Sakura: Where are the fireworks?
Naruto: O-Oh those f-fireworks are nowhere n-near as pretty as-
Shikamaru: What the hell are you talking about?
Naruto: It was in the song, dagnabit-tebayo!
Kakashi: Aaaayyyyeeeeeee!
Everyone else: STFU! 


[Edit: I fixed a few things but there's still the fireworks to do...]

Pet Spider

A spider made a web on the blinds in my room. I'm going to leave it there at least until tomorrow, to see if it catches those annoying flies that happen to stay stuck in the vortex a.k.a. my room.

UPDATE: My mum found it horrific and got rid of it pretty much right away, so now I still have little flies hanging around. :(

Kakashi: Aaaayyyyyyeeee!
Shikamaru: How much longer do I have to stand here?
Kakashi: Until this picture is completed! Yeah!
Shikamaru: [sighs] How troublesome. *TOK* 

Oh, I know exactly how he feels.

And I think this cover letter is absolutely on-the-spot great. :p

This is what happened when I gave up on that other one. 

You do not want to know how long this took. 

I ended up not really liking my sketch, so I traced the image in Photoshop (vectors). So far I have Naruto doing this weird handwavy thing. 

A second version of the very rough draft. I added some patterns to the yukatas to give a better idea of the interest in the picture, but it's still pretty bad. Kakashi still looks awful. ... And those eyes.... they're burning holes in my head...! 

A very rough draft of a picture I wanted to draw, inspired by the Naruto Ondo song. There's not much going on in there, except maybe with Kakashi in the background looking like he's taking a dump on a stage or something. Naruto and Sakura aren't actually pushing each other away, but supposed to be posing like airplanes. And Shikamaru is looking down on his gown yukata thinking, "What the hell is this retarded getup I'm wearing that looks like chicken scratches?" ... Yeah, like I said, it's a very rough draft. 

O, T.O.

Gone for a while, eh? I'm still hiding from the real world in Toronto, at Eddie and Rebecca's place. I attended a wedding (second cousin's, if a godfamily even counts in the first place) and spent some time being driven crazy by my sister, mother, and brother all at the same time.

Also, I had spent a day with Davy and Stefan up in Chicoutimi before leaving for Toronto, but I won't talk about that much for the moment because I feel all of the following:

1. Bloated from the 9 day long EATASTICFEST called "meeting with family and gorging ourselves."


2. Bloated, having forgotten my running shoes at Jorgh's, and my mother forgetting to bring my running clothes after I told her to bring them.


3. Sleepy because it's fricking 2 a.m. after running around the EX all day and eating.


4. Irritated because I can't sleep.


5. I think my eye is infected because it's been very hard to not gouge it out from pain.

I'll be back in the province (at least) tomorrow, if weather, road conditions, car condition, driver condition, and hair condition permits. Meanwhile, VOTE FOR ME! VOTE pledge for me.

CIBC Run for the Cure

It's finally time! after all that ranting I made below about how much I hate my pedometer, I have sent out the spammails. If you haven't received one, count yourself lucky because the stupid form on the CIBC page is f@$%ed up. Here it is below:

---

I am participating in the Canadian Breast Cancer Foundation CIBC Run for the Cure, on Sunday, October 1st and I am asking for your support for a cause that is very important to me.

This year, an estimated 22,300 Canadian women and 160 men will be diagnosed with breast cancer. We know research is making a difference. Lives are being saved through earlier detection, and more effective treatments are improving the quality of life for those who receive this devastating diagnosis.

I am one of 170,000 participants who will all be walking or running on Sunday, October 1st and I need your support. Donating online is quick, easy and secure! You can pay by credit card and within 30 minutes, you will receive a tax receipt for any donation that has been successfully received. Your donation will be added to the critical funds raised by the Run, and will be directed towards research, education and awareness programs.

I know that you people don't like spam. Especially when you are cash-strapped and see that this email looks like a phishing thing and someone is asking for money. And on top of that, you probably haven't heard from me forever. Or ever. But I'm saying this is 100 percent legit, and I am 1000 percent committed to this run. (Typo? You decide.)

And if you don't feel comfortable donating online, well, you're always free to see me in person and I'll hook you up with a tax receipt, etc. (though it's not instantaneous). Though it will entail travelling, but there's still time. ;)

Thank you. I appreciate your support!

- Eugenie, a.k.a. Ms. C

---

Don't forget to click on the link to check my progress. Or any of the links anywhere.

Irrational Anger

AARRGGGHHH SOMEONE IS GOING TO F#@$ING PAY FOR THIS!!!!



When I started running like a mofo, I was using the fancy Made in China Pedometer/Chronometer/Assometer to check mainly how long I was jogging for. I was a bit skeptical of the step counter because I noticed it would skip steps for absolutely no reason. I was even more unsure of the calorie counting thing so I ignored it completely (but apparently running for half an hour barely equates a can of soda so now I've mostly given up on junk food).

Anyway, it multiplies the stride (I inputted 75 cm because I can't tell) by the number of steps it miscounts (according to the stupid thing, about 5900) and it spews out the distance. In fact, according to the above diagram from RunningAHEAD.com, I had been vastly underestimating how far I had been running.

So, at most one of the following statements is true:

1. I have been running about 4.4 km for the last few days.


2. I have been running about 4.8 km for the last few days, given 10% error.


3. I have been running about 5.0 km for the last few days, given a ruler, a calculator, Google Maps, and a curvy monitor.


4. I have been running 5.23 km according to Google Maps and this tool.


5. Or the most popular: I have not been running any of these distances because EVERY SINGLE GODDAMN GADGETTYTHING IS SHITTING ME.

VENGEANCE

Mini Rest

I took a few days away from blogging because I realized I had nothing constructive to say, and stories don't come so easily.

Anyway, Davy and Stefan (?) are going to come to Quebec City tomorrow, and we're taking a day trip to Chicoutimi to pick blueberries. I should also prepare for the next wedding in Toronto, next Saturday the 19th, thus once again I will be heading south for a while.

Lil V is back from China and she's got stories to tell. Right? :D

I'm sorry I missed brem's birthday. I hope you had a good one!

Jorghnassen's likely to head to UWaterloo in the fall, once he's finished his Ph.D. thesis, and I think it's also likely that I will be going with him when time comes. (You know. Guys.) It's not so likely that I will have a job myself when I get there, so I'm still kind of holding out on whatever will keep me around here.

---

Now I know my mum is certifiably insane and probably has Alzheimer's, not to make light of those who have acute cases of this disease. Some years ago while I was in Montreal, she brought me a pair of shorts that are pink, red, and white checked, too small for me at the time, and absolutely hideous. She claimed that they were cheap from Simons (probably knowing her, "2 bucks!"), thus I should wear them. I was fortunately too tubby to fit into them so I hid them away (except for one day where I had a lapse of judgement and there are photographs to support this... Lil V would know).

Today, my mum washed all my wearable shorts, and thus I am stuck with... the hideous shorts that I would only consider wearing if all my other summer clothes were in the wash and I wasn't going anywhere. (Maybe I should have put on my suit.)

She looked at them and said, "What the hell are those?"
"You bought them."
"No way! YOU must have bought them because they were on sale!"
"Nooooooo way in hell would I have bought these on sale."
"Yes, you said they were '5 dollars!'"
"Goddammit! I would have never bought anything this ugly!!!"
"See? They're ugly."

This is me.

---

Salon has a literary guide on Montreal. Personally, I don't feel as I know Montreal as well as some of you out there, because I've lived outside of Montreal about 80% of my life. Alas, as one of the comments put it, "Quebec is more than Montreal." And Montreal's not quite Quebec.

The Body is Willing

I've spent a lot of time in the last few years sitting. Sitting. That's not even for a job. Just sitting. And probably a few hours jogging. Then sitting.

There are three things going on in my head. Firstly, I don't really understand how other people are able to secure jobs (in the plural). I don't understand because secondly, I can't see myself knocking on employters' doors or ringing them up and demanding attention because I feel so woefully inadequate for every single job posting that exists. Thirdly, I feel like I haven't learned anything and have regressed to a period when I was similarly being berated in high school for not being ambitious and money-grubbing like "all my peers."

God, I need to get out of this city. *weeps*

---

My mum's sushi boss apparently had this happen to her yesterday. She was sleeping and woke up to part of a wall hanging over her head.

---

Ursj. og upi fpm'y drr ,r [pdy gpt s vpi[;r pg fsud oy'd nrvsidr O', ypp fr[trddrf yp/

Sunburn... Slowly...

One disadvantage of running too late in the day is getting too tanned. I didn't realize how red I was getting until yesterday, when I came back inside and took a shower. I get flushed naturally when I drink (a modicum amount) or exercise, so I have to wait a while until I noticed the tan line was not just a different colour, but red. Also, it seems that I was just to the point that things would have started to peel... and that's all fun and games.

So I'm trying to go for two different goals here: not to burn by interspersing days in between running (but trying to wake up early enough to avoid high UV times), and to get to 5 km eventually because it's been 3 months and I still haven't gotten there yet. :(

But there's a way to have you encourage me, and that's to donate to the cause. More on that soon.

---

I noticed the It's the Great Pumpkin, Charlie Brown! essay contest, but I don't have a 500 word story to submit. On the other hand, I do have a 154 word story for you, so that should suffice. I don't like remembering things that happened in elementary school.

Worst Hallowe'en Ever

When I was in second grade, my mother - who is inept at making artistic things - attempted to help me create my bee costume. It consisted of a yellow tee-shirt with black stripes sewn on, a pair of black jogging pants, coat hanger and pantyhose wings, and a pair of pipe cleaner antennae. I was pretty proud of our creation, until I wore it to school that day. Another girl in the class was also dressed as a bee, but her mother was a costume designer! Her perfectly sewn yellow-and-black striped torso was also stuffed, which gave her petite figure an adorable puffiness, stinger included. Her headgear was spring-mounted, a cute detail indeed. And her wings were sewn into shiny patterns, not unlike a real bee. Everyone thought she was adorable. She received the school prize for best costume.

And it didn't help that it was too cold to go trick-or-treating that year.

Nostalgic

It had been ages since the duo had seen each other, but the reunion was bittersweet. Singer and pianist separated to pursue their own careers ten years prior to the meeting, separating over personal and professional differences. Now, the nostalgic public demanded the comeback, and their popularity had been falling in later years. It was enough for them to receive the attention about the reunion that they were met with cameras and magazine reporters at their "airport reconciliation meeting." Their rehearsals were congenial but reserved, as they each noticed the effects of aging and maturing on each others' faces. Finally, the day came when they held a private interview with the biggest entertainment news program. Their smiles and uneasy laughter were broadcasted to the world, but it was unconvincing enough to generate a buzz about their incompatibility. Their comeback concert was poorly attended - rounded out with hardcore fans - and their tour was gratefully cut back. Finally, the day they called it quits, none of the media was paying attention to them anymore, and they sat together in the studio.

"What's that song we first sang together?" the singer asked.
"That was way back when the funk was big, but we were still stuck in those old folk songs," the pianist mused. "Oh I know, it's that one about the couple in love."
"Ah yeah. That's right. They had to part because of war or something."
The singer started humming a few measures, and the pianist found the right key. Soon, they started singing, and they didn't stop until the song was over. They took one look at each other, and laughed as they hadn't in twenty years.

Body

He spent his entire life with his bodybuilding obsession: full-time training at the gym, lifting weights, and constantly exercising. He talked, ate, and breathed the sport - so much that he had alienated all the non-bodybuilding people around him. However, he made a decent living with competitions and commercial promotions. At the age when most people thought of moving out of their empty nests, he was outpacing all his peers with limbs as thick as tree trunks.

Then disaster struck: due to a serious accident, he was hospitalized for the first time in his life. It was also the first time he had spent weeks unable to move freely, which broke his psyche. The hospital staff bore the brunt of his raving and inconsiderate behaviour. Each patient that was moved into his room quickly asked to be transferred to another. Finally, one patient seemed to tolerate the ramblings of the bodybuilder, and seemed to be blissfully listening.

The bodybuilder didn't understand why the other man was looking intently at him while he complained about how his body was broken, wasting away, and how frustrated he was becoming by the day. He also didn't know why the man never spoke back, nor even turned away. His talking never seemed to faze the man, which caused him to get angrier and then more subdued but annoyed. "It's like talking to a dummy!" he barked. "If you're going to look at me, at least react to something!"

A woman stepped into the room, and she stood by the man's bedside. The man gestured to the bodybuilder, who was now curiously silent, and started signing with his hands. The woman turned to face him and smiled. "He says he wants to thank you."

"What? Why? If I had known he were deaf I wouldn't have spoken to him."

The woman shook her head. The man signed some more. "He's just had an operation to gain his hearing for the first time, and you're the first person to have spoken to him like a real human being."

Nothing Ever Happens

The forest had all but been cut clean, save a solitary spruce tree that was saved because of its attractive shape and unusually large girth and height. The new owner of the lot had decided it could provide the land with some character, and it could also nicely raise the property value of the house to be built. The tree had stood for at least a hundred years, surviving season after season of intense snow storms and scorching summer mayhem. The tree's seeds made up part of the forest around it. The squirrels and chipmunks were often found under its boughs, and birds welcomed the cones especially in the winter. It was not unusual to see a moose hiding under it during vicious storms. But now a construction worker stood under it, hiding in the shade from the sweltering summer sun, smoking on his lunch break. The stub that had not been properly put out started the fire. Nobody noticed the tree, dry from the heat, robed in flames, until it was too late. The fire department put out the flaming stump, and all that was left was a dark frame of a tree. A few hours later, while nobody was looking, charred cones released their seeds.

Es-see-pa-die-nah***

I remember going to Toronto during the 2003 gigantic SARS scare. SARS was a terrible blow to all the Chinese communities - financially, socially, and probably even weakened family ties ... (that's another story). Due to the western world's irrational fears of contagious disease being transmitted through foreign-looking people regardless of nationality, and then people actually dying in Toronto of SARS, everyone avoided downtown Chinatown. And every Chinatown in the country.

So for the first time, ever, there were parking spaces on Spadina avenue. Every single restaurant had opened all their doors wide and advertised inexcusably cheap lunches, hoping for some customers to fill their unusually empty tables. Eddie wasn't concerned about SARS, and neither was I, so we went to a place for lunch (which was also deserted). We had only ordered one dish to share between us, as most Chinese restaurants make oversize portions with this intent. (It surprises me sometimes how Jorgh's family doesn't really understand this concept... but I guess it's a cultural thing.)

The waiter brought a massive bowl of tasty soup (one of those that you usually split between 6 to 8 people). "Included." Well...

After failing to consume enough soup to fill one of the great lakes, the waiter brought our oversized plate of "General Chow's" chicken and rice piled to the ceiling. Ok, I'm exaggerating - it was only halfway up to the ceiling. Even with Eddie's above average appetite and me being starved on the train for 4 hours without breakfast, we barely finished half of the meal. I thought it was a hugely overcompensating meal until the bill came... for 5 dollars. Now that was just ridiculous.

*** Say it like a middle aged chinese woman having been born over there but lived here for thirty-odd years yet never really got rid of the accent. Yeah, like that.

Hobby Accomplished

Fuzznuts, I lost the last story due to the keyboard "POWER" button. It was about a bodybuilder but now I'm too mad to write it again.

Hobby Accomplished

He had been waiting weeks for his package to arrive. It was the last remaining item to complete his collection of model trains from the industrial age. He had been anxious about its price - way beyond his immediate means - but he knew it would be worth the expense just to put it in his glass display case along with the rest of his collection. Then he could rest easy, knowing that he had finished his search. When the package arrived, he savored every moment cutting open the tape, lifting the box open, and digging out the packaging material. It was intact, and he was relieved. He slowly lifted it out of the box and admired its construction. Every facet was meticulously detailed and there was no defect as far as he could tell. He opened his display case, carefully placed it on the remaining empty spot, and closed the case. A few days later, he invited his friend to visit him to view the collection. His friend at first humored his enthusiastic stories, but impatience caused him to started taking out a train set.

"What are you doing?" he cried. "You're going to ruin it!"
"Made... in... China..."
"What does that matter? Hey!"
His friend gave him a frustrated look. "What's the point of getting all of these if you're never going to play with them?" the ten year old declared.

A Spider's Random Morning

The spider spent only an hour on it, but after it was completed, the web was the largest that the doorway ever saw. It glistened and gleamed in the early morning sunlight, with a few drops of dew still hanging between a few threads. The spider set itself directly in the middle and waited for the spoils of the day. It waited for a long time before a few small flies had become stuck in its web. The spider was ready to feast upon its morning meal when suddenly the door opened. A little boy and girl were just about to step outside and into the web when they immediately noticed a magnificently large web spanning the entire doorway, with a beautifully coloured spider as large as their mouths, now open wide and screaming into the daylight. Their mother hastily swatted away the morning art, and the spider scurried away into the nearby flower bed.

Flying Spiders

Most spiders don't have wings.¹ But there are "flying" spiders.^1.5 For some reason, my mum was pointing out some spider next to the side door earlier, saying something like, "Oh, that spider's flying about."²

I was wondering what one would look like. I mean a spider with wings.



Yeah that's not what I expected.

¹In fact, as far as we know, all spiders don't have wings.
^1.5See: Ballooning Spider.
²In fact, it's not an exact translation. I don't know my chinese too well.