Maggie's Musings... A random snippet of from an online chat I had today. I actually wrote this: "Hey! If I had any get rich quick schemes...I'd be rich!"

This article is funny not only because David Hasselhoff thinks he played a role in the fall of the Berlin wall, but also because he thinks he can sing. (Thanks for sending this, A. It was actually so disturbing that I forgot to laugh.)

Not only is Boobs Out the new black, but joking about Boobs Out is the new gay.

A Purr-fect Weekend A list of things I enjoyed this weekend: Sewing new cushion covers for my battered IKEA couch: Using some purple silk I bought at Value Village years ago and some sparkly braid I bought deeply discounted at Fabricville, I'm fashioning new cushion covers for my comfy, but slightly cat scratched couch. They match the Sure-Fit slipcover I purchased purr-fectly. When I completed the first one (which included a tricky zipper closure) and slipped the cusion inside, I couldn't get over how fantastic it looked! I don't understand how they can recover an entire sofa on Trading Spaces in a weekend, though. I barely finished two cushions. I'm convinced they cheat by using outside labour. Soylent Green, uncut and commerical-free on MoviePix: What's not to love about this movie, which is inspired, I think, in part by Joni Mitchell's "Big Yellow Taxi" (you know, the one where they pave paradise and put up a parking lot). Charlton Heston and a very poignant Edward G. Robinson solve the murder of a Corporate Food executive and in the process discover what Soylent Green (a staple foodstuff) is really made of. Strong images of an overcrowded metropolis, overwhelmed by greenhouse gasses and a patriachy that is more entrenched than ever make Soylent Green a particularly tasty and kitsch look at the world of 2022. Heston's character is sleazy and not-quite-heroic: watch it and see if you don't agree that he could be an antecedent of William Gibson and Neal Stephenson characters. Mixing water and single malt scotch: An acquaintance introduced me to adding a little cool water to single malt. It actually does bring out the flavour. It also means you drink more. Fasten Your Seatbelts! It's Going to Be A Bumpy Night: Recovering from a vague hangover on Sunday, I was happy to have the All About Eve DVD to take care of me in the afternnon. Nicely restored, with commentaries from the director's son and some guy who wrote an entire book on the making of this film, I had to laugh when I realized that the moral of the film is that a woman is woefully incomplete if by the age of forty she doesn't have a man to wake up to. It actually doesn't matter if you're talented, accomplished, and filthy rich--it's quite meaningless without a man to take you away from the emptiness of success and independence. Oh, and your career is pretty much over byt the time your forty, too. Nurse! "Funny business, a woman's career. The things you drop on your way up the ladder so you can move faster. You forget you'll need them when you get back to being a woman. It's one career all females have in common--being a woman. Sooner or later we've got to work at it no matter how many other careers we've had or wanted. And in the last analysis nothing is any good unless you can look up just before dinner or turn around in bed and there he is. Without that you're not a woman. You're something with a French provincial office or a book full of clippings but you're not a woman. Slow, curtain, the end." -- Margo Channing, beautifully overacted by Bette Davis. The Golden Globes: I pretended that I was still vaguely hung over and watched the Golden Globes, including the painful red carpet interviews an hour before. One interviewer actually tossed Charlize Theron aside for some impromptu bons mots from Bill Murray. As much as I love him, it was so rude, especially with Charlize looking positively creamy! Jane Fonda, appearing with her son Troy, proved that she's hard of hearing by supplying non sequitors to the questions posed to her. Elijah Wood is miniscule. How was it that Al Pacino was allowed to look that bad. Hair! Wardrobe! Disaster in aisle eight! Double up on the Feather Bed: I have two feather beds. I don't know why, but I do. I decided to put both on my matress and see if I could replicate that completely cocooned feeling. For good measure, I tossed a flannel sheet on top for an added soft nappy cotton texture. The comfort of my bed is now out of this world. Really: it's now in another spacetime zone, which is a lot like our own, except everyone is an angel and brownies aren't fattening.

"I hope my work will help build a bridge between laser technology and the traditional food industry." How many times a day do I say that?

In other geek news... ...it's been reported that the FBI has begun raiding homes of those suspected of stealing Valve's Half-Life 2 source code. Read a blog account here. The theft contributed to Valve postponing HL2's release date by a few months. Note that the blogger denies any involvement. It's kinda neat to read about the FBI protecting this kind of intellectual property. They should make a game that involves hunting and raiding suspected harbingers of stolen code, insider trading, and kiddie porn!

Leave the Poor Kid Alone! In August, 2003, 17 year-old Mike Rowe registered the cute domain name www.mikerowesoft.com. In November, 2003, Microsoft began accusing Mike of copyright infringement. It's his name, for goodness sake, and he had the (precocious) wit to add the word "soft" to the end it. I say hire him, don't sue him!

Recommended: BBC's The Office Rented the first season of The Office this weekend. Slightly reminiscent of Spinal Tap in its use of mockumentary-style narrative, The Office portrays the lives of of employees under the Dilbert-like management of the world's most un self-aware boss. What makes this series work for me is that the employees are as clueless as their leader, but not as ruthless. They rarely challenge him, and when they do, they quickly retreat (scuttle) as they're barraged by his nonsensical doublespeak. All are trapped in the ugliness of the city of Slough (think of the very worst of the West Island), a place they ocassionally attempt to leave, but never do. This little capsule isn't doing this series justice, so just rent it. Let me know if you fall in love with Tim the way I have. In the first episode, he encases his nemesis' stapler in a jello mould.

12 Monkeys: Jobs I've done... Persuant to Blork's and Martine's fine initiative, here is a list of (some) of the jobs I have held. Room Service Cashier at the Ritz-Carlton Hotel: At the age of 17, I recommended wine to David Niven, thought that Sally Struthers was ordering for two when she was really ordering for one, and fought viciously with an Italian room service waiter who thought Mussolini wasn't so bad. Receptionist at a food import company: Met Mr. Norton when he came in to pick up Toblerone chocolate for his M. Felix and Mr. Norton cookies. Asked him to marry me. Discovered that Mr. Norton certainly made good cookies, but had *no* sense of humour. Telephone operator for Expos dressing room: During the dark days of drug abuse in the baseball leagues, the Baseball Comissioner removed all payphones from dressing rooms and dugouts. My job was to dial numbers on behalf of the players and umpires and record the numbers they were dialing in a special diary. Everyone hated me. Glorified receptionist at IBM: People would call the main switchboard seeking help for products not manufactured by IBM. I once spent 10 minutes with a woman explaining to her that while I was capable of answering her WordPerfect question, I could not because it was manufactured by some weinie in Ottawa. Technical writer/Trainer for software company specializing in systems for law firms: Learned far too much about how lawyers pad their bills with "disbursement" charges. A dollar a page for photocopies? Puh-leeze! Mistress of all things 3D: What can I say about working at Softimage? I've been here for six years and I get to have this kind of repartee with our customers.

Fatal Addiction One of my nieces presented me with Hostess Twinkie Lip Balm this weekend. The warnings state: "For external use only." "Keep out of eyes." "Not to be eaten." If it weren't for these warnings, I would have poked my eyes out before ingesting this highly addictive and sweet tasting lip balm. A final warning states: "Stop use and ask doctor if rash or irritation develops." There is no warning about my new compulsion to apply the balm every ten minutes. The desire to apply increases if I'm drinking coffee.

I'm a Slight Bitch Courtesy of agencychick. Coincidentally, my friend R sent me this missive of Bitch-i-ness: BITCHOLOGY When I stand up for myself and my beliefs, they call me a bitch. When I stand up for those I love, they call me a bitch. When I speak my mind, think my own thoughts or do things my own way, they call me a bitch. Being a bitch means I won't compromise what's in my heart. It means I live my life MY way. It means I won't allow anyone to step on me. When I refuse to tolerate injustice and speak against it, I am defined as a bitch. The same thing happens when I take time for myself instead of being everyone's maid, or when I act a little selfish. It means I have the courage and strength to allow myself to be who I truly am and won't become anyone else's idea of what they think I "should" be. I am outspoken, opinionated and determined. I want what I want and there is nothing wrong with that! So try to stomp on me, try to douse my inner flame, try to squash every ounce of beauty I hold within me. You won't succeed. And if that makes me a bitch, so be it. I embrace the title and am proud to bear it. B - Babe I - In T - Total C - Control of H - Herself B - Beautiful I - Intelligent T - Talented C - Charming H - Hell of a Woman B - Beautiful I - Individual T - That C - Can H - Handle anything Is there something they've put in the Montreal water?

When Your Life is in Your Hands I know the feeling of losing control of a car, having killed my previous vehicle (a white VW Golf). All it takes is some weird friction/physics thing to happen to a single tire and *BAM*, you're doing a 360, or worse, the car is actually tipping and rolling. Driving from Toronto yesterday had me on tenterhooks. Although conditions weren't as bad as all that, I passed many cars in the ditch between the east and west lanes, including a large Jaguar. The first part of the journey was fine--small flakes barely lasted on the busy 401. As I approached Kingston, the road got decidedly narrower and I felt the need to clutch the steering wheel very tightly in fear of an icy patch I couldn't see in the 5:00 p.m. darkness. The snowy shoulder taunted my wheels with threats of chaos. I must have driven over 200 kilometres at 70 K an hour. Pathetic. But, I'm alive. Got home and poured myself a glass of wine, ate something really sugary, and read for hours until my hands and shoulders finally relaxed.

I am Tall, Blonde, and Dead
You are Nico, the 60's "It girl," model,
chanteuse, superstar and Velvet Underground-
extra songstress NICO.(a/k/a Christa Paffgen)
On 18 July 1988, she went for a bike-ride on
the isle of Ibiza, she collapsed and died of
brain hemmorage.

Which Dead Female Punk Are You?
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Know the Future Now! Don't ask me why, but I've been researching time travel recently. I came across this really easy way to get someone from the future to visit you. Includes all the required legal forms. I'll let you know how it turns out. Or, maybe you know already. Donchya love paradoxes? I do. But you knew that already, too.

You know you have too much money when... ...you can waste money on legal fees.