Letters From Montreal

We’re off to do laundry and pack and clean out the fridge; tomorrow at the crack of dawn we leave for Toronto. Woo! Greg has already told you about my smart idea from last night. We slept well. I have a cold or allergies or something that won’t quit and am feeling kind of miserable. I am trying to not be enraged by Bush’s statement today that the “plummeting deficit” which supposedly vindicates his stewardship of the economy and budget. Dude? You entered office WITH A SURPLUS. If you think anyone’s going to stand up and cheer that the deficit is “only” $333 billion THIS YEAR ALONE, you are insane.

(Okay, we already knew he was insane.)

I cannot wait to leave. I have enjoyed the food and when the weather was nice I have enjoyed the city but the living conditions have totally sucked. Five weeks here? Far, far too long. Oh, for the glory of the king size bed at the Doubletree. I don’t know if I’m more anxious for cooler temperatures or for a bed long enough for my (not considerable) height. Yay! Leaving! This was great for Greg’s career so ultimately it was worth it, but never again. Not here.

As the heat grew the desire to update the blog sort of waned, but I hope you’ve all enjoyed it. I’ll try to update from the con, but I usually can’t get the wireless card in our laptop to interface with any other network but our home network. I have no idea why. If nothing else, I’ll update when we get to Patti’s next week. Greg plans to start a permanent blog of his own, and I’m going to try to come up with something as well (besides cupcakeplanet.com, launching soon). Thanks for sharing this experience with us. See many of you in the real world very soon.

biiiiiiig fish.,
originally uploaded by ladydisdain.

Pictures from the Biodome and the Jazz Festival and other events from the last several days.

“I didn’t know her name, and I didn’t leak her name.”

Sorry to deviate from the travelogue in this special bonus rant, but I just can’t leave this Bush-Rove-Novak-Miller-McClellan train wreck to smolder any longer without comment. This would be fun farce of the highest order if thousands of people weren’t dying needlessly in Iraq largely because of the above-referenced cast of homicidal mediocrities and their fellow travelers.

But never mind the war. I can’t get into that without succumbing to rage. For now, let’s just focus on the reason why I suddenly feel so much more favorably inclined toward Karl Rove, in the sense that I no longer hope he gets accosted by a sex-crazed biker gang armed with dirty tattoo needles and blow torches. No, Rove needs to live to a ripe old age now, so that his every waking moment can ooze with the suffering he so richly deserves.

“I didn’t know her name, and I didn’t leak her name.”

Those of you who know me well know that I am not a big fan of Bill Clinton. Yes, he managed not to screw up peace and prosperity, and he ran a generally humane bureaucracy; I don’t gainsay those things. But notwithstanding the laughable impeachment fiasco, he pretty much got what a megalomaniacal political coward and serial sexual predator deserves. Thus, I generally lack patience with the reflexive liberal refrain about how tough Clinton had things compared to Bush. But damn — if Clinton had publicly distinguished “Valerie Plame” from “Joseph Wilson’s wife,” in the context of publicizing the name of a covert U.S. agent, the conservative thugoisie would have bitched and whined themselves into a glorious frenzy of virgins and honey at the right hand of Allah.

Oops. Did I just slip into a conflation of bloodthirsty conservative Christian fundamentalist fanatics with bloodthirsty conservative Islamic fundamentalist fanatics? Damn, I hate when that happens. Sorry.

“I didn’t know her name, and I didn’t leak her name.”

At least this sets an agreeable new standard for public commentary that might otherwise present moral and/or legal concerns. I can now say, for example, that the Deputy White House Chief of Staff is a lying, evil pool of scum who has committed an action that smells an awful lot like treason, although I’m sure I don’t know the legal definition of that crime. I can say that any prominent New York Times reporter who currently happens to be doing time for contempt of a grand jury is only getting a fraction of what s/he deserves for serving as a credulous, warmongering lapdog for the deliberately mendacious blood-fantasies of the highest ranking former governor of Texas. I can say that any right-wing nutsack commentator who happens to have formerly written a syndicated column with Rowland Evans disgraces the journalistic profession every time he has the gall to spew his stupid, malicious political hackery in the mass media, and that incidentally he looks an awful lot like the kind of lowlife who engages in unspeakable acts with zoo animals.

If I said those things about anyone in particular, one might accuse me of innuendo, character assassination, even libel. Fortunately, however, I’m just speaking in innocent generalities. I don’t know their names, and I didn’t write their names.

Almost done here. My class ended on Monday, and then we had a closing dinner Monday night. The food wasn’t great, but the conversation was fun. I talked movies with some of my male students, an experience that reminded me how much fun it is to connect with people who are culturally wired the same way I am. Zombie movies rule. Fight Club is one of the greatest movies of our time. Boxing sucks, but boxing movies are profound. Damn straight. Then Melissa absolutely dazzled a couple of my female students with her wit and worldly observations. Reflected coolness — there is no better bang for your buck.

Yesterday, despite the miserable heat, we had some fun. We checked out the Biodome, which for the Milwaukeeans in the crowd is sort of a cross between the Mitchell Park Domes and a zoo. They have four different ecosystems (the rainforest was just a blast coming out of 90-degree heat), augmented with several enclosed areas for special creatures. The bat cave was an especially nice touch. I had no idea that bats’ sonar could actually track moving insects. But the highlights, by far, were the penguins and puffins. They had their own enclosed areas, complete with land and sea. One of the puffins just kept walking along the edge of the glass, following people’s fingers. Melissa is still annoyed that I didn’t let her adopt the little guy (then again, she’s still miffed that she didn’t get to bring back an alpaca from San Juan Island or a sheep from Ireland). The penguins — what can you say? I’ve always loved how they sort of fall into the water, but I somehow never noticed how they get out — building up a huge head of speed and then shooting onto the shore like little cannonballs. They’re graceful swimmers, and unbelievably fast too, but as soon as they touch down on land, they revert to their lovably awkward stereotype.

After the Biodome we killed some time downtown, and then Melissa was kind enough to indulge my theoretical ethnic roots by taking me back to a restaurant where she ate a few weeks ago, Alep, which serves Syrian and Armenian food. I was supposed to eat there a few years ago, when I was here for the wedding of my friends Daniel and Steven, but it was closed, so I was glad to check it out at last. It was a splurge, but the food was great. They actually had Armenian-style stuffed grape leaves, with ground beef, a lifelong favorite (thanks to my German mother, the most culturally aware person in our family by virtue of her long-ago culinary strategem for winning over my Armenian grandfather) that I’ve never seen in a restaurant before. As the restaurant is near the Marche Jean-Talon, we went over there after dinner for one last dose of outstanding Montreal sorbet.

Then we went home and moved the mattress off the bed into the living room so that we wouldn’t bake quite so much — Melissa’s very smart idea. That kind of sums up this experience. I really like Montreal; Melissa likes it somewhat less. We both love the food. I’ve had a great time teaching my class; Melissa hasn’t had enough to do. But the miserable weather and our craptastic weather-amplifying apartment have conspired to make this experience not at all relaxing and a lot less fun than it could have been. I’m still very glad we did this; Melissa, not so much. But we’re both very excited to be heading for Toronto tomorrow, and then home in a week.

Greg brought a cold home from Milwaukee and gave it to me (isn’t he sweet?) and it’s taking me awhile to get over it. I didn’t leave the (very hot) apartment all day yesterday, choosing instead to lie around in my lightest cotton nightgown and finish Jonathan Strange & Mr. Norrell (which was excellent, if very very long and very very dense - but it really picked up in the last 200 pages). Today I feel very tired despite a decent night’s sleep but that could just be the heat. Which is back. It’s going to be 92 today, 88 tomorrow, and 87 on Wednesday, and then Thursday we get the heck out of this sweatbox and journey to the glory of the air-conditioned Doubletree International Plaza hotel for Toronto Trek. I am working as a guest liaison (like a personal assistant for the weekend) to an actor from Stargate: SG-1, a show I have never seen, and Greg is doing…well, we don’t yet know what Greg is doing. Going into Toronto for the day at least once, that’s for sure.

We are winding down our time here. Saturday we saw The Fantastic Four and it didn’t suck. It wasn’t amazing, but it was fun and because it’s all big and explode-y it was worth seeing it on the big screen. We’ve been eating most of our meals at home because we have food left over and don’t want to waste it. We did go out for decent pizza once, and Friday night after we tooled around the Jazz Festival for awhile (where we saw no actual jazz, but some very good African music) we had superb cake at Kilo (seven-layer chocolate cake for Greg; chocolate cake with Skor mousse for me), but mostly we’ve eaten at home. Tonight, though, is the closing dinner for the program here, so we’re going out to an Italian restaurant. Tomorrow I think we’re going out to the botanical gardens and the Biodome, and then Wednesday we are packing. Packing! Whee! Soon I will sleep in a bed that will be long enough so my feet don’t hang off the end! My hatred of this apartment knows no bounds.

(Sue, is the luau Saturday the 23rd as I had heard rumored? If so, we’ll be back in time!)

I am sad to be missing Harry Potter release day at the bookstore. Very sad. We are having a midnight party! Look - here’s the proof! I have a special Harry Potter tshirt and everything, but it is probably sitting in its delivery envelope on my dining room table at home and I won’t even be able to wear it on release day. Sad. I cannot wait to go back to work. I miss my job.

It has been nice spending all this time reading adult books, though. I have to read so much for work that it’s hard to find time to read books that aren’t children’s books or young adult. I can’t believe I finally finished Jonathan Strange. I also read the absolutely superb The Wonder Spot, by Melissa Bank. It’s a set of interconnected short stories about a woman named Sophie who’s looking for life and love and love of life. The amazon.com reviewers didn’t seem to like it much but I loved it; I read the whole thing late last night and first thing this morning. I also read Sheila O’Flanagan’s Too Good To Be True last night, which was decent British chick-fic.

The last book I read yesterday (I told you I didn’t leave the apartment!) was Coming To Term: Uncovering the Truth About Miscarriage, which I read quickly so Greg can read it before we begin trying again. Most of you know we lost one pregnancy last April; many of you probably do not know that we lost another this April as well (April sucks). We are trying once more with my ob before she sends us to a specialist; we have no idea why I can get pregnant but not stay pregnant. She has run many many tests on me and everything has come back fine, so so far there is no underlying medical problem. According to the book, which was very carefully researched by a man whose wife had four miscarriages in between successful pregnancies, most miscarriages happen because the cells are chromosomally abnormal; if this is the case with us then it is a very good thing that I lost them both. However, we do not know if this is the case. We do not know what the case is, and we may never.

I’m putting this here because we do not talk about these things, “we” meaning the world, and as a result when it happens to people like me, well, people like me are shocked. Shocked, because nobody tells you that at least fifty percent of all pregnancies end in miscarriage (and the percentage is probably higher, because often you never even know you were pregnant) and if you’ve had one, the odds that you will have another are very high. Shocked because you never hear anyone else had one until you have one yourself, and then all of a sudden everyone has had one. We stay very quiet about this subject. I know that the grief of others is hard to deal with and this grief is especially hard, because there’s no person to grieve for, there is just the idea of what you thought your life would be like by now - but it still needs to be talked about. I have made a point of telling the statistics to my female friends (97% of whom were stunned) so that if it happens to them, they will be shocked - but not because they didn’t know.

Anyway. Greg and I are fine; the first was much, much harder because we didn’t know and because we stupidly scheduled the first ultrasound on my birthday and that’s where we found out. The second one we’d only known about for 12 days when I lost it. Now we just want to move forward, whether with a baby or to a specialist, and we’re hoping for better news as we move into this new round of trying. As I said before, many of you knew about this already, but it’s on my mind because of the book and because we’re cleared to start trying again. Wish us luck, okay? Just - please don’t say “just relax” or “it’ll happen” or anything like that, because we are as relaxed as we can be (which doesn’t make a difference anyway) and it might not happen, and we are prepared for that. Just think good thoughts and send us some hope and we will, as always, keep you posted.

Okay! That was longer than I intended. Lunchtime.