Like most Canuckistanis, I, too, have a cupboard full of empty plastic bags in which once groceries nestled happily and, generally speaking, somewhat cooperatively, although it must be admitted there was that one incident between the canned beans and the eggs…but about that we do not speak. Those are the terms of the settlement, and we do not want to have to deal with a kitchen full of uniformed officers again.

Why, I just got rid of them last night around three.

Well, they weren’t actually in the kitchen, you understand; no, the plumbers have not yet finished with my kitchen (week three, but who’s counting?) and so I am keeping everything out of there as instructed ie: remove all items from kitchen, and even though they did not specifically say, ferinstance, “remove all cops” still it didn’t say “remove all cups” either and I did, so

yeah.

When the man yelled and the gunshot went off, I called the cops. As one does. And soon enough they were here, and lo, it is greatly reassuring to all of us who live in raincoaster global hq that even cops can’t get in unless we go out and let them in, for yea they tried and tried in vain and eventually the dispatcher just asked me to go out and let them in, which I did.

It wasn’t so much Good Cop, Bad Cop: more like Mutt and Jeff Cop, or Mute Cop, Loquacious Cop, or She’s A Chick, You Talk To Her Cop, I’m A Chick Cop, I’ll Handle The Talking Cop.

But they checked things out, gave their professional opinion that the place was bloody impenetrable except (and this is so useful, I should call the cops more often) for that spot in the back corner of the parkade where the razorwire was beat down and that’s where the binner is getting in, so yeah, gotta report that to the manager when he’s back on duty, asked me yet again if I knew a gunshot from a smashed window, and then they left, telling me they’d phone if they found out anything more about the gunshot incident.

Which, when you consider the roaring engine which immediately followed the shot, is unlikely.

Walking them back to the front door, through the hallway, I ran across a couple of my neighbors getting home and you know, lovely people, but that’s just too late for a girl that young to be out, even if it’s not a school night, but anyway, they nodded agreeably at me in Cantonese, as they always do, and I nodded back in Canadian, and they took in the two large, uniformed persons walking slowly behind me and did rather a double take, although I was not aware that the Chinese had such a concept: I thought it was a Jewish thing from New York, but anyway, to assuage their fears, be they in whatever language, I said, “Oh, just out on the street, nothing here” and they laughed, for indeed, what goes on out on the street is pretty much a joke, and then they nodded to us all in Cantonese and went into their apartment.

Where was I? Oh yes, at no point did the police enter my kitchen.

Just want to be clear about that.

Had they done so, they might have asked me why I had a cupboard so full of plastic grocery bags that I can barely close it.

And I would have replied, of course, I don’t have a dog.

Every now and again I get all fired up about the planet and shit, and take a whopping sackful of these things over to Maclean Park, the park where dogs are not allowed. You can identify it by the fact that there are always dogs there. Why doesn’t the City give up, I ask you?

Some of them at City Hall have actually given up, as in one corner of the park, attached to the chainlink fence around where home plate would be if anyone played baseball there, which they don’t as it is always full of dogs who would run off with your ball and then where would you be, eh? is a little plastic contraption with a small, official-looking sign suggesting that you deposit your plastic bags there, for unspecified but easily imagined “keep the park clean” uses.

So that’s what I do with my plastic bags.

This is what I obviously SHOULD do with my plastic bags. Particularly as I look good in an A-line.

This lovely performance art piece has been brought to you by mleak

This was a project I started this summer. I began by collecting grocery bags, which I cut into sheets and ironed together to form a fabric, and then I used them to sew this dress, with a design loosely based on a 50s housewife style.

Then I took it shopping…

Most people just gave me strange, long looks, but a few asked me about it. Most just wanted to know if I was a designer, or what (I love how “I’m an art major” seems to be an excuse for anything). One of the employees wanted to know where he (?) could buy it, and then there was this one very curmudgeony old guy who started talking about industrial disposable aprons and saying “This isn’t anything new! This isn’t anything new!” I love my neighborhood.

…via the Manolo who rightfully points out this is yet another example of what you can get away with as long as you wear good shoes.

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