Some days beat you down, some days restore your faith.

More joy day was the brain child of sdwolfpup who had the idea that once (or twice) a year people should try to give joy to the people in their lives. This is a brilliant idea that I support with a whole heart - I've have some fannish goodies (goody, actually) lately but for now let me tell you about the two people I saw this morning dropping off food and hot coffee to the two homeless guys camped out on the exhaust grates on either end of Bay and Queen streets this moring. I don't know if they were part of an organized charity or just two Samaritans who wanted to make sure that these guys were okay. But it made me feel better as I rushed from streetcar to coffee shop (dropping a toonie in one guy's cup as I passed) to bus to office to see that there were people who cared, who could take the time to check on the least fortunate of our city. And it reminded me that we can always do more, be better, be more compassionate.

Happy More Joy Day to you all.

My life coach just told me that I had to be brighter and shinier.

I'd sulk but it would prove her point.

Things That Made Me Cry Today:

· watching Jessye Norman dressed in le (?) drapeau tricolore singing La Marseillaise

· Land of Hope and Glory from the Last Night of the Proms album I bought from iTunes

· Jerusalem because it reminds me of my grandparents, Kit and Les, and it's just so beautiful and meant.

Things That Didn't Make Me Cry Today:

· the ass who I told to leave the driver alone on the streetcar this evening and, after I told him to take his own advice (he'd told me to be quiet) since I didn't want to listen to him, offered this riposte: "Well we have to listen to you eat, fatty."

Seriously?

Seriously?!

"Fatty" - that's the best your easily 30 pounds overweight, sweatpants and "Beerpal.com" t-shirt-wearing, platic bag and Two/Four-carting, 'I don't have the smarts to get directions before I leave but I will be an ass to the conductor because she doesn't know the way to buddy's house" ass could come up with: "fatty"?

My God.

I am stricken, stricken - I do not know how I shall ever manage to carry on, so mortally wounded as I am by your deadly wit! *swoons*

Or, y'know, not.

To paraphrase Churchill, tomorrow I'll be thinner but you'll still be a rude, mannerless jackass - only not as smart because your average jackass can, at least, find his way back to his stall at the end of the day.

Alas, since I'm posting about this, I can't claim to be completely unaffected after being insulted by such a specimen of Toronto manhood, but I'm kind of pleased with myself because my reaction was largely to be bemused: "we have to listen to you eat, fatty." Seriously? It was like I was suddenly transported back to grade 7/8 [aka junior high] - Oh, Noez, You Called Me Fat; I Must Go And Die of Shame Nowz - only completely different because, not being 14, I didn't quail and crumble inside, open up a psychic vein or anything else. Instead, it was like I showed up for a duel only to have the other guy pull a wiffle bat instead of a broadsword - you think you're going to hurt me with that? Seriously?

Dude, my dad's more verbally abusive saying goodnight after a family party (that was Thursday night, btw - and people wonder why I avoid men). Not to mention, people who wear droopy-ass track pants in public should not be casting no nasturtiums on the appearance of others.

I guess what I'm trying to say is that I feel good and strong this evening, like I discovered that someone had filled in a chink in my armour while I wasn't looking. I was fat as a teenager and I'm fat as an adult (shocker) and it's something I struggle with, particularly in terms of self-confidence and self-esteem. I'd still rather have a body like Katee Sackhoff and I still have a lot of issues related to my appearance that leave me, at best, ambivalent about doing the work and committing to the healthier lifestyle that would bring me closer to that personal ideal. I'm not a happy fat person (I'm actually kind of a frustrated fat person since most of the things I want to do my weight makes more difficult) but I refuse to give in to the people and the prejudices that consider the breadth of my ass the most important signifier of my personal worth. And as long as losing weight seems to be giving into that segment of our culture, there's a very large part of my psyche standing there screaming "FUCK YOU, I'll lose weight when you stop being a vapid, fatuous, shallow fucktard" and giving moral heft to the part of me that would rather go home, take a bath and read a novel after a day at the office than hit the gym. But in spite of all that, I'm stronger and happier and more settled in my self and more confident today than I was before.

So, I guess maybe I'm a little grateful to Mr. Droopy-Drawers for showing me how far I've come because, yeah, I'm fat. But you're still an asshole.

On the whole, I think I'd rather be fat.

I am bright and shiny.

My friends, well, the friend I announced this to today, find this HIGH-lar-E-ous and bordline disturbing. But I am bright and shiny. Bright. And. Shiny.

I am also apparently channelling Shonda Rhimes but that's not the worst thing, either.

I am on a mission to stop being pissed off at the world, so I threw some money at charity and read a briefing from the Assembly of First Nations about First Nations poverty in Canada. To sum up: it's bad, it's worse than bad, it's utterly wretched and all the way messed up. UN-acceptable.

So I signed petition and made a mental note to drop a letter in the mail this weekend to the federal Minister for Indian Affairs (dude, why hasn't that been translated into PC?) and threw the aforementioned money at charity: ONEXONE, which is working to eliminated child poverty in Canada and around the world.

One in six children in Canada live in poverty; that number rises to one in four for aboriginal children.

Unacceptable by any standard.

Other things bright and beautiful:

Mum's home from France with wonderful stories, and a new leather bracelet and ceramic dragon for me.

If the cat insists on tormenting me in the mornings, I am going to torment him right back, torment him with love and cuddle him and tickle him until he leaps for freedom and I can go back to sleep for another 10 minutes.

It's the weekend.

There is a Bernini exhibit and an exhibit of Medieval and Renaissance tchotckes at the Art Gallery beginning tomorrow.

Tollhouse Cookie Dough Ice Cream in my freezer.

New Doctor Who tomorrow and Nine/Rose episodes to watch on Veronica Mac this weekend.