Another airline bites the dust. Jetsgo, CanJet (still operates charters but not commercial flights), Harmony… This is getting quite worrisome.

Why do I care so much? Well, I used to work for one that also went the way of the dinosaur.

I feel badly for not only all the customers (who will undoubtably get all the sympathetic press… I feel ESPECIALLY badly for the poor wedding party who now can’t get to their wedding destination) but also all the employees who are suddenly out of a job, in an industry where jobs are scarce.

Best of luck, guys. I feel for you.

What is this airline industry coming to?

Today is Anti-Bullying Day here in B.C.

“Anti-Bullying Day is a celebration of those who take action to stop bullies in our schools and around the province,” Premier Gordon Campbell said in a statement. Source: The Vancouver Sun

People are urged to wear pink to show support for the anti-bullying movement which started when a boy in Nova Scotia got taunted at school for wearing a pink shirt, inspiring his friends to show their support by wearing pink.

I’m wearing pink today as yes, a nod to Anti-Bullying day, but also in support of a broader vision – that everyone would consciously contribute to a world of love and kindness not only for our kids but for everyone.

Cheesy? Maybe. Sincere?

Definitely.

And after that, I dare you to NOT have Michael Jackson’s Heal the World running through your head for the rest of the day.

Rob left for Whistler today (for work but yes I’m sure he’ll fit a little fun in there) and so while I was cooking dinner tonight, instead of the usual pish-boom-bah video game noises or Law & Order grotessity for background noise, I flipped to one of my all-time fave shows, Pilot Guides. And lookee here! It was a special on Madagascar.

Ah, Madagascar.

Do you ever have one of those moments where you remember a memory you had all but forgotten? And it resurfaces like a deep-sea diver, slowly, carefully, until it reaches the surface and then, it’s so strange and other-worldly that you hardly believe it’s a memory at all? It seems like something that you perhaps imagined, after too much daydreaming… (or too many episodes of Pilot Guides and Don’t Forget Your Passport).

Watching this show, murky memories of my own visit to this mysterious land resurfaced. And all of a sudden I remembered…

…waking up at the crack of dawn to follow our guide into the jungle to gaze in wonder at wild lemurs…

…lounging on utterly pristine, deserted beaches bordered with water the color of topaz and knowing we were probably among a dozen white people to have visited Ile Sainte Marie that year…

… driving along red, red roads with potholes that came almost to my knees…

… driving by people trudging along roads in the middle of nowhere, carrying poles with stacks of bananas at each end…

… being accosted by the sight of corrugated metal shacks juxtaposed with gigantic billboards advertising L’Oreal mascara in Antananarivo…

… sleeping swathed in mosquito nets and waking up in the night and reaching for a bottle of water only to realize just in time that a HUMONGOUS cockroach had claimed it as his resting place for the night…

…being toted around a once-grand-but-now-crumbly town (was it Toamasina?) in a pousse-pousse…

…renting bicycles from some semi-shady character (he said it was his friend’s bike?) and being followed by intensely curious yet intensely shy Malagasy kids who didn’t understand the concept of chewing the gum we gave them (I hope they didn’t have stomach aches because of us)…

… seeing vanilla growing on the vine…

… accidentally coming across a funeral procession (Malagasy remove ancestors from their tombs, dress them in fresh shrouds and party with them all night long once every few years)…

…following some entrepreneurial kids who gave us a guided tour of authentic pirate graves adorned with faded cross n’bones tombstones…

…trying to shoo semi-tame lemurs away from the jam pot as we tried to eat breakfast on the beach at a super-luxurious resort on the east coast…

Was it really me who saw all these things? It seems so long ago. I guess six years, when they’re packed with adventures and memories, can seem like sixty.

They’re memories I treasure. And I love dusting them off every so often – in fact, it’s necessary, to keep them alive.

And that grunting sound a lemur makes?

It’s one that buries itself in your mind, but you never really forget it.

The news spread like wildfire the day before yesterday over emails, phone calls, IMs and even Facebook status updates that actor Heath Ledger was found dead in a New York apartment (supposedly Mary Kate’s).

Now that the initial shock is over, news media the world over are all taking turns speculating about the cause of death. Was it an accidental drug overdose? A lethal drug combination cocktail? Pneumonia?

Preliminary autopsy results were inconclusive and gosh, they say it will take 10-14 days for full autopsy results to be released. How ever will we be able to wait that long?!

As I was pondering this today, it suddenly occurred to me… I KNOW HOW TO FIND OUT WHAT HAPPENED!!!

DUH!!!

All we need to do is call up John Edward or one of the thousands of other people all over the world who claim to be able to talk to the dead!!!

Omigosh, I am so brilliant! I can’t believe no one has thought to do this yet!

C’mon all you psychic mediums out there!!!! Here’s your chance to prove that you really AREN’T just putting on an act!

***silence***

Helloooo?

***more silence***

Anyone out there? Here’s your chance, guys…?

***sound of crickets***

Guys??

…

Since I’ve had age on my mind lately, it made me remember something hilarious that happened a few months back.

I was on the phone with Patti one day and we were talking about something or other… and in the middle of that conversation, I had to make some reference to a supermodel.

So I said, “…you know, like Christie Brinkley.”

“Christie Brinkley?!?!” Patti burst out laughing.

“Yeah…. What?” I asked, nonplussed.

“DUDE,” she exclaimed. “You are getting oooooold. Christie Brinkley was a supermodel, like, 20 million years ago! I can’t believe that when you thought supermodel, you thought Christie Brinkley!!!”

Of course, we both proceeded to laugh so hard we almost peed our pants.

Christie Brinkley is turning 54 this year.

(And as far as I’m concerned, she’s still supermodel-gorgeous.)

I turned 30 the day before yesterday and already, I’ve lost count of the number of times someone’s asked me: “So are you scared about turning thirty? Are you going to have a melt-down?”

A melt-down?!?

I guess it’s not surprising that they ask. It happens a lot, or so I hear. But I don’t think it’s actually turning the big three-oh that makes some people fall apart. I think it’s the same force that’s behind New Years melt-downs and Valentine’s melt-downs and yes, even Christmas melt-downs. It’s that they’re moments which are especially conducive to introspection. And not just any introspection – that nasty, melancholy, super-critical and depressing introspection during which you look around you and only notice the shiny happy people. Everyone goes there at some point in their lives.

As for me… I visited that place a long time ago (and yes, more than once) but not on my thirtieth birthday. The closest I came to a melt-down was eating a scrumptious grilled-cheese sandwich in Chilliwack the day before. (Ha ha, get it? I kill me.)

The thing is, there are so many things that I am so NOT going to miss! So without further ado…

Top 20 Things About My 20s That I’m Looking Forward
To Saying Goodbye To
***********************************************

20. Awkward first dates, especially the fighting-over-the-bill part.
My daddy taught me that nothing comes for free and that boys are bad.

19. Worrying about wearing the right thing.
Screw it, I’m gonna wear what I wanna to wear. If you don’t like it, don’t look.

18. Zits.

17. Trying to “find myself” by leaving the country.
Nope, I’m not there, either.

16. Not knowing how to feed myself.
The Freshman Fifteen phase was real bad… or in my case, the France Fifteen. Damn baguettes.

15. Being too timid to make a new friend/point out an error/demand to see the manager.

14. Curling irons.
I’ve finally come to terms with the fact that I will never have that lovely, full, messy, curly look. Ever.

13. Student loans.

12. Bad makeup.
Blue eyeliner, sparkles and orange cover-up went out for a reason.

11. Roommates.
For the most part, I lucked out with mine except for the times I had to pretend not to hear heads thumping on walls. You know who you are.

10. The pain of trying to figure out how to do those boring but necessary things that parents used to do for you: taxes, passports, hydro set-ups, banking, change of address forms, health insurance, etc.
At least it’s like riding a bike – once you do it, you won’t forget.

9. Having to include my high school info / clubs / volunteer work on my resume.
Thank God I can finally forget those Okotoks days… and bury that 2nd Prize in the Annual Typing Competition award.

8. Mediocre to downright sucky make-out sessions.

7. Silly friend dramas.

6. Obsessing about how small my boobs are.
Yay Shakira.

5. Agonizing over what I want to be when I grow up.
It’s more important to agonize over ‘who’ you want to be. I finally get it.

4. Not knowing how to say sorry and when to say thank you.

3. Undervaluing the advice of my parents.
Contrary to popular belief, 9.5 times out of 10, they’re right.

2. Worrying about what “Other People” will say.
I never did figure out exactly who these phantom people were.

… and the number one thing to say goodbye to from my twenties:

1. Underestimating myself!

Bye Twenties! And Hello, Thirties. Bring it on.

A couple days ago I was lying in bed and listening to the radio, trying (fairly unsuccessfully) to convince myself to get up.

So that’s how I heard the sad news that Bif Naked (who lives in Vancouver, by the way) was diagnosed with breast cancer. Apparently she found the lump herself while doing a breast exam.

As I was musing about this, it suddenly occurred to me:

If you have breast implants, would doing a breast self-exam still be useful? Would you still be able to feel that cancerous lump through all that silicone?

Apparently, yes.

Sort of.

[...] women with breast implants can do BSE [Breast Self Exam]. It may be helpful to have the surgeon help identify the edges of the implant so that you know what you are feeling. There is some thought that the implants push out the breast tissue and actually make it easier to examine. American Cancer Society

It sounds a bit risky though. You have to know what you’re doing; one wrong move and, oops, there go your $3000 boobs:

In order to do this effectively, you should ask your surgeon to help you distinguish the implant from your breast tissue. [...] However, be careful not to manipulate (i.e., squeeze) the valve on the implant excessively, which may cause valve leakage and make the breast implant deflate. Any new lumps or suspicious lesions (sores) should be evaluated with a biopsy. If a biopsy is performed, care must be taken to avoid puncturing the implant. Mentor

And if you figure, ah well, screw the self-exam, a regular mammogram is the way to go, you might want to rethink that:

There’s a slight risk that your breast implants may rupture during a mammogram. Mayo Clinic

Yikes.

Guess I’ll stick to what God gave me. Though I have to say, he must’ve been having a bad day.

The other day I was at EB Games, the video game store. I don’t normally go in there but I was returning a game for Rob who was unable to do it himself since he’s shamelessly basking in the sun in Cancun this week. (No, I’m not jealous or anything.)

As I was waiting for the refund to be processed, I was idly watching the other transaction going on beside me. A kid, who looked to me about 12, and his younger brother who was probably about 8 or 9, were buying a video game.

Awww.. I thought. That’s cute. I wonder how many weeks’ worth of taking out the garbage, cleaning up his room and walking the dog it took for him to be able to buy that game.

Then the cashier guy says, “That’ll be [whatever the amount was].”

And the kid slaps down a credit card.

A MasterCard, to be exact.

Seriously???

What the heck?!

I guess gone are the days when you have to have some sort of income and/or assets in order to procure your first shiny bit of plastic (and the inevitable “first-credit-card-debt” that ensues).

Gone are the days when you’d hoard your weekly allowance and drool over the toys section of the Consumers Distributing catalogue, mentally calculating how long it would be before you’d get your hands on that totally rad Barbie (or G.I. Joe).

Gone are the days when ten bucks tucked into your birthday card from Aunt Wanda inspired an impromptu dance of joy.

I wonder how that kid got that card.

Did his parents give them their credit card? Did they *gasp!* issue him with his own card? And was this so the poor kid wouldn’t ever have to go through the hassle of counting out his grubby bills and change?

If you’re 12 and you have a credit card, how do you ever learn how to budget? Or learn the value of a dollar? Oh my god! There’s a whole league of pint-sized consumers with some mega purchasing power that I’d never considered before!!

AHHHHH!

I gotta get a grip – I sound like an old curmudgeon. I mean, I’m starting to pull out the “when I was your age…” stories, ‘for crying not loud’ (as my dear mum says).

Is this what turning thirty does to you?

With a nod to Meg (great Vancouver blogger – check her out when you have some spare time), here is my list:

THINGS OF LOVE FROM 2007

Movie of Love: Sofia Coppola’s Marie Antoinette.

Song of Love: Umbrella by Rihanna (we like to sing the ‘under my umbrella… ella… ella’ bit to my namesake niece).

Book of Love: Middlesex. Devoured it (before I knew it was an Oprah pick).

Album of Love: Feist, The Reminder & Josh Groban, Noel.

Place of Love: Tie between Prince Edward Island and El Rancho.

Month of Love: Tie between August (PEI) and October (El Rancho).

Best Day of Love: October 6, day we got engaged.

Best Moment of Love: see above.

Word of Love: Yes!! (preceded by: Are you joking?).

Purchase of Love: Eiffel tower earrings from Blue Ruby.

City of Love: Paris (duh!) in my dreams and Caroline, AB in reality.

Food of Love: Bigos. If you have to ask, you’re not Polish.

Beverage of Love: Self-bottled red wine.

Person of Love (someone who made a difference for you this year): Many. I am blessed.

Spot of Love (the best place to go to just be): Couch at my parent’s house – best napping spot bar NONE.

Clothing Item of Love: Purple Lulu hoodie. I live in it.

Random Thing of Love (anything you want): Buttery toast. And Facebook. (In that order.)

The other day, I got to act out a secret fantasy of mine… being the room-decorator person at Ikea.

I mean, have you not ever walked around those staged living rooms, bedrooms and kitchens and thought to yourself, man, that looks sooo nice! I could totally do that, and then when you get to the bottomless black hole that is the warehouse part, you realize that $50 bucks worth of empty white boxes, tea lights and those tiny square mirrors in wooden frames somehow just don’t give the same effect??

At our progressive-slash-wanna-be-Google office this week, we set up a lounge area that is supposed to look and feel like a living room. Of course, marketing was entrusted to the design and decor, with the presidential edict of “just don’t spend to much money”.

Still, we would be able to make purchases with more abandon than I had ever enjoyed in previous private shopping excursions.

So we gallivanted off to the happy smiley land of Ektorps, Blandas and Malms where we blithely filled our cart… make that two… with things that struck our fancy.

Shopping on a whim! How glorious!….?

Oddly, it was not nearly as satisfying as I thought it would be.

It really is true: when you’re not making a sacrifice to purchase these things at which you will spend many hours lovingly gazing (and thinking about the all the bag lunches you survived in order to be able to gaze so lovingly), somehow, it’s just not the same.

Could this be what it’s like to be Paris Hilton? (substitute Ikea for Dior/Vuitton/Saks 5th Avenue, natch).

If so, I think I might indeed feel badly for her. For a moment, at least.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

On a different, but related note, if you should happen to be wondering where on earth you could get some books to fill up your brand new bookshelves and make you look smart to all and sundry, you are in luck my friends – for you of the relaxed purse strings and mushy cranial filling need look no further than the venerable Strand Books of New York City where you can buy books by the foot. That’s right, folks. Want sexy, smart-looking tall books bound in leather to match your decor? No problem. A mixture of taller and shorter books to make it look like you’re a wise scholar with a range of interests? We’ve got you covered! We’ve got books for everyone, from the loser who’s not only dumb but also cheap ($10 per foot) to the pedantic richie-rich who will probably has never even heard of half these books but hey, don’t they complement the colors of the Persian rug ($400 per foot)? Our website even features an asinine quote about books that sounds really good from some guy we don’t know but hey, who cares? It looks GOOD. (Aren’t we clever?)