The other weekend, I think when Dana, Sherry, and I were caffeinating, the discussion turned to social networking at one point, and, as one would expect, some mockery of MySpace and its brethren took place. Cuz… well, have you seen MySpace? Right. Anyway…
As Sherry (I think) noted at the time, however, and as has been discussed circuitously elsewhere, MySpace and the like aren’t intended for us. (All of us are in our 30s.)
But… but… we’re the Internet Generation!
Oh… hang on a sec… We’re not?
My aunt just called — the second eldest of my Mom’s four sisters — to RSVP for the party. She told me I sound like my Mom. Alrighty. I’ve been told that I look like the illustrious Molly enough times that I just smile and say I get that a lot. Never been told that I sound like her. (Usually I get told that my cousin Cheryl and I sound identical on the phone, to the point that we’ve accidentally fooled her husband and her own mother.)
Then she asked if I knew which aunt it was, and whether she sounded like one of the other aunts (the next youngest sister). I said I knew, and that no, she sounded exactly like herself. While there’s certainly a physical resemblance among the five sisters, vocally they’re pretty distinct, with the exception of the Waterloo County Mennonite accent — in four of them, Mom’s got 23 years of Grey County accent built up, poor thing.
Certain recognition cues, like voices, I’m pretty good at. (I’m also really good at identifying cars!) That doesn’t really strike me as anything unusual, except that then it occurred to me how many relatives I have, so the mental database is pretty built up. (Sorry, cousins on Mom’s side, I still don’t know who half your kids are…)
I find it kind of entertaining, though, that as often as the various resemblances between myself and Mom are remarked upon, the only ones who seem to tweak onto resemblances between my Dad and my brother are us in the immediate family. (Admittedly, Dad’s not 6′ tall and doesn’t have a nose ring…) In a way, though, that almost gives us more credibility than extrapolating a spitting image from two short, round, brown-eyed brunettes. 🙂
A very Happy Birthday to my Dad, Andrew’s Mom, and… Barney!
Umm… since I don’t have any good recent photos of either parent… here, have some hot beagle action. 🙂
(Don’t let his jaunty demeanor fool you. He’s smarter than all of us…)
that American women are apparently a race of anorexic Oompa Loompas…
Because, my friends, on an enormous Canadian such as myself?
This is an XL.
(Granted, I suppose if you don’t want people looking at your chest, don’t wear red with writing across it…)
Oh, and walking into my brother’s living room this evening? Proof that even moving a month before the Hallowed date cannot dampen his Hallowe’en spirit…
(The true irony here being that for the first… oh… two decades of his life? That boy was Captain of the Mulleteers…)
I have just returned home from transferring my brother’s aquarium residents to my place. I love aquariums. I find watching fish very soothing.
One small problem.
I remembered something kind of important once I had the wee net in hand: even the idea of touching fish grosses me the hell out. And aside from the fish, which are fairly small and nicely coloured and innocuous, there are two decent-sized algae eaters, and two eels. The algae eaters and eels are too big to really fit in the net. And they’re wiggly. Lordy. I covered the net with one of my brother’s lunch container lids while I transferred them. (At least they were easier to catch than the fish…) Oh, and did you know the eels make noises??? Glory be, I’ve got the bloody shrieking eels from The Princess Bride right here.
Anyway, everyone seems relatively comfortably ensconced in the spare aquarium for the moment. Chad is bringing over the main one tomorrow. Thing’s gonna need some scrubbing (though it’ll be rather less icky once he pitches all the remaining gravel in it).
And the best part? I get to buy more fishes! And squirt the hell out of the kitten who is entirely too enamoured with the new residents…
In case you don’t like to read: NSFW.
According to Google Maps, that’s how far it is between my house and the hotel I am staying at in San Francisco. 🙂 Unfortunately, I have to sit on a plane for five hours to get from one to the other, but hey, that’s the crappy part of travelling required to get to the good stuffs.
Because my friends are both good-looking and wise, here are some things that they have suggested that I should do there.
I have been dancing with death a lot this week, in my head. Life, too, I suppose, since the two kinda go together. And it all began with rodents…
But then, I have many of my own thoughts on how we humans fail to take care of each other.