I have a stack of everything to get done here. I have just spent the last week dropping everything, and I mean everything, to work on a script that had to be in by the 11th. A call had come in last week from parties interested in producing this story idea Ian and I have been playing with for the last few years.

Fortunately, as it turned out, our Simpson's story for Treehouse of Horror was bumped to next year leaving us this little window of time to do it (leftover free time from all the wedding madness of the last few weeks).

Thank you notes, bills, e-mail correspondence, sketch requests, dinner appointments, house cleaning, laundry...all dropped.

And somehow we did it. A complete 90-ish page script, done, within deadline. Me doing the first draft, Ian taking it in parts and rewriting as it went.

And I really have to say, regardless if this thing ever gets made or not, that it was such a wonderfully satisfying experience to just write like that. Work down the outline point by point, adding bits, solving problems, giving this sucker life after so much planning and talking about it.

Yeah, I could get used to this writing thing.

But for now, back to everything else...

I had this dream this morning where I was visiting someone on a bike. I had to lock it up with one of those combo locks because the area was rough and there was a person standing nearby that I had apparently had a history with, enough to make her want to steal my bike the moment my back was turned.

I had used this lock before but it had been a while so I wasn't sure of the combination. I looked at the numbers already on there and tried to memorise them knowing that the moment I locked it up those numbers would be scrambled and I'd be screwed if I forgot them. To make matters worse it was a 7 digit code, a lot of numbers to remember. I got a piece of scrap paper out of my bag an rummaged for something to write with which turned out to be a colour marker, the colour being "coffee with milk"

So I write down these numbers, watery coffee looking numbers and I lock my bike and I go inside.

Then I wake up and realise where those numbers came from and why they're so important: they're DC's fed ex account number which I use all the time to send pages out.

And then I remembered an issue of Planetary I'd read a few months back where the lead character uses this special code to activate some vault or weapon or something: the same number only the one and zeros were removed.

So, sacred mathematics or the result of deadline pressures seeping into the subconscious of the artistic mind?

Hm.

We're back and I've been meaning to post for a while now about the absolutely wicked wedding reception we held after getting home (I should be getting photos shortly) but today I was prompted to write in after hearing some absolutely, knock-me-on-my-ass great news.

Recently there was a story on an NPR show (All Things Considered I believe) talking about Y and as a result the first trade has shot up the Amazon charts ahead of the Da Vinci Code and the last Harry Potter book. Granted those are hardcover sales but holy crap! Number 37!

My face kinda did this weird Tex Avery thing that I'm sure others would have found amusing had I not been alone in the office listening to the It's All Gone Pete Tong soundtrack.

Wow. And wow.

Add to this the wonderful news of the book being nominated for a Harvey and this has been a lovely week indeed.

Wow.

Yesterday we toured up the coast to the north shore. Stopped for Matsumoto's famous shaved ice, watched wicked waves on the Banzai Pipeline and wandered around Mokulei Park looking for the odd Lost set (no celebrity sigthings, lots of parasurfers, skydivers and kids playing archery at summer camp).

Today we hiked up to the glorious (and FRIGID) Manoa falls and were overwhelmed with the enormity of the trees. Got a couple of mosquito bites in the process.

We head back tomorrow night. Looking forward to some swimming at Waikiki before we leave.

Today we went to Hanauma Bay to go snorkeling and I swam with a sea turtle. It was a stunning experience.

Maybe I should get a tatoo to commemorate all this.

After months of planning and all kinds of crazy stress, we did it. Mr and Mrs Boothby. Yay! The ceremony was very cool with a traditional Hawaiian prayer, a beautiful location and just enough rain to make it absolutely unforgetable. Even the lame "getting lei'ed" jokes from our very kooky co-ordinator couldn't spoil the awesomeness of the day.

(Just a note, that gag may work for the teenagers but my 3 year old nephew? My 7 month old niece?)

The ocean is beautiful, the weather is gorgeous, the people are wonderful. We are loving it here.

I've been hearing about the live Eagle Cam on the news and finally got around to checking it out this morning.

I am so hooked.

I finally got to the doctor's office to have my hand looked at. I show him the last two fingers on my right hand and explain how after nearly five weeks since I hit it against a doorway it's still achey.

The first thing he says, "Uhm, where's your knuckle?"

And that's when I see that I am in fact missing my third knuckle. I look at my left hand and see that there is a third knuckle there so where is it on my right hand?

He probes around and agrees that the fingers are swollen though not much. Probably not broken but that knuckle is definitely compressed.

I head off to x-rays. When those are done the tech comes back and says, "Can't see any breaks. Looks like it's in the muscles so just take care of it for a while."

Now believe it or not I found this news to be a bit of a let down. I know I've been in some aggravating pain over the last few weeks, not horrible but annoying enough to be slowing down my page rate which just makes me grumpier. When one goes through all that one wants some justification right? To be able to point to a film and go "See! I'm not just a whiney cry-baby who's slacking off! Something's actually WRONG!"

Instead I have a knuckle playing hide and seek.

I have several drawing requests here, some have been sitting in the IN box for a few weeks now while I battle my way through pages of art, wedding invites, travel plans, taxes and MSP paperwork. To all of you who have sent in requests please be patient as I get to them. I haven't forgotten you!

Now I have a dozen pages to get done before we're on a plane to get hitched in Hawaii. Back to it...

Emerald City Comic Con. This is a fun con. Got to talk to a lot of people today, so many nice things said about the book and wow, it's nice to hear that when you work day in and day out alone in a studio. We ducked out for lunch and then stopped by Kinokuniya for art supplies (love that place!) when I suddenly became roaringly ill. Blah. Maybe it was lunch, more likely it was the hotel breakfast with the processed circles of sausage and egg or the gallon milk bottle sitting in the ice tray for the cheerios.

We came back to the hotel and I passed out. Ian got an invite to play at a local improv show so I'm sitting here watching US tv and playing with new art supplies. I'm a sucker for Japanese sketch books.

Looking forward to tomorrow.

My smushed fingers are still driving me crazy. A week now and they're still stiff. Damn door jamb.

Trudging home after an all nighter I passed two older men talking on the street when I caught the weirdest snippet of conversation:

"You see the government doesn't want you to know about that 'cause if they did you'd have fourteen year olds all over the country staying up all night playing with their elbows!"

Fingers are still sore.

Ian told me about this weird dream he had this morning where we were in Atlantis and I was trying to explain 9/11 to the people there:

"These planes flew into a couple of buildings"

"What?"

"And they fell down."

"What?"

Hard to type tonight. I smashed my hand in our bedroom doorway again. It's really annoying because the jamb is like in a blind spot (that or my depth of field is all wonky), so when I go to reach for the light switch my hand swings into the jamb, smashing my knuckles in. It keeps happening and I'm getting pretty tired of it. To add insult to injury... or in this case more injury, as I was exiting the bedroom later on I did the same thing on my left hand. At the restaurant over lunch I burned a knuckle on the steel teapot as I was reaching for a lemon wedge and then on the way home in the cab a guy ran in front of us and nearly got hit causing Ian, who was holding my hand at the time, to squeeze really fast and hard. Not a good day to be my fingers.

Drawing will be fun tonight.

First off, Ian and I will be at the Heritage Hall Comic Con this weekend. I'll have some pages for sale so if you've wanted to purchase one for a while, come on down.

Wedding plans are moving along. Spent way too much time this week putting together the invitations (of course I have to be crafty about it). There's still a tonne to do and we haven't got all the addresses back yet. Grah. I've just put away the scissors and envelopes after an all night assembly party with Ian and Vic and now I have to get some real work done.

Watching the opening ceremonies for the Winter Olympics is a big tradition in our family and tonight Vic, Ian and I set down to watch the crazy spectacle, giant balloon headed dancers and all.

In typical Olympic fashion it was a happy feely explosion of the bizarre, boisterous and bombastic, devoid of current politics save for the obligatory plea for peace followed by perfomers dressed as post modern doves doing acrobatics in a futurist avant garde frenzy.

Oh and Yoko Ono.

Ian's quote: "I've seen NFB films and I don't get this shit."

But there was one bit that made me smile and that was the entrance of athletes. Whoever was choreographing the music seemed to be having a huge laugh. Disco and 80s hits, like a great big grad medley from hell, playing a different song after every couple of countries. Songs like Hot Stuff (Finland), Disco Inferno (Uzbekistan) and Sweet Dreams (Poland). But the absolute best was at the entrance of Denmark and the stadium rang with the lyrics "I'm just a soul whose intentions are gooood! Oh lord, please don't let me be misunderstood!" We laughed so hard. Then Iran came out, "Won't you take me to...FUNKY TOWN!"

The United States came out to Aretha Franklin: "You better think (think) think about what you're trying to do to me. Yeah, think (think, think), let your mind go, let yourself be free."

That was so cool.

I just learned the brilliant, positively radiant artist, Seth Fisher passed away.

I am so fucked up about this.

I had been using Nevidia.com as a site host for over a year with few problems. Every couple of weeks the site would go down for a couple of hours, I'd send in a complaint and get a response the next day saying "We can't see anything wrong here" and the site would be up again so I must have been imagining it. Annoying but whatever. Then a little while ago they went and lost my entire home page. Had to make a new one from scratch. Okay, didn't like that. Carrying on.

Last Friday the site went down. And it stayed down. I sent in complaints and got back one note saying they were having server difficulties, please be patient and I was. Until Monday came around and the site was still offline. I couldn't access the control panel, couldn't access their live chat assistant, their sales staff, their general contact info, no response from anyone. So bugger them and now I have a new host.

There are still some dangling bugs here and there, and I'll be working on those very soon. Work has been pretty heavy lately. This latest arc has a lot of detail in it and it's a lot to just keep up. The cats are adjusting to new food, Charlie needs a wet diet now that he's had some dental work done. The result being they get hungry sooner which means we end up losing sleep when cats start hovering around our heads in the morning.

Add to that a sucky predicament this week. Back in December Ian gave me a very cool birthday present: tickets to the Lord of the Rings musical in Toronto. We booked a hotel and airline tickets to go out this weekend to see it and were pretty excited about having a geeky little side trip to break the post Christmas/pre-wedding monotony. Yesterday morning we got a call that the Friday show was cancelled. Turns out, and the site really didn't make it very clear, that the tickets we had were for previews. Cost the same as regular nights, no caveats that shows could be cancelled for whatever reason... just cancelled.

Ian spent a good chunk of yesterday wrangling for refunds on the hotel and air. I had to re-organize a side trip to Calgary to see my godson. Blah.

So it's more work this weekend. Probably for the best.

Yeah, this one is pretty terrible of me:
Best Blonde Joke Ever

Vic and I were Watching NewsNet this morning and there was a story about a Hep A outbreak at a local restaurant known as the Foundation. This place is just down the street from the office. Wow, on the national news no less. Later I checked e-mails and got the first of what will probably be many urgent notices from friends of friends all starting chain letters and phone trees and what have you to get out the word about Hep A shots.

I was going to forget about it but I can't resist bringing it up for a bit here. This news doesn't surprise me in the slightest bit. Ian and I tried the restaurant last spring since we had heard from so many people how frickin' wonderful it was, an all vegan restaurant that wasn't the Nam (and the Nam's prices). The windows were constantly fogged up from the throngs of hipsters packing the joint night after night so why not, they must be on to something. A little change from Reno's right?

At first glance it's a big, open space littered with old style kitchen tables, like the ones your grandma had with the sparkly surfaces (usually chipped somewhere), lit by candles (even the kitchen was dark), the walls adorned with tacked-on posters of local artists' work (artists just poor enough to not frame them). And of course those hipsters. Everywhere, looking dour and just self involved enough to not look like they were trying too hard to be noticed for their introspection and depth. Ugh. Whatever, onto the food.

The menus were one of those conceptual nightmares that can't just come right out and say "spinach salad" they have to use cool mispellings combined with images of Che Guevarra and hip hop. How street. And oh yeah, since they were "non corporate" you couldn't just get a coke you had to order some revolutionary, economically friendly variant thereof. And not a very good one either.

After taking forever to figure out just what the fuck they served (vegetables, really) we had to wait an additional period of interminable limbo for one of the waitresses, very dour and self involved enough to not look... you get what I mean, disinterested in being there, to actually come over and take the order. She then shambled off to yet another hipster behind the dark counter (some guy with lots of facial jewelry). And holy shit it took forever to get the food, nearly an hour. We were steaming as much as the veggie soup.

And y'know, the food was pretty plain. Vegetables. A small scattering of nuts. Some water chestnut tasting chunks that robbed the meal of its overall flavour. And it wasn't filling at all. The thing about Vegan is, you have to make up for those protein gaps to be worth while. A big hunk of spinach just won't keep you from being hungry an hour later. Totally unimpressive.

A few months later we decided to give them another chance, just in case that one time was a total fluke. It wasn't. And this time there were giant posters taped to the walls with the same tired, old run of philosophical and political quotes (you know the drill, Ghandi, Santayana, Che again) drawn by hand in old Typewriter font. Oh please. That same Margaret Mead treatise on the power of the individual is on the side of a maternity wear shop over on Cambie! For Christ's sake!

And you know why these Hep A outbreaks tend to happen at the trendy, organic, global minded co-op type businesses (Capers anyone?), it's because the people working there are working so hard to look fucking hip and concerned that they forget the actual important things like washing their fucking hands!

God people! Good intentions don't keep your workplace sanitary. Yeah, hairnets are declasse but not as much as Hep A shots. Nor do good intentions change the world. Going out and doing something for others does. Not sitting around looking like you care because you're drinking a non corporate soda. Not wearing hemp cargo pants and putting your hair up in cornbraids (I'm looking at you Bobby white boy, pale as a ghost because you grew up on the rainy side of Port Coquitlam!), or you the deep poetess in your Main Street boutique gear and nose ring!

How does a glass of non coke change the world exactly? How many cases of that non coke do you think it'll take to change the village that produces it? Really change it for the better? Certainly not enough purchased by the bloody Foundation that's for sure.

I mean geez, you don't have to go out and run Enron or anything but there are so many ways you can contribute to the world that doesn't involve opting out of the mainstream and into the realm of the boring and ineffectual just to appear original because trust me, right now there are a million more out there just like you.

Yesterday we were in a cab taking Charlie to the vet. I carefully balanced the cat carrier on my lap in some attempt to calm the little guy down. This was his fourth trip in a month and he was really having none of it.

At one point I looked across a ravine to a parallel running road. There was a bus stop and a woman seated in a battery operated wheelchair, her head leaning a bit to one side, patiently waiting for her ride. Just then the chorus to Life is a Highway came blasting through the cab's radio.

Vancouver radio sucks.

For all the little annoyances of comic cons, the socially awkward advances, the hygene issues, the Klingons, they all pale in comparison to the estrogen fueled nightmare that is Wedding Fair.

Every year the Westin Bayshore Hotel plays host to this expo of marital frenzy and this year we decided to go and collect business cards and brochures from over a hundred local companies in order to finalise plans for our upcoming big day. So for the ridiculous entry fee of twenty five bucks per head we get the privilege of attending a day long commercial for over-priced crap wrapped in tulle. We also get to fill out dozens of prize ballots inlcuding the whopper grand prize of an $87,000 wedding package, which is aparently the main reason to attend these shows.

After buying the tickets we fill out all the forms and ballots and make our way to the entrance where the door staff hustle the "bride" aka me to a separate line where they take my ticket and slap a large sticker on my chest, dead center between the boobs that says BRIDE on it. Oh great.

Once inside we are treated to one hell of a scene. You hear about bridezillas, you see the TLC shows and gawk at these crazy women who just seem to have come from another planet and wonder how the hell there can be nutjobs like this out there but it's such a shock when you see them in real life. And not just one, but dozenss of them. Everywhere. These women were unbelievable! Ian was knocked around constantly by women racing from ballot box to ballot box. I had so many women deke in lines ahead of me, shove their way to a brochure, wedge between myself and whoever I was chatting with, and oh god, the second it became known that the cupcakes at the Cupcakes booth could be taken as the show was coming to a close (despite the employees saying they were really stale) that table was set upon like vultures to a freshly deceased corpse and picked clean within minutes.

A few people asked me when the big day was and when I said it was in May there seemed to be this unanimous horror in their responses: "Wow! That's so soon!" One mentioned their wedding wasn't until next year. It's fickin' January! How much of a control freak do you need to be over one day!?

It took me a while to figure out the freaky vibe of the place and then it made total sense: of course, it was high school. Multiplied by about a thousand. Combine every vote for class president, audition for a part in the big play, preparations for grad night and a whole bunch of parent/teacher meetings and you get the emotional regression, hormonally charged mania and seething competition of brides looking for a deal.

The said brides all glared fiercely, looking each other up and down, making quick, harsh judgements while their maids of honour hovered ready to get her back should someone pull a switchblade and start a rumble. The mothers all had that worried furrow in their brows wondering how they were going to pay for it all, The grooms, what few there were, hung around the Canadian Tire booth looking at lawn mowers and plasma screen tvs.

We collected the information we wanted and got out of there asap.

Ugh.

Give me San Diego on Saturday any day.

Christmas Eve already?!

The past few weeks have just whooshed by what with being back on the book after a very cozy vacation in November. I haven't got nearly all the things I wanted to do done for the holiday, the dining room table is covered in craft supplies that were intended for some cool card ideas but there hasn't been any time. Work, work, work. Gah.

Some urgent wedding plan mix ups presented themselves making it oh so much fun to deal with on top of all these deadlines, both holiday and work related.

The cats had some unexpected troubles leading to some whopper vet bills. I am such a sucky cat mom. Should have attended to this sooner.

And then there's the general grumpiness this season brings. Word to parents out there who want their kids' respect to last into adulthood: never announce your divorce on Christmas morning. Kinda messes up the day for the rest of their lives.

Holding it together okay. If you haven't heard from us yet, not to worry, we'll get to y'all all soon enough.

Merry Christmas.

The hazards of working in a male dominated profession: The Company Christmas Gift.

Every year DC gives out a little prezzie to its staff and creators and some years the item is dead useful, like last's year's travel bag which every recipient (myself included), sings its praises up and down "It holds everything I need for a weekend trip but is still small enough to take on a plane!", "It's got a laundry pouch! Wow!". The year before it was a sleek travel clock which every frazzled artist (myself included) instantly thought was a veiled threat saying "MEET YOUR DEADLINES OR ELSE!" But still, a pleasant and useful item that you could put a picture in if you liked.

This year it was a beautiful wristwatch.

A man's wristwatch

Big. Heavy. Shiny. A manly man's watch. Aristotle Onassis would look at this watch and go "Hey, now there's a time piece!". Christopher Walken's character in Pulp Fiction would look at this watch and say "Now, wait just a minute- uh, I know a promise is a promise but- seriously?"

I'd have to work out in order to wear it, and even now I'm having some difficulty typing due to its mass dragging my arm down towards earth's center of gravity (or maybe it's pulling earth towards it I'm not quite sure). I have to take breaks after every sentence. Like so.

Phew.

I'll see if I can get it re-sized though I can see the chuckles I'll be getting at the jewelry store as I clean and jerk this item onto their counter top.

It is nice to feel like one of the guys this holiday season.

*g*

Yesterday we were in the HM(formerly)Virgin and this song comes on that blows my mind, like Nelly Furtado on speed with great grinding beats and wild sounds. It's not often that I'm driven to an album like this (the last was World Domination a few years back) and after a moment of listening I turn to Ian and say "I have to find this". I bee line for the escalator and find a guy in a store shirt who tells me the artist is M.I.A. and where to find a copy. The art on the CD is slapdash and confusing, it took a moment to confirm that it was the album I was looking for. The liner notes are cryptic and don't offer a whole lot of info on who put this amazing music together but after a listen (and a quick google for more info) I have to say this woman has blown my socks off.

Maya Arulpragasam's album titled Arular doesn't fit into the stereotypical mould of so many sappy lyricists out there . Here the words are playful and angry and hard letting the dance rythyms take center stage. This stuff makes you want to MOVE. The track that dragged me to the counter was called 10 Dollar and it's so fucking groovy!

Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire. Seen it twice. Loved it. Wish they could have fit more in, missed Cuaron's finer touches from Azkaban. Will someone hurry up and invent Firebolt technology because I so want one.

We're back in Vancouver after a very eventful couple of weeks. I can't say enough good things about London. Wonderful sights, amazing shopping great food. Ian was so inspired that he's trying to convince his improv colleagues to put together a show there sometime in the future and if that goes ahead I am so tagging along.

On Friday we cut our trip short to hightail it back to Canada, ironically to London, Ontario to attend the Canadian Comedy Awards where Ian was nominated for a few Beavers. With the eastern bias of these awards it was a dead certainty that he, and the rest of his western compatriots, would walk away empty handed (which they did) but it was good networking nonetheless. From London to London we flew, the latter city being so un-London as to be laughable were it not so sad. So much about this town seemed faltering, from the Galleria largely populated by empty storefronts and bargain outlets to the main drags showing signs of decline in the mostly unoccupied condo towers and large groups of homeless.

It was clear that a comedy festival was a desperate attempt to turn things around, or at the very least, lighten the mood of despair. Naturally the Comedy Network would help out by televising the awards show right? Nope. And the Trailer Park Boys cancelled their Yuks Yuks show, the one flaunted on the front pages of all the local papers. The guy who was supposed to take their place with his stand up act looked pretty good for someone nobody at this festival wanted to be just then what with 600 pre sold ticket holders coming in from all around to see Bubbles and crew do that inexplicably, apparently funny, thing they do. I don't know, maybe it was a brave face brought up to cover inevitable doom, or maybe it was the pretty girls in the elevator looking awestruck at him, saying "Wow, you must be soooo nervous!"

I would have paid good money to watch that show go down in flames, but instead I was stuck at the untelevised awards show watching a talking dog from Puppets Who Kill trade off "ascerbic" banter with people I didn't particularly care about. The seats were too small and my butt fell asleep pretty quickly. Ian and Drew did a nice job presenting onstage with a subtle jab at the eastern bias thrown in for good measure, it woke me up after the previous, interminable presentation of a lifetime achievement award.

Some sketch troupes came on here and there, two insisting on lots of nudity. Oh look, a bouncing penis! That made the haus fraus giggle. Snore.

Canadian comedy folks, it's come a long way hasn't it? But then, maybe this stuff is best viewed without the grinding jet lag.

Sunday arrived and another ten or so hours of travelling before we saw the welcoming pillows of our own bed complete with cats bearing stunned looks very similar those of children learning their father did not in fact die in the war but is here on Christmas mornining bearing a big fat goose for the dinner feast. After some disbelieving sniffs Charlie settled in my lap fully prepared to spend the next month there.

Home is good.

London wow. Harrods... mind blown. London Eye... high. Tower of London... maybe next time, Harrods too much fun.

London Ontario... okay. Canadian Comedy Awards... make bum fall asleep. Too many naked people. Picked up sniffles.

Home now.

Sleeping lots.

More later.

Fifteen
So much food! Lovely!
Gosh!
A really nice and cozy comic shop with great staff.
The British Museum
Finally got to see the Lions. Wow!
Guys and Dolls
For a crap script these guys certainly put together an entertaining evening at the theater. Great dance numbers, good music. This was a blast.

Today: more comic shops, Harrods, the London Eye and maybe a gander at the crown jewels over at the Tower of London.

I think my poor shoes have died of consumption.

How cool is this city? London is perfect for walking about and just finding things. Round a corner and oh, it's a nearly two hundred year old umbrella and sticks (walking canes) shop, another and it's PicadillyCircus, round another and it's a perfectly lovely duck park for a sit down with exotic looking birds. Round another and it's Big Ben.

My feet are killing me but I can't stop myself from taking another step.

Today it's Fifteen for lunch, Gosh!, The British Museum and Guys and Dolls in the West End.

I am loving it here.

London!

I've only seen a bit of the neighbourhood surrounding the hotel but so far this place kicks ass! We're checking out Forbidden Planet this afternoon followed by some wandering about. Feeling a lot better than yesterday. Man, Paris was weird. Like walking into a giant round of PMS.

Tomorrow, the British Museum (can't believe it's only a few blocks from here!) and then Gosh! for a tasty manga fix!

Happiness is a round of portable Scrabble at the local laundrette.

Paris is making me sea sick.

There's something about the ground here, in the way that it's not entirely solid that creates this slight swaying sensation that makes you feel like you're on a ferry. I've been dizzy and off balance all day and it's driving me nuts.

The Eiffel Tower was very cool. Much bigger than I expected. The sculptures on the Arc D'Triomphe were wild. The streets are intimidatingly huge. The people seem by and large very serious about everything. This town could use a siesta every now and then. Spain seemed a lot more festive and familial. Even the leashed dogs were in a happier mood.

I'm pooped. Looking forward to London.

Spain rocks!

I haven´t been here in 21 years and it´s such a wonderful and powerful experience. Right now we´re in an internet cafe on Ramblas after several days of non stop running around in Gijon for the annual Salon/convention there. I can´t go into everything now but the trip has been pretty damn sweet so far. Tonight we´re on a train to Paris. Monday we´re in London to tangle with a bunch of museums. More soon!

Yes, I'm a drama queen. One who gets very huffy and annoying when pain is involved. I'm sure my gender is really good at dealing with childbirth, which ask any nurse seems to be the ultimate guage of pain there is ("Next to childbirth a scratched cornea is about the worst pain you can go through" actual quote), but give me an aching jaw and/or back pain and forget it, I'm a big ol' baby. Over the last two weeks I've been hard to be around. Thoroughly traumatized by my experience at the dentist, I really can't say what was worse, the inescapable memory of two doctors wrestling with my face through a haze of flying teeth dust or the hideous 80's deco interior decorating (think Miami Vice viewed on a black and white tv, brrr!), what was a very uncomfortable, grumpy time was made worse by a flu bug that hit us both like a tonne of bricks. Just as I was getting over the sniffles, and getting ready for this week's trip to Spain for the Gijon convention, what does fate throw at me but the mother of all strained necks.

What's really laughable was the cause of this injury: the Vancouver International Film Festival.

Vic invited me to a screening of a Finnish film called The Dog Nail Clipper. No hidden meaning there, the movie is about a guy who goes to clip a dog's nails. Really. It's not for everyone, it's more a slice of culture than a riveting drama, poetry of the far north and more a nostalgic sigh for anyone who's lived in the country and wants to prove to outsiders that yes, the people of this land are really that weird.

It was a packed house and the only seats available were near the front on the far left. There was a woman's head in the way of the subtitles so I kept having to crane my neck to see all the text and sure enough, the next morning I woke up with my head stuck that way, slightly tilted, turned to the right. And crazy amounts of pain.

Ugh.

It's stil a bit stuck but it doesn't hurt as much. Tomorrow we're on a plane and I'm really tense about it. I'm not the best flyer in the world and I'm not looking forward to entire day of travelling. But the con should be fun. Afterwards, we're racing through several cities for some quick sightseeing: Barcelona (my old stomping grounds!), Paris (the Eiffel Tower under a full moon? You bet!), London (Museums! Comic shops!) and then London, Ontario for the Canadian Comedy Awards where Ian has been nominated for Best Improviser. A crazy two weeks.

Now if only I could sleep.