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.