Yellow Umbrella

My Stint on the Stage

2007-12-20T16:12:00.000-08:00

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

2007-11-18T14:51:00.000-08:00

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

2007-09-28T12:34:00.000-07:00

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

2007-09-24T16:38:00.000-07:00

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

2007-09-06T12:42:00.000-07:00

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.

2007-08-06T08:31:00.000-07:00

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

2007-07-15T17:01:00.001-07:00

I must say that Stan is a cool guy.

You know he means forever...

2007-07-03T15:21:00.000-07:00

...when he moves in his 900+ comic books.

Seriously, there are more kilograms of comic book collection than there are of girlfriend!

Scary Situations

2007-07-03T14:31:00.000-07:00

What's the creepiest thing that has ever happened to you?

I'm lucky enough not to have witnessed any serious violence that would scar someone for life, but I have had moments (or hours...) of considerable andrenaline pumpage.

What first comes to mind is a public transit story from about two years ago. It involved one of those long double buses, and I was sitting almost at the very back. When I was pretty close to my destination (a local huge mall, Square One), I called my friend on my cell phone to see where we were meeting up. We got it figured out and I ended the call. The second I put my phone down, I noticed that there was a SWAT team storming the bus, with enormous guns, helmets, all the swat gear. Everyone on the bus was now on the floor, hands up behind their heads, and I followed suit (scared out of my mind). Now this was around the time of the London, UK public transit terror attacks, so we all thought one thing. I noticed that we were halted in the middle of a big intersection, with the swat van in front of us, and sniffer dogs literally screeching, trying to get to something on the bus. One of the swat guys started looking up and down the rows, holding his massive machine gun UP. Need I mention he had bullets strapped across his chest. He made his way to the back, not saying a word. I thought I was going to die, but stayed as silent as I could. The girl beside me went nuts, hyperventilating and crying. Some of the swat guys asked these men sitting in the very back where they were going, and told them to stand up so they could take them out. A swat guy screamed at the driver to open the back door, but he couldn't, so they had to take the two men out through the front. Then they inspected their seats, and got off without saying a word. The bus finally started moving again, and naturally, everybody got off at the first stop the bus made. The incident turned out to be tied to a shooting, and the suspects that were taken into custody were released. Needless to say, I still got my dad to drive me home.

My other scariest experience was a lot longer drawn. Back in January, I attended a Women in Physics Conference in Los Angeles. The days were pretty eventful until after dinner, which even in California, meant after dark. On the last night (of two nights...) I wanted more than anything to see the city. My roommate was a 29-year-old married British woman originally from the US South (you should have heard her accent) who wanted to stay in and do yoga for fear of running into her ex-husband because they both used to live there. So I asked others. A nice girl from Ohio said she'd rather stay in and watch Saved!, but gladly gave me her ID (since I was only 19). I declined the offer, however, seeing that she needed to get on a plane the next day.

The only person who shared my enthusiasm for going out was a goth girl from Ohio (nice ID girl's roommate). I totally forget her name, but I didn't even learn it until the next day. Anyway, the only place goth girl wanted to go to was a goth club. She even offered me an extra corset (she brought two corsets to a 2-day physics conference). So I agreed to go to the goth club. We took a $15 cab ride past a few LA landmarks like the Dodgers Stadium, and some concert hall, and even Chinatown. I was happy. The goth club wasn't scary at all. Sure, I got a lot of looks being the only non-black haired, black clothed person there (I'm sure my bright purple coat was the main culprit).

The story really begins after closing. Last call was at ten to two, and I've never seen a club clear out so quickly. By 2:00am, goth girl and I were outside in the unseasonable cold snap, calling a cab back to our hotel. In the next 15 or so minutes, employees of the club left, with speakers and all. We called the cab company again to make sure they hadn't forgotten about us. We were completely and entirely alone. Wait, nope, we saw this guy who had to be nearing 400lbs come out of the club, dressed super snazzy with cane and top hat, walk to his luxury SUV half a block down. Total kingpin. That's when things started to get a little eerie. Apart from tubs, there was no sign of life nearby, no light in any window. 2:30 and the cab isn't there.

We call again, and the cab company says no more than 10 minutes. At that point we see a truck delivering live chickens to a Chinese supermarket down the street. It packs up and zooms off. We're alone again. Kingpin is staring at us. I step out to the street, looking for any sign of a cab, but goth girl advises me to stay away from the corner. Kingpin then gives a little gas and pulls up to us. We decline his offer for a ride, which is followed by him turning his head down and staring at us for a while before driving a little more down the street. A car comes. A security car! I wave it down and ask the security guard to park and watch us until our cab comes. All right, now it's past 3:00 and no amount of threatening and crying during a phone call to the cab company will bring us a goddamned taxi. The security guard takes us back to our hotel. We thank him. The next day I was in an airport taxi, driving close to the scene last night, and told the driver my story. He wouldn't believe me. "I've been driving for 27 years and two girls wouldn't survive down there for a few minutes."

The Senate

2007-06-22T15:16:00.000-07:00

A lot of thought went into moving out of residence and into a (semi-permanent) apartment. The requirements were something close to campus, and preferably down the street from downtown. This left me and Marky deciding between about four apartment buildings close to the campus gates. We had tours for three of the buildings and we decided on the cheapest building, the Senate.

Our non-ghetto reason for choosing the building was that it was about three times smaller than the other buildings. Smaller buildings are more friendly and have less fire alarms right? Unfortunately our building is approximately three times older than the others.

Turning that around, it makes the Physics and Astronomy Building (where I work) look like less of a relic. The PAB, I'll have you know, was considered ahead of its day when it was built in 1924 with washrooms featuring two seperate facuets at opposite ends of the sinks - one for cold water and one for hot water! After almost two years, I think the nerves in my hands have gotten desensitized from snapping my hands back and forth between scalding and ice.

Back to the Senate. A new company recently bought the building out, so many, many changes have been promised. So far, they've acted on the new-fridges-and-toilets promise. Yes. Next up is new windows, doors, and repaved parking lot. As you can imagine, we have a host of other fixer-uppers: the cupboards in the kitchen smell, the oven is ancient, our carpet is ripped and ready to retire, the bathroom floor is permanently gross, the trim along the floor is messy, the tub/wall tiles are losing their finish... oh and our sink! We have the saddest little sink in London. It consists of: a countertop (stress the top) supported by one metal bar, and a chipped, rusty sink. No vanity, no drawers for Q-tips, just ugly pipes for everyone to see.

From day one (ie May 1st) the sink had been draining very slowly. But this didn't really matter, because how often do you have the taps on for more than a ten seconds? About a week ago, the drain stopped working completely, resulting in a growing puddle in the sink. Plunging it resulted in the water turning black, so we told the super about it. After dumping a WHOLE bottle of Drain-o (marked 'for 17 uses') and mixing it with more than enough sulphuric acid (do I sense a neutralization reaction?), the pipe cracked. By this point, the result is inevitable... we're getting a new sink! I've never been happier.

Documenting my first alcoholic consumptions...

2007-06-11T13:21:00.000-07:00

My first shot (straight liquor that is) happened after I had turned 19, a few months after New Year's 2006.

[side story]

For New Year's, I attended a party at Tiffany's house that was full of underagers. Considering Mark was 20 at the time (ie legal to buy booze), all the kiddies pooled together money so that he and/or the one other 19+ partygoer would pick up... anything. Our belief at that time was that the lcbo was open 24/7, which proved to be a problem on that New Year's Eve. We were even rejected by 1-800-alcohol or something, from the phonebook.

Tiffany, who had a bike lock around her parents' liquor cabinet, finally gave in and picked the lock and said a few of us could drink from ONE opened bottle if we could fill it back up to the exact level in the next two days (before her parents came back). The drink ended up being orange juice and appleton estate rum, which we bought the next morning and filled back to the scotch-tape line on the original bottle. So I had a 1/3-filled bottle of rum left over, which sat in my underwear drawer in residence for several weeks.

[end of side story]

On a special night, Mark and I decided to order Swiss Chalet and take shots. We were heavy into romance then. Nothing memorable comes from the actual shot. I drank it from a tall glass and almost gagged at the awful taste of suffocation.

I drank it fast, resulting in some splatter that ended up in a cut I had near my lip. It swelled almost instantly. Soon after the phone rang that swiss chalet was in the lobby, and I went downstairs and picked it up without a word, nodding, bottom lip curled in.

My first beer? That happened exactly one week later.

Okay, in my first year of university, I was lucky enough to have St. Patrick's day fall on a Friday. You wouldn't believe that I was even luckier to have a Calculus midterm that night, 7-10pm. Nothing beats studying converging series all day amidst students drinking from their suspiciously scented water bottles. I smoked that exam, except for that one section that leaves you absolutely clueless and won't allow you to leave your seat until the proctor says 'time's up'. You know what I mean. So I left the exam, a little hot headed, and too sober.

That was the night I decided I should have my first beer. Avoiding the mayhem of downtown (bars were closing anyways - they open at what, 11am on St. Patty's?), Mark and I went to the University Community Centre - home of The Wave, aka the crappy campus club. Surprise, it was closed too! And how... the floor was covered in a thick layer of cups and decorations. Our last resort was The Spoke, aka the not so crappy campus pub. The drunken bouncers let us in and announced the special: $2.50 domestics. In about 20 minutes, five beers were consumed between Mark and I, a Canadian and a Blue each, plus a Keith's that Mark mostly drank. I was surprised with the lack of potency of the beers. I felt nothing! And then I stood up.

It was a 15 minute walk to Steph's and Dave's party, during which I repeatedly yelled "po dot" while pointing at a police officer, and referred to cracks in the sidewalk as pot holes. Not illegal, not even too irresponsible... but those two beers kept me warm all night long.

My First Drink

2007-06-11T07:47:00.000-07:00

I had a pretty slow start with alcohol. Starting at about age 14, I lost any interest I had with the drink, refusing even sips of wine at dinner (a staple in my diet through childhood!). This continued until I was 4 months shy of 19, or a month and a half into university.

Guys, I got drunk with my parents. It was my mom’s birthday, and after a family dinner outing, my father cracked open a bottle of red wine. Having recently witnessed frosh week, I saw this as a ‘responsible’ excuse to try alcohol. By the end of the night, two bottles were used to fill eight glasses, two of which I drank, putting me at a whopping half-bottle of wine! I was wasted.

In between glasses, I recall going into my bedroom and messaging a few of my friends, including then big-time crush Mark. This was a little risky considering my inebriated state, and after sending a few silly photos back and forth, I typed “my mom thinks he’s cute” to my friend Tiffany – but accidentally in his window! This was followed by a desperate attempt to make him believe that I was talking about my mother’s opinion of Mark Darcy in the Bridget Jones movie… smooth Anna. Luckily, the alcohol flowing through my veins made me think I played it really well (in reality he laughs at me to the day).

After dodging that bullet, I rejoined the fam and drowned my remaining inhibitions in another glass of ole red. We put on my mom’s favourite – Mr. Bean, which I highly recommend for anyone’s next drunken TV-watching experience.

The next day I experienced my first hangover (which is always worse on a night of drinking red wine). My train was early in the morning (no later than 8am), and the buses in downtown London were running on their crappy Sunday schedule, so I decided to walk 50 minutes to campus in the beating sun but freezing wind with a splitting headache. I would never drink again.. until my first cooler a few weeks later. Wild times, huh?

Hey batter, grow up

2007-06-07T16:33:00.000-07:00

Okay, it's the first intra-mural softball game of the season. It's a Wednesday afternoon at 5:30, and I'm in my work clothes (white pants - bonus!), no hat, not even a hair tie, with a kid's glove in the outfield. Perfect target for a homer right. And then someone yells "Hit it to the girl!" and the batter slams the ball deep, and oh guess who catches it! Jerk.

I'd appreciate you aiming at the player who looks crappy, but not the girl. I know, how else would you identify me? In any case, though, keep your mouth shut.

Caught um

2007-06-01T11:12:00.000-07:00

After hearing the screams coming from my hallway, I decided to catch the little guy and set him free from my balcony. He/she was pretty friendly, perching on my purple mitt.

Now go eat mosquitos. Now.

Bad dream, I laugh at you

2007-05-30T09:57:00.000-07:00

I had a pretty silly dream last night that took an unusual turn. It took place at an airport, where I had somehow failed to obtain my boarding pass and make it through the gate. In the process of trying to fix what was wrong, I got lost in the airport and somehow lost all my clothing. In the height of my dream, I was chasing my plane down the runway. In the middle of the hard sprint, I thought to myself, "Wait a sec, things can't go this bad. I bet this is just a bad dream", and I just gave up and went my way, fully aware that I was controlling my dream! As far as I know, I was still fully asleep. This has never happened before (I usually just half wake up during a bad dream and shake it off). New sensory ability, or an inner susceptibility to give up on life? Maybe that's a little harsh, because you know I'm not fond of public nudity.

Another day at the Senate

2007-05-30T09:39:00.000-07:00

Oh, the apartment. Yesterday as I was walking my bike down my hallway after work, I noticed a new addition to my floor's exit sign:

"A security camera perhaps? meh. I'm hungry."

I rode out to the grocery store with Mark later that night and came back and noticed it again. "Mark, have you seen that before? Is it a camera?" Then the idea came to my head, "It almost looks like a bat." Sure enough, a tiny brown bat had found a sleeping place on the exit sign.

How could it have got up there? Through someone's balcony and out their door? Or up a few flights of stairs? Though it's pretty dim, my hallway is lit 24 hours a day, which is hardly the environment for this nocturnal flying mammal.

Mark doesn't want to approach it... that's what years of idolizing Ace Ventura will do to someone. So I think tonight after dark, it will be my duty to trap the little creature. I've had some experience (a few years ago I saved a bat from getting eaten by my 34-pound cat).

They must not watch TLC life lessons

2007-05-26T12:28:00.000-07:00

Earlier this afternoon I went for a bike ride to pick up a few things around town. I store my bicycle on my 4th floor balcony of my building which is adjacent to a larger building. Now, it's noon on a Saturday, and what do I plainly see as I walk out to my balcony? A man and a woman, naked as can be, going at it, in a very curtain-less bedroom. These two were nearly pressed against the window. I freeze, they freeze and look at me (they must've heard my screen door open), and what do they do next? They throw a blanket on and continue. And to think: one week ago my family was visiting and enjoying the weather on the balcony. Oh, the ins and outs of the student neighbourhood.

Welcome to my blog.