A bit of gossip

He said. She said. Notice how there is so much to talk about and yet, nothing is said at all.


So many interesting things are happening around the world as we speak... global warming, terrorism, Olympics 2008, escalating gas prices, sinking economy and so on and so forth. But the words that escape our lips hour after hour and supplement the stratosphere, are rarely worth transmitting.

Gossip is as old as the origins of human language. Much like the mosquitoes from the Jurassic period, it has survived war, famine and the industrial revolution and has ingrained itself so completely into today's society that often times, one's nighttime reading consists of a judicious magazine pertaining to the sordid affairs of those poor beings who were unfortunate enough to be remotely famous.

Poor Britney's bottom has suffered such ridicule that I wonder how it dares to expose itself, even for a daily cleaning. Let's not forget Richard Gere's poor judgement on kissing an Indian actress. One's aim for fame should not include burning effigies in every slum in India. Or poor Obama running for office. Its really not his fault that his name rhymes with Osama.

But the tabloids have nothing on your everyday gossip. Its positively electric. Writers out there would really benefit from tapping into this useful resource. The conversation on either end of the mobile or chatroom is sizzling, captivating and positively mind blowing. From affairs at the workplace to terminating pregnancies, the conversation is unbelievably riveting and spreads faster then fire in an acre of hay.

Why watch television? Look around you... Life is entertaining! ;)

I despair

I feel a bit lost today. As if a door has been closed on me. I'm in darkness. No shapes. No contours. No shadows. Not a glimmer of light.

I feel like I need to conserve what energy I have left. I'm on the edge of a precipice. One more step, and I'll be diving into an eternal abyss. I'm screaming in earnest but there is no sound. Like the starling in Lawrence Sterne's A Sentimental Journey, I seem to keep repeating... "I can't get out". I feel trapped. Shackled.

I had an incident in the office yesterday. She said, "I'm giving you professional advice because I am concerned for you and the seat you sit in." Exactly what does that mean? Does that mean, that her aim is to get me fired or does it mean that she thinks that that outcome is definitely coming my way. She said several other things but I'm just transfixed by that sentence. I cannot seem to bend my mind into thinking of anything else. Thoughts flutter in every direction and somehow just keep coming back to this sentence. I am not upset. Nor am I afraid should that be on the agenda. I'm just appalled that anyone in a managerial position could talk to anyone that way. I don't even report to her.

I'm at a loss. What should I do? Look for work elsewhere? If so, where? Doing what exactly? I feel threatened. Its an odd sensation... of imaginary walls closing in on you. Of there being no windows or doors. No light. No air. I cannot sleep... my thoughts have been kidnapped by an omnipresent sentence. I cannot escape from its clutches. I cannot breathe. I cannot win.

The printjob that never came.

She looked distraught! Alright... I'll be honest... she looked constipated. Its that look of "Goodness! I really need to go!" ... that was etched in pronounced wrinkles on her face as she stared at the printer. I always wonder at people who stare blankly at inanimate objects... that look of frustration really doesn't serve a purpose. Its almost like they expect the object in question to leap into action and perform some bizarre miracle worthy of NASA's careful consideration. And truth be told, all such people are always severely disappointed. So, why do it, you ask? Because in a moment of panic, the human brain suffers from selective amnesia and forgets how to multi-task.

At the moment, she (we'll refer to her as Ms. X) was frantically awaiting a 11x17 color print job of a status report for the Vice President of Marketing. Ms. X looked about ready to cry. I thought it was quite funny that a machine which was 1/3 the size of Ms. X had the remarkable ability to reduce her to a sea of tears. While I was in the midst of suppressing an irrepressible giggle, I heard a loud bang. Tears had been swiftly replaced by rage. Ms. X was in the process of reprimanding the table that supported the uncompromising printer with a swift but solid kick. I guess... sorrow + frustration = anger.

To my surprise I found that the powerful kick of a dainty yet angry Marketing professional can move planets but not print jobs. The table leg that had suffered the insult, buckled; causing the now unstable table to lean to the side; thus causing the printer to slide in that direction; causing the power cable of the printer to stiffen and unplug itself from the socket; causing the printer to be drained of all power; thus causing the print job to be lost forever. And thus, anger + disappointment = depths of despair. There were rivers of tears now and some choice language that is not intended for all audiences. Needless to say, we all wish the elusive print job all the best in its future endeavours.

Corner Gas?

Gas prices are killing me softly. I'm a nervous wreck every single time the little hand that looks like a mini windshield wiper hits the 3rd quarter on the dial.

I have to admit I'm one of those silly people who has a separate pair of gloves in the car for weekly refills. The fuel cap is always so stubborn that once you've managed to turn it by a cm, your triceps, biceps and deltoids are giving raised eyebrows the impression that you indulge in competitive body building. And of course... every time you're out of that car, every bug known to man declares hunting season on you. How on earth are you expected to get that silly nozzle to fit when you're desperately trying to swat the mosquitoes and curse the day insects inherited the earth. I mean... even multi-tasking has its limits.

If rendezvous at Petro-Canada in the summer isn't blissful enough... filling 'er up in the winter is such a joy. Its like the wind has a vendetta against you... the moment you step out of the car... wham ... its starts to blow and doesn't quit until you're a shivering heap, devoid of any sensation in any of your extremities... then you slowly ease yourself into the warmth of your semi warm car and with a speed that would put a cheetah to shame, turn the dial on your dashboard to full... so the heat can thaw you from the freezer burn you just received.

I tried to carpool, take public transit and even walk... anything to prevent venturing into the depths of Petroleum hell but to no avail. Suburbia is not for the pedestrian unless the pedestrian is looking for neither quality nor quantity of life. And thus the battle of the pump continues.

Lunch in the summer

"I'm stepping out for lunch. Should you need me, I'm on my cell." A common phrase for office folk stepping out for a quick bite, a bout of fresh air or a secret rendezvous. Ever wonder where they go? In the GTA, it could be a date with the salad bar at Longo's, drink on the patio at Jack Astor's, a quick workout at the local gym for the bulge-conscious, schmoozing with the boss over Italian or a tete-a-tete to share office gossip over Pho. With so many alluring options already available, Summerlicious lunches make eating very adventuous.

My department went out for lunch today at Auberge du Pommier and I can assure you, we had a very french time. We embarked on our journey today with the tart zestiness of the Auberge Sparkler... a combination of mango, orange and ginger ale. This was gingerly followed by Potage of Spiced Summer Fruits. Honestly... for a cold soup... its delightfully refreshing... leaves you wanting more.

My entree was the whimsical Quiche Campagnarde. Now... I have to admit... I love Quiche... but this was remarkable... you could taste the heavenly Gruyere in every delectable bite.

Of course being a woman, I had to conclude this sinful meal with a devilish concoction of chocolate. The Chocolat pavé of chocolate crème gave one visions of rich chocolate maple fudge being seamlessly crossbred with a soft creme caramel... neither winning the battle to overpower the delicate buttery goodness which was my dessert. Ah... satiated at last.

Now... you have to wonder... after such an orgasmic gastronomical experience, how can one get back to the "w" word. Well... that's a story for another time... but in the meantime, I highly recommend the soft country french styling of Auberge du Pommier... they will delight even the most discerning tastes. Bon Appetit!