About Alyx Dellamonica

After twenty-two years in Vancouver, B.C., I've recently moved to Toronto Ontario, where I make my living writing science fiction and fantasy; I also review books and teach writing online at UCLA. I'm a legally married lesbian, a coffee snob, and I wake up at an appallingly early hour.

Toronto Day 119 – Running around, buckling down

I was out and about quite a bit this week, and often away from the Internet. Most of it was mentoring gig business–gearing up, essentially, to get back to my usual two days a week on that front. So there hasn’t been much in the way of pictures or posting.

We did go to the monthly ChiSeries reading on Wednesday; our friend Caitlin Sweet was reading from her new book, which is a) awesome; b) YA; c) about Ariadne and the Minotaur. As usual, Kari Maaren performed some new filky works between sets. Here’s her take on Disney princesses and the identity of the true princess of Star Wars.

Cinewitterings: the enduring legacy of Unbreakable

imageIn my home it is taken as a given (or, possibly, holy writ) that Ghostbusters is the most quotable movie ever. But yesterday I was grabbing a couple bites of grilled chicken for breakfast and I found myself saying, “I gotta get some chicken in me.”

Which is from Unbreakable. A movie I liked well enough to see several times when it was fairly new, but not enough to have watched again for years. The movie’s no longer a fave, and yet the line remains: a few times a year when we’re having or about to have chicken, or we’re hungry, one or the other of us will say it.

Media products do this: they fill your mind with heavily contextualized bookmarks, scraps of verbiage that come out when a certain situational trigger is pulled. Sometimes they’re universally recognizable; other times, they only make sense to you. Does anyone else have that chicken line embedded in their mental operating system? I doubt it. But many of you probably know and possibly use “Nuke the site from orbit!” or “They just keep pulling me back in!” or, more recently, “May the odds be ever in your favor,” to form connections with the people we’re talking to by drawing on our shared cultural experiences.

This morning when I was changing the sheets, Kelly asked if I needed help. “I have help,” I replied, which was my way of making a joke of the fact that Rumble had embedded himself in the process. He looooves to play with bed linens. He climbs under the fitted sheet and tries to see through it and bat at everything that passes overhead.

As I said this I thought, as I always do when someone’s being unhelpfully helpful: Good Smeagol always helps.

Thanks, Gollum.

So. “Gotta get some chicken in me,” is the bit of Unbreakable that I carry around. If Bruce Willis’s character hadn’t been so taciturn, maybe I’d have something more memorable.

Toronto, day 104, Shallow Blather of Shopping

There’s a bit of a shorthand developing here as Kelly and I figure out where we’re getting the things we consider necessary. The phrase “the new” crops up: the godlike Forno Cultura bakery is ‘the new Fratelli‘s’. We still need a new Grotto Del Formaggio–there are cheese shops in the Kensington Market, but I haven’t fallen in love with any of them.

About half a click from our front door on Woodland Drive was a store called Wonderbucks. It had high-end dollar store stuff, a bit of furniture, and a resident cat, Morgan:
Morgan, resident cat at Wonderbucks, on Commercial Drive in Vancouver.

So far, the niche formerly filled by Wonderbucks has been filled by HomeSense, Winners, and a franchise dollar store. None of which is as satisfactory.

The new ‘place with a resident cat’ is Brava, a dress store on Queen that stocks the Desigual dresses I fell in love with in Italy. Brava, interestingly, is not the new Angel Vancouver. On the downside, their salespeople are a bit too pushy. On the upside–very much on the upside!–they have beautiful things that fit Kelly. You will die from the adorbs when you see the latest dress.

The wonderful Jackie at Angel, meanwhile, has found another line of gorgeous colorful dresses from Spain. They are called Smash! Wear, a generic enough term that I haven’t been able to search up a store here in Toronto that carries them.

I suppose the obvious lesson here, if I were to draw one, would be that retail opportunities are eminently replaceable when one lunges across the country, whereas one’s wonderful peeps are not. Rest assured, beloved Vancouver friends, you are missed. I probably don’t say this enough.