Top Chef

There's this song on a Back to Mine album that my sister and her boyfriend got me for my birthday one year that keeps going through my head. The first track of the Underworld one, 'B Movie' by Gil Scott Heron.

It seems fitting you see, because, in the kitchen at least, I have gone from being a creator to a cleaner. In the time that I was away, my boyfriend went from being an outer gourmand (enjoying others' culinary creations), to one who enjoys making their own as much as eating them. Montréal's famously cold winters, combined with a healthy diet of The Food Network - not to mention pining for me, of course - have resulted in a new-found fascination and delight of all things kitchen. Not that this means he loves vegetables any more than before, but he is certainly more interested in food, where it comes from, and how to cook it.

Don't get me wrong, I really enjoy savouring the new recipes he tries and it is refreshing to have someone else cook (and cook well). I think what I find hard is that the kitchen was always the one place in the house where I had control, where I could create or mulch around, where I felt most at home. Relinquishing this area to another has been surprisingly...not hard, but it has brought up a lot of mixed emotions.

Unlike lots of hard-up backpackers (in all honesty I'm not sure that there are that many out there anymore), I hardly ever cooked on my trip. At the beginning (in North America), yes. Sometimes at my sister's in Australia... but most of the time, especially in Asia, it was far cheaper, not to mention easier, to enjoy local food cooked up at the market, a roadside stall, or restaurant. By the time I got to Japan I was so used to this lifestyle that, instead of shopping for ingredients to cook something up at whichever hostel/friend's house I was staying at, I would normally go to the 100 Yen Shop and get myself a rice triangle (soon realised the light blue ones were the best) and some fruit.

When I first got back, it was quite shocking to be reunited with my apartment - a whole 4-room space just for me!! - let alone the reality of a fully-equipped kitchen to cook in. But cook I didn't. It just didn't seem natural, after all that time away. And Josh...well, his cooking skills had got rather impressive by this point and he was often offering to whip something up. Yummers!

However, now I must admit to wanting that space back. Not that I don't want him to cook, just sometimes I want it to be only me in there, and only me making the creative choice and putting in the work and reaping the rewards of my labour with him. I miss having the kitchen as my zone, and the meditative nature of chopping, slicing, and cooking things in various ways. It is not that I don't appreciate his efforts nor the meals he makes, but his eagerness to be involved in so many aspects of kitchen life can, at times, feel a bit like crowding.

The other night he was working late and I decided to make a simple dinner for us to enjoy, ready for when he got back. I was starting to prepare everything when he arrived, earlier than anticipated. I kept cooking as he told me about his day and offered to help...call me self-conscious (I am, very much so), but there was something almost intimidating, knowing his leaps and bounds in the kitchen and the simplicity of the meal I was creating before his eyes. Perhaps it had been far too long since I'd been in front of the stove, but I felt almost as though I had forgotten how to stir things properly. Unless it was nerves.

As the song goes: "...And all the consumers know, that when the producer names the tune the consumer has got to dance. That's the way it is. We used to be a producer...and now we are consumers, and finding it difficult to understand..."

16 and Pregnant

So, why am I sitting here, watching this show on MTV that seems to be on continuous loop? Partly because I am sick, home from work and my brain isn't working enough to do anything constructive other than fill the washing machine and tumble dryer sporadically, and numb my brain even further from its headache with TV. Partly because there is nothing else on.

The other part? I guess it is fascination into a slice of someone else's life, and the horrible truth that I want to have a baby of my own. Not now, but then again not years and years into the future (by then I'd be too old anyway). This strange lurching between plugitude and enjoying the freedom of being child-free is starting to annoy me. As more and more friends start to grow bellies that are not linked to ice-cream or beer consumption, I veer between fascination (babies are amazing - the whole process of how they're made (I don't mean the sexual act so much as the millions of possibilities that combine together from conception to birth), how they grow and learn, that they develop into their own person...), deterrence - fuck having kids, growing up, being responsible for someone else FOR THE REST OF YOUR LIFE - and a tinge of jealousy. Yes, my friends, I have to admit to having green gills sometimes at the sight of you with your wee little one on Facebook or your big pregnant belly at work.

This dichotomy of emotion can be confusing, like a roller coaster I never wanted to get on. Hell, I didn't even buy a ticket. I blame it on what I blame everything on: hormones. I have no idea if there's something that changes hormonally when you reach your late 20s/early 30s, but I was mainly saved from the whole baby thang until I came back from my trip in July, when this whole yo-yo started. I know that your hormones decrease as you get older, which could perhaps explain these signals that are starting to get on my nerves. Not to mention feeling tired so much more often and getting weird spot outbreaks. Damned horMOANS!

So, back to 16 and Pregnant. It is, in fact, rather boring (like most TV these days, especially reality TV), but it fuels my spazzing while making me even more aware of it. Do I regret decisions from my past? No, and watching this show concretizes that knowledge even more. If I woke up tomorrow and found out I was pregnant, would I be happy? Another no. I am enjoying getting to know my boyfriend in a far deeper way than before, have just started a great new job and not ready for that commitment yet. If it happened, then we would deal with it. But for now, it is on neither of our radars. Just my hormone's.

Dear Videotron

Thank you so much for over 6 years of service, but it is time I bid you farewell. Yes, this has been a pretty uneventful long-term relationship, but I am not really seeing the need to continue with it. For some reason you treat your new friends with far more respect and interest than a faithful old dog like me; paying my bills on time, sticking with you through address, partner, work, and other life changes.

So why this sudden change in my sentiments towards you? It is not as though we've had a huge argument or I caught you in bed with my boyfriend, more that I am sick of this one-sided relationship and your inability to see me as someone whose custom you are interested in keeping.

I am sick of paying more money than new clients for the same services, sick of your greedy prices, sick of your vast monopoly over Quebec's TV and internet. So, my old yet not really good friend, I am cutting myself free of your strong grip and heading off to your biggest competitor: Bell. After years of claiming that they were monopolising bastards (much like you! Maybe you should get together and conquer the world) I must admit that, at the end of the day, their prices are far more attractive than yours, not to mention no yearly contract (without the higher fees you charge for said service).

I am sure your other friends will happily keep your plate full and you'll continue to dominate Quebec with your fibre-optic cables and ugly vans. Bye-bye!

Plugs

I've been thinking about them a lot recently. Blame it on the biological clock, ticking away without my permission or desire, changing the way I look at babies and couples with them from horror and fear to something more akin to some kind of ... yearning that doesn't fit at all with my current financial or life situation. Don't worry, I'm not about to pop one out, it has just been rather odd to feel this strange emptiness inside me, a desire to be full with a creation of love. Icky I know. Nothing like reality, I know. Blame it on those rose-tinted spectacles my Dad always accused me of wearing.

However, various discussions and news reports have made me wonder, like many others before me, (there are various blogs on this topic...) if there should be some sort of licence for childrearing. Or, more simply, mandatory parenting classes at secondary schools. I understand that there are many disturbing implications involved in the government or society at large deciding who can have children and who can't; but then seeing as we all end up paying for everyone's biological experiments gone wrong (not to mention the emotional and physical pain that many kids go through), shouldn't there be some sort of ... precedent to be set before people can start churning out the wee little'uns?

I have not really thought this through all that much, but in light of recent (and recurring but mercifully not that prevalent) cases of severe child abuse ending in death - Baby P., Victoria Climbié and a few others spring to mind, not to mention the British government's recent decision to install CTV cameras in some of the homes of 'problem families' (at a cost of £400 million ($668 M)!) it seems like an increasingly important consideration to me. You see, I really think that parenting classes (and a shift in social services, including income support etc.) could help reduce the amount of children born into families who don't know how or don't even really want to look after them.

Let me clarify something here. I am not advocating that those who 'fail' the classes should not be allowed to have children, or that the government should put agents in place to constantly check up on the raising of some (or all) children over others. More that...well... in all honesty I have not researched any statistics but it does strike me that the British government will give you a house and money if you pop out a child and are unemployed (then give you more money and an even bigger house if you have more: where is the incentive to work?) and have more teen pregnancies and 'problem families' (am not making a correlation between the two; more that I think certain behaviours are generational - as in become the norm as are learned from those around us) than most other western countries.

*A quick Google search - what would we do without it? - shows that the UK and US are top on teen pregnancy rates in the developed world (guess Hungary is not counted as developed then).*

Don't get me wrong, I think it is great that there is help available for those who need it; and having lived on that sort of help myself at various points in the past, I would be hypercritical to deem it unnecessary. What really gets to me is the people who abuse the system: most people who grew up in the UK know of at least 1 person in their peer group whose sole desire when they left school was to get pregnant and get a house. The crazy thing is that that is how it works. This is where seemingly contradicotry statements appear.... You see, I hate the idea of the nanny state, but at the same time think that a lot of heartache, pain, time and money could be saved by making some small changes.

- Give teenagers real advice on bringing up children. Give them alternatives to getting pregnant at 16, being given a house and living their lives in unemployed sloth from thereon in.

- Make all teenagers and prospective parents take some sort of parenting class, from the basics of changing nappies and feeding, bathing etc. to more complex things (that are somehow transmitted as objectively as possible) such as child development.

- Reduce income support and jobseekers allowance payments for those who don't show any effort to find work (for those who can work) over a set period of time.

Meh I dunno... just sometimes I wish I could change the world and help it become a better place somehow. However, I should really be starting with myself. As Mahatma Gandhi said "Be the change you want to see in the world".

Other noises

So, I live on a largeish street in Montreal. Avenue, to be precise. Van Horne has quite a lot of loud (read heavier) traffic on it, mainly in the morning and evening. However, for some reason that has yet to be explained to me, it also seems to be home - or passing place - for people who seem to feel the need to talk as though they're in a very noisy bar at 2am.

I know I live in a city. I am not stupid. I don't expect people to spend their lives whispering so as not to disturb the 'hood. However, I don't like being woken up on a week night (not that I have much to do, but it's the principle of the thing) because some people are unable to think that maybe they shouldn't be yelling to each other across the street or having a raucous discussion in the wee hours of the morning.

Speaking of morning.... builders are often accused of waking people up earlier than may be desired with their incessant banging, hammering and other loud noises that you can't escape from, even in another room (when the floor starts shaking in time you know you should just get up and invite your friends over for a party). This morning, after being woken by the strangely chirpy yet insistent meowls of Mr. M wanting to be fed I decided to crawl back into my comfortable bed for more shut-eye. As previously mentionned, I have no reason to get up, also a bit more sleep than the 6 I got before being so hungrily awakened would be nice.

To no avail. The people across the back (to be perfectly correct side) alley from me have decided to bring their party outside... or maybe just start it early. Luckily this is far more auditorily pleasant than builders. Guitars being played, people talking, whistling and joking around. All I need is to get M to sing more and be invited over!

Time travel through my mind

there are moments when you could decide to fling yourself away from everything in your life and jump into something completely unknown. I crave this while I crave to settle down and have all these elements of security that I think would make me happy (in a more conventional sense).

I am feeling useless, again. What accentuates it, and thus makes it even more frustrating, is that it is such a throwback to another time: spinning in the same cycle in the hope it will wring more out of me. Instead I feel, yet again, like my brain is spiralling out of control.

I am forever amazed at its power to turn against me (and itself) when it is not otherwise occupied. Perhaps I am just a pessimist at heart, or lack serotonin in the right levels for my brain to be happier overall, to analyze less and stop thinking ridiculous paranoid thoughts that I then sickly seek to discover are true, negative thoughts that I self-perpetuate through misunderstanding situations, jumping to yet more negative conclusions and generally doing all I can to sink further into the abyss.

A very large part of the problem is my lack of employment. Being unemployed is great in many ways, especially during the summer. You can do whatever you want with your days and only have to worry about having enough money to pay your rent, the bills and buy food. That is simultaneously the problem with being unemployed. Further to this though, is that employment, however dull, gives one a sense of purpose along with which comes a feeling of usefulness.

So, while I continue to look for a job, what else can I do to inculcate a sense of worth? At the moment I fill my days with looking and applying for work, going for walks/bike rides and letting my brain run away with itself. Laziness, therefore, is a key factor in my problem. I need a giant kick up the arse. Given by none other than myself, otherwise I will view said kick as someone telling me what to do.... even though sometimes I long for that - the secret password for me to get that life I dream of.

As I know though, this situation is exacerbated by my mind. It can improve with some 'physical' changes (employment, keeping my mind occuppied in meaningful, positive-reinforcing ways) but the main changes that need to be made involve myself. I have to make myself think differently... this has led to me looking back over my life and trying to find out where this huge lack of self-confidence comes from, and how to deal with it now.

This is a project I will not enjoy starting, but I feel will reap many rewards. Something to jump into, I feel.

I don't want

any of your beauty products
t-shirts for $20
shoes at half-price
phone plans for 50% less

all I want
is

for things to be better

. . .

there's a feeling I get
when I'm falling in
my dreams

but I am always jolted awake before I hit
the bottom.


Like the slight pause before a song changes pitch
or key

my heart leaps that way


lately I've been feeling like
I am missing an integral part of life
with another.

integral for me
but maybe, I've been thinking
make-believe.

Doctor, Doctor....

...I think I'm suffering from Deja Vu!
Didn't I see you yesterday?

If only it was as easy as that.

I apologise, Montreal. You did not deserve such a vitriolic hammering yesterday. Put it down to the anti-climax of returning home and so many other cities filling my mind's eye. 10 days is the longest I have been anywhere since Sydney (over 5 months ago!) so I should only really expect to feel strange and disjointed.

However, I am unable to apologise for my next rant. In fact, I think it is very well placed and don't understand why more people aren't making a fuss about it (unless they've simply realised that there's no point - thing is, it's the same story with cell phone companies (although I admit they are improving) and banking (quite why I have to pay a bank every month when they make money off my money is still strange to me, let alone the extortionate ATM fees that they are all allowed to charge - whoopsy, did I think that money was mine? Silly old me!) unless Canadians simply too good natured to bother standing up for their consumer rights?).

Prepare yourself...

So, today I had to go back to the doctor after going to a walk-in clinic last week about an ear infection. Why did I have to go to a walk-in? Well...in Quebec, and Montreal in particular (probably Canada as a whole) it is virtually impossible to find a doctor who will accept new patients on appointment. There are these places called CLSCs (free clinics run by the government) where you should be able to get medical care also, but guess what? They don't accept new patients either. So, your only option is to go to a walk-in clinic, where you have to wait anything from 30 - 240+ minutes to see the doctor, who has no idea of your medical history and is often overworked (having seen tonnes of patients before you, day after day after day). Should you be unable to wait that long...tough luck. Should you have a job and cannot get the morning (make that the whole day, just in case) off work, tough luck. Should you have a medical problem and want a GP to follow it: yeah, you guessed it. Tough. Luck.

As you'd expect, this wonderful predicament means that a lot of people end up going to the A&E department of their closest hospital for very minor ailments (or alternatively ones that were minor but are now rather major). This in turn puts a strain on the hospitals that they could do without. So, what is wrong with primary care in Canada?

Some would argue that it's not just a Canadian problem - it is one of social healthcare. Australia and the UK have long had issues with their national healthcare systems, but at least you are able to find a family doctor in those two countries who you can see on appointment and who has some knowledge of your medical history. Could it be that simple - that if we were all willing (not to mention able) to pay more, then healthcare would suddenly improve? How much do doctors get paid anyway, and is it enough? A few articles have been written about it, but none seem to give many conclusive decisions on what can be done, so I decided to come up with some of my own.

1) Pay hospital administrators less and doctors and nurses more. I don't think there is anything wrong with unions per se, but when hospital porters, administrators etc. can strike when the actual care-givers can't, then maybe it's a good idea to give them less power.

2) Something that's been suggested before, but worth repeating. There are lots of qualified immigrants in Canada who could work in the medical industry, but they have to take equivalency tests before they can practice. I can understand this with medical professionals from second and third-world countries where care is completely different, not to mention some of the equipment available, but when those professionals are coming from other western or modern countries? What a waste of potential! Give them some integrational training, put them under the wing of another practising professional (like a mini-internship of sorts, or when you get your hair cut by a student and the senior stylist is on hand..I mean this more for GPs than surgeons etc.) and voila - an influx of doctors who are already here, and qualified.

3) Furthermore, open up more residency positions. More on that and the whole doctor immigration debate here.

3) This thought came to me while my buttocks moulded to the plastic chair beneath them as I sat (for hours) at the clinic the first time: If I were coming here for an immigration medical, I could choose when to see the Dr (though I would have to pay the $195 fee for all the 'tests'). Maybe that's the going rate to get an appointment - should I bribe the receptionists? Joking aside, maybe less doctors should be able to do immigration medicals - which are a huge farce anyway: they check reflexes, blood pressure, weight and eyesight (no matter if you're wearing contact lenses), whether you can walk straight, do a urine and blood test for communicable diseases and a chest x-ray to check for TB. It is up to the individual to divulge any long-term medical problems they may have. Needless to say most people don't.* Then there would be more doctors available for those who really need to see them.

4) Educate. If people understood their bodies better, knew what was good and bad for them, could better comprehend how various systems work (I eat this = I feel sick, get fat, have cholestorol issues; I have a cough, runny nose and sore throat = keep hydrated, rest, get vitamins and see if it improves in a day or 2; I cut my finger slightly with a knife = apply pressure and bandage it; I keep getting dizzy for no reason = go to doctor right away instead of waiting for something terrible to happen, etc.) then they would not need to seek medical attention as much as they do. Prevention is better than cure, as they say.


Really I am just frustrated at always having to wait hours to see a doctor the rare times I have to go, and them having no real clue about my health, medical history, allergies, etc. Not to mention patient-doctor relationship! I did find one thing that made me laugh though when trying to get more information on finding a doctor in Quebec, right here.

My favourite line? "Check out the waiting room and doctor’s offices. Is the general atmosphere comfortable?" Good luck finding that chic new clinic where you can sit for hours, probably even years, waiting to see the doctor.




*I found this page about immigration to Canada. It is of course possible (minimially so) that each doctor treats their immigrant medicals differently, however, I cannot help but scoff about the medical records and 'mental health' bit. Unless you were obviously insane, as in muttering, plucking at yourself and shouting obscenities, talking from my experience (applying for residency in 2004) the designated medical examiners have NO CLUE of your medical history or mental health. They ask if you have any long-term problems and ask about mental health in your family etc., but they would have NO IDEA whether what you were saying was true or not since they only ask you to bring medical records if you have a lifetime-type illness. It is up to you to decide what that may be and whether or not to bring the records - furthermore, how on earth would you find them if you've been living in Montreal the past X years and have no family doctor?

Plain old ugly

There's no point denying the fact that Montreal, as a city, is rather ugly. I suppose I mean the downtown rather than the whole. Especially when viewed walking towards it down Avenue du Parc: probably due to all the ugly 60s and 70s (please Lord don't let them be more modern than that) brown and grey blocks, as appealing as a root canal with no anaesthetic, or a very blind, very old person's faded clothing.

*A quick detour - something I was thinking the other day...
The elderly start to walk shakily, talk shakily and frailly, and write all spiderly and shakily. They also have a tendency to wear clothes that blend into the background, so you can barely notice them unless they stand against something dramatic like the tarmac. It's as though they are already existing on some other plane, losing their physical tethers to this world. *

So, I was walking down towards the city today and was rather disappointed. I never used to find Montreal ugly, did I? Or maybe when I first moved here from England I did, in parts, then forgot because I came to love it so much. However, with my new and less friendly eyes all I seem to see are closed shops, bars and restaurants, peeling paper on boarded windows, ungainly, ugly lumps of buildings and failed opportunities. Furthermore, despite it supposedly being summer, the weather seems to be successfully failing to live up to most expectations of what this season means. Rain, rain, and more rain. Or some nice blustery wind with a bit of sun to trick you into going outside not fully equipped for what the non-committal (in anything other than disappointing you, weather-wise,) day has to spit up today.

Okay, okay. I have been here for one whole week - eeeek! Just over!! - and am probably on something of a come-down after my trip jaunting around the world; in far warmer climes, I might add. I am not really used to spending much time with others, and although I am very happy to see them, I must admit to feeling somewhat strange around my friends: just so unsure what to say...I seem to have nothing to talk about, other than the same repeated phrases about my trip which start to feel like the same old platitudes you always hear when people 'come back'.
And maybe that's the whole thing. Maybe I ... haven't. Come back, that is. Not the same as I was before.

This sounds obvious, I know. But I have changed. And people around me are still able to carry on with their lives, consuming media, making meals, communicating with friends, going to work. I feel so wholly removed from this process of life. At the same time, some people (and their lives) are really quite different, markedly so, and I am not sure how to fit in there, who I am 'supposed' to be, how I am meant to act. See, this is one of my deep issues, something I battle with on a semi-regular basis. This feeling that, a lot of the time, my persona is something of an act. I decide which role to play (or do I?) then play it out... I don't like this part of me.

Question seems to be, which parts of me DO I like? I thought I had the answer, or part of it. Now after only one week back I am not so sure.

Lookin' for work

I am spending a lot of time cleaning. I thought I would: the apartment hasn't really been lived in properly for months and I feel a need to purge after a trip where I discovered I need less than I thought. However, it seems to be taking a long time...probably because I am simultaneously looking for work. There is something oddly promiscuous about sending off cover letter after cover letter, telling people to "feel free" to call you. In the meanwhile, I'm spending as though I have a job. Not going wild but not assiduously counting my pennies either.
In my own strange way, it's as though I think this outlook will bring me a job faster, not because I'll accept any old position once the money's run out (valid point however), but because I am acting almost like I have one, therefore - I hope - that feverish consuming NEED for paying work, any work, will not come off me like the trail of cologne following a hopeful teenager on his first real date. Seeing as I haven't (yet) even been offered any interviews, I might be rightly accused of being a little too optimistic for once, especially considering the current financial/economical climate. As a camel, I spit in the face of such thoughts and continue to whore myself.

Yours faithfully
....

Back in Montreal, day 1

One short flight (under 2 hours) and I am flying over the lights of Montreal. I look out the window and see the Olympic Stadium with the dark mass of the Botanical Gardens beside it...downtown looks so small and twee! What will it be like to walk these streets (the order of which I have nearly forgotten)?

Josh meets me at the airport - so nice to have a smiling face there to greet you (not to mention a huge hug!)

Being back in Montreal = weird

Sleeping in my own bed = weird

Knowing friends are in the same city = great, but weird

Seeing Morpheus = weird, he looks different

Walking to the shops to buy stuff to clean the house = feels like I am on holiday, or have experienced a strange time shift; it's like when I first moved to the city except I know more where things are

Trying to fix my ear problem without going to the Dr = warm water trickling down my face

5-O

sitting in the heat
our bodies melting into the sofa
the carpet beneath our feet feels alien
and scratchy

the birds outside
we can pretend their night-time noises
are really our names
being spoken over the sound of the surf
as it hits the shoreline down below

I dream of the moon
reflected in those waters
the rough feel of your fingers
as they close around my wrist

holding me down a little bit longer

First steps back in the West

Although my travels are not strictly over yet, upon arrival in Hawaii I am no longer in the East - I have been catapulted in a metal cylinder towards the west and all it holds. After Japan's concrete jungle, the young verdant islands of Hawaii are like heaven on earth. However, the strange feeling of displacement starts at Narita airport. The Star Alliance airlines seem to occupy one set of gates and during the interminable wait for the plane to board I am surrounded by American accents, brattish children, all emitting a level of sound rather unheard of before, even in Tokyo. Landing in Honolulu is similarly strange, but this time because no-one seems to smile... perhaps because I am nothing new - there are white people everywhere - but it strikes me hard. Everyone seems so surly and, regardless of the State's infamous friendliness, I am left feeling like a piece of dirt more than a welcome visitor.

The drive from Hilo airport to Kona is beautiful; there are waterfalls, spectacular vistas and we pass through rain forests, tundra and strange other-worldly landscapes on the two and a half hour journey. Stopping for shaved ice at a small shop I walk to the back to buy a drink and am confronted by 3 refrigerators full of various options on the same theme. It is overwhelming...I have no idea where there is so much choice and grapple with it all while my eyes boggle. Today I had a similar yet far more extreme feeling at the supermarket in Kona. The aisles full of jars and packets and styrofoam containers containing the same things in different forms. How could we need all this stuff? Why can I buy 4 or 5 themes on the same cereal, multiplied by 3 and sold under 6 different brand names? It seems such a waste of time and energy, not only the production of all this...excess, but the energy it takes to decide which of these products to buy. No wonder advertising is such big business - with so much to choose from at basically very similar quality levels, we need a differentiating factor that talks to us on a deeper level. Does it make me happy? Will it keep me healthy? Will it show me as cool? I find it so hard to believe that I was once capable of going into such huge cathedrals to produce and consumption and finding what I wanted among the shelves. I cannot imagine being capable of doing it again for a long time. A new thought: how can such a place be made to be as uninviting as most supermarkets are? The harsh electric lighting, the clinical feel with the items all wrapped in plastic and stored like bodies in a morgue. As cold as a morgue too, so you feel like you need to wrap up or bustle about just to keep your body temperature normal.

On a similar note, I am currently watching The Food Network; some show is on about cakes... the concept seems to be that you give people a theme and they have to make a cake based on it. Today's show is about Ice Age (the film) I think. What strikes me most is that the emphasis is on cake design - making a cake that is huge and looks just like a cartoon character but with no focus at all on how tasty, let alone edible, the cake may be. Maybe this is what life is all about these days - appearances. Who cares if the inside makes you lick your lips for more, who cares if it is good for you or something you treat yourself to every now and then? We've got the technology to take the fat out of things and inject flavour into protein powder. Go on, all the cool kids are eating it!