Help! Our handyman has gone postal

We are facing a strange challenge at Casa Journaliste. Our handyman has gone nuts.

While we're both fairly handy people, our eagerness to take on big projects is hampered by the obvious softness of our keypad-trained hands. So we have The Guy who comes in to do the big lifting, leaving us the wussy jobs like sanding and painting. But lately, we've been having a few issues with The Guy. Relatively minor things, so we were willing to look beyond them.

This morning, though, a pool of brownish water was plopping onto the kitchen floor. Looking up, drops were forming in the door frame. The kitchen wall was clear, so I walked into the dining room, and found a wall clogged with water bubbles. Downstairs was even worse. Turns out that when The Guy was putting up crown molding, he nailed right into the plumbing we had done two years ago. Sigh.

Quick call to The Guy, and he's over here ripping out the crown molding, cutting open the wall, and then dashing out to fetch a stopgap fix. Quick call to our plumber, and he's warning us to not settle with a stopgap, and will be over later today to repair it properly.

We're staying pretty quiet while all this is going on, but our displeasure was quite evident. The Guy then drops a rant about doing work for our extended family, and how one member has been badmouthing him and he's never going to work for this family again. Hmmm. We back away slowly making placating sounds.

When The Guy tells us he'll come back to finish the plaster Friday, and will sand Saturday, I tell him it's a no-go. We're having a pre-Christmas party that day. Fair enough, yeah? He looks at me in incomprehension, then starts staring off into the distance, his head nodding as he tries to figure all this out. Husband asks if the job could perhaps be started today. The Guy says the ceiling plaster is still wet. The Husband says "Oh, okay, I didn't know how long it took to dry." And The Guy storms out! Just like that. SOOOO weird. 

The Guy is in the middle of some fairly hefty issues - marriage breakdown, big fight that ended with police charges, mandatory anger management course, etc - so we're more concerned for him than for the house (although the house damage is a major pain in the arse). But seriously, dude. Calm the f. down and just do your job properly. We're not asking for brain surgery here. Just smooth walls, and maybe a paintable ceiling before Christmas.

Are we asking too much? Are all handymen vaguely off-kilter like this, or are we just special?

The bloggers lament

It is a truth both real and blue
that I have had so much to do
this little blog has sat neglected
as I - busy, busy - went and defected
to spend my days a'chasing moolah
instead of noting down the hooplah.

But while bereft, 'tis not forgotten!
I know my URL. I remember my log-on.
Rusty though the site may be
it has not (yet) forsaken me.

What has kept me from these pages?
Blogging, news and corporate wages.
That's not all though. Nowhere near.
I still find time to volunteer:
I'm helping bring arts to the peeps,
and writing reports 'bout Open Streets.

And on top of that, I've stopped drinking.
(I know! Best let the shock sink in.)
No beer, no wine, no whiskey or cider.
Lord help me - I don't miss it either.

My to-do list remains pages deep
so I won't make promises I can't keep.
I may get waylaid. Things might go quiet.
I could go nuts on this booze-free diet.
But, dear blog, know one more fact:
Just like Arnie, I'll be back.

 

 

Julia Gillard is right: Australia is a sexist land

What do you call an Australian man who respects women? A Canadian.

For hundreds, if not thousands, of expat Aussie women living it up overseas, the leading reason to stay away is simple. Aussie men.

Not necessarily individual men, mind you. I have plenty of wonderful, understanding, giving male friends of Australian extraction, but there is an inherent blokeyness to Australian culture that is bringing the country down.

Until both women and men rail against it – as Prime MinisterJulia Gillard so beautifully did this week – it will persist, mutate and grow like a fungus under the fingernails of Australian society: not entirely disabling, but certainly not attractive.

It’s hard to see when you’re close to it. As a woman working in Queensland newsrooms, covering police cases, court trials, State politics and more, I couldn’t tell why I was always ill at ease.

It didn’t stop me from succeeding, but it did stop me from wanting to play ball (particularly the 4pm male-dominated cricket matches across my desk as I worked to hit deadline, producing more copy than the better-paid men sporting it up around me). The few women in leadership roles were blokey too. It seemed they had to be.

This disquiet also stretched into my personal life. I dated the typical Aussie menu of surfers, doctors, musicians and whatnot, and when it came to the crunch, it usually became clear that these fun and caring men had no idea how to support a partner in ways other than financial.

So I ditched it all and booked a flight to Canada intending to stay for a year. Within weeks of starting work at a national newspaper, though, I knew my return flight would go unused.

Men are fun and caring here, too, but they have a distinct differentiator: They respect women. Not because they are told to, not because of a strident women’s rights lobby, but because respect of other people is the default position. 

Things aren’t perfect in Canada, for sure. Gender divides still remain and equality is a goal, not a reality. (And Canadians could learn a thing or two from us Aussies about open friendliness and deadpan sarcasm, but hey, you can’t win ‘em all.)

But with policies like shared parental leave, gay marriage and more, all people are treated equally whether they are male, female, gay, straight, immigrants or no.

And just as importantly, the speech Ms. Gillard made this week would never have come about in Canada: Any politician making the kind of comments quoted as coming from Mr. Abbott would have been turfed out of politics straight away.

Whenever I bump into a fellow female expat, we chat about careers, partners, life opportunity, and laugh about the madness of choosing a Canuck winter over Aussie beaches.

Then there is a pause, and a little conspiratorially, one of us will then say something along the lines of: “And then there’s the men.”

The young Aussie making lattes at the café down the street from me is qualified in marketing, but said she’d rather be in Canada making coffee than “fetching water” for the men in the industry back home. She hopes to break into the Canadian marketing ranks soon.

My super-successful friend in television keeps being lured back to Canada with promotions because they love her work so much. Here, she’s in charge of a major national television program. When she briefly moved back to Australia (between promotions), she was picking up day-work as a TV reporter.

The tirade, which made headlines here in Canada and has won Ms. Gillard countless fans among those who’d likely never heard of her before, was the telling of a bitter truth.

Australia is a boys’ club, and until both women and men start demanding equal respect, change will not come.

The fact that the Australian media is treating this speech as theatre instead of asking “Does she have a point?” is perhaps one of the most disappointing aspects of this whole episode.

Contrary to what the Australian media is reporting, this speech doesn’t send a bad message around the world. It serves as a clarion for the people of Australia to stop putting up with sexism and misogyny in all its forms.

It’s time for the women and men of Australia to step up, and stop accepting the treatment that has for so long been dished out. Until they do, nothing will change.

And after that, the country can tackle the other bastion of Australian misogyny – in which Ms. Gillard is as bad as the rest – and legalize gay marriage.

Which is worse?

The fact that I only just realised the undies I've owned for eight years have an emblem woven into the fabric, or the fact that I've owned the same pair of undies for eight years?

(Surely I'm not the only one with such longevity in their underthings?)

Tomato jam

The six tomato plants in our garden are going absolutely gangbusters. They're delicious, but honestly, how many tomatoes can two people eat? We give away as many as we can, but eventually we knew it would get to this point. What to do with all the bloody fruit?

What else? Make jam. The recipe from Food In Jars is super-simple and easy, if a little time-demanding. You can find it here.

The before photo:

 Seriously. We collect a bowl full of tomatoes almost every day. And that's just the cherry tomatoes. Lurking on the other vines are these massive suckers:

So they got chopped...

 and tossed into a massive pot with sugar, lime juice...

 Ginger, cinnamon, ground cloves, salt, and chili flakes.

As it heated to a boil...

 The husband and I got down to some serious chess action. We both suck at this game, but are enamoured since I brought my massive vintage chess set back from Australia. At least we equally suck, which makes it a pretty even battle field.

 On simmer now...

 Simmering away until it got goopy.

 Once it hits desired goopiness, cool, can, and voila! Tomato jam! Delish.

 Next time I'll probably use a bit less sugar and a bit more ginger. All good though. A big thumbs up.

Adventures in Artland

As I disappear into a dozen different work projects, the Husband has been both trotting around the countryside and preparing for his first art show. On the weekend, those collided. Four of his photos were to be shown at A Day & A Night in Hespeler Village, and he was not going to be in town. So, the good wifelet that I am, I ventured to the wee village of Hespeler on his behalf.

I found a lovely little town (Hespeler) within a town (Cambridge) with a town (Waterloo Region). Double bonus: I also found a kick arse vintage store there.  As promised, there was art and music on the street:

 Some real-time artiness:

And my good man's work. It's hard to see 'em but here goes: top row: Clock; middle row: Door that Resembles Flag; bottom row: Floor and Lunch Room.

 The tools of the trade, old school.

  
Tools of the trade, new school:

 Being used to make the official Graffiti Alley.

Very cool, little town of Hespeler. Very cool.

So beautiful it hurts

Make your life better. Watch this:

Hot dogs and cool cats

It's hot in the city right now. Cicadas are already whirring outside, the neighbours are squealing in the wading pool, and Open Streets is gearing up for another hot afternoon in UpTown Waterloo. [Need an Open Streets primer? Read my how-to guide on MSN.ca.]

With the hubby and dad-in-law.

The second of our four Open Streets events will be on Sunday, July 22, from 1pm to 4pm. We're trying to make sure we keep things interesting, and mix it up just enough to keep you all excited about coming back. So, to whet your appetites, here's a wee glimpse of what's to come:
• More music, including Richard Garvey, the Town Hall Cryers, Lynn Jackson, Lawrence Cresswell, and the Two Bit Kettle Krooks. If those names sound familiar, they should - they're some of the awesome Grand Porch Party contingent. 
• Fitz The Whip is coming back. This time, go get a lesson people! For real. Fitz is ace. 
• There's gonna be heaps of dog-friendly spots, and a petting zoo at the Town Square!
• When you get to King and William, TURN THE CORNER. There'll be DJs, a water fight, food truck, bike polo and other sporty silliness at the south end of the route. Did somebody say eBike rides? YES!
Oh, and there's also this little thing called the UpTown Waterloo Jazz Festival going on. 
Put it on your calendar, folks! You can be like these cool kids:

 

Honeymoon!

It's only taken three years, but we have finally booked our honeymoon! And it's two weeks away. Belgium, here we come!

© J.Almblad

Bitchin' about the boss

I launched my own writing and editing business earlier this year, and when people ask what I've learned so far, I reveal the biggest lesson by far: I'm a slavedriver. 

The greatest fear before setting out was not knowing what kind of self-employee I'd be. Turns out I'm the kind that sits at my desk in the morning and then basically doesn't move, sometimes adding a bit more word at night. It completely undermines the whole "take strolls while the sun shines" theory of working from home, until I burn out and play hooky for a day while feeling guilty for not working.

It's a cycle I plan to tackle in the coming months, but in the meantime I figured I should at least prove that my recent time hasn't just been devoted to organizing community fetes and planting gardens. 

I've been writing a blog for MSN called "On Second Thought", which has so far covered political gaffes, the upshot of the Census results, and how the massive Budget bill came down to a battle of the bladders. (The blog should be launched in its own space shortly.)

I've put together some travel and royal galleries, also for MSN (where I seem to be becoming the in-house royal specialist, which strangely gladdens my little Aussie heart).

Small business reporting has included entrepreneurs selling out and the pains of transport costs,both for The Globe and Mail.

And some other stuff that's either corporate or hush-hush right now. 


It's exciting and exhausting. And I'm loving it. 

Why Australia's Gina Rinehart could be the saviour of news

Look out, Murdoch. Australia has a new media baron on the make. Australia's richest woman, Gina Rinehart, is making a play for Fairfax, one of the country's largest media groups. It's a serious concern for a country that has waxed and waned on the topic of media control over the decades. 


Fairfax has long held its head high, thanks to its Charter of Editorial Independence stipulating that the board and owners have no input on media content. In light of Ms. Rinehart's plans, however, it has come to light that none of the current board has signed that Charter. It was understood to be a standing agreement between the board and staff, but some people now fear that a new owner could argue that the lack of current signatories renders the Charter moot.


Given that both Australia's economy and its politics is in the red hot grip of the resource and mining sector, it's a huge concern. But what does this really mean for media independence in Australia? The government is openly debating the need for stricter regulation and greater government control over media ownership. But in the current, turbulent media landscape, the Fairfax issue could in fact speed up the transition to the new future of media, without the need for government to pull the strings.


If Rinehart dismisses the Charter to push for a more conservative, mining-friendly editorial direction, she renders the Fairfax brand worthless. She robs herself by devaluing her brand. Turning Fairfax into yet another conservative mouthpiece (as if Australia needs more conservative voices in its public discourse) will attract a certain kind of reader, yes. But it will lose many more.

Of course, this has huge implications for news coverage. If yet another news outlet is having layoffs and heading to the conservative hills, that means there will be less unbiased reporting to go around, which is a tragedy for democracy. But those (huge) concerns aside, without the charter, Fairfax has a greatly reduced editorial value, and today's readers will treat it as such.

Mass media has almost always been in the hands of barons and super-elite owners. To retain a position of broad authority, a media outlet must maintain a strong editorial reputation. Without it, the outlet becomes a mouthpiece of dubious value and integrity. It always was and ever will be thus.


What is different now? Readers. While they cannot democratize media ownership, they certainly are democratizing consumption. Moves like the scrapping of the Charter actually open the door for a new kind of news provision, perhaps one that leaves the barons out of the loop entirely (think spot.us and the like). If Gina Rinehart buys Fairfax and does not sign the Charter, she might just help usher in a new future of news, a future in which she has no place at all.

Escape from Disneytraz

Forget Space Mountain and Harry Potter World. If you want a real adventure while in the clutches of Disney World in Orlando, Florida, just try using public transport.

Having submitted myself to the obligatory visit to Main Street USA at the Magic Kingdom, I decided to spend the following day visiting downtown Orlando.

I was driven largely by curiosity: While Orlando is the most visited city in the US, very few people actually go anywhere near the city, choosing to bypass it en route to the endless, flat sprawl of theme parks and hotels that surrounds Orlando like albumen around a fried egg yolk.

A friend had suggested I check out Urban ReThink, so with that as my destination, I set out to catch the bus.What follows is my notes from the adventure.

The trek: Hilton Bonnet Creek, Orlando, to Urban ReThink, 625 Central Blvd E, Orlando.

Distance: 32.7km

Driving time according to GoogleMaps: 26 minutes.

12:33pm: Get on Disney shuttle at hotel, and arrive 14 minutes later at Downtown Disney, an outdoor mall that offers more Disney than downtown. GoogleMap directions provided by the concierge say it's a 2 minute walk to the bus stop for the #50 Magic Kingdom/Orlando bus. I head around the Cirque du Soleil building and walk through the massive carpark back to the road the bus just travelled.

12:55pm: Trudging beside a four-lane road busy with Disney buses, hotel shuttles, and cars. There's no footpath, so I alternate between scratchy grass and the periphery of the parking lot. Naturally, the #50 goes past, marked "Magic Kingdom". It's hot. This isn't magical.

1:13pm: The alleged 2 minute walk actually takes 24, because the shuttle drop-off is on the opposite side of the mall. It's been 40 minutes and I haven't even started the hour long bus transit. Abort?

The bus stop on the left

1:22pm: Just realised I'm waiting on the wrong side of the road. There are no signs to indicate what direction the buses are going - the wee sign just says #50 - and the bus just went past again marked 'Magic Kingdom'. I finally realise the name of the busline is the two opposite destinations, and I need to be going the other way. Goddamn. Abort??

1:26pm: As I'm standing at the traffic lights waiting to cross the intersection to the correct bus stop, naturally, the #50 comes. If the lights change and the bus is caught on a red, I think, I'll go ahead and catch it. If the light stays green, and the bus proceeds through, then I will take is as a sign from above and decline the option of waiting another half hour in the beating sun for the next one.

The light holds. The bus leaves. I head back into Disney.

Epic fail.

Afterthought: Dare I walk back to the hotel???

* * *

Escape from DisneyTraz, Part II - The Long Walk Home

2:40pm: The return hotel shuttle leaves at 3:40. I could stay and walk around the mall, or walk home. Given the futility of the day thus far, I compound my errors and aim for adventure. Walking it is.

My feet at the start, totally ill-shod.

 2:46pm: I hit my first challenge - a massive intersection with no crosswalks - only to face the second: There are no footpaths. Or shade.

Cross-walkless gauntlet, conquered.

2:53pm: WIN! A massive blue heron is in a creek, totally unseen by passing traffic. I stop to take a pic, standing on a two-foot ledge beside rushing cars. One honks, and I jump, thankfully not into the oncoming traffic. I wait for a gap in the traffic then speed-walk/jog down the roadside to reach grass again.

That's Mr. Heron to you.

2:56pm: An overpass looms ahead. Is it too much to think they'll provide some kind of flat surface to walk on? 

 2:57pm: Apparently yes, that is too much to hope for. I'd stop and take a pic of my feet walking the 8-inch gap between the pylons and the guardrail, but I'm worried about topping into traffic. Intrepid reporting only goes so far.

3:05pm: Reach the Bonnet Creek Resort entrance, having dashed across two highway on-ramps. The entrance is decoratively designed with large rocks and such. Wearing flip-flops was not so great an idea.

3:07pm: A footpath! Only on one side of the road though: I'm guessing because that's the side the staff would walk down to be picked up. Heaven forbid they wait near the hotels.

3:16pm: A footpath begins on the other side, and I cross the street to catch some of the scant shade. 

3:18pm: WIN! Find a golf ball.

3:19pm: And another!

3:19 and a half: And another!

3:20pm: Okay, this is the last one I pick up. How bad are these golfers?

3:21pm: Hilton comes into view. Still a long way to go.

3:21 and a half: Just discovered this isn't a footpath at all. It's an access path to the golf course, made for buggies and the like. As I can't walk along the path during play hours, I have to turn around and run the gauntlet of traffic to reach the hotel. NOTE: Cars really speed along here. :(

The elusive buggy path...

...and the shitty pedestrian option.

3:31pm: FINALLY! I get to the side gate of the hotel so I can enter via the pool, and discover the hotel has bike racks. Who knew?

3:32pm: DAMMIT! Side gate is locked. To the front it is. Still, at least I beat the shuttle.

My filthy, sunburned feet at the journey's end.

Bless

I ventured onto my bestie's blog earlier and she'd posted an awesome flashback to 2007. (I can't link to it, though, because she's secret-blogging, and it would ruin the illicitness of it all. You'll just have to leave it to serendipity.) 

I'm totally going to fetch a bottle of wine now. Miss you, missy.

For reasons/excuses for my lack of blogging, please see Exhibit A, which I'm organizing, Exhibit B, which I'm co-chairing, and a little thing called starting my own business. You can blame the above fabulous miss for inspiring that. That's us in the pic, discussing business in her Aussie kitchen, while the boys were outside talking fashion. That's how we roll.

Bloomin' great

Whatcha doin' next weekend? If you're in Kitchener-Waterloo, you should totally come check out Bloomin' Earth. It's a one-day market at the Kitchener City Hall where you can pick up some hand-made, Earth-friendly goodies.

Added bonus? MeCycled is making a comeback, bringing lots of pretty, one-of-a-kind gift bows made from magazine pages! Perfect for Mother's Day, birthday presents, or popping on a bottle of bubbly in your fridge and pretending it's a surprise gift from a secret admirer. Bless such versatility.

A sneak preview:

For the literature lover

Wine, comics and print, oh my!

There'll be lots more to choose from. Come visit on the day!

Jesus V. Felix the Cat

One had wicked hair, hit his peak at 33, and then disappeared in such mysterious circumstances that we still talk about them 2000-odd years later. The other found a magic bag of tricks at the age of 34 and went on to a whole new life of amazingness.


Forget the so-called Jesus Year, during which 33-year-olds wake up, realize there is a big world around them that doesn't know they exist, and, as The Globe and Mail so condescendingly put it, publicly explore their "emerging adulthood".

I am totally going with Felix The Cat.

Felix started off in 1919 as a small, curious and inventive little feller. (Oh, and did I mention he was created by an Aussie? True.) But it wasn't until 1953 - when Felix was 34 - that he found his groove. Having already led a full and exciting life, Felix got even more awesome thanks to a magical bag o' tricks that pretty much allowed him to do anything he freaking wanted. Awesome.

So screw the Jesus Year. I take great dudgeon by any inference that I am, at 33, still emerging as an adult. No: I'm married, with a mortgage, and have a 13-years-and-counting career that spans two continents. Developing and maturing, I always hope to be. Emerging, I am not.


So it is now, after all of my years as an adult, that I feel I'm finally about to discover my own bag of tricks. I am 33, and that means:
- These grey streaks in my hair can stay. I think they look intriguing and kind of hot.
- I have mastered my work skills, which means I can seek out projects that push me in new and interesting directions.
- I am confident enough in my abilities to launch my own business, and am willing to succeed or fail on my own terms.
- Note the above: I am willing to fail.


While long-haired self-discovery and rampant sandal-wearing both have a time and place in every person's life, I'm gunning for the Cat.


New Motto: I Strut, therefore I Am. Bring on my bag o' tricks!

State Election Steeplechase!

It's a special time of year here in Queensland, Australia. It's election time. With the State election due for the end of the month, and a lacklustre attitude among the voters who see either main options as limpid at best, I hereby propose we skip the ballot box and let these two sort it out how it really should be: In a race to the finish.

 STEEPLECHASE!!

ennui

nine days to wind it down
hand it over
and walk away

that bright light
is long gone
foiled and fooled
til now unfueled

and so dusk
waning, waning, waning
and I here
waiting, waiting, waiting

T.B., Jan16, 2012.

New year, new camera

On a recent work trip to San Francisco, my delightful husband either lost our camera, or it was stolen from his person. Either way, it was a major bummer. But, on the upside, at least it came as the season of holiday shopping specials was upon us! Thus we now have a new member of the family. It doesn't have a name yet, but our new camera is a beautie, and a substantial upgrade. (For those interested in such things, it's a Canon T2i with an upgraded 18-135 IS lens.)

So we took it with us to Montreal. Here are some muckaround pics from there and back at home, taken as we got used to the new machine. (Note: If you click on one of the pics, they'll all come up in a full-size viewer. Handy!)

T. in the apartment of an actor friend who kindly let us stay there. It's an awesome studio on St. Laurent and Duluth, above Laika, if you know the area. Wickedly cool.

Close-up of cardboard artwork (blurred by light in the earlier pic)

Close up of artwork.

See what I did here with the mirror and the lanterns? Huh? Tricky, eh?

Said lanterns, cross-processed for colour boost in Aperture.

My good man, pre-coffee.

In Little Italy

At the Jean Talon market

Yum.

Our Little Italy staple.

Now, onto some of my efforts to try out the camera's manual capabilities:

Kitchen light, focused on base.

Kitchen light, focused on rim.

Souvenir from the Radio City Rockettes - Focus on left (falling) soldier.

Focus on soldiers on right.

Focus on soldiers at the front of the right-side line.

 And, for randomness:

The amazing cloak I found at Local 23, a vintage store - or friperie - in Montreal. *Love*