like pebbles on the beach

I've been rewatching the X Files over the last couple of months. I'm partway through season six. And I'm absolutely loving it.

I still find the first season the scariest; probably because when it aired, it was some of the first horror I ever watched, so I have a visceral fear reaction to the glowing tree bugs, and the squishy guy who slides through the vents. I love how the interaction builds between Mulder and Scully: the care and teasing and trust. 

It's neat to re-immerse into another decades popular culture, into the conspiracy and alien mythos when the current flavour is vampires and werewolves.  I love how bad ass Scully is; she's the good shot, the one who rescues Mulder more often than he rescues her (at least at first). The lead actors seem to enjoy the characters, David Duchovny in particular appears to be enjoying the hell out of himself frequently. I also love all the surprise! guest appearances; from teen! Ryan Reynolds and child! Jewel Staite to awesome! Lily Tomlin, all kinds of people show up in episodes. 

I'm less fond of the times when culture and ethnicity are the flavour of the week; and troubled by the monster-identification of mental and physical disability. Sometimes the show is reflecting on cultural tropes, more often it seems to be perpetuating an 'othering' of difference, and allying it with the literally monstrous. 

I'm far enough along into the run of the show now that I generally haven't seen the episodes I'm watching, which is fun. And I'm so happy the whole thing holds up as well as it does after so many years. 

repost of an Inception story from September
Language of Love by beachlass 
Written for cobweb_diamond.


ALOE- GRIEF( Language of Love )

So I went to vote this morning before heading to the office. The woman ahead of me at my polling station was pretty obviously mentally disabled. The poll officer took care to get her settled, reminding her to ask if she needed any help. When she had her ballot ready, she came to drop it in the box, and asked "Does my vote count?" - reassurances all round, of course her vote counts, every vote does... "Because someone told me that if I put it in a box, it doesn't count." she continued.

What?

So.. more reassurances, all the votes in the box get counted, that's how it works, her vote will be counted with everyone else's.

And it's not that I believe there should be an IQ limit on voting privilege; but it's the naive gullibility that makes me feel heartsick. Because there's someone who doesn't know enough about the basic voting mechanics to understand that the box is where the votes go; and it's exactly that sort of believe-anything-you're-told that the last round of OMG SEX EDUCATION WILL RUIN CHILDREN goddamn conservative political ads targeted in this election. And I confront it doing pastoral visits; (mostly) elderly people who believe any damn thing because they heard it on the radio; or saw on a TV show; or got a spam email, or are reposting on facebook. And, god help me, they all vote. Even the one who died before the election happened voted in an advance poll. From her hospital bed. (What are the chances that the people who make sure the elderly in nursing homes vote also advocate for prisoners and homeless people?)

I come round pretty quickly (driving down the country road to my office, cranking the dance tunes in a futile attempt to elevate my mood) - to all the bullshit hoops we make immigrants and refugees jump through to get into this country; and how residency is so hard to obtain; and how many born-here Canadians would probably fail the tests; and how age of majority is all that is required to participate in deciding who runs the country, the province, the town.

And I'm just frustrated this morning. By willful ignorance. By politicians who calculatingly take advantage of ignorance. By my own elitist asshole-ish reaction to the woman ahead of me. By voting in a first-past-the-post system where my candidate never fucking wins.

 
This morning's twitter rumour is that googlereader can read locked lj posts. 

Still can't get into my delicious account, although at least it seems to be there.

 If you're wondering where your Canadian flisters are today, we are pretty much collectively huddled in a corner cryinginto our beers. This morning the Leader of the Opposition, Jack Layton died from cancer. He fought the last federal campaign, just earlier this year while recovering, we thought, from prostate cancer. He was a social democrat, someone who cared for and looked outfor poor and vulnerable canadians, for families in all our diversity, he was a politician who actually believed in a better Canada, a better politics. Our country is much poorer today. 

Jack's farewell letter
www.walrusmagazine.com/blogs/2011/08/22/dear-friends/

So we're on vacation, the teenage boy and I. We've taken ferries, gone to the sheepdog trials, rescued a bleeding girl from the side of the road (yes, really), decided to bail on the music festival, gone to the beach, lazed around, played cards and scrabble, swam off a cottage dock, taught the boy to drive stick shift on back country roads.

It's been LOVELY. We're onto the city portion of our holiday this morning.

See ya later, alligator.

Quick post before I head off to the city to pick up Eldest Child and hopefully go to a movie with both kids.

I have been up since forever o'clock today - Eldest had to be at the bus in the city by 7am, so we left here at 6am. Got her on the bus, picked up Much Needed Coffee and was able to go to the big farmer's market. I've mostly been to the market on Saturdays, midday, and it is hellish crowded then. At 7:30 on a Thursday morning, it's just busy enough to feel social. I got local strawberries, and a huge piece of sockeye salmon (we had it for dinner, broiled with lemon and dill, it was scrumptious); smoked whitefish for my dad, fancy tea for my mom - we're going to my parents for the beginning of the long weekend. (Sailing! Fireworks! Doggies! Family! Food!) I picked up pigs ears for the dog, and pepperettes for the boy. And then I found the Most Amazing Thing: there's now a stall at the market selling nut AND gluten free baked goods. I bought a muffin and another coffee and ate in the car on the way home. With my food allergies- do you have any idea how long it's been since I had a scumptious bought from the market baked goodie? Closing in on 20 years. And the extra amazing news is the bakery is actually local to me. So I don't even need to go to the city to get them. I bought 2 dozen tarts to take to my mom's. Om nom nom.

Came home, remembered to buy more bamboo stakes for the tomatoes, dog food, a new dog license ($20, really?) and put gas in the car. All before 10 am!!

I spent the afternoon having lunch with a friend, out of town, which meant another beautiful drive through the countryside. I stopped at an artisanal brewery and picked up beer, a craft store and bought a couple of folk art dolls and wall hangings. Came home. Read Laying Claim, which is lovely. Had a horrible phone conversation with my ex.  Made a tasty supper, and ate it watching Top Gear with my boy. 

It's sunny and warm, and the start of the long weekend. My study leave is winding down, and so is except for my ex my stress level. I feel ready for summer, and a summer pace, a little slower, time to walk and reflect and look around. Time to attend to the weeding - actual and metaphorical. And I am so grateful for you all.