Friday, December 02, 2005

Cranky blogger alert

Warning: contains excessive use of the word "damn" and its variants.

I enjoyed work at the library today, for a change. I was just so damned cheerful, and have no idea why. That changed when I ventured out for dinner.

To begin, I just don't quite get Future Bakery, that Annex stronghold. I don't think the food is so damn good that it merits the gazillions of undergraduates it accommodates daily. It feels to me like a cross between a school cafeteria and summer camp, where you load everything onto a tray and share a laminated pine table with three strangers. Plus, I like big friendly signs, like "Get your damn tray here." "Order here." "Pay here." Future doesn't have those, and it's taken me a few too many years to intuit the system there, simple though it may be.

But tonight I wanted spaghetti and meatballs and they had it. It wasn't bad. I ate it at the window ledge while perched atop a broken stool, feeling entirely too damn old for the experience. I felt like everyone was watching me, thinking "She doesn't know how to eat here." Of course, no one thought any such thing, but I still just feel like a big freak when I go there.

On the way there and back, I was overwhelmed by a stench of fish that I had never experienced around there before. I think that stretch of Bloor Street may finally have acquired one sushi joint too many. The smell worries me, and I hope it's not a permanent addition to that part of town.

Then came choir practice. Damned sopranos. Well, they're all nice, but we're breaking in a lot of new ones right now, and they don't all have stellar vowel production. Too many of them are choking their vowels in their throat, then squeezing them out through wide, smiley mouths, making for a thin, goaty sound, or worse, the splayed pop star tone that is infiltrating children's choirs lately. I'm the opposite, perhaps to a fault; my sound is as warm and edgeless as you can get, but I was taught at a young age what shape my mouth should be in for each sung vowel. These ladies weren't. I wish someone would tell them. Furthermore, I have little patience for a bunch of new choristers learning music I've done for eight years, especially when it's for a service I can't be at anyway.

Thank goodness none of them read this.

Don't even get me started on the damn federal election.

Oh, it's good to be home. I'm just a cranky old thing, but home cures a lot, as it should.

2 Comments:

Blogger Kathleen Callon said...

Damn, darn, gosh, gosh darmit... funny.

December 02, 2005 12:15 AM  
Blogger Mrs. M. said...

Thank you. :) I had either to write about it or hurt a restaurant worker or innocent soprano.

December 02, 2005 12:25 AM  

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