Cheque, cheque, testing, testing...

My Guy and I have continued our regular correspondence, to my overwhelming glee. He had since invited me to see "Ghost in the Shell 2: Innocence" with him, which is an anime about robots that go crazy and kill people, and the cyborg police who have to crack the case. I haven't seen the first one, or watched the series, but judging by the synopsises (is that the right word?) I've been reading, I don't think it'll be necessary. He has also, more recently, added the bonus of getting dim sum along with the movie, something I've never had but I'm sure I'll enjoy. I'm still a little worried, though. I've never before been in any sort of relationship other than one of pure convenience with the members of the male gender, and as I have never dated, I am still a little rusty on how things should be done. While he asked me to the movie, and the dim sum, it would be proper to assume that he will be paying, just as I would had I asked him. However, regarding a few choice words he made in his most recent electronical correspondences, I'm beginning to suspect that he expects us to go dutch. That's no problem for me, but I'm not sure how to ask him to clarify without being rude. He's a student with a part-time job, I'm not expecting him to be the Donald. However, how do I deal with this? When the inevitable situation of the cheque comes up, what will I do? Do I say, "I'll pay half"? If he was truly planning on shouldering the entire financial burden, that might offend him. However, if I stare blankly at the cheque and he is assuming that we will both pay, he might think I'm greedy, or exploitative, or stupid. I'm treading on thin ice here, as I have absolutely no experience. For now, I'll just bring some cash and my credit card just in case, and try to subtly hint that I'm unsure of how the bills should be paid...
I've completed all of my mid-terms with nary a scratch, and in my Earth and Atmospheric Science class, the interesting professor who had us read a huge chapter a day has switched to another professor who is just as interesting but only has us read a chapter a week, and you have no idea how much free time I have as a result. So I've begun writing my novel again, a habit I had neglected to pursue for the last few months due to the fact that I was busy copying the entire looseleaf manuscript onto my laptop - and the result was around 150 pages of writing! Yes! I believe this is the novel that I will finish!
I've also finished reviewing all of my books from the Green Man Review, so that means I will be receiving more books in time for the Christmas holiday, which is quite fine and dandy. As for clubs, I have regularily attended the BAKA meetings, and I recently won the Iron Chef of Pain Contest by presenting to the audience the 2nd episode of the "Bob the Ball" flash animation series. I plan on winning again next week with an entry that is just an nonsensical, but a mite less entertaining than the first. I'm still writing for The Gateway, and it is fab. So far I've received three free CDs for review, and I got to see "Shall We Dance?" in theatres equally free of charge. I also was assigned an interview with the rock band Yellowcard (quite famous), but they never called at the designated time and so the assignment collapsed with nothing to show for it. I've become inspired since acquiring the knowledge that students who contribute at least 15 articles to the paper get the bound edition of every Gateway issue of that year, which is personalized with one's name on it. It's about the size of an encyclopeidia (there's no spell check! argh!), and I wants it...yessssss.....
I've also taken to reading my mother's blog as of late (The Lesser of Two Weevils by Talmida) and post comments on them. Rather recently, I posted (anonymously) a bizarre question about generational punishment and why the Prince of Darkness is called the Prince and not king...read the comments of her recent entry, and you'll understand. Upon returning home, my mother immediately regales me with a tale of some "crazy person" making foolish remarks on her blog. With a straight face and a sympathetic smile, I witnessed my mother's rather nonplussed reaction to my spontaneous secret comment. I quickly go downstairs (where we have our second computer, the one I am writing my blog on presently) and write an equally funny comment that reveals my identity. Five minutes later I can hear her uproarious laughter all the way from the basement. Success! Yay for me!

So Little Time, So Little Time

Y'know, I would write in my blog more often, but I'm simply having too much fun being over-worked at University. Let me rephrase that. The work isn't hard, not in the least, it's just that I'm having trouble focusing on all of it, as well as reading ahead and studying for mid-terms. I'm relatively lucky in that regard - I have five classes, but only three have midterms, and all are in the last week of October so I still have a sizable amount of time to study for them.
Still, I am presently being torn to bits by the amazing amount of new TV shows out there that I simply must see, and the amazing amount of homework that I must learn in advance. I think I'm going to have to give up some of my favourite shows so that I can juggle the remainder of my time between reviewing books for Green Man Review, writing articles for The Gateway, doing my homework, and writing my Fantasy Novel. So, here is my tearful farewell to the shows I will have to do without for the rest of the term:
Goodbye, 'Smallville': Your last season was a horrible mess, with each episode ending with a soppy conversation between Clark and Lana that went absolutely nowhere. However, your new season seems to be quite intriguing, but I really can't trust you anymore, and it's impossible to see you now due to my BAKA meetings.
Goodbye, 'The 4400': As a miniseries, I can always pick you up in DVD form over the summer, and it's really asking too much of my sisters to tape you while I'm twiddling my thumbs at my Film Studies 205 lab. Your fables about super-powered alien abductees will have to wait.
Goodbye, 'That '70s Show': Worry not, sweet prince, there is always syndication! And plus, Topher Grace has two new films coming out this winter so that should satisfy my lust for lanky nerdy men. Again, my Film Studies lab stands between our happiness for now.

Well, now that that's over with, I have stuff to do. I met a guy! I shan't reveal his name, but he does exist. A third-year film-major, he shares FMS 205 with me, and thus today we get to share a movie! Yes, it's a lab, so it's free, but that doesn't matter! We met at my second film lab (where we watched "Chungking Express"), and it simply flew off from there. He always saves a seat for me next to him in class, and he took me out for pizza and revealed his gargantuan store of film knowledge which makes my love on the cinema seem downright bland. Now, I'm trying very hard not to have expectations, or to throw myself at him simply because he's the first adult male to show any shed of interest in me. I must say, I hold expertise in many subjects, but not those of social interaction. I have to try hard to LISTEN, to not BABBLE incoherently about unfunny things or subjects that don't matter, and to KEEP IN TOUCH, something I'm notoriously bad at. I don't want him to think I'm a twit, or a ditz, or an idiot, but sometimes I feel that I can't help acting like one. Gah! I haven't had much practice. I really hope he's the patient and tolerate type.

Screwing up my Schedule!!

Yes, it's true, readers! I am still alive! The main reason for this latest long period of silence has been my recent entrance into University, and I've had to deal with a lot of challenges and deal with a few cliches that are happily inaccurate.
First, the workload. I know, it's still September, but most of my classes are small, or the books are easy and fun to read, or the professors are understanding. My classes usually start at 10 and end at 2! Plus, all the classes I have are classes I chose because I was interested, so all the work is stuff I like doing and generally finish rather quickly. Usually, after that, I tend to work ahead so that I may have brief periods of free time to write my blog. Huzzah!
Second, the notorious Freshman 15, I'm discovering, is turning out to be true, unfortunately. I'm pedalling my ass off on the excersise bike every morning to combat the inevitable results of succumbing, day after day, to the salty, fried wiles of the university's two food courts. I'm starting to wean myself off it, slowly, but it's horribly difficult. They have an A&W's and a New York Fries in the same freakin' building! It's sinful! Gah! However, it plays much easier on my soul to purchase food with friends --
WHICH I OFFICIALLY HAVE NOW! Friends friends friends friends! Haha! I spit in the face of Sisters One and Two! One is, actually, someone I met during the High School Model United Nations project back in high school, and who is currently living in Lister Hall. I'm planning on inviting her over to dinner sometime in the next week, partly to spare her a night of having to force down microwaved "Michelina's" pasta, and partly to convince Sisters One and Two that she does, indeed, exist. With the other, well, I'll schedule a drinking date with her in the near future. She paid last time (and I actually drank alcohol! Wee!), so this time it's my turn. Maybe we'll go to the PowerPlant for lunch. It's fun to drink in the afternoon.
Thirdly, I joined the "Gateway", our University's official newspaper. Free CDs, books and movies! Huzzah! Plus, and excuse my one big-head moment here, I totally kick ass at it! It's a little hurtful, however, whenever they edit my articles (articles published to date: 2), because somehow I feel that I don't deserve to have my name at the top because the article isn't wholly mine. But once I finish writing my novel, someone's going to edit that too, so I should get used to it while I can.
Fourth, I met a guy. I think. So far I've met several, but we've done little but exchange a few words before class ends. Sigh. I met this guy, who shall now be referred to as Mr.?. I met him while perusing the office of BAKA, the anime club (which I joined!). He laughed at everything I said, and I laughed at everything he said, and we like pretty much the same things... he wasn't at any of the meetings, however (Baka meetings attended to date: 2), so I'll just have to look around the BAKA office.

Memoirs of a non-asian Geisha...

I had my eyebrows waxed today, in preparation for my re-emergence into the world of sociable young people at Orientation on September 6th. My sisters, who are still in highschool, are presently vegging in front of the television and shooting me green looks of envy, as I get to start my education a week later than they do. I must say, I don't entirely understand their anger, because I am quite excited to get started in University. My mother and I made a rather delightful excursion to the Student's Union Building just a few days ago to test out the wireless connection on my shiny new laptop. There were a few moments of brief tension, as I insisted on treating my 2000$ machine as if it were made of glass, but we got it settled down and I surfed the Internet all by myself on my very own computer! Joy!
Having little else to do that day, we explored the Student's Union Building a little more closely, scouring the U's bookstore for random school supplies we had not picked up yet, including a pencilcase for me and 31$ worth of Post-It's for mother. For one short moment, we considered purchasing a very large and fluffy black teddybear wearing a University T-Shirt (believe me, teddy bears are never useless buys for me, because I actually use them -- don't ask.), but we decided it against it (I was still carrying on a solid relationship with my Folk Fest Bear, and I wasn't entirely sure whether the slogan "Once you go black, you never go back" was accurate in this situation).
Finally, my dear mother decided to indulge me by searching for the office of the club I desired to join at University - BAKA, the anime club. We found it among a shabby little warren of offices with peeling paint on the doors and ratty carpeting, identifying it mainly by the doodles of catgirls taped to the walls around it. No one was around, but we did discover that they kindly shared their limited space with the Iranian Students' Association. Good to know.
I suppose by now we should return to the subject I started out with, namely the waxing of my brows. I am cursed -- or blessed, depending on how you look at it -- with thick, wild, black brows that could give Brooke Shields or Jennifer Connelly -- heck, even Peter Gallagher of The O.C. -- a run for their money. While at first, in the early days, I was held back by both the acknowledgement of my dangerously low pain threshold (as a child I cried when my mummy washed my hair) and a fierce, unreasonable pride in my unaltered appearance, I have now had the proceedure done several times. Up until now, I only had it done to "tend the garden" as it were, to make sure that my brows did not reunite above my nose, or swallow my eyes entirely. Today, however, I wanted to do something different. I wanted them to be thinner. I didn't want to look like a young woman with humungous, if well-tamed, black caterpillars on her face.
Of course, along with the loss of all that hair, there would naturally be more pain involved. I was used to the whole thing taking only a few moments, but it took a bit longer this time for the nice lady to make sure they were even and all that. Of course, the moment she tore the strip off my face hurt very badly indeed, but it was worse when she plucked. With waxing, the pain is there for two moments, for plucking, it's a never-ending series of tiny, but nevertheless intolerable, pains.
When I finally got home, and looked in the mirror, bizarrely enough the first thought that came to my mind was that I looked like a geisha. Pale, pale face (sunlight is scary!), red, red, lips (as amusingly scatterbrained as I am, I had put some one earlier in the day and forgot about it) and moderately sized, jet-black, perfectly maintained eyebrows. My mother also thought I looked asian, but believed that was due to the fact that my eyes looked smaller because my brows were relatively swollen and puffy from the ordeal. I'm sure once the swelling dies down I'll look like a nice Irish-Scottish-Polish-Catholic girl from a wealthy neighbourhood once again.

Rules to Live By...

Today, devoted readers, you are looking at a free woman. That's right. As of 9:00 pm yesterday, I am no longer an employee of McDonald's. At the end of that shift, I turned in my uniform, my name tag, and my McGold card and walked out with my last complimentary rootbeer in hand. I have to tell you, I feel nothing but relief. First of all, I should tell you, I left of my own free will. According to many reliable Mickey Dee's sources, it's almost impossible to get fired. You'd have to stab a child with a Happy Meal toy to really be in trouble. Yesterday, in fact, the metal nozzle on one of the drink dispensers broke off and fell unnoticed into a customer's drink at the Drive-Thru. Zak the SuperHappy Manager's reaction was "Oops. Oh well."
Moving on, Murphy's Law was in full swing for the entire final three-hour shift. When I arrived, I still believed in the foolish assumption that "it's only three hours, what can go wrong?" How about the busiest day McDonald's has ever had. I never even got assigned to a specific position, I was just told to do grunt work and back up people. Sigh... Anyway, though, now that I no longer have to smile and say "Good Morning!" to every nutjob who wants a Big Mac, I have decided to compile a list of rules that every potential McDonald's customer should memorize. We've had a lot of stupid people come to McDonald's, who do nothing but inspire hatred, so I feel it would be best for everybody if I came up with Shopping At McDonald's For Dummies:
1. If your order is more than five dollars, you may NOT pay only in change lower than a quarter, unless it's an incredibly slow day and no one is behind you.
2. Do NOT pay for a meal less than a 20 dollars with a 100$ bill in the DRIVE-THRU. We don't have change coming out the yin-yang, you don't have to daze us with your amazing wealth, and people are waiting!
3. If you feel so inclined to bring your large, threatening dog with you when you coast through the Drive-Thru, please keep him in a sufficently sealed carrier. Otherwise, we are not to blame for mangled orders and slobbery ice cream cones.
4. If you aren't satisfied with our food, DON'T COME HERE. Don't say anything like "This cone is too small, just like all of your icecream cones are!" if you don't want us to snatch it out of your hand, rudely refund your money, and bluntly tell you that there is a Laura Secord's down the street.
5. The cashiers aren't psychic. If you don't tell us you'd like the Bic Mac as a meal, you aren't goint to get it as a meal. If you don't tell us you want it Super Sized, it won't be super sized. It's called communication.
6. I realize some people receive unnatural pleasure from pumping the ketchup dispensor at the serving table. When satisfying your bizarre lusts, take the time to squirt the ketchup into the little paper cups and not into a giant red puddle on the counter. No one can use it now.
7. Kids, you can either play with your Happy Meal toys, or go in the PlayLand. If you bring your tiny little car into the PlayLand, you will lose it. You're too young to multitask!
8. Use your heads and have you whole order in mind when you go through the Drive-Thru. Check it over twice. We don't want you coming to the final window with "Oh, could you change that chocolate shake to a strawberry sundae and that Happy Meal to a Super Value Meal?" we have to change the price, now! Idiots!
9. No. I am not on Happy Pills. We do not permit drug use at McDonalds. I'm just a dedicated employee. So stop asking!
10. We usually only have different types of McDonald's toys for each gender at a time. If your child desires a model we don't have, deal with it. Don't accuse us of hiding the toys on purpose. Your child is lucky to receive a plaything in his meal. You know what kids in Third World Countries find in their meals? Scorpions! Or bombs!
11. If you order a coffee with milk on the side, either take a little milk on the side, or buy one of our small cartons of milk. If you like milk that much, pay for it like everyone else.
12. If you haven't decided what you'd like yet, get out of line and let other people order. If you wanted to be first, you should have thought faster.
13. If you pay by debit card, you have to enter your pin number. Yeah, you have to push the little coloured buttons on the little black machine. Because otherwise, your transaction won't go through and your wasting everybody's time!
14. Our store doesn't take Visa. I don't care if this "is the first place my Visa wasn't accepted". Bask in the unfamiliar experience if you must, but don't do it on our time. Pay with debit or cash.
15. Sweaty skateboarding preteens who hold up the line because they want three large cups of water and a small cup of ice can go to Hell. Skateboard home and use your own tap, you lazy jackasses.
16. For your information, breakfast lasts till 10:30 on weekdays, 11:00 on weekends. Don't come through the Drive-Thru at 12:15 asking for an Egg McMuffin and act surprised that Breakfast is over! How late do you sleep in?
17. If you want a special order, describe it immediately. Don't ask for a Big Mac and remark at the end of your order that you wanted it without pickles or onions and with a little extra dash of Tartar sauce on it! We're called a "Fast-Food Restaurant" because we're fast. You're just wasting our food now.
18. Read the goddamn fine print on your coupons! Like the expiry date, or the fact that you get the SAME burger free with the burger you purchased!

Emancipation

Someone once said, "Never go to bed angry." A far wittier person added "...stay up and plot revenge!" Well, here is my mild and fairly harmless blow against my family, with whom I am angry again. I really must apologize to my faithful readers, because as of late a great deal of my posts have been forms of tirades against my clan, and not everyone wants to read about that. Well, I will try to make this particular entry as witty and articulate as possible.
My family doesn't like having me around. They are the kind of people who prefer to do things together that require no talking. They go on the computer, and shut the door so they won't be bothered. They watch TV and hiss and spit when someone tries to engage them in conversation. They read as well as fiddle with their Palm Pilots and sigh dramatically whenever someone tries to interrupt them to have some blessed family time. Myself, I am usually the one who tries to start a conversation, mainly because I can't shut up to begin with. I'm usually cut off before I can properly begin with a blunt "I'm not interested", "don't wanna hear this", "consider your audience". Yes, well I do consider my audience, and right now my the audience in my house is a big meanie weenie.
For my sisters, today is the last day of freedom before high schools starts. For me, I still have one more week before the first day of classes. Anyway, because today is the last day of freedom, my family has apparently been planning a nice dinner at a restaurant for about a week. There was, in fact, only one flaw in their brilliant plan. They neglected to tell me in a manner I could understand. You see, when they make plans, they don't ask me. They tune out what I say because they are tired of sifting through my rivers of words to find the tiny gold nuggects of intellect within. They don't write things down either, where other people can see and thus know what's happening in this household. As well, they reserve all of the important planning to the dinner table conversation, a certain time I have been missing a great deal of late due to the fact that I am working at McDonald's. So, of course, they've planned this big end-of-the-summer dinner for today. Today I have my last shift at McDonalds -- from 6:00 to 9:00.
Of course, according to my family, this is all my fault. It's MY fault they continue to use the "osmosis" method of communication even though it has had several failures which all resulted in me remaining out of the loop. It's like it's my fault my farm didn't know the tornado was coming because my family's farm continued to use the faulty carrier pigeon to send messages instead of picking up a telephone. Of course, it's my fault because I talk so very, very much that my parents tune out everything I say and thus miss the important bits like "I have a shift on Tuesday" and so they don't think of asking. It's my fault, because even though I am wise enough to write things down, my family never reads them. Also, as you may not have heard, it's my fault because I spend so much time huddled up in my room with my novel, which is a bald-faced lie. I play the computer, I watch TV with my family and my sisters, but no one wants to communicate whenever I'm around, so I leave. Why should I waste my time hanging around people who make it perfectly obvious that my presence annoys them? If they want me to hang out more with the family, then it's only fair that they should make the effort to put up with me! Lastly, this whole messup is my fault because I miss supper so often with my shifts. Yes, I'm such a bad, bad, person, missing my family's precious dinner time because I'm slaving away to ease THEIR financial load for University. Thanks a bunch, you guys, it warms my heart to see such immense gratitude.
Of course, once the flaw was revealed and the inevitable fight was over, what did they change about it? Not a damn thing. So, I'm missing the one big end-of-the-summer dinner, because apparently, I'm not appreciated in this family. I'm not an important enough member of this family to risk changing an end-of-the-summer-dinner to an end-of-the-summer-lunch. I'm not important enough for my family to make an effort to include me in their celebrations. My sisters get to go out to Earl's with the family and talk and eat and have fun. Me? I get a fucking afterthought...."Mom'll... take you out to lunch...sometime"...yeah, sorry, but that doesn't help. That's not a family dinner if there's only one family member present to foot the bill. I'd rather eat a peanut butter sandwich by myself, thank you. My family is mad at me for not spending enough time with them, but they won't get off their lazy asses and change a few small things to include me in their lives? I can't join the family circle if you guys don't open you stupid arms and let me in!
So have fun at Earl's. I'll just be taking screaming children's orders at McDonald's, you know, to make money to help you guys pay for my education. Then I'll probably walk home in the rain and go to bed. Cause you know what? After I come home from work I like to go to bed. Why? Because I'm tired. Because I work. To make money I can't even spend on myself. For you. Thanks for repaying the debt.

Flip-flopping Emotions and First Booths

Agh! The guilt trip! And what a long, strange trip it is! Whether inflicted intentionally or unintentionally, it stings worse than salt on a wound, or better yet, another wound on top of a wound. I am perpetually going on these trips because of severals reasons, chief among them being the fact that I'm lazier than a doormat on Valium. I made plans today to mow the lawn, a long and ardous task that inspires nothing but dread in me whenever I think of it, and so I generally procrastinate to the fullest extent. I was really planning on doing it today, and I didn't see any other opportunity, but I was dreading it especially because I had an extra shift at McDonald's at 4:00. The last time I emerging from the task, I was dripping with sweat, slathered in sunscreen and bug repellent, and regardless of how much of the latter I sprayed on, I was also covered in insects. I figured that due to the wretched condition I am in after performing that chore, it would not be a good day to do it if I had an extra five-hour shift at the Clown House to look forward to. My new plan, of course, is to do it tomorrow, AFTER a six-hour shift at McDonalds, and then laze around the house like a limp noodle.
Sadly, though, I neglected to mention this change in plans to my mother, who got angry with me at first for flip-flopping around and procrastinating at a (relatively, mind you) simple job. Of course, afterwards, she reverted to her "You're an adult and should make your own decisions" attitude, but the damage had already been done, so I'm good and miserable now. Ah well. The sooner I mow the lawn, the sooner I can start dreading the day I will have to mow the lawn again.
In about ten minutes, I will have to start the extra shift at McDonald's that I mentioned above, that started this whole kerfuffle ( I love that word! ^_^) in the first place. Yesterday, I was supposed to be working from 5 to 10, but I was let out early, so the manager kindly made up for it by getting me to work today from 4 to 9. Three extra hours! Yaaay....please ignore my lack of enthusiasm. I need the money. It will, however, be worth it in every way if I am assigned First Booth today. First Booth is, and I am not exaggerating in the slightest, the cushiest job at McDonalds. You basically take the orders down for the Drive-Thru, but because you have to stick there as long as there are cars in the drive-thru, you don't have to help make the food or pack the bags. The customers at the Drive-Thru are almost all fully decided on what they want by the time they show up at the window, so there is no waffling about the orders. Also, when there are no cars, you can leave and talk to other people and do odd, simple tasks until a doorbell sound rings. That doorbell sound is activated by a motion sensor that marks down every car that goes through the drive-thru. It's always ringing, so they never give you long, hard jobs or make you do the lobby, because you have to be ready to go by the time you hear that noise. On the other hand, it also makes you paranoid, hearing doorbell noises when there really aren't any...but that's another story entirely. I really enjoy First Booth, because it combines all the best parts of the two jobs I've ever had: The amount of work I had as a cashier, but with the ability to communicate, free drinks, and the young coworkers I have as a McDonald's employee. Here's hoping!

Top Banana Nana...

Went for lunch my my maternal grandmother today. I didn't really know what to expect. My Nana is usually prim and proper, a stickler for manners. Sometimes she could be painfully blunt in critizing my posture or my taste for fantasy novels, but all in all she's a very pleasant old lady. Well, with my first year of University looming just around the bend, she wanted to go to lunch with me, so I accepted. I wasn't entirely sure what we would speak of, as I tended to believe that we didn't have too much in common.
Boy, was I wrong. My grandmother's cool! *cough* Well. We went to a nearby Italian restaurant and ordered roast veal sandwiches (sorry, vegans, I love eating babies, so get over it). I decided that since she seemed primarily interested in my upcoming adventures in University, I would talk about my upcoming orientation and what I was most looking forward to: The Club fair, where all the University clubs came out and hawked their wares and memberships and so on. My grandmother suggested I join the Newman club, which was run by chaplains and was held at St. Joe's. I do try to be a dedicated Catholic, but initially, the idea of spending my free time in a religious club didn't appeal to me.
Since I'm still writing this blog, it means that God has not decided to smite me where I stand. Anyway, I told Nana about the club I really wanted to join: BAKA ("idiot" in Japanese, haha) which stood for Banzai Anime Klub of Alberta. I proceeded to enlighten her about my parents' negative opinions of it. Oh yes, you're an adult, they said, so you can join any clubs you want, but we think this BAKA is a horrible idea and we're totally against it. My younger sister also believed that guys who like anime like only anime and thus get terrible grades, so it'd would be a horrible place to find a husband. Exactly, sister, because I live in the 1950's. Right. I wasn't sure why I was telling all of this, because I expected my Nana to agree with my parents.
Again, I was wrong. "Of course it's a good idea!" she protested stoutly. "Anime is an adult art form, even I know that!" Who knew? She completely supported it, without slamming it completely, like my father, or trying to dig down and find the psychological meaning of anime and coming up with completely backwards ideas, like my mother (and I shall quote her: "I know you like anime for the stories, and I'm sure there are a few other girls who do, but I'm pretty certain most people watch it for the porn.").
And the conversation only went up from there. We spoke of books and clubs and God, and books and clubs about God, and what I would do in University. I mostly wanted to follow my parents' advice, as they had experience in University (more recently, my mother, as a few years ago she went again to study textiles), but my Nana continued to interject to remind me that I should do what is best for me. Oh God, I'm so glad somebody other than me came out and said that! She then continued on to reveal hilarious things about my mother that I shall not repeat here, because Nana told me not to, and because I have found a completly new respect for her I shall comply.
All in all, it was a very pleasant lunch, and I learned a few pleasantly surprising things about my grandmother. Huzzah! Hooray for Nana!

My Parents are Not Actually Emotional Sadists, but Caring and Thoughtful Parents Who Strive for My Wellbeing... But I hate them anyways.

Only kidding, of course. I know I haven't written in a while, but a lot of both good and bad things have happened in the Gap. I finally received my graduation present, a new laptop! The only reason I'm not using it right now is because my new computer only has wireless Internet and I can't use it at home. Otherwise though, it's fabulous for my writing, especially my novel. Plus, it's MINE, all mine, and thus I can fiddle around with the backgrounds and the colours as much as I want without anyone complaining.
So... what happened other than that in the past week... I finally went drinking socially with my parents. I usually despise the taste of alcohol, and I find it repulsive even when it's smothered in an otherwise pleasurable sustance, like chocolate. Well, my parents managed to convince me to go to the local bar with them, where I indulged in a Cosmopolitan. Not completely bad, but it would have been far more enjoyable without the nagging taint of vodka.
I sold the books I no longer wanted at a little second-hand bookshop called "The Wee Book Inn", as well as all of my manga. To my surprise, I raked in more than anyone else in my family, a cool 57$, which I promptly blew the same day on an anime DVD of "Fruits Basket", an entertaining, if rather fluffy, television series about a cursed family who transform into the animals of the Chinese Zodiac whenever they are embraced by a member of the opposite sex. Now that was a tough decision to make. For the longest time I was trapped by indecision between the DVD of "Fruits Basket" -- an anime I had never watched before, that came with six episodes, and was 44$ -- and the DVD of "Full Metal Panic" -- and anime I adored, that came with the three final episodes of the series, and was 29$.
In job news... I don't think working at McDonald's is particularily healthy for me, as working there under less-than-perfect conditions incites pure, painful, and completely senseless hate within me for all the pathetic, picky, slovenly people who attend our restaurant. It destroys me, but I am fortunate in the fact that I only need serve the Clown for two more weeks before I depart for University. Still, often I am only one long, elaborate, and bizarre special order away from having a complete mental breakdown and stabbing the idiots with a plastic knife (they're sharper than they look).
I must apologize, dear readers. I know I'm rambling on about nothing, mishmashing different events into my blog with no real organisation or order, but I guess that's a result of my reluctance to write, even when exciting things are happening. I will try to write more often. Today, I'm writing it because my mother suggested it... she's understandably annoyed by the title of "My parents are emotional sadists" being first from the top, so she's eager for me to create another entry to detract from my raging rant. Well, I love her, and she's usually right about most things, so I will do this for her.

My Parents are Emotional Sadists... At least, today they are...

First and foremost: pardon my language, but I am not myself today...
Here I am, writing to you, faithful readers, if indeed you exist, from my parents' computer room, between bouts of frantic, noisy sobbing. I am utterly miserable, and my plan is to make all the readers of this entry completely aware of it. The reason? Well, you'd think on Sunday, the 8th of August 2004, I would be at the Folk Music Festival, gorging on delicious fried food and and engaging in conversation with my beloved family. Well, I'm not, and I don't love my family. I hate them, I think they're sadistic bitches, at least for today. I'm stuck at home, heartbroken, because I can't make up my fucking mind and my parents are unwilling to make it up for me.
I had been granted the freedom to go or not to go today, seeing as I usually do not enjoy the Folk Festival to the extent that the rest of my family does. Today was the last day of the festival. I had been to the Craft tent, and received my annual Folk Fest gift (a Shinto pendant), seen all the acts that I thought were worth seeing (only one: Great Big Sea, and they got boring after 20 minutes), and today was overcast with menacing clouds. I really had nothing to look forward to, and my parents had made it perfectly clear that they severely disapproved of my bringing my giant 600-page fantasy novel to read on the hill. If I couldn't read, what could I do?
So, to answer my sisters' annoying questions, I answered a hearty "No!" to whether I would accompany them. Of course, that was not my real answer. I'd been going to Folk Fest for eight years, and I'd always brought a novel with me, I really couldn't understand why my parents would pick this year in particular to try to wean me off my addiction. Of COURSE I'd be going. Sure, there was nothing to look forward to, indeed, the day ahead looked positively bleak, but I wasn't going to skip out and risk missing something special. I am a hermit by nature, and I was eager to break out of that shell before leaving for University. Of course, my father had to ruin my moment by asking me himself whether or not I'll be attending, instead of asking my sisters and acting surprising when I reveal I will be going. So of course, I say "no" to him as well. My mother immediately starts to praise my decision, "Of course you shouldn't go! I'm proud of your choice! Don't go, if you aren't going to enjoy yourself!" Where does she get off, being happy I won't be with her? So, naturally, to spite her I change my mind and declare I will be going. I'm not packed at all (I discovered, after the final and irrevocable decision had been made, that I'd left my only source of warmth, my sweatshirt, at home anyways) so I have to scramble to gather my things underneath the exhasperated looks of my family. My mother and sisters insist I shouldn't go if I'll be unhappy (and I believe their suspicions were aroused by the fact that I was going about doing everything with a dreary scowl on my face), but I replied, with passive-aggressive charm, "Whatever! I'll just go!"
I get into the van with my mother and youngest sister, while my younger sister and my father take the car. We've started to drive, and suddenly my mother starts telling how it's best to do things that you like, how you shouldn't try to be something you're not, how staying home all day reading books and watching anime and playing videogames must be much better than being miserable on a cold, wet hill for the sake of one's family. We're already well on our way to the Park N' Ride, so why the hell is she telling me this? Ah yes, to make me regretful and miserable.
"We're already well on our way to the Folk Fest," I whine indignantly, "So why are you giving me MORE reasons about how staying home would have been better?" To my horror, instead of admitting that she was getting off on making her eldest child wallow in depression, she turns the car around and starts heading for home, despite the squeals of rage from my spoiled youngest sister. Then, on the way home, my mother begins to lecture about how I should come out of my shell, and do something different for a change, live life to the fullest, open my mind to new experiences...I start to cry at this stage, due to the hopelessness of the situation, and my mother lets fly a whopping fib by saying that "The last thing I want is to make you unhappy." Fuck you, mom! By now it's too late to INSIST on what I really wanted to do in the first place (which was, in case you hadn't guessed, to spend some quality time with my fucking beloved family for a fucking blessed change), because that would result in wasting even more time. After seeing that I was good and wretched, my mother drops me off at home and leaves for the Folk Fest, cheerful at having accomplished a whole year's worth of torturing her eldest born in the space of an hour.
As soon as the door is shut I promptly burst into tears. It's quite fortunate that you cannot hear me, for my sobbing is rarely a peaceful and quiet affair. Heaving, wheezing, wailing, and screaming usually accompany such rages, until the whole neighbourhood begins to wonder why my family has purchased such a large number of stray cats, and why in God's blessed name aren't they feeding them? Then, the phone rings. Now, I should warn you that my mother is far more subtle and clever in causing me suffering, snipping and slicing away at my soul with the grace of a neurosurgeon. My father, on the other hand, is far more blunt, cleaving carelessly away at my spirit like a gleeful butcher on holiday. So, when I picked up the telephone (and trained my voice so that it sounded sad, but not too sad, so that whoever it was one the other line would feel sorry for me instead of disgusted), it was to hear my father roar, "Well, I hope you know you've ruined the whole day for everyone!" after which I promptly hung up on him. His voracious hunger for emotional pain not yet sated, he called again, to make sure I listened for a full five minutes while he raged about how all of his and my mother's plans for Folk Fest were screwed up because she chose to turn around, and then it was his turn to hang up.
After that little show, I picked up the telephone and dialed my mother's cellphone number, and in a breathless, sobbing voice, told her (through my youngest sister, because my mother isn't stupid enough to talk on a cellphone while she's driving) how sorry I was that I caused her to be late for the show she wanted to see, all the while informing them on my father's little tirade. You see, I didn't call out of any real sympathy for my mother's situation, but to tattle on mean ol' Daddy to make sure that he was properly punished.
--Oh dear. My mother just called, letting me know that she could come home and do something special with me, if I wanted to. After letting out this little rant onto my blog, I'm in quite high spirits again, so having my mother give up her fun is the last thing I would want her to do. I insist she stay at the Folk Fest, because that is what she really enjoys doing, and she relents.
Okay, my mother's an emotional sadist....but for only one hour every year.

To Quote Megatokyo's Dom, I'm "So full of Hate!"

I love my parents. I really do. They're great. You know how in novels and movies and television shows how the parents are cold, or kooky, or mentally unbalanced, or abusive, or absent. My parents were never like that. My mom is a "Domestic Goddess", the kind of mother-goddess-genius figure who can whip up a sumptuous casserole after spending the day researching our family tree back to the 3rd century AD (oh, I'm sorry, C.E.) and teaching herself Biblical Hebrew. If I ever caught a flu at school, she'd be there to pick me up, drive me home, tuck me in on the family room couch, and stir the bubbles out of a pitcher of gingerale so it wouldn't hurt my sensitive elementary-school tummy. In parent-child arguments, she's usually the Good Cop.
My father is often the Bad Cop, but when we're not biting each other's heads off, he's quite the cool guy. He is one of the rare men who is possessed of two different personalities without being crazy. On the one hand, is the fitness-obsessed, workaholic, war-fan disciplinarian. He's about a foot and half taller than me, but weighs only about ten pounds more. He bikes ten miles a day, every day, no exceptions, regardless of holidays or weather conditions, he's a six-foot-two beanpole with a buzzcut. He eats like a horse, but gripes about how he hopes all the food he consumes won't make him gain a measly pound, which always pisses off the less-healthy members of our family. He subscribes to Civil War Monthly magazine, a concept I find to be mind boggling (the Civil War happened a hundred years ago, how much more can they write about it?) and has to keep his beloved collection of war films on a separate shelf from our other movies because he has so many of them, so many films that only he is interested in watching. He love affair with legal violence is one of the things that has led to many differences in opinion between him and me. I love Japanese animation (anime) because it's colourful and expressive. My father hates anime because the Japanese bombed Pearl Harbour and strangled a hooker in Rising Sun. He believes anime to be simple-minded and immature, even though he's never really watched it, because he's been raised on the inaccurate assumption that animated stories = made for children. We fight about it. A lot. My mother also disapproves of my anime hobby, but at least she doesn't go out of her way to belittle it.
On the other hand, is the beer-guzzling, joke-spurting, movie-quoting, science-fiction-reading, baseball-loving goof that I get along best with. We're a lot alike in many ways, which is partially why we fight so much. My father's passion for military films is fully as bright and as long-burning as my passion for Full Metal Panic and Escaflowne. When he's not in "Full Metal Jacket" mode, he behaves like a 21-year-old student let out of University for the summer. No one is his presence can so much as mention Buckaroo Banzai or Starship Troopers or Men In Black without being immediately buried underneath a mountain of his favourite lines, repeated over and over. "Laugh while you can, Monkeyboy!" "I always get the shakes before I drop! Everybody drops, everybody fights!" and "Your--proposal-- is-- acceptable!" (followed by an upward grasping motion of his hand, meant to imitate the scene where the alien cockroach kills Vincent D'Onofrio). Finally a shared interest: movies. We've had several of our best moments together watching films, like the week where Mom took my sisters off to BC, and Dad and I shared a pizza while watching Phantom of the Paradise which he first saw when he was my age. Or when we watched Enemy At the Gates, and even though I was watching it to see Jude Law, and he was watching it to see history re-enacted, I still let him distract me from Jude Law's flawless visage with his endless supply of historic military knowledge. The family can't even watch Gladiator without Dad pointing out that the Romans weren't supposed to be using cavalry until two centuries later, due to the fact that the stirrup hadn't been invented yet. You have no idea how many people he annoyed when he watched it in the theatre! ^_^
I do love him, very much. I love both my parents. But now (after many distractions) I must get to the point of today's blog entry. I love my parents. My parents love folk music. I, on the other hand, despise that kind of music. This year is the 25th anniversary of Edmonton's Folk Music Festival, and my parents have been going for 15 years to this event. I have been going with them for about 8 years, and out of those eight years, I have only found two bands that were worth getting the CDs, and they were both joke bands: Moxy Freuvus and The Arrogant Worms. I go for the company (all of our family friends go) and the food (deep-fried -- everything!). This year, however, I had recently discovered a perilously time-consuming addiction to a certain internet forum (that I will discuss in another entry), and thus was not looking forward to going to the 'Fest. My bad mood soaked into everything, as I discovered I had lost my only verifiable photo ID (my learner's permit) at the Animethon. So I had to brave the scathing ridicule of my father for nigh on three hours, as well as fork over 20$ for a new permit. This also meant that I couldn't enter the beer tent unattended by a parent, even though I was now legal drinking age. Gah! Needless to say, when we finally arrived at the festival grounds, I was thoroughly unhappy. My stomach was twisted with paranoia (what if I got sick from the food and couldn't leave? What if I had to actually use a porta-potty?) and the grounds (a series of steep hills with the stages at the bottom and the audience on the slope) carried the familiar scent of a stray dog after a heavy downpour. After the massive storms and flooding that had wracked our city a few weeks prior, the mosquitos were plentiful, and hungry, and the Churros stand that provided those heavenly deep-fried sugared delights was no longer present!
In the beer tent, I was forced to ignore my mother's friend's cigarette-smoke, a scent I had grown used to over 16 years when my mother smoked, but was now completely intolerable after my mother had successfully quit. However, once I finally made my way up the steep main hill (no mean feat, even for healthy, athletic people, and my parents had put the tarp down in their usual spot: right at the top) and settled down into my new, ridiculously comfortable lawnchair, and opened my Entertainment Weekly, things began to look up. The wailing, irritating performance music drifted, as it usually did, into the background as I socialised with my sisters and my parents' friends' children. It was really quite a pleasant experience at the end, although we didn't stay for the entire night. My mother's best friend, NJ (I will not reveal her entire name, but she's not the one who smokes, thank God), was going through her first Folk Fest experience, but, even for a Folkie virgin, she was enjoying it immensly. That is, until NJ's daughter phoned to warn her that a storm warning had been declared on the television, and that a severe storm, with thunder, hail, and funnel clouds a-plenty, was headed for our city and would touch down in about an hour. Needless to say, we beat a hasty retreat after that, and raced home surrounded by flashing bursts of lightning, with the first drops of rain falling only after we had reached our house in relative safety.
By the way, this really has nothing to do with my blog, but I thought I would mention it. We brought two vehicles, a car and a van, to the Folk Fest Park and ride. My father left with my younger sister (who could drive) for the car, and my mother was prepared to take my youngest sister and me home in the van. That is, until she remembered how much she had had to drink at the beer tent. She didn't even hesitate. She left the van and immediately switched places with our father, who was completely sober. You see, you can prevent drunk driving accidents, you idiots. Use your heads.

Does Anyone Who Isn't Related to Me Read This?

Heh, my new-found passion for manga-drawing has inspired me to actually enjoy -- and keep up with -- "MegaTokyo", the online manga written by Fred Gallagher. The first time I tried to read it, I got bored. No magic, just this shy dude named Piro and a raving alcoholic named Largo who was very l337 (what does that mean? What does it mean to be l33t?). Now, however, I've gone back to reading it (from the beginning! I'm on comic #282 now...) and it's awesome! Who'd'a'thunk? Also, I'm actually taking the time to read Piro's rants, and of course, they reminded me of my own blog, something I haven't been keeping up on too well...
Still working on the concept for my own online comic, manga-style. It'll take place at a University campus, but unlike MacHall, I'll be living with my hilariously exaggerated anime-hating parents! Huzzah! Also...the character based on me will have magic powers and will join a magic police force that patrols the campus looking for baddies (naturally!). I had to add that plot piece in because, although I love anime and I love games and I love movies....I really don't have enough money to keep up with what's what, so my comic has to have something filling in. Maybe my younger sister will help me with the comic...she's very l33t, so long as l33t means "weird, in a very cool and popular way".
I just hope that I can actually get it up...the last time I tried to make a webcomic (titled "AnimeJune", ver predictable) I had the account set up and everything, but then had no idea how to put my comics onto the webpage! Something to do with computer wasn't capable of uploading my comics for some bizarre reason. Since then, I've forgotten what didn't work...So I'll try again!
In other news....because I have such a bad habit of acquiring junk, I used up all the available space in my room, so my parents opted to get me new shelves and move all my furniture around. Sweet! Except for the fact that I had to take every movable object and piece of junk I owned and dump them in my sisters's rooms while I fiddled with the furniture. After it was all done, now I have to move all my shit out of my sisters' rooms and put it all back. But, on the other hand, it's not like I don't have a lot of time on my hands...
My mother and sisters planned a trip to Sparwood, B.C. to see our Aunt Mary Ann and her preternaturally articulate 2-year-old daughter Claire (according to my mother, she can hold conversations at a 5-year-old level). I couldn't come, because I assumed I would have work (at McDonalds! Did you forget?) on those days. Surprise of surprises, I had no shifts until Friday! Which meant I had three days where I would be completely alone in the house until my father got home from work. It wasn't completely horrendous. I got to hang out in my exercise clothes all day, eat pancakes, and read "MegaTokyo" for hours at a time. When my father got home, the fun was magnified, as we both set out to do things that my mother never wanted to do. Yesterday, in fact, Dad and I shared a Delisio Veggie Delux Pizza (mother never got us anything except pepperoni for Delisio, and the rest was the flat Restaurante stuff), a huge bag of Ariba! Jalapeno and Chedder corn chips and a carton of chocolate icecream while watching the freakiest '70s horror/musical of all time, "Phantom of the Paradise". Watch it. It will blow your freakin' mind. Of course ( I can sense my mother will read this entry) that's not ALL I did...hahahaha *nervous laughter*. I perfected my drawing skills...and that's art! That's productive? Right? I worked on my fantasy novel (and by "worked" I mean...read it over without really writing anything...*sigh*). And I counted all the money in change drawer! You really needed someone to do that, right Mom?
Gah...*I can already feel the waves of disapproval radiating out from wherever Sparwood is right now...*

Reunited With a Lost Love...

Yeah, yeah, I know, it's been a while. I'd make up an excuse, but in truth, I'm just too damn lazy. In fact, that's the main reason I haven't been keeping up on my posts. Yup, I just don't have enough free time on my hands, so I frequently do nothing simply to keep up the allotted amount of time spent doing nothing that even slightly resembles work. Plus, my burning passion for anime (Japanese Animation for those of you not in the know) has been viciously rekindled by Animethon 11. Again, for those of you whose minds are going blank, Animethon 11 is the largest anime (do you still remember what that is?) convention in western Canada. Uh huh, I know that tacking "Western Canada" on doesn't always say much, but the convention continues to grow year by year. This time around, instead of nine viewing rooms, there were sixteen, and the dealer's room was located nearly two buildings away (on the Grant McEwan College Campus...did you really think a non-profit event could afford a hotel?) in a gym. On the negative side, that meant more physical activity for those of us who were perfectly willing to sell their souls for the season of "Slayers: Next" on DVD. On the positive side, due to the larger space, it wasn't as crowded and it didn't smell like the weekend of Animethon had coincided with National Not Take A Bath Day.
Me, I got a good haul, and for once, I didn't have to spend all my money! This year, I had made a solemn vow not to buy any manga (*I'll explain this later...), or any DVD of a series I had not seen yet, or any CD that didn't have at least one song I had heard before and enjoyed. The year before, I blew 400$ (All of the salary I'd received so far from my summer job at Safeway...it was my first job, and I was unused to getting that much money in such a short amount of time...predictably, it all went to my head) and wound up with four manga volumes I was willing to throw away two weeks later, a CD of Sailor Moon music all performed on a mouth organ (I'd asked the vendor for "Instrumental" Sailor Moon music, and that's what I got) and two Japanese versions of "Newtype Magazine" that I couldn't read. Sure, I'd also bought the second half of the "Fushigi Yuugi" series, the "Escaflowne" movie, and a "Fushigi Yuugi" OAV, all of which I enjoyed, but if I'd only purchased those, I would have saved a boatload of cash and my parents' respect for my financial judgement.
*Why do I not like manga (Japanese comics)? Enough to completely strike it from my Must Buy list? Simple. Translated manga, even though it is becoming increasingly more common in book stores like Chapters and Indigo, costs anywhere from 15 to 30$, and it takes about twenty minutes to read, tops. Plus, the anime versions are nearly word-for-word identical to the manga that inspired them, so by buying, say, the "Full Metal Panic Vol. 1" DVD for 40$ and the "Full Metal Panic Vol 1" manga for 25$, you're basically throwing 25$ down the drain. I prefer colour and movement, so I stick to anime and leave the manga well enough alone. If I see a title at a library, I will take it out and read it with relish, but if I have to shell out a quarter of a hundred bucks for twenty minutes of pleasure, I'd rather save my moolah for the anime version.
Anyway, back to Animethon. I walked away with the "Strawberry Eggs" series on DVD, the "Escaflowne" series on DVD, "Full Metal Panic: Mission 06" (I only had Missions 01 and 02 at home, but it was the last one in the whole Dealer Room), and the soundtracks for "Full Metal Panic" and "DNAngel". That's it.
My parents (still convinced that anime, simply because it was animated, was a childish pursuit) were extremely disappointed in me nonetheless for spending so much money in one place, regardless of how rarely I did it and how long I had waited for the event. I find it more than a little frustrating, seeing as they blow a ton of cash every year at the Edmonton Folk Music Festival on CDs and gear. I don't agree with it (to me, every Irish jig sounds the same), but I don't lose any respect for them because of it. Folk music is important to them, and it's only once a year, and they've attended Folk Fest with most of their friends for the last fifteen years. If I can tolerate it, why can't they?
Other than my parents' disapproval, I also gained a newfound interest in drawing manga (yes, I can create it, but I don't like reading it! ^_^). I'm pretty good at it, or more accurately, parts of it. I have faces, heads, hair, and storywriting down pat, but there are a few details that have alwasy escaped me and eventually led up to me abandoning my hobby. Primarily, I suck royally at drawing hands, buildings, backgrounds, shading, texturing, and perspective. I always wanted to start a manga of my own, but a little voice in the back of my head would always say, "Wait until you've learned this, so that your comic will look better." But I would never learn it, and my story would go untold. Well, no so anymore. I will start designing a comic! It will probably never get published, but it will hone my skills. And at faces, heads, and hair, I have mad skills indeed.

The "Station Agent" is Funny, Touching, but Sadly Unfocused, so says AnimeJune

AnimeJune’s Review: *** (Out of five)
I’ve always been a person of routines myself. During the school year, I had a specific time for exercising, a specific time for showering and eating, a specific time for packing my lunch, getting ready for school, making myself presentable. The structure of a routine has always provided me with a kind of psychological safety net of sorts, a certain knowledge that if I kept to the program, everything would go the way it was supposed to, and nothing unexpected would happen unless I let it. It gave me a measure of control, while at the same time it restricted me.
In The Station Agent, the deep rut of a well-established routine is what drives dull, dreary Finn McBride, a disillusioned dwarf, to confine his life to the schedule of trains. An avid train-watcher, he shares a train memorabilia shop with a fellow train enthusiast, watches movies of people riding trains, and keeps a “Zephyr” train poster in his bedroom. His quiet schedule is disrupted when his fellow train devotee (and only friend) dies unexpectedly, bequeathing Finn with an abandoned train depot in Newfoundland, New Jersey. When Finn travels there to explore his sudden inheritance, he is accosted by an ebullient hot dog vendor named Joe and narrowly escapes being run over (twice!) by lonely artist Olivia, whose grief over the death of her young son has left her a clutzy, frazzled mess.
It is obvious from the start that Finn (Peter Dinklage) and Olivia (Patricia Clarkson), are kindred spirits. Wounded by experience, both have isolated themselves from the world in an attempt to shield themselves from further pain, Finn with his rigid day planning, Olivia with her flighty, fragile personality. It is up to Joe (a fantastic Bobby Cannavale) to bring them together with his relentless, charming optimism. He continually wears down their defences. When Finn brushes off Joe’s offers of companionship with the excuse, “I have something else to do,” Joe’s immediate, and impossible to refuse, request is “Can I do that with you?” When Joe can’t go near Olivia without getting the cold shoulder, he drags Finn along with him to communicate. The remarkable way Joe manages to unravel Finn and Olivia’s restricting cocoons is the heart and soul of the film.
While feel-good fuzzies abound in this movie, I felt it could have been presented a little better. The pacing is erratic, jamming scenes of great intensity and movement next to slow, tedious tableaux of character introspection in a jarring contrast. Also, the transition between scenes is sudden, and inconsistent, as the tale jumps from setting to random setting and from time frame to random time frame like a sun-addled butterfly. I found it confusing, and clogged the natural flow of the story. The screenwriting, alas, is startlingly laid-back and unnecessary. The exceptional actors manage to convey so much emotion without saying anything, that certain bits of dialogue have no connection to the process of the story, and sound like they were simply tacked on to fill up empty silences (“I like blimps.” “Yeah, blimps are cool” is one example).
All in all, watching this film was like listening to a familiar, warm, and funny tale told by a rattled, absentminded, and distracted storyteller. In the end, the point is made, and it’s a rather good point, but I couldn’t help but become distracted from the wonderful, just-this-side-of-kooky plot by the fragmented, irrelevant scene direction. Perhaps that in itself is a subtle message, a hidden irony, that a film set around people dedicated to routines and schedules and rules, itself follows no clearly set path or outline.

Jude Law Channels Odysseus is the Suprisingly Mystical "Cold Mountain"

AnimeJune’s Review: **** (out of five)
I never expected to like “Cold Mountain”. I thought it would be a relatively pleasant way to spend 150 minutes, but I wasn’t really looking forward to it with bated breath. I suspected it was going to be a tedious, thick, soul-searching period piece with an oh-so-common once-in-a-lifetime-love plot twist thrown in. Well, dear readers, I stand corrected. There’s just something about this movie that let it stick in my head for longer than I expected, that had me running over it again and again in my mind to find out why, exactly, I enjoyed this film so much.
Quite possibly, it is because this film defied all my expectations. One of the last things I was expecting was a reinterpretation of “The Odyssey”. Jude Law channels Odysseus as Confederate soldier Inman who, after being shot in the neck and receiving a pleading, if belated, letter from his sweetheart Ada, deserts from the front lines to begin a long, arduous trek back to Cold Mountain, North Carolina. Ada (Nicole Kidman), meanwhile, is the embodiment of Penelope as she struggles to hold on to her deceased father’s farm while fending off the advances of her unwanted suitor, the avaricious Teague (Ray Winstone) and his aggressive followers. Her only support is the amicable, if hot-headed, Ruby (Renee Zellweger, in her Oscar-winning role).
There are a great deal of plot holes and elements where belief must be suspended to keep it from being shredded entirely, and the film handles this in two ways. The first method is to acknowledge the unlikely events, and embrace them nonetheless. While the concept that a couple who have known each other for barely a month can be driven to such monumental lengths to reunite is a bit of fairy-tale fluff, the film never hides or avoids the inevitable question of “They barely know each other! How can they do this?” Inman and Ada both berate themselves with this inquiry, but the truth is: they’re alone. They have no one else in the world who cares about them except, maybe, this one person. The hope of having finally found this one person to cling to is what drives these two characters, not necessarily the love they share. The second way the film deals with improbable situations is to give itself an air of mysticism that cleverly disguises plot flaws with mystery. For example, Ada sees a vision of the future when she gazes down her neighbour’s well with a mirror, and Inman is advised upon his course of action by an unusually wise and philosophical blind man. Ironically, this fantastical element lends the story more credibility. True love is more believable in a setting where the unbelievable happens.
Usually, in a production that is based on a novel more than 400 pages long, the movie tends to have a compressed feel as the directors, screenwriters, and actors attempt to cram the living heart of a respected novel into a restricted three-hour time limit. However, the pacing of this film is surprisingly smooth, graceful, and consistent. The only indication that this tale is based on something longer and more extensive is the massive amount of vibrant roles, each pinned underneath a well-known Hollywood face, who are relegated to brilliant cameos as the story is forced to plod on without them. Such short-lived characters are Philip Seymour Hoffman’s lecherous Reverend Veasy, Natalie Portman’s sorrowful widow Sara, and 28 Days Later’s Cillian Murphy’s starved Yankee rebel. The script itself contains pages and pages of lovey-dovey, grandiose speeches of how absence can make the heart grow fonder, but just before Ada and Inman can dig a nice, mushy grave of treacly love cliches together, Ruby’s character storms in and craps all over it with Renee Zellweger’s splendidly deadpan delivery. I’m not entirely certain her performance was worthy of an Oscar, as she’s mainly a comic relief sidekick (and there is no shortage of those in blockbuster films), but it is a refreshing reprieve from the deadly serious adventures of Ada and Inman. In fact, all of the performances are exemplary. Nicole Kidman is either a tad too old for her part, or Jude Law is a smidgen too young for his, but otherwise they pull it off. As I mentioned before, Renee Zellweger’s performance was enjoyable, but not quite exceptional enough to merit an Academy Award, at least in my ignorant opinion.
To quote The Princess Bride, “This is true love. Do you think this happens everyday?” Apparently not, and despite the overexposure to this rare phenomenon in the media, Cold Mountain manages to reintroduce the idea into a modernisation of an ancient story and still let us believe that the concept of love at first sight is delicate, beautiful, unique, and powerful. The few flaws in it are the occasionally touchy-feely scriptwriting and the shaky (acting-wise) introduction. Otherwise, however, Cold Mountain spins a wonderful, fairy-tale quest, out of the fabric of real life.

By the by, I now am, unfortunately, in the grips of a powerful and new Obsession: Jude Law. Because of him, I actually made myself watch "AI: Artificial Intelligence"! Oh, but he IS so good-looking... Now I have to go out and watch "Enemy at the Gates", "The Talented Mr. Ripley" and "Final Cut"....sigh.....

Note to self: Only my parents are allowed to piss off telemarketers...

It's odd for me to have more than one blog entry per day, but if I don't write this down I'm going to go crazy, a la Edgar Allen Poe's "The Telltale Heart". You see, my parents left with my youngest sister to attend her grade nine graduation. If everything went well, they would be home by nine o'clock, leaving my younger sister and I alone for about four hours. Now, during those four hours, the phone rang, and upon answering it I listened to a woman's voice asking for my father. I replied in the usual polite manner, "I'm sorry, my father (I'm not going to tell you people his name, silly readers. Who knows how many of your are perverted stalkers?)is unavailable to come to phone right now, may I take a message?" To my disgust, the woman revealed herself to be a Phone Harpy, a.k.a. a Telemarketer for Long Distance service. Remembering that my parents weren't home, the lady on the other end of the line had just left herself open to a very hilarious phone joke, and that Telemarketers really don't have any feelings to begin with, when she asked me "How do you think my parents would feel about a new long distance plan, etc. etc." (truth be told, I wasn't really paying attention anymore once she revealed her secret identity), I cheekily replied, "Why yes, I've noticed that we've had a great deal of problems with our current telephone service, because it keeps doing things like this --" and then I hung up on her. My wicked, evil, and completely childish glee (I'm really too old to be getting a buzz over such things, and yet I still do) did not last very long, as ten seconds later, the phone rang again. The Caller ID said it was an "Unknown Number", the same as it had for the Phone Harpy. I immediately felt appalled and guilty. I wasn't a child anymore, and it wasn't my phone or my Long Distance service plan to begin with, so I really didn't have any right to be rude to people who were calling for my parents. The only reason I'd played the silly joke was because I assumed the Phone Harpy would take the hint, however crude and impolite it was, and leave us alone. Cringing (for some irrational reason, I expected her to give me a stern lecture on manners, seeing as after I assured her that Mr. **** was unavailable, I foolishly identified myself as Miss ****, and she must have known that I was far too immature for my own good and was obviously not acting with my parents' full authority), I picked up the phone and remarked with false aplomb, "Y'ello?" There was nothing but silence on the other end of the line, so I hung up. Not on her again, believe me, I waited a good... ten seconds for her to speak. However, my nightmare was not yet over, for ten seconds later, the phone rang AGAIN with the Caller ID of "Unknown Caller"! I hesitated, only to have the answering machine pick up eight rings earlier than it should have! Oh, cruel fate! She'd left a message, and I didn't know enough about my phone service to figure out how to access my parents' messages!
Redemption came just in time. My mother phoned from the grad to check up on us, and let us know they were going to pick up food before they returned (yes, they don't feed you at our school's grads...Nourishment is for the WEAK!), so I had an opportunity to ask how, exactly, one could listen to our phone messages. With this knowledge, I repeated my mother's instructions onto the phone and heard this....."You have one unheard message: **Click**" Argh! All that anguish for nothing! She'd hung up. Ah well. For now, to make amends for my misdeed, I'm going to lend the Phone Harpy a shred of dignity and assume she hung up on purpose to give us nasty kids a taste of our own medicine, all nicely recorded thanks to our current (and quite sufficient, thank you very much) phone service. Well, not anymore...."Message - Erased!"

I'm Lovin' It! ... And I have no idea why!

Today was my first-ever training shift at McDonald's...three hours of slavery in the salt-and-grease mines. For some reason though -- I don't know, maybe it's something in the air -- I felt nothing but energetic, happy, and lucky to be workin' for such a fine-and-dandy establishment! Did they sneak some new kind of anti-depressant into the antibacterial soap? Slip Prozac into our complimentary employee soft drinks? I have no idea, but all I know is that for three hours I swept and mopped the floors, emptied the garbage, and crouched on my hands and knees trying to pry discarded cups and lids from underneath the jammed ice machine while the water from said machine leaked and flooded everywhere, and I've never felt better! Maybe it was because, subconsciously, I felt extremely fortunate that I didn't have to tend the piping-hot grills or the deep fryers (also called "vats") during a blistering 25 degree (that's Celsius, mind you) summer day (for Canada, that's a fry-an-egg-on-a-bald-man's-scalp heat). The lobby's cool enough, and at least the ice-machine, flooded though it was, still spewed cold air properly. Or maybe the high I got from being unintentionally flattered (one of the managers mistook my $22 Zellers watch for a Rolex) lasted longer than I thought it would. Either way, McDonald's is definately not the hellhole I expected it to be.
On another note...hot damn! I was a writing fool today! Ever since last summer, I started writing a fantasy novel and actually decided to finish it. The thing is, this was not the first writing vow I had taken. I've written at least half a dozen stories that were promptly abandoned before they reached chapter five, mostly due to either A)I looked back and thought "What the Hell was I thinking?" or B) Had another brilliant, turn-of-the-century, original and unique book idea that I just HAD to develop, so I forgot about what I was working on at the time. Sadly enough, most of those ideas that were the subject for option "B)", usually ended up in "A" soon afterwards. Not this time, however. This time I decided to have a writing assignment for every day. Now, before, I usually only wrote when I felt like it, so there would be hours where I'd write pages and pages, and then weeks where I wouldn't scrawl a word, and that usually led to "B". This time around, I would set a goal: Three pages a day. I would have to write three pages a day, no matter what. Who knew it would help? It turns out that when I force myself to write, I find myself adding more details and rules and structure to the tale. I mean, if I couldn't come up with any valid ideas during the day, I'd fill up my three pages with description, or character growth, or intellectual dialogue. Now, a year later, I'm up to Chapter Six. Don't laugh, I'm not finished the story yet. Already, my manuscript, handwritten on looseleaf (both sides!), is four and a half centimeters thick. Today alone I wrote more than enough, a least six pages' worth, and look at me! I still have enough juice to concoct a thick, descriptive blog entry! I'm on a roll, baby!

I have the Power!

Today, after eighteen years of waiting patiently by the sidelines, I have finally received my chance to check my ballot of choice and add my voice to the growing number of Canadians who are desparate to have Canada run by "the right people" and not the "[insert name of party you don't like here] nutjobs". To be honest, however, I am an ignorant youngster with muddled priorities, as you probably could have guessed. I am more concerned with what Ebert and Roeper thought of "Spider-Man 2" than how some of my dad's friends think Steven Harper is "Stockwell Day with a library card". When I read the newspaper, I skip ahead to the "Culture" (apparently, a classier name for "Entertainment") section, because I find the details of Peter Jackson's next film infinitely more interesting and less depressing than editorials on how the Liberals have screwed Canada up the yin-yang. I mean, if we believed everything the papers said, than no Canadian politician in the history of time has EVER done ANYTHING right! We should put all politicians to death and hire some decent Canadian celebrities to rule the country! I'm sure Alanis Morissette has a few things to say about Canada's foreign policy! Jim Carrey could fix up the sorry state of our schools as a Minister of Learning... wait a minute, didn't he drop out in grade 9? Ha! That doesn't matter! Ralph Klein (the alcohol-guzzling overlord of Alberta) didn't graduate either and look at all the good he -- umm.... uh, never mind. There's not much good you can say about a guy who got hammered on Christmas Eve and drove down to the shelter to make fun of the homeless people. Yeah, yeah, I'd say that's a higher priority on an Evil Villain's To Do List (next to "Steal candy from babies" and "Walk an old lady down the street...and into a speeding truck!") than a Responsible Political Leader's.
Look at me, getting all political when I really have no knowledge of politics! Thank God for free speech, eh? Anyway, continuing on, I usually vote for the party, and not necessarily for the leader. I don't have the motivation or understanding to keep up with the times (c'mon, I'm young. Let me enjoy my youth!), so I can't really keep track of all the political pawns on the gigantic Canada chess board. I paid attention in Social Studies enough to form an opinion on which party I think is better (I'm not telling.....oh please, I tell you people everything else!), and so that's how I vote. Is that really so bad? I still have a valid opinion on how Canada should be run, it's just that my vision is a great deal more vague and general. As far as I can tell, Canada did not become a smoking crater in the earth when the Conservatives were in power, and it didn't explode when the Liberals were in power, so neither party did a complete crap-job with Canada's policies.

I Work For the Clown Now...

Well, as of today I'm officially employed, at my friendly neighbourhood McDonald's. My second interview went relatively well, and by that I mean I didn't poison anybody or leave them with food they didn't order. Really, all I did was handle the beverages by the drive-thru window -- pretty simple once you get used to it. I was promptly hired and asked to attend an orientation meeting -- a meeting I attended today. I was subjugated to the usual video propaganda and tour of the building. On the plus side for McDonald's, as compared to Safeway, is that they handle the material of their recruitment videos with a heavy dose of humour. They realize that their tapes deal with silly instructions, so they go out of the way to make them even sillier. It's almost as if say, "Hey, we know most of you have the common sense to understand these concepts, but we have to teach them to you anyway. So why not have a good time while you learn?" Safeway, on the other hand, handles their training with the utmost seriousness that borders on irrational. As a result, their force-feeding of the Safeway doctrine comes off distinctly cult-ish, more like a brain-washing and less like a brain-tickling. "Obey us! Obey the UNION! Or PERISH! MWAHAHAHA! Your soul is ours!"

On the point against McDonald's, the area is cramped. I've seen bathroom stalls that are larger than the "crew room that is provided for our benefit". One TV, one microwave, two McDonald's square tables, and three ratty chairs. At least Safeway had the decency to provide its workers with a working fridge. Ah well. The pay's pretty much the same, and the atmosphere of McDonalds is great deal less isolating than the work of a Safeway cashier. I was pretty much the youngest person working at Safeway, and that left me feeling rathing uncomfortable as a relatively wealthy, pampered girl with a future surrounded by bitter adults who checked groceries for A CAREER. McDonalds was brimming with teenagers. The applications in the store were targeted for youngsters. So, all in all, I'm looking forward to working in the Clown's service. On a sadder note, Kevin the Hot Manager proposed to his girlfriend recently. I really hope they don't decide to hold the wedding reception in the restaurant, as some weird couple chose to do in the McDee's commercials we had to watch...
As of today, my obsession is: "Spider-Man 2", starring Tobey Maguire. AAAH! I have to see that movie! Spider-Man is King!

A Day of Many Battles...

To start with, today I had to square off against the vile, slippery, many-headed dragon of my Math Diploma. Math is (and always has been) my hardest subject, so needless to say, despite the fact that I had a reasonably talented math teacher this year (for once...) I wasn't expecting to do so well. Really, no matter how much I study, or how much I remember, after I've chopped the heads off of all the obvious questions, some dusty, forgotten factoid slithers unnoticed past my defenses to bite me in the ass. Oh, 90 degrees can't be used with a Tangent on the calculator? Why the HELL NOT? Argh!
After the endless studying, the tutoring sessions with my teacher, the guzzling of caffeinated beverages to counteract my unpredictable bursts of A.D.D., and the two-hour-long wrestling match with 33 multiple-choice and 6 numerical quesitons, I was mentally exhausted.
On top of that, experts have confirmed that a weevil has, indeed, enslaved my precious tree. As well, a nice aphid couple has abruptly decided that any spruce a weevil deems appropriate for habitation is the perfect neighbourhood to start raising a family, and they've left "pineapple galls", basically spiky pineapple-shaped egg capsules, all over my spruce's tender branches. Like unwanted, rotten fruit, I helped my mother to pluck the little baby darlings from amongst their comfortable green cradles and tossed them into the firepit, along with the upper quarter of my tree's truck which, knock on wood, the weevil was hiding in. The infant insects will no longer mind the nightly chill, as we burned the little parasites alive. Ha! And believe you me, should any aphid show its face around my tree again, I'll sick my specially trained pack of ladybugs on them to kill, kill, kill! It's odd, really. I put my tree in the ground and pretty well forgot about it for 12 years, but now that it's in trouble, I can't bear the thought of losing it if our efforts to dislodge the weevil prove inefficient.
But enough of this idle chit-chat. It's 10:25 pm, and I have my Chemisty (and final) diploma tomorrow at 1:00. After that....nothing....absolutely nothing! No more Math, or Chemistry, or Physics! FOREVER!