Radio friends
Carissa Wiens
With pretty strict COVID-19 restrictions in place since November across B.C., I’ve been doing my best to stay within the community I live in (Chilliwack) and to avoid spending time with people who don’t live in my house. Even though I’ve perfected the art of the bubble bath and am far ahead on my homework with all this time at home, life is fairly lonely.
Maybe it’s the loneliness or the fact that every day feels like the one before, but I’ve begun enjoying things I used to despise — talk radio being one of them. When driving to the grocery store the other day I found so much comfort in listening to two morning show radio hosts discuss road rage. There wasn’t anything valuable being said over the 10-minute discussion, but it felt so good to hear people other than Dwight and Jim have a conversation — it almost felt like I had friends again.
This morning with nothing to do and nowhere to go, I went to my car, turned the ignition, and listened to more talk radio. I couldn’t tell you what was said on air, but I do know that the hosts and I all had a great chat together.
What is “good taste in music?”
Kathleen Clingwall
There’s always the question of if the music I listen to is good or bad. So which one is it? I wouldn’t say that I’m very picky with my music taste; I listen to most things besides pop and country music. In fact, I very much dislike pop and country music. I believe there is much better music out there, and in my personal opinion I think all pop music and country music sounds the same. Although I dislike these genres of music, I’m sure there are lots of people who think my “taste in music” isn’t good either. I find that my taste bounces around a lot. Lately I have really been into math-rock, progressive rock, and post-hardcore. I know there are people who don’t particularly like these types of music, and that’s okay.
I don’t listen to music to impress other people; I listen to it because it makes me happy and feel something. I think that people’s ideas and standards of what is considered “good music” are blown out of proportion. There is so much unnecessary judgement around what music someone listens to that people are left feeling bad about what they are interested in. I myself am not particularly bothered when I hear someone listening to country music near me. Sure, I by all means do not enjoy it, but as long as they’re happy with their music about beer, dirt, and women, I’ll be happy with what I’ve got.
A game maid in heaven
Chandy Dancey
I miss when Chilliwack used to have a board game store downtown. One day, I was looking in awe and disbelief at an anime maid board game (that I have relearned is called Tanto Cuore) on display at a store that’s now gone out of business. The owner caught me looking and decided to show off his staff’s amazing customer service skills; the owner asked a pimply, young man to come over to tell me all about it.
I learned about how you’re the lord of a mansion, acquiring anime maids (in the form of cards) to recruit into your work force and building “love” points. It was definitely a mature game — there were suggestive poses and cleavage galore. The way the sales clerk was selling it though was so genuine and serious (since it was a card strategy game after all) that I admit I feigned interest just so he could tell me all about the “private maid” cards. Oh, yes, young gentleman who says he has lots of experience with this lewd board game (probably too much), tell me all about how this game is an improvement on Dominion. Let us talk strategy nuances as this anime artwork stares me in the face, half naked and bending over to clean some furniture.
Spoiled cat
Mikaela Collins
Cats are prone to dehydration, and dehydration can cause urinary tract issues, especially when combined with dusty clay litter (which I use because I am a bad and lazy cat owner). I feed my cat half wet food, to make sure she’s getting some water, but for some reason she doesn’t like drinking from her water bowl. Or from a cat fountain. Or from a dripping faucet. She loves, however, drinking from my mug. At first, I would take her away from my water to her bowl every time I caught her, but the insult of being presented with a steel bowl purchased especially for her made her lose interest in drinking immediately. Eager just to get her hydrated, I started leaving decoy mugs around the house, taking a sip from them and leaving them nonchalantly on a coffee table, or the kitchen counter, or my desk, like a secret agent bumping into a confederate on a subway platform to surreptitiously slip intel into their jacket pocket. And it worked: she would furtively drink from them — for about a month, until I had seen her doing it and not stopped her too many times, shattering the illusion that she was getting away with something.
So, finally, I’ve resigned to letting her drink from my mug. But I’ve seen where her mouth has been. Sometimes she’ll drink with her paws, and I know where her paws have been (in a box full of piss, shit, and perfumed dirt). So, when she sticks her face in my beautiful mug of crisp, clear, ice cube-filled, Brita-filtered water, what do I do? Like a mother who has only eaten peanut butter sandwich crusts, leftover peas, and dry Cheerios for the last three days because I haven’t had the opportunity to make a meal not aimed at the palette of a three year old, I sigh, get up, and pour myself a glass of water. At least she’s drinking, and I’ll save on vet bills.
(Elyssa English /The Cascade)
Chandy is a biology major/chemistry minor who's been a staff writer, Arts editor, and Managing Editor at The Cascade. She began writing in elementary school when she produced Tamagotchi fanfiction to show her peers at school -- she now lives in fear that this may have been her creative peak.
