and again) called opinionated, and stated that if she were a man, no one would think twice about how she expresses herself. She is an intelligent woman, why should she have to bite her tongue?

Tabatha Soltay, who was my first friend to own realestate. She climbed the hierarchy in her chosen career path so quickly that she will soon run out of places to go. She practices what she preaches, living the green life to the fullest, and will always point out where others can improve. She is not afraid of the tough decisions, and of everyone I know, is possibly the most fabulous single lady out there.

Briana Illingworth, who has chosen cyclocross as her preferred cycling medium, one that is universally accepted as the toughest, most painful thing in the world. She has been provincial champion, but still has the humility to learn from others around her, something that I have yet to see a fast boy do. And who still has time to bake cookies in between.

Asheley Barson, who likely doesn't think twice about boys vs girls, because she's faster then all of them, and does it with a smile on her face too.

Emma Weichula, who runs the most successful cycling team in Ontario, making sure that everyone is ready when they have to be, and given a fresh bottle when they come through the feed zone (not a small feat with a team as large as ours). And who taught me how to be patient, pick a line, and ride the rocks.

Agnes Durlik. What can I say about Agnes; she is the craziest, freest, most emotional person I know, and that is a good thing. She is constantly striving for perfection, both professionally and personally. Always willing to try something new. Never afraid of making a mistake, but always learning from it.

Lastly, to the department secretary, who has only met me twice, yet knew my full name, position, and that I don't come in every day. I have no idea how she knew this, since I work in the basement, and her office is on the second floor.

There are so many more that I have not mentioned: Kris Lake, Rachael Mirvish, Liz D'Amico, The Lottridges, Thea Lim, Sheila Morris, Tammy Thorne, the list could go on forever. To all the women who have pushed boundaries and stood up for themselves, at the risk of being called a bitch, or cunt, or ball-buster, for doing things that are generally accepted for a man to do.

I am surrounded by strong women, and am happy that I have finally begun to notice and appreciate it. It encourages me to know that they are there, and I strive to live up to the high standards that they have set for me.

Time to go buy a safety vest.

2010-10-25T21:22:00.004-04:00

I couldn't believe what I read, Rob Ford has won. Still, this was just facebook, maybe people were exaggerating, it was only 8:30, how could the polls already be counted? I checked the city of Toronto website, and there it was again. I sat here staring blankly at the screen for a solid five minutes, I felt like vomiting, I could not believe that Toronto would do this. I believed in Toronto. When everyone else talks trash about my city, I defend it. I love this city. I refused to believe that we would elect someone like Ford. But it happened. Apparently love really is blind. We elected a smug, racist, homophobic, car-loving, arts-hater. I've always had faith that people would do the right thing, if only they were informed enough. I've invested my life's work into it. But here was proof as to otherwise, staring me right in the face. I feel like crying. What am I supposed to do with my ideals now? How am I supposed to believe in the good of others now? How can I believe that change is possible now? If only we had elected Smitherman, I would have felt just a teeny tiny bit better. At least he's not an outright bigot. How could Toronto do this? How could there be enough hate here? I can't believe that it's hate, I can't. The optimist in me must still be alive. Will my naive idealism continue though, even after it has been statistically proven to me that I am surrounded by assholes?
So tell me, Toronto, how are we going to make lemonade out of this one?

Score one for cyclists?

2010-08-24T21:31:00.003-04:00

I was plogging along the lakeshore, being squished over towards the unrideable, pottholy, parallel sewer grated portion of the road by a slow moving mini-van, so I decided to pull in behind him, since we were both going at the same speed, and I wouldn't be slowing anyone down this way. Immediately, I hear a loud, aggressive honk and some swearing behind me. I rolled my eyes. Stop being such a hater, I'm not doing anything to you, I could pass this mini-van if I wanted to, but I didn't want to make anyone angry, and start a race, just let me sit here, where it is safe. The mini-van starts to move faster, I pull towards the right, wheels behind me squeal, a car pulls out beside me, if this was a cartoon, he'd be on two wheels. He passes me and yells to watch where I am going. Pulls in front of me, and starts swerving from side to side so that it is impossible for me to find a line around him. At the red light, I pull in front of the bus in the right hand lane. This was likely highly annoying for the bus, since I hadn't realized that it was not in a special bus-stop area, but still in the lane. The bus didn't seem to care, and I was happy to be away from that crazy man. Of course he passes me soon after the light, honking, and yelling at me that he was going to run me over next time he saw me. Well gosh golly, that sounds like a death threat now doesn't it? It would be really great to call the cops wouldn't it? This guy tried to run me off the road, and has a temper so bad that I thought that his head was going to pop off, but I hadn't noticed his licence plate, so what was I going to do, call the cops and describe some sort of beigey sedany vehicle with a redfaced man in it? Well soon enough he passed me again and started screaming obscenities, and other random bits about the red lighted T-intersection that I had rolled through. I couldn't believe my luck, thank you asshole for not knowing where to draw the line. AFHN 669. Now the question came for real, should I call the cops? What's the number even? Was it worth it? Did I really want to waste my time with this crap? I started thinking about all the times that people were jerks, and there was nothing really that I could do except go home, write unsatisfying angry complaints into the internetsphere, and generally feel helpless, marginalized, and disregarded by society. And just then I saw him in the beer store parking lot. He started to scream at me, something about "come over here bitch, lets go bitch" etc etc. Did he really want me to pull over so that he could fight me? A girl? A cyclist? Wow, this guy has some problems. That really made my decision for me. I pulled over, and tried to dial 0 to find out the number for the local precinct, but apparently that number doesn't exist anymore (411?), so I slowly punched in 9-1-1. I was calling the cops, *I* was calling the cops. Not only did they send a cruiser over to take my statement, but they sent one over to the beer store parking-lot where I had seen him pull in. It was a lone woman. Excellent. Not that female cops can't be as much, if not more of an aggressive jerk as a male cop, but there was less of a chance of being patronized, and called 'honey'. The license plate number seemed to be accurate, and was registered to someone who lived nearby. Let me tell you, I rode away with a huge smile on my face. My voice had been heard. I had tasted justice, and it tastes sweet. I believe that the word for the elation that I was feeling is called empowerment.
I rolled off into the sunset, and finished my trip in 91 minutes, including incident report, a call from a telemarketer, and my mom.

The results speak for themselves.

2010-07-14T18:21:00.003-04:00

Yesterday I spent the day working. The WHOLE day, all of my waking hours. I was feeling lethargic to begin with, and wasn't really up for actually DOING anything, so I figured that I might as well get in some hours (I finally made up those hours from two weeks ago when I took a day off after the 24). Perhaps as a direct result of that, I woke up this morning in a bad mood, I'm talking miserable, 3 points away from jumping off a bridge. My job sucked, all of my friends seemed to be posting about how awesome their lives are (new labs, PhD's, new post-docs, amazing jobs, good pay, travel, beautiful homes), and my glass began draining from half-empty, to all dried up. I was all set to sit down with my computer, and start all over again, mindlessly entering data, while I waited for something to come on to the CBC (my one station, I have not yet figured out how to download), when Miss Cartwheel called and decided that our ride would take place immediately.
It's really amazing what some physical exertion, and the company of an awesome friend can do for one's mood. At the beginning of the ride I was still a huge grumpypants, and spent most of my time trying to adjust my bike and make it work (while Carrie didn't complain at all about the 85 times that I re-adjusted my seatpost). But soon my worries shed away, I forgot to be miserable, and I started smiling. It is highly possible that I am addicted to endorphins, nevertheless, I think that I am going to try to minimize the days spent wholly in front of a screen, and try to insert a bit of activity into each one, even if I don't want to at the time.

Ride notes: I rode the Giant on the trail for the first time in a few years. It's a bit heavy and slow on the uphills, but damn is it ever quick on the downhills, and I wasn't even pushing it that hard, since I only had one grip (couldn't find the other, and the Kona is at Wayne's, so I couldn't salvage off of it). I may start riding it again, especially at 3stage, even though it is a bit small for me.
Also, Carrie's beautiful, sculpted, golden legs, really are what dreams are made of. <3 <3. It's a good thing that she wanted me to ride up front, otherwise, I may have been too distracted to actually ride. She didn't ride like a roadie AT ALL, which meant that I didn't get any of the breaks that I thought I would get. Oh well, I'll know to bring my A-game next time.

Creepy Caretaker

2010-07-12T18:31:00.004-04:00

When I started work here, the caretaker introduced himself to me, and I made the effort to be nice to him. I smiled and said hello, and made small talk about the weather. But then he started pausing in front of my office every time he drove by on his floor buffer. I work in the basement of a poorly made, poorly lit, crumbling, 1970's industrial building, where no one leaves their office doors open, and the halls are desolate. But I leave my door open because the herbarium was put into an old mechanical room, adjacent to a pump room, who's door is five feet away from me, and at times, the odour can be overwhelming. So, C.C. took to sitting outside my door and staring at me. I took to wearing turtlenecks and a scowl. I decided to stop making small talk with him, because he makes me uncomfortable. However, I felt like a huge bitch, because he looks after the building that I use, cleaning the floors, halls, bathrooms, and emptying out the garbage, so I started talking to him again. Well today he decided to come in to my office under the premise of pushing a broom around the floor, in spite of the fact that we take care of this room ourselves due to the massive amounts of dirt and plant matter that end up on the floor, which is clearly exemplified by the broom that we keep by the door. Not only was his broom pushing completely useless, as he just moved the bits around to other locations, but I had clearly said 'it's ok' three or four times, as I want to minimize my contact with him, and I feel uncomfortable being alone in a room with him. But no, he pushed his way in, made a mess, spent more time snooping and standing around questioning me about my bike and my riding of it (which he found after pushing his way past me), and generally invaded my personal space. I guess that I'll have to return to being a cold bitch, with a closed door. I hate feeling like this; disempowered, scared, and forced to question the motives of others.

My list of complaints, July 7, 2010

2010-07-07T22:00:00.004-04:00

1. The trucker that wouldn't let it go that I ran a yellow at the Ontario Place intersection (his brakes were still on), and harrassed me all along Lakeshore this morning.
2. All THREE cars that pulled out of the perpendicular parking spots west of Lakeshore/Brown's Lines and nearly killed me.
3. The chromed out white 'super duty' pick up truck with the offroad tires that passed me and then immediately cut me off, at speed, to pull into a parking spot. You are a huge ass.
4. People who use the lakeshore path in the evening/at dusk, and don't wear blinky lights. Especially those that wear black and go down the wrong side of the path. And rollerbladers, you are not the shit, really (yes muscleman sans shirt, I am talking to you). And people who don't put blinkies on their dogs and hold them on really long leashes. Not cool.
5. The f*&@ing Honda minivan that came within an inch of my ass. You took my arm hairs with you. Second Honda minivan of the day trying to kill me. Both were blue. Maybe they were the same one?
6. Family stopped beside me at red light laughing at me. Your windows were open. I am not deaf.

Kind of made my day:
Homeless man lying spread eagle on his back on the rocks in front of Sunnyside pool (ie: most populated spot along the lakeshore) adjusting his balls.

As I Ride

2010-07-07T12:05:00.003-04:00

I think that everyone has a running dialogue going through their head as they ride. Usually these thoughts are hard to hold on to due to the lack of oxygen in my brain. So, at times, I am reduced to a blubbering neanderthal, with spit dripping down my chin, half-thoughts of general pain throughout my body, and an overriding desire for more speed. Sometimes I just like to look at the pretty birdies, and run into trees.
Today, I put some thought into my thoughts, and all the lies that I feed myself really amused me (goes back to my swimming days, when I would always tell myself that I was 100 m ahead of where I actually was, b/c what's another 100 m at the end?). It should be noted that I tell myself the same lies every time.
So here are my thoughts from today's ride:

(Starting at St. Claire/Spadina)
Haha, stupid bus, can't turn a corner.
Lets beat it.
GO! GO! GO!
Ouch, legs hurt, so tight, maybe you should warm up a bit?
No, lets just go really hard up that hill and then they'll feel better after, you can spin on the DH.
Faster! Faster! FASTER!!! yay, whee, hahaha!
Hey look, slow traffic, lets race with them. Just through the city, then you can chill for a bit and rest your legs once you get to the waterfront. You'll be warm by then, so easing off for a bit will help you go hard in the 2nd 1/2 (or 2nd 2/3rds as it actually is). That's how it works right? Go hard, be warm, spin out legs, go hard again? Yeah, that sounds right, lets go with that...
14 min's to lakeshore, good job, now how about we just keep this pace up until the cookie factory, that's practically the end already, which is just 16 min away, so really, you're practically there, so you should just keep going hard.
Ok, pedal pedal pedalpedalpedal.
ouch, everything hurts, my legs, my hamstrings, my knees, my calves, my back. i am SOOO gonna stretch tomorrow, for real for real. ok, lets just stretch out my calves for a minute right now. oh jesus! that feels so nice. but also ow ow ow.
lets use something that doesn't hurt. how about your core? lets use that (for a change) to pedal at a constant cadence. no. nonono. ouch, it hurts, i think that i'm giving myself a hernia. oh, hey, look, here we are. well, we're almost there now, just three more sections, so how about we pick it up now, thatta girl. stand up, wow, look at that, if you weren't completely leaning on your locked arms and your jutting shoulders, you could almost be going fast right now. yeah, f.u., i don't wanna. wahwhawah. yeah, whatever, cry me a river.
(15 minutes of silence pass, other then encouraging 'go go go's and 'faster faster faster' and other thoughts regarding traffic)
hey, look, you have 8 minutes left to make time (to Gears), and there's the Port Credit sign, wow, good job, you are SOOO AWESOME, you are so close it's not even funny, lets just sprint that shit out and then you can relax up mississauga road (this is something that never happens of course, since it is the last stretch to make up some time, also, it is a 7 km uphill/false flat, so I like to try to go fast.)
Wait a second, fuck, that's not the sign, that's a grocery store or something. What is that? Who fucking cares, how did you even believe that shit, the sign is still like 5 minutes away. Well, you don't have 5 minutes, how about we do it in 4. Blech, that sounds really hard. Fuck you, change gears, stand up, lets go, this isn't nappy time.
And swoosh, 'sauga road. How about that. Lets gear down now. Just for a second. Just for a secooooond....
Ahhh, oooohhhh, the feeling of feeling has returned. Ow, it hurts. Imma gonna eat a chocolate bar, and a muffin, and a bag of dorritos, and a cheese sandwhich, and a coffee, and a hagen-dasz, and a.... Well, now isn't the time for that, and you're gonna be super-fat if you eat all that, ew, all that refinement is just gonna wreak havock on your insides anyway. Stand up, it's hill time, pick up that cadence, what is this, you're never gonna go anywhere at that pace, and it's just gonna hurt more in 5 meters, dance bitch, lets go (reference to Phil Ligget commentary on talented climbers, as vs villain in old western shooting bullets at prisoner's feet, although it works both ways).
Aaaaaand again. (flops into standing position up one more hill)
Now we can chill, but just for a second. No, wait, there's another bike. Fuck you, I really wanted to spin out my terribly pained legs, but now I have to chase you, thank you very much. Fine.
Hello nice lady with crazy legs and nice ass, good to know that if I keep this up I'll still have some sweet sweet legs when I'm old...er.
Alright head up (thanks Ted), quit staring at your wheel, it's just gonna make you pass out and ride slow, or crash into someone coming out of their driveway. How about we look where we're going. There we go. Thatta girl, see, you still have energy left. Sooo muuuchh eneeerrrgyyy. No I don't, you can suck it, please shut up now.
Well, now we're almost there, which is good, because I grow weary in this opressive heat. Ooooh, a hose. I really wish I could stop, that looks so good. All cold, and refreshing. I could just go dance through that sprinkler for a minute, wouldn't that be nice? (fixates on finding a hose for the remainder of the ride) Maybe I'll just take off my helmet for a moment and pour some water on my head. Man, I hate doing this, especially in a white tank top, I feel so exhibitionist. Luckily no one is looking. Maybe it is the bike that repels their attention. Ooh, that feels nice. How sweet would it be if you could actually take a shower once you get there. I would do anything for a cold shower. A-N-Y-T-H-I-N-G. Well, obviously not, you melodramatic whinner, you wouldn't actually PAY to get a gym membership, now would you? That wouldn't even be a huge 'anything', just something simple, they'll even take it out of your paycheck. How's that for anything? Shut up, with the logic, I am hot and tired, I will use hyperbole if I want to.
Green light. Ok, you have like 500 m to go, you can do this. Yeah, just don't look. And turn those cranks, good job, aaattacckkk! (attempts to pedal spagghetti legs slightly faster). Aaannnnd cross that line. YAY!!! Victory is mine! All hail the champion!
(aaannd, Scene)

(Note: I tried to format the 'stage directions' and explanatory thoughts into different bracket types, but it didn't let me, so now everyone has the same brackets, and it is way less cool).

Race Time

2010-06-28T12:19:00.005-04:00

I am kind of disappointed with my performance at solstice. My laps were anything but quick (62, 72 (night), 73 (night), 70 (dawn), 70). I'm not sure how much this had to do with my lack of racing this year, probably a lot, or with my level of tiredness going into it, or with my strange inability to consume solids during the race. I am trying to be satisfied by the knowledge that even if I had cut 5 minutes off of each of my laps, and we would have gotten another lap in, we still would have been down a lap at the end.
I am considering racing Kelso in order to redeem myself. On a single speed of course, who wants to pay full price for a licence for one race?
Maybe I should get that converted soon...

I also mourn the loss of my Moka pot, as the heat from my little camping stove was too much for it to take. You shall be missed Moka pot. :(

geeky rant on conservation efforts

2010-06-11T17:02:00.004-04:00

This week was already shot, from having to attend metings (the scheduling of which changed several times), and having to remake our database, so I decided to take the extra time to learn stuff that is pertinent to the project. A radical concept, I know. I have countless (well, I'm sure that they could be counted, but lets not get all OCD now) manuals and reference web pages to sort through that I haven't made time for, as well as partner institutions to learn about. I think that I have finally grasped the scope of the project, and it is massive.
Things move slowely in the natural sciences. We aren't sexy like cancer, drugs, robots, geology, and the like, so although there are things that we would like to do, and try to do, sometimes they take awhile, because funding comes at longer intervals. But all over the world, there are obsessive, passionate, crazy people, who see the value of documenting life, so the work plods along. With the digital age, came the idea to upload data, images, notes, and maps. These projects are unevenly distributed, as there was no central push, rather methods came about as someone had the interest and time to work on a project. One group wanted a mapping system, others had taxonomic interests and uploaded high resolution images, you can find raw datasets elsewhere. I was hired to work on a project of a similar style, but this time with many of the components mixed together. Still though, it is a regional exercise (canadensys.net it's not actually up and running yet, they're waiting for data from people like me). However, there IS now a central organization involved, at the Global Biodiversity Information Facility who are trying to keep track of all of these projects, which are still usually funded regionally, and create a complete, useable dataset of the worlds organisms. It makes me proud to have chosen such an unmarketable discipline, because it has resulted in a real push towards the goal that we all desired, that is, the protection of biodiversity. All of the data is open-source, so anyone with an idea can work on it, and try to make something come from it. I guess that without funding to hire an additional workforce, you have to depend on people's willingness to just do it for free. I am really exited to see what this means for the future of the natural sciences.

2010 Cycling Manifesto

2010-06-01T13:12:00.003-04:00

As many of you have probably noticed, I have not been racing OCups this year. Apparently this has resulted in concern being expressed by many of my friends, teamates, and riding buddies (although several people have told me that they aren't altogether surprised, as I was never a 'real' racer anyway, not sure if I should be insulted or flattered by this). Thus, I have come here to explain and defend my decision. In no way is this meant to trivialize anyone else's decision to race, as much can be gained from it. However, I feel that I am loosing more then I am gaining at this point in my life. So let me begin with my justification.

I have never been one to train in the traditional sense. I enjoy riding, I enjoy pushing my limits and testing myself, and mostly, I enjoy learning new things. But damn, please don't ask me to do any sittups, I HATE exercising. That really should have been the first clue that racing really isn't for me. As Liz would say, I'm really very lazy at the root of it all. And as my old physiotherapist would say "you're not going to do it if it's not a game are you?". Although, in all fairness, I actually did consciously work on strengthening my body this winter, particularly my core, and legs, I just did it in a non-traditional sense, through DH-skiing (legs, butt, core, focus, endurance, fun), and holding and carrying heavy objects (you would really be surprised at what you can work on while doing laundry). I even did some fairly intense road training through most of April. So I was in pretty good shape come OCup #1, but every fiber of my being wanted to vomit at the thought of racing Mansfield, or worse, Albion. All that double track, and smooth featureless dirt. There's a reason that I'm not a roadie. So I put off getting a licence, and signing up, and just never got around to arranging for a ride until it was too late.

Alright, well, I'll do the Hardwood Canada Cup, I told myself. At least Hardwood is more of a challenge technically. So I arranged a way to get there to pre-ride. Immediately upon arrival, there were signs telling me that this was not for me. I was told that I would have to buy a full licence, that Expert-class racers are no longer allowed to use one day permits (which must be fairly new, as I remember several of my peers using one-days in Expert just two years ago). As I was only planning on doing a few OCups this summer (Kelso, and Buck mainly, since London is far, and I'm at a workshop this w/e during Midland), this would have resulted in each race having an additional $45 fee for me, just for insurance, something that I feel is tremendously outrageous. I went to do my pre-ride anyway. Yes, it was moderately technical, but not nearly technical enough (even when I took the singletrack at speed), I have been spoiled by long days spent up at 3stage, and it would still mainly just be a test of fitness. To add to that, I had a terrible experience with all of the other people. There was so much tension in the air. Everyone was nervous and twitchy, and incredibly rude. You would have thought that Saturday was the actual race day. Two things finally tipped the scales towards not racing, the first was when a fellow teamate didn't reply to my 'hi teamate' (we don't know each other, but we were both in kit), and when a Specialized team rider rudely barked that he was passing (in the double track), and then bashed his back wheel (wheel, not tire) into my front wheel as he got back onto the line. There were so many men that were so 'pumped' and full of testosterone, with shiny bulging arm muscles, looking like it was the last lap of the Olympics that it made me want to puke. The worst offenders were definitely the 35-45 year old men who absolutely didn't care about anyone other then themselves, and many of whom rubbed my wheels. The final straw was all of the race-talk. The nervous jabbering analysis of lines, and seeking of outside reassurance. I just didn't want to be a part of it.
And besides that, Wayne was going to Blue on Sunday. Maybe it was because I wanted to spend time with him, or maybe it was the opportunity to ride something that scared and challenged me, but the thought of going to Blue and then swimming was looking better by the second. That's when it hit me, I've been racing for two main reasons, the first was because it gave me the opportunity to ride somewhere different every once in awhile, and the second was because the race scene was the only cycling scene that I really knew. These days though, going to a race means that I have to forgo other, generally awesomer, rides. So I made the decision, and I sent a text to my team manager. Emma was not surprised in the least, and supported my decision...as long as I didn't back out of the 24-hr 5-woman team that I had signed up for.

Apparently though there has been some concern expressed as to whether I will be prepared for that race, as my team is hoping to win. I would like to address that concern here. I have been riding my butt off (well, technically my butt is getting bigger, rounder, and firmer, it's my middle section that is getting ridden off). I am on the bike at least four days a week, and usually five. For example, last week, I went to 3stage on Monday for 3 or 4 hours, rode 70 km on the road on Tuesday (achieving a new record of 74 min's home, with an average of 28 km/hr, and let me tell you, I sprint up the hill that is the homestretch every. single. time.), back up to 3stage on Wednesday for 5 hours that brought me closer to tears then any other ride ever has (that is not a challenge Andrew), off on Thursday and Friday, Hardwood and then a short 45 min RR on Saturday, and then DH at Blue and another 45 min RR on Sunday. As Mr. Elphik would say, I race every time I get on a bike (unless that ride is on my beater, and then I am generally just enjoying the scenery and hoping that my bike doesn't disintegrate beneath me). The people that I ride with show me no mercy, and I chase them the whole way through. So, do not worry, teamates, I am covering all of my bases: power, endurance, and skill. I will be ready for the 24. But yes, it is true, I am doing the 24 mainly for social reasons. I love the atmosphere (this is likely obvious to all of you who know me, as I have come there just to hang out quite a few times), but mostly, I am excited to work towards a common goal with four amazing women, as fast female mountain bikers are few and far between, and I think that this will be pretty special (there are at least 5 other women that I wish were also on the team, sadly, we can't fit all of us on one team). But I know that it is a race, and I will not disappoint you.

Maybe all of this means that I am not an athlete, but I am proud to call myself a cyclist, and not an athlete. Athleticism is ephemeral, and all about extremes. It generally fades with age, as it is unsustainable. I am a cyclist, and have been turning a crank since I was two, and hope to be doing it for as long as I am able. As the Buddha says, take the middle path.

2010-05-15T00:22:00.004-04:00

Dear hipster mother fucker that stole my rear wheel,
Over the years, the sting of being robbed has slowly lessened, with my innocence and naivete about the honour and goodness of other people being whipped out when I was 9 years old and had my blue and white BMX stolen from outside of my neighborhood public library. But I feel that you, you colostomy bag waste bucket, belong to a separate category, since this was pre-meditated, leading me to believe that you are not, in fact, a schizophrenic crack addict. You obviously had to go home to retrieve one, if not two wrenches in order to remove my wheel. Maybe it was my fault for leaving my bike in the same spot for so long, but I have a strong sense of routine, and enjoyed 'my' spot Besides which, it was locked up well enough, and the wheel was bolted on. I noticed that you left my front wheel, the one with the quick release, alone. So obviously you know a thing or two about bike parts. And obviously you have no real love or respect for the bicycle, or you would never have been able to do such a thing, leaving the back end so violated and dejected, with its chain hanging limply, and the weight of it leaning on the front rings. The sum of all of which has led me to believe that you are a hipster faddist, building up your own fixie that you will likely walk beside as you push it along the sidewalks of Queen street discussing gear ratios that are too big for your weak little legs to push. Whereas, now, I will have to waste another day's wages on buying a new wheel, so that I can have a mode of transportation, and actually travel further then the 3 km radius that I am willing to walk in order to go anywhere. Working for your money must certainly be a foreign concept to you, you entitled piece of crap.
I am comforted by the image of my loctite hack job failing, hopefully you won't run a front brake, and this will happen when you are practicing your skids on a downhill, dangerously weaving between traffic, falling onto your naked head, and ripping your over priced ill fitting flannel shirt.
Sincerely,
A growing-more-bitter-by-the-second actual-lover-of-bikes

Love/Hate

2010-05-10T19:51:00.004-04:00

People and Things that Suck:
1. People who don't pull over for ambulances, but run the intersection instead to stop on the other side, because they don't want to have to wait for the extra light change
2. Generally people who run reds (seriously, dudes who ran the lights at Queen/Bathurst, it was red when you started)
3. Loose cleats
4. Roadies that think that they're too cool to wave back (you're not all that, btw)
5. Getting out of bed on a monday morning
6. People who own beautiful Italian road bikes but let the filth build up until their bikes reach a shameful state, even though they haven't ridden in the rain for several weeks
7. Saddles that are not straight
8. Creepy stalker janitors
9. Landscapers who park in the bike lane along Mississauga Road, even though it is clearly marked that parking is not allowed, and they are working at homes that have gigantic round-about drives

People and Things that are Awesome
1. Morning espresso at Ezra's (and the cute barrista that served me)
2. The twinkle in Dr. Ball's eyes (emeritus prof that I share office space with) as he tried to explain the differences between various species of Carex to me (and then subtly tried to trick me into reaching for the boxes on the high shelves)
3. No traffic (what was with that?)
4. Cute girls who run
5. Trade shop guy who came to check as to whether I had found the appropriate person to fix the leaky pipes above my head
6. Avocados
7. Head-wind morning time of 76 mins (20 seconds off a record) (ride home time=78 mins for those interested, I didn't put as much effort in though)
8. Wool turtlenecks (because when you work in a bomb shelter, it never really gets that warm)
9. Being shortlisted for an internship at the Nature Conservancy of Canada
10. Anyone who makes me a "mix-tape" that I can ride to :D yeah! ;)

may 6

2010-05-06T11:53:00.003-04:00

first day back at UTM in a week, i've been working from home, and going mountainbiking instead (i think that i'm actually more productive at home). i pass several cafes along my commute, but they are all on the wrong side of the street. it's really time that someone opened a takeout espresso window on the west side of Bathurst (south of Dupont please). or, even better, would be if there were small children running around in the streets carrying espresso shots, like in India with tea (that country spoiled me, with such a high population, earning money is highly competitive, and people get creative, so you can get pretty much anything you want at the drop of a hat (there will probably be someone waiting there to pick up your hat if you actually drop it, but i digress)). I think that the starbucks has reopened here by now, so this is not 100% tragic, only 73%.

i tried to keep track of my times from the last few weeks, but never really felt like opening up that excel file when i got home. which was alright, because i kept track of them in my head...for about 3 weeks, but i've lost most of them now. the fastest was 76 with no wind, the slowest was 88 when i felt like crap and was riding into a crazy headwind, today was 84 with a 30 km/h head or head/cross wind, so strong that it blew me off my line several times, and i could literally lean on it when i had to turn a corner. i felt good though, my body was responsive, and i stayed in a fairly aggressive position for most of it. it's been nice to take some time off from the road though, and get my wheels on some dirt. now i've got the skinned knees and bruised thighs to proove that it's summer (although i had been hoping to avoid adding to my lumpy shins this year).

the hair moon orbiting my head is now heavy enough to provide inertial forces when i turn my head.

maybe i'll see you at albion.

maybe.

working girl

2010-04-20T13:34:00.002-04:00

Sometimes I feel like I'm still a grad student. This is one of those times. I just got the go-ahead to work from home as many days a week as I see fit. He told me just to figure out my own schedule, and let him know what I plan to do. I foresee lazy days spent databasing in my pyjamas, or middays spent playing outside in the sun. I come in at 10, make my own hours, don't have to talk to anyone, watch tv while I database, and now, don't even have to come in. I'm not sure how this really differs from my life before. Oh wait, I'm getting paid to do it now. Suckers.

2010-04-19T17:05:00.002-04:00

i'm going to keep track of my ride times elsewhere now, apologies to the 1.5 ppl that were interested, graphs and other geekery will still follow later.

Tour de 'sauga part 1

2010-04-12T22:15:00.007-04:00

i think that that my general lack of excitement over riding the same route that i rode last week brought out the tired and stiff in my legs. so i figured that i'd just take the most direct route home, as suggested by andrew earlier today. after riding for awhile though, i noticed that the for some reason the sun was now sitting to my front/left. well, that isn't right. after the sign on a bus confirmed that i was going north, i turned to the east and rode until that road stopped at the airport. i was now on 'country roads', and completely lost. it was pretty though, huge fields and little streams, the sun shinning on them in that soft early morning kind of way that makes everything look yellow. after ending up in a cul-de-sac, i broke down and asked for directions. she told me to go up the road (north) and turn left (the road didn't go left), and then left again, and that would get me on to airport road (no it won't lady). i confirmed twice that she didn't mean right, even though she was pointing that way, and then concluded that the airport hires the learning disabled for security personnel. i rode up the street a bit, and found someone else. He very patiently gave me highly detailed (and super helpful) directions, and then told me to be careful, because the road is very twisty. I of course laughed this off, but it turned out to be a really interesting road, with high speed downhill corners with a high potential for crashing. After he pulled out I realized that he had been speaking with a jamaican accent, and was asian, and got excited at the possibility that I had stopped one of Kurt's uncles for directions. I hate being lost in highway-ramp-land, and was happy upon reaching Rathburn/Renforth, which is one of my landmarks (since it's on the other side of places-that-i-get-lost-in), and went into the gas station and bought a snickers, which brought on some pep, getting me home in a laughable two hours (it may have been slow, but the tour-de-l'airport was fun, it felt like i was out in the country (caught within a maximum security corridor of 15' high barbed-wire fences, with a few acres of mown field on either side, and signs indicating that stopping is not allowed, but still, i'm a city girl, so that's kind of like the country. That, and low flying planes are really cool). I knew exactly where I had gone wrong, even before looking at a map, I had phased out and missed my turn. Now I know. I recovered with deliciousness (a fried egg/spinach/sundried tomato sandwich, a blueberry-yogurt-banana-orange shake, and a pile of macarons from Petit Thuet (my ass is thankful that that place isn't within walking distance)). Now to sleep, I'll pay more attention tomorrow.

UTM week 2

2010-04-12T11:52:00.005-04:00

new route today, i didn't really plan this out, just sort of decided once i was on the bike. it is exactly 1 km shorter, but still took my 'average' time (80 min) as i didn't feel like pushing too hard (which means that my average speed was a bit slower, at 26.6 km/hr). i think that i must be lazier then i was in 2006, which is the last time that i worked at UTM and rode this route regularly (on a full suspension mtb, with knobbies), as i seem to remember chasing time every day. although, my memory may be selective.

2 points to whoever can suggest a better route....

2010-04-06T11:39:00.003-04:00

I'm finally getting my work computers (yes 's') set up, damn this has taken forEVER. I thought that I had installed the new operating system on my own, but apparently you have to delete the old one first, who new? (Probably all of you). So I got a tech to come in today, he's awesome, he fixed all the problems, the funny stretch on the screen, the no-longer-working internet connection, and he set up the printer, scanner, and all the external drives. He then told me that I should go home and rest and am too sick to be at work. That made me laugh. Thanks mom. (there was also one lady on the bus (yes, I took the bus today, it was pouring when I left this morning, and I don't want to show up to work looking like a mud puddle) who kept running away from me like I have the plague, maybe I do, maybe it's just H1N1, good thing I work alone in a concrete enclosed basement room and have a love of purell).
This afternoon he came back to do some more work. I think that he's envious of my settup, apparently my monitors are pretty cool, and my laptop is pretty high end, I wouldn't really know. After awhile he asked me how long I'm going to be here for, and what happens to my stuff after I'm gone...

UTM.5

2010-04-05T10:34:00.002-04:00

77 minutes, four minutes faster then friday. this may have been b/c of lights, but i prefer to think of it as being due to awesomeness. we'll see what happens for the rest of the week. maybe 70 minutes by july?

UTM.4

2010-04-01T11:42:00.004-04:00

I rode out to UTM today, this was only the fourth time that I've done it this time around (if you count the interview, where I think that I got the job because I rode the 35 km in the rain, my kind of biologists like that sort of thing), and only the second time on the road bike (things were slow to start at UTM, and we're still waiting on software, but it MAY arrive today, so I thought I would come here instead of the ROM, yes, I do have that much freedom, yes, it is ok to hate me). Last time I managed 82 minutes, and was disappointed because my record is 75 minutes, although I hadn't put that much effort in, and had just tried to maintain an even tempo. Well today I was determined to beat my previous time, as I have deemed it unacceptable. However, I am getting over the flu, and my head is still in a terrible amount of pain, so I knew that I wasn't going to kill it (pre-determined bag of excuses, check). Well, I arrived at Gears (aka Mississauga Rd and Lakeshore) with 14 minutes left to make my average time (I think that I hit every red light along the lakeshore), but there was no way that this wasn't going to happen. This was a pretty interesting exercise, because, as many of you know, I find it difficult to train my short game, since I am fairly lazy and prefer to just keep going at an acceptably fast speed forever, rather then at an actually fast speed for a set distance. Well kids, I rode my legs off, continuously telling myself that another ten minutes at this pace wouldn't kill me, and to quit whining about it. It is about 85 times easier to ride hard when you are chasing something, whether it is a car, or a time goal, and sometimes even other cyclists. I made it to Dundas with a minute to go, but the red light made me loose over a minute in time, leaving the final time at 81 minutes. Somehow this made me ridiculously excited, as my sick-time was still a minute less then my previous time. Only 6 more minutes to go, and there are plenty of places where I can shave time, including not dropping my water bottle under a bus, inflating my tires to an appropriate pressure so that I can corner properly, and actually pushing through the populated spots along the lakeshore between the cookie factory and Gears (slowing down to talk to Adi, who had turned around to chase me (pure awesomness) doesn't count, good luck tomorrow Adi! Road racing is painful, you're ridiculous).

2010-03-31T15:25:00.002-04:00

There's a professor emeritus that comes in every once in awhile to look at plants. Today I asked him what he's doing. He replied with "I'm looking for plants that contain silica, there's some research potential in there" "how do you know if they have silica?" "I just know". There you have it. That's the old school way.

My day so far

2010-03-19T10:51:00.003-04:00

Or maybe the last 18 hours. Came home yesterday to a flooded bathroom, the water supply hose has come loose from the toilet tank and is leaking. I tried to use my adjustable crescent wrench to fix it, but the head won't open up wide enough. So I devised a system where I turn the water on before I go to the bathroom so that the tank can fill up, and then turn it off so that when I flush, the tank doesn't refill. I am going to borrow some pliers to see what I can do before I call the super, who is slightly challenged, and will likely just come in, make a mess, and then have to call a plumber anyway.
As I was riding to work this morning, I went over some rough road, and my chain fell off. This has happened before, I need to tighten the chain. However, it wasn't just the chain, apparently the whole cog had fallen off, and possibly taken some threads with it. I didn't have my adjustable wrench with me b/c i had left it with the toilet. not that that really would have helped, since i didn't have a lockring tool anyway. so i skateboard pushed my bike all the way to the ROM. so much for going for a mountain bike ride tonight, i'll be going to the shop instead.
One hour after arriving at work, the fire alarm started to go off. This doesn't really bother me so much, because my apartment alarm is much louder, and the head tech said that we don't have to leave until there's an announcement. Well, there never was an announcement, but they turned it off and on about 3 more times, so I went upstairs to check it out. The whole hallway smelled like cheeseburgers, apparently there was a fire in the kitchen. After they gave us the all clear we decided to go check out the medieval dancing (it's march break, so there are all kinds of special exhibits on now, although i wouldn't recommend coming to check them out unless you enjoy being mobbed by little people). I think that it's great that they involve the researchers in that sort of thing, but I have to say, it was pretty hilarious. Pictures to follow.
I anxiously await what will come next.

2010-03-18T11:37:00.002-04:00

the ON govt webpage for geographic divisions only lists townships that are populated by people. this is so typical. not only is it anthropocentric, but it's just plain bad record keeping. for a department that looks after the census information, i would expect a higher degree of anal retention. i am disappointed, although not 100% surprised.

March 11

2010-03-11T11:55:00.005-05:00

Asshole drivers:
-Yesterday morning, I was riding north on Elizabeth street. There is a solid white line indicating a bike lane, but there is a row of parked cars there too. I don't consider this a bike lane. I got yelled at for not riding in the door-zone. Traffic was slow. There were many red lights. I yelled back. I don't like not responding, b/c I feel like I have to stick up for myself and my rights, but I hate yelling and getting all aggressive, it makes me feel like an asshole myself, and it leaves me feeling too worked up, and unsatisfied. I can never find anything very creative to yell anyway, aside from "i am allowed to be here" or "fuck you", which is super classy.
-RR w/ Briana in evening: going N on Jarvis. driver changes lanes and turns right without signalling, cutting us off. I'm pretty sure that he literally didn't see us.
- This morning, going S on Spadina Rd, around corner at N end of Casa Loma, Trans Am takes corner wide beside me, and then cuts me off on the inside line.
(I thought about keeping a running list of asshole driver moves, and just publishing it at the end of the month, but I think that that might get tedious, I am still undecided though).

-Great morning espresso two days in a row, yesterday at Manic (super rich and yummy), today at Ezra's Pound. Both places were packed; I may have to buy my own espresso maker. I got an 'of course' at Manic yesterday after my order, but I assumed that it was b/c the barrista remembered my drink. But then I got it again today at Ezra's, where I have only ever been once. I wonder what social genre they have me classified with that drinks lots of espresso.
-I have decided that coffee is not the worst vice in the world, in fact, I think that it is a really great pleasure that you can have for super cheap, so why not? I refuse to resist. As long as I keep it down to only one or two a day.

Funny bathroom happenings
-Got caught peeing on Tuesday by a little girl. All of the other stalls were empty. Apparently I hadn't locked the door properly. She didn't seem too scarred.
-Woman in stall next to me making grunting noises. I don't think that she was successful. I had a hard time not laughing. "who does number two work for?!".

Books
-Came in early yesterday and today to snoop through the books in the herbarium. Found some that are from the turn of the last century. They tend to be musty and make me sneeze (especially this German botany text from 1928). But they have really cool anatomical illustrations in them. Current books usually use photos, or drawings done on computers.
-Catalogue books of all the herbariums in the world (many such catalogue books)
-Flipped through a book on insects ("The Insect Book", Howard, 1904), strangely organized, but neat plates, each protected by tracing paper
-Maps of the flora of the U.S (in 14 books), of Japan, Turkey and the East Aegean Islands, the Pacific NW, Tasmania (in 6 books) etc
-A facsimile/reprint of an 1835 analysis/condensation of Linnaeus's works called Codex Botanicus Linnaeanus (Richter), it's sort of like a Russian doll book, with only 2 degrees of separation from Linnaeus. Also, it is all in latin.

-I love hearing the subway go by. I am one or two floors underground (depends on where you start counting from), and my workspace is really silent. It sounds like the subway is really close. I like to think of the train as going right under my feet (technically geology is right under my feet, but under them...), and all of the people that are right there, scurrying about, or waiting impatiently.

-Oldest sample databased today: Dulichium arundinaceum Brit. from 1878/08/23 (Moon River, Muskoka)

!!!!

2010-03-10T09:28:00.002-05:00

i started nosing around the books today. there is essentially a library in the herbarium. there are a lot of interesting looking books, but i hadn't really started poking around those yet. however, i was alone this morning, and i don't have that much work to do today, so i started snooping. lots of quality books with pretty pictures of flowers, anatomical illustrations, and colourful pull-out maps. i found a letter inside one from one of the curators of the ottawa museum of natural history to someone about what he's up to, talking about the kids, and collecting trips around the Bruce penninsula, cottaging, and various publications he's working on. there's an old collecting 'bag', basically a metal container, filled with metal plates to squish plants between (imagine hiking through the forest with that beast over your shoulder, or maybe that's what undergrads are for). one book, called 'Beautiful Ferns' is sitting on the shelf above my computer, it sort of looks like a kids book. turns out that it's 128 years old, and is full of hand painted plates. there's a note at the front warning that it is fragile and shouldn't be photocopied. somehow this seems cooler then the 200 y.o plant samples, probably because i expected to find those (you should see the labels on them though, amazing calligraphy, beautiful, but illegible). it's just sitting there on the shelf, getting dusty, all casual like. apparently this isn't part of the ROM's valuable collection. i probably should have gone to the talk at the library during lunch yesterday, but i wanted to see daylight for a bit. anyway, what i just realized is that i have a similar collection of books at UTM. i was originally repulsed by them due to the at least 30 years of dust that has collected, but now i just realized that i may have the opportunity to 'organize' them. our collection won't be as old, but there may still be some cool stuff in there.
also, i picked up my passport this morning. <3

Spring Preview

2010-03-08T13:30:00.003-05:00

Went outside to sit along Philosopher's Walk for my lunch break today. It's so nice to feel the warmth of the sun on my face. What a beautiful day. Kids running around in circles and discovering things, people jogging, bikes meandering by, cellists running up and down frantically, bees flying, people staring enviously at my chocolate brownie (I have poor impulse control, I went in for a coffee, they sell Balzac's here, it's pretty tasty), everyone smiling like drunken idiots. It's nice to be warm without having to wear 86 layers of clothing. I'm already dreaming of long summer rides where I can stop to take picnic breaks without having to jump around to keep warm (obviously winter will come back again for awhile, probably this thursday, but I'm going to be happy about the sun while it lasts).

At the ROM

2010-03-05T14:26:00.002-05:00

As many of you know, I started working this week, at my first relevant job since graduating. I'm a technician at U of T Mississauga, working jointly with the ROM on a project called Canadensys. The project is attempting to catalog Canada's biodiversity so that it is available online to researchers all over the world. I am working with plants, but there are similar projects for birds, amphibians, bees, etc. The point of it is to make it easier to do research (since before, if you wanted to look at various samples, you would have to have them mailed to you, or travel far away), as well as to have a shared account of the world's biodiversity (which means that when you are doing a comparative study, it is easier to find baseline values, which can be incredibly difficult to figure out right now). So far I have just been entering data, and learning about plant systematics, but eventually I will also be georeferencing, which is pretty interesting (this is where you link a point on a map to a data record, there are all kinds of cool ways to do this, and since I really love looking at maps, I think that I will find this fun). I'm actually going to a workshop at Berkeley next weekend to learn about some of the available georeferencing tools, as well as to learn more about this project.
I wanted to add pictures to this post as the herbarium at the ROM is super interesting and geeky, but I neglected to charge the batteries in my camera, so you'll have to wait until monday for that. Anyway, what I really wanted to mention is all of the volunteers. There are a lot of volunteers working in the herbarium, and I doubt that any research would ever get done without them. All of our volunteers are older women (I think that one of them is around 80) who come from different backgrounds, one was a librarian, one held an office job, but all are amateur naturalists with a love of plants. It is incredibly inspirational to see these women still working and wanting to learn and contribute to society. They are all talking about crazy trips that they take or took, up to Northern Ontario (I'm talking north of Kenora), or to Brazil, or China, and not necessarily in the distant past. No one would suspect that these little, white haired, liver spotted old ladies were such adventurers, that continue to lead rich lives, it makes me hopeful for my own old age. These women catalog, and prepare all of the samples, and when you request samples from the ROM, they are the ones who find them and mail them off. Without them, many a grad student would be left high and dry.
I have to say, I am much calmer and more relaxed then I have been in years. It is so nice to be back in a stimulating atmosphere with like-minded people who are pushing me to learn, think, and question. I am no longer fighting with the conservative car cultured masses. Now I am the one who is being questioned. I only hope that my current mindset will last, at least for a little while.

Le Snow

2010-02-28T13:17:00.005-05:00

On Wednesday morning, Wayne called me, it was snowing in Baie St Paul, and so we were going there. I still had to renew my passport for my trip to San Fransisco next week, so I started running around like a crazy person, getting pictures, getting them signed, waiting, waiting, waiting, waiting, waiting for my number to be called, then zipping home to throw whatever I could think of into a bag and running downstairs to throw it all into the truck. Ten hours of driving later and we decided to stop in Beaupre to sleep for a brief moment before heading to Le Massif to hit the slopes. The drive in was interesting, since it was complete whiteout conditions, and we were driving along a very narrow mountain road covered in snow. Most of the street signs were covered in snow, and so finding our way was a bit of a guessing game.
Having grown up in Ontario, this whole skiing on snow thing was an entirely foreign concept, and I had quite a bit of difficulty at first, much to Wayne's amusement. It took me forever to even get down the first pitch, and I had to stop every five or so turns to shake out my legs. At least falling wasn't so bad since I was going so slowly and landing in half a meter of softness. The snow was pretty heavy, since it was hovering just under zero, and it took all of my energy to sit back on my heels and push through the turn. I did everything I could to keep my tips above the snow, but they still looked like someone on their last few strokes just before they drown. There was much tennis player grunting going on. I was soaked from the outside from the wet snow, and from the inside with buckets of sweat. I was exhausted by noon, so I went inside to sit down for an hour and dry out while Wayne got in some runs-without-waiting. I was starting to get a little nervous about the next day, I was in pain (my quads, my shins, my arms, my feet, and especially my big toe nails), I was exhausted, I couldn't do more then ten turns without taking a break, how on earth was I going to ski for another day or two? It started to get a bit easier in the afternoon, but I was still spent by 4. It cleared up for a bit in the evening, so we went for a walk through the town taking pictures of all the snow covered trees. We then found out that all of the restaurants closed at nine. I went for pizza, Wayne for some McD's.
For Thursday, I decided to rent some powder skis (not these exact skis, I can't find pics of the ones that i used). Wayne went to play in the trees, and I turned to see the hill that I had ended up standing over, a super steep black diamond. It was so wind blown that there was actually some ice. The snow was crusty from the wind and high temperature, and this run was less then enjoyable. I then went and found some fresh snow to turn in, holy crap, the difference was ridiculous, I couldn't even believe it, I was able to turn without having to sink my entire life force into my downhill leg. I was sold on the powder skis. For you cyclists, it was like going from riding a super stiff cyclocross bike on a downhill run to getting on an actual downhill bike. The difference was phenomenal. Unfortunately my legs were still in a bit of pain from the previous day, so I hesitated to ride in the trees with Wayne for fear of dying. It had ONLY snowed about 15 cm that day, which was negligible in comparison to the 70 cm that we had the day before, so the ungroomed runs were all pretty mogully. I worked on doing my best Alex Bilodeau impression, but I am still pretty green on anything but ice. I don't tend to hit the moguls at home very much because I'm so slow at them, so there was still a lot of learning going on. If you've ever watched a little kid ski (not the snow-plowers, but the ones that are actually pretty good), you can see that when they turn, their downhill leg slightly snowplows uphill at the end of the turn because their legs are young and skinny. That is what I was doing, my legs were not quite parallel. That's ok, I was still grinning from ear to ear all day, and didn't have to take any extra breaks, other then a super quick stop for lunch. Which was, I might add, the very best meal that I have ever had at a ski resort: grilled curried tofu with veggies, rice, and crispy spinach leaves on top. The drive out was amusing, there were tons of people stuck in the snow, pushing their cars out, luckily we were in a terrain and weather appropriate vehicle. We did our best to get to town at a reasonable hour, but apparently things are backwards in Quebec, Wayne had called it, the kitchens closed even earlier on friday. After calming my fits of laughter, we managed to find a place to eat.
Saturday was to be the day to go home, but neither of us could resist riding for just a few hours before we left. We'll just ski hard until noon, or maybe one, and then go. Yeah right.
We were there for first tracks at 8:30, and it was more then worth it. I was finally getting used to all of this snow, and stayed at the edges of the runs where all the fluffy white stuff was. The feeling of riding on fresh, untracked powder is undescribable, it's like floating. We went to a gentle tree run, and I managed to make it down not only without dying, but I had the time of my life. Holy fluffy fresh snow batman! At one point a little boy went bombing by me, stopped, and then somersaulted into the snow. From behind I could hear a little voice screaming "Attend moi!", and a pink faced little girl went ripping past. They reminded me of my brother and I at that age, all the energy in the world, and no fear.
Wayne had apparently decided that I was now an expert, and so off we went to some crazy steep double blacks covered in ass deep moguls. He was at the bottom before I had even decided to drop in. It took quite a bit of work and all of my concentration to get down it. Talk about jump turns. The second pitch was slightly less steep, and even the pros who had been killing it on the first pitch had to stop, rest, shake out their legs, and take it easy. We then went and did a slightly steeper-then-the-first tree run. There was an older couple in there, having the greatest time. He was on telemark skis, she was screaming with laughter. She was very encouraging to me, as she could tell that I was working really hard and finding it difficult. At this point Wayner noticed that the triple black cliffs-and-rocks run had opened up, and he decided to hit that. I chose life and went to do some more tree runs instead. It was amazing, fresh snow at every turn. It was a riot in spite of my slow pace and need to stop. When I got hot I just scooped up some snow and ate it. Wayne's eyes were glowing when i met him at the bottom. He went off to do the triple a few more times while I tried the steeper tree run. Yes, it was trees almost all the way from the top of the 740 m to the bottom. Well it was one o'clock now, and my stomach was making a ton of noise, I really wanted to eat, but I really wanted to ski more. We hadn't spent much time on the right-hand side of the hill, so we decided to check that out, for just one more run. Oh look, an arrow pointing to some off piste runs. Oh hey, how about we go and try them? A 20 minute hike later and there we were. By this point i was dying, I was hungry, I was tired, I was completely spent. I lay in some snow at the side of the trail and tried to cool off. Hey Tara, how about we do that second line, the one with all the red shading in it on the topo map, yes yes, the one where it says 60+ degree incline. Although the run itself was awesome, I didn't have enough energy left to really enjoy it, and I did quite a few somersaults down the hill. I had to stop every now and then to squish my face against the hill, as it was burning up, my heart was pounding. Wayne noticed how tired I was, and was very encouraging, helping me get through the 800 m of out of bounds run without dying, pointing out the easier lines, and waiting every 20 meters or so, so that I wasn't alone. It was now 3:45, and the lifts were closing, we were no earlier then any other day. The third day was definitely my favourite, and I was sad to have to leave. We had 107 cm total accumulation over the 3 days that we were there.
Neither of us was too exited about the 1000 km drive home. Wayne got us out of the mountains and to Quebec City, and then i took over, getting us past Montreal. Wayne thought that he was going to get some sleep while I drove. Yeah right. Driving with me is a life or death type situation. I hadn't driven in a year or two, it was dark, snowing, the windshield was greasy, and there was construction everywhere in Montreal. i only got us lost once, and seeing as how no one died, I think that over all things went well. We pulled into T.O past 2, and I was never more happy to take a hot shower, and become unconscious. I am more sore now from driving then skiing. I have completely forgotten about mountain biking, and racing, all I can think about is finding more snow. Now I shall pry myself out of bed to go wash my disgusting, smelly clothing so that I will have something to wear for my ride into w-o-r-k tomorrow!

If you don't like it, stop watching!

2010-02-13T00:32:00.003-05:00

Over the last three-plus months there has been much hype surrounding the Olympics. Many of my friends have joined a variety of facebook groups in support of the Vancouver Olympics, The cynic in me refused to do so, focusing on the negative side of things, including the monopolistic corporate sponsorship (why is Visa the only card accepted at the games?). However, the negativity of others, in addition to my good mood today, and seeing the excited faces of the athletes, has forced my spirit to surface. Believe me, I understand the problems associated with such a large gathering, including the environmental impact, oppression of marginalized groups, and issues surrounding sponsorship. However, these are issues that are intrinsic to any large gathering, including COP 15. No such event could run without sponsorship, especially a sporting event. Speaking for Canada (as I don't know much about the situation in other countries, although I expect that it is similar, if not worse), most of our athletes live below the poverty line, many are completely supported by their parents, carpool to competitions not only to save the environment, but also money (or actually ride their bikes for hours to get there), and once at these events, sleep in tents, or cars (or Tim Hortons, ahem, Ted), beg or borrow gear from their friends or local sporting goods stores (thanks Cycle Solutions!!), and push themselves at key events to win government sponsorship regardless of their health at the time. So, unfortunately, most athletic events must accept outside sponsorship in order to exist, as the athletes are unable to pay for these events themselves. This means that others will be capitalizing on the athletes misfortune. Perhaps you are saying 'well, until they don't have to accept such sponsorship, they shouldn't exist.' But I ask you, when was the last time that you went to a music festival, or vegetarian food festival, or environmental conference that did not also have outside sponsorship? Who is paying for your Masters or PhD research? Unfortunately we do not live in a perfect world.
So the logical answer would be to cancel the Olympics, right? Why should we care about sport anyway? I mean, why should we give a hoot about some kid from Nepal's dream to be the fastest skier in the world anyway? Why should we give them that opportunity? I feel that sport in general does a lot for us as individuals, and for our communities. It really does bring us together, it helps provide a large number of people, particularly kids, with something to do to keep them out of trouble, and it brings enjoyment and happiness to many. Oh, it also keeps us fit in a world where we no longer have to put any physical effort into anything. So sport keeps us both mentally and physically fit, thus lowering depression, heart disease, cholesterol, diabetes, and prevents osteoporosis, and obesity, thus reducing the strain on public health care. Sport competitions allow us to push ourselves, motivate us to set and achieve higher goals, and find out what we are actually capable of. It's hard for anyone watching the Olympics, or similar large, amateur sporting events, to not get caught up in the hype, and ask themselves "maybe *I* could do that, maybe *I* can be faster, fitter, stronger." You can think of the Olympics as one gigantic public service announcement for personal health.
My second point for supporting the Olympics is that it does in fact encourage a global unity, and forces us to confront our prejudices and stereotypes (anyone remember Jesse Owens?). Athletes from all over the world come to one location, and are given the opportunity to learn about each other's cultures and traditions, and question each other's politics and beliefs. Hopefully they will be able to learn how similar we all are. Real change stems from such mutual respect and acceptance, not from politicians spewing rhetoric. So although the Olympics will stick around primarily because of political and financial reasons, I feel that the athletes themselves provide us with enough of a reason to love the games.

Dear Bikes, why must you pain my ass so?

2010-01-23T19:54:00.002-05:00

After an excellent road ride out to Brimley with Carrie, I was feeling rather productive, and so decided to scrape (or gently encourage with a soft cloth as it were) some of the mud off of my mountain bikes, since I want to sell one of them (2006 Giant Anthem 2, very well looked after, rebuilt fork, only ridden for three years, too small for me, pics to come). After my back neared spasms from the hunched over position, I decided that it was time to swap some parts, and get my Kona ready for another trip to Joyride tomorrow. Super Dave had kindly leant me a short stem, and given me some riser bars, which had worked perfectly, so I wanted to put them on the Kona. He had specifically told me that I was forbidden from ever putting those heavy bars on my race-light Kona, however, I have never been one to listen. I do all of my bike work in my front entrance, a 3' wide hallway, because I want to contain the dirt there. I placed the bikes next to each other, so that I could remove shifter and all of the stuff from one bar and easily slip it onto the other, and not have to deal with the hassle of letting all the bits dangle. I started to remove shifters, levers, and grips, however one of the grips refused to come off. After much work trying to get it off, I finally admitted that the bolt was thoroughly rounded out and would not be coming off anytime soon (I now vaguely recall Andrew mentioning something about this once). Fine, I placed the riser bar on the toolbox and let the Giants parts dangle. Well, at least I can swap out the stems right? That will make it easier for later. After dropping bolts all over the ground, and having to go chase them, I managed to swap the stems, and place the Kona's bar in it. Wait, no, f*&k this! Dave's stem was for a regular bar, the Kona has an oversized bar. Why was I so stupid? I even knew this, since last week there had been much discussion surrounding the search of a stem (Dave, the Kona was trying to teach me a lesson on your behalf). So now I was standing there holding the Kona's wheel between my knees, holding a bar and two allen keys in one hand, and attempting to unscrew stems and top caps with the other, while keeping track of all the bolts. This was a magnificent feat, however, there is no ledge in that area, the floor is filthy, and my toolbox is on the ground, and behind me, and not so easily accessible, so this was 'easier'. Somehow the Kona got put back together, with all of the original parts, nothing had been accomplished (except that it was unusually shiny). So I decided to at least put a saddle on it. After finishing this, it became apparent that the saddle was unnaturally tilted nose-downward. Fine, screw you bikes! At this point I was thoroughly exhausted, and just wanted to throw out all of the dirty water and take a shower (I fill empty pickle jars and yogurt containers with water, and then just throw those out afterwards, so as to avoid carrying filthy drippy containers back through my apartment). I stood there staring at the mess for a moment, and decided that I was too tired to put pants on, and that I was next door to the garbage chute anyway. At least this went according to plan, and I did not get caught. I then took the longest, most soothing, hot shower imaginable (sorry Environment). Now I'm going over to Wayne's to get him to drill out my bolts. This unfortunately may be the end of at least one of the infamous naked lady grips. I will have to find an equally bad-ass bar cap to complement the remaining one. Or this may be just the kick that I need to finally put bar ends on.

Naked Lady Grip (2008-2010), we shall mourn your loss.

Apathy

2010-01-20T18:37:00.003-05:00

My cynicism has been refreshed. I apply to as many jobs as I can each week, which generally amounts to about ten. I've stopped applying to jobs that I'm only sort of qualified for, and that I would have previously tried to talk my way into. No one cares how charming you are these days. Now I only apply to jobs that list restoration ecology, ecological management, population monitoring, or similar such requirements that I have direct experience with. I recently had a job interview at Real Food for Real Kids. I sat in the waiting room with another woman. An employee walked in. Immediately there was yelling and hugging, they had gone to school together. My hopes diminished. Another woman walked through the door, she had gone to high school with both of them as well. Both women had upwards of five years of project management experience. I almost left right then, what was the point? Obviously I never heard back from them. Today I called a few organizations that I applied to work at, for a follow up, just to get some feedback to help me with future applications. I was told that several hundred people had applied for the job, and that it was likely that I hadn't been called because I didn't have enough experience. They didn't even bother to ask my name or review my case. How am I supposed to get experience if no one will hire me? I've been rejected from volunteer positions. What's the point of even applying? Recently my E.I came up for review and has been put on hold for a few months, just to twist the knife in my back. I wonder how it is that I'm supposed to survive. There are no jobs, there is no social assistance, my education is worthless, what am I supposed to do?

It's Good to Have Goals

2010-01-17T20:55:00.002-05:00

I had some pretty basic goals for this past summer, which were generally to just push myself, try to improve, and gain some skill. I more or less accomplished them, but it's hard to check them off since they weren't very specific. My main goal however was to learn how to jump. The summer came and went, and I still hadn't hit any jumps. I finally learned how to ride bridges and skinnies with confidence 90% of the time, and I even improved on my wheelie (three pedal strokes ftw! It helps that I'm dating a wheelie master). Well today I did it, I learned how to jump! I spent the day at Joyride, and I managed to progress up to jumping from little rollers. They may not have been big, they may not have been impressive, but I got both wheels off the ground simultaneously. Thanks go to Wayne, Super Dave, and Phil for giving me tips on how to do it.

Also, I met my training goals for the week (be active for five days, mtb monday, three days of skiing, one day at Joyride, awesome).

back to reality

2010-01-16T17:36:00.001-05:00

Every time i apply for a job, i think "this is the one, they can't possibly ignore my application this time! I'm perfect for it." If I don't get a relevant job soon, I may go postal.

My Charmed Life

2010-01-13T22:57:00.003-05:00

Just got back from another two days at Blue with Wayne (he is spoiling me a bit too much, I am starting to get used to this lifestyle), and I think that I got my skiing legs back. I was feeling comfortable on the first day, unlike last thursday, which had only been my second day this year (didn't ski at all last year, only five times the year before, and maybe five times over the prior seven years). It wasn't terribly cold, and there was a slightly more then average amount of snow for Blue, so my glass was more then half full. After a few runs we decided to go for a long walk down the Bruce trail, which was a beautiful snow-dripping winter wonderland, to hit up some areas that were absolutely not illegal, or out of bounds, or on Blue mountain property. We took a few turns through the top of the hill, to set up, and the depth of the snow was not quite made apparent yet. Alright, so we were now at the top of the run, and Wayne, being the puppy-boy that he is just sailed down it effortlessly. I better get going, he's all the way down, and I'm still at the top taking in the view. So I took a turn, and down I went. To the ground. I tweaked my knee a bit, because my left (downhill) ski had gotten caught in the snow and stayed put as my right ski had turned. But what was really funny is the five minutes that followed where I attempted to stand up. I leaned forward and put out my hands to lift myself up, but they sunk in a foot and my right leg slipped away. I flipped my right leg to join my left leg, and pushed up, my legs slid downhill, and my arms stayed sunken. I flipped over to the right, and got my ass stuck in the snow. Eventually I managed to stand up in a direction that didn't result in my bombing straight down the hill. Alright, here we go. Aaaand...turn. Well, this was way too fast, but I couldn't figure out how to slow down, or turn, so out came the snow-plow. Yes, really. I haven't snow-plowed since I was three feet tall, but it was the only way to keep both legs going in the same direction. Eventually i figured out that the way to ski through such deep snow (note, it was not powder, it was pretty heavy, having accumulated over a few weeks, with a medium crunchy top) was to sit back on my heels. My legs were burning. I got to Wayne, who was laughing his ass off. A long walk back to the chair, and a glade run it was. Another leg burner, and another first. Not skiing trees, but being in control in trees. I've skied trees with my brother when I was a teenager, and two years ago with Liz who feels that orange tape is just a suggestion, but I always tended to hit the ice patches, or get caught in ruts, skid, cross my skis, and wait to hit a snow patch so that I could turn my tips uphill and pause until I decided to continue to scrape the hill and ruin it for everyone else. We hit a few more mini-glade runs over the two days. So much fun. I worked on my jump turn (still just a sorta-jump), and tried to hold my line over the ice. It worked! There's something incredibly fun about riding through a snowy gladed run where you're unsure if you'll be able to make the next turn, and making it. I started hitting jumps and ridges again, and looking for bumps by the lift towers like I did when I was a little kid, racing with my brother.
I was pretty beat by the end of the day, and was making big slow turns, skidding on ice, and wanting to go have some hot chocolate, and soothe my knee in the hot tub. Sadly the hot tub was not working, and it was merely a warm tub, but I took it anyway.
Woke up "late" the next morning and had a leisurely breakfast at a place with the cutest/kitschiest salt and pepper shakers. I had a waffle with strawberries and whipping cream, which satisfied the waffle craving that I've been having on and off for the last few months. Wayne ate enough to feed a small army (this was part of his secret ploy to ride hard until the sun went down without taking any breaks, I however, am not that tough). The coffee was not only good, but also bottomless. Nothing like a free second cup.
The winds were gale force, the chair lift rocked frighteningly,and the snow was blowing off the hill, making it look, and feel, like dry ice. I took it pretty easy as my knee was still hurting, and I knew that catching an edge would be the end of it, but I got stronger as the day went on, and even though my confidence went up and I tried jumping bigger, my skis stayed straight, my knee stayed intact, and actually loosened up. I quit while I was ahead and fought to stay awake for the drive home. I can't wait for my knee to heal so that I can try some of those totally legal ungroomed areas again. But for now, I'm off to rest my tired body for the possibility of going to Joyride tomorrow ;)

First snowy ride of the year

2010-01-11T20:15:00.003-05:00

Today being Monday, and the secondish week of the new year, I decided to start up on my training plan that I had formulated, but had gotten sidelined due to christmas, new years, being sick, and skiing. After a long debate between lazy-and-warm-and-not-wanting-to-go-outside-Tara and wants-to-get-in-shape-and-win-races-Tara, I realized that I was already putting on my spandex. Apparently wants-to-get-in-shape-and-win-races-Tara is pretty sneaky.
For the record, this is what I put on: wool knee highs, wool hiking socks, legwarmers, shorts, bibs, pants, lightweight MEC undershirt, wool jersey, midweight MEC undershirt, windbreaker, wool armwarmers, spandex armwarmers, bandana, Kona wool riding hat, helmet, neck warmer, and lobster claw mitts (first use this year). As it turned out I was overdressed, and the neck warmer and jacket soon came off. My hands though were warm (if a bit sweaty) for the first time since summer.
Right off the bat, things got hard, and I realized that the only way to get anywhere was to keep pedaling, thus my chain was moved into middle ring/biggest cog, where it stayed for the entire ride. I was not feeling particularly peppy, and the flat grey light made the fact that I was alone, and moving along in a backwards direction (sometimes literally) a bit depressing. But then again, maybe it was best that I was alone, since my pace probably would have driven anyone else crazy, and they would have become annoyed with me. I soon found out that the only way to actually make any progress was to hold my front wheel straight, at all costs, which resulted in the ride being an amazing core and eventually arm workout. Apparently I tend to climb hills by zig-zagging my front wheel from side to side. Downhills were slippery, and had to be taken slowly, corners were also slippery, and had to be taken slowly, uphills (that would be anything with a slightly positive slope) were painful, and often resulted in me getting off and walking, thus it took me 45 minutes to ride the ridge, on which I normally average 23 minutes. There was a trail of blood near the end of the trail. It was not mine.
I started up through topo and PA, and the trail wasn't that much different then the ridge, but the steeper hills meant more walking. I got to the first steep switchback climb and another debate proceeded between sensible-Tara and had-something-to-prove-Tara. Sensible-Tara was starting to get tired and had a headache from the cold. Had-something-to-prove-Tara kept seeing Andrew's map from yesterday in her head. Well, apparently my winter riding skills suck, I was moving along at the pace of a snail, and the thought of those steep hills made me want to cry, so sensible-Tara won out. I hit up the ridge on the way home again, and moved at a much better pace, apparently I had found my winter legs! Moore park ravine home. Elevator with an older lady that asked me about what I was doing with a look of pity on her face, as though this was a painful (well....) activity that I had been forced into.
All in all it was a pretty short, but satisfying ride. Now I am going to stretch out my body so that I can go skiing tomorrow. I know, I know, it's tough to be Tara, say a little prayer for me and my struggles.

Bikes in movies

2010-01-05T12:33:00.002-05:00

Being sick gives one the opportunity to watch HEAPS of bad TV and movies (the names of which shall be withheld in the interest of my dignity). Yesterday I watched a show where someone died in a crash during the bike portion of a triathlon. Aside from the fact that he was riding a hybrid and wearing a helmet from the '80's (probably why he died when he crashed), he was riding like a six year old in a street race, and weaving through the 'peleton' like he was the only one capable of speed. Then today at the beginning of a movie there was a courier, riding what I believe was a two-sizes-too-small 1970's Schwinn, step through frame, with mountain bike tires (not to mention the computer bag dangling by his knees, and that he was riding on the sidewalk). I seriously question the quality of Hollywood's technical advisors. It shouldn't really be that hard; step 1, go to local bike shop, step 2, hire anyone who is there for $200 to take a quick look and sort out the details, step 3, no step 3, that was the end.
That's it really, I just wanted to complain, being sick is boring.
Also, I believe that I just sneezed out of my eyeball, so I think that I'm going to take the drugs now.

indoor day

2010-01-03T17:26:00.004-05:00

I regressed into sloth-hood today. I thought about going for a ride, but the snow combined with that feeling on the verge of being sick, but possible to reverse, led to general laziness. After the internet failed to provide be with any entertainment (internet! how could you?!), I decided to watch whichever Indianna Jones movie it was that I had on tape (it turned out to be Temple of Doom, I like the other one that we had on tape better (Raiders of the Lost Ark), I'll have to get that next time I go home). After the movie, there is a significant bit of the 1988 Calgary Olympics, mainly the slalom portion of the women's combined event (slalom and DH). Square, fluorescent, Carrera goggles were in (for the first time), the skis were straight, and Czechoslovakia was a single country. One of the Canadian girls missed a gate, so she quickly edged back up the course to get a second run at it for practice for a later race. The top Canadian was Karen Percy, in fourth. There were bits of various other sports which I did not watch (SOME job search work has to be done on indoor days), including the women's 4x5km xc ski, ice dancing, hockey (Czechoslovakia vs U.S.S.R.), Brian Orser skating, speed skating, and skiing aerials. Feathered bangs and frosted lips were abundant, helmets were not (one woman fell doing aerials and knocked herself out). There was an advertisement by AmEx for bank machines, a new concept. I am wondering though about the possibility to overturn a scratchy throat, as my sinuses are feeling progressively more plugged up.

Winter Hills FTW!

2009-12-30T23:20:00.002-05:00

I'm trying to stick to the training plan. So far it's been all outdoor riding. Who saw that coming? I didn't feel like riding today (or running, because I might be going to Quebec to ski this weekend, and I don't want to mess with that), so I thought that hill training would be a short and 'easy' way to tick off a day. Yeah right (logic much Tara?). Took the fixie/beater and did reps of all the hills in my hood (with a brief initial stop at La Bicicletta to see if any Rapha stuff was on sale, it wasn't, again, this should have been obvious). It was super painful, but I managed to make myself actually work on all of the hills. I almost didn't make it to Yonge, my legs were pretty full of lactic acid, but Yonge is barely a hill, so I did it anyway. A driver was actually nice to me, yes, it is worth mentioning when they don't try to kill you. I was passing a stopped bus that started again before I could get back to the curb lane. It decided to go at exactly the same speed as me so that I could neither pass it, nor easily get behind it. I scooted back behind the bus before a red light. The van in the left-hand lane stopped behind me, even though I was no longer in that lane, I think that he was afraid that I was going to try to move left again. So he was both aware, AND nice. I pinched myself.

My legs (and forearms (wtf?)) were sore enough to actually need stretching when I got home, although I didn't really have the energy for that right away. I love it when I feel like that after a ride, but can't seem to manage to make myself do it very often. Here's the map (which is basically why I wrote this post, because I has lazing at home, made a map, decided to share the map, and thus a blog post had to be written):

http://www.gmap-pedometer.com/?r=3386273

Now, can someone please pass me some cookies? Because I can't get up.

Thoughts about today.

2009-12-24T18:26:00.005-05:00

Stayed up late reading Ansel Adam's book The Print. I love you Ansel, you and your crazy sharp, luminous photos. <3
Went for a ride with Dave, I was late. I attempted to sprint to the trail (and then through the ridge to cricket), I was winded by Mt Pleasant (4 blocks away). Sedentariness makes you fat, slow, and weak. Point taken. I will commence with the 'training' soon (possibly saturday, this Jew actually has a Christmas party to attend tomorrow).
Training plan redux: be active for five to six days a week (2 days outdoor riding, 2 days on trainer (yes, really, obviously it was very painful for those few moments of sprinting), 2 days running+crossfit, throw in some stretching and skiing here and there, badda bing, badda boom, rock solid, ass kicking body).
Crazy beautiful yellow ice waterfalls at runoff points.
Holy tons of runners batman! Holy legs on the cute one! (well, technically I'm unsure if his face was actually cute, I was busy objectifying his legs)
Ran into Jerome, very chill, and making the best of the weather, as usual.
Decided to ride through Mt. Pleasant cemetery on the way home, I thought that I had changed lanes onto the shoulder slowly enough, apparently not, down I went. I'm sure that it was very comical for all who watched.
Only fell twice while riding today, and twice while walking. Dave fell once or twice too, he managed to make his falls pretty spectacular, ripping a circa 1993 Selle Italia saddle.
Got home, changed my shoes and bike, went to the LCBO. There was a line through the entire grocery store, but it moved pretty fast, they were super efficient today. Thanks LCBO for planning for all of us procrastinators! Round trip, plus groceries was only 35 minutes!
I believe that the cashier was learning disabled. Loblaws, I thought that you only let them collect carts?
Got home and realized that my face was covered in dirt, which may have not been so striking, given that the rest of me was too.
I am now off to a Christmas eve party for neglected, orphaned cyclists. I put in some serious effort to do my hair for it. By effort I mean that I combed it after I washed it, and didn't put a toque on immediately afterwards. Someone had better damn well appreciate it!

Reading List 2009

2009-12-22T23:41:00.004-05:00

A self-indulgent exercise, here is the list of books that I read in 2009. Sadly, it is fairly short for a 12 month period, but it took me awhile to get back on the horse after I graduated. I'm not going to review them here, as I am lazy, and don't feel like it. So here it is (in alphabetical order by author's last name, as I am anally retentive):

What We All Long For, Dionne Brand
Sleeping Naked is Green, Vanessa Farquharson
She's Shameless: Women Write About Growing Up, Rocking Out and Fighting Back, Eds Stacey May Fowles and Megan Griffith-Greene
The Face on Your Plate: The Truth About Food, Jeffrey Moussaieff Masson
Lolita, Vladimir Nabokov
Nineteen Eighty-Four, George Orwell
Buying Cigarettes for the Dog, Stuart Ross (only 1/2 way through (I never read short story or poetry books all the way through at once)
The Love Poems of Rumi, Edited by Deepak Chopra
Imaginary Homelands: Essays and Criticism 1981-1991, Salman Rushdie
Midnight's Children, Salman Rushdie
Shopping Our Way to Safety: How We Changed from Protecting the Environment to Protecting Ourselves, Andrew Szasz
Selected Poems 1934-1952, Dylan Thomas (only 1/2 way through though)
The Age of Innocence, Edith Wharton (also only 1/2 way through, as I was reading it online, which apparently is not a medium suited for books for me)

I’ve gotten soft

2009-12-22T13:32:00.005-05:00

Although I didn’t do anything resembling structured training last winter, I was still on my bike at least twice a week riding outside in the slush, powder, sheer ice, blizzards, and sub -15 days (note, I also occasionally ran, did some cross-training, and sat on the trainer (a total of 10 times)). I bundled up in layers of wool, nylon, and ski goggle. I hadn’t really put much thought into it this year, as I figured that I would just fall back in place, and I’d be out riding in conditions that others deemed insane again, as I would rather spoon out my own pancreas then even think about riding the trainer. However, it seems that putting yourself through frostbitten cheeks, and frozen-solid feet and hands (it’s a wonder that my neighbours didn’t call the police that one time that I went out to ride Brimley when it was -20, and came back to realize that not feeling your feet doesn’t mean that they’re warm) does not necessarily make you inclined to do it again, especially alone. Last winter it was easier, as I was going into my third season of racing, and first off-season that I had decided to do some winter mountain biking. I was blissfully ignorant towards just how cold and painful it can become. This year, I have yet to start any form of winter training, my arms have already atrophied, and my legs are slowly turning to jelly (there was previously no core to speak of). Perhaps there is a reason why the veteran cyclists tough it out, and ride indoors. I had thought about going for a ride today, however I just got off the phone with Wayne, who called just to tell me how cold his feet were. This did not provide me with the incentive that I was looking for. Today is shaping up to be another indoor day. Maybe I’ll try to go out for a run again, the pain is great, but the time is short, kind of like cyclocross.

So if you're thinking of going out for a ride, give me a call. Please. I need some help with the motivation.

Minolta f/1.8 50 mm

2009-12-21T14:58:00.004-05:00

Sometime back in august, Liz and I went on a canoe trip. One day, we stopped at a cliff to have breakfast (yes, we really were that hard core, getting in some paddling time before breaky). It was an amazing breakfast of oatmeal and anti-pasta. We stood upon our cliff surveying the spectacularity that is Algonquin (pls note, that 'spectacularity' is not being underlined as a spelling mistake). We jumped into the water and swam around the twin islands that we had moored up along. Realizing the time (ish, judging by the sun), we decided to pack up and proceed into the heart of darkness (aka an overgrown river that we were eventually unable/unwilling to navigate, resulting in us having to u-turn back, and arrive at the same lake just as the sun was setting). After packing my own bag, I started on the communal dry bag, filling it with maps, snacks, a few pieces of clothing, and my camera, a circa 1975 Minolta XE7 (almost identical to the Leica R3), with steel encased glass lenses, a beautiful camera from the golden age of film-cameras (and thus arguably cameras, period). I rolled down the top of the dry bag, leaving a large amount of air inside to provide a cushion. I placed the bag at the edge of the cliff, so that I could reach it when i went down to the canoe, and went back to packing other things. Soon enough, a gust of wind came along, and blew the bag down. All I could do was stand at the edge of the cliff with outstretched arms, gasping for air, and looking on in absolute horror. I jumped off the cliff, and held the bag in my hands. I slowly opened the bag, and held my bundled up camera in my hands, eventually finding the nerve to unwrap it. It had fallen lens down, but the lens was intact. I was unable to check if the lens was scratched, I new that I would start crying if I took a closer look. The film wound, the shutter was working, I could adjust the aperture, but the focus was not turning. I taped the lens cap on (the lens body had bent, so the cap wouldn't fit on), and we silently got in the canoe and started paddling. I'm pretty sure that I was silent for at least an hour. Liz was very patient, waiting for me to stop pouting.

When I got home, I put the camera away, and was unable to look at it for four months. Finally, during a fit of productivity, I came across it again, and managed to suck it up, and peel off the lens cap. Looking at the lens under a bright light, I found that the lens itself had not been damaged, which meant that there was only structural damage to the casing. I took it down to Vistek to see what they could do about it. The guy at the repair booth was slightly at a loss, not having seen such a relic in a very long time. Apparently they only deal with electronic and data problems in house, and they would have to subcontract my lens out, and would call me at a later date. I asked if they sold such lenses there, just in case it was irreparable. He laughed at me, "not with a MANUAL focus we don't".

I went home and searched the internet. There were many similar lenses for sale on ebay, and craigslist. But I've seen how people treat their cameras, and I am very skeptical of buying used camera gear online (I am not interested in your lenses that only have 'a few little scratches', or your lenses that are in 'almost perfect condition'). When each shot takes me close to three hours to process, I don't want them to be ruined by bad gear.

Today Vistek called me back. They are able to fix my lens. For a small fortune. He asked if I still wanted to get it fixed. I do. "Really?" he said. Yes, really. I found his incredulity interesting, if slightly insulting, on two counts. First, because he was practically turning business away. And second, because it really speaks to the disposable nature of our society. When something breaks, or is worn out, or a barely-different new model comes out, we toss out the old one, and buy a new one. But what am I supposed to do with the old lens? The lenses are so beautiful (sharp, fast, clear, ground glass), that they impress even the most techno-geek photographer. Throwing it out would be disrespectful. So, yes, I would like to have it repaired. It's repairability is the primary reason that I started shooting with it. I mean, it was practically MADE to be fixed. Even the body is mainly made of steel (yes, I am incurring osteoporosis just by carrying it), there are just a few simple internal gears, and some wiring to run the light-meter. It is fully functional without batteries. It's parts can easily be repaired or recreated by a machinist (easily found while traveling in developing countries). I am pretty excited that it is repairable, as this has absolved me of my guilt, and I will not have to buy and use and be disappointed by an inferior lens. I hope that it will be repaired soon so that I can start shooting again, after all, winter is darkroom season for me.

My first cross race

2009-11-22T20:49:00.003-05:00

My team (Cycle Solutions/Angry Johnny’s racing) was putting on a cross race in Riverdale today, so I decided that this would be a great opportunity to force myself to try cross (although I like racing, it’s still supremely painful, so it’s easy to not commit myself to a new form of racing, especially one that runs so counter to all my strengths). Several members of my team were meeting at 6 am to mark the course. I am not what you would call a ‘morning person’, so making the commitment to be there at 9 was already an event for me, and I knew that there would still be plenty of work later. I had tried for 8:30 but a lack of morning routine and a nervous bowel brought me to Riverdale at 9. Fine. I wasn’t needed just yet as it turned out anyway, so I went to do a few laps of the course. Even at a moderate tempo, the course was still difficult. There was dew on the grass at that point, which made it even more difficult. Although I had taken it easy since the provincial mountain bike championships, I had still been riding, and I had been riding fairly intensely for the past two weeks (completely unrelated to the race, the weather just happened to take a turn for the awesome), so I knew that this pain wasn’t 100% because I was out of shape, which meant that everyone else would be finding it difficult too. This line of reasoning seemed perfectly logical at this point, I was ignoring the fact that just because everyone else would find it difficult, didn’t mean that we would be riding slower, it just meant that it would hurt more. You tell yourself a lot of things before a race.
The first race was off, and I went to my post, with my super tasty free coffee from Jet Fuel (who sponsored the race), calling numbers for the next 50 minutes or so. Then somehow it was done, and I was free to worry about my own race. Briana had shown up, so I had decided to latch myself on to this seasoned cyclocross champ to drag me through a warm up (I hate warming up, I’m actually really bad at doing the ‘racey’ things that you’re supposed to, but they actually work, so I try to). At the second hill, she shot at least ten meters ahead of me. I didn’t really have that much more energy to give, and I wondered how this could possibly be her warm up pace.
The race started, and I went as hard as I possibly could, and was pleasantly surprised to come out of the start loop in sixth, right on the wheel of fifth, with a significant gap over seventh. Hey! I didn’t completely suck! Doing moderately well always provides a strong motivating force, and I continued to do moderately well for the rest of the first lap, staying in front of some of the master women that tend to beat me on the more fitness-oriented mountain bike courses. My clumsiness over the barriers provided me with my own comic relief, and then we were off to lap two. The women ahead of me were significantly ahead, and there was no way that I had any hope of even being near Briana, as I had fantasized the previous night while lying wide awake, staring into the darkness (or the rest of them but obviously particularly Briana, because really what’s the point, if not to try and kick the asses of your friends…and personal rivals, but that’s a different story). Once at the top of the first climb (which I rode, all six times, yeaaah, go mountain bike gearing!) and on the off-camber, grassy straightaway, the realization of this pain began to set in, and I was unsure how much longer I was going to be able to last. Long threads of thick spit hung from my chin, and lip, and I was gasping for just a little more air. One more hill later, and on to the flat section of the third lap I began questioning my ability to continue doing this for possibly three more laps. I contemplated quitting for a moment, but pride kept me going up one more hill. Maybe there would only be two more laps. Maybe the pain would end soon. Just get to the timing area and see what number he holds up. One more hill until I get to do that. Seeing some unexpected friends cheering at the sides of the course was helpful (as was all the cheering provided by the people that I knew would be there). I was so parched, I basically began drinking my own spit. I decided to use the flat section around the track to breathe this time, and I hung my head down. This was not a good decision, as this made me want to vomit. But my head was so heavy. But vomit is worse. Barry stood under the timing tent holding the number four. There was no way. Absolutely no way. This would not be possible. “Eighteen more to go!” he yelled. He must have noticed the absolute exasperation plastered across my face, because after I looped around he waved a number three at me. Excellent. I could do three, that’s just two plus one. This lap didn’t really count anymore anyway, I told myself (I was about 100 meters in), so really it was almost already done. The pain became more manageable, and I started counting down the hills. Which didn’t really make them any easier, but at least I only had to do them one more time, plus another time after that. Somehow I finished in fourth out of the senior women (and tenth overall), which let me walk away with 50 bucks, and some awesome prizes, all packaged in a very handy reusable shopping bag. My teammate, Tabitha Ferguson came in second. Briana snagged first out of the senior women, and second overall, and remains the Queen of Cross.
Back to the timing tent to resume my duties. I watched the pained faces with newfound sympathy. Except for Wes, who rode by with a smile on his face, as usual, and slapped my hand as he went. He was also sporting uber geeky/uber cool almost-knee-high-sswc-socks. The socks of course made sense, as I later found out that he was also riding single speed.
After removing a kilometer or so of tape, and winning some clothes in a draw (including an awesome-in-so-many-ways wool, ear-covering kona hat), I loitered around for awhile, and began to think of a race that is going to be held next Sunday….
After a significant amount of said loitering, the decision was made to relocate to Jet Fuel. Dave Dermont attached his trailer to his bike, and off we went, like an uber geeky/uber cool bike posy, out to take over the streets. In Dave’s trailer were all of his race necessities, including a spare set of wheels, as well as the case of beer that he had won for completing the special challenge, which involved picking up an empty 24-box in the pit, and riding it up the second climb, down a fast hill, and over two barriers, before re-depositing it in the pit.
The race had been a success, both as a fundraising event for the team, and for me personally (the race itself, in addition to seeing most of my friends). Keith, Emma, and Johnny, had put on an amazing race, no one would have suspected that it was the first race that they were fully in charge of. No one got hurt, and it seems that everyone had a good time. If I recover, I’ll see you all out there again very soon.

Results at http://www.ontariocycling.org/web_pages/results/7ioca09.html

unemployment woes*

2009-10-22T15:54:00.003-04:00

I was recently laid off from my illustrious job as key bitch at the U of T trade shop. Months before my contract was up, they told me that they would re-sign me for another six months. Then, some time in mid September the foreman called me into his office, and said "you don't want to be a locksmith do you? I mean, your job generally leads into an apprenticeship program, you don't want that do you?", foolishly, I responded honestly, embarrassed that he would be able to see through me, "not really, but I would like to stay here for awhile longer if you can keep me" "we'll do what we can." A week later, the other key bitch was upgraded to apprentice. I knew that he would be, not only did he want it, but he is also friends with the foreman. A week after that I was called into the foreman's office again and given two weeks notice. It's not so much that I want to be a locksmith as much as that I have no job prospects, and had a mere $60 in the bank.

To add insult to injury, I was also told that they were hiring a new key bitch, to replace me, someone who wanted to become a locksmith, or at least was desperate enough to lie, and that I would have the pleasure of training him. He turned out to be a very nice guy, it's not his fault that he was replacing me, and I managed to train him quickly enough to get him off my back so that I could spend my last week searching job ads and exploring the campus.

My last day was October 2nd, three weeks ago, and I am already ripping out my hair from the anxiety and ennui. My yearning for excitement, for adventure, for something new, for purpose is being starved. Yet I have been completely immobilized by anxiety. "But you have so much free time! You should ride your bike! You should do this or that, enjoy yourself!" I can't enjoy myself. I feel as though I am always waiting, waiting, waiting, for something to happen, there is no end in sight. I have been given unending freedom... and no security. I can go out for pancakes in the middle of the day on a wednesday, but the guilt from this wanton carelessness makes them stick in my throat. No bike ride is long enough to make me sleep peacefully. I stay up all night because I am unfulfilled, looking for some way to validate my existence, and then restlessly sleep through half the day just to pass the time.

As an ecologist, I am at the bottom of the technical scientific totem pole. You see, ecology is not an exact science like molecular biology, or chemistry. Ecology is messy, it is more of an art. And employers don't care about your abilities to make inferences due to a familiarity with a process rather then precise data. As of now I have no real prospects, and see none coming up any time soon. I am starting as an unpaid intern for a local 'zine on Monday, but that will neither fill my time, nor will it pay the bills.

I am impatient, agitated, distressed. I need purpose.

*title unintentionally ripped off of Chris Damdar, my fellow unemployee and support group

Tara preaches about vegetarianism, part 1

2009-10-12T19:12:00.000-04:00

Over the last six months, my interest in the earth, has waned. This can likely be directly linked to my feeling that nothing real can actually be done about most of the problems (the government is too entrenched in bureaucracy for any real change to come from them). I started thinking that maybe we should just consume at twice the rate, because then at least humanity would kill ourselves off quicker, the earth would have a meltdown (or freezedown?), and reboot (really, I’d suggest suicide as the most effective way to reverse climate change, land use change, biodiversity loss, water pollution, etc, but I think that some of you might say that that would be a rather morbid and perhaps extreme suggestion. Maybe, but hey, if humanity is the problem, just sayin…). In any case, I grew apathetic about the possibility, or even need to ‘save’ our planet, decided that no one really cared anyway, so maybe I should rethink my life/career strategy ditch environmentalism, try to figure out how this whole market thing works, sell out, and make heaps of cash working on Bay Street (hahaha).

Anyway, with my newfound, externally imposed, vacation time, I have had plenty of free time, and have taken up reading again (it’s awesome, really). The book of the moment is called The Face on Your Plate: The Truth About Food by Jeffrey Moussaieff Masson. The first chapter spoke about pretty much every cause that I care deeply about, and I couldn’t help but get excited. It speaks about how our decisions about what we eat, and how it is grown are able to ‘save’ the world: the water, the air, the soil, the trees, the insects, even ourselves.

As many of you know, I hate discussing my vegetarianism, because I feel as though I will come off as a patronizing, smug, judgmental, know-it-all, asshole. However, you may have also realized that recently I don’t really give a crap about what other people think of me, and have begun to shout from the mountaintops (or small part of cyberspace) about various causes, that I feel are obvious and essential to our humanity, or the survival of the earth.

In any case, the first chapter of this book puts things so clearly, makes the point so strongly, that it revitalized my hope in the possibility that we’re not doomed. However, in order for any change to be made, those that believe in its potential must be annoyingly vocal.

I think that the simplest way for me to make my point is to list the statistics that he mentions. I think that for many people the suffering of the animals is easier to ignore, they want something more quantifiable, they want concrete evidence as to why eating meat is wrong. Maybe it’s just easier for me to make my case with numbers, or that this speaks to everything that I learned about during my masters (I won’t bore you by posting the introductory chapter of my thesis, I promise), but I found the statistics that he presents in this chapter to be so wonderfully concise that I hope that they shock you into thinking a bit. I defy you to forget about the lakes of excrement seeping into our ground water next time you bite into that factory farmed ham sandwich (at least go local, family farmed, and organic (check out http://www.thehealthybutcher.com/about_us.html I’m sure that there are other awesome places that a google search will reveal, but I’m not expert on that side of meat)). So here it is, my list of statistics ripped off from J.M. Masson, I am taking them at face value, as I have not directly read his sources, and hope that these are all valid within an acceptable value:

- 33% of human caused greenhouse gas emissions arise from the global food system
- much of this is from methane and nitrous oxide, with 23x and 296x the warming effect that CO2 does.
- 65% of human-related nitrous oxide emission comes from livestock production
- 37% of global methane emissions are from livestock
- 18% of human-induced greenhouse gas emissions come from the livestock industry, more then the entire transportation sectors
- globally there are 2.5 billion pigs and cattle, which excrete 80 million metric tons of waste nitrogen annually (with ‘only’ 30 million mT being excreted by humans)
- in the U.S, animal waste outweighs human waste by 130 times
- “factory farm runoff (we are talking about 3 trillion pounds of waste) is a greater source of pollution of (the U.S’s) rivers and lakes than all other industrial sources combined” (p 36)
- U.S. factory farmed animals produce 87, 000 pounds of waste every second, or 5 tons of animal waste per person per year
- this waste is kept in ‘lakes’ that are several hectares large, and leak (think rainy season) into groundwater, elevating nitrate levels, causing spontaneous abortions, and ‘blue baby’ syndrome (reduced ability of blood to transport oxygen), the hydrogen sulfide gas emanated from these lakes burns nearby resident’s eyes and respiratory tract, and can lead to brain damage.
- In 1993, E. coli, Salmonella, and Cryptosporidium from factory farms contaminated Milwaukee’s drinking water, killed 100, made 400, 000 sick
- E. coli part 2: a 2001 sample taken downstream from a Michigan cattle feedlot contained 1, 900 time’s the allowable limit.
- E. coli part 3: hey, remember Walkerton? Six people died, 1, 300 residents were affected
- In Texas alone, animals raise 7000 imperial tons of particulate dust into the air every year, dust which contains bacteria, mould, and fungi from the animal’s food and feces, just think of all the respiratory problems this could cause!!
- 75% of antibiotics and hormones fed to animals is excreted unmetabolized, contaminating the soil and groundwater, effecting sperm quality and count, increasing breast, ovarian, and testicular cancer
- one cow requires 30 acres of pasture to produce 500 lbs of beef. One acre of land will give 38, 000-63, 000 lbs of lettuce per year, that’s 1.14-1.89 million lbs over the 30 acres required to make a cow, not to mention that the lettuce won’t produce any fecal lakes
- agriculture consumes 80% of pumped fresh water
- It is generally accepted that a single pound of beef requires 2, 500 gallons to be produced (upper estimates quote 13, 000 gallons/lb)…
- …or 6 gallons for that head of lettuce, 60 gallons/lb of potatoes, 108 ga/lb wheat, 168 ga/lb corn, 229 ga/lb rice, and 240 ga/lb soy)
- “A kilogram of beef causes more greenhouse gas and other pollution than driving for three hours while leaving all the lights on at home”
- “the water that goes into a 1,000 pound steer would float a destroyer” (quoted from Newsweek)
- 2 lbs of animal protein requires 10x the water that 2 lbs of grain protein does
- 17 trillion gallons of irrigation water are used annually to produce livestock in the U.S.
- 40% of the world’s grain is fed to livestock instead of humans
- 7 football fields of land are bulldozed every minute to create livestock farms and the crops used to feed them
- only 6.7% of soy is directly consumed by humans, so although rain forest is also being destroyed for soy, most of it is being fed to animals destined for human consumption
- 70% of the deforested Amazon forest is used for grazing animals.
- livestock production accounts for 70% of all agricultural land use, and 30% of the global land surface
- Three BILLION people are currently malnourished, almost one half of our population, however, FOUR times as many people can be fed on an acre of fruit, vegetables, grains, nuts, and seeds as could be on one acre of land being used to grow a cow.
- these statistics are all for CONVENTIONAL methods, the numbers multiply when permaculture is taken into account (a method of farming that grows several complementary crops within the same space, but also lets the land fallow for longer periods).
- Apparently veganism saves over 2000 animal lives over the course of your life

By-Election?

2009-09-18T20:46:00.008-04:00

Over the last few weeks, my neighborhood, once again, became peppered with election signs (wasn't there an election some time in the last year?). The Liberal candidate, Dr. Eric Hoskins (yes, that sympathetic smile almost makes me want to vote for him too, or punch him in the face, either way), came a knockin' at my door on a Saturday morning, much to my frustration, and then again, and again, and again. When I wasn't home, or wasn't answering my door, they left flyers tucked into my door jam. They called me during dinner hours. They generally harassed me until I wouldn't even consider voting for them.
Conversely, one night while I was riding home along a dark and quiet Heath Street, a guy on a folding bike rang his bell at me and called out "vote for safe streets, vote Green!" I smiled. A Green party lawn sign attached to the back of his bike. He already had one up on the Liberals, purely because he was doing his campaigning out on the streets, and not continuously and obnoxiously invading my home, a space where my solitude is sacred, but obviously also because he had appealed to an issue close to my heart.
On Thursday, I managed to go out and vote just before the polls closed at 9, throwing on some pants, and going out in my smelly jersey after a ride. After speaking with some friends, I realized that no one else had voted. I am not that politically conscious, and so I wondered why I was the only one talking about the election. A google search made me realize that the election was just being held in my riding, St. Paul's. Why? To replace Michael Bryant. Yes, THAT Michael Bryant. The significance of what Chris Chopik, the guy on the bike, had said really hit home at that moment. The Liberals won yet again, with the Greens losing 4% of their support since the last election. One day the Greens will have a seat (remember the 2006 federal election when the Greens momentarily had a seat? I do, my ecology buddies and I were jumping out of our seats, it was quickly followed by heartbreak, as the single vote was removed from the count), and that will be a happy, happy day.

SO WHAT?!

2009-09-18T17:25:00.018-04:00

I was riding home from my Grandma's, at a leisurely pace, along the Davenport bike lane, when out of nowhere a slick black Mercedes almost clipped me. I could see that even after missing me by a mere inch, the driver still had not seen me. A fit of rage welled up in me, and I started to give chase. Not wanting to put myself in further jeopardy, I tried to cool off. I wanted to say something, I had to, I was in a BIKE LANE, for christ's sake, I was supposed to feel safe here, this was MY space, my oasis. But their wheels had clearly been to the right of the solid white line. Luckily they hit a red light, and swerved into the lefthand turn lane (without signaling). I crossed through a lane of traffic, and, suddenly timid, gently knocked on their sealed window. The woman in the passenger seat, a botched-botox-and-collagen-injected-Zsa-Zsa-Gabor-influenced-mess of a woman, was startled, a sure sign that they still had not seen me. The driver, a middle aged man in an anally starched, uninspired blue and white striped shirt, gold cuff links and red tie, paid no attention to me, not even turning his head to look at me.
"What?!" she gestured.
"You came this close to hitting me!" I yelled through their still closed window, showing two inches with my hands.
"So what?" she gestured, and shrugged her shoulders.
"So what?! SO WHAT?! You almost kill me and all you can say is 'So What'? If I die, 'So What?'" I repetitively, uncreatively screamed, unable to find words through my anger.
She shrugged again.
"FUCKING ASSHOLE!" I yelled, exasperated at my inability to express myself.
I wasn't getting through to them, so I rode off, feeling my blood pressure rising. I should have smashed my hand on the roof of their car, I should have keyed it, I should have threatened to roll down their window for them if they didn't do it (I conviniently carry my kryptonite lock in my belt, à la hipster). Would I though? I never seem to have the nerve to do that. I scolded my friend Andrew when he rightfully removed the rear view mirror of a car that hit him while doing an illegal u-turn (apologies to those that can't view the note, as he published it on facebook, as versus a blog). I didn't understand the rage then. Maybe I feel more entitled now? You're fucking right I do! The Highway Traffic Act clearly states that I am entitled to a lane. But furthermore, I WAS IN A BIKE LANE!! Om Shanti Tara, come on, chill the fuck out, the actions of others don't matter, only your reaction. You don't want to be that person do you? WHY NOT?! WHY THE FUCK NOT?! Why should I be quiet? Why am I always so obsequious? I have rights too! Sitting in their protected, climate controlled cages, they'll never learn, I should give them a means by which to learn. But what can I do that won't make them further hate cyclists? If I yell, or smack their car, then I will have given them a story with which to shock their friends at cocktail parties. If I don't do anything, or quietly try to explain to them what they have done, then they will never realize the gravity of the situation, and continue on with their day as though nothing happened.
I never used to get this angry about the hits (of which there have been four) and near misses (of which there have been hundreds). I quietly accept their apologies, and ride off shaking with fear. But I'm not that scared little girl anymore, and I'm tired of constantly being ignored, and disrespected. I am now beginning to realize that I have a right to be on the road, that no one is doing me any favours by allowing me to be there.
"So What?" she said.
I have never ridden up Poplar Plains so quickly and painlessly before. Ever.
In spite of being given two-weeks notice yesterday, I had had a fantastic day today: I was sent on a job to the Athletics Centre, and got to explore the back stairwells, mechanical rooms, catwalks, and pump rooms, I was slow-riding home, enjoying the weather, I was looking forward to starting Lolita, I was relaxed, content. Instead, now I'm squatting in front of my computer, wild, and half-dressed, in a fit of rage, unable to concentrate on anything, my only solace screaming about it on an insignificant page in the blogosphere. Will they never learn? I think that it's time that I finally went to get those stickers made that Liz and I had talked about, "I DON'T watch for bikes", shaming them, but more importantly warning other cyclists as to their behaviour.

Monday's 4 k

2009-09-14T15:00:00.016-04:00

(tiny thoughts that flitted through my brain as I woke up)

Overcast skies. Grim mourning (for this) Monday. Wet roads cold air. Grey car gives me curb space at the red light. Thank you. I roll slowly down the hill. Grumpy. I scorn the resevoir. Sluggishly avoiding the puddles. What's with this pace? Half way up the hill , I reluctantly cave in, and start to work.

I shove my steel capped shoe further into the toe clips. My little toe still hurts. It's been two weeks. I'll wear riding shoes tomorrow. I've been saying that for months. Who needs confort for 4 k?

A taxi cuts me off, just to stop in the corner, blocks me. You ruined my flow, asshole. Through the George Brown gauntlet. First one free to the other side.

A northbound hipster tries to ride a beautiful catalogue bike. Bianchi, Ourey, Aerospoke, plaid shirt. He looks unhappy

I stop worrying about being nice. I signal, and move aggressively. Red light, lefthand-turn lane, turn into the crosswalk. Bike cop turns left towards me. I wait. He wants to smile, unsure of me. I do not answer his look. Today I have no compassion. I'm still doubtful that he's with me.

Street meat man unpacking his cart already Is it that late? The light is still flat. It's still just six minutes to eight. Easy. That is just want, determination, capitalism. Need. People sit and smoke and shuffle outside buildings. Reluctant to start their day, their week. I feel better, I have company

Lock up, bag off, hair up, inside. A bead of sweat rolls down my back. I want to brush it away. It gets heavier. Tickling me as it finds its path. Right down the recessed median of my body. I bite my tongue. It comes to a stop

Kensington Lunches

2009-09-14T13:11:00.009-04:00

I started going to Kensington during my lunch breaks a few months back. It minimizes my eating time, but maximizes my rejuvenation time. Today I rode down College, and began attempting to turn south at Augusta through the crosswalk. A fire truck was coming, so I waited, as the pedestrians tried to make it through, using those last few seconds before the fire truck would come to the intersection and either flatten them into a bloody, squishy, oozy, grey-mattered, gory pancake, or stop, adding more time to their drive, leaving whoever was waiting bleeding in a ditch somewhere. I shot them contemptuous looks that they did not see. The fire truck passed, I attempted to cross. The light changed, cars were coming, it would be me who turned into a pancake now. I did a u-turn back into my lane, now facing oncoming traffic, I quickly pulled my bike over to the yellow line, where I lined up to do a left-hand turn. I could feel myself getting hotter with shame. There was a gap, and I did an illegal lefthand turn south onto the one-way-north Augusta, pausing for a moment to let the cars turn right, I went around to the west of them. Did I really just do that? Yes, yes I did. Asshole.
I managed to brush it off as I rode south on Augusta to The Spice Shop, which has become my Fruit and Nut Shop, and loaded up. By now the teller has become used to my biweekly $40 purchases of nuts and dried fruit, and has stopped laughing at me as though I were preparing for the approaching apocalypse (what can I say, I have avoided doing a full grocery trip for about a month now, and I can live on trail mix for a very, very long time, even if it doesn't have chocolate in it).
After rearranging my bag to fit the cashews, peanuts, apricots, currants, raisins, mangoes, and whatever else I bought, I sheepishly made my way to the bookstore that I had seen while wandering south. It turns out that This Ain't the Rosedale Library has a branch right here. Trying to delay entering, I perused the sale tables outside. I held my breath, and stepped over the threshold. I'm not going to buy anything today, I'm not, no more books, I don't have room, I don't have money, I need to stop, I won't, you can do it, be strong. I wandered on through, smiling at the site of my friend Thea's book proudly being displayed. I began taking books off the shelf, piling them into my arms. How does this happen? Why did I want to buy all of these books? I realized that I was in the environmental section. I made a list.
I went outside to unlock my bike. There was another girl there unlocking hers. I have to admit that I love it when that happens, when I get to see who that other bike belongs to, and have a moment with one of the city's other cyclists. She was tall and strong, and had beautiful skin, and colourful socks, and is the kind of girl that I'd probably be into if I was into girls. She complemented my bike, saying that she liked it's style. I didn't know what to say. What do you say to cute cycling chics that you would crush on if you crushed on girls? Not to mention that my bike has become ubiquitous, and it's hard for me to be proud of it now. She asked me where I put it together, paying me a compliment, and making an assumption all at once. Cycle Solutions, I said, they sometimes let me use a stand there, although I generally get a tonne of help, and can rarely say that I put my bike together (Kale, Keith, and Wil at the Parliament store helped me with this one). She told me to come by Bike Pirates one Sunday for women's day, where they all get together and try to help each other out. I don't really have any work to do on my bikes just now, otherwise I would. I rode away smiling. Such a nice sunny day. Books, food, girls, a few minutes on my bike.
I was relaxed for my afternoon. I sat down to the computer and slowly pulled out my list. Come on, you don't really need these do you? NEED?!?! And YES! "Need", pfft. What? Should my brain atrophy just because I'm not required to read anymore? I hit that "checkout" button, bringing the total from the last seven days to approximately $240, with a book-list that will likely land me on, well, a list. As soon as I hit that button I heard two of the guys talking, one said that the books that he bought for his almost two year old daughter were "only five bucks, so you really can't loose either way." "You can't loose even if they're $20", I thought, she's a toddler, if she doesn't read now, part of her brain might just never form. I felt relieved that I was able to justify my purchases. Thankfully I managed to trick myself into cancelling my cable a few months ago, so now I'll have all the time in the world to read again.

4 km

2009-09-11T08:06:00.021-04:00

Running outside, for the Le Mans start to my daily commute, I unlock and look west. The sky is deeper there, a greyed blue, like a storm is coming, but it won't rain today (I don't feel superstitious saying that, not today), the sun just hasn't touched that part of the sky yet. The air is fresh against my skin, not cold yet, but a fall morning already. After waiting for so long, summer finally happened for a few days, popping by only to say hello for a few hours in the afternoons. I wouldn't really know though, I'm locked up, behind bars, climate controlled, during that time. The sun squints at me over the resevoir. Gravity grabs me, just for a second, as I sink into the nadir. Happinness and poetry rush throuh my head, the words flow easily now, when I don't care enough to remember them, they'll disappear as soon as I have the means to write. I crouch down, pulling, trying to keep pace, but there's no one to chase today. A landscaper notices me, and turns his leaf blower away, after I've already passed, I turn my head and squint, already covered in dust. It doesn't matter, my shirt is three days old, I probably smell, I ran out of the good deodorant on tuesday, now I just smell like apricots for a few minutes before the sweat dries. I don't care, work does't matter, only this blip of a commute. How quickly can I spin my legs, how long can I stick with the cars, how smoothly can I sweep around that corner, how long can I fight to stand without touching the ground. The cars are polite today, mostly, no one rushes me, I take up the whole lane, as I try to wrench my wheel to a stop past Casa Loma. It's friday, and there are fewer students spilling on to the street, fewer cars waiting in line to turn into the parking lot. I turn east, the sun, stretching, but still pale, blinds me, I contort my face to avoid it's rays. I move slowly down Spadina, there's no rush today, I'm on time, it happens. The streets are busy now that it's fall and we're starting later, I'm amazed at what a half hour can do. Delivery men wheel carts back and forth, two rastas stand by a post, drinking coffee, hanging signs, freshly bathed nurses still half asleep walk slowly. I stand on the north-east sidewalk, doing a pedestrian lefthand turn. I can't hold my trackstand anymore, and start to roll out, just as the light turns green, I'm about to cut another cyclist off, he's turning right, I put my foot down, being the one in the wrong, he smiles. I roll in to work, four minutes before eight, the whole shop points out that I'm on time, they're loud, happy, boistrous, it's friday. It seems that we all feel chained to the money, putting in our time, counting the minutes until the two days of freedom. It's only eight, and the best part of my day is over already. I rush through my morning tasks, so that I can get to the computer, to write quickly, while I can still remember the lightness, today I floated, no effort, no near death, no sweat in the fresh air, I took the lane, and rode on the good pavement.

Tales of a Bike Thief

2009-09-08T09:58:00.019-04:00

While perusing the news this morning, I came across an article in the Globe and Mail discussing a new documentary on Igor Kenk. My impassioned hatred of Igor requires little elaboration. In addition to my personal experiences with bike theft (I was approximately 8 years old when I was first made a victim of bike theft (it was a blue and white BMX)), I love bicycles with all my being, I ride them for transportation and fitness, for escape, for rejuvenation, to feel alive, it is my playtime, my sanity, my patio beers, I feel that the bicycle embodies a certain pure, carefree childlike happiness, that is destroyed and soured when stolen. My anger and hurt for my three stolen bikes have easily found a target in Igor, the quintessential manifestation of a bicycle thief.

I was enraged by the way that this article, as is true of most documentaries, attempts to paint Igor with the brush of humanity, drawing no pity from my bruised heart. For me, Igor is already a bike thief, I need no further evidence, I have heard and read the stories, of people retrieving their stolen bikes from his "shop", and cops catching his goons stealing bait bikes. However, this article states that Kenk is still being held under lock and key in the infamously overcrowded Don jail. I was in complete disbelief that he could still be held, without a trial, for over a year. Isn't this exactly what we, as a democratic nation, fought for? Isn't this what our parents, and grandparents came to Canada for? How is it that a man presumed to be innocent (as the Charter of Rights and Freedoms states, that we are all innocent until found guilty) can be confined to such a horrific place, having had property in his possession seized by the police? This brings to mind nightmares of Gestapo raids! Well, lets not get melodramatic Tara. But why not?! Let me repeat myself: an unconvicted man has been sitting in jail, in one of the worst jails in North America, for over a year, without having been convicted of any crime. How can this happen? He is afterall, just a (accused) bicycle thief.

But what should we do with people who have been charged? It is laughable to suggest that they be set free, as they are already being suspected of dishonesty of some form, and this would allow them to roam the streets, continuing with their rampage of crime. Where is the balance between protecting the public from the accused, and the apparent assumption that the accused is already guilty, until a trial proves otherwise? What if it were you, or me? I do not have the answers, I simply wished to state how appalled I am with the state of such undemocracy, one which is being aggravated by the overburdened nature of Canada's legal system.

Don't call me "Darling"

2009-09-03T12:12:00.008-04:00

As many of you know, I took a position at the U of T trade shop that is affectionately referred to as "Key Bitch". I welcomed the opportunity, as it seems that this is all that my illustrious diploma (still waiting for that in the mail actually) has left me qualified to do. There are over a hundred men working in the shop (carpenters, plumbers, machinists, tinsmiths, electricians, locksmiths, etc, etc), and when I was hired this past spring, I was to be the third female on staff, and the only one working on the floor (one of the others is the co-director (there is much resentment towards her), the other does the finances). Since I was hired, three other women, two of which are carpenters, have also been hired, however, the ratio still remains in strong favour of the men.
It was an odd environment to step into for more than just the reason that I was strikingly in the minority; the men are primarily all white (ok, ok, there are two Asian guys, and a single black guy), straight, and Christian. It also seems that most of their politics hail from 1934. After spending years studying amongst hippy environmentalist types (I say that with pride and affection), where I usually played Devil's Advocate, taking the more conservative side of many arguments, this was a shockingly foreign culture. I have kept my complaints about the environment, the food industry, SUV's, consumerism, religion, cyclist's, women's, and human rights to a minimum, because I can't be fighting all the time with everyone, and I don't like to preach. I have bit my tongue, and picked my battles carefully. These generally involved telling people that 'spic',and other such lovely monikers are inappropriate, and that the people across the street at CAMH are not 'nutbags' out to kill them, but genuinely need help, and that it is in fact not their wife's job to cook and clean for them, and do their laundry.
This week, however, I'm finding that my blood is starting to boil. This was initiated by the response to the cyclist's death that occured this week,and how overwhelmingly pro-car, and anti-bike it has been, both in the media, and at work. On numerous prior occasions, I have stated that I don't feel the need to be an advocate for my politics because it seems that everyone agrees with me already, while simultaneously laughing that this is likely because I move within a fairly insulated community, and just don't realize the adversity that we are actually up against. This week has painfully confirmed the truth in that statement. This morning I bit my tongue as I listened to a group of men discussing how they have to pay alimony to their lazy, ex-wives who haven't worked since their kids were born (I presume that this is because they're sitting on their asses all day watching the Young and the Restless, and not because they are working around the clock to look after said male's progeny, a job that is surely as easy as making pie, wait, have you ever made a pie? Because I imagine taht it's a really difficult, skillful, and work-intensive process, especially those pies with the hatching on top. Mmmmm, pie....). Ater which I listened to a few drivers discussing how they themselves had rolled up their windows in fear after their car was taped by a passing cycliss. Their CAR, which,to paraphrase a friend, seems to equate an assault on their person. Furthermore, they completely understood where Micheal Bryant was coming from when he removed Sheppard from his car with a mailbox.
But I digress. I was treated well right from the beginning, people were polite, even though it was clear that most of them did not know how to function around a woman in the workplace. I tried not to rock the boat, as I was new, and at the bottom of the totem pole, so it was my place to be bossed around, apparently, by pretty much everyone. Now however, I have learned a bit about locks and keys, and sometimes disagree with regards to work related things. I am beginning to see that this is not so well tolerated, as they take a disproportionate amount of pleasure in correcting me, and putting me in my place. As long as I was weak, humble, quiet, and submissive, it was alright by them that , a WOMAN, had invaded their workspace, but now that it's been made apparent that I have a brain, and am strong, self-sufficient, and opinionated, I must be reminded of my place continuously, and regularly. The worst of them treat me as though I were their daughter, feeling as though they can tell me what to do, both in my job, and with my personal life, others seem to be scared and intimidated by me, others flirt non-stop,thinking that they can get away with murder with a smile and a wink, others make sexistc remarks in front of me, trying to see what I will do, to test whether I'm 'cool', or one of 'those' women (you, know, like the ones that wanted to vote, which is really where it all went wrong). One thing that I haven't put too much thought into is how I am regularly called doll, darling, sweetheart, honey, and dear (amongst others). At first it was quaintly old-fashioned, and I laughed at it. Now however, I am putting more thought into the sentiment behind these words, and I have realized how condescending, paternalistic, and diminutive they are. They reduce me to a harmless little girl, or a sexual object, not an equal, it makes it so that I'm no longer a threat. It seems that many of the men have chosen to work here in order to take shelter from a (possibly? give me hope!!) quickly changing society, where their narrow-minded views are no longer the status quo, and where they will not have to be challenged by anyone who is female, or educated, not to mention non-white, LGBT, or non-Christian. By it's very nature, my job forces me to serve others, and so it is difficult to assert myself, however, I think that I am done playing by their out-dated rules, and it might be time for me to show them that we don't live in the 1930's anymore. It saddens me though how narrow-minded and exclusionary our society still is. I had truly thought that things were changing, but it seems that all too much still remains the same.

(N.B. Many of the guys that I work with are actually very open-minded, intelligent, caring guys, but they weren't really the point of this post).

Helmets, a question of safety?

2009-09-02T08:07:00.011-04:00

Yesterday in Toronto, two cyclists were killed, and at least two more were critically injured, prompting me to question my sometimes bare-headed riding (I am not going to discuss the actual accidents, that is an entirely different matter on which I have all too much to say). This was a difficult proposal for me, not because I'm worried that it will mess up my hair (that ship has sailed), or spoil my image, but mainly because it involved a serious swallowing of my pride (some of you might wrongfully suggest that I'm moderately stubborn, and argumentative).
I work with a self-centered, sanctimonious, arrogant, intolerant, antiquated, narrow-minded, right-wing (oops, sorry, didn't mean to be redundant there), wind-bag, who also happens to be patronizing, and paternalistic, has both a superiority, and inferiority complex, and treats me like I'm his 15 year old daughter (I feel quite sorry for her). (This won't turn into an angry rant about him, I promise, I just needed to get that out). After hearing of the death of Darcy Allan Sheppard, he condescendingly scoldded me for not wearing a helmet (something that he has done many times before, authoritatively stating that HE knows what happens to cyclists who don't wear helmets, because he has a friend who is a firefighter). Now, I am not some fool with complete disregard for their own life, nor do I have the arrogance to posess a flase sense of security or invincibility. I will not go mountain biking, or road riding without a helmet, and I usually wear a hemet when riding in the city too. However, I only wear my helmet in the city when I deam it necessary. I make a careful decision depending on route, weather, time of day, and ability level. When I was learning how to ride a fixed-hub bike (arguably I still am), I wore a helmet, when it's pouring rain, I tend to wear a helmet, when I ride on Bloor West, I wear a helmet, when I need to ride fast during rush-hour, I wear a helmet, when I will be on my bike all day and I can't plan exact routes in advance, I wear a helmet. But when I feel as though I will be doing a ride where I will be safe, I opt-out. How can *I* decide when I will be safe?! They yell. I am an easy target, exposed, and unprotected, they yell, while simultaneously stating that it's not their fault if they hit a cyclist if that cyclist dares to ride outside of the gutter, and in a motorist's rightfully given path, then it is not their fault for hitting, injuring, maiming, or killing the cyclist. In spite of all the horrors of the road, of which I am, literally, painfully aware, the lack of ability of most drivers, and their complete inatention to what it is that they are doing, I feel that I can still make such a decision because I am a skilled cyclist, with experience riding in a congestd urban setting, and I know my own limits. I know that when I'm out for a weekend "stroll", that I won't be riding over 15 km/hr, and that my reflexes are quick enough, and my comfort level high enough that I can stop on a dime. "But you can't predict what everyone will be doing!!" they yell, after telling me that I have to obey the law unfailingly and without thought, as though that is what will protect me. Aside from the fact that I have learned to do just that, to predict what other people will do, simply by assuming that everyone will always at any given moment behave in the most egregious way possible, I would like to argue that forcing me to wear a helmet in certain situations is as laughable as asking a person who is walking to also wear a helmet.
HOWEVER, immediately after hearing of the death of a then-unamed cyclist, I had resolved to start wearing my helmet to work again, something that I had been meaning to do for awhile. I had argued with myself for awhile, because the smug look on my coworker's face when I would walk in wearing a helmet was not something to look forward to (he managed to bite his tongue this morning, but I did see a wave of self-righteous satisfaction cross his face). So this morning, I picked up my helmet, strapped it on, and rode to work. What I immediately realized was how un-safe my helmet made me feel. I haven't been able to verbalize this sentiment before, so bear with me while I attempt to now. I found myself riding faster then I normally do. A good thing, for a racer like me, right? Not necessarily. I was taking far more risks then I normally do: taking the right of way before I was 100% sure that the driver had seen me, riding closer to parked cars without watching their wheels, doors, mirrors, and windows, riding over rougher roads at higher speeds with traffic close by (which poses a greater risk of damaging my bike, or flatting a tire, thus potentially causing me to swerve or fall into traffic), in short, I was riding like I would on a freewheeled bike (remember what I said about taking my own skill level into account?), chances that I would not take with an exposed head. I feel as though the helmet made me cockier, more willing to take a risk, and thus more of a danger to the almighty motorist (because, come on now, it's really THEM that's going to get hurt by these damned cyclists). So I would like to hear your opinion on the matter: is it really safer to wear a helmet, or am I just a fool who won't even end up as an acceptable organ donor?

(Please forgive the rushed, un-edited writing, I'm at work, and it's difficult to concentrate and I'm having a hard time finding the right words, any criticism, or suggestions for a title would be great, as this is a writing exercise, in addition to a rant)

Vive La France!

2009-08-28T13:18:00.005-04:00

After having eaten my lunch during morning recess (although delicious, the kale, chard, mango, strawberry smoothie that I had for breakfast didn't really cut it), and so I had to go out to fill my belly during actual lunchtime. I ended up at one of my regular spots, Chabichou, an épicerie on Harbord, and ordered a grilled brie sandwich (which was gooey and tasty, but a bit disappointing after their melt-in-your-mouth quiche), and a coffee drunk out of a mug printed with a poster of a redheaded cyclist (I swear, I didn't pick it purposefully) advertising bike rentals and lessons
(for 20 francs, maybe there's been a devaluation of the franc, but back in 1997, 20F was $C5, which seems a bit steep for an early 19th century cycling lesson). The service has always been good (they let me taste cheese to my heart's content, even offering cheeses that I haven't requested), but given that I've never spoken french with them (in spite of being close to bilingual), they've never been overly friendly. Today however I think that they finally recognized me as a regular customer, and decided to get my life history. When I asked the man at the counter to fill my bottle with water he came back with "of course, the water here is great, we have evian running through the taps." I left smiling from my mid-day reverie through France, got on my bike, hit a red light, and draped myself over the handlebars. As I looked down, I saw an empty packet of Gauloise Blondes, the brand that I smoked back when I was young, invincible, and curious (and living in France). I couldn't help but laugh out loud at the synchronicity. The whole episode left me feeling lighthearted and nostalgic, and ready to go back to work on a day where I was overtired and unmotivated from the moment my alarm went off at 6:15 a.m.

Dear "So You Think You Can Dance?"

2009-08-25T21:56:00.003-04:00

I haven't turned the t.v on since Le Tour, but found myself with an extra hour tonight, and wanted to fill it with sublime mind-numbing sedation, and I somehow ended up watching “So You Think You Can Dance” on mute (yes, that’s right, on occasion I watch “So You Think You Can Dance”, a former (male, straight) roommate turned me on to it. At the end they did a segment titled “backstage relief” (I’m sure that they were going on about how happy, grateful, and….relieved they were). They flashed through what must have been 20 couples, and what immediately struck me was how traditional it all was, woman-man, woman-man, woman-man, and on, and on, and on. There was absolutely no break in the regularity (not only of their gender-pairing, but also of their aesthetic). One shirtless man (guy? boy?) was talking, and I thought to myself “surely he’s gay, yet he’s forced to play a part in portraying such a traditional, conservative pairing, why can’t he dance with another guy?” Obviously playing a character involves doing something that may conflict with your own personality, but why was EVERY SINGLE couple male/female? This is of course just one of the many narrow-minded, uninclusive, stereotyped, white-washed, biases being forced down our throats by an un-progressive, un-creative, un-stimulating media, afraid of pushing boundaries and stirring up controversy for fear of alienating their apparently very conservative viewers. I really shouldn't have expected much else, given that i was, as previously stated, looking to dull my intellect.

who would have thought?

2009-07-24T19:07:00.003-04:00

i learned today that zen, of polo-mallet fame, actually used to be an avid track cyclist (it's all coming together now). you wouldn't guess it by looking at him, because he's around 5'6", and about as wide. his face started glowing when he was talking about his old bike, a peugot with wooden rims hanging in his basement (is it for sale zen? huh? huh?). it's kinda cool how a common passion can break down social, cultural, and age barriers.

Things that made me smile today

2009-07-08T22:34:00.000-04:00

clean jeans
the opportunity to get into the drops (due to the need to sprint to work)
all green lights
an appreciative client who dropped off a box of organic dark chocolate bars
lunchtime walk to kensington: the general relaxed, everyone-piling-into-the-street-pedestrian atmosphere of kensington
the spice shop
stretching on the grass with Billy the electrician during afternoon break
standing under a tree in the cricket parking lot during a short summer rainshower
the straightness of the falling rain, and the smell of the rain
the trails NOT getting wet
kick ass ride with Wayne
not choking on any of the bridges or downhills (and even riding some of the optional bridges)
riding clean
not being scared shitless for the first time ever on the NTWA DH
seeing pretty much everyone i know in the trails
the HUGE crowd that gathered between P.A and the flats to hang out with Bret because he crashed so badly that he didn't know where he lived (note, Bret being hurt did not make me smile...it was the mtb community coming together out of concern, even though most of them didn't actually know Bret)
putting away the spices and nuts, and watching the rich colours pile into little mountains of powder
an ice cold beer and fruit salad for dinner
but mostly, and the main reason that i even wrote this list: seeing Liz coming up Huron in an all out sprint, barefoot, carrying her sandals in hand because she saw me ride by (she was on a patio having a drink, jumped the rail, ran across Bloor, lost a shoe, ran back for the shoe, and came up Huron shouting my name, it was priceless, i <3 Liz)

Tour de Lance

2009-07-06T20:56:00.000-04:00

Disclaimer: I know that I’m not saying anything revolutionary here, but what is a blog if not a platform to ramble on self-righteously about un-original subject matter? I just needed to vent, so I did, I feel much better now, thanks.

I have been watching the tour fairly consistently for awhile now, not because it is a race that I am particularly interested in, but because it is the only race that is aired in its entirety every year (at least for the last 8-10 years). I used to watch bits of the Giro when channel 35 was still that Italian channel (tele Italia?), which was fun in small doses, but I am not a practiced sports-watcher, and it’s nice to have a bit of commentary in English to help me figure out what’s going on. HOWEVER, it seems that the tour is now catering to the absolute lowest common denominator of viewer. They have started explaining the most basic things as though the viewer is a complete moron (similar to the blue puck on FOX). The little tour history tidbits would be great, if they were not so incredibly over-simplified, leaving me completely unsatisfied (they mention the difficulty of riding a tour on a ca. 1903 bike, but I want to know HOW difficult; how much did it weigh, what kind of gearing would they choose on a mountain stage, etc). Tonight they actually felt the need to explain the significance of the kilometer counter at the left of the screen, as though this mysterious puzzle is far too complicated to decipher. I understand that more people have started watching the tour because of Lance (I’ll get to him in the second part of this complaint), and maybe I over-estimate the intelligence of the general population, but isn’t this starting to be a bit much?
What REALLY rubs me the wrong way is how much this tour is, yet again, focused on Lance. Last summer I was actually excited about the tour, simply because Lance wasn’t riding (although they still found a way to make it about him). Every commercial break has at least one Lance/cancer related advertisement (I also hate to burst your bubble, but cancer isn’t going to be ‘conquered’, or ‘cured’, there are a zillion different forms of cancer, maybe a few of the types will be, but not ‘cancer’, come on now, the fight to cure ‘cancer’ has, like oh so many things, become a business more then anything else (sorry to be such a cynical ogre)). But mostly, it’s how there is now a little Lance-avatar, in addition to the indicators for the various jerseys on the race diagram. Lance is done! He’s a diva! Why the fuck should I care where he is in the peleton? He isn’t one of the contenders! Even his team doesn’t think so. This whole tour is a publicity stunt for Lance. He didn’t ‘retire’ kids, he just took a year off. Calling it a retirement was a good way to set up a comeback, which would garner much media attention for ‘cancer’ (not to diminish cancer, and the suffering it causes). The other option of course is that he is really quite done with the whole circus, but came back not so much out of love, but for the publicity for his various retirement plans.
I understand that yellow was the colour of cancer long before Lance, but that was always represented as a daffodil, now yellow has become completely symbolic of cancer and Lance, not of The Tour. They’re now hawking yellow ‘road i.d’ bracelets, just in case you get hurt while you’re out riding….put your freaking health card in your jersey pocket, I promise, it doesn’t weigh that much. How is it that for so long the USPS/Discovery team were allowed to have that yellow band around their sleeve, proclaiming their leadership before the race had even started, a bit arrogant in my eyes. There is so much yellow surrounding Lance, that it could easily be forgiven for someone to believe that it was his colour, and not one that was meant to be earned through unimaginable amounts of pain and suffering, not to mention intelligent riding. Lance was well coached by his entourage in how to deal with the media, but you can still see his prickish nature poking through. Yeah, I liked Lance too when he was an underdog, but enough is enough.
While I’m at it, I might as well go on a rant about doping in cycling. Yes, yes, yes, of course there’s doping, it’s a professional sport, stop being such an idealist. The reason that cyclists are made out to be such cheaters though is because of the push from inside the sport to eradicate doping. There is an equivalent, if not greater, amount of doping in ALL OTHER SPORTS, they just give the dopers a free pass (or a nominal suspension that is likely welcomed), and so it doesn’t draw much outside attention. We have managed to turn our own sport into a spectacle about doping in the eyes of the general population merely because of the attempt to catch every doper. I am not sure what the solution to this is, as I feel that the effort to clean up our sport is very important. The unfortunate byproduct of this is that doping is now the first thing that most non-cyclists think of when they think of bike racing. I hate having to defend my respect for pro cyclists (in spite of admitting that they cheat) to the non-cyclists in my life (as though I were a spokesperson or something), explaining that it is such a ridiculous sport, that a bit of doping can be forgiven. Yes they cheat, yes, I still love them, and yes, I’ll still watch the tour in spite of it all.

Tour de Gluttony, volume 1

2009-06-28T11:39:00.000-04:00

If you’ve spent even a moderate amount of time with me, you’ll know that I love to eat, and regularly bring full picnics, complete with cold beer, on bike rides. Just think of all those wonderful fluffy, crusty breads, sharp salty cheeses, sweet juicy berries, savoury sun-dried tomatoes, creamy chocolate, quenching ice creams, fantastic!! Food is one of life’s simplest pleasures, good food is not an indulgence, it’s a necessity (within reason, obviously). Liz meanwhile has her own obsession: good coffee. One day back when it was still cold and rainy out, I had come up with the (if I do say so myself) brilliant idea of doing an espresso and gelato tour of Toronto. The list of places could be as long as time allowed for, however, the single caveat was that we would have to cross Yonge Street between each stop. If we wanted to go to two places on the same side of Yonge, a pass across would be required first.
It was only in the last month that I began actually planning this, gathering tips from friends, and online reviews, but mainly from my brother Fred, the foodie. The list slowly developed to include more pastry shops, rather than gelaterias (as there were really only two that made the cut), but there will always be more heat waves, suitable for a stroll down St Claire to La Paloma. Clafouti (right beside where Igor’s used to be) was, without question the first place to stop. I am never up early enough to get there before they run out, so I wanted to use this opportunity to go there and have another one of their orgasmic chocolate croissants. The fact that most of the city’s gourmet espresso bars are in the east end made it slightly easier to organize. However, the highly abbreviated end list still had six bakeries, five cafes, and a gelateria on it, this would take some serious commitment, and focus.
Our schedules lined up nicely this weekend, I didn’t have a race, and Liz didn’t have papers or exams, so Saturday was a go, which also coincided with her birthday (why settle for just one piece of cake?). I picked her up bright and early at 9 am (aka 9:20), and we were off.

First stop, Clafouti (915 Queen West)
Liz went straight to the butter croissant, stating reasoning that amounted to it being the purest test of a bakery’s worth, similar to my reasoning behind sticking to a straight espresso. I was torn between an abricot papillon, pain au chocolat, and the eventual decision of a light, crispy, sugar dusted, croissant, filled with creamy almond paste, swirled with chocolate. These were consumed under the shade of a tree in Trinity-Bellwoods park, where the strategy of hydration versus unnecessarily filling our stomachs as well as the merits of bike lanes were discussed (we both decided that not only are bike lanes good, especially if we’re going to get more ‘average’ people on bikes, but we both support DIY bike lanes). We solved a variety of the world’s other problems as well.
One butter croissant, and one chocolate almond croissant: $3.10

First café, Mercury Espresso Bar (915 Queen East)
Riding to the polar location of the city has a certain balance and simplicity to it, which I completely ruined by not paying attention to where we were going, and riding us all the way out to Coxwell. However, Liz was very agreeable, and we turned around. We sat outside, which may have been a poor decision, as there wasn’t a speck of shade, and we were both pretty shiny, and squinty from the heat (normally I embrace the heat, but I haven’t been given the chance to acclimatize this year, as I work in an air conditioned environment). The espressos tasted very similar to what I was used to from Manic, probably because they both use Intelligentsia beans. I got a lesson in crema from Liz, and learned that the excessive crema was what had made this espresso a bit thick and heavy, giving it a wintery feel that stuck inside your mouth like pudding.
Two single espressos: $3.99

Light fixtures/sculptures

Yes, there are a lot of pictures of Liz, I am in no way obsessed with her, I just like to take pictures of her crazyness

Three, Dessert Trends (154 Harbord):
Another bisection of the city, made slightly more difficult due to Pride. We made a stop at Liz’s, as she was feeling slightly more awake now, and wanted to swap her ultimate-city-bike (a custom painted scavenged step-through frame with Shimano Alfine parts and the prettiest panniers I’ve ever seen) for the ever-so-slightly-faster-what-dreams-are-made-of Surly steamroller.
And surly was the service at our next stop. The staff silently shadowed us as we tried to make decisions, yet were strangely unhelpful when advice was asked for, all the while ignoring the small child that was asking for water (it was all very tiny tim).
We were confronted with a veritable cornucopia of candied fruits, custards, and chocolate mousses encased in wavy milk chocolate shells.
View it large (click on the picture)

But what’s this? There was an ice cream counter as well? After tasting as many flavours as we thought acceptable (which was four, by the way, a fairly low number when split between two people, but the girl gave us progressively smaller tastes each time, until I was barely sure what the last flavour even was), we settled on the strangely named Solana and mixed berry ice cream. My best guess is that it is a fruit from the Solanum family, probably tamarillos, but I can’t be sure, since I’ve never had one. It had a slightly sour flavour, complementary to the tiramisu we chose. These were consumed around the corner in a little park, as we were curtly told that there would be a $2 surcharge if we seated ourselves inside.
The ice cream was better than the tiramisu, which itself wasn’t all that bad, just a bit rich, and not nearly coffee enough.
Tiramisu, and Solana and mixed berry ice cream: $9.40

The number dangling from the saddle is for her condo bike parking. Liz fought the condo board for quite some time to get acceptable bike parking installed in the garage, and was finally successful.

Four, Dark Horse Espresso Bar (682 Queen East)
We opted for inside seating to get a bit of shelter from the heat. Both of us were quite red in the face after our fourth trip across Yonge. The espresso was again made with Intelligentsia beans, but was somehow sharper and thinner, making for a nicer, summer shot. Liz smartly selected an iced Americano, which was exquisitely refreshing, although a bit watery, but sweet enough without any additions. As we collapsed in their chairs, some serious discussion was put into the selection of our next location, should we go for cakes, pastry, gelato? The furthest spot west? A bit north? South of the lakeshore? The merits of each were weighed, since we would obviously not be able to get to every spot, so some hard, calculated decisions needed to be made. Finally we settled on a location that was foreign to both of us.
Single espresso and an iced Americano: ~$5
Liz and the Americano

Five, Cherry Bomb Coffee (79 Roncesvalles)
We went south to the lakeshore bike path to get in some trafficless riding in, without thinking that EVERYONE ELSE IN THE CITY would be doing that too. The question came up as to whether it was better to endure the annoyance of other people, or risk life and limb between the motorized madness (essentially should we be the assholes or the oppressed?). We passed the cafe once, as there was no sign, just a plastic, fused cherry hanging over the awning. I immediately loved the place, probably due to the beautiful steel vintage CCM cleanly hung on the wall by a steel cable. There was a certain simplicity to the whole place, with a large wooden chopping block table centered behind the counter, the general lack of seating, and the helpful, yet absent-mindedness of the server. The fact that it had some distance from most of the other espresso bars in the city gave it a less pretentious atmosphere (in spite of the brakless bike hanging from the wall).
The Dark City beans made for a thinner, smoother, refreshingly summery, shot, that we both agreed was our favourite so far. Thankfully they didn’t hold back on the lemons, and sweetened the lemonade just enough. The date square was moist, datey sweetness. Four thumbs up, if I lived closer, I would definitely visit more often.
Double espresso, lemonade, date square: $5.50

Six, Bonjour Brioche (812 Queen East)
By this point we were on a tight time deadline, and had been quickly powering back and forth between stops, spending minimal time at each location, making quick, decisive selections. We hadn’t actually consumed anything substantial in quite some time, so we opted to go for somewhere that was more likely to carry pastries as versus mousses and cakes. After starting at a place called Clafouti, one couldn’t help but think of delicious custard with sweet cherries squished in it all day. They didn’t have any with cherries, but we went for the next best thing, one with blueberries, which was served with a devine glob of whipped cream. The coconut macaroon was deliciously gooey on the inside. I have to say, this was probably my favourite place so far. The staff was mixed, some seemed stressed out, but the girl that brought us water also filled my bottle with lemony goodness.
Blueberry clafoutis, and coconut macaroon, $8.56.

Total: $35.55, not bad for eight hours of gluttony

The day involved a lot of tricky navigating through traffic (although I only used the handbrake once, which was likely unnecessary, but I was starting to feel the heat, and that box truck cut us off awfully suddenly). The city was finally starting to feel like summer, everyone was out, shirtless boys were playing basketball, small children were selling lemonade, dogs were panting, girls were holding sun umbrellas, garbage was being burnt (which somehow makes me nostalgic for Asia), and traffic was overflowing (except on Adelaide, and in the financial district, which rocked), there was even a street car accident along the west end of Queen, where two streetcars had amusingly collided (no one was hurt). By the end of the day I was filthy, the air was apparently filled with dirt, which found a way to stick to me, and black water ran off my hands when I eventually washed them.

I have to go on a tangent in praise of Liz’s riding abilities here for a moment. I am a rather cautious cyclist, both on and off road. I’ve been hit three or four times by cars and a pedestrian (the pedestrian was actually the worst of the bunch), and like having the option of security that my handbrake provides. Liz however, has no fear, either on the trails, or on the road, where in spite of riding brakeless, was, seemingly effortlessly, able to stop on a dime, and navigate between the tightest spaces.
We passed at least another dozen cafes and patisseries that were difficult to continue by. I was fairly impressed that we stuck to the rule-of-Yonge. We finished the day off by quickly testing the new polo mallets. The riding had ensured that we weren’t ridiculously full, however the two alcoholic beverages that I had consumed towards the end of the day had left me completely plastered (the 3.5 bottles of water that I had drunk were nowhere near enough, and once I got home, I immediately drank another 1.5 L). It was a perfect summer day in the city, and I look forward to round two.

Map: http://www.gmap-pedometer.com/?r=2956496 (i can't be 100% sure of it's accuracy though)

On the list, but not visited:

Chabichou (196 Borden, at Harbord)
Jet Fuel (519 Parliament), which I’ve never actually been inside, but go by often enough that I felt it unnecessary to make the effort to go there today
Atelier Thuet (171 East Liberty), their breads are to die for
The Cupcake Shoppe (2417 Yonge)
Manic (426 College), skipped due to the frequency which both of us already go there
Dufflet Pastries (787 Queen West)
La Paloma (1357 St. Claire West), which is technically in my hood, and so can be visited easily on non-occasion days

Not on the list, only due to time and stomach capacity restraints:

Wanda’s Pie in the sky (287 Augusta)
The Gelato Fresco factory (60 Tycos Drive at Dufferin and Lawrence)
Pain Perdu (736 St. Claire)
That chocolate place in Yorkville that makes Mayan hot chocolate (like melted chocolate, not the water based beverage) (behind the Maison de la Presse)
The Coffee Tree (2412 Bloor West)
Sweet Bliss (1304 Queen East)

How to make a bike polo mallet in three easy days.....um, four to five days......under a week....a week or so.

2009-06-20T13:00:00.000-04:00

Day 1: Tuesday June 16
While I was sitting at work staring blankly off into space wondering what I was going to do for the next six hours, suddenly, and out of nowhere my need for a bike polo mallet sprang into my brain, and I sat up with a sudden energy, started smiling, and immediately began scavenging around for something to make it with. The first step was to find some pipe. So off I went in search of a plumber who owed me a favour (I can’t just go around stealing materials from other trades without asking).
Zen, the plumber, and I looked through the stack of pipes available in the shop. There were pipes of various plastics, steel pipes, copper pipes, plastic-steel composite pipes, big pipes, little pipes, green pipes, grey pipes (red fish, blue fish). I managed to explain to him what I wanted, and what I wanted to do with it. Zen is a tough looking middle aged guy that looks over his glasses at you when you speak to him, as of yet, I have not been able to make him smile, so am a bit nervous around him. However, he didn’t bat an eye at the strange request. Zen remembered seeing exactly what I was looking for behind the dumpster out back.
Once back in the shop, I started looking around for a hacksaw, but no, no, no, we would use the absolutely superfluous pipe cutter (figure 1, yes, i'm labeling my figures, a) i'm a geek, b) this IS a how-to guide after all). This involved a 20" long by 8” diameter clamp (I’m sure that this method gives far straighter and smoother cuts than kneeling on the pipe and using a hacksaw does), and then clamping the saw to the desired location, which was measured four times. He explained that the difference in weight could give an unfair advantage to one or other side), but still cut twice because my initial estimate had been too long. So phase one was complete, and it was time for morning recess, where I would hopefully see the machinist that would help with phase two.
Figure 1: The pipe cutter and vise

Phase two took a lot longer then anticipated. In hindsight of course this makes sense, a piece of plastic pipe is far easier to acquire than anything that would work for a handle.
I didn’t run into the machinist until after lunch, which, by the way, was absolutely great. I had gone across the street to CAMH for a fried egg sandwich during recess, so that I wasn’t hungry, and had thirty minutes of whatever I wanted time at lunch. So Liz came down with two field hockey sticks and a ball (obviously I had been unable to keep my surprise a secret). We hit a ball around in the space between the chem and physics buildings, and basked in the wonderful summer sun and heat until she had to go back to studying and I had to go back to work. But back to phase two…
I ran into Paul-the-machinist on my way back from lunch, and explained what I wanted, he told me that he’d scavenge for materials and get back to me. At around 3:30 I didn’t really feel like working anymore, and Paul hadn’t gotten back to me, so I decided to go see what was going on. I found him amalgamating buckets of oil amongst some very large machines that looked like they folded or cut things (I later found out that they’re more involved with making things that are round). He still thought a broom-handle was the best option, but I was skeptical; where would we find such a piece of thick, smooth, long, hard wood? To steal one (not to mention two!) broom-handles would be shameless, what if someone needed to sweep? And there was this broom-head lying on the ground! And there was a pile of crap that needed sweeping immediately!! And they had to push the broom-head with their hands!!! All because a couple of girls had stolen the handles to play some idiotic game of fools that sounds like it’s more about drinking beer and hanging out than any sort of athletic pursuit, and they were actually just too cheap to buy ski poles?!!!?! OUTRAGEOUS!!!!! But Paul took me over to the carpenters area, which was actually pretty cool, and I’d never been there before, because it’s fairly out of the way, and I don’t like to wander through the shop, as it’s tightly packed, and I hate getting under everyone’s feet, but now I had a purpose.
The garage style back door was open, and the floor was made from a pale, used looking, wood, so everything was bright, almost glowing. The shop was about the size of a small school gym, but no one was there, except for the foreman at the back. We found a worn out broom, and the foreman cut the handle off for me (anyone keeping track of the billing so far? You’ll also notice that every time I go to a new section of the shop, I have to get one of the appropriate trades people to do the work for me, it seems that outsiders are not allowed to use machines in other shops). Sawdust filled the air, and got caught in the sunlight. I love woodshops. Maybe it’s because of the simplicity of how things work, or maybe it’s just the smell of the wood. The handle was too short though. There happened to be a bunch of scrap steel tubing in the garbage (is it just me that finds it strange that everything I needed could easily be found in the garbage?). However when I held the tube, it was far too heavy, and there was no aluminum to be had. By now it was ten to four, which meant that it would have to wait until tomorrow…for phase twopointfive.
Maybe I could wait until the weekend and find a garage sale? But that relied too much on chance, not to mention my complete lack of time or inclination to go searching for garage sales (it was the solstice weekend afterall). Think, think, think. Buy a broom? No, that’s just silly. Maybe the ski shop would have some old used ones? BAMBOO! Eureka! Strong, cheap, light, AND there is a store that sold it about 3 blocks from where I work.

Day 2: Wednesday June 17
I couldn’t wait for morning break, at exactly 10 am, I ran outside, hoped on my bike, and rode down to the bamboo store. I pulled out all the pieces of appropriate diameter that weren’t cracked, and selected the strongest one. Of course it was on special, for $2.99 (for about a 12’ pole). I got back on my bike and tucked it under my arm like I was getting ready to joust, and carefully picked my way along the sidewalk until I could cross the street. Maybe it was just me, but I think that a few of the older Asian guys smiled as I went by, likely being reminded, as I was, of the same scene back home (their home, not mine).
Back at the shop I actually had work to do, so the bamboo would have to wait. Not much else was done before lunch except cutting two poles of approximately the same length. Of course everyone had to get involved, apparently a girl holding a saw is an oddity (they’ve finally started leaving me alone when I’m soldering, but there was a lot of running commentary for quite some time). It was, however, amusing, because basically everyone was just looking for a distraction, and I provided them with one, not once was it even mentioned that I was messing around during work hours (and yes, even my foreman was into it).
Then came another awesome lunch-with-Liz. Around the corner she came, riding a brakeless fixie in Birkenstock flip flops, field hockey sticks strapped to her top tube, double shot of espresso in hand (this of course doesn’t hold a candle to the time that she rode to field hockey practice in the rain with a hockey bag strapped to her bike rack, it should be noted that she’s the goalie).
After a very delectable snack of espresso crème brule with more espresso poured over top (no, there is no such thing as ‘too much’ or ‘overdoing it’), we hit the field hockey ball around for a bit while on our bikes. Liz came back to the shop, which always amuses me, because the guys really go nuts, everyone is looking to see what’s going on, or coming over to hang out. After she left I was asked many, many questions about her (the guys are about as subtle as a sledge hammer), even though this wasn’t her first time there (and her visiting on a regular day is already an event), however, today was special, with all the excitement around the mallets.
After putting in a solid hour of work, I went off in search of Paul-the-machinist again (we had spoken after lunch about phase three). Drilling a bolt through the side of the pipe (with the bamboo through the middle) even with a flat-headed bolt, would result in a nut sticking out the other side. I figured that this was a common problem with polo mallets, and thus it didn’t bother me that much (I HAD been looking to make this quick and dirty). However, this would not do, and Paul (along with Adam, of the lockshop), had decided that the best way to attach the handle to the head was to bolt it through the bottom. So phase three was to make a plug for the end, in order to have something to drill into. After discussing stress points and forces, it was decided that the plug shouldn’t pass through to the other side of the pipe. Paul was unsatisfied with the broom handle wood from yesterday, and so a rectangular bit of maple was scavenged from the carpenter’s scrap bin.
This is where things get really cool (Nota Bena: I have never actually been in a machine shop, so although this stuff is probably pretty normal, to me, everything was new, and spectacularly amazing). We were now over by the machines that I had seen him at the day before, the one that makes things that are round (it’s a lathe, makes threads, hollows things out, etc). This is a 7’x3’x4’ machine that is accompanied by it’s own crane. A large T-handled key was used to change the clamp bits; the clamp consisted of a large (12”) base, with blocks fitted in at four sides to hold whatever material you’re working on, whose heads come in different shapes and sizes. Paul let me help with this (I’m sure very basic) task. The blocks were used to centre the wood. I was surprised at his precision, however I was quickly told that we were doing a very sloppy job, and this would never do normally. The machine was set, and away we went, to the nearest 64th or so of an inch. Luckily Paul had a phone with a camera in it (the picture from which will be uploaded when he emails it to me). This whole process amazed me, to create something out of a block, to be able to make exactly what you need out of a raw material. I had assumed that we were using this method because Paul was privy to the machinists tools, but not those in the carpentry shop, but apparently the carpenters don’t have a lathe, yeah, I know, weird, so what we were doing might have been slight overkill, but it was the only way to do it here.
Paul left to go do something actually work related, and I was left to cut the round plugs off the square base. Seems like a simple task right? However, I managed to then put the plug into the bamboo, and get it stuck, can’t leave me alone for a minute. I decided that if it was such a tight fit, it wouldn’t matter, and if it ever fell out, well, I could glue it in then, but Paul decided to pour crazy glue all over it, and let that seep in, so the bottom plug in my mallet is really, really in there. The second plug was glued in, with a few pieces of paper for shims. Phase four would have to wait for Thursday.

Day 3: Thursday June 18
Day of rest, no work was done on Thursday.

Day 4: Friday June 19
Alright, so lets get this done before the weekend. Mornings are generally busy enough, and I assumed that it was the same for Paul, so I didn’t bother him until the afternoon. He told me to come back during break (yes, he was going to skip a second break to work on my frivolous distraction). So we started out by drilling a hole through the pipe. Again, not done with a hand drill, or even a drill press, but with a milling machine, which allowed for a more accurate centre point to be found (figure 3).

Figure 3: Paul centering the drill

Tools were sharpened, sparks flew, hiss, * ping *. However the pipe cracked when a larger hole was being drilled. Back to square one (so to speak, the bamboo was still just fine).
There was some black ABS plastic (as opposed to the previous PVC pipe), which was cut to length on a band saw (figure 4).

Figure 4: Band saw cutting ABS

Having taken lessons from the previous attempt, instead of using another drill to enlarge the hole, a hole-cutting saw was used (figure 5). Smoke was emitted, coolant was sprayed, I took pictures, Paul was amused.
Figure 5: Hole cutting saw and ABS. Note Paul's hand coming in to spray some coolant, and the two bamboo shafts in the background

The hole was conservatively cut about 1/8” too small (am I the only one who finds all of this imperial to be slightly disconcerting?), and I was directed to use a file to enlarge it. Paul returned with a motorized file, I watched, set up the pipe that I was holding, and took the file once he set it down. Paul started laughing and just shook his head, apparently this was not a tool for the newbs. By this point is was around 3:30, on Friday afternoon, and so it was time to do some work. The fifth, and possibly final, stage would occur on Monday.

Days 5 through 10: Saturday June 20 to Wednesday June 24
Someone lost ANOTHER master key, so a new project was started on Monday. Normally this wouldn’t mean much, however, this was the first time that this locksmith had been put in charge of a building, and so things had to be done PERFECTLY and IMMEDIATELY, and since all keys to be cut go through me, I was kept quite busy.

Day 11: Thursday June 25
This was starting to get a bit ridiculous, so I decided that TODAY WAS THE DAY, and that this was going to be finished now. It started POURING just before lunch, so I wasn’t distracted by a need to go outside. The remaining tasks (phase five, as it were) were quite simple, and although I’m sure that they could have been done more precisely by someone else, I had the capacity to finish this on my own. ‘My way’ of course generally doesn’t involve the proper use of tools, as I have never actually learned how to use any tools properly. I took the bamboo between my feet to steady it and proceeded to file the top into a rounded point (I was later told that a vise would have worked wonders, but my feet did just fine, thankyouverymuch). I managed to only file my hand five or six times, only taking a significant chunk once, but along came Louis (the other temp, an older Maltese man who doesn’t speak much English, and believes that women shouldn’t carry anything heavier than a pen, and always insists on opening the door for me, even when I’m in front and he’s carrying 50 lbs of cylinders that he wouldn’t let me help with), who saw my bloody hand, and came back with a little band-aid that had giraffes and turtles and dinosaurs on it. He started undoing the band-aid, and I automatically held out my finger to 'dad', and he taped it onto my finger (i found this to be quite hilarious).
Hand-filing a bamboo and maple pole into a point takes far longer then you would think, and pretty soon lunch was over and I was still hungry. Pole number two was then filed using a bench grinder (drawing much laughter from one of the locksmiths who does a lot of carpentry, and offered to bring in a powered hand held sander the next day). This was much easier, although far less precise (or accurate for that matter), and filled the room with the smell of burnt wood (I was told that there would be trouble if the carpenters caught wind of this, but I wasn’t exactly doing shop work, so I figured that it was ok). The end looked beautiful, with most of it looking burnt, and the inside and outside edges of the bamboo remaining pale. I went to borrow someone’s hand drill, but Wayne (of the lockshop) wanted to use the drill press. Sadly the drill press wasn’t high enough, and the handle wouldn’t fit, so a lowly hand drill had to be used. The inside edges of the pipe-hole were crazy-glued to the bamboo, just for good measure, and the mallets were finally finished! Grips would be added after a length was settled upon (figures 6,7,8) There was a collective exclamation of ‘Oooooohhhhh’ to be heard throughout the lockshop, now it was PERFECTLY clear as to what I had planned on doing (the parts apparently were too strange to decipher on their own). It was now the end of the day, so I went outside, taped the mallets to my top tube and rode home to write you this fantabulous note ;)
So the upshot of all this is…anyone want to play some polo?

Figure 6: End screw. Please note, crappy image quality is due to the absolutely abysmal lighting conditions in my apartment, and a fairly sloppy photoshop job.
Figure 7: Filed tips.
Figure 8: The complete mallets.

Tools Used

Pipe cutter
Hacksaw
Digital calipers
Machinist’s lathe
Sandpaper
Milling machine with various drill bits
Half-round hand file
Flat hand file
Powered file
Power drill

Materials

10” plastic pipe
12’ bamboo
4”x1”x1” maple
Crazy glue
Wood glue
Inner tube, or bar handle tape, or field hockey tape
2x 10 gauge 1¾” wood screws
Cost of materials: $3.39

Labour required

20 minutes from a plumber
5 minutes from a carpenter
120 minutes from a machinist (minus the 30 minutes that he worked during his breaks)
165 minutes from a locksmith (my time is only counted for billing purposes)
Cost of labour: $113.67

Blog Entry Number One: Justification

2009-06-17T19:18:00.000-04:00

What’s that?! Another blog about random crap is EXACTLY what’s been missing in your life?
I’ve tried finding some valid reason as to why I should write, why my words should be so important. Is my perspective that special? Not really. There’s nothing that I am doing that a hundred other people haven’t already done and/or written about and/or photographed. “Nothing you can do that can’t be done…” So I finally decided that wanting to write is enough of a reason as any (which also gives me the opportunity to use my thesaurus, which, if you've been paying attention, you'll know is something that I love doing), and so here it is, I introduce to you my blog, which will mostly be about mundane things that somehow excite me, as well as the odd fantastic and outrageous exploit that usually involve my partner in adventure, Liz. All of this will likely be discussed within the parameters of biking, because that’s what fills my brain most of the time, and food, because I like eating. Many times these two subjects will intersect, as the two seem to go very well together.