Types of Babes.

Bill’s and Partygirlie’s comments after my Sexualist vs. Sensualist post, in which they talk about getting off on/in libraries and bookstores has prompted me to reveal my highly coveted list of Types of Babes. Keep in mind this is blork talking, so I’m not going to fall into that rut where “babe” means some kind of Barbie doll chick. Au contraire, a Barbie doll-type has to work extra hard on other things to overcome that handicap.

As such, for the purpose of this (and any further) discussion, a “babe” is a female person who isn’t hard on the eye-bones (this is very subjective and widely variable), and who exhibits the proverbial je ne sais quoi that transforms her out of the morass of the ordinary into the exhalted realm of the extraordinary. This can be as simple as how she wears her scarf, but is usually a complex arrangement of physical characteristics (with “cleanliness” at the top), plus style, attitude, smarts, wit, sensibility, and lack of annoying habits.

There are, however, a number of specific short-cuts, which are categorized below. If a woman fits into one of these categories, the chances of her achieving “babe” status increases by a full order of magnitude.

Thus, for your intellectual enjoyment, I present blork’s taxonomy of babeness:

  • Women in book stores (book store babes)
  • Women who drink scotch whiskey and don’t make a big deal of it (highlander babes)
  • Women in long black dresses who play the cello (cello babes)
  • Women who will eat just about anything I put in front of them (not-fussy babes)
  • Women who fall down when they laugh (fall-down-laughing babes)
  • Women who love to travel (travelling babes)
  • Women who love my cat (Spiff-lovin’ babes)
  • Women who know how to be angry without being hurtful (non-nasty babes)
  • Women who are jounalists—particularly Canadian TV journalists (news babes)
  • Women who don’t think I’m a dope (very astute babes)
  • Women who wear big knobby sweaters (sweater babes)
  • Women with Russian accents (ruška-babeškå)
  • Women who write plays, novels, or magazine articles (writerly babes)
  • Women who are astronauts from Quebec (les cosmo-babes)
  • Women who ride scooters (scooter babes)
  • You, if you’re still reading this

We eat!

For the next week I plan to write down and report to you at the end of each day everything that I have eaten that day. I do this for three reasons: (1) because I want to see it in writing for myself, (2) by publishing it here I hope to shame myself into eating less, and (3) because my millions of fans want to know!

I will report everything. I won’t break it down by times or meals, but it will be in chronological order. I am not, strictly speaking, on a diet, although I am trying to be more careful about what I take in. I am very loosely following the Montignac method, meaning I try to separate fats from carbohydrates (i.e., don’t eat both at the same meal), and I avoid processed sugar and white flour. (A note to those avoiding white flour: most “multigrain” breads you see on the market are full of white flour.) Most of what I eat is home-made. Also, my morning coffee has half 2% milk and half cream, but no sugar. (Shaddap, I like it that way.)

I’ll be blogging about other things too, but at the end of each day there will always be a food count. Starting today.

Wednesday’s Yummies
• Oatmeal with apples and cinnamon
• 1 large coffee
• 1 low-fat lemon-multigrain muffin
• 1 breaded & baked chicken breast with steamed broccoli
• 1 apple
• 1 banana
• Simple salad of greens and grated carrots with a whisper of white wine vinegrette
• Gluten-free corn flour penne pasta with roasted tomato sauce
• 1 glass of red wine

I hate the cost of saving a few bucks!

In January of 1993 some idiot kicked in my door and stole all of my cameras and my VCR. I was a student of photography at Concordia U. at the time, so losing my cameras was a real blow, on top of the fact that the woman I was married to had walked out a week earlier.

Aside from the trauma of the violation, which included a boot print on one of my pillows and a couple of horrified cats, it turned out to be like winning the lottery, because I was insured.Basically, I traded in an armload of broken and shopworn early-80s-era Minoltas for a full and up-to-date Nikon kit that I had previously not even dared dream of.

In there somewhere I also got a new VCR. I decided to save $50 by buying the non-stereo version of the very expensive 4-head Sony VCR that I had selected. What was the point, considering my TV had only one speaker? (Historians will note that I did, however, toss an extra $200 for half an f-stop on the 50mm f1.4 lens that I chose over the more conventional f1.8 model.)

Two years later I was much better paid at work, had a much bigger TV, and was able to run a VCR through my stereo had it been a stereo VCR! In the meantime, I had taken maybe one or two photos with the 50mm 1.4 lens, prefering instead the more natural–for me–28mm wide-angle lens.

Alas, my VCR was not stereo. So I spent several years in mono (occasionally running a split mono feed through the stereo speakers). Then, a year or so ago my (then) girlfriend suddenly found herself without a VCR. She was still running a straight-to-(20-year-old)-television feed, so my mono machine was perfect for her, and it was still running like it was brand new.

So I jumped at the opportunity… I passed the Sony machine on to her (in exchange for many smooches) and upgraded my VCR. Not long after that I went insane and ended up with a 5-channel stereo receiver, 5.1 speaker system, DVD player, etc.

OK, OK, so I got over the woes of my $50 savings from 1993. What I didn’t tell you is this. Just before my recent sound-system upgrade rampage, I bought a 5-disk carrousel CD player for the insanely low price of about $120 (CDN). I got the cheap, but widely regarded, RCA RP8065. For a few dollars more I could have gotten the RP8070. The only difference is that the RP8070 has an optical output for pure digital delivery to the receiver. Big Freakin’ Deal sez I. I don’t even have a freakin’ digital receiver!

A month later I had a digital receiver.

OK, frankly, I doubt I can tell the difference aurally. But the difference smashed me over the head last night when I went to transfer a mix CD I had made on my PC to a MiniDisc. My MD recorder is a portable player/recorder that came with an optical cable for direct digital recording from a CD player to MD. But I can’t do that because my CD player doesn’t have an optical output! My only workaround is a bunch of analog patches. Can you spell D-E-G-R-A-D-E? REM never sounded so fuzzy.

Alternatively, I can buy an RCA-to-¼inch patch cord for not much less than I would have paid for the upgrade to the more expensive machine with the optical feed, and suffer only minor analog humiliation.

As much as I like to think of myself as something of an anti-materialist, this is a lesson learned and unlearned and relearned, over and over: Think ahead!

Bye bye Oreo…

Sadly, I’m here today to once again eulogize a cat. You may recall that back in February, my faithful 14-year-old cat Larry took sick and was euthanized. (Check the archives.) Larry was part of a loopy threesome of cats I shared with Kathy ten years ago. First there was Larry, who we got in the fall of 1987. Then Oreo came along in 1989 (I think…maybe 88). Finally, Spiff joined the club in 1991.

When Kathy moved to Vancouver in early 1993 she took Oreo with her. Well, more accurately, I delivered Oreo when I visited not long after she moved there.

I had to give Oreo a tranquilizing pill, which the Vet had perscribed, before putting her on the plane. It was an early flight, and I was quite poor back then, so I gave her the pill before leaving the house. Then I carried her in the cold winter air to the Metro, where I rode with the going-to-work crowd all the way to the Lionel-Groulx station. From there I hopped the 211 Express bus to Dorval, and then another bus for the short hop to the airport. Oreo, who was normally very quiet and introverted, howled like a banshee the whole way.

Finally, at the airport, the pill kicked in. It was kind of funny, actually. She looked drunk. She was awake, and somewhat alert, but her reactions were very slow and her tongue was sticking out of her mouth a bit, making her look a bit stunned. I handed her over and she was checked into the special animal compartment. She survived the flight and was as cool as a cucumber when I picked her up in Vancouver.

Kathy informed me today that Oreo, so-named because of her cookie-like black and white fur, was struck by a car and killed yesterday. She says she didn’t suffer.

I haven’t seen Oreo in many years, but I remember her very well. She got along reasonably well with Larry, but Spiff was a terror as a kitten (still is) and he used to drive her crazy. Oreo, as I said, was quiet and introverted, but very affectionate. She didn’t talk much unless you put her in a car or took her on the Metro, in which case she would yowl so loud your eardrums would rattle. She was soft and a bit chubby and had thick lucious black fur with white highlights here and there, such as on her paws and her chin and belly.

When we first got Spiff I was about to enter Concordia University to work on a BFA (part time) with a major in Photography. One day I was looking for something to photograph, and there was Spiff, terrorizing Larry and Oreo, so I got down to cat’s eye view and photographed the shenannigans. It went on for hours. I ended up making a little book about it. It begins with a formal portrait of each of them, then ten fighting shots (Spiff is in every one–it’s always Spiff against one of the others), and ends with a picture of the three of them napping at the foot of the bed.

Here’s one of the pictures of Spiff (left) getting ready to pounce on the much larger Oreo, who is trying to defend herself: