::alio!::

moving on

I've found a new love in DIY blogging.

You can find it here: http://alidoesit.wordpress.com

Well this is awkward.

So my blog domain doesn't expire until June 17th.

This means that I've already said my goodbyes and yet for some reason we're all still walking in the same direction, not really knowing what to say.

thinking about ...

Dani, don't kill me.

I'm thinking of discontinuing this blog.

I've really been lax in my updates recently, and when I do update I never have anything to say that's very important any more.

I started this blog way back in 2004 as an exercise in colour commentary on my hockey obsession. Then it kind of became my diary replacement (I had kept a written diary since 1999 and stopped about a year after I started blogging), and now I find that I don't really have the compulsion to spill verbiage all over the page anymore. I just have too many other things to do that are much too mundane to make interesting reading for anyone else.

I have been thinking about this for a while, but it came to a head this weekend.

Why?

I painted my kitchen. It took me a long time, but I did it all by myself (Andy helped me move the furniture) and I did a really good job. I'm very pleased with it. But THIS is the most exciting thing that has happened to me recently - completing another task in a long line of domestic achievements.

I'm sorry folks, but I can't sport with your intelligence by making you read that drivel day in and day out.

I love writing. I really do. I love being able to get my thoughts out on paper in a way that never seems right when they come out of my mouth. Writing is a very soothing thing for me, and that's why I have kept it up for so long.

When I started this, I was in an uncertain time: fighting with depression, dealing with the death of a friend, lonely, unsure of my future . . . you name it, I was going through it. Now, six years later, things are different. I'm slowly and painfully working my way towards the career of my dreams, I'm married to the best friend I have ever had and things are looking good. I mean, it's a good thing when the highlight of your day is how well you deal with red paint, right? It's better than drama - and trust me, I've had my fair share.

What I'm saying is, essentially, I think I have outgrown this thing. It was a crutch of sorts that I have moved beyond.

I am still writing - it's part of what I do for school, and I hope to turn my writing skills into part of my career some day. But when I write now it's for different reasons. And I have new hobbies now.

I'm working on my photography, and that, if nothing else, is a more accurate record of my opinions and daily adventurings. I certainly update my photo website much more often than I update allythebell.net. If you want to keep track of me, follow me on Flickr: http://www.flickr.com/photos/alio. You can see my kitchen there, too!

I don't know. I am still thinking about it. But we may be seeing the end. It was a good ride, thanks for being here.

I spoke too soon

We have ourselves a blizzard. It's also supposed to snow next weekend as well.

I'm not worried. I'm sure it will rain soon.

home again, home again

The modern conveniences of air travel, despite their many annoyances, have the overwhelming positive that they allow people to travel great distances in a short amount of time. I'm not being facile here. Remember it took me a full week to drive from Ottawa to St. John's. On a plane, I can get there in three hours. From the centre of the country to the edge of the world in three hours. That's pretty incredible, if you ask me.

The astonishing rapidity of this superhuman feat, however, while it is easy on the human body, kind of messes a bit with the human mind.

We left Ottawa on Sunday night, in the middle of a blizzard. We woke up Monday morning in a different province, a different bed, and to the sound of the pouring rain. There is absolutely no snow left in St. John's, so it doesn't look or feel like January in the least. In addition to traveling 3000km, I feel like we also managed to travel back in time to September, because that's what it really looks like here. It's a mite disorienting.

In addition to the sheer physicality of long-distance travel, which is enough to overwhelm anyone, there is the additional confundus of mental attachments to places, things, and people.

When we first arrived in Ottawa for our Christmas holiday, Andy and I experienced the sensation that we were in some place that was very familiar to us, but that was no longer a home for us. Over the course of two weeks, as we managed to settle into a routine, that impression changed. I think it changed more for me than it did for Andy, who doesn't know when he will be back in the city. I, on the other hand, am planning to move back to Ottawa temporarily in the fall, and I will live there for eight months. So I was already seeing the city as a potential living space. I already have 'stuff' in my parents' house in readiness for my arrival. Essentially, the place just started to feel like home again, and then we left.

We nearly didn't make it home, either, due to adverse weather conditions, but here we are. Everything was just as we'd left it and everything was where we wanted it to be, but I felt a strange sense of detachment about the place. Over the past few days that has changed somewhat, but it's still there to a certain extent. I think that part of it stems from a lack of sleep and also the absence of any real time for me to sit at home and resituate myself in my place, as I have been working these days to catch up from the holiday. So perhaps tomorrow it will be better.

But it is very strange, living in two places at once. Kind of like when I lived at my parents' house during the week and Andy's apartment on the weekends back when we were dating. But this time it's 3000km apart.

some notes on newfoundland

It's interesting to read the Ottawa Citizen and see the headlines complaining about the weather on the front page:

TEN CENTIMETERS OF SNOW! WINDS UP TO SIXTY KILOMETERS AN HOUR!

Wow. That's rough.

I've reached the point where I don't consider it 'windy' unless the winds are higher than 80km/h. Sixty is simply your normal everyday situation here on the island.

Also, while St. John's winters are not half as cold as Ottawa winters, and while we probably don't get as much cumulative snowfall, what we get comes all in a rush. One day it's all green, then you hear a loud FUMPH! and it looks like spring has never come to the city. On Sunday, just in one day, we got 35 centimeters of snow. It's a fine, blowable snow, too, so we have four-foot drifts that are a pain in the ass to shovel. Fortunately it occurred to me to get our shovel out of the shed last week, because there's no going near that place again until spring.

To top it off, not living in the nation's capital means that city maintenance infrastructure is piss poor in comparison. I will never again complain about the snowplows in the city of Ottawa. The people who work those machines are pros and deserve medals.

The plow system in St. John's is PITIFUL. They do it all wrong. Instead of hauling ass down the major streets AFTER it stops snowing and then taking on the side streets, these plows will be out at the first sign of snow, peeling away layers of asphalt as they scrape up the tiniest bit of snow that has accumulated on the roads. And their attempts to plow the sidewalks (when they decide to plow the sidewalks) are laughable. Every fifty meters you'll see a patch where the sidewalk plow has made a pass, leaving several inches of snow still on the ground. The rest of it is just pushed up crusty snowbank from the street plow. And the places where the sidewalk plow have been are then covered over instantly by another pass of the street plow. The result is the 'sidewalk' is now an uneven terrain replete with jagged chunks of ice. Honestly, it's safer to face Newfoundland drivers and walk in the road, which most people do.

Now, I know that comparisons are not really fair. There are different economic conditions in St. John's than there are in Ottawa. The terrain is entirely foreign, too, as the constant freeze-thaw temperatures wreak havoc with snow melt, and the streets here are wicked steep and winding. The sidewalks in most of the city were built as an afterthought, and so often contain obstacles, such as poles, trees, and people's front porches. More than once I have seen a disabled sidewalk plow stuck to a pole.

But it's sad to see the plows get stuck due to their own incompetence. One of the lawyers at the firm here told me the other day that he rescued a plowman who had gotten himself stuck in a ditch while clearing the road. I've seen sidewalk plows (on the rare occasions that I do see them) get boxed in by street plows. They barely use salt, and I've never seen any form of grit on the streets. The whole system is ridiculous, and extremely dangerous.

But for some reason everyone seems to continue along the same way they always have. Newfies are tough stock, and they don't seem to do anything the easy way. I'm working on a transcription right now of a fisher from the Burin Peninsula, and he talks of the days before radar and GPS, how they used to take their boats out in thick fog and just steam up and down until they found their buoy markers, a process that could take several hours. So that should give you some hint as to the Newfoundland character. But this persistence can be seen as stubbornness, and sometimes stupidity.

Three times since the snowfall I have seen cars stuck, not in snow, but in the icy sludge left by the plow. In all three of these situations, the car in question was on a hill, trying to get to the top. Instead of simply putting the car in reverse or neutral and having it slide out of the sticky spot with the help of gravity, all the motorists just gunned their engines, spinning their tires to create a patch of solid ice. They are just so stubborn.

I had more to say on this but I've now forgotten. There are a million things about this place that irritate me, and now it looks like, with Andy switching into a double major degree, that we might have to stick around an extra year. I may indeed go well and truly insane. I shudder to think about Andy's mental state after I abandon him in this crazy place for eight months.

all is well, just busy

Will post again soon.

Bad Dream

I swear, the older I get, the more my nightmares resemble Stephen King short stories. This is the one I had just a few minutes ago. I'm hoping that by writing it down I'll get it out of my head.

I was a teacher, in some middle school, and I was monitoring the behaviour of a mixed-age class during some very serious presentation. One of the younger girls, Sophia, wouldn't sit down at my instruction. She said, "he scares me," and took off through the door. An older girl, Lauren, followed. I also followed, as they ran down the hall, up a narrow set of concrete stairs, and then up a still narrower flight to what I assumed to be the school roof. I burst through the door just as it had closed after Lauren, and walked into blackness.

Not complete blackness. I could see in the dimness that we were in some large chamber. It was surrounded on four sides by a narrow concrete walkway, and whatever lay in the middle disappeared into darkness an untold distance below. There were a few rays of subdued natural light coming from the ceiling, but the only real light source came from a small brazier sitting on the walkway to my left. Something was suspended from the ceiling in the centre of the chamber, and that something was moving.

I edged toward the brazier, trying to figure out where the hell I was and trying as well to locate my young charges. Not being able to feel them, I began to call their names.

"Sophia?"

No answer.

"Lauren?"

No answer.

Again. "LAUREN?"

"Yes." It was a very small, very scared voice, coming from the darkness somewhere in front of me and to my left. I knew in that instant that whatever it was that was suspended from the ceiling had to do with why I couldn't find Sophia.

I called to Lauren to use the pocket mirror I knew she carried to try and reflect the light from the brazier onto the suspended bundle. The couldn't get the brazier light to reflect, but she did manage to catch one of the puny rays of natural light. Because she was in front of me, I couldn't see what she saw, but I saw the shadow of her ray of light on the wall, and that was enough.

It was a writhing bundle, covered all over with large insect-like creatures, probably the size of my head. I had the random thought that they looked a bit like ants and then something in the depths of the darkness began to move up through the blackness. There was a scrabbling to my left and Lauren cannoned into me. I set her upright and stopped her from falling off the edge and we edged to the right to the stairs I knew were there.

We took the stairs four at a time, practically fell down the other stairwells, and ran into the main hallway of the school just as the presentation was letting out.

Attracted by our screams, one of the older lady teachers turned towards us and saw our faces as we collapsed by the wall. I looked up to see that one of the pictures on the wall, which usually portrayed one of the school founders. Instead, in it was a wide cloaked figure, with staring eyes. The lady teacher who had followed my gaze saw it and screamed, too, then ran off. The figure in the picture followed suit.

Many of the teachers present hadn't seen what we had seen, and were still unsure as to what was going on. One of the male teachers was walking out of the room with the guidance counselor. "Looks like you've got your work cut out for you, Lloyd," he said.

Lloyd, as he came away, looked at me and chuckled. "Yes," he said, "but now I know where to find them." He reached out and grabbed my arm, still chuckling, though now it was a menacing tone. The hand on my arm was hard, like pincers, and I saw that what I had thought was a jacket was actually a cloak, and that under that cloak where were other arms, insect arms.

At that point I tried to scream, but my mouth felt glued shut, and Lloyd continued to stare into my eyes, laughing.

Then Andy woke me up because I was "breathing funny."

I figured I should write this down and hopefully get it out of my head.

blooog. sorry.

You know when things get all crazy, and you complain about how crazy they are, and then they get crazier?

This is one of those times.

Finished:
Thanksgiving.
SSHRC proposal.
Three transcriptions.
Some comp readings.

Still to accomplish:
More comp readings.
Trudeau proposal.
Wenner-Gren Proposal.
Seven transcriptions.
Trip home for Grandma's birthday.

And with the Pie now working all the time, things are all messed up around here schedule-wise.

BLOOOOOOOOOG.

It's that time of year . . .

Yes, that's right, ladies and gentlemen, it's grant application season.

What this means is that, every September for the past, say, five years of my life, my attention, and that of my colleagues, has been focused on producing pages and pages of bullshit that will, provided they are stunningly brilliant enough, be sufficient to wrangle modest sums of money from the government.

Every year I apply and every year I am turned down. Every year it's a struggle to get the appropriate reference letters and meet the deadlines, not to mention the stress of putting your whole life down within the allotted space on the damned form.

This year it's a little different for me, as I am preparing to entire the final stages of my doctoral degree, and this funding could mean the difference between carrying out my fieldwork, and NOT carrying out my fieldwork. Things are rather crucial at the moment.

I'm applying to three very different foundations this year for funding. One, the Wenner-Gren Foundation, is an American outfit dedicated to funding anthropologists who carry out fieldwork that will further the power of anthropology in North America and around the world. It's a strange application, with a billion hard questions, and doesn't require reference letters but instead a detailed curriculum vitae from my supervisor. Odd. Funding from Wenner-Gren is a one-time offer of up to $15 000 US. Deadline: 1 November.

The second is my personal favourite, the Trudeau Foundation. If an application could be a hippie, it would be this one. In addition to putting down my life story as reflected in publications and scholarships, this application requires me to write a two-page "personal statement" regarding exactly what it is that influenced me to become so fascinated with my project of study. Winners of the Trudeau Fellowship get up to $40 000 Canadian a year for the duration of their studies, plus an additional $20 000 Canadian travel bursary, used to shuttle the winner all around the world to various Trudeau-sponsored conferences. Deadline: Sometime in December.

The third is the big poop of scholarships in the social sciences: SSHRC (Social Sciences and Humanities Research Council). Government-run, government-funded, this particular organization lost out to Stephen Harper last year and as a result had to cut its funding to half its recipients. Still, if you've got a SSHRC you're essentially IN wherever you want to be. Scholarships from SSHRC amount to about $20 000 Canadian a year. Deadline: 13 November.

So in addition to those, which are all so incredibly different from each other that I can't simply copy and paste my answers, I have also taken advantage of a research position offered by one of the members of my committee, which will involve a tremendous amount of work on my part and a shortly oncoming deadline.

My second comprehensive exam is looming in the second week of November, as well, and I'm a little behind (as usual) in my readings. The wedding kind of took out all my will to school, as it were.

Oh yeah, and I still have a part-time job as a librarian.

So I'm a little busy.

In addition to this, Andy has recently started working at Future Shop as a Home Entertainment specialist, and is still trying to nail down a regular schedule and cope with his mounting pile of homework and assignments.

I can't say things around here are relaxed.

But you should check out pictures of the last time we were relaxed by clicking here.

yes, we have no bananas, today - but we do have a cat

The fruit delivery at the office happens on Mondays at around midday.

This means that the only bananas available on Mondays are either so ripe you can't pick them up without squishing them, or so green that if you eat them you get that horrid feeling on your teeth - you know the feeling I'm talking about.

This messes with my routine. On workdays I generally eat a banana at around 10:45 AM. It's my break.

On Mondays, however, I can't have that break.

I especially felt the need for my dose of calming potassium this morning.

It's hurricane season in Newfoundland, and, while most of the hurricanes large enough to have names never hit our coastline, we get every other huge storm coming the other way.

So when I say it was actually pouring rain this morning, I want you to understand that this means a solid sheet of rain, so thick you can't see across the road, blowing sideways and UP at you at 100 km/h. This also means that all (and I mean ALL) the streets are flooded by at least 2 inches of water, some of the sidewalks as well, and that anything tipping downhill (read: everything, because this is St. John's) becomes a waterfall. There is this flight of stairs called McMurdo's Lane, that I take every morning in to work. It's like an alleyway between buildings, except it's just stairs. Anyway, I felt like I was walking down a raging river this morning. It was kind of cool. It almost made me feel better after having gotten completely splashed not once but twice by passing motorists who take sadistic pleasure in plowing through the ponds on the road right next to pedestrians.

Staying dry is not an option.

As a result, I dripped all the way to the elevator, left a puddle in the elevator, and then another puddle in the bathroom stall as I changed my pants and shoes. I had to wring my socks and pants out in the toilet, and they gave up more water to the porcelain gods than I normally do after my second cup of coffee.

I need a set of rain pants and wellies STAT. On the plus side, my coat only started to let water in when I arrived at my office, so that's a good thing. Nonetheless, you'd think I'd have been better prepared this fall, considering that I went through the same ordeal last year. But no.

In other news, we have a surprise house guest at our place. Yesterday afternoon, N came knocking at my door, looking at little confused. I opened up the screen door and a tiny black kitten zoomed in. N apologized, saying the cat had done the same thing to them, and had been removed with difficulty, as they had to go out (his parents are visiting from Moscow and so they're a little busy right now).

Andy and I put up signs and left a message with Heavenly Creatures, but until we hear back from someone, we've got a very friendly kitten staying with us. She's about six months old, black, with a white chest and white socks (ankle socks, if you want to get specific). She has an RC cat collar and a Hello Kitty tag, but whatever was on the tag has since worn off. If you look at the impressions left by somebody's ball point on the tag it looks like her name is Oalu or something like that.

She spent most of yesterday afternoon and evening asleep on my lap or playing with Andy, but then spent the majority of the night jumping on our faces in bed, until Andy locked her in my office, which is where she's been staying when we're not home.

I hope someone calls us soon. We're really not set up to be keeping a cat, and I don't want to just let her out and have her find her own way home, because we live on a busy street and there is a huge storm going on around us. I would feel so guilty if something happened to her, so I'd rather hand her over to her owners in person, or at least to some foster parents for her. I would love to have her stay, because she's so sweet, but Andy is very allergic and we have discovered that I am even a little allergic to her so it wouldn't be pleasant for any of us.

***EDIT***11:24 AM***

The cat's owner was on his way to the SPCA when he saw our street signs. He called and left a message, and Andy called him back on a break from class. He lives in the next block, next to our landlord, so he just walked over and picked her up. Apparently this is the second time Mrs. Oreo, as is her name, has escaped. He assured Andy that an engraved name tag was on order.

erm, help?

I feel more than a little overwhelmed at the moment.

Of COURSE I didn't do any of my homework while I was back in Ottawa, so that means that not only am I behind on my readings, but I'm also behind on my grant applications, and I have three totally different ones to apply to this year, with deadlines coming up soon.

I also got a letter from CRA the other night, with a reassessment notice for the moving expenses tax credit I applied for. So now I have to fill out a bunch of forms and make a bunch of copies and hopefully I'll get the credit. If not, then I'm just as poor as I was before.

I think Andy and I are suffering from post-nuptial depression - we sleep in wayyy too late these days and have a marked preference for carb-loaded foods. I also feel a little burned out, because our trip was anything but relaxing (despite being totally awesome). In any case, I keep putting things off - I barely made my phone bill payment in time because I didn't want to open the mail.

We did, however, write almost all of our thank you notes to well-wishers and gift-givers from the wedding. I think we have maybe three left to write, and that's only because we're waiting on the arrival of some pleasant surprises.

So that's one thing to check off the list.

In any case, I hope to be able to get back to a routine next week, when I'm back on a regular work schedule and Andy's at school on the days I have off. I just need to get back into the school groove.