Wednesday, November 30, 2005

Another day, another commute. This time, my travels were blocked by a huge backup getting onto the dreaded bridge. Once I got across, I discovered that the road crew was filling the new potholes. Perhaps they read my blog last night. So I had to take back all my grumbling and cursing, as the reason for the delay was a good one.

Unfortunately, during that extra time in my car, I caught a particularly alarming commercial on the radio. First, a confession: my life was so sheltered when I was growing up that I can honestlly say that I never had Cheese Whiz (or however you spell it). My mother, worried about my health and my sister's, ensured that we would forever be enviable of anyone who was "normal" by eliminating white bread (we had whole wheat), plain peanut butter (we had crunchy, organic), and any sort of cheese by-product (we just didn't have it). I still remember the day when a neighbour kid showed up at our house to catch a ride to school, eating her Cheese Whiz on toast while waiting for us. It was so gross that I wasn't even jealous. I was jealous of kids who ate crappy white bread (Wonder), and smooth, luxurious peanut butter. Everything we ate not only had to be good for us, it had to be obviously good for us. Which meant that it was really weird.

The irony is that my mother grew up on a farm, and I'm still hearing all the stories about how she was envious of all her friends because they had normal, bought food, whereas all her family's food was homemade. It sounds like there were several years when she was horribly difficult because all she wanted was to eat bought bread, or bought cookies, or (gross) wieners. Her family didn't eat anything unless they grew it themselves. This included the meat, which was kept in a meat locker in "downtown" Cloverdale. In the morning, before she left for school, her mother would ask her (not her brothers because they were too unreliable or off shooting the water tower) to stop by the meat locker for a bit of cow. (Sorry Meladuck for the meat talk.) The irony of this errand is that my mother apparently never was nor is she now much of a carnivore, but because she was reasonably responsible, she got the job. What a strange concept that is for us now. I don't think anyone would walk down the sidewalk carrying some meat for fear of being mugged by a ravenous dog or a feisty crow.

I just realized that this has gotten way off topic. Back to oozy "cheese" product. When my sister got married, her husband was very much into the "squeeze cheese". Apparently, his mother didn't love him enough to protect him from the evil orange goo. However, she did pour his cereal into a bowl every night and cover it with cling film. I'm not sure that's love or that she suspected of him certain level of incompetence. Either way, it's lame.

Once again, I'm going to try to rein this in. So there was a commercial on the radio advertising Cheese Whiz. According to this commercial, the special apparently pertains to several varietes. It's a good thing I was stopped in traffic because I probably would have driven into someone trying to figure out what the varieties are. When the nausea hit, I realized that I didn't want to know or think about the squeeze cheese varities. One is enough. No, it is more than enough.

Now I'm wondering how fantastic this deal is on Cheese Whiz? If it's cheap enough, perhaps the highways department should consider using it to fill the potholes on the bridge. It couldn't be any worse than what they're already using, and think about how many lives could be saved.

Tuesday, November 29, 2005

It snowed last night, and the idea of going to school was greatly considered. It's not me, you know, but all the (other) assholes out there behind the wheel of a vehicle. I'm fine in the snow, but I can't trust anyone else.

So when the snow fall let up, and I realized that my classes weren't going to be cancelled, I bravely set forth with only one small pit stop (to drop $75 at Staples for school supplies) before making my way across the treacherous bridge to the land of hills and the school with the coldest greenhouse/atrium on the planet.

The drive was fairly harrowing considering that the bridge is so old and pothole-ridden that it doesn't matter what kinds of driving skills you have...you're still taking a great risk. The lanes are narrow, and if you get stuck next to a truck, there is the distressing feeling that you might get pushed into the oncoming traffic. Thank god the government had the foresight to install flexible orange pilons to separate the lanes of traffic. I feel so much safer than if they put in something much more permanent. And the bridge deck itself has blossomed with new and exciting potholes, so many that to avoid them would be to, once again, face your mortality in the headlights of the oncoming rush. So you weave your way through the potholes, past the trucks, to the safety of the other side. And then what?

Today, as it had snowed, I wasn't quite out of the danger once I got to the other side. No. I still had to park up the hill from the school, and navigate/slide my way down the slushy sidewalk. The trick is to retain just enough control so that you don't hurl into the traffic of Royal Avenue, even though there is a sidewalk and pedestrians technically have the right-of-way. Technicalities don't count if you're stuck to someone's bumper. But I managed to stop before I got squished, so good for me. I talked to the poor black lab dog which was sniffing the corner to find a good pee spot. Apparently it's person cares enough to tie a bandana around it's neck (is that a sign of caring or is that a sign of doggy abuse?), but not enough to actually watch the dog to make sure that it doesn't wander into traffic. I'm sure that the dog is well-trained, but no amount of training is going to prevent a dog from chasing a squirrel. And to me, it's just not a chance that I'm willing to take. Call me cold, but I prefer to keep an eye on my dog and not to humiliate it by tying some random scrap of cloth around its neck. Sure, we'll wear matching yellow rain-slickers, but that just makes sense.

So by the time I got to the front door of school, I guess that I was pretty happy. I ran into a classmate who is usually outside having a smoke break. We exchanged "good mornings", and he noted that I was in a good mood. He then went on to say how I hadn't been in a bad mood lately, and I thought "Really? Me?", because I can't think of any reason why I'd be in a bad mood. Sure, school is busy, but it's busy for everyone, so why should I let it bother me more than it's bothering other people? His observation confused me because, if anyone would be struggling and in a bad mood, it would be him. But no, he was checking in on me, and that made me feel weird. We joked it off, but as I walked away, I thought to myself "I should have asked him how he's doing. That would have been the decent thing to do." But I can't, and I didn't. Anyhow, I guess that I was happy because I made it to the front door unscathed, which, to me, is always something to be happy about.

Monday, November 28, 2005

It's been a few days since I last blogged, and the most notable thing that has happened in the interim is that I gave up and increased the font size for my computer's display.

I'm getting old.

It is now so big that I'm sure that the neighbours can read it from their kitchen table. Whatever they end up seeing, it's their fault for looking.

I'm full of lucid, lengthy thoughts tonight. Perhaps I'll change the subject, yet again. While struggling with a homework assignment, I've been struggling with technology. This is an ongoing battle which has finally come to a head. You see, I broke my mp3 player a few months ago. I was going to go buy a new one when a friend said that she had won one at a golf tournament. Apparently, she's okay being alone with her wandering mind, but I am not: I need some distraction. So she offered it to me cheap, and I bought it. However, when I got it home, the Sony product became a pain in the ass. I couldn't get the software for file transfer off the included cd. I asked Sony for help, and they came up with a shrug. It pissed me off. I ended up e-screaming to the guy "So I've got myself a useless hunk of plastic?" It turned out that this particular model was incompatible with Windows XP, and because I had opened the package, and because I hadn't bought it from a store, I was facing screwage. However perserverence prevailed, and I somehow got it to work. But I couldn't get the file recognition stuff to work, so any time I ripped a song from a cd, I had to fill in the info myself.

Tonight, I'd had enough of that. I wanted to fill up my mp3 player with Prince (all variations, including Symbol, TAFKAP, and "Camille"). Not wanting to go through all the trouble of naming the files, I decided to give it another go. Instead, I screwed up the software I already had installed. I was faced with not being able to change the music on my mp3 player, which is unacceptable. So I farted around, screwed up a few times, and eventually lucked out and got the software reinstalled, this time with the file recognition program intact. So after about 3 hours, I've now saved myself a few minutes. However, hopefully, I won't ever have to name all my song files again.

But now I'm wondering if somewhere along the way Sony didn't install some spyware? Probably.

Sunday, November 20, 2005

There is something wrong with me in that whenever I do a group project, I feel that I'm not doing my share. And yet, the feedback I get from my group usually suggests otherwise. So what's with that? Is it an overwhelming need for guilt? Am I inherently (and secretly) ambitious? When will I ever find out?

I'm working with a terrific group on the current group project, which is due on Tuesday. Barb is older, but so cool. She has such experience...she is just a calming, reassuring presence. And Melanie is a kindred spirit. She has a degree in English, too. She's smart, and clever, and writes a damn good blog. The people in my class who have blogs are all excellent writers. So worldly, so smart, so sassy (even James, ha). I got an oblique mention in Melanie's the other day because of the pizza cookie, and Angie correctly guessed that I was the creator...what does that mean?

I'm full of questions tonight because I was working on my genre analysis (rough draft). Oy, instructions. I think that Diana selected these four examples for our "corpus" because two are extremely similar, one is kinda, and the fourth is just out there in left field, waving. It just doesn't fit in, but we're supposed to "paint a picture of the genre" using Aristotle's topoi and junk. And only use 750 words to do it. I'm well over 1,000 and I feel like I've barely covered anything. That's probably because I don't really know what I'm doing, and I'm faking it. Faking it. Hopefully, noone will find out.

Saturday, November 19, 2005

It appears that blogging is the favourite form of procrastination for my classmates. And so, for me, too. I've just read all their blogs...still spying. And one of them correctly pegged me as the baker of the cookie pizza, which was apparently revered by one of my group project partners. We three met yesterday to hash out the details in an all-day sitting, and part of the plan was to bring food. That was smart, because even though we used food as an excuse to stop, we didn't have to go too far to get it. Barb bought spanakopita (forgive my spelling skills if I spelled that incorrectly; bow down to my spelling skills if I spelled that correctly). It was excellent.

Not so excellent...the dog was sick today. We (both of my parents and myself...quite a sad group) took him to two vets, because the first one gave off that new vet smell, and my mother didn't trust his judgment. (I questioned one instructor as to why there is no "e" in the middle of "judgment". I'm waiting for a satisfactory answer). So we took the poor little guy (explosive puke and diarrhea) to a second opinion, which quite satisfied my mother. I felt really bad for the poor little chihuahua that came in after us. Somehow, due to the neglect of its white trash family (is that shit on your boots), its eye had popped out the socket. I have no idea how that happened. However, white trash dad figured that $900 was too much, and proceeded to try to haggle with the vet. He couldn't get her down to $200 (that's quite a mark down...it cost $200 for our dog), so he announced that he'd "put a bullet in it first", and then stormed out. Poor little guy. I hope that he makes it, and then runs away to a better home.

I'm writing all this to avoid my genre analysis assignment. Instructions aren't all that interesting to begin with, but when you have to dissect them, they're even less interesting. Back to the rhetorical grind.

Tuesday, November 15, 2005

Well, our group project didn't crash and burn yesterday, even with my meddling. To their credit, my group didn't hate me for editing our project without being asked. Either they are all really kind and outgoing, or they're saving their wrath for the post-presentation paper (10 pages on how we worked as a group...not too much of a stretch).

I'm conflicted because this blog has become entirely about school, but I know that I'm not doing much else besides school. So, the content shouldn't be much of a surprise. Disappointing, sure, but not much of a surprise.

Anyhow, our group kicked ass with our presentation yesterday. It was dynamic, informative, and we had visual aids, which no other group had. We thought that it made us look really prepared and professional, which we were.

And I got an A- on a paper in the most difficult class in the program. That means that I have an A- average, and I'm completely satisfied with that kind of average. However, I would like to get another A. That would be good. It seems to be petty and small to even be thinking that way because I do know that some people have received grades as low as a C. So why should I want more? I don't know. I'll have to think about it.

When I'm not thinking about grammar, which is my nemesis. I hate Gucker.

Monday, November 14, 2005

I now realize that I'm missing out on a lot because I'm on blogger. My friends from school (all three of them) have their blogs on Livejournal. I suppose that there is some way to connect...I'm so techno-feeble that I'm just proud that I was able to get a blog started. But I check in our their blogs, and they are happily blogging back and forth, and I feel kinda left out. Poor me.

Today will be a very telling day. We have group presentations this afternoon, and it will be interesting to see how my group works. We have been getting along famously. And then, this weekend, everyone seemed to drop out of contact. I didn't hear from anyone all weekend, and it was weird. I wanted to contact them because I had concerns about the content of our presentation. But noone was around, so I just added my comments and ideas. Hopefully, noone will mind or be offended, because there were some serious problems (I think) with the presentation. Hopefully, they will understand that I just wanted to help.

However, people started to get back in the picture last night. One person seemed a little upset that "the content had changed since last week." She thought that we were done, and she didnt' have to worry all weekend. I guess that's the point of this project...to see how different "styles" interact. I couldn't just leave it for the weekend, especially when I had a problem with the content. So, I made some changes. My fingers are crossed that noone will have minded and that my changes were correct. Here's to hoping...

Saturday, November 12, 2005

Another fun day in Funcouver. A friend has referred to the last couple of weeks as 40 days of rain. I hope that isn't an accurate prediction, but it looks like it may be true. On the up side, the mountains have already opened for skiing. On the down side, I live in Vancouver and don't know how to ski. We had the opportunity when we were in elementary school. My mom had bought the ski gloves, but decided at the last minute that it was too dangerous, probably because she wouldn't be there supervising. She kept the gloves, though, and then 15 years later, hauled them out one winter. She wanted us to wear them. They were huge and hideous. If we had kept them, (and if they hadn't been so bulky), they probably would be in style these days. The puffy jackets of my youth have returned. But these gloves were low-tech...no goretex. Probably not water-proof, either. I guess that I could have taken up skiing on my own, but I never did. I can't say why. But I certainly feel like an oddity. Most people around here ski or snowboard. That's probably the only way you could enjoy winter around here, if you knew that you were going somewhere else like the mountains to go skiing. We just get rain down here, and it's depressing. The no sunlight, too. I really get that seasonal affective disorder. And hanging around the computer doesn't help. It's the wrong kind of light therapy. That's my cue to go. Bye for now.
Someone from school found this nifty web-site where you can find your inner monster. This is mine:

Ravenous Oblivion-Bound Explorer-Reaping Townsfolk-Jeopardizing Abomination from the Sunless Ominous Necropolis

I like it.

Friday, November 11, 2005

Look at me! I'm posting even though I have nothing to say. I consider this a big step considering that when I first started blogging, I wrote these lengthy, ponderous postings. Now, I feel free to just ramble.

Speaking of which, we thought that our school message board was there for us to use, whether we used it for school work or for fun. Because it's a writing program, we have one difficult class which is partially concerned with the odious task of learning the ins and outs of grammar. Nifty. The textbook, which is probably quite good, was written in 1968. Most of us weren't born then. So in addition to all the quaintlly common examples which are similar to the olde Dick and Jane readers, we are learning things like the possessive and plural forms of the word "Negro". I totally skipped that exercise because I have no intention of even using the word.

Most of us are having an extremely difficult time learning the grammar. Those who aren't are just having a difficult time with it. But our instructor, who is also the head of the program, is so amazingly dedicated to the art and craft of grammar, that she became somewhat offended when I started a post (in response to one's classmate's inspired entry: "Dear Gucker, I hate you. Love, Angie") that I have called "Open Letters to Gucker". In it, classmates are free to vent at Mr. Gucker (dearly departed) about anything associated with grammar. I thought it was harmless and therapeutic, but my instructor apparently did not. Now, she didn't come down too hard on us, but she did post a message about the "tone" of the posts, warning us that developing this kind of habit could lead to trouble in our future professional lives. I can see her point. But I still want to vent about the grammar. A few of my classmates have posted messages stating that they thought that because it's a class message board, they thought that the tone was appropriate. Then, they started a discussion about the rhetoric of electronic messaging and that's when I lost intereste. However, I'm hopeful that people will keep posting. It's funny, and therapeutic. And grammar is not.

As a little side note: for a project for our professional readiness class, I had to create a resume. To do so, I had to consult the new web page for the golf course at which I'm currently working, part time. They announced the new web page over the summer, and kept asking if we'd seen it. I just saw it for the first time the other day. I just about crapped. They are proud to say that they are (perhaps) the premier golf course in our area, but they didn't bother to spell check. On the home page, the web"master" actually typed "Douglas Furs" in a description about the golf course. The mistakes didn't end there. I clicked onto four pages, and there was one glaring mistake on each page. I didn't even bother to look closely at the grammar. I just couldn't. I emailed my findings to my friend who is one of the managers. She said that she found it funny, but I can't see how. I wonder what's going to happen. I have mixed feelings about it. It made me feel good that I noticed the mistakes; but it made me embarassed for the golf course.

Thursday, November 10, 2005

Last night, in class, I found out that I've been credited with a disturbing dream. Someone made a reference to some dream I had apparently had, and I was clueless about it. I couldn't remember it at all. So then I went to the source, a friend, who was very positive that I had told him about this dream that I had had. It seems sort of out of character for me, considering that I would have told this person fairly early on in the semester about this dream. I usually don't talk so openly with people, especially early on in a friendship. But last night, he insisted that I had told him that I had had this dream about two of my male classmates apparently "doing it" on top of me. Very weird. First of all, I really doubt that either of them are gay. Second of all, I respect them, and I'm a little afraid of them, so why would I even bring it up? But I can't see why my friend would lie. There's nothing in it for him. So where does that leave me? With a really crappy memory? If that's true, if I forgot this dream (which believe me, would have been memorable), what does that say about my future? Will I continue to lose my memory? Am I doomed to be someone who has to write notes about every little thing? "Don't forget to pee." "Don't forget to eat." Well, at least I would have a legitimate excuse when I forgot to post an entry.

Will I post tomorrow? We'll have to see.

Wednesday, November 09, 2005

Today, I had the scare of my life. While getting ready for school (okay I was Q-tipping after my shower), I turned on the tv for some background noise. I wasn't looking at the screen, I was sorting through school stuff and poking around in my ear, and I heard some guy singing. I thought, "Hey, I kinda like that. I wonder who it is?" So I walked closer to the tv to see who it was, and it was f-ing Neil Diamond. NEIL DIAMOND. Suddenly, I like Neil Diamond. (One more time, NEIL DIAMOND!). Holy shit! It was so scary that it didn't even bother me that I was watching The View.

Sunday, November 06, 2005

It has been nearly a month since I last posted. Not a lot has happened since then, but I still haven't had time to post. Also, a fear of being mundane has kept me from posting. I've been holding back because I felt that if I didn't have anything profound to say, then I shouldn't really be posting anything. Then I read a friend's blog, someone in the new writing program I started a month ago, and I realized that the content doesn't matter. He was posting from our class (it was a really boring and pointless class), and it contained only a couple of lines. I realized that blogs don't have to be profound, just honestly motivated. So from now on, I won't hold back on posting. I'll post when I feel like it, and I'll write about what I feel like writing about. And I won't worry about how well it's written because, in all likelihood, noone's reading this anyhow.

So here's to a new future and a new outlook on blogging.

I'll be back.