One and the Same

Nevermind what I said in my last entry about not writing about politics and the world...I have something to say.

I was just reading my friend Dave's latest blog entry titled "I'm Just a Reporter", which discusses the PMPM (Prime Minister Paul Martin) and how we (meaning YOU Canadians because I, obviously, can't vote anything in this country) should vote NDP because J.L. (Jack Layton) would have been more considerate than PMPM and would have given Dave tips on mustache grooming. Anyhow, since we're talking about J.L. I will take the opportunity to point out a disturbing fact that I noticed when I first came to the True North Strong and Free....

JACK LAYTON IS THE VIDEO PROFESSOR.

I offer you visual proof:

TRY MY PARTY!

Vlad the Exhaler

When considering what I would write about today I thought briefly about making some comments on tigers that eat teenagers, or the Israeli pull out from Gaza, or Shatner's odd and depressing (yet addicting) album. But then I decided 3 things:

1) You can all find and read about these things yourself.

2) There's already a multitude of blogs out there that provide insight into "the World".

3) The only info I can provide that no one else has...is about ME. Is that egotistical? No. Plain old fact, really. I'm not saying this info is valuable or useful in any way...whatsoever. But it is my niche. So here it goes:

Yesterday I went on a foto excursion. Don't know if real photographers call them that...maybe they just say, "I went to work today." But for me, it was an excursion. Also, not a very adventurous one (on the surface) since we (L,DH, and myself) just went to our own university. Nevertheless, excitement was had. Fun abounded. Danger lurked.

The highlight (for me) was the visit to the campus farm. As you all know, I'm what they call a "city" person...the more crowded and smoggy, the better. But I've always had a deep curiosity about the countryside and all its accoutrements. Consequently, (and as I stated in my previous post) I've always wanted to get a look at a cow up-close. Well, I had my chance yesterday. As the university's cows are, like me, "city" cows they did not fear me or try to stab me with their horns. On the contrary, the ambled towards me, rather quickly I might add, probably in hopes of some treat.

Of course, I didn't have any hay (or whatever cows like for a treat) with me, but they really are too stupid a creature to notice. Also, they can't look forward, so it's easy to trick them. (Is it wrong to trick a stupid animal? Perhaps some of you have an opinion on that... can we discuss the moral implications of tricking cows? )

The most interesting (and frightening) parts about the cows were their long, grayish-green tongues and their digested grass breath.

Anyhow, after about 50 shots of me petting the cows, we all decided to move on to more professional subjects. And after a few minutes shooting buildings and interesting shots of angles, lines, and reflections we found the sheep. The sheep, unlike the cows, took a little more coaxing, a little more convincing...I, therefore, concluded that they must be more intelligent. So, after a minute or so of my best "baaaaaaa...here sheepsheepsheep...." they finally came to the fence. I fed them the grass by the fence, despite the warning I walked past (without reading, I admit).



Things were going well. More and more sheep were pushing their way toward the fence, angling their wooly bodies to prevent other wooly bodies from reaching that green, leafy substance I was pushing between the chain-link. Many a noise was made. I must add that the sheep smelled quite a bit worse than the cows. But they were cute and looked like short, stocky llamas.

But one of the sheep was more eager than the others. Let's call him...oh, I don't know...let's call him Vlad. Vlad must've been the hungriest of the lot.

He, of all the sheep we met with that day, had the best body-angling strategy and, therefore, got to eat the most grass. I admired Vlad's assertiveness...it was a sight to see.

But that admiration was tragically cut short. After eating his fill of juicy blades of grass he looked at me with a kind of disdain and then, as if to punctuate his disappointment in me, Vlad sneezed all over me. (Sorry, we don't have a picture of this...DH was too busy laughing at me to document the scene.)

For all I know I now have foot and mouth disease or at least genetically modified sheep germs.

Thoughts, suggestions, concerns (insults)? Please write to: http://www.cdc.gov/.

Wisdom from the Farmer's Almanac

Part of my problem with summer is that time blends together. The days, the nights, the weeks, the months... I can't distinguish between them. So, that's why I can't remember when exactly L and I went down to the Farm. Nevertheless, we were there recently.

Here are a few facts that I learned on The Farm:

1. There are lot's of strange bugs. What's worse is that these strange bugs do not respect private property, no no...they go where they please. Of course, they then face smushing, but I get the feeling that they are generally comfortable with that risk since a couple of them stowed away in our luggage.

2. Cows are cute. Yes, they've got gunk in their eye and the poop liberally, but otherwise they're cute. However, and this is a big "however", the ones that have huge balls between their legs are not the best subjects for close-up photography. I also learned that I can run rather fast when properly motivated.

3. When visiting your local Hudderite colony, you should wear your best burqa. Not that I was dressed like a 2 pence harlot, not by our standards, perhaps. But to Phil, a hudderite who's claim to fame is that he fell off a horse and lived (though with some brain damage), I must've looked like a loose woman. Not only did he stare at my breasts, but he also salivated over my ankles. Lindell and his grandmother did their best to draw his attention away from me, but to no avail. Sigh. It's nice to know that if this whole "graduate school" thing doesn't work out, I can always bunk with Phil on the colony, bake bread, and trade in my Old Navy for polka-dotted duds.