From Sanguine to Bilious in Three Days Flat

You guys don't know how excited I will be when our teahouse is finally open for business. Either that, or I'll already be locked away in a mental ward. I know that construction never goes exactly as planned, but I can't help but feel that we've had a particularly rough week. First, our power meter, which was supposed to be installed last Monday, still isn't in, so we have no electricity. Then on Friday, when the Eastlink guy showed up to hook up our phone and data connections, the workmen on site sent him away because they didn't know where the cables are, and we haven't been able to reschedule. And last week, the truck carrying all our millwork (counters, shelves, tabletops) was in a traffic accident and most of it was destroyed. And, although they rebuilt a lot of it, our shelves were apparently destroyed again in last night's storm. Also, our cash register and espresso grinder are both missing in transit. I am so, so tired.
Also, I have to finish my marking today.

We both heard it, so I can't be THAT crazy!

Ozzy has a special meow that he reserves for travel: as soon as we put him in his carrier or into a vehicle, he starts with his hollowed-out, rounded, mournful rowr! This morning, he had an appointment with the groomer to be shaved, so Bear and I wrestled him into his fancy blue soft-shell carrier with the mesh windows, backpack-style straps, and suitcase-style wheels and retractable handle. Of course, as soon as the zipper is shut on him, he starts his travel-meow. And as Bear and I are putting on our shoes, he has a little freak-out, rattling and bumping his carrier.

"Watch out Oz," Trent warned him, "You're going to fall on your face."

Sure enough, moments later, his carrier fell forward on its mesh-windowed front with Ozzy still inside. For a second, he was silent and still, then came the muffled complaint from inside the bag: "Ow!"

Bear and I looked at each other and chuckled a bit, and for a long moment, Ozzy was quiet and still in the overturned carrier. Then, clear as day, he called out to us (presumably to make sure we hadn't abandoned him in that undignified and helpless position):

"... Hel-lo?..."

Teastuff in our Garage:

A printer-fax, a loveseat, twelve dining chairs, four bar stools, an easy chair, an ottoman, three coffee tables, two mini-fridges, a commercial dishwasher, a toaster, a panini grill, eighteen plates, twelve bowls, twenty-four saucers, thirty-four mugs of various sizes, thirty-six spoons, twelve butter knives, twelve forks, twelve dishrags, twelve towels, three milk jugs and a microwave.
On its way to our garage: another loveseat, a couch, a full-size fridge, two more easy chairs, and an upright freezer.

I can't wait to rent us that cube van!

Tea Update

Dear diary,
Today I was pompous and my sister was crazy...
(Sorry. Couldn't resist beginning with my favourite Firefly quote.)

Dear diary,
Yesterday I was pompous and crazy. And then Trent and I spent a shitload of money on furniture that strangers will sit on. We got a real (but cheap) brown leather couch from the Brick, and two pleather loveseats, a pleather ottoman and twelve pleather dining chairs from Wicker Emporium. Our teahouse will be spill-proof! Our cabinetmaker is building tabletops for four used table stands that our equipment saleswomen found us, and our garage is now full: two mini-fridges, a commercial dishwasher, toaster, panini grill, eighteen plates, twelve bowls, twenty-four saucers, thirty-four mugs of various sizes, thirty-six spoons, twelve butter knives, twelve forks, twelve dishrags, twelve towels, three milk jugs and a microwave. Our full-size fridge and stand-up freezer just arrived at the brick warehouse, and we are still waiting for some of our furniture. Hopefully, the espresso machine, four-foot refrigerated showcase, slush machine and coffee grinders will be delivered right to the shop!

Hana (my pickpup truck; keep up, guys!) was looking a little worried until I told her not to worry: Trent and I are going to have to rent a cube van next week or the week after to get all this stuff to the teahouse. Cause we're not serving tea out of our garage.

Yay! a cube van!

Let me clarify: NOT a vacation!

Whew! Bear and I are home from our whirlwind trip to Edmonton! I both hope and fear that, right now, you're saying, "What? Edmonton! You didn't call me!" (Hope, because it means you love me, and fear, because I don't want to piss you off.) Here's the thing: we didn't call anybody, except Trent's Gran, who is celebrating her 84th birthday this month and Andrea, who just turned 40. (Yeah, sis, I'm telling the internets you're 40!) We were very, very, very busy: we were in Edmonton for teatraining.
I think I've told everyone already, but if not, here's the skinny: Trent and I have bought ourselves the franchise rights to C&J teahouse for downtown Halifax! Our store is under construction on Barrington and South Streets! So... we had to go to Edmonton for training this weekend. It was kind of a secret trip because there are so many of you that we love and miss in Edmonton, but it was literally an all-weekend thing: we got to town late Friday night, were in training all day, every day, until two hours before our plane took off on Tuesday afternoon. It was exhausting. And exciting. Guys, I'm going to be a Tea Baroness!
And here's the (other) awesome part: we left just before the big snowstorm in Halifax, and got back just as the weather in Edmonton was getting cold and nasty. I have to rub it in: today was T-shirt weather in Halifax...

It's Like... Well, It's Like Herding Cats!

Have I mentioned how gorgeous a Halifax fall is? September and October really are the best months of the year. And for her first fall as a resident of Nova Scotia, Mom is enjoying them, tourist style! Dolores has come to spend two weeks with Mom and already they've been to Peggys Cove, Grand Pre, and the three of us went to the Mahone Bay Scarecrow Festival last weekend (so much fun!). Today, they're off to Cape Breton.
This means that, while they're away, Trent and I are petsitting. Tilou is, of course, a very good dog, and Chai is an adorable kitten. But, in case you're not keeping track, we now have five--yes, five--pets in the house. Marlowe keeps following Chai around, Chai keeps alternately teasing and growling at Marlowe, Tilou is glad for the break from both of them, Enkidu is trying to mother Chai, Chai either lets her, growls at her, or tries to play with her; when Chai wants to play with Enki, Enki gets upset because she just wants to lick Chai's head, and Ozzy is just plain suspicious of the whole thing. Except when he's hissing at Tilou. Which Tilou loves. It makes him bark. Which makes Ozzy hiss more.
Too much monsters! Just too much monsters!!!

Blog Game

Mkay, I invented a Blog game. Let's play it.
When you go to post a comment to my Blog, you have to enter some letters into a little box so that spam can't get me. Sometimes, the letters form almost-words. So post a comment: copy the almost-word into the body of your comment, then make up a definition for it. I'll go first.
(Procrastinating? Who, me?)

Fences

Today's been kind of a weird one. My next-door neighbours are having a baby shower. The house is owned by Wayne and Ginny, and Andrew, their son, his wife April, and their kids all live their too. Anyhow, April is pregnant, and yesterday, Wayne mentioned that today is the baby shower, and did I know I was invited?
Here's the awkward part: right after we moved in, we told them that we wanted to fence in the back yard for Marlowe. They said okay, but they wanted us to get it surveyed first. Fair enough, but it's been bloody hard to get a surveyor to come out and do the work. (Halifax!!!) Finally, Wayne got a surveyor out to replace the missing marker pins. Well... it turns out that we have way more land than we thought, and they have way less. The rose hedge isn't even NEAR the property line! They are understandable upset (who wouldn't be?) but they've also hinted that Ginny is particularly upset at us for wanting to put up a fence on what they always thought was their property. I know what you're thinking--not really our fault or our problem, right? True enough, but who wants to feud with their neighbours? Plus, they are quite nice (a little odd, but they've been good neighbours) and I don't like the idea that they're upset with us, whether it's our fault or not. So. I suspect that my baby shower invite got lost under a pile of pissed-off.
I don't really like leaving things like that, though, so yesterday, Trent and I went to get a little baby gift, and today, I made a tray of crostini to take over. I stopped in, told them I couldn't stay because I have a big pile of marking (which is actually quite true), but that I wanted to bring over a gift and a snack. A few minutes ago, while Trent was outside digging post holes for the new fence, they came by to return my plate, full of goodies from the shower. I think we're good.
How's that for a day of construction? Trent is building fences, and I'm mending them. Good fences make good neighbours, right? (Oh, the cliches, the cliches!)

Let's Play "Name That Cat!"

Mom and I went to Bridgewater today to pick up one last accessory for her new house... but she can't settle on a name. Here are a few that she likes:

• Ocean


• Saffron


• Chai


• Ulysses


• Birch


• Sumach


• Sasha

Quick! He needs a name by tomorrow! Help Mom decide!

Uh, oh--introspective again.

Maybe it's because I should be prepping for class and I'm procrastinating again, maybe it's because 30 ain't getting any further away, or maybe because September really is a month full of weird anniversaries, but I've been thinking a lot lately about where I was when...
9-11: Six years ago. For some reason, this one seems like the longest ago. I think it's because I was in such a weird place. I was 23, I'd just dropped out of the MA program, and I was working at Fort Edmonton, a place that always felt like such a retreat (or an escape) for me. It was this really gorgeous day, and I was at work, and I was so grateful to be working there, and relieved because I'd made the decision not to do my Master's degree (at least not yet), and I was really, really worried about the future. I had no idea where I wanted my life to go, and I was so focused on just enjoying the now because I knew that, by the end of September I'd have to start making some decisions, and then all of a sudden, there was this major world event happening, only it didn't really change the fact that I was still me, and I was still scared, and I still needed a plan. And it made me feel really small and really self-absorbed and just a little ashamed.
Lady Diana dies: 10 years ago. I had just started University. I was out of Cold Lake (again) and I was so excited. And I realized for the first time that I wasn't as small-town as I thought I was when all of my Kelsey Hall floormates were stoked about the possibility of getting drunk. So somewhere (I don't remember where) I met these three English guys from another floor, and we went for beers. We were having a really fun time, and we drank way too much beer, then it was on the news that Lady Di was dead. We were all like, "Oh shit," but honestly, we were too drunk to do anything but have a good time. Then one of the English guys chose that precise moment to start hitting on me "You know you're pretty?" And I laughed, and he said, "No, I mean it, you're really, really pretty," and I thought, "Oh, shit, I guess I can't hang out with these guys after all," and I teetered my lonely way across the road to 5 Kelsey where most of my floormates were already puking. But I'd lived in France, and I was oh-so-sophisticated, and I knew that if you ever got drunk, you disguised it, and that anyone with any self respect never, ever vomits in public. And I didn't spend much time on 5 Kelsey that year.
The Winspear Opens: 10 years ago. Again, my first year at UofEh. I had met this really cool girl in my English class (I don't even remember her name now) and we started hanging out together. She was invited to the poshgala Winspear opening ceremonies, only she didn't wear dresses (ever) and wanted to know if I had a dress she could borrow. Well, my Aunt Debbie had given me this wicked vintage gown--very 70s, very funky, and I lent it to her. A few days later, this girl and I met for coffee, and it became clear that she thought we were dating. Particularly strange since she'd met my boyfriend. I made it clear with all the delicacy that a 19-year-old could muster, that we were just friends. Well, next English class, she's sitting somewhere else. And she won't talk to me anymore. Then she dropped out of school. And she kept my dress. A few years later, I ran into her again. She was working at Audrey's Books. I asked her about my dress. She told me she was sure she'd returned it. Either that, she said, or she'd thrown it out.
The Dawson College shooting: 1 year ago. Is it awful that I remember this terrible, tragic event, and all I can think is, "Holy shit, that was a year ago already?"
So I guess what comes of all this is, I'm the centre of my own little world. As if that wasn't clear enough already.

For you... the Blue Beast!

Granted, she isn't pretty, but you can drive her while you're in Halifax!

And now, some funny pictures of Marlowe in a dress-up collar that Mom bought for her. Notice how, in the last photo, she has the same expression on her face that I have in my profile picture...

Because, of course, she couldn't have done it all by herself!

While we were in NB a couple of weeks ago, I got a little... shrill when I saw a preview for this summer's next flowsy romantic comedy: Becoming Jane, starring Anne Hathaway as Jane Austen. When I first heard about this film a couple of months ago, I thought, "huh. Wonder what they'll find to make a plot out of." After all, as Austen biographers will tell you, the novelist's life was not exactly exciting. She was devoted to her family, especially her sister, was excited and proud to be making money from her writing, never married, and died at around 40. In fact, her only engagement (the general outline of which was pillaged for the most recent film version of Mansfield Park) was to a friend of her brother--more of a family alliance than a romantic connection--and she changed her mind and broke off the engagement the next day!
Now, don't get me wrong. I know that biopics aren't documentaries--nor should they be. By all means, if you're making a movie or writing a novel about someone else's life, use creative license to make it more interesting. We don't have all access to anyone's life, and to me, creativity is more honest than bare-bones faithfulness to documented facts. Here's what bothers me: why are we still not giving women any credit for independent, creative impulse?! Women are either muse-figures, enhancing the creativity of virile artist-men, or else they're shy, timid creatures who must be awakened to artistic creativity by virile living-life men.
Okay. Take Walk the Line. I like this movie. A lot, and I thought Reese Witherspoon was amazing as June Carter Cash. But take a look at the plot line: crooner with raw talent produces great music all by himself, but has to be reined in by stable, reliable June Carter, who, despite the fact that she was a successful musician in her own right since childhood, is represented as artistically peaking when she wrote more music for her virtuoso husband to sing.
And now, Becoming Jane. The tagline: "Their Love Story Was Her Greatest Inspiration." In other words: poor cloistered, misunderstood Jane has nothing to write about until an unpredictable, virile man shows her how to live. Um... should I even get started on the implicit value of female versus male experience here? Or the assumptions about what enables creativity, and under what circumstances? Why do I suspect that we're not going to see a film any time soon about the woman who enabled Dickens' particular genius?
So, what do you say? Can you think of any movies where the roles are reversed, and where women's life experience enables men to become creative? Or where a strong, creative woman does just fine artistically, but needs life guidance from a stable, reliable man?

Just give me a basket and a... chainsaw?!

Wow. Trent and I just got back from a long weekend in New Brunswick. Aunt Maureen, Uncle Terry and Trent's cousin Jeff and his partner Melanie spoiled us for four fantastic days in Moncton and at the... "cottage" (think: log mansion) at Bass River. We had a fabulous time hanging out with family--including Mom & Dad Soholt (while poor Mom Esme got stuck petsitting--ha! that'll learn you to move to Nova Scotia!)--and doing various and sundry water sports. Stay tuned for pics.
One morning, we walked over to the "shed" (actually a massive garage containing, among other things, a righteous model train set and a vintage T-Bird), where Dad S and I noticed some raspberries growing next to the pond. Dd and Terry mentioned that there were more raspberries growing in the bush on the quad path.
"Oh, good," I said. "I'd like to go berry picking."
I asked Trent whether he wanted to join me. He said he'd rather watch paint dry.
As we walked back towards the house, I asked where the raspberries were. Terry said that they were near the back of the trail and that Trent could take me on the Rhino. (A Rhino is the unholy... and AWESOME spawn of a Jeep and a quad.) Before Trent could roll his eyes, I said, "No, no, just tell me where. I'll find it." After all, I'm a backwoods girl from way back.
"No, they're way back in there," Terry replied. "I'll have to show you."
I started to get uncomfortable. After all, I didn't want to make a big production of it. I just wanted to pck some raspberries!
We get back to the house and word gets out that I want to go berry picking. Immediately, Maureen goes hunting for a bucket. "No, no, no!" I cry. "I'll find a plastic bag or--something!" My vision of myself, tripping merrily through the forest, eating berries as I go is vanishing, morphing into this giant, embarassing production. I'm really uncomfortable now--everyone seems to be preparing for some sort of massive excursion. Maureen and Mom S are hunting for a berry receptacle, Trent and Dad S are prepping the quads, and Terry is out getting the chainsaw ready.
"Wait! What?! Chainsaw!" Good god! Now berry picking involves power tools?
"Yes, we'll need to clear the trail," Terry replies. "I'll take one Rhino on ahead and you and Trent can follow in the other."
I look guiltily at Bear. "We can watch paint dry later," I promise quietly. My bucolic vision of me as berry gatherer is dissolving into realities of enormous motorized bush vehicles, berry receptable quests and... chainsaws. And, next thing we know, when Trent isn't hauling freshly cut brush off the quad path, he's helping me AND Terry fill a bag with raspberries. Glancing at me reproachfully every few minutes.

Damn, those were good raspberries.

Just give me a crazyhuge straw hat to wear while I garden and I'm set!

Mom, Bear and I have been hard at work this month. We're finishing the deck and porch, and painting the house and garage... purple! Okay, technically, the house is a shade of deep blue, but to me it looks purple. How awesome is that, living in a purple house?
Those of you who have seen our HaliHouse know that it was formerly painted in tones that could only have been inspired by a detention centre of possibly a concentration camp: grey and black. Kind of dull in the summer, downright depressing in the winter. Now, it is a deep, vibrant shade of blue/purple, with white trim. (Or it's getting there, anyway.) It looks kind of sporty--like a team jersey or sailing clothes. I love it!

One neighbour's response to the new colour: "Purple! Looks great! I love it!"

Another neighbour's response: "You're not really painting it that colour, are you?"

Heh, heh heh.

If I Know I'm an Idiot, Does it Make Me Less of an Idiot?

Okay. I have a pattern: there's something I don't really want to do. Usually something administrative, like filling in my student loan forms, or a funding application, or other paperwork for school. Or my thesis prospectus, or maybe my course description. And I know that really, it isn't that bad, but I don't want to do it. So I put it off. As long as I can. And I start getting anxious. As the deadline approaches, I start finding new and creative reasons not to do it--like absolutely needing to clean out my cupboards. Or weeding the garden. Or reorganizing the shed. You get the picture. Very necessary things that totally trump this looming administrative task. And I start to get worried. It keeps me up at night. I get stomach aches. But I still don't just sit my ass down and do this stupid thing that has me all stressed out until I absolutely have to.
And you know what? It's never, ever as bad as I think it will be. Ever. Take, say, my prospectus. Now, I have a SSHRC. My SSHRC proposal is essentially a draft of my prospectus. But I can't even convince myself to open the damn file for weeks! And then I do, work on it for an hour and a half, and email it off to my supervisor as a first draft. No problem. Suddenly all my stress problems are gone.
Or my course description--I know most of the students won't even read the damn thing anyway, but I wai until the firggin thing is two weeks overdue before I even start work on it! And you know what? It takes me, like an hour. A day later, a few good friends have looked at it, given me their feedback, and the thing is submitted. So easy. Why did I put it off?
Only, the worst thing is, I know I'll just do it again. Anf again, and again, and again, and...

Noah's Ark: Bursting at the Seams

Okay, I've finally figured out how many pets is too many pets. Four. Four is the breaking number. Mom is in the process of moving to Nova Scotia, and becuase it was really stressing Tilou out to see the house slowly emptied, Mom brought him to Halifax during her house-hunting trip and left him here. We figured, no problem--Tilou is a really good dog, right?
In theory, yes. Except that Ozzy can't pass him without hissing. And Tilou thinks that's awesome, so he gets all excited and starts barking and dancing and shit. And then Ozzy, who really just wanted to show his displeasure in a sort of desultory manner, gets really freaked out and upset and puffs out, swipes with his claw and runs away. Also, the dogs get jealous of each other. If you pet one, the other runs up to you. In fairness, Marlowe started it. But then Tilou thought, hey, that's a prety good idea. And then when one gets jealous, they both start barking and trying to edge the other out. And then when it's time to go outside, both dogs want to go first. And last. And each cries at the door when the other is outside.
Oh, and don't even get me started on the two-leashes-for-a-walk thing!

Home for a Rest

Wow. Talk about your whirlwind trips! We are now back in Hali after the world's most fabulous... and exhausting trip to Edmonton! By my count, we managed to fit in:

• 4 business meetings
• at least 9 lunches and dinners out-an afternoon at Fort Edmonton
• visits with over 50 friends, family members, former coworkers and miscellaneous Edmontonians that we miss a lot--including several other out-of-towners, Mom & Dad Soholt, Michelle, Hardeep & Simrin, Aunt Maureen & Uncle Terry, Uncle Tim & Aunt Linda, Paulie and Heidi
• trips to virtually every part of the city (South side, West end, North side, Mill Woods, Riverbend, St Albert, downtown, Old Stratchcona, and University)
• 2 missed flights (oops!)
• 4 different airports
• one illegal driving incident (driving a rental very, very carefully without insurance!)
• 2 floor hockey ejections for high-sticking (guess who did that.)
• househunting with Phil & Nancy
• container gardening
• 2 nights on the town
• come-ons from several Edmontonians, including a shiny new Business graduate ("English? You know that's like totally worthless, right? You'll have to go back and take Education or something." What a turn-on.), a high school student, and a fireman (yup--those 3, all me!)
• a new tattoo (not me!)
• impromptu dance lessons for the rhythmically challenged at the Attic
• the discovery that Corey's girlfriend is the infamous Pixie
• stays at 3 different houses
• petsitting
• slight intoxication
• baking
• bowling
• shopping
• a wardrobe malfunction
• and very, very little sleep.

Whew! I'm tired just cataloguing it all! (And I'm sure there's a lot I've missed in there...). Anyway, it was so, so fantastic to see everyone--I miss you all already! And for those of you we missed, the good news is, we will probably be back in July and August.
Love and big, big thanks especially to Greg & Nadine, Julie, Bob & Emmet and Toni & Brad for letting us freeload with them.

Fort Edmonton

We're already running out of time to visit with everyone, but we would still love to see as many of you as possible. We're planning to go to Fort Edmonton Park. We'll meet at 10:30 tomorrow (Thursday) morning, just outside the main entrance at Fort Edmonton? This will be a kid-friendly activity--yay! Also, we have 6:00p.m. resos at Japanese Village--let me know if you want to join us. Here's my cell, just in case: 902-488-2458. If you can't make it at 10:30 but want to meet us there later, just give me a call on my cell.

Coming Up Next...

Okay. We've been having a fabulous time in Edmonton so far--it's so good to spend time with everybody! We thought maybe we'd have a mini-person-friendly day at Fort Edmonton on Thursday, and then, in the evening, dinner at Japanese Village. Let me know if you're up for one or both!

One More Sleep, and then Edmonton!

I could not be more excited! I thought maybe we could go for drinks on Whyte on Saturday. Assuming Sapphire still exists, I thought that would be a good place to start. Say... 8:30ish? I'll have my cell with me, if case anyone want to catch up with us later: 902-488-2458. We'll be petsitting at Greg and Nadine's until Wedneday, then we'll be at Bob & Julie's, then Toni & Brad's. We're planning some dinners out at our favourite places: Japanese Village, Earl's, Olive Garden, plus, I want to spend a half a day or so at Fort Edmonton. (Weird, the places you miss...).
We've got Japanese Village resos for Thursday. Let us know by Wednesday if you want to join us. And we thought we'd kick off the week with takeout and movies, either at Greg & Nadine's, or at a movie theatre on Friday (No, Brad, I'm not going to see a zombie movie. Ask, oh say, Toni or Trent or Tania or Roz or just about anyone how I feel about zombies. Would I take you to see a mouldy bees movie? Hmmm?)

My Imaginary Boyfriend...

Trent and I did another movie extra gig this week. (By the way, Diamond Grill is the perfect reading for that kind of day--the text is fragmented, your reading experience will be fragmented. Ideal!) It was actually kind of awful and boring and they wouldn't let us take breaks to eat, and they really, really rationed our pee breaks, and the movie (made-for-TV), Sticks and Stones, is probably going to be terrible. We spent the whole day booing an imaginay American national anthem at an imaginary Canadiens-Islanders hocke game (you guys remember the one). Mostly dreadful. Only, as we were filming the last scene, I look over to where the cameras and director are and someone looks familiar. Hot and familiar.

"Hey Trent, isn't that Christopher from Gilmore Girls?"
"I don't know. Looks like him."

Just then, Meagan the AD comes over. She's the same AD Trent worked with on Outlander. She goes straight to Trent. "I was looking for you!" she says. "Want to be in the shot?"

Of course he does. So he ends up right behind "Christopher" (whose name is actually David). Can you believe it? So much hotness in such a small space?

And, after the shoot, as we were waiting to sign out, I got my own close-up of Hot Christopher (sorry, I don't want to think of him as a real person) as he squeezes past me to get outside. And then, of course, I constructed an imaginary narrative in which he is now my boyfriend, and Trent is still my huz-bind, and everybody is totally, totally okay with that.

100 Posts!

Now please send me money.

Seriously--you didn't expect this level of quality entertainment for free, did you?

Growing Up Is NOT a Good Thing!

The difference between Becca at age 9 and Becca at 29:

You: Don't worry--you'll do fine on your exams. I know it.
Becca, Age 9: Really? Wow, thanks. I feel much better now. Seriously, thanks.
Becca, age 29: What? How can you make a statement like that? Where's your evidence? Are you citing an expert here, or is that your own, unfounded opinion? I don't deal in conjectures bud, I need EVIDENCE! Everyone has an opinion--my dog has an opinion--what you should have learned by now is to support your opinions with facts, quotations, textual support for god's sake. Honestly, an opinion like that, completely unfounded and unsupported is worthless to me. And cite your source. MLA style, please.

Update

Trent and I got home from Sparwood yesterday afternoon. In late March, my stepfather Ron died suddenly. Trent, Philip, Nancy and I all made it out to BC to help Mom out with a bunch of things, including putting her house up for sale. (If you're interested, you can see the house postings here and here.)
Mom, of course, misses Ron very much, but she is doing well and planning for the future.

The First Crocuses Are Up!

I saw them on Bayers Road on Monday.

Now. I shouldn't be looking at crocuses, thinking about crocuses, or Blogging about crocuses, I should be reading and studying and thinking, and when I'm taking a break from reading, studying and thinking, I should be marking and marking and marking.

Yeah, He's Hot!

Apparently, Atlantic Talent Agency lets you vote on how hot their talent is!

Well.

You know who's hot? Trent's hot! Click here and here and tell them so! Just above the pictures are a bunch of little white or yellow oblong dots. Click on them are rate Bear's picture. Maybe he will get more auditions!

And Then There Would Be Little Bits of Can Lit All Over the Walls!

Okay. My candidacy exams are coming up in just over a month. For those of you who are not in the know, this is probably the most intense period of my post-secondary career. Basically, they give us a year to become experts in our field by madly reading everything on an enormous reading list, then we have three days of examinations to complete--two days of written exams, and one four-hour oral exam. If I fail... well, let's say I was a pretty good secretary once upon a time. So I'm afraid I'm not going to be much fun between now and May 3rd, when my exams are finally over. That's assuming that my brains don't become so full that my head just explodes.

Blogging is So Last Week.

My name is Becca and I'm a Facebook addict. At first, I only signed up because all the cool kids were talking about it and I wanted to know what it was like. Only now, I can't stop. I Facebook every day. Sometimes twice a day. I've even added a Facebook badge to the bottom of my Blog.

Since I started Facebooking, I've connected with old Fort Edmonton friends, Walterdale friends, UofA friends, GSA friends, Dal friends, and even two friends from France.

I can't stop. I just can't help myself. I Facebook nearly as much as I Blog...

In 65 days...

We will be in Edmonton! Yay! We arrive May 18th, and we don't go home until the 27th. Thank you SO MUCH for all the place-to-crash invites (and especially to Phidit and Nancy, who were going to let us spend 10 days with them in their one-bedroom apartment!) and the equally awesome car-to-drive offers. It's nice to know we're still welcome in E-Town!
We will be spending part of the visit chez Greg & Nadine in our old Lymburn stomping ground, and the rest of the visit with Julie, Bob, Emmet and tummybaby in St Albert. We've rented a car with our Airmiles, so we're good to go!
I know everyone has a busy scedule, so I thought we could plan a couple of evenings out to make sure that we get a chance to see everyone. Are Japanese Village and Sapphire still where the cool kids go?
We can't wait to see everyone!

... and if they could, can their paws work a mouse to get online?

You know how sometimes, you know what you should do, only it takes someone else to actually say it before you can really resolve on doing it? That's how it was for the Barky Dog situation. I knew that I should just go and talk to my neighbours, and, in fact, Trent and I had already sounded the idea of first asking our other neighbours Danny and Angie what the Barky Dog people are like--but I didn't really have the nerve to do it until you all gave me your brilliant, inspired, mature advice. So. On Thursday, I decided that I would go around and talk to both sets of neighbours on Saturday. Except that, on Friday, the dog didn't start barking until much later in the morning than usual--nearly 8:00 a.m. And on Saturday and Sunday, I didn't hear it at all until the afternoon. And yesterday, not until 7:30 a.m. ... until 8:30 a.m. A little later start than most days, but still, I was all ready to go and talk to neighbours today... except that this morning, the dog didn't bark at all. In fact, I didn't even see it as I left for school. And it wasn't outside when I got home, either. And it's not out now.

Last time Cujo disappeared was after I had called in a midnight noise complaint about it. So maybe one of my other neighbours got tired of the daily Sunrise Serenade. Or maybe the family got sick of that long, twice-daily walk from back door to the end of the driveway to tie up and bring in the dog.

Or...

Are we really sure dogs can't read? ...

Another DIY Caption!

Maybe I'm Just a Jerk

Okay. I need advice. Lymburnites and former visitors to Lymburn, do you remember Nana the Barking Dog? Owned by Alex, the Russian pickup-truck-opera-singer? Son-in-law to Smirnoff-Limeric-Guy? Well, there's a dog across the street from us that makes Nana seem... well, downright loveable.

For those of you who haven't been out to visit us, we like in a sort of subdivision in the country. All the lots in our neighbourhood are about an acre. But it's not the country, it is defintely a subdivision. Kitty-corner from us are neighbours that we haven't met yet. They have a big, German-Shepherdish dog. The dog gets tied outside to a short rope near their driveway around 6:30 a.m. every day and stays outside until nighttime. And it barks. All. Day.

Now, this is fairly annoying at 2 p.m. when I'm trying to study, or in the summer when I'm gardening and it's barking at me the whole time, but whatever. I can deal with it. What I'm finding increasingly hard to handle is the unremittant (sp?) 6:30 to 8:30 a.m. barking. Should I mention that I don't have to get out of bed until 8, or 7:15 at the very earliest? So I lie there, tired and cranky for up to an hour and a half, listening to this dog's constant barking until my alarm goes off.

Last summer, I was working at the garden centre in Sackville, a half-hour from the house. Back then, I had to be up shortly after 6 to get to work. One night, while Trent was away on a business trip, I went to bed shortly after 10. Immediately, the dog started barking. And didn't stop until after 1 a.m. Finally, shortly after midnight, almost in tears, I called a noise complaint in to the police. Althought it didn't stop the dog barking that night, I didn't hear the damned beast for over a week after that. Now, you should probably know that I felt terrible about calling the police on my neighbours, especially since I've never met them. It's the first time I've ever done that, and so far, the last... now here's where I need your help.

We only know three of our neighbours really well. Two of the three have mentioned Barking Dog to us--it seems to be a neighbourhood annoyance. And there are other barky dogs around (they're dogs--they bark. I know this, and generally, I consider it a minor nuisance) but none that bark early in the morning, all day long, and sometimes late at night. Also, it makes me angry that these people even have a dog--I've never seen them walk it, and it spends literally all day tied to a short leash. Frankly, I feel sorry for the thing. However, I feel even more sorry for me at this point.

Now. I know that I can sometimes be a little... less than reasonable when things annoy me, so I need some advice here. Do I:

• Call in another noise complaint early one morning?
• Send a letter or email to the noise police and maybe the SPCA?
• Go across the street, introduce myself, and ask them not to let their dog bark in the morning?
• Just learn to deal with it?

Or is there another solution I haven't thought of yet?

The Tequila Guy's Name Was Che Che.

We had a fantabulous trip to Mexico... and a rotten flight home. I'll tell more about it later. For now, I'll leave you with a few pics from Mom & Dad's camera... I won't say much about them, except that our Las Caletas trip featured an open bar. See if you can pick out the pics from the boat ride home...

Don't Take This the Wrong Way But...

...I hope it snows on your heads all next week. On account of Trent, Mom & Dad S., Paulie, Phidit and I will be basking in the Mexican sunshine. With cervezas and kaluhas con crema. And somehow, tropical vacations are always better when you know that you've escaped some really crappy weather.

Three more sleeps! (Actually, two-and-a-half more sleeps, since we have to get up crazy early to catch our flight on Saturday.)

Pero El Mono Es Muy Loco...

So. Tiger for Marlowe, no tiger for Ozzy. And I feel pretty bad. After all, he's 0 for 2 now. I call Trent and work and tell him the story and ask him to please please please stop at Superstore on the way home and pick up the monkey I'd vetoed in favour of El Tigre. And I spend an anxious afternoon, coddling and apologizing to Ozzy, while secretly celebrating the fact that Marlowe is half-trotting, half-stumbling around with a little yellow catnip tiger in her mouth. And Enkidu gets in on the excitment, and starts carrying her plush mouse around, meowing through it to let me know what a mighty hunter she is.

Finally Trent gets home, triumphantly pulls the monkey out of the package, and presents it to Ozzy. Ozzy sniffs it and walks away distainfully, still eyeing El Tigre. Trent and I try the switcheroo: Mono for Tigre, but Marlowe doesn't want the monkey either. Nobody wants the monkey.

Ozzy did, however, display a brief interest in the plastic wrapper that Mono came packaged in...

El Tigre Es Muy Macho.

Last Fall, we got an exciting "birth" announcement: Greg and Nadine sent us a picture of their new kitty, Ruby Soho. ("Oh, cute! Trent, let's get a new kitten, too!" "No.") So we picked out a fuzzy little catnip toy for Ruby Soho (and one for James Brown, too-can't leave the older sibling out). Only, before I had a chance to wrap and send it, Ozzy found it and tried to make off with it. Unfortunately, there's not a lot of point in giving Ozzy cat toys, because Marlowe usually just gets them and eats them. Plus, this was Ruby Soho's toy. Sorry Ozzy.

Now, since Marlowe hurt her back, she's been too sore and weak to play much. And, while I was grocery shopping last week, I found some other cute, little catnip toys. I had trouble choosing between the yellow tiger and the brown monkey, but I eventually settled on El Tigre. I brought it home, took it out of the package, and gave it to Ozzy, who sniffed at it in his usual, cautious way. ("Mom wants me to have this. Is it safe? Can I betray my enthusiasm and bite it like I really want to, or do I have to maintain my dignity for another minute here?") So I start putting away groceries, and I hear Marlowe getting out of bed. (Since she can hardly move her hind legs, "getting out of bed" is actually a euphemism. She kind of drags her bed behind her until her hinquarters finally slide free.) A moment later, I hear her little nails clicking on the tiles much more quickly than they have been lately, and her collar jingle as she shakes herself. I look over, and Marlowe is looking much happier than she has since her trip to the Emergency Vet clinic: her tail is wagging, she's standing, not falling over, and her ears are perked up. Oh, and she's got El Tigre in her mouth. Ozzy looks from Marlowe to me as if to say, "What just happened here?"

You know what? I've just decided to serialize this post, a-la-Victorian-novel. Stay tuned for the continuation.

Cat Did It.

Marlowe is okay... sort of. After two and a half weeks of stressing and several expensive trips to the vet, we've leaned that Marlowe has slipped two discs in her back. This means that she won't be able to run, jump, or climb stairs for a few months, but she doesn't need surgery or a trip to the specialist in PEI. Thanks Nones, but we won't need to ask your clients for... er, business tips after all!

We still don't know what Marlowe did to hurt herself, and the cats are suspiciously silent on the subject...

Marlowe requests that get-well-soon cards be made of meat or grapes.

"I'll See You in Hell, Pachebel!"

Y'know that song that's virtually replaced the wedding march?

Well...

Taking Responsibility is for Suckers.

Trent and I have a saying. We reserve it for moments in which we don't want to take responsibility for something (tracking mud into the porch, leaving a cup in the TV room, forgetting to do something we'd promised to do, ...).

"Dog did it."

Now, this saying is pretty practical--after all, we do have a dog, and she has done a lot of things that we wish she hadn't. I'm thinking of the time she chewed all the pillows in the living room, or when she chewed Heidi's new shoe, or the time she chewed the vacuum cleaner cord... yes, there's a theme here. But, as an excuse, it also has its drawbacks. For instance, Marlowe is less than a foot tall, has no opposable thumbs, and doesn't leave the house or yard, except when we take her for walks or to the Emergency Vet Clinic (boy does she know that place well these days). So, for instance, forgetting to pick something up at the grocery store or not getting around to doing the dishes sometimes warrants a raised eyebrow when one of us tries to blame it on the dog.

However, during my last Study Break this afternoon, I was tooling around the Internets (still not a truck, people) and I came across some crazy guy's ("Uh, yeah, hello, Kettle? Hey, this is The Pot. Listen, there's something I gotta tell you...") Blog, where he announced the "Hot Excuse for 2007:"

"Wizards did it."

Oh my GOD! Imagine the possibilities! Accidentally hit "send" on the pretend death threat email to your ex-boss? Not your fault. Wizards did it. Late with your nephew's birthday present again? No, you weren't--wizards again. Messed around on Blogs so much that you gave up reading and failed your PhD qualifying exams? Nope--wizards did it.

My mind=blown.

Reading reading reading reading reading...

...reading, reading, reading, reading...

reading.

reading.




reading.

I wish I were a robot so I could just download Canadian Literature.

Hey! How about I send each of you a book, you read it, write a book report, then send it back to me! Why didn't I think of this before?

The Debate Goes Public

On New Year's Day, I tried to rope you all in to my latest obsession: Battlestar Galactica. Roz, however, expressed her disappointment in my taste, citing her dispproval of television's abundance of beautiful people (does this disapproval apply to Annakin Skywalker, Padme, Aragorn, Eowyn or Arwen, Roz?). She cited a statistic that I'd heard somewhere before:

On average, pretty people earn 12% more than the rest of us. Although this artice states that it's more of a disadvantage to be ugly, rather than an advantage to be pretty.
Meh. Stereotype directionality and attractiveness stereotyping: Is beauty good or is ugly bad? Griffin AM, Langlois JH SOCIAL COGNITION 24 (2): 187-206 APR 2006

To my own great surprise, I find myself siding with the Beautiful People on this one. (What, the anti-Barbie crusader?!) So here are my thoughts on the subject:

Um... Roz? I hate to tell you this (and I'm not just being flattering, I'm being honest), but you hardly qualify as "ugly people." And frankly, if I had to place myself on one side of the line or the other, I'd have to put myself (and you, and Toni, by the way) on the Pretty People side. Maybe it's just because I'm reading Atwood's Survival for my comps right now, but what is it with the impulse to cast ourselves in victim roles? In general, it's an impulse that kind of makes me angry, perhaps because I've been on the ugly end of the victim complex. Twice.

The first time was when a woman from Pakistan (just learning English) didn't understand what I was asking her when I asked for her squid recipe--I was a cashier at IGA. She complained to the store manager that I had made racist remarks about her ethnic food, and I had to apologize or be fired. The second time was when an LGBTQ activist told the Gateway newspaper that I was a homophobe. After I had tried to help him register his organization in order to get campus funding. Don't get me wrong--I'm not trying to tell you that racism, homophobia and unfair advantages for the physically attractive don't exist. I just think that sometimes, our own insecurities make us unduly sensitive.

And yes, there are some pretty people in some of the TV shows that I like to watch, but with the Battlestar Galactica exception of Tricia Helfer, I don't think they're any prettier than the slightly-above-average people I see on a daily basis--by which I mean that I don't think they represent an unhealthy or impossible or unattainable standard of beauty. (I'm as appalled by those scary sticks on the O.C. as much as anyone!) Katee Sackhoff (Starbuck), for instance, has short legs and a bit of a love-handle to her. Edward James Olmos has major skin issues. And the woman who plays the President is an attractive, but very age-appropriate (i.e. NOT plastic-surgeried) 60-ish woman. Frankly, I like looking at a beautiful woman (or man) who doesn't diet to freakdom or undergo unhealthy medical procedures in order to try and be more beautiful. I'd also rather stare out at a great ocean view than, say, at a row of Siding Wonders in east-end Edmonton.

Yes, the people we see on TV are, on the average, more attractive than the people we see in daily life--partly because they have the on-screen advantage of professional stylists, wardrobers, etc. But guess what? The people we see on a university campus are smarter than average. The people we see on professional sports teams are more physically-fit than average.

While I was doing the Play I No Longer Name last fall, I worked with two absolutely beautiful women. Hollywood-pretty. I'm not saying that neither of these women has had a leg up for her looks, so to speak, but I do have to tell you that neither of them are what I would call successful. In fact, I've learned over the past few months that one of them--the more attractive of the two--is so insecure that she makes up bizarre success stories about herself and passes them off as truth.

Not everybody is the same, and certain professions and situations favour certain advantages. We only say it's not fair when those advantages aren't our particular own. How would you feel if, say, you wanted to be a chemist or an engineer, but you had an IQ of 90 or so? Does anybody have stats on IQs, educational levels and lifetime earnings?

I'm not saying, I'm just saying... so what do the rest of you say?

Yesterday, our next-door neighbour died. I didn't know her--she's been seriously ill ever since we moved in, and I only met her once and very briefly. Her kids (15 and 11, I think) pet-sit for us whenever we go out of town, though, and Trent and I have started to get to know her husband. So it was strange and sad news to get.

On Saturday night, we had to rush Marlowe to the vet again. It seems she's injured her back, and so it's likely not serious, but at the time, I was sure something awful was wrong, and that we would have to put her to sleep. Until Danny, our across-the-street neighbour, came over Sunday afternoon to tell us the sad news, I felt that our veterenary bills and Marlowe's health were an absolute crisis. And frankly, my worry about a little dog has affected me more than the death of a woman who lived next door to me. I know that you might feel that this isn't something I should admit, or that I lack compassion, but it has me thinking about the spheres of our own lives, and the events that shake us.

I have a strange worry. I worry that something will happen to Trent and me--a car accident, or the onset of a disease that kills us both suddenly, and that, not only will we die, but our pets will starve, because no one will know to come and take care of them. It's okay--you can laugh at me. I know it's a very silly worry. In Edmonton, we knew without even thinking about it that if we didn't leave the house for three days, or if we stopped showing up for work, or didn't return phone calls that Greg and Nadine or Myrna or Phil or Paul or Toni and Brad or someone would know to check in on us. But here in Halifax, we're still relatively rootless. Please don't think I'm being self-pitying here. I'm just reflecting on the nature of personal relationships--how they're formed, and how they can root you within a certain community.

I had a really rough time in November. I was depressed and lonely and stressed out, but last month, when it came time to explain to Toni how miserable I had felt the month before, it sounded weak to my own ears--partly because I didn't feel that way any more, and partly also because I couldn't point to an event, a catastrophic happening that could account for how unhappy I had been. Cause and effect.

My next-door neighbour died yesterday. And, even though they were expecting it, I know that her husband and her two sons feel crushed and surprised, but I would be ashamed to try and express what their sorrow might be, and not only because I don't know them all that well.

7 Things to Do in '07

Happy New Year! 2006 was a hella one, wasn't it? It's hard to believe that so much happened in 365 little days. As my New Year's gift to you all, here is my suggestion for 7 ways to make '07 more fun:

7. Rent Brick. The Good German is posing as the return of film noir, but it's amazing what a perfect fit film noir is with tormented adolescence. You'll recognize the movie's star from 3rd Rock From the Sun.

6. Get your own Blog and stop bugging me to update mine! (I'm kidding. I LOVE that you guys like to read my Blog so much. But I'm not kidding about getting your own. Seriously. Who doesn't want to see the Adventures Soholt or Paul Rocks Lethbridge or Phil & Nancy's Mad Geek Blog?)

5. Go rent the miniseries/pilot for the new version of Battlestar Galactica (it's avaible as "Season 1, Disc 1"). I know, I know. I was skeptical too--in fact, Phil and I used to call Corona LRT station "Battlestar Galactica" because of those awful, 70s-sci-fi-esque lights. Nancy made me watch an episode. And now Trent and I have been obsessively watching every episode available on DVD. Honestly, it's the only thing that's relieved some of the sting left by the end of Buffy. And it almost matches Buffy for witty repartee. My favourite, so far: "No more Mister Nice Gaius!" --Dr. Gaius Baltar.

4. When Outlander comes out, get together a big group of people and go see it together. Cheer madly every time Trent the Viking appears onscreen. Your fellow moviegoers will love you for it.

3. Sign up as an extra in a movie or TV episode. Get in touch with one of these guys to find out how.

2. Go and do something lame and touristy in your home city. Spend a night at the overpriced hotel in Fort Edmonton. Ride the roller coaster in West Ed. See the critters in the zoo. I don't know--something.

1. Book your visit to Halifax!