Everybody Has Their Price, I Guess

You guys know how I feel about reality television, and the Idol competition in particular. Sure, we all know that pop music is as much a product of corporate manufacturing as Microsoft computers and vinyl siding, but let's not rub our faces in it. I've always felt, though, that Canada--and Edmonton in particular--has a strong, vibrant independent arts scene, and that belief has let me feel pretty strongly that whatever cultural pabulum Corporate America (or Canada) has to feed us, there are smart and talented people who are fighting the good fight, in their own way. People like my friend Heather, who is the most amazing director/dramaturg I've ever had the pleasure of working with--and stronger performers than me can say the same. People like Tania, who is opening her own belly dance studio this fall. Other cool, talented people that I know like Scott Sharplin, Kyla Fisher, Saskia Aarts, Janaya Ellis, and Christine Sokaymoh Frederick. People that I don't know like Darren Hagen and Sheldon Elter, who pretty much make a career out of Fringe theatre. Then, the other day, I was watching TV and an ad for Canadian Idol came on, announcing this year's competitors, including Edmonton's Sheldon Elter. I figure, no way--not the Metis Mutt guy. Must be a coincidence. So I go online and, sure enough, it's him.
Granted, I don't know the guy personally. To be honest, I'm not even all that familiar with his work. For all I know, he's been dreaming of reforming 98 Degrees ever since Nick up and married Jessica. I had a pretty strong feeling up until now, though, that if I ever did meet him, there was a good chance that we could sit down and talk about what's wrong with culture production in North America today. So maybe I don't have the right to feel betrayed by what I see as an obvious sellout by the poster boy for indie arts in Alberta--but I can't help but wonder how the ticket sales for his Fringe show this summer are going to go.
So. In the spirit of Mr Elter's stint on Idol, I have mapped future career paths for each of you.
Mom: doing advertising artwork for Ritalin.
Trent: playing backup bass for Britney Spears' next Pepsi ad.
Heather: directing said ad.
Tania and Aunt Deb: developing a way of maximizing the fat-burning movements in belly dancing to incorporate them in a "Look Like Paris Hilton in 2 Easy Weeks" diet and exercise manual.
Roz: developing a bacteria that eats body fat so that the wealthy don't have to learn the belly dance exercise regime.
Toni: organizing the women in the correctional facility to perform unpaid manual labour in the production of Sheldon Elter's debut album.
Heidi: launching a subliminal ad campaign to convince Banff vagrants to do roadside advertising for the album instead of begging for change
Phidit and Brad: engineering a computer that will eliminate the need for reading--just input the titles (or just the picture of the movie version you saw on the cover if you can't remember the title) of whatever books you happened to see in the bookstore, and the computer will generate academic essays, witty party repartee and well-considered opinions for multiple situations from job interview to date to a chance conversation with the author.
That's it. That's all I got. Go forth and corporatize, my lovelies.

I Blame Nikki

In an effort to assuage the pain of my broken heart (so close! two little goals!) I'm going to tell you about my Friday adventure. I work 45 hours a week at the greenhouse this month plus, on Fridays, I TA for a summer course, not to mention all the reading I'm supposed to be doing, so I have to schedule time out. Every Friday afternoon, my friends Nikki and Meg and I meet for coffee. Last Friday, the sun came out and it was beautiful, so we had cold drinks on the waterfront. We were sitting on the wharf, about to head off home when Nikki pretends to hitch a ride on a passing boat. The guys on it laugh and keep going, but a minute later, they reappear, heading the other way. Meg says she thinks they might be stopping. Sure enough, our new friends Peter and Norm offer us a ride around the harbour. It was gorgeous! We went out to McNab's Island, past the dockyard and back. It was so fun! Nikki had her camera; I'll post some photos soon.

Was that the Bird or a Thumbs-Up?

There are now three of us in Halifax with Oilers car flags: me, Trent and the lovely English department grad secretary, Mary Beth. Most of the time, I don't even think about it--just get in my truck, pop on the flag and get going--which sometimes gets me teased at work. Whatever.
So last week, I was driving on campus to meet Nikki for a coffee. I'm on University Avenue which, while not technically a pedestrian street, tends to see more foot traffic than vehicles. This student is crossing the street in front of me, then all of a sudden he stops and starts punching the air. I'm thinking, what is this, some new pedestrian-automobile road rage that I haven't heard of yet? The guy looks really serious and he's waving his fist up in the air like he wishes it were soebody's face and finally, I realize that he's giving me some kind of uber-serious Go-Oilers-Go signal. I guess I could have honked my horn or punched the air back at him, but I was so honest-to-god relieved that he wasn't going to jump on Hana's hood and start kicking the windshield out, all I managed was a smile.

Go Oilers!

That's all. I'm not going for eloquence here.

Everybody Blog Now!

Seriously. Make a Blog. Name it something silly. Phidit, you do the Wyoming Tumbleweed Blog; Roz, you can do the Harry Potter Fan Blog or the I Just Dodged Bonerville Blog; Trent can do the Transplanted Musician Blog, Paul can do the Only 26-Year-Old in Lethbridge Blog. Aunt Deb, you make the West Coast Granola Blog, Julie and Heather can compete for World's Cutest Baby Blog, Junaid can add to the world's store of I Love Gandalf Blogs, Toni can replace the Marathon Blog with the My Husband Makes Up Words Blog (Shramp Blog for short)... you get the picture. Just Blog. Because I'm addicted. I love Blogs. I love reading other people's Blogs, I Blogging, I love reading the comments you guys put on my Blog.

My Mommy Blogs. http://esmeandron.blogspot.com/. Just some incentive for you. Also, look at what I just noticed: http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=16479204&postID=112752646194116885. See, Tania is not the only one to learn that ANYONE can read your Blog! (Good story, that. Another good story is the one about the time she went on a date with and subsequently injured the guy who posted anonymously to her Blog. Geeks are fragile! Cute, but fragile.)

And they don't even issue gloves.

I got a job this week--started yesterday. I still get scholarship payments over the summer, plus I have a small summer term TAship, but partly because I was bored at home and not doing the reading I should have been (I require structure to work effectively!) and partly because we could use the extra cash, I decided to get a part-time job. Because we could survive on my summer pay if we needed to, I only applied for jobs I thought I would enjoy. So I got called for an interview at Atlantic Gardens, the biggest gardening centre in Metro (i.e. the greater Halifax area--Atlantic gardens is actually in Bedford and Sackville. Think St. Albert or Sherwood Park.) and they said that they're looking for full-time (44 hours/week) at the Sackville greenhouse. I said no thanks, I really only want part-time (no more than 30 hours in any given week, but I'd prefer less) in Bedford. She said okay, she'll get back to me the following day. I didn't hear from her for a few days, so I figure that someone else got the job. Then she called on Friday to tell me she wants me in the following day (yesterday--Saturday) for full-time up in Sackville. What do you do? I said okay, but that after June, I really, really only want part-time. Just a couple of shifts a week. Seriously. She said maybe.

I am such a freakin marshmallow.

So I start yesterday and get this--not only do they have one of those old-fashioned punch-card systems, there is a recess bell that tells us when to start, when to go on break, when to get back to work, and when to go home! I swear to god, I feel like at 5 o'clock, I should be sliding down a dinosaur's tail to my car! And my hands are all cut up from the stupid plastic plant trays. This is awesome.

Home from P-Gizzle

Yeah, that's what the UNBC students told us to call Prince George. We thought it was pretty funny. Of course, it didn't take us much to laugh at that point.
Honestly, I did spend 3 lovely days in Langley with my Aunt Deb and 5 fabulous days relaxing in Sparwood with Mom, but those 3 days in PG really, really stand out in my mind. I think it will take a while to get over it.
So, rather than repeating once again what a dodgy town Prince George is, I'm going to post some more pictures of my house. Which is practically empty right now, since Trent is on a business trip to Fort MacMurray, AB. Wow. P-Gizzle and Fort Crack. Since our move to Halifax, we visit really beautiful places, Trent and I. Here are some pictures. When you're done looking at them, call me because I'm bored and lonely.

Becca in BC

I am posting today from beautiful, metropolitan Prince Goerge, British Columbia! I've been in BC for the past week. My GSAC AGM was this weekend, and last night, we tore it up in PG. Colourful place. Maybe the less said, the better...

On an unrelated note (mainly because I didn't get back to the hotel until 4 in the morning, and I'm unable to make any reasonable, logical connections), here are some pics of the little shindig Trent and I had at the house last week. Please notice the lovely and delicate expression on my face. Don't know what Kim said, but it must have been interesting...

This one is my friend Nikki--without a doubt one of the sweetest people I've ever met. We kept teasing her about her hot shirt!

And here is Trent, very focused on being cool.

At Long Last

We finally got around to taking pictures of our house! Please don't judge us by the ugly wallpaper, carpets (we call them the Redrum carpets) or the fact that, other than the bathroom, which Trent did a beautiful job on (don't you think?) the only paint colours are white, pale peach (blech!) or the bizarre, hot pink wall next to the stairs! This first picture of the exterior of the house was taken before we moved in--we don't really have a boat in the driveway or a covered swing on the deck!

Notice the new woodstove in our living room! Yay! Notice that we haven't put away the T-Shirts that Phidit sent us from Mount Rushmore! Boo!

Okay, Blogspot is starting to get wonky. I'd better publish this post. More photos soon, I promise!

Sweatercat

Since Ozzy sheds so much and has been having problems with hairballs, we decided to get him shaved a couple of months ago. He's happy like this, but I can't help laughing every time I look at him--it looks like he's wearing a tight, grey sweater over his puffy, black fur!

Redrum...redrum

This is a picture of out television room; please notice the ugly carpet. Trent and I call it the Redrum carpet. On the left side of the picture is a wall; on the other side of this wall is the Hallway to Nowhere. The entrance to Narnia may be at the end of it... Anyway, eventually, that wall and the Redrum carpet have got to go!

The Time Paul Came to Visit

Mom and Dad Soholt sent us a very nice present last month: Paulie! And we actually managed to pry him off the couch* for some touristing (despite the searing cold Nova Scotia winter weather).
Here are some pics of his visit.

*In Paul's defense, the Olympics were on...

Under Surveillance

Proverb for Paranoids:
#5. Paranoids are not paranoid because they're paranoid, but because they keep putting themselves, fucking idiots, deliberately into paranoid situations.
--Thomas Pynchon, Gravity's Rainbow

Oh-kayyy... got a little tap on the shoulder from Big Brother yesterday. Two phone messages were waiting for me when I got home from campus. The first was a telephone message from Captain John Somethingorother from the Canadian Forces Recruiting Centre. He was looking for my elusive brother Phidit for... "a time-sensitive job offer." Second message was from Mary Beth, the lovely, wonderful English department grad secretary. Seems Captain John was calling there, looking for a graduate student: one Rebecca Babcock, sister of Philip Malanchuk, currently registered in the English department at Dalhousie University, to deliver a time-sensitive message to the aforementioned brother.

Folks, let's review the facts:

1. Phidit and I have different last names.
2. I have not yet notified any government agencies of my move to Nova Scotia, though I have submitted a funding application to the Social Science and Humanities Research Council.
3. I was not listed in the Edmonton telephone book, so even if Phil did use my old phone number to apply, that should have led them to Trent, and not to me.
4. Phil's recrtuitment application certainly did not ask him to list his sister's future place of employment.

It gets weirder. Captain John called the house today. Trent was home. The Captain wanted us to give him Phidit's phone number. He knew Phil is in Wyoming, but didn't know how to reach him there. At last, Bear jumps on the paranoia wagon with me and evades Cap Jo's questions. Cap Jo, however, asks if Phil's mother is still living in BC...

So. I'm heading to a cabin in the mountains with a sockful of money in lieu of credit cards, a pocketful of vegetable seeds and a half-dozen fertilized chicken eggs. Anyone want to come with?

(Do not post your reply to this message... we are being watched.)

I am so cool.

Know what I did last weekend? I went curling. Yup. Played skip on the English department curling team in the History department's annual bonspiel. God. I'm like a whirlwind of awesome.

The Funny Thing About Snow Days

Last Tuesday night, we had a big(ish) winter storm, and on Wednesday, all Halifax (and area) was shut down on account of the blizzard and impassable streets, so on Wednesday, Trent and I had a Snow Day--basically a free day off, which was awesome, except when we had to try to shovel the vehicles out of the garage (we eventually had to leave up on Grillface and just leave him in the garage until enough snow melted to get him out). Today, it's warm, sunny, and there's hardly any snow left on the ground. So when people warn you that Halifax doesn't have a spring, what they really mean is that we get spring 11 or 12 times a winter--basically, every time it snows. It's not like Edmonton where you don't see the ground for months on end.

I think I like this better. Snow Days are fun.

I Wanna Be a Minority

I briefly considered being too depressed about the election results to get out of bed this morning. Problem was, I was already out of bed and honestly, politically-motivated depression just doesn't seem like a good enough reason to get undressed and crawl back into bed in the middle of the day. Also, it occurs to me that a minority Conservative government isn't going to get anything passed--assuming, of course, we don't have another vote of non-confidence, say, next week and jump into another election cycle. So I'll have to content myself with wearing drab colours and moping. Of course, I was feeling a little out of sorts yesterday, so I did my fair share of moping then, too. Michelle, a History MA student who also has an office in Bleak House, told me that statistically-speaking, January 23rd is the most depressing day of the year. Then Rob, an Eglish MA student said that he's had way more depressing days. Then it snowed yesterday and I felt better. Turns out, snow doesn't stay on the ground for months and months in Nova Scotia. It's only snowy for a few days--a week or two at the most--then it rains, and everything's all green again. Like winter in intervals. I can handle that, even with Stephen Harper in power.
Does it seem off to anyone else that Canada has 3 centre-left parties--one of which is corrupt, the other, hopelessly idealistic, and the third only represents one province--and only one right-wing party?
Oh, and by the way, it felt really, really weird, not being one of only 7 people in my riding voting NDP. I live in Alexa-land now.

I Like the Fog.

I thought it would make me feel claustrophobic. But it actually seems very soft, almost gentle. The streetlights make pretty haloes in the fog.

Her Name is Hana

because I had just finished reading In the Skin of a Lion for my TA class, and Morag's name was Morag because I'd just read The Diviners. And I'm not an environmental nightmare. Hana's engine isn't much bigger than Morag's was, and I just drive into the Mumford bus terminal in Halifax's West end, then I take the bus to school from there. And I have a cell phone, but it's a safety cell phone in case something happens when Hana and I are driving home alone on the highway, and my palm pilot is socond-hand--no, third-hand, actually, because Trent bought it from my friend Neil last year, then Trent gave it to me when his work got him a new one, and I never whip 'er out in public and start pretentiously nerding around on it, I just use it to record when my assignments and stuff are due. And I will start volunteering again and maybe even doing some acting when my course work is over, because I just don't have time right now.

I'm still me.

You Drive a WHAT?!

This is going to be a long post. If you don't have time to read it, you might want to come back later. Or scroll down and check out my Dragonerriers post--it's much funnier, anyway.
Our new house is out in the country. In Edmonton, suburbs are either a part of the city (as in Mill Woods or Callingwood) or else they're their own community, with stores and schools and malls (as in St Albert or Spruce Grove). In Nova Scotia, you leave Halifax, drive through the forest for a while, the suddenly, you're in a residential neighbourhood (as in Williamswood). The really cool thing about that is that you get to live in this beautiful, quiet area, surrounded by forest and lakes, but you still have neighbours. The unfortunate bit is you have to drive in to Hali to go grocery shopping or to rent a movie or to sit in a coffee shop and work. Which is not bad if you have a car, since Spryfield is only a few minutes away (and despite Jody's dire warnings, I haven't been mugged or shot there yet). However, if you don't have a car, you're a little hooped, since the buses don't run to the outlying communities, despite the fact that they're a part of the HRM (Halifax Regional Municipality). Needless to say, this makes Morag-less me feel a little claustrophobic. I COULD ride into Bedford every morning with Trent, take a bus into Halifax, then ride back with him in the evening, but I don't like being that dependent. Besides, if I decide to stay home one day, then discover that we need milk or lightbulbs or something, I'm stuck waiting until 6p.m., when he gets home. So we talk about it and decide that I really do need a car.
Gas prices are ridiculously expensive out here. In fact, the only thing more expensive than gas in Halifax is milk. (Ponder it.) So we decide that I need a nice, fuel-efficient small car. Except that one day it snowed, and all down the Old Sambro Road (the road that leads us to Williamswood) small cars are sliding into the ditch. Also, virtually the whole way into Hali is via highway, and though Grillface (i.e Trent's Toyota RAV4) is great on gas in the city, the engine is too small to be efficient on the highway. Okay. So we decide we need something heavier with a slightly bigger engine--maybe another Taurus or a small SUV. And we decide, yeah, a small SUV is a good idea. That way, when we start to do house repairs, we can fill up the back with lumber and drywall, and we can use it to haul wood for our 2 fireplaces. So Trent gets quiet for a minute, and he says, "I know you aren't going to like this, but a small truck might actually be more practical for that kind of thing. And if we get a 4x4, you'll be safer driving in the winter."
Truck? No way. I don't want someone yelling "Sorry about your penis!" at me. Forget it. I did NOT escape redneck, duelly-driving Alberta to drive a truck.
Except that it starts to make sense. And then on Christmas day, we go to visit Trent's aunt, uncle and cousins in Moncton. They own a Ford dealership there. Next thing I know, I'm signing lease papers on a Ford Ranger XLT extended cab. Sorry about MY penis, indeed.
This is not the end of it though. I am buying a gun rack for that baby, and I'm going to mount the giant Super-Soaker watergun that Trent's dad bought be on the back of it. Sorry about YOUR penis, you soggy jerk.

My Present to You...

Okay, I'll admit it. I thought my Dragonerriers post was pretty clever. Yes, I made myself laugh. But I have to concede the title of Funniest Blog to these guys:
http://www.overheardatwestern.blogspot.com/
Consider it my gift to you, and Merry Christmas!