Save Us, Jeebus!

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

All in All, A Productive Day

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

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

Happy Birthday Trent!

29 Today!

More Lakes and Trees...

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

Silent But Deadly

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

His Noodly Appendage

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

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

Administrivia

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"No, your school needs to sign it."

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

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

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

"Then get your school to sign it."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Yes."

"And all parts are signed and filled out?"

"Yes."

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

"Really?"

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

Roger that. Over and out.

I am Worth More than $0.25/Share!

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

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

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

Yay, We're Vikings!

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

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

32 054 400 Seconds

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

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

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

Hello, Viking.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Green Drinks... They Get You Every Time!

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


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









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












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











And then we started posing for the camera...

Right... about those green drinks...

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

I Swear, I'm in This One!

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

www.roommagazine.com

Clogging the Tubes in Saint John

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

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

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

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

It's Like Caffeine Withdrawal, Only Worse.

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

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


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

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

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

This is why I'm not a recreational drug user

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

Would someone please tell the paramedics why my heart exploded?

Am I Wearing a Warning Label?

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

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

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

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

Toni Said I Had To.

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

Hitchhiker's Guide to Halifax Harbour

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

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

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

Meg and me.

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

Nikki on the front of the boat.

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