We Heart Abcakes & Tacos

Tonight is the final Presidential debate. The only debate I've watched was the much discussed VP debate a few weeks ago. I arrived home from work just before 10:00pm and thought I would relax with some TV. Everyone else was already occupied so I actually had control of the remote. Imagine my delight when I found "Aliens" playing on one of the movie channels! My best friend Jess texted me to ask if I was watching the debate and when I responded that I was not ("Aliens" was on and the debate was nearing its end), I was promptly told that I needed to tune in immediately. Jess loves "Aliens" as much as I do, and in school she was my loyal and hilarious debate-watching partner. Yes, debate watching is an event and an art form, especially when you watch back to back airings of the 2008 VP debate and Canadian PM debate and decorate your living-room with flags made out of bristol board. That being said, had this demand to tune in come from anyone else, I likely would've ignored it but I knew Jess was to be trusted here. Thanks to her I was lucky enough to catch the always juicy abortion question. No thanks to work, I missed out on hearing Joe Biden say malarky. 

In my current sickly, robot-voice state, this post of terrifying art is the most comment I'm currently willing to make on the upcoming election. I was just cruising around Twitter when I found this page, and I don't know exactly what made me feel like sharing it with you. Perhaps it was the expired Buckley's that I choked down.

Choosing a favourite was nearly impossible, but here's a little sneak peak to really get you salivating for some politics. I think the reasons for my selection are obvious.

So...enjoy?

Okay.

More Books You May Enjoy

The Internet is a place of diverse and endless subjects. Anyone who hasn't been living in a cave for the past decade knows that the Internet is also a place of diverse and endless advertisements. Sometimes they are in-your-face banners, and sometimes they appear in the form of the slightly more inconspicuous product recommendation. My emails to friends often contain wide and strange assortments of subjects and I've always enjoyed the website recommendations that Gmail suggests for me by picking up keywords in my correspondence. A few years ago while I was in school, I wrote a post about the interesting assessment that YouTube made of me based on its video suggestions. Amusing as the assortment was, I think that considering the selection of videos on YouTube a person would have to display incredibly suspicious viewing habits to be red-flagged. But the other day, I was presented with perhaps the most troubling product recommendation I've seen to date, and it came from Chapters.

I absolutely love Chapters and, even more, I love ordering books from the Chapters website. This is probably because I enjoying receiving mail so much. It truly is a dying practice. So, I occasionally receive emails from Chapters regarding promotions or certain books, and a section of "More books you may enjoy" is included at the bottom. More often than not, the books listed there are books by authors I've searched and it's common that they're books I've already read, so it's not the most useful tool for me. This particular email's recommendation maintains that uselessness, but I cannot figure out what triggered the selection of these three books and, more importantly, these three subjects:

Diet & Weight Loss, Self-Help, and Christianity. Plus, there's a horse on the cover of the middle book! (We all know how I feel about horses.) I thought Chapters knew me better than this. If I was asked to list the Top Three subjects that I'm least interested in reading about, I would probably spout these off without even thinking. "Clowns" and "Ventriloquism" would round out the Top Five. What is Chapters trying to tell me? Does it think I need to diversify? Is it judging me? Mocking me? Honestly, I'm kind of scared.

False Endings

As some of you may know, I'm finally reading The Hobbit. Before taking on this surprisingly tedious endeavour (I really should have read it approximately 15 years ago), I was reading Killing Yourself to Live by Chuck Klosterman. As I read this book a few months ago, I was listening to Metric's album Synthetica for the first time. Just as the album ended I realized I had come to the end of a chapter. This seemed a very minor coincidence in timing and did not register as more than a brief realization until I turned the page and quickly learned that the silence in my headphones signified the end of the book despite the collection of unread pages still remaining before the back cover.

I'm going back to tell this anecdote because I heard on the radio that this week is Pet Peeve Week. When people or situations that right now I couldn't actually reference require me to state a pet peeve, I can usually only think of one standby: when people say "seen" instead of "saw," but that's not really a pet peeve - I absolutely hate when people make that mistake. It insults me to my very core. Truthfully, I don't think I have any pet peeves because for me that term isn't a strong enough representation of how I feel about such scenarios. I'm either indifferent toward something (which is rare) or very passionate (or at least very passionately vocal) about something. A false ending in a book falls into the latter category.

A false ending is when the extras at the end of a book trick you into believing there is still more of the actual story to be enjoyed when you've reached the book's true ending. These extras include, but are not limited to, appendices or indexes, and excerpts from other books by the same author or publisher. The deception is not one I take lightly and it leaves an indelible mark on my otherwise enjoyable experience of the book.

On the surface, my anger toward these endings does center on the deception - the feeling of being duped - but I think the greater issue is the lack of closure that is created. Reading a book is an emotional investment, and we subconsciously prepare for the end. We feel the story arc winding down, the necessary loose ends are tied, the right amount of answers are left unknown so we feel the lives of the characters continue long after we return the book to the shelf, and we get ready to say goodbye. The promise made by the those extra pages gives us hope for just a little bit more before the end. Maybe there will be a epilogue. But then, when the end comes earlier than you anticipated, you are deprived of experiencing the true closure of the story.

I like to be prepared, and I like to be in control. When I read a book, I want to be surprised and moved by what the author has written, not by the book's tricky construction. An apocalypse, I should think, would bring about similar issues of closure. We would prepare for the end, but then suddenly find ourselves needing to cope with a post-apocalyptic existence that we assumed was merely a distant hope (or fear). Thinking about life beyond the end is a slippery slope but, alas, there's still something to be said for always being prepared...

Happy Thanksgiving

For me, Thanksgiving seems to mark the beginning of the holiday season (the weather gets chillier, the leaves change and fall, Halloween is only a couple of weeks away, and before you know it Christmas is here). But around here, it’s a mere blip in the much more celebrated season of hunting.

Now, who would’ve thought that I would ever be interested in hunting? I can hardly sit still for a few minutes, I never shut up, and I get bored very easily. And yet, I make it work. I first became interested because Ryan loves hunting and was very excited to include me. My continued interest, however, rides on three things: the opportunity to buy a new outfit, my desire for a bear rug, people’s reactions when I tell them I have a gun.

Camo

Shopping for my own hunting gear was not as much fun as I anticipated as I ran into two main obstacles. The first obstacles was that most stores have an extremely limited selection of women’s clothes. Even at Sail, I found one sad rack. Just because I’m a girl, doesn’t mean I need pink logos and v-necks. Why would I want a v-neck?! It’s not unreasonable to expect pieces that aren’t long and boxy, but this was my next obstacle: much to my dismay, hunting clothes are supposed to fit loosely. Even though I made fun of the pink accents, I admit that I wanted a cute outfit but Ryan insists that tight clothes are not hunting appropriate. I left with only a pair of pants and a hat, so my outfits is still a little mismatched. Next time, we’re making the trek to Bass Pro. They have a women’s section and I remember a large portion of it being Under Armour.

Bears

We’re currently in the middle of deer and bear seasons. We’ve been successfully baiting a family of bears for several months, but those crafty bastards must know when the season starts because they’ve been MIA ever since opening day. The raccoons, however, are still feasting regularly. I’m still set on having a bear rug so my fingers are crossed that the bears get hungry and wander back in our direction before the season ends.

Our Backyard Bears - Mama & Cubs

Guns

As a child I was incredibly cautious, so I doubt my parents expected that I’d ever want to operate firearms. I’d like to think my father is quite proud. Despite friendly words of caution from his co-workers, Ryan gave me a gun for my birthday (for some reason they felt it unwise to arm one’s girlfriend or wife and suggested jewelry instead). My family likes to joke about how hick that is, but I’m quite certain that there are few things more badass than I woman with a gun.

After all this about hunting, I must admit that all of our holiday food is store bought. I wish you all a very happy and delicious Thanksgiving weekend, and hope some people are getting to enjoy multiple dinners as I am (three in total). Be thankful for plentiful food, wine, loved ones (furry ones included), stretchy pants, and not having to rely on the hunters in your family to bring home dinner.

xox

View from the tree stand

I'm Baaaack!

I know, I know.  It's been far too long.  Honestly, I'm not sure what I've been doing that's been so important to have kept me from this blog, but it's time to get back to business.  Writing has fallen to the bottom of my priority list and that's just no longer acceptable to me.  I've been collecting ideas and writing sporadically so I'll be easing back into regular blogging as another creative outlet.

I've been putting a lot of thought into what I really want to be doing for work and I can't ever get myself away from writing.  There are so many options and possibilities but I'm still struggling with how and where to focus my efforts.  What I have decided is that the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles movie is to blame for my desire to want to be a writer.  Growing up, my younger brother and I watched the 1990 movie a lot and the character April was undeniably cool.  She was a reporter in the big city, she got to hang out with the turtles, take down some bad dudes, and she even managed to bag bad-boy Casey Jones.  While The Wizard of Oz was probably my favourite movie as a child, Dorothy didn't really provide me with any career options.  I already lived in the country, and travelling to different magical worlds via twisters is just not a via job choice nowadays.  So there you have it: pop culture continues to be the higher power that guides me through life.

It already feels good to be back and perhaps there's a design facelift in my blog's near future as well...

Stay tuned ;)

Sewing is an Acquired Taste

My elementary school canceled its shop and home economics program with the local high school the year that I would have participated. I blame this decision for my lack of sewing skill. Now, anyone who knows my family personally would contest that claim because my mother is quite skilled in this department. I have always had a great teacher at my disposal, but it seems my interest in sewing was never very prominent.

On Sunday I offered to fix a pair of Ryan’s pants. Thankfully, they’re work pants so functionality is really all that matters. I figured the fix would be easy: slap on some patches, reattach some sections. No problem. Well, apparently it’s not so easy to sew together the fabric equivalent of ground beef. The zipper was almost completely detached and the fabric covering the front looked like pulled pork. The outside tops of the pockets had come unstitched, and each leg had a mangled hole in the front. My mother had recently hemmed a pair of black pants so I folded the remnants into patches. (And yes, I patched the holes from the inside.) I figured that the more stitching there was, the better the patches would hold, so I set the machine to zigzag and just sewed the shit out of those patches for maximum reinforcement. I’m telling you, those former holes are now the sturdiest parts of the pants because if you sew two things together enough, they will eventually become one harmonious piece of fabric. Just be aware that the harmonious piece of fabric may closely resemble the clothing of Frankenstein...

Perhaps someone with more skill could have made the alterations with more finesse, but I’m quite confident that I achieved similar results with my blunt force sewing technique. However, this undertaking was, unfortunately but not surprisingly, not without incident despite my overwhelmingly successful technique. One needle fell victim to my heavy sewing hand, several thread refills were required, and the left pocket got caught in some crossfire and had its bottom corner sewn to the patch. Considering the amount of stitching applied to the patch, I had to sacrifice the corner and close up the new bottom of the pocket. Oops.

My mother, who oversaw the project for the sake of her sewing machine, thought this was simply the most hilarious sewing attempt that she’d ever seen. I must admit that I had more fun than I though I would, but I also did a fabulous job and I absolutely do not understand why my father declined my offer to alter some of his items. So whoever said that sewing isn’t fun (I’m sure at some point someone said that), didn’t ever sew with me. The right attitude and the willingness to accept your own ineptitude is all you need to turn any misadventure into an enjoyable and educational experience, even one as domestic as sewing clothes for your boyfriend.

(Writer's Note: Ryan agreed that I did a fabulous job. Unfortunately, it means he's started a pile of "to be sewn" clothes for me. Ahh the burdens of being so awesome.)

A Promise for the Near Future

Last weekend, I boldly proclaimed that this would be the week I started blogging again. This post is a small offering to that person to say "I remember making that bold proclamation, and, despite my procrastination thus far, I still intend to start blogging again."

I'll include this little anecdote from my day to spice this baby up a bit.

Today was a day of shopping. A long day of shopping. A long day of shopping in which I did not make any purchases. This is clearly problematic. Instead, I helped Ryan pick a new phone (a Blackberry, pff) and some small game shot (because I know so much about shooting birds). On the drive home, Ryan asked if I could "fish around for a beer" for him while he made a fire in the wood stove. He then spouted off this little gem, which he proudly told me he'd just come up with:

"Have you ever gone fishing for beer? It's the best kind of fishing; you always catch a buzz."

He thinks he's very funny. After chuckling to himself, he told me I should "tweet that." So welcome back to my life, readers. I'll be talking to you again very soon!

A Simple Question

Long ago I accepted the fact that working in the hospitality/retail industry means dealing with strange and unexpected customer service issues that will test the patience of the most even-tempered people. As a generally impatient and often judgemental person, I may not seem like the ideal fit for such jobs; however, I appear to possess the power to hide these traits just long enough to deal with the issue at hand.

Monday was a P.A. Day, which meant a lot of teenagers were unceremoniously unleashed on the town. A group of these teens came into the store I work at and began aimlessly wandering through the racks. I was going about my business behind the cash desk when a girl showed up in front of me, having broken away from her posse. I smiled and asked her how I could help. She quickly glanced around the store and replied, "Ummm, could you do me a huge favour?" I was taken aback by her casual request and foolishly thought perhaps she wanted to purchase something on the sly as a gift for another member of her group. As she shiftily looked around again, I realized my mistake and hesitantly said, "Sure." Our conversation proceeded as such:

Teen: "Okay, so this is going to sound reeeeeally terrible..."

Me: starting to worry while maintaining a neutral facial expression

Teen: "I need to make my boyfriend jealous, so do you have any really cute guys working right now?"

Me: fighting my eyebrows as they quiver with the urge to turn up into a condescending peak - I point to one of my colleagues who's helping a customer nearby "Well...he's actually the only guy working today."

Teen: looks at my colleague and turns back to me with a look of dissatisfaction and dejection "I am sooooo screwed."

Me: mouth slightly gaping while I try to think of what the appropriate response is - the teen turns to leave in a huff, then suddenly turns back to me

Teen: "Where's your rugby stuff?"

The joke was totally on her because we didn't have any rugby stuff.

I wanted to share this gem with all of you so that (a) You could hopefully have a bit of a chuckle, and (b) I could pose this very simple, but very serious question: What is wrong with people?

Happy Easter

Not only is this the Easter weekend, but it's the weekend before my final week of undergraduate classes at Western. Amen to that. This has probably been the lightest semester end of my entire university career because, for once, almost all of my major assignments were due in a three day period of my second last week. Busting out a film analysis and a short story this weekend was a minor task.

For various reasons and much to the dismay of the folks back home, I am not spending the long weekend with my family. Easter is the only holiday that I don't go home for because it usually falls at an inopportune time of academic hell. Most of the weekend has been spent doing laundry, finishing up school work, and watching movies. But do not fear, dear blog readers, I am not alone and I will be participating in the festivities! Considering roomie Jess and I have no religious affiliations and are both family-less for the holiday, we're celebrating the only way we know how: with nerdy activities and junk food. So tonight we shall dine on Wendy's and watch Raiders of the Lost Ark! And in response to your question, no, there never was a time when Harrison Ford wasn't handsome--that's what makes him Harrison Ford.

Happy Easter!

UPDATE: Is the Housing Torture Over?

See original post: Is the Housing Torture Over?

Nine days have passed since a rental group toured our house, so I think I can safely say that our house has been rented (knock on wood). March is almost at its end, so I imagine that most people have secured their living arrangements for the 2010/2011 school year. If my assumption proves to be incorrect, I shall be VERY ANGRY! Don't you dare do that to me, universe.

My days in London are few, which I am simultaneously stressed and very happy about. My last class is April 8th and my only exam is April 22nd, then it's back home until I figure out my future plans. Moving should be quite the adventure...

Diverse Interests

As much as websites recommending things to me creeps me out, I do at least find enjoyment in the results. I went on YouTube the other day to find a music video and I'd like to share with you what I found. I'm going to preface this by mentioning that I think I have a diverse range of interests, and it seems YouTube has keenly noticed this. For me, all the recommended videos are about these three topics:

1. Lady Gaga

2. Mud trucks/off-roading

3. Ted Bundy

Thanks, YouTube.

Trouble Sleeping

Sleep has been a challenge for the past several days. I don't appreciate this.

Every night I go to sleep with the intent of waking up at a self-proclaimed "decent time" to get ready and do some work before class. But every night I lie in bed for hours, unable to fall asleep. I could go to bed at 11, 12, 1, 2, 3... The time doesn't seem to make a difference. My mind is suddenly filled with ideas: what to write for my humour journal, what to write my persuasive speech on, what to wear the next day, what shoes to wear to Formal on Thursday, what I'm going to do in a month. When I finally do fall asleep, I wake up multiple times before forcing myself awake in the morning with no energy for the day ahead.

This is nothing new for me. Unfortunately, I've had trouble sleeping since high school. It comes and goes. Perhaps I'm more stressed about finishing school than I was allowing myself to believe. I'm so excited for a (much needed) change and to actually start my life, so I've been trying to concentrate on that instead of the scary parts. In light of my new wave of insomnia, it seems that plan was only partially successful. You win this time, subconscious.

When you try you best but you don't succeed

When you get what you want, but not what you need

When you feel so tired but you can't sleep

Stuck in reverse

- Coldplay, "Fix You"

The Committee of Our Lady of Perpetual Birth March 2010 Newsletter

Hello Friends! We hope you’re all enjoying the positive change in the weather. Spring is definitely on its way, and you know what that means: its time for more babies! Spring always brings the promise of new life, so we’ve decided to dedicate this month’s newsletter to reminding everyone how important that new life is by reiterating why you should always (say it with us): Say no to abortion.

(1) Abortions are expensive and hinder the economic growth of our country. If we didn’t waste all this money on aborting the babies of young women who took all the proper precautions and women who were raped, then we’d have enough money to pay off the country’s $500 billion debt. Then we could afford to send all your babies to Catholic schools so they’d learn that sex before marriage is bad. This would prevent even the consideration of abortions (married people never get pregnant by accident and always want babies). What’s more important: paying off the national debt and sending all kids to Catholic school, or killing unborn babies? Yeah, that’s what we thought.

(2) Abortion is like slavery: embryos have civil rights too. Just because they’re in your womb, doesn’t mean they’re not people just like the rest of us outside of that nasty placental barrier. Those embryos have the right to free speech…if it was possible to talk inside of a womb…and if embryos had issues they needed to vocalize. Perhaps they would say, “Please don’t abort us; we need to grow up to be crack-whores, serial killers, sexual predators, and general drains on society.”

(3) People who think abortions are acceptable also think child abuse is acceptable. They are child-hating hippies who think that life is as expendable as that condom they clearly didn’t use. They don’t respect the life of unborn human babies; they eat chicken eggs, which are unborn chickens, so they’re also baby chicken munching monsters; and they even think it’s okay to dump out the stagnant water that holds the unborn mosquito babies that will grow up to kill people with West Nile and malaria. Outrageous! They must be stopped.

(4) Some people think that an unwanted baby is like a disease, but the joke is on them because the abortion they want will give them some real diseases to worry about! Not only do abortions potentially cause every known kind of cancer, but they also cause women to develop a very specific and horrific form of anti-social personality disorder that causes them to hate all types of babies. This includes, but is not limited to, baby birds, baby elephants, baby carrots, and Baby Spice.

(5) People say Earth is overpopulated and that aborting unwanted babies would solve this problem. Well, newsflash, Earth isn’t overpopulated; that’s just a myth, like evolution and that pulling-out isn’t a valid method of birth control (it totally works, kids). If you’re so concerned, then move with all of your babies to South Africa because, quite frankly, South Africa is severely under-populated and is possibly the safest place to raise your new family. Also, it’s about quantity, not quality. The more babies the better, right? Babies for everyone! Buy a farm, have lots of babies, then use them as a work force. The farm will provide the babies with everything they need and your family will be totally self-sufficient. Don’t worry; it’s not like slavery (see reason 2) or a cult. It’s just like…like being an Amish family… Yeah, that’s it.

We hope you enjoyed this month’s newsletter. Thanks again for subscribing. See you all next month when we discuss how you should eat your own placenta because it’s super nutritious and cuts down on waste, which is good for the environment.

Love always,

The Committee of Our Lady of Perpetual Birth

Is the Housing Torture Over?

As previously mentioned, ever since returning from Christmas break our house as been shown to potential new renters pretty much every single day. It's been hell. Complete hell. The rental company is totally unreliable: they say they're going to show up and then don't, they don't notify us of showings and then show up, they don't show up on time... Hell. Multiple times there have been groups who sounded very interested in the house, but so far none have committed.

On Saturday, I stepped out of the bathroom fresh from a shower and wrapped in a towel to hear a man downstairs saying, "Ok, why don't we head upstairs." Shit. As the first person began ascending the stairs I asked if they could look in my bedroom first so I could get back to getting ready. The guy leading the tour all but shit his pants in uncomfortable surprise. He began apologizing profusely and trying to avert his eyes as he was forced to stand beside me so the group of six (the three girls looking at the house plus three guys for moral support) could make it onto the landing and into my room. As they all awkwardly apologized to me, I assured them it was fine and that I just needed them to look at my room so I could get along with my business.

I could hear the group asking questions and making comments about the house as I stood, still towel clad, in the safety of my room. Everything sounded quite positive, although the guy from the rental company was bumbling around trying to answer their queries. However, we had no showings yesterday (Sunday) and I haven't received notification of any for today (Monday) so I'm hoping my Saturday house cleaning and my almost naked shower-fresh body tipped the scale. Please let the house be rented. Please please please. I can't have anymore strangers see me in a towel. That's why I stopped living in rez after first year.

One Summer Dessert

I am an ice-cream cone

Wafer plains and ridges promising a reward

A curved and tapered vessel

To hold sugary, crystalline cool innards

To be perfectly cradled in your fleshy palm

And your rough fingers callused by steel work

Thankfully cupping my sweetly rough exterior

A clutch too eager causes cracks in my ridges

Holes in my paper thin plains

An approach too timid lets my innards melt

Become soupy and exposed

And my fragile but solid shell

My contained existence

Implodes in your helpless hand

Written for Fundamentals of Creative Writing

(poem had to begin "I am a")

The Snuggie Sutra

Pop culture will never cease to amaze me.

While "attempting" to do my screenwriting homework for tomorrow morning and chatting with Jess, I was presented with something hilariously beautiful. During her Internet horoscope mission, Jess discovered The Snuggie Sutra ("The Kama Sutra of Snuggies").

As the site explains, "You have a Snuggie. You have sex. This was inevitable." I think 'nuff said. Check it out and bask in the genius, hilarity, and oddly cute cartoon diagrams.

Here In My Room...

I've been back in London for a week and a half and my room still isn't tidied. The mess I left behind when I returned home for my Christmas break is still collecting dust. Every day I pick up a shirt, organize a surface, shuffle the items in a corner, but the mess remains. Groups of student have already started touring the house for next year. As our house battles the rental company due to its early and unlawful disruption of our lives, we keep our fingers crossed that a group will choose our house ASAP and I know having a clean house will help. I also know a clean room will help me get through this final semester. But the more time I spend in here, the more I resent it. How did I end up living in my bedroom?

When I was permanently living at my parents house, I rarely spent much time in my bedroom outside of the necessary sleeping and dressing. While I value my alone time, I get bored very quickly back at home and prefer to do my work in the company of my stay-at-home mom. I think we both prefer to have someone to chat with as we go about our daily tasks, and we've always been close. Then I moved into residence for my first year of university where my bedroom was my room and 'alone time' was a scarce but generally unwanted commodity. But since moving into my off-campus house (which I have lived in since moving out of res), I go through phases where I live in my bedroom.

I do work, eat, and sleep in here. Had I known I would be spending so much time here I might have decided against painting my walls Commie-red. As I become more restless here and more anxious to finish the year, I find more to dislike about my bedroom--my voluntary prison:

- the closet is way too small (I have a lot of clothes...and shoes...)

- three of the four drawers in my dresser are broken

- my bed is about one foot too high

- one window = adequate lighting for only a few hours

- the carpet is old

- my desk is small and lacking drawers (why do desks not have drawers anymore?!)

- my bookcase is overflowing with books, DVDs, and CDs and is threatening to collapse any day now

And the list continues. This semester needs to end, if only to liberate me from my student housing bedroom life. There are only 83 days until my last day of class. Will my bedroom and I survive? Tune in tomorrow for an exciting vacuuming episode.

Beam Me To Campus, Scotty

For those not living in the lovely city of London, we're coming to the end of our first week of a transit strike. So let me begin by saying:

Congratulations, ATU Local 741.

You're officially On Notice.

The LTC offered a 9% increase over the weekend but apparently that wasn't enough for the ATU, despite the current economic situation that has many people thankful to have jobs at all. Yes, at this point not even a week without transit has passed (no where near the two months Ottawa endured), but for weeks leading up to the strike the frequency of buses was reduced to exam-period/holiday levels, making it difficult for people to get to school and work on time.

For a brief period this week there were even rumours that the ATU would set up picket lines on campus because some of the transportation services arranged by the university were allegedly being viewed as strike-breaking maneuvers.

The silver lining here, if you can call it that, is today's lesson:

Nothing brings a community together quite like a transit strike.

I'm quite proud of the efforts Western has made to keep the safety and education of its students its primary concern. Campus Police has ramped up its security; the University College shuttle service expanded its routes; carpool sites were created; a van service was added (47 rented vans driven by volunteers, which cater to students living in areas more than a 30min walk from campus); professors, staff, and students are offering rides to classmates and those living nearby; and the USC organized a bike check in the UCC gym. So to the Western community I say thank you. We should be proud of ourselves.

While I don't mind walking to class (so far the weather is still relatively warm), walking home is an incredible inconvenience. By the time classes are over I'm usually hungry, tired, and generally fed up with school. Today was our first day of rain during the strike, but knowing London we can expect many more days like today. And most importantly, because it's so late in the year it's dark by the time I have to walk home. Thankfully, as far as I know, no one has been raped, abducted, attacked by animals, or thrown into the Thames while walking to or from campus. Let's keep it that way, London.

And so to the ATU I say bring it on. Because I'm just itching for another thing to complain about.

Of Magnets & Marine Life

Bloggers, did you have a Magna-Doodle when you were wee children? I certainly did, and hot damn did I love it. In fact, my Magna-Doodle played a major role in one of my favourite home movies.

My brother was just a baby, lolling about a blanket, so I was probably about three or four. My family was hanging out in the living room and I think a Jays games was on TV... Or a Leafs game... My mom was filming my brother and I playing because personal camcorders were a big deal in the early 90s and my parents wanted plenty of hilarious and embarrassing videos to show Adam and me when we got older.

I excitedly tromp over to where my dad is sitting, wielding my Magna-Doodle, to show him my newest work of art. On the screen is a nebulous blob with an eye, a smile, and what appears to be a bayonet protruding from its "head." Wow, Nicole, what's that? my dad inquires. It's a baby narwhal. The bad men were trying to kill it on Danger Bay, I explain with more than a hint of concern in my voice.

Bloggers, I would like you to take four things away from this childhood anecdote:

1. This clearly foreshadows my future artistic abilities.

2. Danger Bay had some badass story lines.

3. Magna-Doodles are better than those stupid Etch-a-Sketches.

4. Jess found this awesome t-shirt for me:

Obsessors, Be Anonymous No More

I'm going to come out and say it: My name is Nicole and I'm an obsessoholic.

Obsessions have been a topic of discussion in a couple of my classes this week. When it comes to obsessing, there are conflicting opinions on how healthy and productive the practice is in our real lives (as opposed to the lives lived in the safety of our own minds).

In my Popular Music and Gender class we talked about how obsessions factor into music fandom. It's highly feminized and generally associated with deviancy. Think Beatlemania with the screaming, crying, fainting, mobbing teenyboppers. Men, of course, don't do this. They think "Oh man, that dude is so f'ing cool, I want to be just like him and sleep with tons of sexy women and play mad guitar..." But girls, girls want to marry John and have Elvis shake his hips in their direction and shoot them one of those famous snarly smiles. Go beyond the screaming to the next level of fandom/obsession and peer into the bedroom of someone with posters all over the walls, figurines and albums littering all surfaces, a camera with a telescopic lens and a pair of night-vision goggles... That someone is a stalker. Stalking = bad kind of obsessing. As someone who has been followed home from an exam, I can tell you stalking does not make your stalkee want to hang out with you or, least of all, have sex with you. Shocking, I know.

Moving on, we've been having guest speakers in my Writing Portfolio class. Today, Western's current writer-in-residence Penn Kemp encouraged us to have obsessions. The fixation on something specific can lead to inspiration. She finds inspiration for much of her work (which includes a lot of perhaps strange, yet whimsical, poetry/sound concoctions) in those things that nag her and constantly swirl around in her mind. When you obsess over something you're likely to think about all kinds of aspects of that thing and delve deeper into it than you would a passing interest. More importantly, if you're obsessed it means you're passionate and what are writing and creativity without passion?

As I said, I'm very obsessive. I believe I suffer from what can only be described as Sudden On-set Obsession Syndrome. Perhaps this is a result of a short (albeit intense) attention span or technological induced ADD. But if this week of dreary academia has taught me anything, it's that I shouldn't be ashamed of my obsessions. This is in part due to my highly respected professor Norma Coates revealing her Sex & The City obsession. If obsessions can fuel my writing then I shall whole-heartedly embrace them, and I encourage you to do the same. Obsessions make for great party themes.