My Stint on the Stage

As some of you may know (probably not), I took up some performing this past semester. Mark got me to join a 25-years-strong emsemble called Wassail! comprised of about a dozen singers with an average age of about 50. Each Christmas season they sing old style carols while dressed in Victorian style dress. It's always been headed by Tom, a stern retired psychology professor that kind of reminds me of my dad (if my dad were a WASP). Anyway, Tom and his wife Anne are legends in the Southwestern Ontario folk music scene. Really, any old London resident knows them.

Besides my glory as the Pirate King in my grade 5 class's rendition of Pirates of Penzance, I haven't been much of a performer. Band solos and school presentations aside, I saw myself as more of a behind the scenes person, or even an MC (I like a script but not memorization). But I'd seen Wassail! perform before, and my love of Christmas just couldn't hold me back. And songs can be solidly memorized in a fun way!

Going in, the only song I knew was Deck the Halls, wait, but the folk version has it as Deck the Hall (singular)... see the flowing bowl before us... fill the mead cup, drain the barrel... conveniently all of the singers love to drink. You should have seen the old ladies with their pretty muffs holding neatly concealed flasks. Good old Janice even had two.

After practicing two hours a week since the beginning of Semtember (Canadians: try learning Christmas carols in sweltering hot humidity), we had a caroling sing-song downtown and three performances. Our performances play out a typical Yorkshire pub scene with acting, singing, and dancing. The Morse dancers are actually entertaining to your average crowd. I guess adding swords to a dance does just that.

We finally wrapped on December 9th, right when I was getting into it. My goodbye from Tom came in the dressing room while he was taking off his pants. No, Tom, I know you're a performer and you grew up in a generation of no shame, but I'm really not interested in knowing if a typical 75-year-old man wears boxers or briefs.

Well, so long Wassail!

Accelerando'd

Where has fall gone?

Oh I know, it never really happened. There's something bizarre about seeing a grean leafy tree under 15 cm of snow.

This semester is almost over too, now how amazing is that? My six midterms are now done and the finals- forecast is as follows:

Electrodynamics (55% complete) - exceeding my expectations. except my mark going into the final is largely skewed by awesome assignments.
Atmospheric Physics (42% complete) - amazing. no exams, just a project which is thus far going too well.
Organic chemistry (47% complete) - gloomy. Oh chemistry, why are you doing this? I love you but am struggling so.
Statistics (50% complete) - good considering the amount of work I've been putting in.
Classical civilization (25% complete, but it lasts til April) - no December final. I LOVE YOU.

If it weren't for Chemistry this would be the best semester ever.

Time Machine

So my friend Lisa at http://lfar.ca posed a question of what age I'd like to return to, and what age I'd like to fast forward to.

I loved every minute of first year university, but since that's on the 2-years-ago borderline, I'll have to go with Grades 6/7: new awesome school, no social cliques, just fun for everyone.

Green Glade (GG) was a grades 6-8 school of about 230 kids located at the edge of a ritzy neighbourhood, surrounded by a gorgeous conservation area by Lake Ontario. Its academics were always top-notch, which motivated me to apply there at the end of grade 5 (I was out-of-area). I met with the principal named John Smith who was coinicidentally married to a Native American lady. Really, I saw his kids, and he had moccassins, dream catchers, and live tarantulas all in his office.

Being the new kid in two main "groups" (everyone else came from either Clarkson or Owenwood schools), I made friends more easily than every before in my life. Everyone seemed to merge together by the end of the fall. One of my friends would always have sleepovers for all of the girls in her huge house with an outdoor hot tub! I'll never forget the one time her mom put some irritating aromatheraphy crystals in it, and on the Monday all of the girls came to school covered in red spots. On the morning announcements John Smith issued an emergency meeting for all those afflicted.

Rattary Marsh was the backdrop for many school activities: science class, fall and spring clean-up/woodchips, and the main route for the Gladerunners, the cross country team I became a part of and rocked. Tuesday and Thursday mornings were dedicated to a run along the boardwalks and right up to the beach. It's still my favourite part of Mississauga.

Everyone had a boyfriend or girlfriend which at that time was hilarious. My on-and-off again flame in grade 6 was Daniel, who got his mushroom cut chopped off halfway through the year. He was dumped by his previous girlfriend because he told her she looked like a marshmallow in her coat. I dated a boy named Matthew in grade 7 who would walk me to the back of the school yard at the end of the day for a goodbye hug and even a kiss toward the end of our one-month stint.

Scooter's (a big roller rink) was the place to be on a Friday night. We'd scrunch our noses at the questionable cigarette smoke outside, but once we were in it was heaven: nachos, arcade games, and the obligatory couples hand-holding around the roller rink once a Boyz II Men song came on.

The fun ended when I was put in a gifted class for grade 8 and lost almost all my friends. Then came an awkward stage that stuck around until I became comfortable in high school.

As for jumping in the future... umm... whatever age I'm free enough to travel as often as I like, but before I have kids.

My experience with French washroom customs

So I recently got back from a trip to Germany and France with my boyfriend, Mark. Let me start my European account by dwelling on a more minor aspect of our trip - French washrooms. I never realized how "set in my ways" I was about washroom stuff:

One: "the toilet box." Houses and apartments there seem to have a room with a bathtub and a sink, and then a room with just a toilet. I first saw this in one of my campus's run-down residences, coined as the "eng student's failed 4th year project." All right, I kind of understand the practicality to separate toilet from shower with four students sharing one washroom, but there's something an isolated toilet room that I don't get. Upon finishing use of the toilet, one must head to the tub/sink room anyway to clean up. I can count up to three door handles that are permanently yucky.

Two: no place to put the showerhead when you shower (in 2/3 of the showers I used). I found this in our two-star hotel in Paris, at one end of the spectrum, to my friend's parents' nice house in Perigueux. Is all of France like this? Seriously, how do you get your shampoo and wash your hair with one hand? Putting the showerhead between my knees just made my back cold and I got soap in my eyes.

Three: pay toilets. No! Mark and I were in the Notre Dame Cathedral watching a show, when after an hour I couldn't hold it in anymore. After some hunting around for a bathroom we found one in a Subway restaurant across the lovely Sienne. Fifty cents for bodily relief, sure whatever, lemme pee! OK I have the coin. In the slot it goes, now for my reward! CLUNK holy damn it's still locked. My bladder had to go from relaxation inition right back to painful hold... resulting in some urinary issues for me that would last for a while (come on, not in Paris!). Mark had a pretty bad experience too. We saw a lady leave the door open, so we decided to cheap it out and use the washroom without paying. By the time Mark got in, however, lockdown trespasser mode was triggered, and metal cylinders popped up from the floor and soaked Mark in all directions. Disinfection cycle right, more of a contender for France's funniest home videos.

Now don't let me get started on complete lack of drinking fountains and relative difficulty of purchasing non-carbonated water...

First class of the year

I signed up for a fun elective this year on the topic of Sport and Antiquity. It's about ancient Greek and Roman sports and their relation to work, religion, entertainment, and more. I took two years of Latin in high school and loved the Roman/Greek history parts, so this course sounded perfect for me! And did I mention how much I love documentaries and museum exhibits of ancient stuff? Everything on that topic is so cool!

So I found my classroom this morning, and took my seat. Mark came along with me since we were both on campus getting finances and other school stuff sorted out.

And then I saw her. My least favourite person on earth. All through high school I always wondered how girls in my grade could have such strong negative feelings toward others (I'm trying to avoid the word hate). I never really had issues with anyone until this girl. Permission to call her F, Lisa?

The moment I saw her I knew this course would be the easiest thing on earth. Why? Because it's an arts course and she's there. She'd never take a course out of interest. Instead of a reassurance (easy mark?) I started to feel insulted. Like she doesn't deserve to be there. She's a waste of the professor's time. And I don't even feel harsh saying that!

When she walked to her seat I put my book up in front of my face. She made eye contact with Mark (she loathes him) and the trademark lifeless F expression came on. I never looked at her once during the lecture, and I felt uncomfortable the whole time. I tried to shut her out: blocking her on msn, facebook, not ever living with her again. I don't want to know how she's doing. Period.

What should I do? I don't want her being a virus in my life. I don't want her driving me to therapy! Plus I want to enjoy this class!

My only idea so far is to sit in front of her so I don't see her. But today she sat in row 3 of a huge lecture hall, so I'll still be able to hear her which might distract me.

A.S.

As a kid I was huge into animals. My family got a female cat (Maggie) when I was four and a male cat (Melon) when I was five. Maggie and Melon had two litters of kittens before my parents got fed up and sent the cats off "to a farm." No really, that was the story as I know it. Many tears were shed between sis and me. We loved those kittens.

In fact, the girl that bullied me when I was in grade two would sing-songingly call me "animal hater" because she knew it would drive me wild! Around that time I became obsessed with wolves, not dolphins and horses like everyone else, to the point where I learned how to do an authentic wolf call (IMAGINE HOW LOUD) and used it in my speech which won the award for best speech in grade four and the honour of embarrassing myself in front of 400 students.

The summer of 1997 was pretty major in my childhood. I was 10 years old and ready to go to my first sleepaway camp. It was a sports camp that stressed swimming (no less than three swim sessions a day), so I really developed my strokes and endurance in the water. By the end of the camp, I swam across a nice sized lake! During off time, I documented my adventures of all 14 days in a journal. At the end of each entry, I kept a tally of how many animals I'd seen that day. It started out as a heading titled 'Animals Sighted', and in a few days became abbreviated to 'A.S.'. Some of these days the number fetched up to dozens!

What's your A.S.? I'm undecided as to if pets count, because you'd never see them at summer camp. Let's say they don't count. Neither do squirrels or everyday birds. In any day on campus I'm guaranteed to see a groundhog. They hang out by the bike racks and dart across the roads like nothing. I cross a bridge going to work and when I have time to look over, I usually see turtles and fish. For some reason my building's parking lot is overrun by chipmunks. Skunks are common... I was almost sprayed walking home at night last week. I even saw an opossum once. I've learned to be careful walking around my next-door building's pool deck because of toads. And don't get me started on raccoons or rabbits.

A.S.: 6

There's no place like home

I must say that Stan is a cool guy.