inneresting fax

* I haven't posted anything here since August.

* Most people visit my blog on Wednesdays, and the most popular keyword used to find it is... halloween (??) followed by nancy kerrigan, which is really the same thing since what they find on my old site when they google those words is a picture of me and Button dressed up as tonya harding and nancy kerrigan one halloween. I am probably not helping to reduce these hits by writing about them now...

* The top 3 blogs sending visitors my way are Bubi's, It's All Grey to Me, and Amy's. Thanks, ladies!

* I write more when I am living less, I suppose. Now I can only think of things like this to say: my curtains broke; I like the dog park on Dr. Penfield for lunch; my kitchen stinks due to leaving a rotting blob of couscous and chickpeas out and I can't wait for trash day; my hibiscus is multi-blooming and I love it; I have a new used tv; I got notification that my new laptop has arrived in the mail; I think the fighting couple was relocated to the first floor of the building but it's only a hunch. I know everyone always wants to know what's up with them...

How I spent my summer(s)

Two summers ago I dated three guys in quick succession. I knew they were all wrong for me. A) great on paper B) a great idealization and C) a great conversation that ended the very second we became a couple, as correctly predicted by him.

Last summer, two of the characters from the year before played starring roles in the Polanski directed version of my life. Murky waters. The third had only a cameo role. Thank God.

This summer, I have learnt about karma, retribution, deceit, and -ultimately- how your adversaries can become your allies by taking the dead weight you've been carrying around off your hands. At first, it's unpleasant but when you realize the major favour being done for you, it's hoorah!

Sarah came over on the day my fridge horoscope (a magnetic calendar with a new message for each day) said the following:

To get what you want, it helps greatly to know exactly what that is. What you want is defined by your real desire, not what you think you'll probably get.

Apt words for our activity that night -besides drinking mojitos-, creating a list of my so-called dealbreakers. I ended up with six, which Sarah thinks is too many, but I had to fight her on it. Dealbreakers are things you will not accept in an FLP (as Sarah calls them), and therefore we converted my list into a contract, which begins thus:

I, Isabel Brinck, hereby solemnly swear that I will not pursue a relationship with anyone who:


and then the points we came up with follow. I could have copied the list here, but it's kind of too personal, I think. Plus, you don't really need to know unless you are a) one of my assigned veto-empowered friends who may axe any undesirable candidates or b) a candidate.

Most of my list is made up of the-worst-of-the-worst of what I've already experienced. If I read it that way, it's pretty pathetic. But going back to the adversary-cum-ally, if I realize that I have been thankfully released from all of these things, than hallelujah, I *love* this list!

Ex Concu

Aqui una entrevista con mi ex-concubina, Consuelo Edwards:

http://www.lanacion.cl/prontus_noticias_v2/site/artic/20070823/pags/20070823184413.html

If you want to have a look, that up there is a link to an interview in a Chilean newspaper of my ex-roommate, the ex-teen pop star.

• Taxes on a ticket supposedly bought entirely with Aeroplan miles: $129

Airport shuttle back home the same day as your flight because it was cancelled due to "temperature difference between Montreal and NY": $14

2 nights of hotel obtained on Priceline, even though you only stayed one because you neglected to pay $5 cancellation insurance: $342

Fee for changing your flight from NY-Toronto-Montreal to the logical NY-Montreal (even though this option wasn't available when you booked your flight): $50.

30 hours with Carmen: worth every penny

photos are available on my Flickr

Grief without Tragedy

Tragedy: an accident; the sudden loss of a young life; a violent death.

My grief without tragedy is like a slow boil, with occasional overflows. I walk slowly, talk slowly, too absorbed in my own thoughts to even realize how absorbed in my own thoughts I am. Sometimes I have no thoughts, and I just stare at things, as though they were talking to me. I am the opposite of anxious.

People approach me with care; others with caution, unfamiliar with death and afraid, perhaps, of saying the wrong thing. Sometimes the best thing to say is nothing. I enjoy an invitation to talk. I can talk about someone who loved me who's gone; about how this places me irrevocably in adulthood; how there's no one left to take care of me and shouldn't I be taking care of someone? I can talk about other things too, not just loss. I enjoy hearing others' good news. I even enjoy hearing others' suffering and tragedy, because it just means we're all still human.

This weekend I am making a trip to New York City - not my annual pilgrammage but a special visit to be with my cousin Carmen. The picture is of my mother, on the left, and hers.