Name: Ridley Michael Linton-Martin
Age: 16.4 months
Gender: male...and I've checked. More than once.
Weight: 27 lbs.
Height: Not sure, but damn tall. As tall as most 2-year olds. So that's damn tall.
Temperament: Easy going (see photo) until you try take away my bottle/my toy/Dad's cell phone/your car keys/this fork that I'm poised to jab into my eye...and then I unleash the Beast.

Likes: Milk (otherwise known as "na-naaaah"), Dad's cell phone, Dad's Blackberry, the t.v. remote, the cordless phone, toy trucks, cars and basically anything with wheels, standing on my head, being upside down, Indian food (especially Tandoori Chicken and rice pudding), terrorizing Billie the Cat, when Mum sings the "Meow-Mix" song, having my photo taken.

Dislikes: Sitting still to have my photo taken, Mum wiping my snotty nose, carrots, diaper changes, having my autonomy challenged by that relentless b*tch who continually thwarts attempts to jab self in eye with fork.

Is it ghoulish to routinely scan the pages of the newspaper obituaries for one's own namesake?

Though it's misleading to use the word routinely, I confess that I have on more than one occasion perused the columns of Births & Deaths looking for another Jennifer Linton amongst either set. I haven't, as of yet, discovered one -- either newly arrived or dearly departed.

That is, until now...

"RE-APPEAL FOLLOWING DEATH OF JENNIFER LINTON
27th October 2005

This is an update into the death of Jennifer Linton, the 29-year-old woman who was found dead at an address in Kent Close, Aldridge on 17 October.

The 28-year-old local man previously arrested for murder has been released without charge today.

DCI Balgeet Sidhu, said: "We know that a number of people visited the address between September 15 and 20 and we are in the process of identifying these individuals.

"We urge these people to come forward and we want to hear from anyone who has any information about the incident or the people who visited the address over this six day period."

I feel vaguely ill at ease that Jennifer Linton's murderer is still at large, a fact which suggests that I am superstitious as well as ghoulish.

Driving home this afternoon after an impromptu Korean lunch in the Pacific Mall, Richard launched into an enthusiastic rendition of the French song Alouette. (I have no working theory to connect the teriyaki beef consumed by Richard to this curiously Gallic response). Although the point of the singing was to momentarily amuse/distract/befuddle our overtired toddler, it prompted a discussion between Richard & I as to the meaning of the song. My regrettably weak grade-nine level French recalled that alouette was a bird (a lark, specifically) and that tête meant head. Well, thanks to Google...

So what do we have here? A song about a lovely lark. Getting plucked.

Alouette, gentille Alouette,
Alouette je te plumerai,
Alouette, gentille Alouette,
Alouette je te plumerai,
Je te plumerai la tête,
Je te plumerai la tête,
Et la tête, et la tête,
Alouette, Alouette,
O-o-o-o-oh,
Alouette, gentille Alouette,
Alouette je te plumerai…

…and in English translation:

Lark, lovely lark,
Lark, lovely lark,
Lark, I’m going to pluck you,
Lark, lovely lark,
Lark, I’m going to pluck you
I’m going to pluck your head,
I’m going to pluck your head,
And the head, and the head,
Lark, lark,
O-o-o-o-oh,
Lark, lovely lark,
Lark, I’m going to pluck you…

Oh, those morbid Frenchies. With their children's songs shaded so dark, it's little wonder that they all smoke so much.

Confessions of a Shoeaholic.

I love shoes. No, I love shoes. When I use the word love to describe my unabiding enthusiasm for footwear, I'm not alluding to some weird sexual kink in the fetishistic sense. I am merely a self-professed footwear aficionado. Not any kind of shoes, of course, but shoes which reflect my projected self (to borrow a phrase from Jungian psychology). Shoes which are quirky and playful. Shoes which are a work of art. Shoes which possess certain characteristics that differentiate themselves from the purely functional and run-of-the-mill sort of shoe.

The elegant white shoe showcased at the beginning of this post is what started this whole fascination with footwear. The singlemost expensive shoes I've ever purchased, I paid over $400 for my Peter Fox shoes with the silk-satin ribbon and have worn them exactly once ... on my wedding day. I'd wear them again were it not for the fact that they look like bridal shoes.

Next in the line of "shoes I own and love" are my red Camper Twins which I purchased for 90 Euros (at that time, roughly $150 CDN) in Barcelona during a vacation in 2003. I had never encountered shoes possessed of such a conceptual playfulness before I'd laid eyes on these asymmetrical maryjanes. I'd gladly own a few more pairs of these artful shoes were it not for the fact that Campers generally retail for over $200 CDN in Toronto. Incidentally, the embroidered text reads: "He loves me..." and on the companion shoe "He loves me not..." with the white petals of the daisy blowing across the red canvas of both shoes. Who'd guess that footwear could be so poignant?

Fortunately for us footwear aficionados, funky shoes can also be found at bargain prices if one is willing to search through consignment shops. I found a pair of scotch-tartan shoes by the UK label Swear for $35 in a consignment shop in Kensington Market. Comfy as well as stylish.



As recently as last week, I discovered this unholy marriage of punk sensibilities in an athletic shoe: the skull-patterned All-Star Converse. How much fun are these, huh? I've been wearing them pretty much non-stop since last week and, yes, Converse shoes are still as uncomfortable as I remember them to be.

Lastly, I have a photo of some shoes that I'd love to acquire were it not for my perpetual state of poverty. Fluevogs. Gorgeous, sexy, wild & funky Fluevogs. Yum-yum. I am especially attracted to the Goth-meets-Lolita quality of these black, triple-banded maryjanes. I even own striped tights similar to those pictured.

Okay, 'nuff about shoes. Before ya'll think I'm a vapid, superficial kinda girl, I'll end this post to peruse some Kierkegaard before retiring for the night.

(Just kidding about the Kierkegaard.)