These are not the droids you're looking for

I don't think I have all that common a name -- I mean, no, neither my first nor last name are uncommon, but it's not like Mary Smith or something. I haven't always liked my name (people never spell my first name right, my middle name is old-fashioned), although I love it now. I am fascinated by names and love to find out why people have the names they do, and it's always interesting to come across someone who has the same name as you. I remember once being in Grand Central Station in New York City, and the friend I was supposed to meet wasn't able to find me, so she had me paged. And three women, besides me, turned up at the information desk. What are the chances that three other people with my exact name would be in Grand Central Station at the same time? One of them was a stunningly beautiful, tall, elegantly dressed, obviously quite wealthy young woman, and I felt like asking if I could be that "The Singer" for awhile.

So, anyway, when I started getting phone calls about a year ago looking for another The Singer who had been a lawyer here in Ottawa, I was mostly amused. Slightly concerned about the amount of personal information people would leave on my answering machine, detailing their court cases and lawsuits and any manner of privileged information (I always called them back, if they left a number -- which a lot of people didn't! -- to let them know they had the wrong The Singer), but my reaction was basically a "huh, isn't that interesting." It got slightly less amusing when people would bitch me out for not having a forwarding address or contact information for her (what, because there's a big The Singer club out there where we all get together once a week and exchange phone numbers?), or ask me if I could take the time to track her down because it would be a long distance phone call for them but since I was already in the city ... Whatever. It became apparent that this person with my name had up and left suddenly, as many of the people who were calling believed she was still working on their cases, and they were quite distressed to find they suddenly couldn't get in touch with her, so they were calling every The Singer (or T. Singer) in the phone book.

Last night? The collection agencies started calling looking for her. This is suddenly a whole lot less amusing.

What the World Eats

I was fascinated by this photo essay from Time magazine: What the World Eats Basically it is a series of photographs of families in various countries around the world showing what a typical week's worth of food in their house looks like. As someone who is trying to be more aware of what I eat, both in terms of what I spend and also in terms of what kind of food I am putting in my mouth, it was really interesting to look at how other people eat. The disparity between every other family and the family from Chad is not surprising, of course, but it is still pretty striking.

I think my favourite part is under the Italian family, where it lists "hot dogs" and "frozen fish sticks" among the family's favourite food. Having recently been to Italy and come home raving about the fresh pasta and gelato and how wonderful all the food was, that amuses me. I guess that's what having kids in the house will do to you!

There's a whole other blog entry in there, too, about the make up of the families (family is defined as a lot more than Mom, Dad and 2.5 kids, which is lovely to see) and the glimpse we get of homes around the world. Once again a great reminder of the wonderful variety of this world and all its many peoples and cultures. Many lessons to be learned, if we only take the time to realize they're being offered.

HP Fever

I kind of feel like I should blog about the final episode of the Sopranos, since that seems to be what everyone is talking about this week. But considering I've never seen a single episode of that show and I spent Sunday night watching the Tony awards (*cough*theatregeekalert*cough*), I guess I'll skip the obligatory "wtf?" posting. Others seem to have it covered, in any case.

Instead, I'm going to blog about how excited I am for the final Harry Potter book. Why yes, I am a nerd. Why do you ask? I hadn't really been thinking about how close HP-Day was getting, but we've been watching the movies this week in order to get Serdic up to speed before the 5th film comes out next month, and it has suddenly occured to me how freaking excited I am about the final book.

I resisted the Harry Potter franchise for a long time. I'm not sure why, as I'm certainly not against the idea of reading "kids" books (uh, you all know what I do for a living, right?), and some of my all time favourites are things like the Narnia series or the Chronicles of Prydain. But for some reason I had it in my head that the HP books were more like those Goosebumps books, or other mass-produced-little-literary-merit-blantant-money-maker books you see publishers churn out. Now, I say that with the caveat that ANYTHING that gets kids to read is A Good Thing, but I'm enough of a book snob (between being an English major and a librarian, it's pretty much a given) that I'd much rather see kids reading "good" books (good being totally subjective, of course).

So, anyway. Eventually my curiosity got the better of me, I was home for a long weekend with nothing to read, and I borrowed my mom's copy of Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone. And didn't stop reading until I got to the end of Book 3 ... three days later. This was shortly before the 4th book was published, and I have since bought each one on the day of publication and devoured them within the day. I do think there is a, for lack of a better word, magic about the first book particularly, and even the first three, that J.K. Rowling hasn't been able to duplicate since, and the later books would definitely have benefited from some judicious editing (books 4 and 5 in particular!), but there's still something about this story that really speaks to me. And many, many other people, apparently.

And I have a great deal of respect for how carefully Rowling has plotted this entire thing, and the skill with which she has crafted so many strands and brought them together. I still remember sitting bolt upright at one point late in the 4th book when Voldemort says to Harry, "You do know how to duel, don't you?" Because yes, Harry did know how to duel, and we as readers had seen him learn how two books previously, in a throwaway scene that had a totally different meaning at the time. Everything has meaning in the books, no detail is plopped in there without it coming back to haunt you later. You can read the books a hundred times and still pick up on new things, and things that have a different meaning now that you know what's coming up.

It's going to be a wild ride. As a fellow HP lover recently said to me, this book is going to have to be 2,000 pages long to tie up all the loose ends and answer all the questions that have been raised so far. I can't wait, and I know Rowling is going to make it all pay off in the end.

Lazy Sunday afternoons

Is there anything better on a Sunday afternoon than a big ass plate of leftover Chinese food, a comfy couch and a copy of The Cutting Edge on DVD (which you picked up yesterday for five bucks)?

No, I didn't think so.

We interrupt this program for some of that culture stuff

Women in art

A reminder of the beauty of all women, in all shapes and forms, and the beauty of art.

Grizabella the Glamour Cat

This month marks the 2nd anniversary of Grizabella the Glamour Cat, aka Bella, aka the World's Most Talkative and Bossiest Cat, coming to live with me. Did I choose her or did she choose me? It was always hard to say. I went to the Humane Society knowing only that I wanted a cat very different from the one I had recently lost to cancer (I didn't want to replace Rummy, I wanted a new friend), and I wanted one who was distinctive, either in markings or personality. Or both. (I definitely ended up with both!) I must have spent a couple of hours there, wandering around the various "cat" rooms, but something kept drawing me back to this little calico with the funny black nose. So I took her home. And nearly killed her the first month, as she hadn't been spayed at the Humane Society, and as she had just had a litter of kittens the society asked me to hold off on having her fixed for a few weeks, to give her time to settle into her new home and to let her recover from the birth. Which was fine, until she went into heat. I have never made a phone call to the vet faster in my life.

But once we got over that little bump in the road she has been a great companion and such fun to have around. She's very playful and affectionate, and she really enjoys being around people and interacting with them, which is something my last cat did not like At. All. And since I'm a social butterfly and love having people in, this is a good thing. Although dealing with the cat hair is a losing battle, so I apologize to my future guests in advance. She's passed the Serdic test (or, rather, I should say Serdic has passed the Bella test!) so that's good as well. As a matter of fact, I have my suspicions she might like him better than she does me ... she tends to bypass my lap in favour of his these days!

I come from a family that has always needed a lot of animals around, and pets are definitely part of the family. And having lived on my own for many years now, my cats have definitely always been my babies. It's just nice to have that living creature to greet you at the door when you come home, even if you can't really tell her about your day. Bella definitely likes to tell me about hers, though, and she usually has a lecture or two for me as well if I've been away too long or something is not quite perfect in her kingdom. It is quite obvious that she feels she is doing me a favour by allowing me to continue to live in her apartment, and no matter how many times I tell her I have to go to work every morning in order to continue paying the rent so her majesty can live the lifestyle to which she has become accustomed, my grasp of Cat is still limited and I don't think she understands.

Oh yes, and her name? We have a family tradition of naming our cats after characters in T.S. Eliot's "Old Possum's Book of Practical Cats" (which was later the basis for the musical Cats). I grew up with Rum Tum Tugger and Rumpleteazer, and now we have Grizabella. She's the character who sings the famous "Memory." Very fitting name for her majesty, as she likes to be the center of attention.

So here's to Bella's first two years of being my boss, and here's to many more.

Warning: Book nerd ahead

Me want.