I was looking up rock names and found a "rockstar" name generator. You can call me Ilene Woolfe.

Dogtooth calcite, something but I forget what, oh scholzite, I think, and pyrite from Suzanne and Stephen (tag by Scott).

A lazy and thoughtful Saturday afternoon, after a most pleasant hungover morning, after an evening of board games with good great friends, after a poutine from hell('s kitchen), after brews, after school, after Thursday, which was after Wednesday, which consisted of library fines and Fargo and microwave popcorn and vodksies with english students. Darling oh dear me these days fly by. Just last week it was Saturday too.

Shocking Life Lessons

In assemblies we learnt not to ride motorcycles, who Bonhomme was, and this jingly little slogan which has stuck with me since grade school: Don't be a silly dill, 120 watts can kill.

They showed us a picture of a pickle sticking its finger into a socket.

Baked

We would eat so much cake batter, that by the time we got around to the cake, we were bloated and completely full. And then we would eat too much of the cake. Oftentimes we'd polish it off.

(recalling all that baking we did in our liverpool, home, and dublin street houses)

Aspirations/ Awards to win in 2011

From my journal, 2010.

Enjoy Enjoyable Enjoyed

Bit Epicure from Rosa Aiello on Vimeo.

What's it to ya?

Citrine!

(From the rock store in Nelson, BC)

Don't feel too self-conscious about drinking a root beer on a bus at 10 am because:

Today, among other things that happened, a man, on the way to campus, took out a container of vaseline on the bus. He had been sitting down politely enough and wasn't someone you'd expect to do something gross or outrageous. His hair was short and thinning. He was youngish and wore glasses. He sat calmly. Then he put about two tablespoons of that greasy stuff onto a finger, dipping and redipping it into the full size tub, and then he rubbed it into his hands. Oh god did he rub it into his hands. Two Muslim women sitting across from him stopped looking at their own hands and starting looking at his. They just stared, and kept right on staring. The blonde woman in a red raincoat sitting next to them didn't see the grotesque show right across from her. She was looking at her own lap. When he was done rubbing it in, his hands looked slick and reflective. I watched as he got off the bus, so conscious of his hands and what poles he might reach for to support himself. None of us who saw him touched those same poles. Our own hands were pressed a little unusually tightly to our sides. All our lips turned down at the corners just the slightest.