Word of the day: word (noun) unit of language, consisting of one or more spoken sounds or their written representation, that functions as a principal carrier of meaning. Words are composed of one or more morphemes and are either the smallest units susceptible of independent use or consist of two or three such units combined under certain linking conditions, as with the loss of primary accent that distinguishes blackʹbirdʹ from blackʹ birdʹ. Words are usually separated by spaces in writing, and are distinguished phonologically, as by accent, in many languages.
Today the 1,000,000th word entered the English language. And that word is Web 2.0.
Really? Web 2.0? That's the best you can do? I regularly make up words that are much better than that. Unfortunately, I can't think of any of those words right now, but still. Web 2.0? Gah.
The Global Language Monitor came up with the word and the official word count; some people agree with this, others not so much. Maybe they would be happier if the word wasn't web 2.0. (Are you sure?)
It should be noted that the 1,000,001th word has also come along: financial tsunami. That's officially worse than web 2.0.
Wednesday, June 10, 2009
Tuesday, June 9, 2009
Sad'n'blue*
Word of the day: sad (adj) Affected by unhappiness or grief; sorrowful or mournful.
I'm not sure how many people know this, but I've battled depression on and off since my early 20s. It was third year university, so I would have been 21 when the official diagnosis came in. It's not something I'm ashamed to admit (otherwise I wouldn't be writing about it on the internet) but it's always seemed easier to just keep quiet about it, mostly because I don't want to make other people feel awkward around me.
If I don't seem depressed, that's because I manage it (well enough), either by my own means or with some medication. And I don't want to seem depressed - although I'm not really sure what a "depressed" person is supposed to be like. I've known other people who have battled it and they're not weepy, mopey, dressed-in-black doomsayers or anything. I suppose (cliche alert) someone with depression is really just like anyone else.
One thing I find really interesting about depression is that it's still taboo to be depressed but it's just so vogue to be on an anti-depressant, especially one of the big ones like Prozac or Paxil or Zoloft. Sure, if you need to be on meds then be on meds - I'm not going to judge you - but it often seems like anti-depressants are just a little too trendy sometimes. But even with that, there's still a stigma about mental health issues. Trust me, it's not as easy as "just being happy".
The main reason I felt compelled to share this is because I'm a bit down today. One thing I've found that helps is to not only talk about my feelings but to talk about having depression, because once I get it out in the open it has less power; it's not that dark, dirty secret anymore, it's just another part of me, like my pale skin and my easily-ignited frustration towards the TTC.
It's very likely I'll never completely be free of it and will live a life of peaks and valleys. But isn't life supposed to be full of ups and downs anyways?
*When I was a child, whenever I was feeling down, I told my mom, "I'm sad and blue." Apparently, it was quite adorable.
I'm not sure how many people know this, but I've battled depression on and off since my early 20s. It was third year university, so I would have been 21 when the official diagnosis came in. It's not something I'm ashamed to admit (otherwise I wouldn't be writing about it on the internet) but it's always seemed easier to just keep quiet about it, mostly because I don't want to make other people feel awkward around me.
If I don't seem depressed, that's because I manage it (well enough), either by my own means or with some medication. And I don't want to seem depressed - although I'm not really sure what a "depressed" person is supposed to be like. I've known other people who have battled it and they're not weepy, mopey, dressed-in-black doomsayers or anything. I suppose (cliche alert) someone with depression is really just like anyone else.
One thing I find really interesting about depression is that it's still taboo to be depressed but it's just so vogue to be on an anti-depressant, especially one of the big ones like Prozac or Paxil or Zoloft. Sure, if you need to be on meds then be on meds - I'm not going to judge you - but it often seems like anti-depressants are just a little too trendy sometimes. But even with that, there's still a stigma about mental health issues. Trust me, it's not as easy as "just being happy".
The main reason I felt compelled to share this is because I'm a bit down today. One thing I've found that helps is to not only talk about my feelings but to talk about having depression, because once I get it out in the open it has less power; it's not that dark, dirty secret anymore, it's just another part of me, like my pale skin and my easily-ignited frustration towards the TTC.
It's very likely I'll never completely be free of it and will live a life of peaks and valleys. But isn't life supposed to be full of ups and downs anyways?
*When I was a child, whenever I was feeling down, I told my mom, "I'm sad and blue." Apparently, it was quite adorable.
Monday, June 8, 2009
Pardon my apology
Word of the day: a-po-lo-gy (noun) A written or spoken expression of one's regret, remorse, or sorrow for having insulted, failed, injured, or wronged another.
I have a really bad habit of saying “sorry”. I mean, a really, really bad habit. Of course, I apologize when I need to, as any good polite young woman should, but I also apologize when it doesn't make sense to apologize, when I haven’t done anything wrong but someone else might have, when I haven’t done anything that requires an apology and, when chastised for apologizing too much, I apologize.
Sheesh.
I have been told on more than one occasion that I need to stop saying sorry all the time, going as far back as high school. Why do I do it? I’ve obviously been doing it since I was a teenager but I couldn’t tell you when for sure I developed this habit. Somewhere along the line, I developed this need to apologize for being me. I know there are parts of my personality that not everyone is going to like but instead of just allowing myself to accept that, I started apologizing for all those quirks/neuroses/anomalies and tried to change myself to fit some ideal personality that I thought everyone else wanted me to be. (It should be noted that, at no time, did anyone ever tell me I had to be a certain way.) Really, I was apologizing because I felt I was not good enough.
“So sorry for being me. Let me go change that. Be right back.”
And now I have decided that it is time to break this habit. So I’m going to stop apologizing, just like that, cold turkey. Unless I do something that requires an apology, “sorry” is dead to me.
I really do hope to kick this habit because doing so will only make me feel better about myself and more accepting of who I am. I guess this is the kind of introspection that happens when you’re staring 30 in the face. It’s time to own up to who I am and accept me for me, no apologies necessary.
I have a really bad habit of saying “sorry”. I mean, a really, really bad habit. Of course, I apologize when I need to, as any good polite young woman should, but I also apologize when it doesn't make sense to apologize, when I haven’t done anything wrong but someone else might have, when I haven’t done anything that requires an apology and, when chastised for apologizing too much, I apologize.
Sheesh.
I have been told on more than one occasion that I need to stop saying sorry all the time, going as far back as high school. Why do I do it? I’ve obviously been doing it since I was a teenager but I couldn’t tell you when for sure I developed this habit. Somewhere along the line, I developed this need to apologize for being me. I know there are parts of my personality that not everyone is going to like but instead of just allowing myself to accept that, I started apologizing for all those quirks/neuroses/anomalies and tried to change myself to fit some ideal personality that I thought everyone else wanted me to be. (It should be noted that, at no time, did anyone ever tell me I had to be a certain way.) Really, I was apologizing because I felt I was not good enough.
“So sorry for being me. Let me go change that. Be right back.”
And now I have decided that it is time to break this habit. So I’m going to stop apologizing, just like that, cold turkey. Unless I do something that requires an apology, “sorry” is dead to me.
I really do hope to kick this habit because doing so will only make me feel better about myself and more accepting of who I am. I guess this is the kind of introspection that happens when you’re staring 30 in the face. It’s time to own up to who I am and accept me for me, no apologies necessary.
Wednesday, June 3, 2009
Because stress is fun!
Those who know me well know that I can be, erm, rather passionate about things (i.e. I tend to freak out/spazz/overreact most, if not all, of the time). However, I feel that my latest cause for freak-out is justifiable and I really need to, well, kind of freak out about it.
I am currently working at Rogers on a maternity-leave contract which will end in September and I am severely panicked and freaked about being unemployed. I'm doing my due diligence now, trying to stay in touch with industry people I know and checking out the job postings and such, just to get a feel for what is out there, and I'm told there is still the possibility of something coming up at Rogers (my boss has alluded more than once to wanting to keep me). But since I can't pay the bills with networking and possibilities, I've been finding myself laying awake at night on more than one occasion, seriously stressed about this.
When I took the job last August, it seemed like the right thing to do. I mean, it was Rogers Publishing, working on Chatelaine and so what if it was only contract because something would work out at the end, right? I'm sure that would have happened if the economy hadn't decided to nose-dive shortly after I started, resulting in lay-offs a mere four months into my contract. This was followed by more layoffs four months after the first round and the rumour of layoffs every quarter. Fun.
Aside from a crappy economy and sparse job prospects, what really sucks is that I love what I do and I'm good at it and I love doing what I do at Rogers. I work with awesome people and it's a good (albeit really corporate) environment and I have fun there. Argh.
I'm trying to be positive and smart about this and plan for any and all possible outcomes but since I am who I am, I will stress and worry and panic and fret about this until the bitter/sweet end. THIS is what sucks the most.
I am currently working at Rogers on a maternity-leave contract which will end in September and I am severely panicked and freaked about being unemployed. I'm doing my due diligence now, trying to stay in touch with industry people I know and checking out the job postings and such, just to get a feel for what is out there, and I'm told there is still the possibility of something coming up at Rogers (my boss has alluded more than once to wanting to keep me). But since I can't pay the bills with networking and possibilities, I've been finding myself laying awake at night on more than one occasion, seriously stressed about this.
When I took the job last August, it seemed like the right thing to do. I mean, it was Rogers Publishing, working on Chatelaine and so what if it was only contract because something would work out at the end, right? I'm sure that would have happened if the economy hadn't decided to nose-dive shortly after I started, resulting in lay-offs a mere four months into my contract. This was followed by more layoffs four months after the first round and the rumour of layoffs every quarter. Fun.
Aside from a crappy economy and sparse job prospects, what really sucks is that I love what I do and I'm good at it and I love doing what I do at Rogers. I work with awesome people and it's a good (albeit really corporate) environment and I have fun there. Argh.
I'm trying to be positive and smart about this and plan for any and all possible outcomes but since I am who I am, I will stress and worry and panic and fret about this until the bitter/sweet end. THIS is what sucks the most.
Monday, June 1, 2009
Marching to the beat of some other drummer
I am currently obsessed with The National. Why I am just discovering them now, I'm not sure, but I have Brian to thank for bringing them into my life - boyfriends are good for something.
So far I have found them to be perfect to listen to at pretty much any time of day, for any reason and I'm quite content to listen over and over and over and over again.
That's really all I've got right now.
Now I'm going to stay inside until somebody finds me and do whatever the TV tells me.
So far I have found them to be perfect to listen to at pretty much any time of day, for any reason and I'm quite content to listen over and over and over and over again.
That's really all I've got right now.
Now I'm going to stay inside until somebody finds me and do whatever the TV tells me.
Sunday, May 31, 2009
A bowlful of history
I recently acquired my great-grandmother's Kitchen Aid stand mixer.
I'm not sure when she got it and it only has the one attachment still and it's a little bit beat up, but I love it. My great-grandmother (better known as Grandma Hailstone) passed away in March 2005. I had the awesome honour of eulogizing her, which was pretty special, but even better was inheriting first many of her knitting supplies and now her stand mixer.
Grandma Hailstone was a fantastic cook, but it was her baking that really got the family going. She made the greatest pastry ever (seriously, the greatest ever and I am still trying to perfect the recipe [which I am not allowed to EVER share, else my branch of the family tree will be lopped off]), which would become the best butter tarts ever. And her doughnuts were just the thing with a cup of tea in the afternoon.
When I was younger, there was a Farmer's Market every Saturday morning that Grandma Hailstone would go to and she would take a large carafe of coffee and trays of her butter tarts, doughnuts and cookies and she would sell them to friends, family and other locals. Of course, she didn't have a license or any of that nonsensical paperwork that one would need if one was anywhere other than outside-of-small-town Ontario. I remember going to the Farmer's Market as a child and buying a dozen butter tarts from Grandma Hailstone, then going back to her place for a visit and having her serve us more butter tarts to go with our tea.
When I look at the stand mixer, I think about all the wonderful things she must have made with it. All the time she must have spent in her kitchen, making the pumpkin pies we would eat at Thanksgiving and the shortbread we would have at Christmas. I try to live my life without regrets, but one thing I do regret is never visiting Grandma Hailstone and baking with her. I would love to know what her recipe secrets were, how she added a pinch of this or a dash of that to make something extra special.
Even though I missed out on that, at least now I can do my own baking and strive to one day be as good as she was.
I'm not sure when she got it and it only has the one attachment still and it's a little bit beat up, but I love it. My great-grandmother (better known as Grandma Hailstone) passed away in March 2005. I had the awesome honour of eulogizing her, which was pretty special, but even better was inheriting first many of her knitting supplies and now her stand mixer.
Grandma Hailstone was a fantastic cook, but it was her baking that really got the family going. She made the greatest pastry ever (seriously, the greatest ever and I am still trying to perfect the recipe [which I am not allowed to EVER share, else my branch of the family tree will be lopped off]), which would become the best butter tarts ever. And her doughnuts were just the thing with a cup of tea in the afternoon.
When I was younger, there was a Farmer's Market every Saturday morning that Grandma Hailstone would go to and she would take a large carafe of coffee and trays of her butter tarts, doughnuts and cookies and she would sell them to friends, family and other locals. Of course, she didn't have a license or any of that nonsensical paperwork that one would need if one was anywhere other than outside-of-small-town Ontario. I remember going to the Farmer's Market as a child and buying a dozen butter tarts from Grandma Hailstone, then going back to her place for a visit and having her serve us more butter tarts to go with our tea.
When I look at the stand mixer, I think about all the wonderful things she must have made with it. All the time she must have spent in her kitchen, making the pumpkin pies we would eat at Thanksgiving and the shortbread we would have at Christmas. I try to live my life without regrets, but one thing I do regret is never visiting Grandma Hailstone and baking with her. I would love to know what her recipe secrets were, how she added a pinch of this or a dash of that to make something extra special.
Even though I missed out on that, at least now I can do my own baking and strive to one day be as good as she was.
Saturday, May 30, 2009
Fun new things
Ack, it's been over two months since I've bothered to post anything. I've got no better excuse than laziness.
I'd like to say that lots of exciting and wonderful and fantastic things have happened over the past two months, but not really. Although I have managed to acquire a significant other, which is rather nice. I've know him for about four years (we went to school together) but it wasn't until this past March that things really came together. And I've already spent a weekend with his family and that went well, so I'm kinda pleased with the whole thing.
One thing I've noticed with this new relationship is that dating is different when you're in your thirties. (For the record, I'm 29 but I'm in my thirtieth year, so that qualifies me for being in my thirties.) There's more maturity now, less alcohol-fueled physicality. There are conversations about things that matter and things that are relevant; there are weeknight sleepovers that have us in bed at a respectable hour; there are weekends together because we're both 9-to-5'ers.
Although maybe I'm being unfair; maybe this isn't a product of being out of my twenties but instead because I've finally partnered with someone who is my equal, intellectually, professionally and personally, someone who is at the same point in his life as I am in mine. Of course, I'm not trying to say he's "the One" or anything that presumptuous, as it has only been two months. But it's nice to be in a relationship that is good.
I'm not going to lie, it's pretty damn nice to finally get what I want out of a relationship. The fact that he's also getting what he wants is also pretty great. (Because we have wonderful adult-like conversations about that kind of thing. Then we play video games. We are nerds and it is glorious.)
I'd like to say that lots of exciting and wonderful and fantastic things have happened over the past two months, but not really. Although I have managed to acquire a significant other, which is rather nice. I've know him for about four years (we went to school together) but it wasn't until this past March that things really came together. And I've already spent a weekend with his family and that went well, so I'm kinda pleased with the whole thing.
One thing I've noticed with this new relationship is that dating is different when you're in your thirties. (For the record, I'm 29 but I'm in my thirtieth year, so that qualifies me for being in my thirties.) There's more maturity now, less alcohol-fueled physicality. There are conversations about things that matter and things that are relevant; there are weeknight sleepovers that have us in bed at a respectable hour; there are weekends together because we're both 9-to-5'ers.
Although maybe I'm being unfair; maybe this isn't a product of being out of my twenties but instead because I've finally partnered with someone who is my equal, intellectually, professionally and personally, someone who is at the same point in his life as I am in mine. Of course, I'm not trying to say he's "the One" or anything that presumptuous, as it has only been two months. But it's nice to be in a relationship that is good.
I'm not going to lie, it's pretty damn nice to finally get what I want out of a relationship. The fact that he's also getting what he wants is also pretty great. (Because we have wonderful adult-like conversations about that kind of thing. Then we play video games. We are nerds and it is glorious.)
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