A Case of Mutiple Super-Personality Disorder

Apparently, they just couldn't decide who I was:

Your Superhero Profile A

Your Superhero Name is The Ring Hurricane Your Superpower is Rapping Your Weakness is Love Your Weapon is Your Particle Rusty Your Mode of Transportation is Love Van

What's your Superhero Name?

Darn you, Love!

Your Superhero Profile B

Your Superhero Name is The Living Singer Your Superpower is Invisibility Your Weakness is Women Your Weapon is Your Nuclear Crowbar Your Mode of Transportation is Pegasus

What's your Superhero Name?

I'm a danger to myself, apparently.

Your Superhero Profile C

Your Superhero Name is The Psychic Ranger Your Superpower is Spiritual Your Weakness is Flirting Your Weapon is Your Light Lance Your Mode of Transportation is Jet

What's your Superhero Name?

Just turn on the flirting and let God do the rest...


Bah, I'm supposed to be studying!!

The alcaline eye

Bad, bad me. Whatever happened to iron-willed, steely-focused studying? A tiny, quick entry, that's all, I have promised myself, and then it's back upstairs to the books. Every since I moved my room around, I've been studying in the orange armchair I dragged upstairs from the basement. It's so bizarre to be studying upstairs in my room... I've always been a kitchen table studier, one who would gripe about the steady drone of conversation and interruptions around me while secretly relishing it as unavoidable opportunities for procrastination.

Anyways. So much for my apparent anonymity on my blog. I am still not quite sure if I intended this blog to be as anonymous as my previous one, or if I started a new blog for precisely the reason to actually have a place to connect with the known. A little of both, I guess, but again, my fault completely. It's too hard to resist the temptation of connecting... is it a pride issue? Back to the second grade, but instead of comparing lunch boxes, we now compare blogs?

I rest bemused, slightly ashamed, but with not enough time to consider this farther. Back upstairs I go...

Making my ancestors proud...

I think a study should be done on the completely bizarre eating habits of students. Come to think of it, I'm sure there have already been countless studies done; all those articles on the Freshman 15 didn't come out of nowhere. Maybe they should just use me as a case study then. I had a microbiology exam this morning, so I spent all yesterday evening studying. My study-eating habits are not too pretty. I had a normal breakfast, went to church, came home and had a normal lunch. Then things started getting out of control. It used to be that I would inevitably get uncontrollable munchies while studying. Now, the munchies attack me when I even think about studying. I went through chips, chocolate, a random second lunch of slow-cooked porkchops and saurekraut (Я љублю кіслу капусту!), several apples, more chips, numerous glasses of lemon ginger ale (I hate ginger ale but by this point my stomach was upset), and some raisins. Chocolate-covered, of course. Then peppermint tea and kubasa and cheese made an appearance for supper. And then I started studying.

No, it wasn't quite that bad. I fit some studying in somewhere between the second lunch and the late dinner. And now, it's only 1100 in the morning, and I'm already more than ready for lunch.

I think all of the brain cells I miss while studying end up in my stomach, making it larger and emptier than ever. Sigh. I should have taken a culinary degree and killed two birds with one stone.

Un nuit, stille nacht, wretched night

It's Remembrance Day, I suppose; 54 minutes past, but still close enough. And what did I do today that was worth remembering? Spent over a third of my day at the ol' BB, selling mindless movies to equally mindless customers... some with only minds enough to berate me on the lack of inspiring titles (because sadly enough, Little Man and Click are considered inspiring).

Last night, in the newborn minutes of Remembrance Day, I watched Joyeux Noël with my brother - a film that portrays the ceasefire of WWI on Christmas Eve in a manner as complex and beautiful as the three languages in which it is filmed. Usually on Remembrance Day, I weep for the countless individuals who have died in sacrifice. This year, after watching that film, I wept for the wars that had to take place at all.

They sang together and toasted each other and bested each other in football one glorious evening: why did they allow their commanding officers to make them enemies once again? The ceasefire created beauty, but in the end, where is the beauty in killing a friend?

Par chemin au parchemin

I think the receptionist thought I was quite cute today. I went to her to find out if the Soirée d'excellence was tonight.

Oui, oui, bien sûr...

And was it at 19h30?

Mais oui, je crois que oui...

And, well... what exactly was it for?

I think that's when she thought I was being cute. Especially after I tried to explain to her that yes, I had been invited to it, but I happened to have lost the invitation a few days after I received it. I wish everyone was that easy to please.

Mom was my invitée for the evening, and I felt bad for even dragging her along, because I was pretty sure we would just end up sitting in the theatre for half an hour while a faculty member praised us as a passing comment to his plea for more funding.

Apparently not. As soon as we walked in, I was whisked away to a separate room to prepare for our "entrance," while Mom was vaguely directed in a language she did not speak towards a room in a school she had never before entered. I was given a program. I was affixed with a corsage. I was then waved towards a swollen mass of fellow recipients who had already tightened into casually intimidating groups. I escaped to the bathroom to gather my courage, and when I returned, the room was still and listening to a faculty member give final instructions. I only caught her last sentence:

Be sure you don't make any mistakes.

How very comforting.

I felt as though I was at a sombre wedding or a very mellow graduation. There was even a musical trio providing improvised melodies as each recipient was announced! There was a photographer and embossed mock-leather folders and a light reception afterwards. So much for this not being a big deal. I rather liked it.

And I liked showing off my world to my mom. The entire program was in French - whoopsies. I think she had half-prepared for that but it was still somewhat of a surprise. But she followed along as best she could, and what I appreciated most was she didn't try to anglicize the evening. She noticed the differences and emphasized them and was proud of me for them. I took her on a tour of my school and we were both so full of delight to share this new part of my life together. The reception only had instant coffee lurking inside the carafes, so she declared she would take me out to celebrate. We hopped over to Finales, because I wanted to see where Kat worked, and of course who happened to be working tonight? It was a good evening. Two of my favourite girls in the world that I love. What more could I ask for?

Y a l'Ontario dans l'cul aussi!

I spent the evening (somewhat inadvertently) at the French Film Festival, hanging out at the Globe for 2½ hours because my best friend can't read military time. Her and I and my brother just returned home from watching Bon Cop Bad Cop, and all I can say is:

Canadian filmmakers, I salute you.

One of the wittiest, most hilarious and beautifully juxtaposed films I have seen in a very long time. The humour was birthed purely from the rapid-paced, clever dialogue, and the development in character relations was subtle but utterly essential to the underlying themes of the movie.

I actually don't know when I have laughed so hard during a movie. And yet it moved me to tears as well. They took the most common of themes and inlaid it with wholly Canadian references and gestures that transformed a forgettable cops n' robbers movie into an unforgettable look at the pride of a culture versus the pride of a nation that threaten to tear each other apart.

I have my rights too; this is the smoking section.

Quand j'ai regardé à l'interieur, j'ai pensé que j'entendais quelqu'un en destres. Et il y avait quelqu'un, mais pas qui j'ai pensé. Et il était en destres... mais pas aujourd'hui.

You have a strong accent in both French and English... who was your tutour, Jean Chrétien?

Do yourself a favour : go and support Canadian film.