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!

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.)