And Here Are Some More...

Because all the good phones come with cameras:

I downloaded some pictures from my phone. And it's D-i-Y captions.

It Tastes Like Stabbing

Well. Bear and I certainly had an eventful weekend. We did almost all of our Christmas shopping on Saturday. Then, on Sunday, in an effort to make Bear forget about his stress for a while, I talked him into coming for a walk at Crystal Crescent with me and Marlowe.

"Come on--we'll be gone forty-five minutes, an hour tops. You'll still have lots of time to get your work when we get home."

It was a beautiful day yesterday--all the snow from the day before was melted, and it was really warm. We had fun watching Marlowe play "Dig." It's an easy game--you start digging in the sand, and Marlowe gets excited and helps you dig a hole or six. Afterwards, we decided to walk over to the big rocks past the third beach. Marlowe kept disappearing into the woods. Bear and I sat on the rocks and watched the spray as the waves hit the shore. Marlowe had been gone a while, so I went to look for her so that we could head back. She came bounding out of the bushes and ran along the rocks towards Bear, and I followed her.

"Porcupine!" Bear called.

I looked towards the woods. "Where?"

"Here. In her chin. Marlowe tried kissing a porcupine."

Oh shit. Marlowe had a big prickle-beard. So we sat down on the rocks and Bear held her while I started pulling quills out of Marlowe's chin. There were a lot of them. Before too long, I got a little squeamish, and we traded off. Bear got most of them out before Marlowe started fussing and squirming. The last few quills had worked their way in deep, so we decided to take her home and pull them with pliers. (How the hell do you spell "pliers?" With a y or with an i?)

So, in order to try and keep her from working the quills further in, we carry her as far as we can. Guess what? That little dog is pretty heavy. Also, it turns out that Bear sat on some quills I'd pulled out while he was working on the rest. The stuck into his pants and stabbed his bum while he walked. Finally, we get her back to the truck, and I hold her while Trent drives home. Marlowe, of course, is so relaxed that she falls asleep almost immediately. I guess making new forest friends can really tire you out.

When we get home, though, she won't let us get near her chin. She keeps biting the pliyiyiers. By this time, only the tips of the quills are showing. We look up the emergency vet clinic. It's in Dartmouth. Joy. Everybody back in the truck.

I won't tell you about the long wait, the trip to Tim Horton's to kill time, or the crying guy in the vet's waiting room. Long story short, Marlowe got Surgery #4 (for those who are counting), and the vet removed three porcupine quills from her mouth, and three from under her tongue. Then we got to take our very stoned dog home for the night. She cried until I let her sleep cuddled up next to me on the bed.

The good news is, we'd done most of our Christmas shopping the day before, so if you were expecting a Christmas git from us, you probably won't be disappointed. Oh--and, by the way, we think Ozzy has a bladder infection, so he's at the vet today, too. Trent and I are giving each other healthy pets for Christmas.

Becca in Newfoundland

I tagged along on nother one of Trent's business trips. Today, we're in St. John's, NL. Despite the cold, a massive fall of fresh snow, and The Plague that Trent contracted in Halifax last week, we managed to do some low-grade touristing yesterday. Unfortunately, the weather is too bad, or we would have gone to see the really cool stuff. Now, Manitoba and the territories are the only provinces left on my too-see list.

I'll post a photo of Trent on North America's Oldest Street as soon as we get home.

And don't worry about the monsters--Meg is taking good care of them!

Marking marking marking marking marking...

...marking marking marking marking. Marking.

Marking.

"I don't really think you need to worry about it being any good if YOU write it, Kyle."
--StrongBad.

Big Love

to all of you guys who cheered me up and gave me good advice when I was feeling so rotten last week. I miss you guys (except Meg, who is here!).

I Should Start My Own Driving School

My friends, when you pick up your drivers' license study guide, there are a lot of terms that just. aren't. in there. For instance, I learned from Toni that when you're parking in a lot, and there is no car in the space in front of you, so out drive straight through to the far space, and can drive forward to leave the parking lot afterwards, that's called an Innie-Outie (minds out of the gutter, please). Also, if you, say, got your driver's license in a small town, where there were no two cars to parallel park between, leaving you miles of room to perform the manoeuvre (ha! had to look the spelling of that word up. I suck), and no clue on how to do it properly, you seek out double-long spots, which you can then pull straight into, then back up and drive forward until you're close to and parallel with the curb--this is called a Squeak-in. And, when you go through an intersection and have to drive in a loose N-shape to meet the road on the other side, which may or may not be the same road you started on, this is called the Halifax Squiggle. Because there are lots of them in Halifax. Well, guess what. Last night, we found a new one.

The background: yesterday, I was marking papers, and students kept doing that thing where the first, dependent clause doesn't gramatically refer to anything in the rest of the sentence, and I couldn't remember what it was called. I hunted down Trent's old Scribbling for Idiots (Engineering English, folks) handbook, but couldn't find it in there. It's very hard to look up a term whose name you don't know. This applies to people, too. Anyway, I called my friend Meg, who is a grammarphile and asked her. She flipped through her handbooks until she found it: it's a dangling modifier. Happy with the results of my phone call, my day went much better after that (yes, good catch, that is an example of one). By the way, did you know there's such a thing as a squinting modifier? Neither did I.

So. Back to the meat of my story: last night, Meg and I had a date to see a play together. It was in a cathedral on Tower Road downtown. Tower Road stretches from the hospital at South Street to Point Pleasant Park at the southern end of the peninsula. It's a short road, and I used to walk it several times a week to get to the park. That's weird, I thought. I've never noticed a cathedral on Tower Road. So I picked up Meg and we headed to Tower Road in plenty of time. Weird, Meg said when I gave her the address. That's on my running route, and I don't remember a cathedral there...
We parked near the hospital end of the street, and walked down to the other end, and then back up again. No cathedral. I called Trent at home and got him to double-check the address. 1300-something Tower Road. We walked back up to the top of the road, where Hana (my truck, people. Keep up!) was parked. The numbers end just under 1200. We checked the map to see if there was a Tower Road in Bedford or Sackville or something. Nope. We stare at the little streets on the Halifax map. And there, blocks to the North and West of the end of Tower Road as we know it, is a tiny little line also labelled "Tower Road." Gah! We get in the truck, drive like mad to Robie, park, and rush to the Cathedral, arriving about five minutes late!

So. This experience has led Meg and me to coin a new driving phrase.

Dangling Street: A street, road, or avenue which ends, then continues briefly and unexpectedly elsewhere, with no apparent connection to its other section or sections.

I Cheer Me Up

Actually, Phil cheered me up. I had a bad day yesterday, but fortunately, he'd emailed me this. If it doesn't make any sense to you, that's probably because you missed the original.
M'kay. Now cheer me up please. Post stuff like references to the state that rhymes with Myoming.

By the way, I think I'm going to start posting Beccafacts for the edification of interlopers. Beccafact #62: Becca thinks Trent is the cutest boy ever. Becca hearts Trent.

Viking Update

It's 1 p.m. and Trent, for the first time all week, is upstairs sleeping for longer than 2 hours at a stretch. He's been on the Outlander set every night this week (minimum 10 hours a night--usually closer to 14!), plus, every day except Friday, put in nearly a full day at the Day-Job. Ech! The good news is he's as in the movie as an extra gets! He is one of Gunnar's Raiders, apparently (insert Phil's trademark "I don't know" sound here). And the alien monster looks like... a big black board with a white X on it. CGI monster. Let's guess what it will look like when the movie comes out! Here are my picks:

• Flying Spaghetti Monster
• Nancy's walking, gulping monster
• Ozzy the Cat
• A Big, Scary Black Board with a White X on It.

Interlopers Beware: Dangerous Rant Ahead

Something has been bothering me lately, but, due to the moderately public nature of my Blog (and to the fact that, as Tania pointed out, I don't make a lot of effort to conceal my identity online), I had decided not to talk about it here. Also, in an ongoing (and, admittedly, not always successful) effort to be a kinder, more respectful person, I decided it was not nice to say not nice things about other people. Today, however, I'm about done holding it in--it's like I've eaten a big pot of beans, emotionally speaking (actually, I did have beans for supper tonight, literally speaking. Castmates beware). So. If you're keep reading, there's a chance that what you read might offend you. Fairly warned.

Okay. You guys have heard me say this before, but I think that the most important quality to possess is respect. Respect other people--their feelings, their time, their possessions, their opinions. This often means that you have to set aside what you want in favour of what someone else might want or need. It's particularly important in professional settings, or in situations in which a lot of other people are counting on you. Y'know, like in the theatre.

Since I started work on the play (you guys know which one), cast members have been dropping out on an almost weekly basis. It irritated me during rehearsals; if you can't commit to something, don't commit to it. At all. Especially when other people are counting on you. It irritated me even more--and, I have to say, rather hurt me--when one cast member in particular, with whom I felt that I was developing the beginnings of a friendship, quit less than 24 hours before opening night. I was really, really hurt and angry when another cast member quit on Tuesday--in the middle of the run, three shows left to go! This one particularly sucked, because he and I had been developing a definite friendship, and, as self-centred as this may sound, I haven't even received an apology or an explanation from him. He and another actress (who very selflessly took on an extra role the day before our originally-scheduled opening night) and I had a key scene together. Can I please also mention that these last two defections meant last-minute, extra rehearsals for me and a few others, in the middle of or right before our performance run? Can I also add that I am really, really busy right now, and don't really have time to give up my evenings at the last minute?

Anyway, the other night, after I left insane-sounding messages on Phil's, Toni's and Meg's answering machines, I talked about the situation with another castmate. She was sympathetic, she was angry too, she is also friends with the defectors and she also felt betrayed by their decision to selfishly and unprofessionally leave the show. Guess what? Today, we all got an email from her. She can't make tonight's show, and can we go on without her? She's sorry, but she was called at the last minute onto a movie set, and, after all, that's her career.

Woah. Despite the obvious hypocrisy and selfishness and inconsiderate and unprofessional behavious, that's her career? Guess what. I have a career too. It's called being a graduate student. I even get paid for it. And guess what else. When I have to attend extra rehearsals because another actor has decided that they decide that they have more important things to do, it cuts into my work time. But guess what else. I made a commitment to the rest of my castmates, to my director, and to the people, who, god knows why, bought tickets to see the show. So sometimes that means I have to make sacrifices.

And you know what else? When I found out that my Mom was going in for hip surgery on opening weekend, the only reason that I didn't beg Trent to cash in our Airmiles so that I could fly to BC and take care of her was that I had made this commitment (am I misspelling that? oh, who cares). So I don't really want to hear about other people's really, really good reasons for not being able to fulfill their commitments right now.

I am so angry right now. Of course, when I get home at midnight, I might repent and delete this entry, so read fast, my friends...

My Viking is so Cute...

when he's not burning and pillaging.

Trent just emailed these pics from his cell phone--he's on the Outlander set as I type. Viking technology rules!

You'll have to get him to tell you who his Viking friends are, because I have no clue!

Blog Existentialism...

So. Since I've started posting about The Balcony, either my Blog has been getting a lot more hits, or else I'm just much more aware of the number of people that find it by Googling stuff that I talk about here--the play, for instance. The first weird instance was Paul, a friend of Balcony castmate Veronica, who found me while trying to get info on the show, posted a comment, then introduced himself to me on opening night. Quite disconcerting, actually. To be perfectly honest, I quite enjoy it when some strangers, like Meg's friends Megs and Rice, who followed the Blog trail to me and started to post comments--and I've started reading Megs' Blog and posting to it, too--but... well, maybe I'm just more comfortable with distance. I feel like I'm sharing something intimate here (though not as intimate as what a certain belly-dancing friend of mine shares on her Blog, mind you...) with friends and close family, and sometimes with strangers that I'll probably never meet. Either way, it's a comfortable place. But last week, a theatre group from Montreal found my Blog and followed it to Theatre de Boheme's site, and emailed my director, David. He mentioned the other day that he'd checked out my Blog and, frankly, I was mortified. Now, don't get me wrong--David's a great guy (seriously, if you're reading this David, you rock!) but it kind of felt like getting caught in my underwear (ironic, actually, since, in any non-big-budget theatre production, your castmates will see you in your underwear, and it's not a big deal--everybody has to do their costume changes in the same close quarters!). I like David, but, like everybody that I've met in Halifax so far (except Meg and Nikki), he's not really in my comfort zone yet. At least, I haven't invited him in...

So. All this has got me thinking about why I Blog. I mean, if my director and castmates can find my Blog, my students probably can too... and do I want them seeing, say, my Flying Spaghetti Monster rant about late assignments or my appeal for teaching help? Or what about profs and other students in the department, who might read my Rhapsody on a Rejection Letter? And I remember that, one time, when I was clicking around Tania's Blog, I read a story about a guy who had been fired because of stuff he wrote about his job on his Blog. Maybe it would just be safer to start sending all this stuff in an email. The problem, though, with emails is that, first, mass emails suck. I mean, who wants to get their Inbox clogged up with weekly updates on their friends' lives? It seems so impersonal, too, sending the same message to your best friend, your brother, your mom, your parents-in-law, your former harbour-hitchhiking partner, your new friends, your old friends, your former co-bridesmaid, ... you get the picture. And yet, who has the time to send a gazillion personal emails, all telling the same story about the time you got to be an extra in a movie about Vikings? I mean, I love you all (at least, those of you I know and have met in person more than once...) but I know that, as a long-distance correspondant, I kind of suck. I've never much liked talking on the phone (at least, not since I left my 'teens!) and emailing still seems so impersonal to me. But Blogging has the advantage of being able to tell a story once--like at a party, or over coffee. And you guys know how much I love private parties and going out for coffee. Also, I love it when you guys post comments on my Blog--it makes me feel connected to you, to home, to a community. I love it because it feels like I'm actually having a conversation with you. I know that I'm weird about it, that I'm constantly begging you guys to comment on my Blog, but it's because this way, I actually feel like I'm hanging out with you guys, chatting it up, in a way that email and phone calls just can't manage. (Nones, it's breaking my heart that I haven't heard from you on here in a while!) Also, I can share pics without filling up your Inboxes and making important messages from fake banks and porn sites bounce back (because, as we all know, the internets are not a truck!). Frankly, I really like Blogging. More than anything else, it keeps me from getting too homesick. I like reading other people's Blogs (Mom, Roz, Toni and Julie, even though you haven't posted for months, I still check every day, just in case!) and I get so excited when I see that there are new comments on my Blog. So. I guess that's it. I'm going to have to suck it up and risk having my students try and blackmail me for stupid things I post, or have aquaintances tease me about the dumb stuff I say. Hell, this post alone has furnished interlopers with a fair bit of ammo, I think...

Finally--Viking Pics!

The Dal computers are letting me do what my laptop won't!

Sadly, Trent's shoot last night got cancelled due to heavy rain (they were claaing the set Atlantis!"). Here's hoping they call him back out there soon...
And, on a completely unrelated note--glad he's not my Premier!

Viking: 29 years in the making

Yay! Bear got called to the Outlander set for a night shoot tonight! Of course, it's miserable, cold and and raining in Halifax today, so he might regret his Viking tendencies before sunrise, but with a little luck, he'll get close enough to the camera for us to be able to recognize him.

Send your warm, dry thoughts to Trent-Bear tonight, guys.

Some People Are Just Jerks...

Becca: (after a long day) I love you, Trent.
Trent: (intently playing guitar) I love this riff.

And you guys wonder why I'm not very sentimental?

Not Much to Do in Sydney NS...

Except Blog, of course. Trent has another overnight business trip and I tagged along. We don't have time to do any of the touristy stuff (like Louisbourg or Glace Bay Miners' Museum or the Cabot Trail) but at least I can say I've been to Cape Breton...

Yay.

Hugs to my Mommy

Esme officially became a Bionic Woman yesterday! Ron says she's doing well, and that she'll be home from the hospital by Monday.

A Post from Inside the Cathouse...

Well, The Balcony opened last night. We had an impressive audience... of four. One was Trent. One was Paul Kimball, my castmate Veronica's friend, who posted to my Blog recently,--and, by the way, it's a very surreal experience to meet Blog people in the real world!--another castmate's girlfriend, and the fourth, a reviewer. Eep. However, considering that we've replaced two cast members in the past week--one only two days ago!--I think we did pretty well! I'll try to upload some pics, but I still can't upload the Outlander images. If they do go up--and stay up--know that, sadly, the blonde in the group pic is the one who dropped out suddenly last week.

By the way, here's a story about me having to eat crow: after having spoken to her for a grand total of thirty seconds at our first rehearsal, I decided that I didn't like Veronica. This is due to an unfortunate association--she's acted in a few Trailer Park Boys episodes, as well as in the movie. As some of you may remember, a bunch of TPB actors made my birthday experience a rather uncomfortable one. And so, my brains formed a remarkable equation: TPB actor=jerk.
Nice, eh? Except it turns out that Veronica is a really, really lovely woman. I am a terrible person. Who makes awful snap judgements. And who lives to regret them.

Viking Women Don't Wash.

Though, apparently, they do wear really cool clothes!

Last week, I got called to do a night shoot for Outlander. So, at 10:00 p.m. on Thursday, I headed out to the second unit set which, fortunately enough, was just this side of Spryfield, only 10 minutes from home, where I sat in a big tent with 20 other extras and waited. First, I waited to get costumed. Then I waited for hair and makeup. Then I waited while the crew had their dinner break. Then, while most of the other background performers slept on chairs and tables, I waited for us to be called to the set. And waited. Finally, around 5 a.m., they told us that they were having trouble with the wind machine, and to please wait a little while longer. Shortly before 7, they told us that they wouldn't be able to fix the wind machine before sunrise, and that they would have to shoot the scene on Friday night, instead. So I went home, showered, slept for just over an hour, then went to school to lead a tutorial on Othello. I came home, got a little more sleep, then headed off to Balcony rehearsal, and, from there, straight back to the set to wait some more. Around 3, while everyone else was sleeping, I tried to read, but discovered that I was so tired that I could actually no longer read. At all. It was weird--like I was looking at Latin or engineering symbols or something. So I put away the book and waited some more. Finally, finally, finally, around 5 a.m., they loaded us up in vans and drove us to the lake--a tiny, calm little lake that stands in for the ocean. They handed me 3 logs (apparently, as far as Viking women go, I'm not all that tough) and told me to carry them into one of the two lodges when they called action. We rehearsed a few times before they took away our coats, cranked on the wind and rain machines--we were villagers fleeing from the storm--and we did it for real a few times. As long as they don't cut the scene, you might just be able to see me walking from a fire into a lodge. Look for the white sleeves and grey tunic-thingy. They built two lodges, but apparently, they're going to CGI more into the background. Actually, the set looked pretty cool, even from close up. Two other extras, Colleen and Joanne, had to carry dried fish in out of the rain. Real dried fish. Fake rain. They smelled great afterwards.
Here are some pics from Joanne's camera in the holding tent. You'll notice that hair and makeup consisted of making us look... unwashed. And that the costumes were meant to make us look busty and sexy (the costumer's words, not mine).
Now cross your fingers that Trent gets called soon!
(Okay, I'm trying to upload the pics... stay tuned.)

Be Beautiful.

And think a little about what beautiful means to you--not to the advertisers. They're the ones who started the escalating standards of beauty; it's nice to see that now, they're showing us how unattainable those standards really are!

Check it out.

Save Us, Jeebus!

So. Eomer's out and Jesus is in. Apparently, Karl Urban got dumped from Outlander in favour of Jim Calviezel, and rumours are rampant about whether or not filming has started yet... and Trent and I haven't heard a thing. So cross your fingers for us and hope that we haven't gone out with the bathwater, so to speak.
Meanwhile, I'm really enjoying my time in the brothel for The Balcony.

All in All, A Productive Day

I chopped a crapload of wood for winter, I learned my lines for The Balcony, and I shaved my legs.

Okay, Trent helped chop the wood (a little) and he worked on my lines with me. But the leg shaving, that was all me. And I did my armpits while I was at it.

Happy Birthday Trent!

29 Today!

More Lakes and Trees...

I needed a break from my Early Long Poems of Canada (euch.) yesterday, and it was fabulously warm and sunny out, so I took Marlowe for a walk on Crystal Crescent Beach. As I was enjoying the warm sun, cool sand and ocean water on my bare feet, it occurred to me that my favourite places in the world are the ones where I've gone hiking with dogs: the rural roads and tiny villages up the mountain from the Diots' in France (with Tacot), Elk Island outside of Edmonton (with Trent and Marlowe) and now, Crystal Crescent. The tide was really low yesterday--so low that the place where Nancy slipped on a rock in the water was dry, and there was another small beach beyond the small one where Phil, Nancy Trent and I hung out--but before the nude beach that Julie, Emmet and I walked to when we lost Bob and Trent (yes, please contemplate it, Gentle Readers). And suddenly, it occurs to me why there's so much bad topographical poetry in Canadian Literature--I actually had the urge to rhapsodize on the rocks, the trees, the sand and the ocean! I guess that's something to think about when I feel that I can't possibly read one more poem about lakes and trees...

Silent But Deadly

Last week, my English 2205 Tutorial was a little frustrating. Discussion was lackluster, so I let my students go home a little early. This week, I prepared a discussion for them about aims and strategies in "The Wife of Bath's Prologue" in The Canterbury Tales. Granted, not the most stimulating text, but I figured we could do a close reading together of a particularly rich section. Now, every Monday and Wednesday, my students sit in a lecture hall with 170 other English 2205 students and listen to the prof lecture on the various texts. Then, on Friday, they are supposed to be discussing the texts in smaller groups--i.e. tutorials--led by a TA (me!). I try to mix things up week to week--one week, I'll prepare a half dozen discussion questions, split them into groups, have them work on their own for fifteen minutes or so, then we reconvene as a group to see what everyone's come up with. Other times, I'll just prepare a class discussion. And the first few weeks went rather well. Last week, as I've said, was a little more difficult. This week, however, was downright painful. First, I would ask what's going on in a certain section. Silence. So then I'd rephrase my question and point to specific lines. More silence. Finally, I would point to a key line and ask what it said. Silence. Who knew that 30 English majors would be completely illiterate? So after about the third or fourth time this had happened, I decided to switch tactics. I asked them to split into groups of about 3, and told them that I would assign them each a few lines to work on. Silence. They just sat there, staring at me, out the window, at their notebooks, whatever.
I kind of lost my temper. I told (yelled at) them that I was sure they could manage forming groups of three. And you know what? They did.
So now I need a favour from you guys. Please--think back to your undergrad or college experiences. What was wrong with the instructors you didn't like? What did the good instructors do that got people talking? For the love of FSM, give me a clue--I am not willing to be that instructor that students actually tell each other to avoid!
(Roz, I'm looking at you here--I know you've won teaching awards...)

His Noodly Appendage

I've been getting pretty stressed out lately sbout my inability to clip through my reading list as my comps draw ever closer. I've also been growing frustrated by the proponderance of religious and semireligious (like the Pilgrim-instituted celebration of the gradual suppression of Native North American culture and autonomy, Thanksgiving!) holidays that apparently make it impossible for my students to hand in their assignments on time. And then today, Philip sent me a link that has made me realize that, like my students, I am in a position wherein my religious beliefs have provided me with an answer to my current academic anxieties; please see, below, the letter of explanation that I intend to send to my supervisor.

Dear Dr. Dawson,
I must regretfully inform you that, due to a recent divine intercranial intervention by the Flying Spaghetti Monster, or FSM, I will be unable to successfully complete my Comprehensive Examinations in May 2007. As a result of my devout faith, FSM, in his divine wisdom, recently chose me as his prophet, and I must therefore undertake a religious pirating journey in order to prevent global warming. Evidence of His decision to call me to divine piracy is that, while I was well-close to completing my assigned reading, He used His Noodly Appendages to wipe several--in fact, most--of the canonical texts of Canadian Literature from my memory, and indeed, He has chosen to remove many of these books, which I had obtained in a very timely manner last spring, from my library altogether. I am sure that you will accept this most religious of academic excuses and will unquestioningly defer my Comprehensive Examinations to a time that is more pleasing to Him.
RAmen,
Rebecca Babcock,
PhD Candidate and Divine Pirate
Arrrgh...

Administrivia

I'm a busy woman--I think we can agree on that. And yes, for the most part, it's my own fault. After all, I chose to do a PhD, and with my SSHRC, I don't really need the money I make TAing--I just wanted the experience. And I certainly didn't have to audition for a play, volunteer with DAGS or talk Trent into building a back patio. Granted, a lot of the stuff that takes up my time is my choice. However, one major drain on my time that I absolutely resent is beaurocratic administrivia. Trent and I have seen enough of that, selling and buying houses this year, moving across the country, arranging for new service hookups at two new Halifax addresses now, plus there's the stuff I have to do every year to register for school, manage my scholarship, grant and TAship payments, not to mention keeping track of marks and attendance for the Friday tutorial I lead... add to all this that, every year, I have to pick up, fill out and run around with a stack of forms to keep my student loans in interest-free and non-repayment status. Not that it was ever a pleasant task in Edmonton, but it always seemed a lot simpler; the student loan people would mail me a form, I'd take it to the University to be signed, then drop it off at my bank--pretty painless, in all. It's a little trickier now, though. They didn't send me any forms, so I called the CIBC National Student Centre and asked them what to do. They told me I had to download a form. I had my computer in front of me, so I asked the lady on the phone to stay on the line while I found the form. Good thing too--it was pretty hidden on the website to which she directed me. I downloaded the forms and printed them. Six copies of the same form shot out of my printer. They all said: "Press Hard--You are Making Five Copies." Amazing, isn't it? That website actually injected my printer with carbon paper...

Okay, it didn't. So I just filled out the top copy and figured I could make five photocopies once all the beaurocrats had signed it. So on Friday, I took it to the Dal FGS (queue #1), and they sent me down to the Student Loans booth in the basement (queue #2). The lady there told me that I first had to get it signed by the Registrar's office, then come back down to her, and she sent me back upstairs. Queue #3 at the Registrar's Office was, by far, my favourite. It snaked down the hallway, and really only moved when students got sick of waiting and left. You see, there were only two staff members in the registrar's office. It's refreshing to know that Dalhousie University isn't wasting my tuition money on frivouous expenditures like support staff. Finally--with Philip and Nancy waiting to pick me up on campus (I had told them my errand shouldn't take more than 15 minutes. Ha!)--I get to the front of the line, where the lady tells me I've filled out the wrong form! She hands me an identical form (Schedule 2), except that this one really does have carbon paper, plus one more (Form B) to fill out. So we fill them out and I take them back downstairs... to discover a "Back in One Hour" sign on the Student Loan booth. Rrghh...

So I get in the truck with Philip and Nancy, and we go to CIBC so that they can fill out the section on both of these forms "To Be Completed By Lender." See, the College Plaza CIBC had always done this for me in Edmonton, and they would also mail them to the CIBC National Student Centre. Except that the CIBC branch here in Halifax (queue #4) had apparently never even seen these forms before and tried to insist that CIBC didn't negotiate student loans.

"That may be true now," I explained, "But when I was a student, you did." In fairness, the nineties were a very long time ago. In fact, it's really incredible that there is someone on living record with student loans negotiated in the nineties at all.

"We don't know what to do with these forms," the teller explained apologetically.

"Well, I think you fill out and sign the section labelled 'To Be Filled Out and Signed by the Lender.' Then either you or I have to send them to the CIBC National Student Centre."

So they run around the branch with the forms for a few more minutes, take a bunch of copies and hand them back to me. "But you should probably call the National Student Centre to check on these," she adds as I'm about to leave. "We don't know if we did this right." And, as I discovered in the truck, she stole my pen.

So I get home and realize that one of the copies of one of the forms (Form B) that they returned to me says that it has to be sent to Alberta Student Finance... only the bank has forgotten to fill out and sign the "To Be Filled Out and Signed by the Lender" section. Sigh. So this morning, I phone the CIBC National Student Centre (call #1), bounce around their automated service for a while, then mash the keypad with my palm in the hopes of reaching an agent.

"Thank you for calling the National Student Centre. How did you find the automated service?"

"Great. Very helpful," I say, and then I explain my predicament. "What do I do now?" I ask. "I don't want to send the form to Alberta Student Finance without that signature. Should I bring it back to my bank, or should I send it to you guys to sign?"

"No, your school needs to sign it."

"Um, no. The school already signed it. It says I need a signature from the lending institution. That's you guys."

"Then send it to the Alberta government. We don't negotiate Alberta Student Loans."

"Not any more, but you did in the nineties, when I got my loan. And I don't want to send it to the Alberta government without that signature."

"Then get your school to sign it."

"No. I don't think you're listening. I need CIBC to sign it. Should I get them to do it at a bank branch, or should I send it to the National Student Centre."

"I don't know. Try phoning the government."

At this point, I called the guy useless and hung up on him. Then I had a bit of a temper tantrum, calmed down a bit, and I called the Alberta Student Finance Board (call #2). The lady was actually very helpful, but she explained that I really did need my lender's signature on the form. "Try calling them back. Ask for a supervisor this time."

So I do. I call CIBC back (call #3). Again, I wander around the automated phone service for a while before I mash the keypad again. A guy answers.

I'm wary. "Um... hello. Did I just talk to you?"

"No, I don't think so. I can check."

"Don't worry, I think you'd remember." And I tell the story. Again. And he's not really sure what to do.

"Would you mind if I put you on hold while I ask my supervisor?"

"By all means, please put me on hold. Ask your supervisor. I can wait all day."

He laughs. I wait. Finally, he comes back. "So the bank has copy 22A of your schedule 2?"

"Yes."

"And all parts are signed and filled out?"

"Yes."

"Then you didn't actually need Form B--that's for people who have Alberta Student Loans only. Since you have Canada Student Loans, you can just fill out the Schedule 2."

"Really?"

"Really. And--maybe next year, instead of going to your bank, you might want to send the forms straight to us to sign."

Roger that. Over and out.

I am Worth More than $0.25/Share!

A lot more, believe you me! And yet...
Trent found this site the other day: http://blogshares.com/industries.php?id=971
Scroll down the list. Apparently, what you are now reading is #32 on the list of Top 100 Halifax Blogs! (32? I should be in the Top 10!) And I trade for $0.25/share. So. I have no idea what the what all of this means... but I think you, my loyal readers, should definitely, definitely invest in some shares in me. Drive up my price. Way up. Think: Enron (before the crash)...

Now I'm Sad... Now I'm Happy!

Yesterday was a weird day. First, we dropped Nikki off at the airport. She's moving back to Toronto. That sucks a lot, on account of she's my closest friend here in Halifax. So then Trent, Miika (Nikki's boyfirend and Trent's friend who is, of course, moving away at the end of the month) and I got to hang around the airport and be sad for an hour or so... until Phidit's and Nancy's plane arrived! Yay! And I get to keep them for a whole week!

Yay, We're Vikings!

Both me and Trent, and apparently, the director "wants to use us as much as possible." But I bet they say that to all the extras, don't they?

Oh my gosh, wait a minute! I just searched the movie on imdb.com and guess who the star is? Eomer from Lord of the Rings! Okay, his real name is Karl Urban, but I wonder if he'll let us call him Eomer? Junaid, I'll ask him if he knows Sir Ian McKellen for you...

32 054 400 Seconds

That's approximately how long I've been in Halifax. Weird, huh? And, like one year ago, we are now enjoying the leftovers of a tropical storm.

I have some good news yesterday: I auditioned for two plays last week and was offered parts in both of them! Obviously, I can't do two plays and go to school and cheer on my Viking husband in his first Hollywood movie role, so I decided on Jean Genet's The Balcony. I was also offered Maggie in Tom Stoppard's A Separate Peace, but that one is being presented by the Bedford Players. Bedford is a rather affluent suburb of Halifax--basically, Upper-Middle-ClassLand. They rehearse and perform in a church, and everyone that I saw at the adition was middle-aged and middle-class. Please don't think I'm judging them, especially since they apparently draw rather large audiences--I think that's great, but I really just want to make some friends and have fun. After all, theatre is where I met fabulous people like Heather, and since childhood friends, work friends, family and neighbours seem to be out as ways to meet people here, I figured theatre is my best bet. And the Theatre de Boheme (the group doing The Balcony) is newer, younger, and more avant-garde. Just cross your fingers that they aren't as horribly pretentious as some of the theatre types I've met in the past (the anti-Heathers) and I should be okay.

So here's the part where I brag a little bit. I auditioned for The Balcony a couple of hours after the Bedford Players left a message offering me a role in the Stoppard play. The Balcony audition went really well, and I told them that I'd been offered a part in another play, though I'd much rather do the Genet. They had another round of auditions yesterday evening, and before those had even started, the director called me at home to ask me to please turn down the other role because, although they weren't sure what part they were going to offer me, they definitely wanted me for the Balcony! See, I told you this was the part where I was going to brag!

Hello, Viking.

There's a woman in Trent's office, Arlene, and Trent talks about her all the time. Arlene is one of those women who seems to know something about everything. She and her husband are snowbirds, and while spending Christmas in Florida, they learned to deep-fry a turkey. Her husband used to be a Nascar mechanic, and so they told Trent how to install some sort of fuel-saving... gizmo in Grillface. And last week, Arlene discovered that, this fall, they are filming a movie about aliens that arrive on Earth in 500 A.D. and have to fight the Vikings. Don't dwell too much on the plot. The thing that you need to know is that they are casting Vikings. Fair-haired, red-bearded, enormous, klobberbonking Vikings. Here in Halifax.

So Trent and I set up a backdrop and some lights in the basement and take a hundred or so photos of ourselves. A couple of them turn out pretty good, so we photoshop them into headshots, and I fenangle us both some performance resumes (Performance History: Ghouly Doctor, Spooktacular 2001, ...). Then we take them to the film office downtown. Trent has just come out of a big meeting at the waterfront, and is looking particularly hot in his borwn Tristan & America suit. We find the film office, which is on the ground floor (i.e. half-basement) of one of those old Victorian houses at the end of Barrington Street. The ceilings are, of course, about three inches above his head. I walk in first and hand my envelope to a guy at the desk.

"This is for Outlander," I say. "We hear you're looking for Vikings. I know I'm a bit of a long shot, but he looks like a Viking."

"I should," Trent says. "It's in my genes."

It must have been Christmas and Natal Day (Halifax August holiday, folks) all in one in that film office. The two other staff members instantly stop their phone conversations and start firing questions at Trent. Will you be around in October? Will you be available? Is your phone number on your resume? The guy to whom we've handed our envelopes tries to collect himself and shuffles through Trent's resume. "Yes, everything seems to be here. Nothing left out." Boy, am I glad I remembered to include Spooktacular on his performance history. "We can't guarantee you a part in the film," he says, putting Trent's resume on the top of the pile.

"But can you please start growing your beard now?" the other woman adds quickly before we leave the office.

Of course, nothing is set. I know that. But I can't help but feel that things went very differently from the Brad Pitt Jesse James film that Trent and our old neighbours Greg, Nadine and Garry went to audition for in Edmonton. For one thing, we didn't end up drinking mimosas at 9 in the morning instead of auditioning. That's promising, isn't it?

Green Drinks... They Get You Every Time!

Or so my friend Tannaya says. You see, when Brad and Toni were down, they met Tannaya and Brad fed her a green drink. It's best not to comment on the results.


This is a pic of me, Tannaya, Toni and Brad having cocktails at the Tribeca downtown. Pre-green drink.









And this is me and Toni. This is a different trip--we went for drinks after dinner one night.












Trent and Toni at the Economy Shoe Shop. A bar, not a shoe shop.











And then we started posing for the camera...

Right... about those green drinks...

This is the after picture. The guy in the centre, by the way, is a stranger. He was trying to pick Tannaya up. Don't worry--Toni had the entire dance floor keeping an eye on the situation!

I Swear, I'm in This One!

It's last Spring's edition, but they just posted it online. I'm in it. Really.

www.roommagazine.com

Clogging the Tubes in Saint John

Today, my faithful readers (and people who just found my Blog by accident), I am posting from quaint Saint John, New Brunswick, where Trent has been sent on a business trip, and I have tagged along for a lark.
Mr Phidit the Electrickal Enginerd, aka Cheese to his co-workers, sent the following video to Trent today. I appreciate the way it explains the internets in a way that we non-technical types can easily understand.

http://www.jimmyr.com/blog/Internet_a_Series_of_Tubes_193_2006.php

If that doesn't work:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6iMDRVzMfEM&mode=related&search=

And proof that it wasn't just a clever cut and paste job, the full recording:
https://my3.dal.ca/webmail/services/go.php?url=http%3A%2F%2Fwww.youtube.com%2Fwatch%3Fv%3Df99PcP0aFNE%26NR

It's Like Caffeine Withdrawal, Only Worse.

Wow. It has been an amazing summer so far. Admittedly, I've gotten next to no school work done, but I figure it's worth it (ask me again after my next meeting with my supervisor). On July 4th, Mom came to visit. She spent nearly two weeks and we had a great time touristing and taking apart our old deck. Then, right after she left Toni and Brad came for a week and we had a lot of fun. It's amazing how with some people, it's always like no time has passed. Then they left and Trent's parents came for a visit. We took them to the airport this morning, and now Colin (Drogues Colin) is in town for a family reunion, so we'll probably see him tomorrow or the next day. Then Julie, Bob and Emmet are coming in September, and Phidit just told me yesterday that he and Nancy are arriving on September 17th. I'll admit, I was a little worried about having so many visitors in succession, but it has been so nice, spending time with people that we love and that know us well enough for us to be able to just... relax. I think we are going to feel really, really lonely after Phil and Nancy leave.

But before we think about that, let's look at some pics of Mom's first visit to Nova Scotia!


Mom thought the guy on the left was hot. Quick, somebody check all the cradles!

Me and Trent drinking tea at Mahone Bay. Not caffeinated, thankyouverymuch!

On a whale-watching tour in the harbour. We didn't see any whales (boo!) but Mom did get to meet my friends Nikki and Miika.

This is why I'm not a recreational drug user

On my way to work this morning, I stopped at Second Cup for a coffee. I drink dark roast partly because I like the strong coffee taste and partly because it has less caffeine. This morning, however, they were out of dark roast when I ordered, so they gave me the top of the brew--put my cup under the drip just as the coffee started brewing. I knew as soon as I tasted it that it was strong. Really, really strong. Holy shit. I feel like a speed freak right now, I swear. I'm absolutely vibrating. I can't concentrate on anything and I think I have a headache, but I can't really tell. I just typed this entry in about 17 seconds flat. Hunt-and-peck, of course. So put out the word amond speed freaks and coke fiends that they are wasting their money. For under $2, they too can be absolutely buzzed on top-of-the-brew Second Cup coffee.

Would someone please tell the paramedics why my heart exploded?

Am I Wearing a Warning Label?

And does it say "Danger! Fragile and Prone to Meltdowns!"? I got an email today. It was a rejection letter from the Dalhousie Review, telling me that they've decided not to print "Flag Man." Rejection letters are not new to me. After nearly eight years of submitting my stuff to various magazines and publishers, I think the score is 2 acceptances to 50 or so rejections by now, and while each one feels like a kick to the gut, I've gotta say, I'm pretty used to them. (A sane person would have given up by now.) However, I'm pretty sure that my personal reaction to disppointment isn't exactly public knowledge--which is what makes this particular letter so weird. Here is a sample of the email:

I hope this rejection isn't too discouraging to you. Rejection by journals is something that every writer has had plenty of experience with. /The Dalhousie Review/ rejects somewhere around 95% of what we receive, and this rate isn't unusual among journals. Authors looking for publication just must, unfortunately, become inured to rejection, and keep trying.

Um... have they got me mixed up with some other Rebecca Babcock who goes postal every time rejection rears its ugly head? Or have I somehow earned a local reputation for being dangerously unstable? Perhaps I should point out now that this wasn't a form letter; in fact, he discusses at length the rejection process and the reasons they've rejected my story (if it were a Jackie Chan movie, the kung-fu hit sounds would have blown your speakers by now).
So. I gotta ask you guys (yeah, all both of you, my loyal readers): are you spreading dirty rumours about my emotional stability?

(No rah-rah comments allowed, please--I've got a cavity that needs filling already. Only cynical commentary on the publishing world and this weird letter in particular will be accepted.)

Toni Said I Had To.

Pretty soon, I will show you pictures of people visiting us. But for now, here's a present for you. Think of Bear when you watch #8.
http://www.homestarrunner.com/tgsmenu.html

Hitchhiker's Guide to Halifax Harbour

I told you guys about my friends Nikki and Meg and the day we hitchhiked a boat ride in the Halifax harbour a little while ago. I promised you pictures, and since I always keep my promises, here they are! (Thanks to Nikki who compulsively carries her camera. Probably because she's apt to do weird things like hitchhike boat rides... )

Here we are. Nikki is a dacer, Meg is a triathlete and I'm... a hanger-on.

These are the kind souls who pick up hitchhikers in the Halifax harbour!

Meg and me.

Me and one of the boat guys on McNab's Island. The dock is all rickety and falling apart!

Nikki on the front of the boat.

I love these girls! We had so much fun that day.

Everybody Has Their Price, I Guess

You guys know how I feel about reality television, and the Idol competition in particular. Sure, we all know that pop music is as much a product of corporate manufacturing as Microsoft computers and vinyl siding, but let's not rub our faces in it. I've always felt, though, that Canada--and Edmonton in particular--has a strong, vibrant independent arts scene, and that belief has let me feel pretty strongly that whatever cultural pabulum Corporate America (or Canada) has to feed us, there are smart and talented people who are fighting the good fight, in their own way. People like my friend Heather, who is the most amazing director/dramaturg I've ever had the pleasure of working with--and stronger performers than me can say the same. People like Tania, who is opening her own belly dance studio this fall. Other cool, talented people that I know like Scott Sharplin, Kyla Fisher, Saskia Aarts, Janaya Ellis, and Christine Sokaymoh Frederick. People that I don't know like Darren Hagen and Sheldon Elter, who pretty much make a career out of Fringe theatre. Then, the other day, I was watching TV and an ad for Canadian Idol came on, announcing this year's competitors, including Edmonton's Sheldon Elter. I figure, no way--not the Metis Mutt guy. Must be a coincidence. So I go online and, sure enough, it's him.
Granted, I don't know the guy personally. To be honest, I'm not even all that familiar with his work. For all I know, he's been dreaming of reforming 98 Degrees ever since Nick up and married Jessica. I had a pretty strong feeling up until now, though, that if I ever did meet him, there was a good chance that we could sit down and talk about what's wrong with culture production in North America today. So maybe I don't have the right to feel betrayed by what I see as an obvious sellout by the poster boy for indie arts in Alberta--but I can't help but wonder how the ticket sales for his Fringe show this summer are going to go.
So. In the spirit of Mr Elter's stint on Idol, I have mapped future career paths for each of you.
Mom: doing advertising artwork for Ritalin.
Trent: playing backup bass for Britney Spears' next Pepsi ad.
Heather: directing said ad.
Tania and Aunt Deb: developing a way of maximizing the fat-burning movements in belly dancing to incorporate them in a "Look Like Paris Hilton in 2 Easy Weeks" diet and exercise manual.
Roz: developing a bacteria that eats body fat so that the wealthy don't have to learn the belly dance exercise regime.
Toni: organizing the women in the correctional facility to perform unpaid manual labour in the production of Sheldon Elter's debut album.
Heidi: launching a subliminal ad campaign to convince Banff vagrants to do roadside advertising for the album instead of begging for change
Phidit and Brad: engineering a computer that will eliminate the need for reading--just input the titles (or just the picture of the movie version you saw on the cover if you can't remember the title) of whatever books you happened to see in the bookstore, and the computer will generate academic essays, witty party repartee and well-considered opinions for multiple situations from job interview to date to a chance conversation with the author.
That's it. That's all I got. Go forth and corporatize, my lovelies.

I Blame Nikki

In an effort to assuage the pain of my broken heart (so close! two little goals!) I'm going to tell you about my Friday adventure. I work 45 hours a week at the greenhouse this month plus, on Fridays, I TA for a summer course, not to mention all the reading I'm supposed to be doing, so I have to schedule time out. Every Friday afternoon, my friends Nikki and Meg and I meet for coffee. Last Friday, the sun came out and it was beautiful, so we had cold drinks on the waterfront. We were sitting on the wharf, about to head off home when Nikki pretends to hitch a ride on a passing boat. The guys on it laugh and keep going, but a minute later, they reappear, heading the other way. Meg says she thinks they might be stopping. Sure enough, our new friends Peter and Norm offer us a ride around the harbour. It was gorgeous! We went out to McNab's Island, past the dockyard and back. It was so fun! Nikki had her camera; I'll post some photos soon.

Was that the Bird or a Thumbs-Up?

There are now three of us in Halifax with Oilers car flags: me, Trent and the lovely English department grad secretary, Mary Beth. Most of the time, I don't even think about it--just get in my truck, pop on the flag and get going--which sometimes gets me teased at work. Whatever.
So last week, I was driving on campus to meet Nikki for a coffee. I'm on University Avenue which, while not technically a pedestrian street, tends to see more foot traffic than vehicles. This student is crossing the street in front of me, then all of a sudden he stops and starts punching the air. I'm thinking, what is this, some new pedestrian-automobile road rage that I haven't heard of yet? The guy looks really serious and he's waving his fist up in the air like he wishes it were soebody's face and finally, I realize that he's giving me some kind of uber-serious Go-Oilers-Go signal. I guess I could have honked my horn or punched the air back at him, but I was so honest-to-god relieved that he wasn't going to jump on Hana's hood and start kicking the windshield out, all I managed was a smile.

Go Oilers!

That's all. I'm not going for eloquence here.

Everybody Blog Now!

Seriously. Make a Blog. Name it something silly. Phidit, you do the Wyoming Tumbleweed Blog; Roz, you can do the Harry Potter Fan Blog or the I Just Dodged Bonerville Blog; Trent can do the Transplanted Musician Blog, Paul can do the Only 26-Year-Old in Lethbridge Blog. Aunt Deb, you make the West Coast Granola Blog, Julie and Heather can compete for World's Cutest Baby Blog, Junaid can add to the world's store of I Love Gandalf Blogs, Toni can replace the Marathon Blog with the My Husband Makes Up Words Blog (Shramp Blog for short)... you get the picture. Just Blog. Because I'm addicted. I love Blogs. I love reading other people's Blogs, I Blogging, I love reading the comments you guys put on my Blog.

My Mommy Blogs. http://esmeandron.blogspot.com/. Just some incentive for you. Also, look at what I just noticed: http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=16479204&postID=112752646194116885. See, Tania is not the only one to learn that ANYONE can read your Blog! (Good story, that. Another good story is the one about the time she went on a date with and subsequently injured the guy who posted anonymously to her Blog. Geeks are fragile! Cute, but fragile.)

And they don't even issue gloves.

I got a job this week--started yesterday. I still get scholarship payments over the summer, plus I have a small summer term TAship, but partly because I was bored at home and not doing the reading I should have been (I require structure to work effectively!) and partly because we could use the extra cash, I decided to get a part-time job. Because we could survive on my summer pay if we needed to, I only applied for jobs I thought I would enjoy. So I got called for an interview at Atlantic Gardens, the biggest gardening centre in Metro (i.e. the greater Halifax area--Atlantic gardens is actually in Bedford and Sackville. Think St. Albert or Sherwood Park.) and they said that they're looking for full-time (44 hours/week) at the Sackville greenhouse. I said no thanks, I really only want part-time (no more than 30 hours in any given week, but I'd prefer less) in Bedford. She said okay, she'll get back to me the following day. I didn't hear from her for a few days, so I figure that someone else got the job. Then she called on Friday to tell me she wants me in the following day (yesterday--Saturday) for full-time up in Sackville. What do you do? I said okay, but that after June, I really, really only want part-time. Just a couple of shifts a week. Seriously. She said maybe.

I am such a freakin marshmallow.

So I start yesterday and get this--not only do they have one of those old-fashioned punch-card systems, there is a recess bell that tells us when to start, when to go on break, when to get back to work, and when to go home! I swear to god, I feel like at 5 o'clock, I should be sliding down a dinosaur's tail to my car! And my hands are all cut up from the stupid plastic plant trays. This is awesome.

Home from P-Gizzle

Yeah, that's what the UNBC students told us to call Prince George. We thought it was pretty funny. Of course, it didn't take us much to laugh at that point.
Honestly, I did spend 3 lovely days in Langley with my Aunt Deb and 5 fabulous days relaxing in Sparwood with Mom, but those 3 days in PG really, really stand out in my mind. I think it will take a while to get over it.
So, rather than repeating once again what a dodgy town Prince George is, I'm going to post some more pictures of my house. Which is practically empty right now, since Trent is on a business trip to Fort MacMurray, AB. Wow. P-Gizzle and Fort Crack. Since our move to Halifax, we visit really beautiful places, Trent and I. Here are some pictures. When you're done looking at them, call me because I'm bored and lonely.

Becca in BC

I am posting today from beautiful, metropolitan Prince Goerge, British Columbia! I've been in BC for the past week. My GSAC AGM was this weekend, and last night, we tore it up in PG. Colourful place. Maybe the less said, the better...

On an unrelated note (mainly because I didn't get back to the hotel until 4 in the morning, and I'm unable to make any reasonable, logical connections), here are some pics of the little shindig Trent and I had at the house last week. Please notice the lovely and delicate expression on my face. Don't know what Kim said, but it must have been interesting...

This one is my friend Nikki--without a doubt one of the sweetest people I've ever met. We kept teasing her about her hot shirt!

And here is Trent, very focused on being cool.

At Long Last

We finally got around to taking pictures of our house! Please don't judge us by the ugly wallpaper, carpets (we call them the Redrum carpets) or the fact that, other than the bathroom, which Trent did a beautiful job on (don't you think?) the only paint colours are white, pale peach (blech!) or the bizarre, hot pink wall next to the stairs! This first picture of the exterior of the house was taken before we moved in--we don't really have a boat in the driveway or a covered swing on the deck!

Notice the new woodstove in our living room! Yay! Notice that we haven't put away the T-Shirts that Phidit sent us from Mount Rushmore! Boo!

Okay, Blogspot is starting to get wonky. I'd better publish this post. More photos soon, I promise!

Sweatercat

Since Ozzy sheds so much and has been having problems with hairballs, we decided to get him shaved a couple of months ago. He's happy like this, but I can't help laughing every time I look at him--it looks like he's wearing a tight, grey sweater over his puffy, black fur!

Redrum...redrum

This is a picture of out television room; please notice the ugly carpet. Trent and I call it the Redrum carpet. On the left side of the picture is a wall; on the other side of this wall is the Hallway to Nowhere. The entrance to Narnia may be at the end of it... Anyway, eventually, that wall and the Redrum carpet have got to go!