Ch-ch-ch-changes

This past week marked three changes in our lives:

1. Patrick turned 30. He will now answer to names like Old Man Byck, Patricksaurus and Gantrick the Grey ... providing that he can actually hear people calling to him over the sound of his newly preferred television programs The Antiques Roadshow, Coronation Street and The Weather Network.

His friends and family generously came out Friday night to mark the occassion with booze, booze and more booze. The total bar bill had me thinking that we would have saved a bit of money if we had gone to an all-inclusive resort instead.

2. I have finally started to abandon old technology by getting rid of my VHS tapes and CDs.

MP3s and DVDs (which I'm sure I'll be tossing soon enough) have fully taken over. Since moving here nearly two years ago, we haven't even PLUGGED IN our VCR. So out they went to the island of misfit entertainment products aka our front curb. Within minutes it was all nabbed up. That's the neat thing about living here is that your junk is indeed someone else's treasure. It was a Denise-Austin-aerobic-tape pot of gold for some lucky scavenger that day.

3. And finally, all the i's are dotted and t's were crossed last week - and I am officially a home owner.

Or as Old Man Byck likes to say, I am a HOMO ... ner. On Sept 1, I will be in possession of a pair of keys that will open up a 1-bdrm + den condo on King Street. I'm pretty pumped about it. It needs some work (I'll be ridding it of its carpet and replacing it with hardwood, painting, some work on the closets) but it will be mine. The kitchen needs major reno'ing, but I'll have to wait a while before I tackle that bad boy. My new life partner and I are very excited.

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Black Out!

Whoops.

Yet another instance of me blacking out entirely when it comes to blogging despite major excitement in the two most important aspects of my blogging life: my dental health and public transit.

On the dental front, I was the recipient of some very thrilling periodontic surgery. It's just one chapter in the continuing saga of The Cavity Gone Bad. It was pretty gruesome. The periodontist, Dr Caudry, is very nice and professional - but at one point, as she was making small talk while tearing the gums away from my teeth, she lifted one of the tools into my sight-line and it was far from pretty. This highly medieval, twisted piece of metal was not only scary but was absolutely coated and dripping with my blood. It took all my energy to turn my bulging eyes from the evil thing in her hand and pretend that said evil thing was not returning to my mouth to do more damage.

On the transit front, we had a wildcat strike! (Note: "Wildcat" is to be read in a voice similar to a radio station announcer for an 80s metal station.) Contrary to what Toronto's media chose to show, people I knew were not the least bit angry or put out by this. In fact, the strike was met by my friends' unbridled joy at the prospect of not having any way of getting to work and work not being able to blame them for not showing up. Cue the tearing off of shirts and screaming WOOOOOO while running to the nearest liquor-based establishment. I, however, got to sit in my hot, hot apartment, working at home thanks to the "joy" of e-mail and VPN. Le sigh.

Along with my two favourite topics lots has gone on in life, but I will save that for another post once everything gets even more cemented. Exciting indeed! Rather than leave you on a cliff hanger, I will tame your hearts with a much loved photo of Bill Gates from Tiger Beat Magazine circa 1983:

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I Wanna Dance!

I am the proud new owner of Dance Dance Revolution Mario Mix - a game whose target market is younger than a unified Germany. And yet, it is in my giddy possession, a person who is old enough to remember Robin Williams as Mork as opposed to the voice of Genie.

I can play the game on 'easy' level, but once I put it to 'average' it gets much, much harder and I end up just randomly stamping on the mat, much to our downstairs neighbour's horror. This is part of the reason why I don't go to the step classes at my gym. The other reason I don't do step classes is because the instructor has not caught onto sportswear-chic and wears an actual leotard to teach. Disturbing.

My moves and my generation's pop culture legacy are put to shame by the comic in this clip. Most people have seen this already, but I love it:



There could probably be an entire video of bad dance moves circa 1987 - 1992 as this site demonstrates.

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I Stand Corrected

Root canals hurt. The next day, that is. Now that the freezing has fled my mouth, the stabby feelings have moved in and are sporadically stomping about. The Motrin is providing about as much pain relief as a Tic Tac would.

All I've been able to eat are cooled-down poached eggs. Pair that with the fact that my brushing has been done rather gingerly to accommodate The Tooth Of Sauron, you can imagine how fantastic my breath is right now.

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