I’ve been working on a documentary recap, but until that’s done, I only have the pandemic to talk about. I think everybody is tired of reading about that.
So, for today, I have an update from 2006 I wrote when I also didn’t have anything to write about. This is about the time I was forced to take a month of Music class in elementary school. If you’re new here, I’m deaf.
It looks like I need to expand on the mushroom story mentioned in my previous post. I thought I had shared a satisfying amount of detail, but upon spoon-feeding Yann bonus morsels of information, I’ve come to realize that not everybody was privileged enough to have a backyard, never mind a backyard containing a bounty of mushrooms.
I grew up in the Township of Langley, pre-housing developments. All the houses in my neighbourhood were constructed independently in different years, rather than consisting of clusters of cookie-cutter condos painted in a variety of off-white shades. My family’s house was older and slightly smaller than my friends’ homes, but we had a massive backyard bordered by mature cedar trees. At the far left corner was an enclosure where we unintentionally bred rabbits to feed the owls (I realize this will raise more questions), and on the right was–of all things–a tetherball pole.
I’ve actually found a photo of the backyard from five years ago by googling my old address:
Aside from all the hot air balloons that would drift overhead in the summer, it afforded us lots of privacy. My dad would frequently go hot tubbing in the buff, but only at nighttime when the skies were clear of overhead voyeurs travelling via hot air balloons.
I am five years older than Yann, which isn’t a significant difference. It’s not exactly an insignificant difference either, as proven by our discussion the other night. I was explaining to him how I had spent part of my day indulging in nostalgia by browsing the old internet. I did this by Wayback Machine-ing a few of my old favorites.
The internet used to be uglier, but it was also a lot more fun. Right now, it’s so consumer-driven. Once pop-up blockers got effective, the internet had to get creative with advertising which is now disguised as social media apps or sponsored blog posts.
Splash pages are dead. Guestbooks are no more. Chat rooms are obscure. Even webcams have disappeared, and they were a prerequisite for personal websites of the late 90s/early 00s, usually appearing in the sidebar. The chosen photo would be the webmaster/webmistress’ (two of the most short-lived terms to ever exist) pick of the day.
Sometimes, the webcam would be live, refreshing at a rate of once every five seconds or slower. I had to stop there and further explain live cams to Yann.
“Streaming camera, you mean?” he asked.
“Oh, no. Those were the days of dial-up internet.” I paused to fix my glasses and brush a wisp of grey hair out of my face, “We didn’t have streaming media.”
“So, it’s like video chat?”
“No, you just let people watch you in total anonymity,” I continued as I leaned back in the rocking chair, preparing to school my young boyfriend on the golden age of the web.
He was creeped out.
My first blog post was published on May 13, 2000. It all started with:
“MO FO!”
I don’t write like this anymore. For the first year, I couldn’t type the word “you” in its entirety, which never made sense because I’ve always been an exceptionally fast typist. It was not a time-saving strategy. I was being a Millennial back when Millennials were the young generation.
I posted 12 more times that month, some posts were a single, short paragraph. I kept it short and sweet, sometimes too literally, such as when I scanned Lucky Charms marshmallows.
Riveting. Truly riveting.
Three and a half years go, I knitted my first scarf. Since then, I have knitted four toques. I nearly finished a fifth in the time it took to drive from Montréal to Vancouver, but when I got to the stitch decreases for the crown, I decided my handiwork was a waste of fancy yarn and unravelled the whole thing.
I’ve started something new, but it is not going well. Reading a knitting pattern is a skill I have yet to master. It goes something like this:
1: K1, P2, K2, K1togbl2, *K2, P2; rep from * across, end K2.
2: K1below, P3
3: Alternate between rows 1 and 2, until you realize that you’ve spent hours doing the wrong thing, and clench your jaw so hard in anger that your teeth shatter.
Ah, what a relaxing hobby.
Continue reading “It’s still easier to make hats than new friends.”
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