Thursday, November 24, 2005

oscar would be proud. I feel the need to poke a giant hole in my Pollyanna reputation. So here goes. I was a tad grouchy tonight (in Not Thanksgiving Canada). Only one person actually bore the brunt of my frustration, and they bore it well (right now, my mother is sighing in relief that she was not chosen for this role). As a result of these recent events, I started writing a long, introspective post on the three stages of my temper: Incredulous, righteous anger -- complete with lengthy diatribes and energetic bemoaning Slightly less articulate anger with garbled hurt feelings and blunt shots meant to wound, not stun Complete and utter icy, intentional silence Sounds charming, no? I'd prefer that my angst were a little more Muppetesque, but that's not reality. And the long, thoughtful post wasn't, either. I think I was trying to justify the way I get angry according to some grand, sexy metaphor of temperature or fire or weather or some such thing, but in the end, I'm just a rude prat who thinks she's right, even when there's not a whit of evidence to that effect. Or I can be absolutely right about something -- completely in the black as far as the argument goes -- and then I'll completely and handily invalidate my argument with my tack and my tone. There's no poetry in it, far as I can see. Debate is one thing, but browbeating is entirely another. I seem do to well at both, but I really should stop working on my skills in the latter. The worst venue for me as an angry person would have to be either e-mail or instant messaging programs. Oh! The things I will say... not epithets or curses or NC-17 comments, but targeted, over-the-top rebuttals that leave the subject/object of my rants red-faced and incredulous. I can be absolutely scathing on a moment's notice. There's a profound irony at work here, too: I'm usually ranting at people because I think they've been cruel or heartless or bigoted or unloving or some such thing -- and then I climb up on my soapbox and start taking potshots at major organs. Oy. Most of my friends will tell you that the silence is the worst phase, mostly because it's so absolutely impenetrable; if I don't want to talk or listen, you'd be better off trying to reason with a stuffed koala than trying to make sense of me. It's a form of self-restraint on one hand, but on the other -- for someone usually as garrulous and talktive as I can be -- it's also a way of punishing people by not being true to their expectations of me. I just let my hurt hover in the air until it passes or someone gets frustrated enough to goad me into talking. The funny thing is this: as soon as my anger passes, I feel horribly guilty. At this point, I start trying to apologize and smooth things over. I forget that other people need time to process things and come to a place of forgiveness. Apparently, my zeal to to wipe the slate clean is just as startling as what I do to the slate in the first place. No one seems to know how to handle me at that point -- do they recover from their justifiable frustration quickly and let bygones be bygones, or do they hold me accountable and make me work to earn back their affections? My friends are amazingly "bygones" kind of people. But sometimes -- and rightly so! -- they make me work to put things right again. And then I get mad afresh at how much effort that requires. Seriously, I'm a treasure. I should be poked in the eye. Oy. 11:48:52 PM    well, yes, but...  [] dear american readers: Happy Thanksgiving! (and to my fellow Canucks -- Happy Thursday!) One of my friends calls today the "best food day of the year" in the United States. For me, the best food day of the year is whatever day I manage to consume hot wings, sushi, cotton candy, guacamole, fresh salsa, and hot fudge sundaes in the same 24 hours. This day is usually followed by the Ickiest Stomach day of the year, but could it be more worth it? Actually, my stomach is somewhat like wrought iron. You can get a lot of acid and spice in there before it even begins to complain. But, then again, I really can tell when I've eaten my last hot wing for a little while. Stomachs have a way of saying, "Hey. Okay. I like this, but that's enough. Oh, you want to keep eating? See how this feels!" Ahem... I digress. As per usual. So, my American pals, I want to send some love out to you. I don't want to talk politics (though I might be thinking of them, we're not going there in this post). I don't want to fall back on tired old stereotypes about your nation in general. I don't want to lambast you for bringing us such cultural landmines as Britney and the Real World casts and Suze Orman and Fred Durst. And I don't want to act all Canadian-superior-like and pretend that I'm slumming by chillin' wit you at this particular moment (yes, Dad, I left off the 'g' and the 'h' on purpose). No way. I adore y'all. I am thankful for you each and every day. Thankful for what, specifically? I am... Thankful for the rich arts and cultural legacy you've brought to my world, from Faulkner to O'Keefe to Avedon to Fitzgerald to Adams to O'Connor to Davis to Coltrane and on and on... Thankful for the amazing countryful of accents and dialects you bring to my ears, from Georgian lilts to Minnesotan gentleness to fierce New York confidence. Thankful for the cherished spots of my childhood: Seattle, Cannon Beach, Delano, Astoria and Whidbey Island. Thankful for the insanely beautiful landscapes you possess that I have yet to discover: the Grand Canyon, the Redwood Forests, the Everglades, the country roads of Vermont, the middle of Times Square, the San Francisco Bay, the wide open spaces of the MidWest, the prodigious snows of Colorado, and the faded-but-heart-held-fast glory of the Big Easy. Thankful for the journalism you produce that I still truly appreciate (mostly in the New Yorker and Harper's and in the Sunday NYTimes.) Thankful for the positive aspects of National love and pride that cause people to reach out to others. Thankful for the NFL, from whence cometh much grunting, much grappling, and much joy (wait, that came out wrong...) Thankful for Krispy Kremes, CrackerJacks, Sour Keys and Milk Duds. Not to mention Cherry CocaCola and LemonHeads and Ben and Jerry's and Louisiana Hot Sauce... Thankful for the grassroots literacy and communication programs like 826 that are working hard to raise an expressive generation -- and showing us up here just how it's done. Thankful that you took Jim Carrey off our hands. Thankful for Apple, in Cupertino, from whence came the design for my milky white laptop (I think). Thankful for a crazy boatload of bloggers that make me excited to read each and every day (and I'll add links later -- I gotta get up for work in the morning!): for Mark (crossing fingers and toes for a good firing day); for Sam (sending shelving energy and customers and warm quilts); for Dr. O (sending peace, joy, and music); for Kate (sending hours and hours on the phone with S until he can sit next to you on the couch with his laptop); for Metro (sending good times with the peanut); for Nancy (sending much Googling and affection for the Alienette and you and Norman); for Liz (sending patience, laughter, and peace); for Patia (sending beautiful landscapes and bouncy hair); for Karen A (sending ideas and time to write); for Eric (because you make me laugh like an idiot whenever you get posting and destroying those marriages);for Frances (sending health and peace to your family); for Birdie (sending anything you need, and an extra dose of joy); for Bonnie (sending thanks and inspiration and bunnies); for Karen (sending time, delight and ideas galore); for Mike (sending a good cup of coffee and a bowl of patience); for Chuck (sending stuffing and rest and book sales); for James/Jonah (sending poetry of spirit); for Mark H. (sending a newsday so good, it's unparody-able); for Jack (sending as many giggles as you give me); for Matt (sending streak-free tanning); for Scott (sending fun with your little ones); for Pandora (sending peace and calm); for Kurt (sending get well wishes!); for Case (sending books sold and poetic satire); for Tim (sending a roommate as cute as me...ha!); and last but not least, for Monty (sending a grain of sense... hehehe! and love). I'll amend later if I've flaked on anyone, I promise. And link. Whew. Today, I wish everyone who reads this from the U.S. a holiday filled with peace, companionship, wonderful flavours, warm rooms, beautiful music, and a marvelous rest. May your nation find the peace and meaning it craves sooner than later. And please note the launching of my new service, "Encourage America." For $1 a minute, you can call me and I'll tell you what I like about the southern half of the North American continent. That's a huge deal! Not only that, but your first 50 years with the program are free. Because I'm not in it for the money -- I'm in it for the love. With turkey gobbles, cranberries, and a raised glass, Your Canadian Friend 12:55:31 AM    well, yes, but...  []

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