True Fact: I Am NOT A Fetus Thief, Despite What Some Might Say

I attended the Our Body exhibit at the Science Centre on Saturday, June 19th. Aside from the fact that I spent over two hours touring an exhibit of dead people and their various dismembered parts, it was a pretty innocuous event, or so I thought, until a couple of nights ago when a friend of mine leaned over and said the following:

"So I heard you stole a fetus."

"Huh?" I said.

"I heard you stole a fetus from the exhibit at the Science Centre."

"I took a picture of the fetus from the Our Body exhibit," I said. "It's on my phone. I'll show it to you."

And then I showed it to him:



And then he apologized for having questioned my integrity, as well he should have, and I truly appreciated it, because it is insulting to know that anyone I know would think I would steal a fetus, living or dead.

If you've ever been the focus of a spreading rumour, especially one that is so ridiculous, you will know how it is at once so laughable and yet so infuriating. I mean, REALLY. Like stealing fetuses from science exhibits is how I would decide to while away a Saturday afternoon.

Although I initially laughed it off, that someone I know has perpetuated this ridiculous bit of misinformation by telling other people I know has caused me to become increasingly annoyed, so I went back to my weblog entry about going to the Our Body exhibit to see if I might have written something that made it sound like I stole a fetus from it. I found this:

Then we went into the Our Body exhibit with all the dead humans impregnated with polymers. We were instructed to turn off our cellphones and not to take pictures, but I'm all badass and took this one of a three-week-old foetus.

I think that it's pretty clear that I took a photo of the three-week-old fetus and not the actual three-week-old fetus, and I think that it is also pretty clear that someone with poor reading comprehension skills gathered the wrong takeaway from my entry.

Just in case the rumour's originator is reading this in that same less-than-careful fashion, I will draw their attention to the next two sentences with all-caps and boldfacing and a larger font size and yellow freaking highlighting:

I DID NOT STEAL A FETUS FROM THE OUR BODY EXHIBIT AT THE SCIENCE CENTRE, THANK YOU VERY MUCH. CHECK YOUR HEAD.

Got it? Good. And also? Shut up.

Have any of you ever been accused of being a fetus thief? Let's entertain each other with ridiculous rumours.

Waiting For the Inevitable

It's almost August already. Every year, the summers get shorter and shorter.



Last night, we watched the moon on its course between two buildings. It was too low in the sky and early for a summer evening, it seemed. The nights are already getting longer.



This is the time of year when I feel like Doomsday is about to descend. Winter is coming. I can feel it in my body. I am getting heavier.



I can try to ignore it, but it shadows my every move. I find myself plotting out when I will start taking St. John's Wort again and worrying about how things will go after December when the real weight of depression pushes me under.



If I never saw snow again, I could believe in a just universe.

Fecund

I NEED A VACATION. Or something.

I just took three days away, but I've kind of been snowed under with projects. I am whittling away at each of them with the tenacity of a hungry, little termite, stress on LITTLE.

I can do it, just not all at once, and I kind of want to be able to do it all at once like I have fourteen arms. I would also like to do it like someone who did not sleep in this morning for THREE EXTRA HOURS.

Mostly, I'm just complaining.



Have you read Tortilla Flat by John Steinbeck? I haven't. I don't know if I want to read it or not, because I've found Steinbeck to be hit and miss, and I don't want to plow through a snore-fest. Tell me if I should bother.

Do you like pizza? I like pizza.



There were crispy thin slices of potatoes on this pizza, which was a surprisingly brilliant stroke of food genius. Of course, my Mennonite heritage has bred a love of potatoes deep into my bones. I am naturally biased.



The macabre's a slut for me these days, and I am a sucker for her. Always on about the crows, she is, and I keep picking up what she's laying down.

Not that I actually picked up that bird leg. I did kick it into the sun, though.

This is very scatter-shot. I was going to wax nostalgic and tell you stories about grade eight, but I am in the thrall of chaos today. And yesterday. And likely tomorrow.



Luckily, I have the cutest freaking cat you've ever laid eyes on cute-ing it up for me, reminding me to slow down for a second and kiss his belly.