Cower at my strength

I got my very first flu shot yesterday. I usually pass on the whole free flu shot thing because I am neither old nor young, and thus do not have a major risk of getting and/or dying from the influenza virus. And I am also a super hero, and we all know super heroes don't get the flu.

But apparently you have to get a flu shot (and a two-part TB test, and a host of other injections) to work in Hospital Alley. So off I trekked into the heart of Scarberia to get my first round of shots. And for the first time in my life, I did not become violently ill after getting a vaccine. In fact, the only ill effect was bit of tenderness in my elbow. (Why my elbow hurt after I got jabbed in the upper arm, I do not entirely understand. But the Impudent Strumpet said her armpit hurt after her flu shot, so there's prolly a link to getting a flu shot and enduring seemily unrelated pain.)

And also, since my tricep was swollen, I looked so buff. Sooooo buff.

I am deceptively weak.

~g. mango is the very model of a mottled major general

Comedic Tragedy and Street Drama

The other night when I was walking home from the bus stop I witnessed a the kind of street drama that I'm sure to miss when I move to the Vdot.

Up the street, two men are screaming at each other in front of a house in some unrecognizable oriental dialect. I mean, really going at each other, with high-pitched, girly hurlements and dramatic arm waving. I had no idea what they were actually saying, but using my translatory powers I deduced the following: Guy 1 feels he has been the recipient of some sort of grave injustice; Guy 2 thinks he should suck it up and get the hell off his property.

Guy 1 gets so angry, he jumps into his mid-sized SUV, and starts to back up. Guy 2 screams again and turns to go into his house. Crisis averted? By now I have just walked by the very loud (and volatile) (and amusing) scene and am focused on the Mom and her incredibly cute kid who are walking towards me and the drama.

We hear a loud crash as Guy 1 peels out of the driveway right into the side of a car parked across the street. Guy 2 speeds out of his house. Apparently it is his car. Guy 1 hops out of his vehicle of mass destruction, obviously shaken. He doesn't look like he did it on purpose. G2 is incensed. Screaming ensues. G1 is angrily repentant.

The incredibly cute kid looks around me, spies the scene, and with deep compassion in his voice asks, "Mom, is that car gonna be okay?"


~silly mango, tricks are for kids!

On the road again

It's official. My first day of work in Vancouver is January 31st.

Let the rejoicing begin!

~g. mango is a rolling stone

Die-o-graham

Words

This week started off rough. My first day of work was Monday. It was bad enough that I actually had to get up at an (un)reasonable hour after months of working from home and waking up to the beat of my own drummer. (A drummer, who, might I add, was not permitted to start his wake-up drum session until at least 10 o'clock). But the night before my first day, I did not sleep a wink.

I went to bed early. I prayed. I took deep breaths. I centred my chi. And I tried SO HARD to fall asleep. But I did not.

Not once. Not even for a minute.

Maybe some part of my brain was nervous about starting this job and was jittery, thus keeping me up. However, understanding that I needed to sleep in order to function and ultimately not screw up my entire first day at work, all the other parts of my brain were ready to bludgeon that first part of my brain.

So my first day was long and hard. Second day was great 'cause the other parts of my brain really did bludgeon ol' jittery. But the third day was so painful. Not only because of the two-and-a-half-hour staff meeting, but because my joints were killing me.

Because I am geriatric like that.

I was in so much pain by the time I got home, I almost cried at the dinner table. Fortunately, my Dad came to the rescue with some drug that they use "back home." I don't think I've seen my Dad so concerned for me in a long time. It was cute, he even left one out for me the morning. Like I was a kid, and these bootleg drugs (BDs) were Flinstone's vitamins. Anyway, the BDs worked like a charm.

And also I finally got an appointment with my orthopedic surgeon.

And also I had dinner at Spring Rolls with my fantastic friend Dee who lives in Waterloo. Today was great.

Drawrings

I have created the following illustrations for those of you who are visual learners. Note my true-to-life depiction of myself. . . an anthropomorphized green mango. . . a mottled green kidney.



To sleep, perhaps to dream.


I am in tremendous pain.


Watch me frolic!

~g. mango is artistically declined

Filed under B for blasphemy

Well, hello, dear readers! I apologize dearly for being AWOL this week. I also apologize to those of you who subscribe to my feed. 'Cause I've published and republished about four hundred and fifty times today. Photoshop is not my friend and everything keeps coming out all blurry and horrible. I hope you still love me. If not, I can arrange to offer a vegetable sacrifice. But let me check with Jesus to make sure that's not blasphemy and/or sacrilege.

Anyway, this week I started working in Hospital Alley (HA). I call it Hospital Alley* because on this particular stretch of University Avenue there four hundred and fifty hospitals (only a slight exaggeration). All. Right. Next. To. Each. Other. (So not an exaggeration).

I mean really, who needs that many health care facilities all within fifty feet of each other? Wouldn't it make sense to spread them out a little so people don't have to venture all the way into the heart of downtown if they are sick and/or dying? That way there wouldn't be a constant flow of traffic from the entire population of Ontario converging on that one block on University Avenue every time someone needs medical aid. If the hospitals were spread out, lots less people would die due to complications sustained from traveling all the way to HA just to get stuck in a HA-related traffic jam for 3 hours. And also I wouldn't have to leave my house at 7:30 to get to work at 9.

It would be a win-win situation.

*I'm sure there's a real name for this place. Does anyone know what it is?

~ g. mango is not as selfish as this post makes her out to be

Temporary Insanity

It's official. I am a temp. Pushing paper around from 9 to 5. Embracing carpal tunnel syndrome. Enjoying ergonomical everything.

I would like to give more information, but I haven't slept since yesterday.

Please savour this gem from Toothpaste for Dinner until I regain my strength.

~ g. mango is far too tired to be witty

Son of a Bush

My friend Kevin, who is an (avid?) reader of this blog, asked me today why I hate George Bush so much. And I must clarify that I do not hate Bush. I'm sure he is a very nice man, and in different cirumstances I wouldn't mind having him over for tea and scrumpets.*

However, I disagree with much of his foreign policy. (And much of his domestic policy, come to think of it).

I mean, if you're gonna have a War on Terror, then have a war on Terror. Don't just blow up Iraq, in fact, don't blow up Iraq because they don't have nuclear weapons, or chemical weapons, or bilogical weapons. Why not tackle Kim Jong Il and his band of merry plutonium enrichers? Or attack US co-conspirator, Pakistan. Or, I dunno, Iran, and Israel? Or even South Korea? I mean, I know South Korea repented of its sins and quickly aligned itself with the UN's nuclear policy. But come on, Georgie, you gotta make an example of them. Blow them up with your nuclear weapons! Even if you signed the NPT (well, not you, George, you would never sign anything that says you can't initiate an international game of nuclear tag). . .

Let's not pretend this war is for anything other than oil acquisition, and finishing off Mr. Hussein for Daddy Dearest. And don't even get me started on that whole crushing an evil dictator crap. 'Cause that's what the UN is for. And there are a plethera of evil dictators out there. Let's work on this, and this, and this too.

Without any of this.

And. . . end rant!

~g. mango has a whole stack of WMDs and thinks regime change begins at home

* When my sister was little she always used to have tea parties where she served only the finest scrumpets. She swore they were ten times better than crumpets. I concurr.

A crippled prophet is never welcome in her own doctor's office

Well, looks like all those prophecy refinement courses I've been doing have paid off, and my doctor's appointment went almost exactly as predicted in my last post.

The only difference was that instead of a getting a bootleg perscription for Vioxx, I actually got a perscription for something useful. But that is only because I basically took my doctor's hand and wrote the thing out myself.

When I told her of my issue of belly button, she just leaned her head to the side in mock sympathy and said "Oh yeah? That's too bad." And continued onto the next topic, asking me if I wanted a pap smear. Uh, no. I actually prefer my pap unsmeared thank-you-very-much.

Anyway, so I got a perscription for that. And the number for the knee surgeon guy who has my MRIs. Unfortunately, it is impossible to make an appointment with him because his office is only open for 14 minutes every other Tuesday. And his secretary doesn't check messages. Says so right there on the outgoing message. One wonders why one would employ a secretary who blatantly refuses to check messages.

Hopefully I will eventually get through and not have my knee scream at me everytime I try to locomote. Just wait 'til my knee finds out I'm playing contact floor hockey tonight. Mwahahaha.

~g. mango will take two and call you in the morning

Hypocritic oath

WARNING: parts of this post may contain way more personal information than you ever cared to know about me. it is not for the faint of heart, or those who are fond of using the phrase "we are on a need-to-know basis". viewer discretion is advised.

Yesterday I not only licked my book-related procrastination, but also did all those other things I've been putting off for months (applying for "real" jobs), weeks (applying for temp jobs), days (taking my laundry out of the dryer), and years (setting up an appointment with my doctor to get a physical).

Just got back from a temp job interview. I start next week, or something. Frankly, I don't even care what they assign me to. I just want to make a little bit of money on the side while I pursue my dream of beign a starving artist. . . uh, translator/technical writer/outreach worker/liberal arts student emeritus.

Don't say I didn't warn you. . .

And this afternoon I shall rendezvous with my family doctor who will, as she always does:

1. Ask me if I am pregnant several times
2. Feign shock and surprise when I tell her that I am very definitely sure that I am not pregnant
3. Squint her eyes to decipher if I'm telling the truth about not being sexually active
4. Ask me if I'm absolutely sure I'm not a hoodrat
5. Launch into a 20 questions session about why I'm not a skank
   
6. Feign shock and surprise when I cooly, and calmy explain my decision to abstain
7. Launch into another 20 questions session
   
8. Become truly shocked and surprised when I tell her bluntly that I have no reason to lie to her about it and could we please get on with this
9. Totally ignore me when I say that I have a mysterious, chronic, painful infection of the belly button (so gross, I know), and an ever-increasingly inflamed left knee due to that ligament I tore so many moons ago (not so gross, but very painful)
   
10. Pronounce me perfectly healthy (except, of course, for that whole not-being-ho-bag thing)
11. Write me a perscription for rheumatoid arthritis
12. Give me that one-eyebrow-up, squinty-eyed look of disapproval when I point out that I don't have arthristis
13. Shoo me out of her office

~g. mango: see, that wasn't so bad

Parlez-vous the ding dong?

I finally licked the procrastination bug and sat down to re-edit the Book of Doom. I found the typo that caused this whole brouhaha and a few minor structure issues in the first chapter. Nothing that couldn't have been left the way it is.

Now I'm on Chapter 4. And man, can you tell the difference from the stuff we wrote way back when we had all the time in the world (i.e Chapters 1-3), and the stuff we wrote when the Deadline of Doom was omninously looming o'rehead, and woefully breathing down our necks.

So I guess this whole Re-edit of Doom is turning out to be not so bad after all.

And plus, I get to experience the pleasure of forgetting how to speak English, and subsequently rediscovering useful words hidden deep in my subconscious.

Today my subconcious dug up these gems that are not usually in my vernacular: attainment, complicity, baleful, injurious, imbue, affordance.

~g. mango is a word-nerd of epic proportion

Post-election cabinet strategy

Step 1

Get rid of the Negros and Jews. . .


Powell


Abraham


Paige

Check.

~g. mango has laid bare your scheme, Mr. President

Adventures in Procrastination

Sorry for not posting recently. I've been busy working procrastinating. Some of my favourite procrasinatory moments happened on Saturday:

Saturday Morning:

Spent four hours getting the backyard ready for winter with my sister S. We raked, we trimmed, we dug, we replanted, we saved worms from being maimed by shovels and hoes. We are so sweet, and so animal-friendly.

Hopefully the massive lemon mint plant that we dug up will not return next year. But S says that she digs it up every fall, and it always comes back. I'll have to take her word for it. I've probably spent a grand total of five hours in our backyard since we moved here ten years ago. But that's okay, S has probally spent the same amount of time cooking. So we're good. She takes care of the herbs growing in the backyard, I make sure to put them to good use in the kitchen. We're like Ying and Yang. Bacon and eggs. Simon and Garfunkle. KC and JoJo. Green mango and salt.

Saturday Evening:

The whole fam went to my Mom's friend's for dinner. There is nothing like a good meal with friends and family. Except for a good meal during which both of your parents (neither of whom can hold their liquor) have too much to drink (i.e. one drink). Beautful. And so very amusing. I would pay for that kind of entertainment.

No I wouldn't. But it was very funny.

Also of note:

Had dinner with C. on Thursday night at The Friendly Thai. It was so good to see her and catch up. She gave me much needed advice on moving out, and brought me back to reality.

Got the news from Vancouver on Friday. Notice the lack of celebratory posts on that date. More about this to come. I was (and am) disappointed. But my girls from small group were there to comfort me.

My conclusion:

I have fantastic, irreplacable friends. And a great propensity for procrastination.

~g. mango will get to that later

No Comment

Okay so this is post number two on my day of procrastinartory feats. Just wanted to let you all know that I've just switched over to Haloscan for comments and trackbacks and you should too!

I'm not really sure what a trackback is, or even if I'm gonna keep trackbacks on Green Mango, but feel free to use 'em if you know how to!

I had to repost some comments that you, my devoted readers, made when I changed the template of my index page. So solly. The times are different from the originals, but everything else is the same. And your loverly comments remain intact in the Archives.*

~g. mango is pretending to work

*Wait, no they don't. Okay, my bad. Your loverly comments are gone forever. Lost in to the abyss fomerly known as Prince cyperspace.

I am a shmuck. And I beg for your forgiveness. -Dec 20/2004.

Captain Procrastination!

The Benefits of Working from Home

1. Sweat pants
2. Good food only steps away
3. Camp Cariboo reruns at 11:00 on channel 178
   
4. Warm bed only steps away
   
5. Green Mango lunchbox and locker poster design and development
   
6. Sweat pants
7. Work day starts when I say it starts (Today it starts at 21h30)
   
8. Work day ends when I say it ends (21h45)
   
9. Leaf pile in the backyward
10. Leaf pile in front yard

~ join us next time when g. mango defeats the evil Captain Procrastination and the Translation of Doom!

All worked up and no place to go

Instead of working out the tab for Fountain of Wayne's Hey Julie (which is what I want to do), I'm listening to it on continuous loop, changing the "Julie" part in my head to some other name for fun everytime it goes around, pouring over my Chicago Manual of Style, brushing up on comma usage (which is what I want to avoid at all costs).

I wouldn't usually listen to a band like Fountain of Wayne, but my sister J introduced me to this song. And coincidently, it's a I-hate-work kind of song. And I may just end up hating work today.

The author of my book wants me to edit another piece she's doing. And I know I said I don't want to be a translator when I grow up, but I wouldn't mind editing her franglais. Even though it takes half the time to just translate the French myself. But I admire her desire to master English (being a lover of languages moi-même). I shall give her a quote and perhaps this will be the start of a beautiful supplementary income. :)

Working all day for a mean little man
With a clip-on tie and a rub-on tan
He's got me running 'round the office like a dog around a track
But when I get home,
You're always there to rub my back

Hey Julie/Janine/Jimmy/Bartholomew/Herod,
Look what they're doing to me
Trying to trip me up
Trying to wear me down
Julie/Judas/Robert/Jesus, I swear, it's so hard to bear it
And I'd never make it through without you around. . .

~ g. mango: just say no to work

p.s. something's up with my posts of yore link. . . will fix that as soon as i figure out what's gone wrong.

Unfortunately, this is a part of my job

Even though I mentioned in my last post that I do not want to be a translator when I grow up, I am, in fact, a translator.

Or, well, I got a translating contract while I was still in school. So I translated a sociological essay on French restaurant and cafeteria chefs. But don't be fooled by the obviously interesting subject matter, this book was and is a pain in the. . .umm. Yes, well, let's keep this clean. But it was not an enjoyable experience, to say the least. About 330 pages of pure unfettered unenjoyment to be exact. Single spaced.

To be fair, I did translate it with a classmate who was also still in school when the contract started. And I must point out that both he and I are fabulous translators. But I must also point out that we had no blazing idea what we had gotten ourselves into. So six months, not nearly enough money, several all-nighters, and and two deadline extensions later, we thought we were finished with our little taste of hell.

That was on September 30th.

But we got an email from the publisher this week saying that they had found a typo in our manuscript. We had written though instead of thought, or thought instead of though. Or something to that effect. And they want us to re-edit the whole book by the beginning of December. This would not be difficult if not for the following:

• I do not want to have anything more to do with what is essentially a painful exercise in boredom and tedium
• This is going to take 100 hours of work
  
• Co-translator dude cannot help because, you know, he has a real job (as a real translator) and is working on his Masters of Tedious Boredom
• I already edited the whole damn book
• I think I may, have forgotten, how to use commas,
  

Tomorrow starts re-edit number one. And I am not looking forward to it one single bit.

In better news, I will hear the final news about my job in Vancouver later this week. If I were to say that I'm being cautiously optimistic, you'd all call me out on that since I've already been shopping for stuff for my new place. So I will just tell the truth and say I am being optimistically optimistic.

So there.

~g. mango hates working for the Man

Just call me Harriet

Election Reaction and Assorted Tidbits

When my sister heard Bush had won, the first words that came out of her mouth were "Time to fix up the basement, it looks like we're gonna be part of the next Underground Railroad. Just call me Harriet!" I couldn't have said it better myself.



Can we get a recount for Christmas? What about for American Thanksgiving? Pancake Day?

~green mango has cable and will gladly harbour American refugees

the above editorial cartoons can be found at The Toronto Star and are the exclusive copyright of their owners.

The Artful Dodger

Check out this Jacqueline Lam show. She is an up and coming new artist and a friend of mine stickler for semantics. Mark off Novemeber 11th on your calendars!

~g. mango promises not to post again today

A Vote for Green Mango is a vote for unripe fruit!

I just wanted to put a link to a Toronto Star article by Linwood Barclay and call it a day. However, it seems the Star has gone all fancy and implemented member sign ins and all that jazz.

So, I'll just copy and paste and you can empathize and chuckle along (if you live in Canada and can understand what it's like to have local US channels clouding up the airwaves and constantly streaming from your TV set), or nod and smile even if you're not Canadian but have had the pleasure of seeing US government campaign ads for any level of government. Oh, those silly Americans, I hope their empire falls soon. Tonight even.

Be forewarned: this is a long post. And the font is small. And I tried to fix it. But it didn't work.

Oct. 30, 2004. 01:00 AM

Buffalo voters left to wing it
LINWOOD BARCLAY

Even though we sit north of the border and it's not our election, we
Canadians have a pretty good sense of the kind of campaign that's being
waged between President George W. Bush and Democratic challenger John
Kerry.
We've seen some or all of the debates, we've watched the
news and we know Bush's stand, that a Kerry victory means death and
destruction for American, and we know Kerry's main platform, that he
is, in case you haven't heard, a Vietnam war hero. There may be other
issues, but they don't matter.

But what do we know about all
those hundreds of local races that are going on, like the ones for
Congress? Well, not much, with the possible exception of the race
between Nancy Naples and Brian Higgins.

If you live in the GTA and watch TV, even if you channel surf and never stay on any station
for more than 1.2 seconds, you will be familiar with Naples and Higgins.

They're running for the 27th Congressional district of New York state, Naples
for the Republicans and Higgins for the Democrats, and their campaign
ads are running on the Buffalo-area TV stations non-stop.

Judging by the spots, these two people are, without question, the two most
despicable individuals to ever walk the face of the Earth. If I were a
Buffalo resident, I wouldn't be puzzling over which one to vote for.
I'd be wondering which one deserves the longer sentence in Sing Sing.

As election day nears, the ads are getting even nastier. Take the most recent batch from both sides.

Nancy Naples: "I'm Nancy Naples, and I approved this message."

Narrator: "Brian Higgins hasn't just raised taxes on homeowners and small
business operators, he's failed to open doors for little old ladies,
makes turns without signalling, and once dropped a live toaster into
the bathtub of a disgruntled constituent. Is that the kind of
leadership you want? On election day, vote for Nancy Naples. She won't
drop an appliance in your bath, and that's a promise."

Not surprisingly, the Higgins camp fought back.

Brian Higgins: "I'm Brian Higgins, and I approved this message."

Narrator: "Nancy Naples says she's totally in favour of the policies of George W.
Bush that have brought increased unemployment to upper New York state.
And as if that weren't enough, she doesn't brake for squirrels. Vote
for Brian Higgins, a guy who's willing to put the brakes to Republican
incompetence and heartlessness."

Well, the Naples camp wasn't about to let that one go.

Nancy Naples: "I'm Nancy Naples, and not only do I approve this message, but I want to scratch Brian Higgins' eyes out."

Narrator: "Do you want to be represented in Congress by someone who sleeps in a
nightgown? Well, if it's Nancy Naples, that's probably okay with you.
But what if it's Brian Higgins? You decide."

The Higgins team was outraged and responded quickly.

Brian Higgins: "I'm Brian Higgins. I approved this message, and I sleep in the raw."

Narrator: "Why won't Nancy Naples talk about puppies during this campaign? Has
anyone heard her mention puppies even once? Could it be that Nancy
Naples doesn't like puppies, that she may actually hate puppies? Don't
send a puppy-hater to Washington. Send Brian Higgins. He likes puppies."

The Naples people were all over that one.

Nancy Naples: "I'm Nancy Naples, and I eat Kibbles 'n Bits."

Narrator: "Why doesn't Brian Higgins mention cats in his latest attack ad? Why
won't he talk about his formative years, on the farm, when he rowed out
to the middle of the pond? What was in that sack? Why don't you ask
him?"

So there you have it. It's quite a choice.

~green mango veterans for truth sincerely hope your guy wins!

Novel Research

This weekend one of my high school friends had a little birthday bash. Everyone who was anyone was there. And by that I mean it was an intimate gathering of our little high school clique, minus one member who now lives in Calgary, plus one of the birthday girl's friends from Laurier where she spent her first year before buying a condo in the Tdot (that's right, at the ripe old age of 20 she bought her own place) and transferring to the evil University of Toronto. . .

Holy run-on sentence, Batman!

In any case, we relived high school moments with endless "Remember when . . .?" and "Remember so-and-so. . . ?" stories. The answers to those questions are respectively and unequivocally No, and No. I don't know what it is with me, but just about everything that happened in high school has (in)conveniently fallen out of my head. Especially, it seems, the proper use of commas, quotation "marks", (and parentheses)"."

Once we satisfied our reminiscence quota, it was onto watching Mean Girls. Because we are all 14 years old. And though I had theretofore sworn that I would never watch such a cinematic debacle, it wasn't nearly as horrible as I thought it would be.* Mind you, I had had already reached my maximum limit of two alcoholic beverages by the time the movie started, so that could have been a factor.**

*It's important to note that, though I'm not cinephobe (let's pretend that's the opposite of cinephile, shall we?), I still hate the vast majority of movies I've seen. And this would usually be the place where I'd enter into a rant similar to the following:

Screen writers, quit stealing storylines from craptacular pop "classics" and invest in a writing class! Or drink some ginseng. I don't know if that does anything for creativity but it helps with memory. And maybe then you'll remember that most pop classics were obsequious the first time around, and will prolly suck the second time around too. . . no matter how much high-density modern cinematic gloss you put on 'em. And while you're at it, get me some ginseng too 'cause I've forgotten everything that happened from the mid- to late-nineties!

**It is also important to note that I think the Heineken and Smirnoff I had were defective, 'cause usually by two drinks, I am as tipsy as I will responsibly allow myself to be. (Thus the self-imposed two-drink limit). But this weekend I was totally fine (except for the inexplicable minor enjoyment of the aforementioned teen movie). Like I was sippin' on gin and juice sans gin. And it's not like I drink all that often and have built up my tolerance level. Ergo, the drinks were obviously defective.

Anyway, this is getting long. So I shall wrap and say that it was nice to see everyone and find out that we're all either still in school (4 of us), in school again (N. is doing her Master's at Queens), avoiding school (T. is all grown up and working in some engineering firm, and may or may not finish her undergrad at some point in the near to distant future), or happily finished school, carting around liberal arts degrees, and basically unemployed. . . uh, I mean, doing novel research (3 of us).

~get your useless liberal arts degree before it's too late!