Saturday, April 28, 2007
Happy May Day? April Fools! February Free Month!
February 28 2007:
After my Chimie organique miterme, I had two hours to study for my Physics test. It was not pretty. The test was not pretty . My fingernails after the test were not pretty. When I went to hand my paper in, Mr. Schraeder eagerly asked, "So, was it hard? easy?"
I just looked at him. Then I simply said, "I felt really dumb doing that test."
His face fell. Poor guy. He kept assuring me not to worry. I think he just felt guilty.
I sailed out of that room propelled by stress, exhuastion, some extreme frustration and also some brimming humour. I made rapidly for my car with one thought on my mind:
I'm getting home, getting Mom, and going to DQ.
While during the test I had been fighting tears of frustration, now I was merely fighting oncoming drivers in my hurry to get home. I pulled up, parked haphazardly and ran inside.
"Mom," I cried with an edge to my voice (impatience for a Blizzard, but apparently that wasn't as obvious to everyone else as it was to me.)
"She smashed the car," my brother ascertained.
"What is it?" Mom whispered anxiously as she bustled into the corner where I was unceremoniously dumping my Physics binder, obviously anticipating my need for emotional support.
"Can we go somewhere?" I asked.
"DQ?" she said immediately, her eyes brightening.
And that is why I love my mom.
We drove not to one, but to two locations, and both were closed. at 21h30!! Do they not realize that beyond-stressed students feel the pangs of ice-cream even at 21h30? Especially at 21h30!
I was getting desperate. Note: very desperate. So we pulled into a McDonald's. I oredered an Oreo McFlurry, Mom a chocolate sundae. Sean refused on behalf of his higher ethical standards in regards to the service at McDo's... or something. Whatever: ethical principles do not apply to ice-cream, my friend.
My salvation arrived and I took a bite...
Only to grimace.
Smarties. They had dared to give me a Smarties McFlurry. The one chocolate (besides macaroons and icy squares) that I actually hate.
So we circled back to the drive-in window.
"Hey!" I bellowed through the miniscule window. "You gave me Smarties!!"
"Excuse me?" the girl questioned timidly, looking a little confused.
I could not blame her. We sleep-deprived, study-drugged students are a perplexing bunch.
"SMARTIES!" I ennunciated, leaning across my complacent mother in the driver's seat. "I ordered Oreo and you gave me Smarties!"
Still bewildered, she instructed us to continue to the next window, where they would "take care of the problem."
We obediently pulled up and confronted yet another anxious employee.
"What is she doing?" I hissed. "It looks like she's making..."
"Here you go," she mumbled and quickly slid the window shut.
And on the last day of February Free Month, we scored not only a free McFlurry, but a free chocolate sundae as well. I suppose if part of our order was wrong, they didn't want to risk infuriating us with the other half!
Thursday, March 01, 2007
Tuesday, February 20, 2007
If you find yourself caught in love
February Free Month is rapidly coming to a close, and my bragging rights are growing fainter. My family would be ashamed of me. Free count for this month: a Corona from the bartender at Academy Lanes. Pretty pathetic.
But it was really good.
St. V's Day, one of my favourite, should-be-statutory holidays, was such a lovely day:
We leave the somnolent hamlet of Benito around noon (anticipated departure: 10:00am, not too bad) and arrive at my cousin's home around 18:30. I make the responsible decision to skip my class that night and stay the night at my cousin's instead. We make our way to the bowling alley, where we celebrate Hearts Day with some of the most inadvertently ridiculous bowling I have ever experienced. A bartender begins to poke fun at my bowling in a drawling, quasi-flirtatious tone. I am both amused and annoyed and ready to sharply reprimand him. Realize that bartender knows me from class. Ask bartender for free bowling, and when that is deemed unattainable, he offers free drinks instead. Good enough for me!
There is something about Valentine's Day that is so completely lovable. It may be the colours, the candy, the impractical tiny cards, or just the encircling sweetness of the day. All I know is that the Lilliputian envelopes emblazoned with curlicued names and bearing my signature will not be ceasing any year too soon.
If you find yourself caught in love
Say a prayer to the man above
Thank him for everything you know
You should thank him for every breath you blow
If you find yourself caught in love
Say a prayer to the man above
You should thank him for every day you pass
Thank him for saving your sorry ass...
But it was really good.
St. V's Day, one of my favourite, should-be-statutory holidays, was such a lovely day:
We leave the somnolent hamlet of Benito around noon (anticipated departure: 10:00am, not too bad) and arrive at my cousin's home around 18:30. I make the responsible decision to skip my class that night and stay the night at my cousin's instead. We make our way to the bowling alley, where we celebrate Hearts Day with some of the most inadvertently ridiculous bowling I have ever experienced. A bartender begins to poke fun at my bowling in a drawling, quasi-flirtatious tone. I am both amused and annoyed and ready to sharply reprimand him. Realize that bartender knows me from class. Ask bartender for free bowling, and when that is deemed unattainable, he offers free drinks instead. Good enough for me!
There is something about Valentine's Day that is so completely lovable. It may be the colours, the candy, the impractical tiny cards, or just the encircling sweetness of the day. All I know is that the Lilliputian envelopes emblazoned with curlicued names and bearing my signature will not be ceasing any year too soon.
If you find yourself caught in love
Say a prayer to the man above
Thank him for everything you know
You should thank him for every breath you blow
If you find yourself caught in love
Say a prayer to the man above
You should thank him for every day you pass
Thank him for saving your sorry ass...
Monday, January 29, 2007
Is it wicked not to care?
Do you know what I realized on today's grouchy, blustery, Monday-morning ride to school? 2 weeks til' Reading Week, baby. If I can survive past this Wednesday, I can make it until the end. And while I may not be flying off to tropical locales or even locales with more than 400 residents, I am taking a road trip with my favourite cousines and mi madre up to the sleepy town of Benito, whose old-timey charm and sweet exterior is only magnified by the vicious gossips peering out from behind lace-chintz curtains. Let's see if I can hold my head up after my last visit while still giving them all something to talk about...
In other news: I went out on a date Saturday night. I was just complaining to my sister last week how casual dating has all but disappeared, replaced by the notion that if you ask someone to coffee, suddenly you're courting and essentially engaged. And if not, then you're obviously promiscuous. Maybe that's only in Baptist circles.
Anyways, I was blown away by how clichéd the asking part was. While the words were struggling to climb from his mouth, I had very maturely covered the receiver with my hand and was giggling spasmodically. I didn't think it actually happened like that in real life. The date itself was surprisingly unawkward and extremely enjoyable. But a Round 2 would have to be firmly placed in "Friends Only" territory. A dating relationship at this point is just not worth ruining a beautiful biochem friendship over.
In other news: I went out on a date Saturday night. I was just complaining to my sister last week how casual dating has all but disappeared, replaced by the notion that if you ask someone to coffee, suddenly you're courting and essentially engaged. And if not, then you're obviously promiscuous. Maybe that's only in Baptist circles.
Anyways, I was blown away by how clichéd the asking part was. While the words were struggling to climb from his mouth, I had very maturely covered the receiver with my hand and was giggling spasmodically. I didn't think it actually happened like that in real life. The date itself was surprisingly unawkward and extremely enjoyable. But a Round 2 would have to be firmly placed in "Friends Only" territory. A dating relationship at this point is just not worth ruining a beautiful biochem friendship over.
Monday, January 22, 2007
I left my washing in the launderette
What is wrong with all of you? I figure out how to post a widget on my blog - not only that, but I discover that the word "widget" exists - and no one even comments on it! This is a high-tech blog coming from an extremely technologically-challenged blogger! Show some appreciation!
My mother is holidaying in the East right now. In a museum, she stumbled upon a Orthodox celebration of Jesus' baptism (conducted in Ukrainian), and was able to console and distract an extremely bored French priest by translating the liturgy for him. What a mom: such a crusader in bridging the cultural gaps of our country!
I am attempting, for the umpteenth (literally umpteenth - count it) time, to stop chewing my nails. I've made more progress than ever before; I actually have visible nails! But now the skin around my cuticles has grown out to the dry, extremely-satisfying chewable stage, and it's so tempting. I can hear it tempting me. Today in microbiologie, I sat there and was so consumed with cravings to chew that I tried to console myself with imagining exactly how I would chew my cuticles off if I still actually chewed my nails - which I don't, of course. And then the temptation was too great and I chewed them ferociously for a good 10 minutes. Argh. Now I have bandaids over all my fingers to help myself along.
It's lunch (well, 10:45, so close enough), and time for some couscous. And thus endeth the entry that makes all other rambling entries look foolish.
The end.
My mother is holidaying in the East right now. In a museum, she stumbled upon a Orthodox celebration of Jesus' baptism (conducted in Ukrainian), and was able to console and distract an extremely bored French priest by translating the liturgy for him. What a mom: such a crusader in bridging the cultural gaps of our country!
I am attempting, for the umpteenth (literally umpteenth - count it) time, to stop chewing my nails. I've made more progress than ever before; I actually have visible nails! But now the skin around my cuticles has grown out to the dry, extremely-satisfying chewable stage, and it's so tempting. I can hear it tempting me. Today in microbiologie, I sat there and was so consumed with cravings to chew that I tried to console myself with imagining exactly how I would chew my cuticles off if I still actually chewed my nails - which I don't, of course. And then the temptation was too great and I chewed them ferociously for a good 10 minutes. Argh. Now I have bandaids over all my fingers to help myself along.
It's lunch (well, 10:45, so close enough), and time for some couscous. And thus endeth the entry that makes all other rambling entries look foolish.
The end.
Thursday, January 18, 2007
To claim as love what could be emptiness
Happy 2007 to all my readers in absentia… and by absentia, I mean non-existence.
January 07 saw the annual advent of starched white shirts with flowing sleeves and crisp embroidery, parched onion-skin pages tucked inside the oily black covers of battered hymn books, groaning tables that differed in no way from any other holiday, birthday, or afternoon chi except for the glaring lack of meatballs and turkey:
It was Ukrainian Christmas. Христос Народився! Christ is born!
January 07 soothed my soul and filled me with the Christmas spirit I had longed for during the December holidays. And I think the shift in spirit can be found merely by looking at the traditional Ukrainian Christmas greeting: not Merry Christmas, which means so little to so many. But Christ is born. Christ is born. Why do we celebrate? Because he came. Why can we be filled with joy? Because he saved us. Christ with us. Christ mass. Christ is born.
And even though we didn’t throw kutya at the ceiling, as tradition demands, to see if the coming year would be prosperous, and even though (or I suppose because of the fact) we didn’t throw the kutya at my Baba, no matter how much she deserved it, I think this year will be a good one.
Christ is born. Christ is with us. And so we celebrate.
January 07 saw the annual advent of starched white shirts with flowing sleeves and crisp embroidery, parched onion-skin pages tucked inside the oily black covers of battered hymn books, groaning tables that differed in no way from any other holiday, birthday, or afternoon chi except for the glaring lack of meatballs and turkey:
It was Ukrainian Christmas. Христос Народився! Christ is born!
January 07 soothed my soul and filled me with the Christmas spirit I had longed for during the December holidays. And I think the shift in spirit can be found merely by looking at the traditional Ukrainian Christmas greeting: not Merry Christmas, which means so little to so many. But Christ is born. Christ is born. Why do we celebrate? Because he came. Why can we be filled with joy? Because he saved us. Christ with us. Christ mass. Christ is born.
And even though we didn’t throw kutya at the ceiling, as tradition demands, to see if the coming year would be prosperous, and even though (or I suppose because of the fact) we didn’t throw the kutya at my Baba, no matter how much she deserved it, I think this year will be a good one.
Christ is born. Christ is with us. And so we celebrate.
Saturday, December 23, 2006
Thursday, December 21, 2006
I am the jerk who prefers the sea I could never see
I just finished my Christmas wrapping (lies, all lies - I lost one of my presents for my mom... I think I wrapped it up in my brother's gift), listening to Iron & Wine up in my room. An unconventional choice for my Christmas wrapping background music, especially for me, the most iron-clad traditionalist at Christmastime. But there was something about tonight's introspective and melancholic mood that called for Iron & Wine over Crystal Lewis' rendition of Joy to the World (as delicious as that is). I watched The Last Kiss tonight (Doesn't that not come out until Tuesday? you may ask. Ah, my friends, welcome to the perks of working at Blockbuster) and it edged me subtly into the mood I have come to associate with movies that deal dangerously with relationships. The ones that look at a shadow of a connection and leave you asking But why? and When will it happen to me? The ones that don't show something easy, or peaceful - but full. And it's that fullness that I find myself alternately longing for... and backing away from, mostly because I'm convinced it can never happen to me. And if it would, I wouldn't want it anyways.
Ah, 2am introspection. What would life be without you?
Ah, 2am introspection. What would life be without you?
Sunday, December 17, 2006
Monday, December 11, 2006
Shallow and utterly irresistable love
Life is looking up, my friends.
I bought new shoes today. Beautiful, compelling new shoes that make me feel like a comic book character in the sexiest way possible. I'm laughing at myself. But I do love my new shoes. Benito New Year's Eve Dance, watch out! Forget Santa: the hot big-city shoes are coming to town.
AND. (I know, there's already new shoes in this story - how could it get any better? Oh, but it does...) While my lovely mother was purchasing not-so-compelling-but-very-comfy new nursing shoes (complete with a Dr. Scholl's removable gel pad! I'll tell you right now, my new shoes may be gorgeous, but they do not have a gel pad), I was perusing the handbag section of the store. The handbag sale section. And who happened to pick up a lovely little bag and find it marked down to $9.99? There was another bag - Italian, white, leather, sigh - for only $19.99, but I finally made myself resist. (If anyone's struggling for Christmas present ideas for me...)
Ah. Shoes and a handbag in one hurried evening out. I may fail my exams this week, but I'll look fantastic as I do so.
p.s. The Crystal Lewis cd I had stolen from my sister so long ago that I thought she finally stole back? I found it yesterday evening in our cd stand - life is not only looking better, but sounding better as well!
I bought new shoes today. Beautiful, compelling new shoes that make me feel like a comic book character in the sexiest way possible. I'm laughing at myself. But I do love my new shoes. Benito New Year's Eve Dance, watch out! Forget Santa: the hot big-city shoes are coming to town.
AND. (I know, there's already new shoes in this story - how could it get any better? Oh, but it does...) While my lovely mother was purchasing not-so-compelling-but-very-comfy new nursing shoes (complete with a Dr. Scholl's removable gel pad! I'll tell you right now, my new shoes may be gorgeous, but they do not have a gel pad), I was perusing the handbag section of the store. The handbag sale section. And who happened to pick up a lovely little bag and find it marked down to $9.99? There was another bag - Italian, white, leather, sigh - for only $19.99, but I finally made myself resist. (If anyone's struggling for Christmas present ideas for me...)
Ah. Shoes and a handbag in one hurried evening out. I may fail my exams this week, but I'll look fantastic as I do so.
p.s. The Crystal Lewis cd I had stolen from my sister so long ago that I thought she finally stole back? I found it yesterday evening in our cd stand - life is not only looking better, but sounding better as well!
Friday, December 08, 2006
Hop-Along Cassidy just dove off the track...
I feel irritated at myself for always leaving overly-dramatic/sentimental entries. The good news is that means I'm exercising more genuine writing and recording all the good entries (or the excessively dramatic ones) in my real journal. The bad news is that my dwindling force of readers are subjected to schmaltz.
So, on a brighter note:
I was introduced to two new Québecois artists who are utterly fantastic. Mala Jube is the French soul of Belle & Sebastian (hidden Scottish gold), and La Manouche can only be inadequately described as "French gypsy rock," as my best friend and I like to put it.
Hop on over to your nearest bibliothèque publique and check them out. It'll be well worth the trip.
So, on a brighter note:
I was introduced to two new Québecois artists who are utterly fantastic. Mala Jube is the French soul of Belle & Sebastian (hidden Scottish gold), and La Manouche can only be inadequately described as "French gypsy rock," as my best friend and I like to put it.
Hop on over to your nearest bibliothèque publique and check them out. It'll be well worth the trip.
Three-inch-high ruts and dirty slush
I just quit my job.
I'm trying not to feel guilty and like a horrible person, but it's not really working. I'm really going to miss those people (except my psycho manager, the reason that I quit... well, her and the fact that working every single weekend after being in school for 10 hours a day isn't much of a life).
I just spent half an hour on the Prov website, seeing who made all the ministry teams this year. It made me miss Prov.
The combination of birthday and Christmas always makes me so sentimental and lonesome. I want exams to be done (I'm not studying anyways, they may as well be done). I want to be back in dorm. I want to watch the Charlie Brown Christmas Special on TV. And I want to go tobogganing.
I want I want I want. I'm fitting right into the holiday spirit, aren't I?
I'm trying not to feel guilty and like a horrible person, but it's not really working. I'm really going to miss those people (except my psycho manager, the reason that I quit... well, her and the fact that working every single weekend after being in school for 10 hours a day isn't much of a life).
I just spent half an hour on the Prov website, seeing who made all the ministry teams this year. It made me miss Prov.
The combination of birthday and Christmas always makes me so sentimental and lonesome. I want exams to be done (I'm not studying anyways, they may as well be done). I want to be back in dorm. I want to watch the Charlie Brown Christmas Special on TV. And I want to go tobogganing.
I want I want I want. I'm fitting right into the holiday spirit, aren't I?
Tuesday, November 21, 2006
A Case of Mutiple Super-Personality Disorder
Apparently, they just couldn't decide who I was:
Darn you, Love!
I'm a danger to myself, apparently.
Just turn on the flirting and let God do the rest...
Bah, I'm supposed to be studying!!
| 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 |
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 |
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 |
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...
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...
Monday, November 13, 2006
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.
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.
Sunday, November 12, 2006
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?
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?
Tuesday, November 07, 2006
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?
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?
Sunday, November 05, 2006
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.
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.
Tuesday, October 31, 2006
When enough is too much
Last midterm tomorrow.
I think I'm going to die a slow and painful death before then. Or at least my memory retention will. I don't think it's physically possible to cram 148 powerpoint slides into my already-too-full brain. There has to be a limit somewhere, and I think I passed it at 121.
The end is in sight... good weekend coming up...
And then only 2 weeks before the "partial test" period starts! Whoohoo!
I think I'm going to die a slow and painful death before then. Or at least my memory retention will. I don't think it's physically possible to cram 148 powerpoint slides into my already-too-full brain. There has to be a limit somewhere, and I think I passed it at 121.
The end is in sight... good weekend coming up...
And then only 2 weeks before the "partial test" period starts! Whoohoo!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
