Also, I Plan to Start Wearing a Trenchcoat, Sunglasses, and Fedora in Public.

Hello, faithful readers. (By which I mean, Hi Phil.)

I'm having some internet privacy issues of late, so I'm going to lock down this Blog so that only people whom I approve can read it. It's probably something I should have done a long time ago, but I hate the feeling that I have to become all paranoid and hide my identity online. Mainly because I'm not all that interesting--I'd always thought that no one would really be interested in anything I post online. Not interested enough to stress about it, anyway.

So... in the next little while I'll be locking down this site. I've already locked down my Facebook page. If you want access to either, just drop me an email: becca {aaattt} cargoandjames {dottttt} com. (My hotmail account is too spammy.)

See ya undercover.

I'm Fessin' Up

Here it is--my confession: I am probably the only person in all of North America who wasn't glued to the TV today. Just after 1 (Halifax time), I made myself a tea, then walked down the hall and peered into all the offices where people were crowded around computer screen, watching the CNN live feed of the inauguration. And when I got back to my office, I cracked a browser window myself. But here's the confession: I wasn't enthralled. I didn't cry.
Before I start getting hate mail, I should clarify: I think Obama is awesome. Wish we could replace Sweatervest with an Obama of our own. I cried when I heard the election results. I feel pretty hopeful when I think of what the next eight (yes, eight) years will be like in the world. But I just subjected Nicole, my friend, colleage and officemate to a tyrade of cynical curmudgeonliness about the obsessive attention to the inauguration. Why? Honestly, I'm not really sure. Except that I feel generally suspicious of ceremonies. I guess what I'm most looking forward to is opening the newspaper over the next few weeks and months and seeing the kinds of things he does as President. Don't get me wrong: the English grad student in me really admires him as an orator. It's exciting (in a very nerdy way) to see rhetoric used so expressively and effectively in public. Especially after eight simultaneously hilarious and appalling George W years. (What? women putting food on their families?) I guess maybe, too, I think it's a little sad that we won't have such an obvious source of humour for the next few years. But what I think it comes down to is that I feel a little sorry for Obama. I mean, the man could be Jesus or Dumbledore himself and still not live up to all that we want him to live up to. Also, he's inheriting a huge crap pile, and everyone's trusting him to clean it all up: the economy, Iraq, Afghanistan, and more than three hundred years of racism and oppression--the whole shebang. Honestly, does anyone envy this man the task ahead of him? Still, I think we're all hopeful. I guess it's an exciting time--especially after eight years of terror and paranoia. So why am I being so curmudgeonly about the whole inauguration speech? Maybe I'm just a jerk. Or maybe I'm hoping that we're going to see real and meaningful change. And as much as I love a well-crafted, effectively delivered speech, I think that what excites me most is not the speech, but the action that, I hope, will follow.
Or maybe I'm just curmudgeonly.

Let's Act Green!

As usual, I'm probably the last to hear about this, but I like the One Million Acts of Green thing. I like that it gives me easy tips, so I don't feel all overwhelmed, like I have to undergo a major change and save the planet all by myself. I like that it tells me I'm a good girl for the things I've already figured out on my own--like that I should stop using my dryer and air-dry my clothes instead (I love my outdoor clothes line in the summer! I particularly like hanging out Trent's gynch with the yeti!) and that cold water is better than hot for doing laundry. I like that it's giving me new tips to try. I think you guys should join. Unless, of course, I'm the last to get on board and you all know already. Either way, here are a few things I've figured out already:

• Vinegar makes the best cleaning product. Buy a tiny jar of a nice-smelling essential oil (pine and bergamot are nice) and mix pickling vinegar (it's stronger) with a few drops of the essential oil in a spray bottle for cleaning counters, bathrooms, sinks, and toilets. Add a little baking soda to clean the bathtub. Dilute in hot water to wash floors. By the way, vinegar is dirt cheap--cheaper than ordinary cleaners and way, way cheaper than enviro cleaners!
• Eat vegetarian once a week. If you don't like tofu, add lentils to your pasta, or put almonds on your salad. Meat production and processing also produces a lot of greenhouse gasses. Come on--one supper a week isn't all that hard. Just ask Trent!
• Clothes lines are awesome! They make your clothes smell so nice, and wind is a natural fabric softener. Except in the winter. In winter, it's just a freeze-solid-crunchifier.
• Nellie's All-Natural and Watkins make awesome natural laundry detergents. Nellie's even makes a great bleach substitute. Add a tablespoon each of vinegar and baking soda to your laundry for extra cleaning power. Buy powders, not liquids, and always wash on cold.

Okay, now your turn: tell me the ones I've been missing. Oh, and click on the link in my first paragraph and join the challenge!

A Pretentious, Biased and Uneducated Art Review

To the confession: art makes me feel dumb. I don't really understand the different between a really good painting and a poor one. Like everyone else, I like some paintings, and I don't like others. I have some basic concept of technique and composition, but visual art usually makes me feel like I'm going to be exposed for my plebeian tastes.
Poetry used to make me feel the same way. I was nearly 30 before I finally felt that I "got" poetry. A startling confession for an English PhD candidate, I know. Give me a novel or a short story, a play or an essay and I'm a critical fish in water. But poetry... I'm still getting used to it.
And maybe it's because we're all so used to seeing photos, but my visual arts anxieties are somewhat lessened when I'm looking at a photograph. So I'm pretty excited that this month's Cargo & James exhibit is part of the Photopolis Festival. Until the end of October, we will be showing Scott Blackburn's Religious Views by a Non-Religious Person. And you know what? I look at his photos and I think, "I get it..."
And so right now, I'm going to offer a critical review of some of his paintings. Don't judge me if I get it wrong.
My favourite photo is of a Madonna statue from a church in Church Point, NS. The statue is remarkably lifelike, and her eyes are turned to heaven, only Scott has managed to capture her gaze from a downward perspective. As you look at the photo, you feel an uncomfortable sense of voyeurism--like you have somehow got between her gaze and God. In addition, the statue, and its gaze in particular, is uncannily lifelike--I continually forget that I'm looking at a photo of a statue. It's both beautiful and usettling.
Scoot has also taken a composite photo of a church that is falling into ruin; the amazing thing about this photo is that the images suggests iconic heaven-and-hell imagery: beams of sunlight falling through the ruined roof, and darkness showing through the broken floorboards.
Other images expose the often decaying pageantry of religious imagery: beautiful statues feature cracks and faults, and the guilding on haloes is tarnished and rusted.
Okay. I'll stop being so bloody pretentious now. You can trust me when I tell you that tese are beautiful and haunting pictures, or you can come to Cargo & james to see them yourself, and then tell me how utterly wrong I am about them.

Sure, They SAY 70% of Communication is Non-Verbal...

You can smell it in the air... stale beer and acne medication. That's how you know this year's crop of first-year students is in town, settling in for, y'know, school and... stuff. Today, all the street corners are dotted with Shinerama volunteers: 17-to-19-year-old standing at every intersection, collecting money for Cystic Fibrosis research. Some of them have rigged up boxes on sticks so that they don't have to step out into traffic: they just poke out the box, and drivers roll down their passenger windows and throw money in. Problem is, I'm a luddite withour power windows, and a pickup truck I can't reach across. So at every corner on my way into the city, I'm making this exaggerated rolling motion with my right arm, and hoping that they'll understand that the motion, coupled with my pained "I'm-sorry" grimace, means, "I don't have power windows, so I can't give you money right now, but I feel really, really guilty about it!" and not, "I'm a miser and think charity is for suckers!" Fianlly, finally, I'm headed down a quiet street and I see more Shinerama kids. I pull over, reach across the gigantuan cab of my truck, roll down the window, hand them all my change, and I explain my predicament and ask that they stick one of their Shinerama stickers to my passenger window, thinking that would help explain things on my way home. And it would have too, except that on the drive home, all the Shinerama kids were on the driver's side. Sigh.

Bear's HNIC Submissions

Log on and tell them how much Bear rocks!

Click Here

And Here

If this is a practical joke...

there will be some crying.

http://www.fireflyseason2.com/

I Want Your Brains! BraaAAAAAIIIIIIiinnsssss!

Here's the skinny: Trent had a brain child this spring, and now we're trying to get it working. Buckley's Music is donating a guitar to our store. We're going to hang it on the wall next to a donations box and invite customers to play it... for a small donation. Then we're going to match those donations, and the money will go to providing music lessons for kids whose families can't afford to pay for them on their own; the YWCA is going to help us select program participants. All is going well, except we can't think of a clever name for the program. "Music for Youth" is just so prosaic. Little help?

I'm Not Dead, I'm Just Boring

So this Blog is making me a little anxious lately. I keep trying to think of something to post. For a long time, I figured no one read this beasty any more, but then you all give me hell when I go unposted for a long time. Well, I hate to say it, but I got nothing. Life is pretty dull these days. I don't even have a good rant for you, on account of I'm pretty happy about most things. I worry about our teashop not making money yet (though we did have a really good day on Saturday, despite the crappy weather), and I am secretly (check that: was secretly--not so secret any more) terrified that everyone will find out what a big academic slacker I am, even though I've had a really productive couple of months. I'm working out a lot lately, and even though I haven't lost any weight, and I look pretty much exactly the same as I did in my winter hibernation months, I feel prettier. Much, much prettier. Yay, endorphins! Trent and I went to Montreal for a few days. It was fun, relaxing, and I'm still trying to figure out how to get the pics off my cell phone. I wish we had more time and more money to do all the house projects we plan on doing. I wish I could take a few weeks and visit Edmonton. I wish my dissertation would go faster. I wish I would get an acceptance letter in the mail from a publisher for a change. I wish everyone who's sent me a rejection letter would get really bad hives. I wish we had a maid--or at least a house elf. I wish I had another Harry Potter book to look forward to. I wish my hair was naturally red so I could stop dying it. I wish I could afford to go shopping much more often. But I'm glad the writer's strike is over, on account of I got my BSG back. And I'm glad Trent hooked up a computer to the TV so I can watch Buffy whenever I want. I'm glad I'm not teaching this summer so I have more time for school, the store, the garden and the gym. I'm glad we're finally making good friends in Halifax. I'm glad shirts are long and waists are Empire this summer. I'm glad it's almost summer! I'm glad to hear how well everyone I love is doing. And I'm glad you guys still actually want to hear what's going on in my life--even if it's boring. I love you and I miss you.

I'm on TV!

...but am I that prissy in real life?!

Halifax Living

It's Not Really Sexism if You're a Woman.

You know what I DON'T like? UFC. You know--cage fighting, mixed martial arts, ultimate fighting, call it what you will. Two 'roided-up guys with cauliflower ears grappling on the ground, trying to make each other pass out or tap out or whatever. And don't tell me I have to give it a chance before I decide. I gave it two chances--watched two PPV events. Both times, I felt mildly nauseated and very bored. I think it's a big masculinist display of brute force and it's dumb.
It's not that I'm against violence in sports. I think boxing is stupid (we all saw Rocky IV and itwas no surprise that Stallone--er, Rocky was brain damaged), but I do like hockey fights (in a hockey game, not just staged for the hell of it). Of course, I like hockey fights because they're funny. Guys with that much padding are NOT going to hurt each other. They might as well just have a pillow fight. (Or not, because my mom says that's a good way to lose an eye.) Okay, maybe I am a little against violence in sports.
I've discovered that I have an exception: women's mixed martial arts. My friend Tannaya (yes, green drinks Tannaya) is an Ultimate Fighter. And I think that is so cool that I want Cargo & James Halifax to sponsor her next fight! How awesome would that be? I mean, tea is healthy, and mixed martial arts is a sport and sports are healthy, right? Right?
Trent, of course, is mildly perturbed by what he sees as sexism on my part. After all, if I hate watching men kick the crap out of each other, that should go for women, too, right?
Wrong. Here's why: when men do stupid things like Ultimate Fighting, I'm pretty sure it's meant to be a display of masculine prowess: "look at what the male body can do!" Or "See? I'm a man. I'll prove it by kicking some other guy's ass and emasculating him in front of a huge crowd and some TV cameras." But when women do it, they're picking at the very masculinist posturing that's behind these macho displays. Suddenly, it's all, "look at what the human body can do!" Because women are meant to be excluded from these displays of physical prowess. Or we're just supposed to watch and be impressed by them or something. Kicking some other woman's ass is an act of feminism, see?
Or maybe I'm just justifying because I think Tannaya is so cool and I want to go and watch her kick some other woman's ass.

I Oopsied.

Once again, Becca is reminded that Blogs are a public forum. A newspaper reporter found my Blog the other day and wanted to report on the trials and tribulations of opening a teashop in Halifax. Perhaps I should take this moment to clarify that this Blog is intended to form a personal conversation between me and my family and friends, and that I would really, really prefer that my comments not be republished in any other forum. However, I don't like the idea of going all secret and making my Blog by-invitation-only. I guess I just need the occasional reminder that ANYONE can find me here if they look long enough.

So... teashop is open and going well. I've posed for newspaper photos twice this week and given three interviews. The interviews I enjoy, the photos not so much. The teashop is open and it is lovely, except that we still don't have our bookshelves or fireplace (see trials and tribulations, below). My staff is fantastic, and I have my life back--I only have to be there a few days a week, and I have my comfy chair in the corner by the espresso machine where I read my trauma studies and contemplate beginning work on my dissertation. I present my PhD prospectus to the department on the 31st and generally, life is good. Except that Bear has to travel to Cape Breton every weekend until the end of February for work.

Oh--and I did a really fun thing yesterday: I'm TAing for a professional writing course, and the students have to do a presentation to the class using PowerPoint. The prof (Lyn B, for whom I TAed before, and who ROCKS!) asked me to do a demo presentation, and I figured, sure, I could do a GOOD presentation, but where's the fun in that? Lyn and I talked, and I decided to do a what-not-to-do demo. So fun! I recycled an old lecture on Structuralism and Post-Structuralism (complete with huge photo of the winner of the World's Ugliest Dog contest), except that I added slides packed with dense definitions of the terms, which I then read as fast as possible, with my back to the class. I also said remarkably pretentious and preposterous things like, "And of course, we are all familiar with Claude Levi-Strauss' seminal work in anthropology" and "I'm sure you're all familiar with Roman Jakobson's particular brand of Russian Formalism." It is just so fun to see a completely flummoxed look on a student's face! You have no idea how liberating it can be to aim to fail.

And now, just for you, the World's Ugliest Dog: (imagine it in huge PowerPoint style!)

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!)