Adventures on the High Sea (aka the St. Lawrence River)
This weekend, as a belated birthday gift, I went on a boat tour of the Thousand Islands. We started out from Rockport and sailed (boated? there was no sail, does that matter?) to Heart Island, home of Boldt Castle.
This was a pretty fun excursion, although I must say, I was a bit wary of the boat we were on. Joe warned me back in May, when the original trip was supposed to take place, which boats were safe and which were not. Unfortunately, I couldn't remember. Anyway, when we bought our tickets, they didn't tell us which boat we would be on. We only found out when we got down to the dock.
I was pretty sure the boat we were getting on had been deemed unsafe by our coast guarding friend. I definitely remembered the name and since I couldn't remember whether I remembered it for good or for evil, I assumed that the boat we were on was the next titanic. This resulted in me thinking quietly to myself many times over "We're all going to die!" (ok. so maybe it was said loudly enough so that the friends who were with me could hear me....or possibly loud enough so that many of the people around me could hear...but I digress...)
I just think that it was more than a little suspicious that the guy who appeared to be heading up this whole operation was never without his life jacket for a second. The rest of us suckers only got to have one if an emergency arose. In the end, there were no unfortunate incidents and we made it there and back quite safely, although I did spend the better part of the voyage assessing how far it was to the nearest island and whether or not I thought my swimming abilities could get me there. ;o)
It's also possible that I wasn't as cool and collected about the potential ship wreck experience as I thought, since last night I dreamt that I was on a boat and it was sinking. I couldn't find one of my sneakers (it was like a party situation where there are shoes everywhere and you can never manage to find yours in the big pile) and I didn't want to leave without two shoes. Also, everyone else was wearing jackets and all I had was a t-shirt. I had to run back and rifle through my luggage to find a sweater and the only sweater I could find was really ugly and didn't match with my leg warmers (???). My brother, Geoffrey (again ??? - and even stranger that somehow I knew it was Geoffrey spelled with a G and not J) kept telling me to hurry up or I would be left behind. Analyses into my psychological problems more than welcome for any dream interpreters out there. But now, back to the story at hand...
Strangely enough, if you want to set foot on Boldt Island you do require your passport or a birth certificate and other government-issued picture i.d. They make you go through this sham of a "customs" office when you arrive. Welcome terrorists to Boldt Island. I mean really? And then another Canadian customs official checks you out as you get off the boat back in Rockport. I wondered about anyone daring to bring a picnic lunch and wondered if their fruit and meat products would be seized upon entering the U.S. In the end, I thought it best not to ask such questions. You don't really want to anger the customs official and get detained on Heart Island. Not much to do there and all the food is overpriced. Really though, that guy must have the slackest customs job known to (wo)man.
The castle itself is quite spectacular on the outside, although the interior is still very much under renovation. As the story goes, "Boldt Castle offers a glimpse into one of the most compelling love stories in history. An eternal monument to the memory of a man's love for his wife. In 1904 construction was well underway on the 120 room castle when tragedy struck. A telegram announcing the death of George C. Boldt's wife arrived...three hundred artisans and craftsmen were commanded to "stop all construction." A broken hearted Boldt never returned to the island."
The most compelling love story in history? Hmmm...not finding it all that compelling, I would beg to differ on that one. Although, honestly, I really can't think of any historical love stories at all, let alone compelling ones. Perhaps Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Browning? As far as love stories go, the Princess Bride is very compelling, but alas it is fictional. Anyone have any suggestions on this?
Anyway, all in all the trip was quite successful. I managed to get in some (hopefully) good pictures..I especially like the theory behind the one of me standing on the balcony of the castle, leaning against the railing and looking mournful as though my lover is lost at sea (now even that is more compelling, and I just made it up right now. Sheesh).
A good time was had by all and it was quite an adventure going abroad for a few hours. :o)
Guess where I am supposed to be right now? That's right. At my physical appointment. Some of you may remember my previous rant about the state of the health care system in our nation's capital. Well, let's just say that I have become even less impressed than I was before, if you can even believe it.
Ok. First of all, a few weeks ago, this whole medical problem for which I was given a placebo deteriorated. I tried calling more doctor's on the oh so very handy list. One place I called was on the list by accident. They only do hair transplants. Oh yes. I can see how hair transplants can be easily confused with family medicine. I will be sure to call them next time all my hair falls out. At the other place I called, the secretary yelled at me and told me they were not accepting new patients. Nice.
As a result, I resigned myself to going back to Appletree. I checked the web site to find out the wait times. It was 4:15 when I went online to check the times for the Slater Street clinic, which is open till 8:00 p.m. It was full. They were not taking any more patients for the rest of the night.
This meant driving half way across town to the clinic on Carling. When I checked the wait time seconds before I left the house, it was 5 minutes. In the 20 minutes it took me to get there, the wait time had increased to over an hour. Anyway, there are some good things about this story, however minor they may be.
They are as follows: The doctor I saw at the Carling clinic didn't just spend 5 seconds with me and push me out the door with a placebo. He asked very probing questions like if I had ever had a brain injury or if I had ever had surgery and other things I never would have even thought of. Then he gave me a requisition for some serious blood letting and told me I should come back and see him in two weeks. Indeed, he actually even apologized for the long way. (Please insert three cheers for Dr. Tyson here.)
Sadly, that is where the good part ends. When I went for the blood letting , they failed to mention that I had to fast for 12 hours first. So, I was sent home to return again some other time. Aside from the inconvenience of having to go back a second time, my next visit went relatively smoothly. Seven tubes of blood later....I could barely stand, but felt slightly relieved that at least now something was being done.
Now, I know what you are thinking. This post does not seem very filled with rage. That is because you have only just finished reading the preamble. Now the real rage begins.
So, the appointment for a physical that was supposed to be held on July 3 was rescheduled for today. That was the absolute soonest she could fit me in. So, I make arrangements to leave work early. Knowing how sketchy Appletree is, I checked my voice mail at home before leaving work. No messages.
Off I go. Drive home to drop off my car. I have a few minutes to spare, before I have to walk to the clinic, so I go upstairs to my apartment to drop off some stuff. The phone is flashing. This is ominous, but I try to think positive. Perhaps it is my sister leaving a message, or my mom returned from the west. BUT NO! It is just as I expected. It is stupid freaking Appletree cancelling my freaking appointment. The doctor is sick...by the way, this is the same lame excuse they used the last time. Said they wanted to reschedule for Wednesday at 2:00 p.m. Call us back if this is a problem. They gave about 1 hour's notice. That's it.
Well, let's just say I called them back. And I was not very nice. First, I asked nicely if I could keep my appointment today and just see another doctor. Oh no. She is the only doctor who is in today. So I said "so you're closing the clinic early since she is sick?" Oh no. She is still going to be there. So basically she is just refusing to see me. And then I am supposed to be happy about the fact that they rescheduled me for a time I can't go on Wednesday instead of making me wait another month. Well, forgive me for not falling at your feet in appreciation. I feel a bit bad now, because technically it is not the receptionist's fault, but I was practically yelling at her.
I am freaking sick and I want to see a freaking doctor and I made an appointment a month ago. I don't think it is too much to ask to actually see the doctor, who is going to be in her office at the time I was supposed to have an appointment, just seeing patients other than me. THIS IS AN OUTRAGE! I can't believe it. Then I said, shouldn't I have some sort of priority here since I have been booked for an appointment for a month. Nope. Sorry. If I walk in off the street, I have more priority than a patient who has made an appointment. I ask again why this woman forced me to sign a form saying that she was my doctor?!!! And if you don't want to see people with appointments then don't make them. But don't make the appointment and then cancel every freaking time with an HOUR' S NOTICE.
Basically the conversation ended with me telling the receptionist what I thought of Dr. Pandian's professionalism and to stick her appointment (I said the stick it part in a slightly more polite fashion) and demanded that she take me off the list of Dr. Pandian's patients. Since I demanded this on the phone, I couldn't really see if she really did it or not. When I go back to see Dr. Tyson on Thursday, I am going to double check and if I am not off that list, I am going down to the Slater Street clinic, asking to see my file and shredding the form right then and there. If I had to do it all again, I would go down there at the time of my appointment and cause a fuss right there so it would actually be the doctor who had to come and deal with me instead of the innocent receptionist victim. Words cannot begin to describe how angry I am at the moment. If I were speaking out loud, I would be using a scary combination of screaming and my sea witch voice. Those who have heard it know what I am talking about.
So, the other day I was, as per the usual, translating EI appeals. In this particular text, the claimant was dismissed because of his own misconduct. The interesting part? He was accused of doing voodoo rituals in the women's bathroom at work.
Now, this is funny in itself, but as I was looking up voodoo in the dictionary to find out if it took a capital "v" (it does not), I came across the following word of interest:
Vomitory - any of a series of large openings as in a stadium or theatre, through which large numbers of people are able to enter or leave. Also, vomitorium (Gage dictionary).
Of course this struck me as being wildly funny. I picture myself going to the Corel Centre and loudly demanding to know where the vomitorium is. Being a language geek, my first thought was to email this info to someone else who might appreciate it (i.e. a couple of the girls I work with).
The best part of this story is that then, Nicole (one of the girls in question), comes to my cube with her Oxford dictionary to give me the other definition of vomitorium.
Vomitorium - place in which, according to popular misconception, the ancient Romans are supposed to have vomited during feasts to make room for more food.
She also tells me that she has a story to go along with it. She then proceeds to tell me about a friend she has from Edmonton, who happens to be Mormon (she had no idea that I was) and who went on a mission. Anyway, as the story goes, he and another missionary went out to eat at some Chinese restaurant and gorged themselves on Chinese food. The only problem was that then they were invited to go to dinner at a member family's house later that day. Well, they were in Italy and apparently it would be very offensive for them to refuse food at the elaborate meal the family had prepared for them. Well, her friend held up ok, but apparently, the other missionary was the type of person who is very open to suggestion. Sounded like he was the type who watches commercials and immediately feels compelled to go out and make purchases. Anyway, I guess this guy was saying that he couldn't eat any more. Nicole's friend was telling him that he had no choice and unless he really wanted to offend these people, he would eat what he was given. Jokingly, it was mentioned that the only way out was to go puke up what he had already eaten to make room for more. Well, the next thing you know, the guy has excused himself from the table and there are horrible retching sounds coming from the bathroom. I think Nicole's friend had to come up with a cover story about food poisoning or the like.
Anyway, the interesting part of this story is that somehow in the course of the telling, I managed to deduce (I am not even quite sure how) that this friend of Nicole's was a guy who had dated a girl I know from church.
This is cool not only in a "it's a small world" sort of way, but also in that we discovered a mutal acquaintance through the word vomitorium. How often can ANYONE say that has ever happened to them!
As a point of interest, there is a band called Vomitory. For curiosity's sake, I took a listen to some samples of their stuff on Amazon. These guys are messed up! This is the kind of stuff I imagine some poor teenager listens to before going out and killing everyone in his high school. It is totally wacked.
Although, when you go to their web site, currently the main headline reads "Vomitory confirmed for Stonehenge." Of course you all know what this makes me think of. Oh yes. This is Spinal Tap.
Key Stonehenge Moments:
Nigel: In ancient times, hundreds of years before the dawn of history, an ancient race of people... the Druids. No one knows who they were or what they were doing...
David: I do not, for one, think that the problem was that the band was down. I think that the problem may have been, that there was a Stonehenge monument on the stage that was in danger of being crushed by a dwarf. Alright? That tended to understate the hugeness of the object.
Ian: I really think you're just making much too big a thing out of it.
Derek: Making a big thing out of it would have been a good idea.
Ok. This stream of consciousness is over. Really. :o)
In rebuttal against accusations that my alias is Emily Leatherman, I offer the following defense:
1) I am only 30. NOT 31. Please don't make me older than I am. 2) I have never been to California. 3) Last time I checked, I was dirt poor, but not homeless yet. 4) I like getting mail too much to have my mail sent to someone else's address where I may never have the chance to retrieve it. 5) I would never throw rocks and screwdrivers over John's fence into his yard. He could get hurt! 6) Any letter I wrote would be interesting and intriguing. He would be calling me for a date, not getting a restraining order. 7) I like a man to come to me. 8) I may no longer be able to feel my feet, but I still have some of my mental faculties about me!
Sheesh. A little credit would be nice people! Haven't you been paying attention at all to anything I say?!
So, since the temperature on Monday was so brutally hot and it was humid and disgusting and smoggy and everything I hate about Ottawa summers, I decided it would be a nice treat to do a post-work beach visit.
So, off I go, towel in hand, to Petrie Island to get some swimming in. Just after I had totally submersed myself in the water, the little lifeguard chick gets on her megaphone announcing that the beach is closing for the day and you are swimming at your own risk because there will no longer be a lifeguard. That's fine. Then she goes on to add, "There is a no-swim advisory because of high levels of E. coli. You are swimming at your own risk." What?! GAH!
So, after two minutes in the water, back I go to shore. I have heard enough of the evils of E. coli to know that it is not something I want to mess around with. Horribly abdominal cramps, blood from places it should not come from and total kidney failure just being some of the possible symptoms. Even if you didn't get sick. Think about it. Where does E. coli come from? Feces. That's right. You are swimming in.. well, you get the point.
But, the horror does not stop there. Then I find out that the lakes in Gatineau Park are "itchy lakes." What exactly does this mean? Oh, that there is a high concentration of some parasite that comes from duck feces. It can get under your skin and cause itchy welts that can last up to a week! See more info here.
I am sorry, but all I have to say about this is EWWWWWWWWWW!
I've said it once (or maybe much more than that). The ocean is the only way to go beachwise. This new info just makes me want to go home that much more. :o(
Ok. So today Ryan emails me at work to ask me if I want to come over for supper. What's on the menu? Deep-fried turkey. I was like "is that some kind of code that really means you are going to buy a bucket of chicken at KFC?" Apparently, the answer to that question was a resounding no!
The deep-fried turkey was actually Mike's baby (not literal baby...in the sense of pet project). I picked up Ryan after work and on the way back to his place, we made a quick detour at the grocery store. Mike only had two 3L bottles of vegetable oil and we needed one more.
So, back at the house, Mike is trying to determine how much oil we will need. We do this by putting the turkey into the giant pot and then filling up the space around it with water. By this method, we discover that 9L of oil is not going to be nearly enough. Might I add, we did the measuring with the plastic bottom off a 3-hole punch because of a distinct lack of rulers in the household.
Ryan and I head back to the store. There, we purchase four additional 3L bottles and 2 packages of gravy. The man who rings in our groceries asks us if we plan to mix them together to make a delicious meal. This of course sends me into another fit of hysterical laughter. This whole "deep fry a turkey" thing all seems so foreign to me, and, yet, it is also an exciting adventure.
Back to the house we go (with a quick detour at Blockbuster, which is selling previously viewed dvds for buy 2 get 1 free). While we were gone, Mike has cleaned up the whole kitchen and rigged some sort of skewar system which the turkey is now spiked on.
The oil now goes into the pot and it put outside on the burner to heat. We discover that somehow we miscalculated the amount of oil needed but figure we can't be that far off the mark.
Finally, the oil is heated. Mike fetches the skewared turkey for the official dunking into the boiling oil. This is where we again discover that we had no idea how much oil we really needed. Mike has the turkey lowered part way into the giant pot and the oil is boiling frantically and splashing all over the place. Miraculously, Mike survives without any 3rd degree burns.
A metal bowel and ladle are then retrieved from the kitchen to remove some of the oil from the top of the pot. Then, a pot is retrieved from the kitchen to remove even more of the oil. Apparetly, our estimate was a little more than a little off.
Once that situation got under control, we just let the whole thing boil around out there for about 40 minutes or so.
I have to admit, I was an unbeliever. I thought, surely after all the oil buying and whatnot, this turkey is not even going to turn out and we are going to end up having turkey à la Griswold family Christmas. But no! A grand total of approximately 40 minutes later, voilà! A deep-fried turkey was born from the pot of oil, crispy and delicious.
Forty minutes! This leads me to wonder why anyone would bother cooking a turkey in the oven! Christmas dinner? Thanksgiving? Deep fry the turkey! So fast, so easy (?) and so delicious.Kudos definitely go out to Mike, chef of the evening.
As for the plan (à la Palmer) to cover the oil in the pot with saran wrap and store it in the garage for daily use, I am not sure I can get on board. How often do you hear the words "mmm...rancid oil..." Not very often, which is exactly my point.
However, I can now sleep easy knowing that my theory that everything tastes better deep fried has been proven true. I must say, I have not spent an evening of hours of hsyterical laughter with such a delicious ending in a long time. Long live the deep-fried turkey!
Hopefully, the pictures and/or video of this exiting evening of fun will soon be posted on Palmer's World.
So, after living in Ottawa for many moons, I have finally found a new dentist. I went in for my initial meet the dentist appointment the other day and I have to say I was quite impressed. He works in that medical health building on O'Connor, so it's close to home and he was very friendly and funny. Hey, if you have to go through the pains of a dentristry, you may as well do it with someone who can make you laugh.
While he and I were discussing my crooked teeth and the possibility of braces, I was informed that my teeth are apparently crowded the same way Jackie O's are. Well, if you have to have a fatal flaw, I guess you may as well have the same one as a celebrity.
This led me to google pictures of Jackie O to try to see what her teeth look like, but it seems that she mostly got her picture taken with her mouth closed. Perhaps she was also self-concious about her "crowded" teeth. Although I did read that she had braces as a kid, so I am not sure why her teeth were still crowded when she got older. I guess braces may not have been as effective in those days. In the only pictures I found of her that showed her teeth, she actually looks a bit scary looking. What does this all mean?
The answer to that question is "I don't know" and, frankly, I am too tired to try to make connections of any sort.
I would like to continue the rant about doctors that was started in Palmer's World. Since I am also not a native to Ottawa, I also do not have a family doctor. Recently, due to health problems, I have started to pay a bit more attention to the situation.
There is a Web site that provides a list of doctors who are taking new patients in the Ottawa area. Apparently there are currently on three doctors in all of Ottawa who are willing to take new patients. Half the time when you call the names on the list, it turns out they aren't even taking new patients, the list just hasn't been updated.
Well, as a last resort, I have been going to the Appletree Medical Clinic. In an effort to avoid sitting in the waiting room for hours on end to see a doctor, I decided that I would just make an appointment for a physical and find out what was wrong with me that way. You can only make appointments for certain things (physicals, allergy testing, foot care, etc.). Anyway, my plan was totally foiled because then they told me that in order to make an appointment for a physical I had to come in and meet the doctor first, but they wouldn't give me an appointment for that. I just had to come to the clinic during her office hours and wait my turn like the rest of the suckers.
So, I go to the clinic. I wait for 1.5 hours. I saw the doctor for about 5 minutes or less. During this time, she gave me a placebo (in my opinion), made me sign a form saying that she was my family doctor otherwise she wouldn't do the physical and sent me on my way.
Since my placebo is not doing me any good, I made an appointment for a physical right away. The clinic called me the day of the appointment (about 3 days later) to cancel my appointment and to tell me that they can't fit me in for another month.
So, back to square one. If I want help now, I have to waste more time sitting in the stupid clinic. Or, I can suffer it out for a month in hopes that the doctor will give me something better the next time. What I can't understand is why I have to sign a form saying that this particular doctor is my doctor and then I can't even make an appointment to see her when I am sick. What is the point? Why have a family doctor at all?!!!
And now, because they suckered me into signing the form, because I was feeling miserable and desperate, even if I do find another doctor who takes appointments, I can't register to have him or her as my doctor for at least six months! AARGH!
What kind of shoddy health care system is this??!!
Also, I am very annoyed that I can never seem to add pictures to my posts anymore. It never works. Bah.
