Discouraged

I'm considering taking a bit of a break from my blog. I'm not sure if
I'm going to do it or not, but I'm just feeling really discouraged by
all the "bad blogger" things I do.

It's not fun for me anymore to write something, and have it be a giant
mistake. I guess that's the curse of a medium-sized readership.

I don't always want to write happy-go-lucky posts about dishwasher fiascoes.

And even when I write happy-go-lucky posts, I get emails saying "uhhh
Jackie, that's not a good idea."

Why do there have to be consequences for every little thing I do? It's
frustrating. Sometimes I just want to be a girl who writes.

Higher echelons

I am seriously considering signing my name with Esquire at the end of all emails now.
Maybe then people will take me seriously.

:P

That is all.


**photo removed by advice of other, wiser people than I. :(

Burma... also known as Myanmar

What with all the news of late re: the goings-on of Burma/Myanmar... I began to itch wondering WHY we journalists call it "Burma, also known as Myanmar."

Actually, the first time I had heard this phrase was on Seinfeld... when J. Peterman runs away leaving Elaine in charge of the catalog. She eventually gets ahold of him (on a payphone, of course) and he tells her he's in Burma "but you might know it as Myanmar."

Ok, I've returned from my tangent. Anyways, in case you are curious...

"In 1989, the military authorities in Burma adopted the name Myanmar, a shortened form of the full name in the Burmese language, Myanma Naingngandaw.

The Burmese are one of a number of ethnic nationalities with different languages that make up the country. This decision was not approved by any sitting legislature in Burma and taken by the military junta without the consent Burma's democratically elected leaders. Canada continues to refer to the country as Burma. The people are 65% Burmese, 10% Shan, 7% Karen, 4% Rakhine and Chin, Kachin, Mon, Chinese, Indian and other minorities."

Apparently, the U.N., NATO, the New York Times and the National Geographic refer to it as Myanmar. However, Canada refers to it as Burma.

Thanks Judy Maddren!

Technical difficulties

Or....

Murphy's Law of Hosting.

I hosted the english half-hour of the afternoon show today.

My CBC debut of hosting. The job I have said I want to end up doing... assuming I have some degree of control over content and chasing stories I want to do.

How did it go?

The words "crash and burn" come to mind.

Ok, maybe that's a bit harsh. I did a pretty good job, I can acknowledge that. On the actual HOSTING bit? I can say I felt comfortable.

On the TECHNICAL BIT? Not so much.

The unique thing about our afternoon show out of Rankin Inlet is that there's no tech working the show with you. The host is in charge of pushing all the buttons, lining up the show on the computer and introducing it all. All while sounding relatively calm.

Me? Well, let's just say I had no clue what buttons I was supposed to push until 3 minutes before my intro. Seriously. (The whole affair was pretty spur-of-the-moment, but this one element made it particularly tricky).

I still didn't exactly understand what I was doing until right before my first item (after I played a song I loooove - - total control over song choice = best part of hosting). So the first... um... 15 minutes went pretty smooth. And then for some reason a sting (read: radio-speak for instrumental music used in-between items/stories/weather etc.) played when the item was supposed to. But I realized what happened right away, and reflex-pushed the button to stop it, then there was DEAD AIR.

Even when I was a wee child watching Full House I knew that DEAD AIR = BAD NEWS. It might as well be the cardinal sin of radio.

So DEAD AIR for probably 15 seconds? (I'm not really sure, it was long enough for me to start freaking out and clicking rapidly on the item I WANTED to play...)

I finally fixed it, and pressed the right button as 2 of my colleagues rushed into the studio, scared looks on their faces. Mine mirrored theirs.

During the next item (man it sounds like we have the longest show going... but we don't... it's only 30 minutes...but it felt like the shortest lifetime ever... if that makes any sense), our local producer said I had a wonderful voice for hosting, and we talked about how I really wanted to get back to my current affairs roots etc. It was great. She doesn't hand out praise very liberally, so it meant a lot to me.

Somehow we ended up losing about 2 minutes (doesn't sound like much, but makes all the difference in the world)... and I forgot to press the button that activates the theme (you are supposed to press it at 16:57:22) ... so co-worker came back in all a flutter asking if I remembered to start the theme (it runs UNDER the items at zero volume until the host is done saying the good-byes) and of course I didn't and then she worked some magic... and fixed it. The last item ended, we had 45 seconds to spare...

I started the extro... the signoff....

AND RAN INTO THE WALL.

How. Embarassing.

Again for you non-radio folks... the way the shows work is on every hour (and sometimes half-hour) there is a "wall" - it means your program is hijacked by regional or national HQ, for some sort of news. You cannot void the wall. You try to A-void the wall (ha-ha).

I did not manage to do that.

I ran head-first into it.

So between dead air, and running into the wall... and misplacing my pronouncer for one of the organizations two of the six times I had to say their name...

It wasn't exactly my finest moment in radio history.

I swear, if it wasn't for having to tech myself, I would have done much better. My reading was almost spot-on... and I enjoyed myself.

I guess it's just one of those things people will dig out of the archives to play at my humiliation when I'm rich and famous :P

Mission: Impossible

So I almost died this weekend.

Kinda, sorta, or at least genuinely feared for my life. That's kind of like dying, right?

So this weekend was the grand "ATV retrieval" party. Four of us left on two MONSTER ATVs at about 2pm on Saturday, GPS in hand, to go get the two stranded ATVs from last weekend's venture out on the land.

The first five minutes just about killed me.

You see, I may have grown up near the water, and I have pretty much always been ultra comfortable with it. That is, when it's in its liquid state. Different story when it's frozen. Or half frozen.

I swim like a fish, but from a very early age I've always had this fear of falling through the ice. Maybe it was mom's insistence we check the ice depth before skating on the pond behind my friend's house... maybe it was swimming lessons drilling into my head that you need at least 25 cm to drive a truck on the ice...**

So the whole driving on the ice, while there was easily anywhere from 3 inches to 2 feet of melted water on top??? Terrifying.

Now Mom, don't freak out. Turns out there is still like 17ft of ice BENEATH that 2 feet of water... but it's still terrifying. Pretty sure I spent the whole way there muttering "please oh please oh please oh please" and clutching onto the back rack like a madwoman.

The stranded ATVs were about 14 km away... and we made it half way before we had to turn back. The snow was just too melty, and there wasn't enough tundra to get there without stopping every 5 minutes to tow out one of the ATVs. And that half took us a good 2 hours. That's how wind-y the trip was, because we were on a constant search for tundra.

Not to mention having to stop every 20 min or so for either a photo shoot... or because the weather was feeling schizophrenic. Pretty sure we saw three seasons in 2 short hours. We had almost-blizzard snow (luckily only lasted about 5 minutes), we had hail (hurt like a mo-fo, little pellets whizzing at high-speed straight for your face?? Not fun), and we had beautiful warm sunshine. I even got a bit of sun (I could tell because when I got back, I noticed the freckles had made an appearance. Only happens with the first "tan" of the summer...)

The way back was less terrifying... I guess I figured if it held us on the way over, it would hold us on the way back. And I was right. But the boys decided to give'r on the home-stretch... and we all ended up soaked to the bone by the time we got back to town.

It was a good go of it though... and then we had a BBQ afterwards... delish steak, shrimp, grilled veggies, scallop potatoes and Pino Grigio... not to mention a round of Scattergories. All in all? A pretty sweet weekend.

Then I slept all day Sunday. Gotta keep the balance, doncha know?

**Of course, this seemed impossible "down south"... where winter's last less than 9 months...

Get yer melt on!

Normally when I walk out the front door at work, I bask in the little warm nook formed by the side of the building and the outside door.

I discovered it a couple months ago, when the sun was back in full-force, but the wind was still bitter cold.

It's a great little hidey-hole, sheltered from the wind and cold, where the entrance-way... by some freak chance... heats a little corner of Rankin Inlet... no matter the outside temperature.

Well today, for the first time, I left the warm shelter of that little alcove... to discover the rest of the world was just as warm.

Don't believe me?

It's amazing. It's useless to try and walk around town these days. I need to buy myself a kayak just to navigate my way to work.

In one short week, I think it's safe to say we lost a good 75% of fallen, plowed, piled snow. And in its wake, rivers that weave across our dear gravel roads, leaving deep cuts in their wake. In some places, the water is easily a foot deep. Kids (and my puppy, for that fact) happily romping in the water...

To the dismay of mothers (and pet owners) looking out the window.

Yes, dear blog readers... spring has sprung.

Sprung a giant leak, it seems :P

Fishing derby adventures...

So I had my first Great Northern Adventure this weekend.

And man oh man was it a good one. I think. Though really, I didn't have anything to compare it to...

So this weekend was the hamlet's Fishing Derby. I'd never really heard of a fishing derby before, but the general idea was to spend the May long weekend catching the biggest trout and cod you could get your hands on.

Out we went. Me and 4 others, atop two ski-doos and two Hondas, headed for "The Land". Our brave leader seemed to know what he was doing, and where he was going... so we followed suit... or tried to.

I can honestly say I have no idea where we were going, how we got there, or where we set up camp. I was told it was about 20 km from town... but as far as I knew it was Arctic Bay. That's how long it took to get there.

You see, this weekend, the ice and snow were in this funny little in-betweeny stage. Where it was half slush, half snow, half tundra, and half ice. Yes, that's too many halves :P

So for the first little while things were fine. We puttered along, the two ski-doos in front, and us two Honda-goers following the best we could. But about half way there we started to hit really soft snow, and the Hondas weren't a big fan of that. Lots of circling back, digging, pushing and swearing ensued... and we were good for a little while.

I have to say my favourite part of the trip was this patch of tundra we hit shortly thereafter. I was having a great old time, humming to myself (and the Honda), bouncing over the little hills and valleys... and then dove into a GIANT PUDDLE getting myself SOAKED (but pissing myself laughing the whole time).

And then... about 1 km from our final destination ...

We. Got. Stuck.

Reaaallly stuck.


By this time I had vacated my Honda post, and was riding on the back of Fearless Leader's ski-doo... but we hit some really deep, really soft snow. Even the ski-doos were getting stuck. So we eventually decided to leave the suckers behind (the Hondas, not the ski-doos), and blaze a trail to camp, and come back for the rest of the gear.

The whole ride... probably took a good 2 hours. At least. Pretty sad, seeing as the spot was "only" 20 clicks away.

Anyways, the five of us set up camp, three tents in total... the central figure being Fearless Leader's GIANT MANSION OF A TENT.

Seriously, this thing was HUGE. A sleeping area, a sitting/dining area ... where we set up a Coleman stove to keep our shivering bodies from turning into solid human-sicles.

Lots of cheese, char and other yummie goodies were consumed... leading to the grand scheme to drill a hole and set a trap for the night.

We had a HUGE auger, the boys had to stand on the two ski-doos to start it off... but by the time it was at waist-height... the bugger was STUCK. And NOT coming loose.


So by the time we all hit the hay that night (ps, if you have a good tent and warm sleeping bags, -10 is NOTHING... until you have to use "the facilities"), we had left our mark on the tundra: Hondas and augers stuck in snow/ice.

I went home the next day (my mom was still in town) but the rest of them stayed on until late Monday night.

They tell me they were able to pry the auger loose with little effort the morning I left, and drilled a couple more holes...

But despite their best efforts, didn't catch any fish.

The fishing derby winners were announced last night though, first prize in trout went to a fish 45 1/8 inches long...(prize = $3,000) and the largest cod was 25 5/16 in long (also a $3,000 prize).

So no prize money for me, I didn't catch any fish this weekend....

But I sure as hell caught a cold. I spent all day yesterday sniffling, and all day today hacking...
channeling my 80-year-old self, repeatedly asking people WHAAAT? and turning the volume on my phone/tv etc. up really high... because my ears are totally plugged.

Aw well, tis the price I pay for an awesome weekend. Thanks guys, for letting me tag along!

Thoughts.

So, I'm sure I've offended someone... or some people... with my last post. Where I called an unnamed person a "giant racist"...

But here's the deal.

I am ready to acknowledge that that person wasn't being a "giant racist", or even an "average-sized" racist (thanks, Roloffs).

But this is MY blog, and a reflection of my ups and downs, good qualities and bad... snap judgments and well-thought-out reactions.

I was offended by what was said. Maybe I shouldn't have been, but I was. I was frustrated, and still am, at this ever-present language barrier that makes certain people out of my reach. So maybe I said something that wasn't true, and was a knee-jerk reaction. But I'm allowed those from time to time. And maybe it's a mistake to publish them for all to see...

But seriously folks. I don't do "hiding things" well. Writing is an outlet for me. And maybe that's going to come back to bite me in the ass, because while I don't "publish" my last name, it wouldn't take a genius to figure out who the CBC reporter in Rankin Inlet is. But I like to think of myself as an honest person. An honest person who can be emotional at times... and who struggles with this language and cultural barrier... and who gets frustrated at roadblocks.

That's just who I am, and I could say I'm sorry ... but I don't think I should be sorry for who I am.

The end.

Insulting phrase of the week:

"I think he'd rather speak with an Inuk, that's why he didn't call back"

Come on, you could have said the guy was more comfortable in Inuktitut. At least that way you don't sound like a giant racist.

Sprung is Spring

Ok, so I've come down from my hyperventilative quarter life crisis. I'm more or less back to "normal" Jackie... if such a thing even exists.

And.... I thought I'd write a little entry about spring in the north.

Now, for all you "southerners" ... I am very well aware that you've surpassed the "spring has sprung" point... and are probably frolicking around in tank-tops and shorts... flip-flops and sunglasses.

As you can imagine... that's hardly the case here, but nonetheless... spring IS in the air.

The Hondas are out... whizzing around the streets, stirring up sprays of water, slush and the occasional boulder...and I can safely say they now outnumber the ski-doos.

The snow is melting... slowly, gradually... but it IS melting. I'm wearing my rubber boots more and more these days (...to the horror of those around me. I've been told by a certain someone that my boots are the tackiest things around and must certainly be "CBC issue"... apparently my predecessor had a similar pair).

The garbage is becoming unearthed (part and parcel of the whole snow-melting thing).

The stray dogs are coming out of the woodworks.

The kids are digging out their bicycles, and playing red-rover outside my front door.

I've more or less put away my Canada Goose parka for the season...

OH and possibly the GROSSEST  part of spring having descended upon us... the housefly colony in my apartment. Ok. I'm not the world's NEATEST person, but my house, my apartment, is hardly in shambles. I don't leave old food out ... I have a dishwasher.... I don't have any West-Nile puddles hanging around...

But yet, I have my own, personal, fly-farm.

And my own, personal, fly-catcher.

That's right. My puppy doubles as a fly-catcher. I'll have to try and catch him doing this in the act... but he'll perch on the windowsill (local hangout for fly colonies) and trap one with his paw, and put it in his mouth. Not killing it right away. Just holding it there. Then he'll jump down from the windowsill, let his prey free, but then proceed to put it out of its misery.... BY SQUISHING IT.

And not with his paws... but with his BACK. He'll roll over the fly with his entire body until it cries uncle and just gives up... and then he'll chow down on the little bugger (ha-ha).

It's the most bizarre ritual of all time. But hilarious.

Quarter-life crisis

I've always joked about the quarter-life crisis.

And I've always said it would happen at 24- because, you know, 24 is OLD.

Wikipedia defines Midlife crisis as a term used to describe a period of dramatic self-doubt that is typically felt in the "middle years" of life, as people sense the passing of youth and the imminence of old age.

OK, well, then I think a quarter-life crisis is warranted.

I am currently going through a period of dramatic self-doubt. It is being felt in the "quarter" years of life... as I sense the passing of youth... and the imminence... well maybe not of old age, but of "maturity"... or expected maturity.

I'm right now, at this very second, freaking out about my birthday. Not the marking of being another year older... per se... but that I am finding myself more and more in this terrible limbo-state. Where I've stumbled into situations that belong to people beyond my years. I'm only 22 (ok, can I cheat and say 23 now? It's less than a day away) .... so why do I have a career. Why did I embark on an adventure, that likely is too big for my little self.

I mean, really, most of the time, I'm proud of what I've done, what I've "accomplished" so far... but it leaves me wondering... when was I supposed to be carefree? When was I supposed to be "youthful"...

All my life I've been worried about the next step. About the consequences.

I started keeping insanely good grades for university in grade nine. I thought, genuinely believed, that universities would look at my entire academic record, starting way back then. So I worked my ass off. And yes, eventually it paid off. I got two full scholarships to two Ottawa universities.

So I went to Carleton. And the work wasn't over. I had to keep an A- average to maintain my scholarship. So I studied, I stayed at home. I had fun with my room-mates... but never much ventured out of that protective unit. They were a lot like me, homebodies... with their sights on academic success.

And so I did it, I didn't pay a cent to Carleton the entire four years I was there (in fact, they sent me cheques because I picked up a couple extra scholarships along the way). Whoopee.

And three weeks after finals, I started work for CBC, in Quebec. Moved to the north in September. Never more than a 2 week break in-between. And now I have a career. When did this all happen? When did I suddenly enter this adult life... one I thought I wanted, but don't know what to do with.

My birthday is tomorrow. And I think I'm having people over. But the very idea terrifies me. I wish I didn't think so much.

The "young" part of me wants to just have people over, get smashed, and not care if they are having a good time, and wander outside with my bottle of tequila, dancing to the music bursting from within. (ok, I stole that entire sequence from an episode of Grey's Anatomy. Bite me.)

The "old" part of me, wants to micro manage everything, and worries about people enjoying themselves. Wants to make sure everything goes smoothly, people don't get bored.... but doesn't even know how to do any of that.

So instead, I'm an anxious twenty-something stuck in-between wanting to be goofy and have fun, and wanting to be a mini-Martha Stewart hostess.

Grah.

Penny for your thoughts

So I'm sitting at work, reading the April 21st issue of MacLean's.

And the "from the editors" blurb (which is quickly becoming my favourite section of the magazine... generally quite well-written, current and witty*)

This one is about the penny... and it's slow descent into worthlessness.

I'm not sure how I feel about abolishing the penny. I believe I read on CBC.ca that there's something like 600 pennies in existence for every person in Canada.

That's a lot.

But the jury's out on if the penny is actually costing us time/money to keep in circulation. Maclean's says each penny costs approximately four pennies to make... but the mint says it only costs 0.8 cents per one-cent-piece.

And Desjardins says we'd save about $130 million a year if we scrapped the coin.

Here's my take. If MacLean's is right, and it costs 4 cents to make one penny... and if CBC is right, and there are something like 20 billion pennies floating around the country.... why can't they just STOP MAKING THEM FOR AWHILE.

Surely we're not going to run out of pennies in the immediate future, given these stats. Am I missing something here? Or do I have a promising future in economics?

*unlike the article I read before this one, written by Megan's favourite mommy columnist... (I've gotten the impression typing her name will only further encourage self-indulgent googling on behalf of "the columnist-who-must-not-be-named"). Check out the Bizarre section of May 12th's Maclean's to see what I mean.

These are a-two of my favourite things....

First, this:

To some, this might be an office nightmare. Someone's be-stickered desk... with mis-matched mini-hutch.

But, dear readers, we are in Nunavut. We are in Rankin Inlet, to be more specific, and one cannot be so picky.

You should have seen the monstrosity I had before this one. It was over five feet tall... with a permanently affixed solid fake-wood hutch. There was a keyboard underneath the desk, that at one time had been screwed to its underside, but somewhere along the line, the keyboard tray snapped down the middle, and then dislodged from it's right-hand runner.

The solution... was a very creative one... if not impractical, uncomfortable, and UGLY....

To use two bedside tables... stolen from god-knows-where... to squeeze the poor tray together, and support it ... as long as you didn't rest your hands on the tray, and used the most delicate of keystrokes to type your daily emails.

It only took a week of working here to decide that I simply COULD NOT HANDLE working at that thing. So I turned my computer around, and used the other half of my workstation. And stored books/documents/agendas/cups/plates/silverware/magazines etc. on the dilapidated piece of furniture.

Then today, we decided to do the grand move. To kick the old desk to the curb, and replace it with this upgrade. I now have so many nooks an crannies to stick pencils and post-its in... I don't know what I'm going to do with myself.

It's wonderful.

And Second...this:

Attention all fellow Qablunaaq*... this is a great little tool. I think somewhere along the line it was pilfered from some poor NAC student who took the Inuktitut language course (not currently offered in Rankin...). Now that I'm a little more (physically, mentally) settled, I find myself more interested in trying to understand, or at least pick apart, the language.

And this is a great way of starting that... I think, anyways.

*And, for the record, according to my dictionary... Qablunaaq translates as "white person". Interesting, eh?

Resignations...

I tend to stay out of "political" debate on my blog... maybe because I spend a lot of my day reading or writing about it... but I found the following news story veeery interesting.

CBC just "broke" the story about 3 minutes ago.... it's not on the web yet, this is just a bare-bones of the story.

The president of the Kitikmeot Inuit Association has resigned.
Joe Otokiak was elected on March 18th.
But that was before voters learned that he was six months into a 12-month suspended sentence for assault.
And that he has a criminal record dating back two decades.
In a written statement, the executive director of the KIA says a new election will be held within the next few months.
In the meantime, Raymond Kayaksark will be acting president.
Kayaksark is the first vice-president of KIA.


For those not up on the origins of his resignation... here's a little background:

Kitikmeot board members outraged by president's criminal past

New KIA president's assault conviction appalls Nunavut women's council

UPDATE:
Now, to be fair, and to provide "both sides to the story" my local producer here in Rankin says Mr. Otokiak is actually a very nice little man. But has a nasty history of wife-beating. So there you go.

Green is my favourite colour

I think I've discovered one of my most fatal of flaws.

I have jealousy issues.

Or maybe it's envy issues.

Time to google dictionary the two.

Jealousy = typically refers to the thoughts, feelings, and behaviors that occur when a person believes a valued relationship is being threatened by a rival. This rival may have no knowledge of threatening the relationship.

Envy = an emotion that occurs when a person lacks another's superior quality, achievement, or possession and either desires it or wishes that the other lacked it.

Aaand according to Wikipedia: Envy and jealousy are distinct emotions. In its correct usage, jealousy is the fear of losing something that one possesses to another person (a loved one in the prototypical form), while envy is the pain or frustration caused by another person having something that one does not have oneself. Envy typically involves two people, and jealousy typically involves three people. Envy and jealousy result from different situations and are distinct emotional experiences.

Okay. So I revise that. I don't have jealousy issues I have envy issues.

But really, is one really so much better than the other? I don't think so.

Today, well... today I have a case of material envy. Possession envy. And I blame it on our rampant consumer culture. And the north. Yes, definitely the north.

Certainly not my own fault.

I want wheels. I want them SOOOO BAD. I want something shiny and fast... I want it to take me to the airport to get food mail, I want it to take me to the post office, I want it to take me to work. I want I want I want!

But I know I shouldn't. I know I should pay off my debts before I create new ones. But it's hard to push away the "I wants" when everyone ELSE has the "I gets"!

Literary love

I was a nerdy kid.

Actually, both my sister and I were nerdy kids. But nerdy in the "never ever sitting without a book in our lap" kinda way.

At restaurants, once we outgrew (or tired) of the provided colouring sheets, Danielle and I would wait patiently for the server to come along... elbows anchoring down the corners of our books-of-choice, bottomless glass of Pepsi at the ready, legs swinging underneath the table.

At church, Mom and Dad had to lay down the law: reading was allowed before the service started, but not during. So the bulletin's announcement section became our saving grace.

And family road trips must have been a breeze. If we weren't passed out in the back of the Explorer, we would be sprawled out in the back seat, snack in one hand, and book in the other. **

Eventually I hit a road block. I couldn't find anything I liked, I had exhausted all my favourite authors... and they weren't really coming out with new books (it's hard, when at the ripe old age of 12 you've read everything Roald Dahl's ever written, including his autobiography). I kind of gave up. I still sat at the breakfast table, eyes moving over the back of the Crispex box's recipe for party mix for the millionth time... but there wasn't anything that really begged me to be read anymore.

In high school, I went through a brief Stephen King stage, but wasn't a big fan of his horror novels. The first book of his I ever read was "The Green Mile" and to this day, I've been in search of something with that same feeling, that same tone. I've yet to find it.

But it wasn't until two summers ago, that I finally rediscovered my love of reading. And became addicted to the written word all over again. That was the summer I lived and worked in France. I stocked up books because I knew I would have a hard time getting my hands on English reading material. I must have read something like 20-30 books that summer.

The following year at university, I took a Children's Lit. course... which was really cool (re-reading and looking at those books we all read as kids... but had long forgotten) I discovered I hate books where animals pretend to be humans (my two LEAST FAVOURITE selections were The Wind in the Willows and Watership Down).

This Easter, I had some extra time at the Toronto airport and toddled around in the bookstore there. I had money in my pocket, I was at the end of my current book, and was ready to add to my bookshelf.

But almost every book I picked up (and I tried to give MOST of them an honest try) made me scoff, and quickly stick it back on the rack. I had no interest in reading crime novels, I didn't want a lawyer's tale, I certainly didn't want to read romance fluff. Science fiction, fantasy, crap crap crap. I didn't know what I was looking for, but I knew for sure it was NOT there. It was so frustrating, it was like I was back in high school, and there was nothing left in the world for me to read.

But the boy rescued me, with mountains of Tom Robbins and Douglas Coupland novels. Ok, maybe I wasn't rescued, so much as it became clear where my reading niche now sits.

I like quirky books... and literary fiction (if it's not too pretentious). I am not-so-patiently awaiting my latest Amazon.ca order, it was shipped late last week.

Now, I wasn't going to make one before my birthday... I've unofficially put a shopping kaibash on myself. "What do you get the girl who gets herself everything" etc... but its not like anyone's going to know exactly what I want to read.

But the following is what is en route to me. So family, if for some bizarre reason, you were going to buy me these books for my birthday (though I'm sure you weren't but whatever) ... DON'T. Because I already own them. Almost.

1. Choke (Chuck Palahniuk)
2. Bonk (Mary Roach)
3. Prozac Nation (Elizabeth Wurtzel)
4. The Bell Jar (Sylvia Plath)
5. Candy Girl (Diablo Coady)

UPDATE: I am going to have to revise my "niche genres" ... because I really don't know if any of those books (save maybe, Bonk) can be categorized as quirky or non-pretentious literary fiction... and I think three of them are semi-autobiographical. Oh well. It's fun to be contradictory.

UPDATE ON THE UPDATE:
I believe this is the most navel-gaze-y post I've done to date....

** I'm starting to wonder how either of us ever developed any social skills... given how much reading we were doing...