Party animals

Dateline: Saturday June 30, 2007. B and I are taking the dogs for an evening walk in the 'hood.

"Oh look, the Smiths finally finished that retaining wall" I say.

"It looks good. That stone would look great around the edge of the back flower bed we've been planning" B answers.

"The one we have been planning for five years? The one we dug up half the back lawn for, that is now a giant weed heaven?"

"Yeah, that one."

"Oh, cool, look over there, Crazy Hoarding Neighbour has a new member of her lawn gnome family."

"That's no gnome, it's a hung over troll."

"How can you tell?"

"He's cross-eyed and looks about to puke."

"No, I mean how do you know he's a troll and not a gnome?"

B gives me THE LOOK that indicates my lengthy, expensive education was a waste.

A few blocks later, when we have looped back to our front door, I ask, "What do you want to do now? It is Saturday night."

"We could go to a movie."

This time I give B THE LOOK. "Who are you kidding, we haven't watched a movie except on our own T.V. in 4 years." We talk about going, then just wait until it comes out on pay-per-view. Where we can watch it snuggled on the couch with a glass of wine, wearing sweatpants and torn tee-shirts. And pause it for refills and pee breaks.

We check the listings and there is nothing interesting on pay-per-view. Still, it is a long weekend and all, so I suggest: "We could go up to the pub for a beer."


"We have beer here, and it's cheaper. Besides, we've just been for a walk, I don't feel like walking up to the pub. And if we drive, one of us can't have beer."

So we have a short soak in the hot tub and go to bed with books. It's 9:45 on a Saturday night. My God, we are so wild and crazy.

Today's dream travel destination: Montmartre, Paris. Where we would just be starting dinner at 9:45 on a Saturday evening.

Babel

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Envoi Parametres Modele

I am in Ottawa, for a working weekend of meetings. The lap top I am using belongs to a colleague from Montreal, and it only speaks French. Yes, I mean the computer. All of the Blogger dashboard is in French. At the moment I am récupérer le message. Which sounds way sexier than the English version.

The above was written on Saturday, and I gave up on the French version of Blogger when I tried to upload photos. I can manage a little light conversation in French, but geek French is beyond me.


At my meetings there were six of us, from across the country. One is Francophone, three are bilingual in both official languages, also one speaks Hindi, one German, and another Mandarin. You gotta love this big multi-cultural country.

Our Francophone colleague delights us with his translations of French expressions. Once he thanked me for some work I had done "from the bottom of my hearth." And he had us in stitches when he declared he was "as happy as a veal running across the prairie." Apparently there is a French expression "happy as a calf running across the meadow." We should adopt that don't you think? It makes more sense than "happy as a clam." And conveys a more pleasant image than "happier than a pig in shit."

I've made bigger language gaffes. Once I was having dinner in a restaurant in Quebec with my parents, who are bilingual. At the end of the meal I announced loudly "Je suis plein" (I am full). My mother informed me I had just proclaimed in local slang "I am pregnant".

Today's dream travel destination: Paris. Where I would receive haughty stares for mangling the language. But who cares. It would be Paris. In April.