So It Starts. Again.

After my long and involved summer of insanity you would think that I would welcome the start of another semester with open arms.  You would be very mistaken.  

While everyone I've talked with (and unintentionally eavesdropped on) go on and on about how they are so happy to be going back to class and seeing all their friends and opening up brand new books and having their horizons expanded yet another mile in every direction, all I can think about is how much I want to bury my head under a pile of sand and never have to come up again for air.  It's not just the tests or the papers or the having to sit in a classroom with 69 other people for hours listening to a professor talk about how he is the greatest and smartest person I will ever meet.  It's also the fact that I know 49 of the 69 people in that classroom and none of them are really willing to talk to me or sit next to me or acknowledge me at all.  It's the fact that I go weeks without speaking to anyone outside my home despite my best efforts to appear "approachable" (I even started leaving my iPod at home!) and make arrangements with people myself.  

I'd be lying if I i said that loneliness was the only reason why I'm so entirely dreading the next 8 months of my life because the stress of having to have the perfect tests and the stand-out papers every time.   My memory is exceptionally bad when it comes to facts and dates and theories so my tests are never perfect -- I always miss that one crucial point and kick myself as soon as it's over.  My brain is scattered and I can never write in a strait line, so I'm always being docked on my oh-so-awkward sentences (awk, awk, awk).  

These are just excuses.  Maybe I'm just lazy.  

I sometimes look at getting a masters degree at some prestigious school abroad.  The things I would learn would be amazing (I think), and I would probably get some nice fancy job (I would hope).  But when I think of another year (or two) of school I cringe and revert back to wanting to either crawl into a cave and hide in the dark, or burry my head in the sand until this horrible idea blows over like a bad storm.  

I probably should have been an electrician.  

Rina, Aya, Takuya, and Hiryu

I didn't want to forget my other four housemates before I wrote anything else.

Rina is Yoshito's older sister and it showed more and more every day.  Not just because they both look very alike, but because they fought and bickered and then made up and then beat each other up like only siblings could.  Needless to say, I got to be quite good at anticipating a fight, listening for crying and then restraining both of them at the same time.  Thanks to these two, I got to work on my strict disciplinarian skills this past month too!

Aya is an 11 year old girl who tagged along on this trip for reasons no one is entirely sure of.  Weighing all of 65 lbs, Aya was prone to fits of tears and breakdowns when it came time to train karate because she saw that she was (by far) the smallest of all the students (not to mention the fact that the men and boys all looked like they wanted to take off eachother's heads whenever they were together.  In a friendly way of course...).  I feel quite bad for Aya (and also ashamed of myself) because after the first week of their stay, she still spoke no English words to anyone and even when I spoke to her in Japanese she would only stare at me blankly and then run off giggling, so I started to think that maybe she was a little bit... slow.  I'm thinking now that she was just overwhelmed by everything being so incredibly opposite of her life in Tokyo.  

Takuya is probably the sweetest and most bashful little 13 year old I've ever met.  By far his most endearing quality was that he tried so hard to speak to me and to keep everything clean and together for the whole group.  

Finally there was Hiryu who could be a little bit of a bully and a little bit of a kill-joy.  This only child was the only one out of the group, who, when asked if they were excited to go back home to Japan, fervently said yes. 

Yoshito: He is Very Small

Yosh is the youngest person in the house at 9 years old, and out of all my Japanese housemates, he is by far the quickest when it comes to learning and speaking English.  Like all the kids at the house he loves video games, unlike the other kids though, he uses the language he hears in the games all the time and is able to apply it to anything.  Unfortunately, being the youngest, he's also the complainer and the whiner of the group.  

Yoshito's Hilarious English Moment #1:

If ever confused or asked to try a new food, Yosh will quickly wave his hand in front of his face and say in a deep Mufasa-ish voice, "no no no no".  

Yoshito's Hilarious English Moment #2: 

After a long hike on a trail through the woods when all the kids were thoroughly exhausted, I said to Yosh, "Now we're gonna do it one more time!"  He stared at me like I hit him over the head with a log and replied, "I do not understand" with a look of mild horror.  When I repeated myself, his eyes got huge and he said with great vehemence, "return home now please!".  

Yoshito's Hilarious English Moment #3: 

My brother likes a lot of wasabi in his soy sauce when he eats sushi.  When Yosh saw that Jake's soy was a murky green instead of the pale brown of most normal people's sauce, his eyes got crazy wide (again) and exclaimed that Jake didn't have soy sauce, he had "Crazy Danger Sauce!".  

This may not seem like much, but this kid came here two weeks ago and spoke not a single word of English and now he's translating for all the older kids.  I think it's fantastic!

Koji: Loving Grandfather or Raging Loony?

Koji is the oldest of my Japanese guests.  Oldest by about 50 years (actually 53 years, but who's counting?!), the kids are all terrified of him and enamored with him at the same time.  In Tokyo, he was a chef for a few decades and owned his own restaurant until recently when he decided, on a whim apparently, to move to the countryside where he became the Harbor Master for a little town.  Here with his two grandchildren, Rina (12) and Yoshito (9), as well as three of his karate students, he is adamant that they all speak English all the time and that they clean the house from top to bottom every second day because they are "here to learn about life".

Weird Koji Moment #1: 

Was not at all worried when he first landed (completely gunned) at the Calgary Airport and was missing two children.  Seriously.  He had no idea where they were and we spent two hours looking for them.  

Weird Koji Moment #2:

I took the clan to a theme park on the 4th day.  While there, both of his grandchildren got bitten by wasps and both times he bit the skin around the wasp bite and tried to suck out the poison.  The poor little girl looked like she had a hickey on her neck for days, while the little boy (who was bit just under his eye!!) had bite marks on his cheek.  It's rare that you see strangers stop in their steps to just gape open mouthed at a scene before them...

Weird Koji Moment #3:

Unsatisfied with our dull kitchen knives, he grabbed a rock from our garden, sat on the back steps, and proceeded to sharpen our (serrated) knives with a rock.  I don't really have much to add to that one.

Weird Koji Moment #4: 

While we were on a hike, he picked several mushrooms and told me they would be very delicious.  All I know about mushrooms is not to touch them and that many of them are poisonous.  After I told him this, he ate one and said that they tasted like a very expensive type of mushroom (in Japan they're supposedly worth about $80.00/kg) and that if he did not die we should collect these mushrooms and become rich.  He didn't die, but I'm not going to go picking dubious mushrooms.

First Day of the Third Week

Today, for the first time in probably five or six years, I donned my fancy purple lace-up roller blades.  I don't do this sort of thing for just anybody (I usually spent just as much time on the ground nursing an injury as I did actually skating), so when the five little Japanese children looked up at me with their pleading puppy dog eyes I could only give in.  So, cameras in hand and feet wobbling only slightly in their newly bought skates, I led on my six Japanese guests in a lap around the block.  

By the time all the dust and cobwebs had blown off my skates I had gained back a bit of confidence.  I knew how to do this!  And so, to the applause of my Japanese housemates, I was skating forwards and backwards and helping them to do the same.  

Of course once I was ready for round two (three blocks to the 7-Eleven), four were tired and done and one was already asleep on the deck.  My six eager and determined students had turned into one.  Still wanting slurpees, the others all put on their sneakers and ran to catch up as I left with my new skating buddy at top speed (well, not quite top speed).  

It was of course on the way home that I tripped on my own feet and slammed into the pavement.  My moment of glory though, came right after I stood up and somehow managed to fall again, this time in front of a gaggle of spectators.  I think there were photos taken.  

Thus began the third week of my month with the Japanese here in Canada: with bloodshed and tears.  

A Scramble for the Puck!

I went and saw my favorite hockey club, the Flames, practice the other day after my little brother's hockey practice was over. The skating was fantastic, the shooting and passing and nifty little tricks were mesmerizing. But the men... hot damn.
I'm not usually the kind of girl who likes to oggle good looking men every time I see one, but standing six feet away from them as they were playing and laughing and moving... wow. I mean, wow.

After the practice was over a crowd of little boys, probably ages 7-12, clustered in the lobby outside the change rooms waiting for their heroes to come out and sign their jerseys or their own hockey sticks. The interesting thing was that behind the huge cluster of short people in red was the cluster of the dads who wanted an autograph too. Of course, behind these full grown boys stood me. Because my brother had to leave for a party right after his practice, I was told to stay behind and get some autographs for him.
I thought this would be easy.
Just a bunch of little kids.
Maybe one of those beautiful men would notice me and...
Anyway!
Let me just say that these little boys knew how to work this system (whatever this system was). The 'cute face' was applied along with the 'stuttering shy kid' bit and more often than not there was the awed silence that came with tilting their necks back so far that their little hats kept falling off. How could I possibly compete with this?? I thought maybe I had a bit of a chance early on because of my uniqueness factor (being the only woman there who wasn't a hockey mom) and that probably would have worked if it wasn't for the obsessed hockey dads who liked to push in front and compete with each other after their weasely little spawn had finished with the poor hockey star and he was trying to escape.

All in all I ended up only getting three signatures for my brother and only one of them was of a player I really admired (the other two are fairly new to the team and the only reason I got them was because I don't think the midgets recognized them). The truly unfortunate part about this wasn't the lack of autographs or marriage proposals, it was that all the other adults there, including the players, thought I was 14 years old. When one hockey mom saw me get pushed back by a throng of crazed little boys and their equally crazed (but way more annoying) dads, she said to me in the kindest voice, "hey sweetie, who are you lookin' for? Awwww well you know, my husband could get in there for you and get a couple nice signatures if you want? It would be OK, I'm sure he would love to!" and so on.
It was then that I decided to leave. Hanging around was pointless when the only thing I was getting was bruised toes and drowning ego.

Have to say though, man they were somethin' else to watch up close!

construction site

There is a man with a jackhammer
who thinks he is making improvements to the base of my skull.
It's hard to convince him
that my head is fragile and I like it just the way it is.

There are two men with shovels
trying to dig their way out through my eyes.
They don't believe me
when I tell them that now I can't even see.

Between my eyes there is just one man
who stands hammering a nail through bone.
Begging never works to get him to stop
he is determined to completely reconstruct my face.

And finally the two men with axes
who deforest the brain matter around my ears.
They don't even hear me when I beg
or notice when I shut out the light.
More determined than all the rest,
they refuse refuse to leave.

The Mating Rituals of Monkeys

I've been going to the university gym a lot lately as part of my new, get-out-of-this-freaking-rut mission 2008.

Going to the gym regularly, however, has shown me a whole new aspect of university life that I have only really seen on television. You see, I have always enjoyed working out. Going to the gym and working up a good sweat has always been a feeling that I enjoyed. That moment when you're on the stationary bike and you start to really work up a sweat (after the initial feeling like you're legs are going to fall off and you're going to die in a horribly mangled stationary bike accident in front of everyone...) and get the sensation that you're realling accomplishing something, can be pure bliss. The best part though is when you finish the cardio and you have that pleasant strain in your legs that you know will hurt you more later, but you don't really mind because it means that you've done something right.

Those are the reasons why I have returned to the gym.

For other people, the reasons are a bit more... animalistic.

Here enters the university gym as a jungle mating ground rather than anything else.

The first species one notices when entering the gym, is the common fitness atendant. Akin to the bonobo monkey, the common fitness attendant is prone to solving his or her social problems through sexual encounters and conquest. With their keen ability to view all the animals in jungle (or all the people in the gym), the bonobo is able to pick out the most attractive candidate for a mate. Constant preening and an affinity for shiny objects like mirrors, makes the fitness attendant the "prettiest" of all the species in this particular jungle.

Once a position is established within the jungle, an observer can easily spot the large overzealous weight trainer, usually compared to the silverback gorilla. Acting as the centre of attention within his troop of weight-lifters, the dominant silverback makes overt displays of masculinity to gain followers and increase his prominance and dominance within the jungle. I myself have been enveloped withing the clan of crazy cardio. With the shared desire to work our legs and lungs until our faces are so red we begin to appear sub human. We are the lemurs working hard and watching the real action unfold around us as we busily and happily continue on with our lives.

The groups that I find most interesting to watch while I'm dying on the bike in my keen and watchful state, is the group of people who go to the gym primarily to find a mate. Made up of both males and females, this species of gym-goer is closely related to the baboon when comparing mating and courtship behaviour. The lack of interest in actual exercise and focus on showing signs of interest and availability demonstrates the baboonity of the common gym-courter.

Finally there are the older members of the gym who you see wandering around the equipment and contemplating working out... but never really do. This special group of individuals has been known to draw ties from the Emperor Tamarin. Wise and soulful looking, the Tamarin looks as though it knows what it's doing and presents a knowing and friendly facade, it is actually quite viscious when it comes to someone stealing what they believe is rightfully theirs.

Cold Makes Crazy

I debated for a bit whether or not I would actually post this entry, but in spirit of saying whatever the hell I want and not wanting to self-censor, I decided in the end that I would post it.

I know I've been talking about the cold a lot lately, but it's been on a lot of people's mind here in more then just a small-talk-reserve in the back of your brain kind of way.
The thing is, cold makes some people go a little crazy. Just like excessive heat, wind, rain, drought, or darkness, you've gotta wonder sometimes how much the recent cold spell in the Canadian Prairies has been effecting our brains.

A lot of people, myself included, like to rave about how perfect Canada is. Low crime rates, generally nice people (I have to qualify that just because nobody is perfect), equal opportunities, beautiful countryside, and hot hockey players have all combined to make Canada my perfect and ideal home. However, just like anywhere else, we have our problems. What might be different is that our problems and flaws seem to spring up when the temperature goes way down.

You've probably read the horrifying story that took place on Tuesday when a father of two little girls, aged 1 and 3, took them out for a 400 meter walk at 12:30 am. When it was minus 35 degrees without the wind chill factor. Oh, and the girls were only wearing diapers and t shirts.
Talking about this makes me sick. WRITING about this makes me sick.

There are so many other societal issues that go along with this, I don't even know where to start! The father was drinking. The mother isn't saying where she was or what she was doing when this happened. It happened on a reserve. The father didn't even mention that his children were still outside in the cold until eight hours after he got to the hospital.

Many representatives for the First Nations People say that this kind of behavior is the result of the treatment received in residential schools (what, 100 years ago now?) and neglect from the Canadian government. This is where I tend to get riled, so I'll stop this rant right here.

This doesn't mean that I think that Canada is a worse place because of the winter-crazy, it just means that Canada is a nation like any other: imperfect, but, hopefully, growing and getting better.
Basically, in conclusion, cold makes the crazies crazier and those who just want to report a horrifying tragedy in the news in their nothing blog, seem like extra strength near political ranters.

A Cottage Cheese Emergency

My mom is a nurse who works nights at one of the local hospitals. This is something that my family has had to get used to over the past couple of years, as my mom isn't a very... pleasant... person when she doesn't get enough sleep.

Today, while I was in my hovel being very quiet so that she got enough sleep, I heard people walking around upstairs so I went up to investigate.
Upstairs, I saw my mom in the fridge yelling at my dad about the lack of cottage cheese. COTTAGE CHEESE! My father doesn't even eat cottage cheese (actually the only people who eat it in the whole world are my mom and my sister). She then, very angrily, put some yogurt in a bowl and tried to force feed said yogurt to my dad (who hates yogurt).

She was so angry she couldn't remember my sister's phone number to call her up and give her shit for cottage cheese that was apparently AWAL.

Luckily my father was able to quietly and discretely slip out of the house unscathed. I, however, was not so lucky and only managed to slink back into my basement hovel after listening to mom mumble and mutter and complain and swear about my sister and COTTAGE CHEESE(!).

Like I said, it's taken us a little while to get used to her night shifts, but we're learning to deal.

The Properties of Water

I've mentioned it before and right now I will take the time to reiterate this fact of Canadian living: Winter is freaking cold! Today it managed to get to -32C (That's about -21F) and with the wind chill, it went down to about -43C.

It's days like this when I think that I sleep through my alarm clock and miss my class on purpose. Subconsciously of course.

I spent the better part of my day in my room in the basement under about eight layers of clothes and blankets dutifully (and studiously too I guess) catching up on my class readings. And my blog readings. And my random internet readings. And an episode of Buffy.
Around noon my poor little brother- who was not gifted with the ability to forsee extreme cold and sleep through his alarm thus skipping school and the need to go outside- came home for lunch looking very much like the Michelin Man. Two grilled cheese sandwiches later, the kid was curled up with a blanket complaining he was too sick to go back to school. I, being the sister who is nine years older, clearly saw through this line of bull shit and began the long process of getting him back outside. [a touques, a balaclava, scarf, jacket, ski pants, 2 pairs of gloves, hood, and finally boots]

And then I went back to my books and my computer. Hypocrite, I know.

Later, at around 8:30 (after dinner, having to leave the warmth of my home to go to an appointment that didn't exist, birthday cake for my Opa, and roughly 37 cups of tea/cocoa/coffee/anything warm), my sister entered into my hovel in the basement to do some laundry.

Yes, my bedroom is ALSO the laundry room.

Unfortunately, the cold water would not run. After checking all the other faucets in the house we were able to conclude, with certainty, that the water pipe had froze solid. This was actually a bit ironic because not two hours earlier two fire trucks parked their big yellow selves on my front street to deal with a burst frozen pipe that had flooded our neighbour's entire basement.

Because my sister had already poured laundry detergent over her clothes and because i didn't really like the idea of waking up to freezing water around my ankles, I grabbed the hair dryer and began what would turn out to be a two hour long process of warming up and thawing the pipes through the drywall.

Of course, when it finally DID thaw out completely the water jetted out of the spout in huge freezing torrents right directly into me and my sister. This was actually kinda funny because my dad sauntered down to help only when he heard our shouts of "SHIT SHIT SHIT!! help SHIT SHIT help help SHIT!!". He wanted me to call him when the water started to show signs of actually moving rather than sticking around and keeping us company while we PREVENTED A DISASTER!!

Although, I now feel much handier after the experience...

My favorite line ever

"Red hair and black leather, my favourite colour scheme"

-Richard Thompson

check marks

I don't know if it's just me, but it's kind of stunning when you look and realize that you only need four more classes to graduate from university. When you see that you have far more check marks than "x"'s, it feels a little bit strange, like I should feel more complete or something... hmmm.

barium
is
gross.
(I don't like it at all... ew.)

Stewie

My grandmother's cat eats eggs at the kitchen table.
He prefers them sunny-side up,
And on a plate of equal size to the rest of the plates at the table.

This is the same cat that will only drink distilled water out of a martini glass.
Grandma says he can tell the difference.

I say that sometimes I wish I was a cat.

i am

I am
the sum of my inadequacies.

I am
awkward only when I have to be the person you think I am or should be.

I am
every damien rice, iron and wine, deathcab for cutie, and modest mouse song on my iPod.

I am
only as good as the stories I tell.

I am
the impossibly perfect thing that you can't see in yourself.

I am
not you.

I am
not what you think I am.

I am
me.

before I sleep

Before I sleep my brain goes running
running round round round
in circles through my head.
I can barely follow it,
but I know that it makes sense. Thinking
theories, philosophies, thesis,
biology, poetry, psychology
me and or with for everyone else.

Every night it's the same
and every morning I wake up
and I can't remember what I thought about
that seemed so terribly important
so brilliant
so perfect the night before.

Were these thoughts I had actually mine,
or were they just the amalgamation of everything I absorbed in one day?

I can't help but think,
if I had these thoughts during the day
(or could at least remember them come the next morning)
I might be a little bit more satisfied with my life
thus far.
Or maybe I should try sheep.