Daily Archives: August 27, 2002


You’d think I’d learn. Well, maybe I have, since I haven’t actually acted upon this insane urge to visit Ikea.

(A) I really need nothing in the way of Ikea products. (Well, more bookshelves; I always need more bookshelves, but I also need more space for the bookshelves, which Ikea for some reason does not sell. Apparently it’s related to batteries-not-included or something.)

(B) I really, truly do not need the aggravation which is parking/strolling/standing in line at Ikea. Especially now, the week before school begins.

For some arcane reason, for the past couple of years, my husband and I have decided to go to Ikea on the day after Canada Day (a.k.a. the day after Moving Day here in Montreal), the two weeks that bracket Labour Day, and usually a day around New Year’s as well. We don’t plan it, honestly; it’s just coincidence. I personally believe it has something to do with the amount of “Must-go-to-Ikea” thoughts that are in so many people’s minds around those paticular shopping days; I become infected by the sheer volume of Ikea-connected mental noise. Last week, we picked up a catalogue at a friend’s apartment; today we got a card in the mail saying “Come get your new English catalogue and get X$ off before October somethingth!”; and Ikea’s just generally been on my mind.

Maybe it’s the change of weather. Nice cool nights, days which have finally shed that wet-blanket humidity… yep, it’s back-to-school season all right. We moved the funiture around in our bedroom last night, too, something that I do around this time of year for no particular reason other than I’m seized by the urge to reorganise. Ah, that stretch of the year between high summer and fall; September appears to have arrived early. I’d love it if more of the year were like September.

Scheduling Minor Cello Surgery

I did something I haven’t done in a few weeks.

I walked past my cello, paused, and said, “I really should play something.” Before I could talk myself out of it, I sat down, pulled the cello towards me, picked up my bow, and just started playing whatever was on my music stand. It happened to be the second movement of a Breval sonata. When I’d done that, I flipped the page with the tip of my bow and started playing the next thing: the Prelude to the first Bach solo cello suite. The I played both Minuets from the same suite – with repeats.

Not bad. Not bad at all. Nice sound. I now have throbbing fingers, however.

Then I picked up the phone and called a luthier. I haven’t played my cello these past three weeks because the bridge is so badly warped that I’m afraid that it will slip and smash the belly of the instrument, turning a minor repair job into a major disaster. Not only can the luthier replace my bridge ($120 – eep), they can stabilise the black stain that’s wearing off the fingerboard and onto my fingers every session. (Ick.) This is a good thing, of course.

Naturally, however, now that I will be bringing the cello in for minor surgery, I’m getting all antsy. I just know I’ll want to play it while I don’t have it. I’m taking it in on Thursday afternoon, and I’m already wondering how much playing I can safely indulge in tomorrow without threatening the safety of the instrument.

He’ll Become George Clooney Or Something

So I finally saw Bridget Jones’s Diary last week, hard on the heels of reading the second book in the series, and discovered that the film was a blend of both books. I think what might have happened was that Helen Fielding, who co-authored the script (love it when they actually get the author to work on the film) was writing the second book while coming up with a couple of key scenes for the film, and ended up using similar versions in both movie and new book, never dreaming that a second film might be made.

Clicking on Bill’s link to Bridget Jones today, I discovered that they’re making a film based on the second book.


This should be interesting. How they’re going to top Colin Firth and Hugh Grant pounding each other and crashing through windows on a snowy street, I truly do not know.

The other wonderful bit of meta-fiction, Bridget’s obssession with Pride & Prejudice‘s Mr Darcy and Colin Firth, was by necessity disposed of in the first film, since, well Colin Firth was in it, providing fans of the book with a deliriously smug in-joke. (And heaven forbid we mention Jane Austen in a pop film. Pride and What? Good Lord, no, we might lose the audience!) The second book has Bridget actually interviewing Firth in Italy. However, and I quote (although I have cleaned up the spelling and the punctuation), Colin Firth has suggested that the scene in which Bridget interviews, er… Colin Firth may not appear in the sequel. Firth said in a recent interview, “He won’t be there, he’ll become George Clooney or something.” This may not have quite the same effect as the original way Fielding intended but since Firth is not in the scene maybe they’ll simply hope the audience doesn’t notice the remarkable resemblance.”

The statement made me laugh. Probably not for the right reasons, but I laughed.

Fun and Games

Yesterday we cleaned out the fridge. We do this out of self-defence periodically; not because we’ve run out of room, but because we don’t know what might be back there. We liberated a few Tupperware containers from bondage and discovered not one, but four bottles of wine that were open. This comes about as a result of people bringing wine over for parties and such, not finishing the bottles, and saying, “Hey, that wine in the fridge, it’s all yours,” as they leave. I forget it’s there until a time such as this.

“How many bottles of wine are in here?” my husband asked, peering into the depths.

“We should pour them all together in a pitcher,” I said. I was joking. But then, all of a sudden, I wasn’t. “We could mix them and blend them with 7-Up and have kind of a sangria,” I said. My husband looked at me oddly, but gave me the bottles of wine. I tasted each first to make sure it hadn’t soured; nope, the three whites were fine. The single red, however, was definitely past its prime. I wouldn’t even be able to cook with it. Down the sink it went while the husband went to buy 7-Up. I found a bottle of lime cordial in the fridge that had only an inch or so of cordial left; I poured that in as well, being minus the lemons and limes I like to put in mixes like this. And the whole thing tasted divine.

We made dinner, poured glasses of the mystery mix, and decided to play Junior Trivial Pursuit. Ordinarily this means it’s a quicker game than the adult edition. However, the edition of Junior Trivial Pursuit I own is the original version, dating back from 1984. (Go ahead. Count on your fingers. Yes, it’s perilously close to twenty.) This means it asks many questions based on contemporary pop culture like information about hockey leagues and now-defunct sports teams, and the question that stumped us both: what is the Sugar Crisp bear holding on the Sugar Crisp box? The box has since been redesigned, so it was more of a challenge that we’d anticipated. This is definitely a game we’ll have to pull out at a party, just to watch people rummage around their two-decade old store of history. It was terrific; a mix of a walk down memory lane, a high school reunion, and a realisation of how much the world has changed.