::alio!::

my new monitor

Oh Wayner. So constantly thoughtless it's predictable.

A few years ago, my monitor at the office began to die. Wayner denied there was a problem with it, even though everything on the screen would display in two colours: cyan and magenta. Eventually, when it began to flicker and turn itself off for long periods, thus cutting down on my productivity, he finally decided that a change was due.

So he bought Jennifer a new computer.

I got her old crappy monitor.

Now Wayner's monitor has died. A week ago, he told me he was going to buy himself a flat screen monitor. I told him that, no, he should buy ME a flat screen monitor, because my monitor is so heavy I'm afraid it will collapse my shoddy desk at any second, and it's so big that it is very little more than one foot from my face. He agreed that it was a good idea. He would buy ME the monitor and then he would take mine, as, he said, he didn't use the computer as much as I did, so it wouldn't matter what kind of screen he had, as long as it worked.

So today Wayner went out to buy a new monitor. It's very pretty. I can see it if I stand at Wayner's office door and look at his desk. Because that's where it is.

No mention at all of me getting a new monitor. So if I go blind from eye strain or suddenly report two broken legs, don't mind me. It's the new monitor that's bugging me.

*sigh*

At least it's Friday, I'm leaving in fifteen minutes, and Lisa and Nate are in town for my express amusement. Have a good weekend, folks!

trouble brews

Big Trouble in Little China.

I had a minor mishap in class today which has left me seething with righteous indignation. Below is an email I have just written to my supervisor, in the event that I get in trouble for this thing.

Hi Brian,

I'm writing this to you because I think there may be repercussions to it, but I kind of lost my cool before my discussion group today (Thursday). Not at any of the students, mind you, but I feel I should explain.

In TB 219 [Tory Building, Room 219], the room you had booked for me to have my groups in, there is a language class, either Mandarin or Cantonese, right before the group.

Classess are supposed to finish at 425 and be out of the room by 430, especially if there are people waiting to come in, right?

Well, consistently since the beginning of the discussion groups, this class hasn't finished on time at all. They are usually still talking at 435 and take at least ten minutes to get themselves out the door. My discussion groups aren't very long, and this cuts severely into our time, much to both the students' and my irritation. The language students then have a tendency to congregate outside the door, talking very loudly, for a long period of time. I have asked them on more than one occasion to leave.

I have tried, in the past, walking in and addressing the class there (while looking directly at the professor, who ignores me completely) by saying something like, "Guys, if you don't mind? I have a class to teach now." Of course, this was to no avail. I was completely disregarded.

More recently, I have taken to ushering my students into the room at about 435, plopping my stuff down on the front desk, and staring at the students and teacher until they slowly meander out the door.

Today, something snapped.

I arrived at the room at about 427 or so, and found the class still in session, and some of my students already waiting outside the door. They rolled their eyes at me and I went to the washroom, hoping the class would be out by the time I returned. They weren't.

So I walked in as usual, and plonked my stuff down on the table, and then assumed a very irritated pose, crossing my arms and looking around at the students, who were still chatting, sitting at their desks, talking to the professor about inane subjects -- you name it. I addressed the class, finally, rather loudly. I think I said something along the lines of, "Would you PLEASE get out. I have a class here. NOW."

Some of the language students passed me and gave me dirty looks as they wandered out. There were three others at the back of the class who appeared not to have heard me at all. I moved to the door and held it open for them, staring at them. When they finally glanced up, I made a sweeping gesture towards the door as to usher them out (it was about 440 at this time). I got some giggles from my students, but very little notice from the other students, who finally left, only to join a gaggle of students already there, who were discussing how rude I was being. They were assembling a plan to harass me by talking very loudly outside the door, and not leave.

The phrase I kept hearing was, "how rude!" This is when I got angry. In a mocking tone, I said, "how rude!" myself, and slammed the door. I sat down at the table and the students and I agreed that we were tired of them taking up so much of our time. I apologized to the students present for being angry, but they told me I was justifiably so.

But the language students didn't leave! They remained outside the door, peering in at me as I sat there. I even heard the professor say, "I don't CARE what time it is, that was very rude!"

ME! Rude! When I had tried so many times to be polite!

In any case, I have a sneaking suspicion that she will probably confront me when I hold my last group there next Thursday, and, even though I still feel like I was not in the wrong, I would like to avoid a squabble between a professor and a lowly TA, because I have a feeling I will not come out on the winning side.

I think I will just ask the two students who come next week if we can meet somewhere else instead. We've been discussing meeting soemwhere else to observe groups in behaviour, anyway, so this might be an easy solution.

I just thought I'd let you know, just in case this professor finds out whose class it was and contacts you.

I hope I did (more or less) the right thing. If you could let me know, that would be great, and set my mind at ease.

- Alison

schubert's first goal

Hoo. Rah.

Because I so rarely go into allyrxntz mode these days, you'll have to indulge me if I take a little dip into the old dark side and bring out my colour analysis of tonight's game.

First of all, my heart goes out to the Neil family. Last night, Chris Neil's mother was driving in bad weather when she was involved in an accident. She did not survive.

Kudos, however, to Christoph Schubert, Neil's replacement. Although a natural defenseman, Schubert played left wing tonight, and had a pretty breakaway, and then scored his first NHL goal on his second try. Very impressive.

The booby award (that I used to give out back in the day when I kept my own play-by-play) goes to Jason Spezza, who was so keen on scoring that he lost his footing and had to be caught around the arms by Redden, laughing his ass off, in order to be congratulated by his teammates.

More kudos go to Alfie, who tried really really hard to be gritty tonight and almost succeeded, and to Schaefer, who had the chance to be a show-off when he had the empty net in front of him, and instead took his time going up there, and only shot at the last moment because he would have looked dumb if he hadn't.

I was worried about the officiating tonight -- and I had grounds to be anxious. Marouelli (sp?) seems to be against Ottawa. I'm wondering if he's not in someone's pocket -- his calls are always one-sided. But he was all right tonight -- didn't see him much.

Final score: Ottawa 5, Carolina 3.

What else did I do today? Not much. Deciding not to go to school today (I could get away with it, so why the hell not?), I was instead torn from my cozy bed at 9 this morning to drive Andy all over hell and begone to pick up his new XBox 360 (NERD!). Then he set it up while I cleaned his room, in order not to be set upon by those damned vicious dustbunnies.

Then I went to work at 4 so I'd be home in time for the game, and spent the two hours my boss was there being irritated by him, much like yesterday. Alas. He's a pain.

Then I came home. Now I am here. Tada.

Only three more papers to mark before my deadline on Thursday. Then I get fifty more to do! Yip-frikkin'-pee.

Later.

opposites attract

I have two "types." You know what I mean by types. Someone's either your type or not. That's how it goes.

My types are for men. I don't think they apply well to women, but as yet I haven't met a woman that I wanted to be romantically involved with, so I'll have to let you know about that.

My first type is tall, skinny, dark hair, big nose. Basically, the Pie to a T.

My second type is . . . actually, it's really only an exception to the first type. Marian Hossa is shorter (although 6'1" isn't all that short), stockier, and very very blonde. But oh so pretty!

Okay, so I have one type.

But my POINT is

That I'm starting to see how other people's types are attractive to them.

What I mean is that when I see people I know with other people, I can see what attracted that person to them in the first place, and vice versa. I can see how other people's types work for them.

It's very interesting.

That's all I really had to say. Hockey tonight. I wonder if I can capitalize on my points streak. I had (I think -- it's not exactly written in stone) two or so assists in the first game I played, and I had a goal and about four assists in my second game, which gives me seven points in two games, which gives me a PPG (points per game) average of 3.5, which is PFA (pretty fucking amazing).

Thus,

Out.

edict

Proclamation the First:

HAVEN'T YOU PEOPLE HEARD OF BIRTH CONTROL? I can't handle this mass procreation that's going on these days. Well, at least it gets the pressure off my back.

Proclamation the Second:

I got to work at 5:30. This means I can be home in time to watch Jacques Martin's return as the prodigal son to Ottawa. I want to see how the fans receive him. I hope they're smart enough to applaud.

Proclamation the Third:

It really is true about being nice to people (Golden Rule, yahda yahda yahda . . .). The clients for whom I went to trial were here when I got in. These people fight with everyone. When they get angry (and they have very short fuses) it's a spectacle that involves so much yelling and swearing you'd think there were fifteen of them instead of just two.

But these guys LOVE me. They were a little wary at first, but then they saw me come in on weekends for them, they saw me organize their case so that Wayner could present it logically, they saw me sitting next to them day after day while we were at trial for a month. And I always smiled.

I think I may have won myself some allies in the world, although I don't know how much use it will be. T is an enormous Jamaican man, and we have fun discussions about Rastafarianism and the like. He gives me fliers for his reggae shows that he produces. M is tiny tiny, but with a four-letter vocabulary the likes of which I have never seen before, and will likely never see again. But she never swears at me, or yells. I'm one of the few people who gets to see her smile. She and I are almost the same age, and I think that helps.

While we were at trial, during the shorter recesses, we would sit together and wait for Wayner to do something, or we would sit in the car together on the way home and be social. It was awkward, but I tried to keep the conversation light and away from contentious issues. M and I would discuss how stupid men were (funny how I told her about the Pie but have never mentioned him to Wayner), and T and I would talk about music. I was almost a sort of comic relief (this trial was very stressful, arduous, and ultimately dissappointing for our clients), and I think they appreciated that. It shows in how they treat me now, while we're working on their appeal (while they are not necessarily undeserving of the judge's decision, Her Honour certainly did not give our case an objective review).

That pleases me.

look both ways

I was going to post yesterday, but I didn't, and now I've forgotten what I was going to say. Oh, I've just remembered, but I'll mention it in a minute, if I still remember it then.

It was either in the early spring or the early fall. I'm not sure when, but I know it was a point when I was working part time at the office, because I wasn't there for coffee.

Wayner and Sheri headed across the street to Starbucks for their daily jolt (American university goers will understand my reference there). It being a nice day, they decided to sit outside and enjoy the sun. There are always plenty of sparrows hanging around, waiting for the plethora of crumbs that fall at their feet. They'd never caused a problem until this one particular day. A little tiny sparrow was hopping along near Wayner's legs when it decided to make a small "chirp!"

Apparently, Wayner FLIPPED out.

"WAAH!"

And I'm talking the kind of flipped out when you discover that there's an army ant crawling up your leg and you do that little dance where you frantically (and ineffectually) try to remove the tiny creature from your person.

Needless to say, he scared the crap out of the bird.

Poor thing.

(I mean the bird)

His excuse (while Sheri was frantically trying not to pee herself laughing) was something like (and I am writing this in Wayner's tone of voice when he gets defensive), "that BIRD. It was just so LOUD."

Why do I always miss the moments of superb stupidity? It's like I'm cursed.

Anyway, Sheri figured that God was going to get her for laughing at him that day (behind his back, of course).

And God got her. This morning.

I was in the process of leaving a message on a client's voice mail. The recording had just ended, but I got interrupted. So the poor secretary who got the messages would have heard something that sounded like a dull splat in the background, then me saying "ooop!" and hanging up.

Let me explain.

Today we received a shipment of paper.

Paper comes in a large box, and usually sits on the floor near my desk, in this little nook, until we deal with it and put it away.

Today, I was too busy to push it into the little nook, and I remember thinking, as I stepped over it to go into Sheri's area where the fax machine is, that someone (likely me) was going to trip over this if I didn't move it. But I didn't move it.

Sheri was having a busy day as well. Some other solicitors hadn't registered a discharge as she'd asked and then called her with some stupid question, so she had to photocopy some sheet and send it to them with a letter about how stupid they were (but in legally polite terms). She made it over the box the first time to the photocopier, which is in my area, but I guess she was so busy staring at her piece of paper in a disgruntled manner and muttering that she didn't make it back.

The next thing I know, I hear this sort of thumping splat as Sheri hits the tile floor. And when she tripped, I don't mean she went down on one knee. This girl was flat on her face, artfully arranged like somebody's chalk outline stencil. I looked over just as her shoe rolled gently to a stop next to my desk.

Wayner practically fell over himself in his surprise, shouting "OHMYGOD!" and trying to pull her up, a maneouver that failed to work, as Sheri was studiously picking herself up without his help.

Luckily, she wasn't hurt at all, not even a bruised knee. So we could laugh. AND LAUGH.

It was just as good as the day that Jennifer tried to pull two heavy boxes out from under my desk and the cardboard gave way just as she gave the hardest tug, causing her to shoot across the room on her butt, and Wayner to shoot out of his meeting with a client, coming into the room all concerned only to find us unable to breathe from laughing so hard, Jen still on the floor, knees up and skirt in disarray.

Or the time I sat on the folding stool and the metal buckled, making me feel like I weighed ten tonnes as I slowly sank to the floor, still typing.

Oh, office humour.

On a less cheerful note, I've been thinking about human relationships often recently. I mean, yes, it's my thesis topic, so it's supposed to be on my mind. But I like to sit back and reflect on certain interactions amongst my own group of friends.

I'm not going to post about any specific examples here, just because I know some of you read this (and it's really none of your business what I think about you), but I do think about why people do what they do, and my knowledge of you guys enables me to understand some of those reasons, based on my understanding of your various backgrounds, families, and motives.

One thing that I've always found odd is that implicit friendship protocol. This came to light recently, as I came in possession of some information that I was told to pass on (although ostensibly keeping the secret at the same time) to another friend, even though the person who gave me the information could have passed on the same much more expediently and far sooner than I could have, possibly avoiding the current unfortunate situation. But protocol dictated that I had to be the intermediary. Isn't it odd how things like that work?

Sometime, when you're talking to someone about someone else, or about each other, and one of you says, "but I can't do that," and the other person says, "oh, obviously," and you both nod at each other because you know why -- do you really have a concrete reason WHY? Or is it totally unconscious? Think about that for a spell. Then come talk to me.

Outtie.

look mom, I'm gordie howe!

Just got home from my game. There were four whites and three reds, and I was on the red team. We played three on three with a spare for the other guys for a solid HOUR. I'm stretching as I type, and I'm going to be sore tomorrow.

I did, however, score a Gordie Howe hat trick tonight. For those neophytes in my diminuitive audience, that means a goal, an assist, and a fight. I had a couple of assists, actually, but when there are only three of you, it goes without saying that you had something to do with all the goals.

I fought Greg. He was being a showoff. So we fought as the game went on without us.

And my goal? Quite funny. People were just kind of skating around, and I took the puck, shouted, "Okay, I'm going to do my breakaway now. Here I go . . ." And skated up and scored. I do the breakaways because everyone else is too tired to catch me. It's not that I'm fast or Havlat or anything.

I'm just Gordie Howe.

Busy few days. Still trying to sort out this computer of mine.

Went out with Minda on Wednesday. We had a LOT of catching up to do. We also ended up splitting a bottle of Wolf Blass Chardonnay.

Thursday I skipped out on part of one lecture and the entirety of the other, and Matt and I each had three pints and then I taught a class while inebriated. I think it was one of my better classes. Short, as always, but I made them laugh, so that's something. And it was because I was witty, not because I was drunk. Don't you get that into your head.

Then I went to work in that post-drunken state, where you're all cotton-headed and inattentive. And I had a lot of work to do. And I had a conversation with my boss. Luckily, it all turned out for the best.

No drinking tonight. I'm just tired.

Tomorrow? Caitlin is coming over in the morning to fix ze computer, then I'm going to TRY to do homework in the afternoon, then it's my grandmother's NINETY-SIX BIRTHDAY in the evening. Legally, her birthday is today, but there's a scratch on her birth certificate and so she's been living under the impression that her birthday is tomorrow for about ninety-five years. We told her last year that there was a mistake, but she doesn't care.

I'm going to go howe (hahah, that was a typo) HAVE a shower now.

Peace out.

rain and radiohead

It's raining. I always like it when, for once, I get to be home on a rainy day, and I get to sit at my desk, all cozy-like, and watch it all come down. I'm really enjoying having the computer in my bedroom. Too bad it won't last. Unless I buy my own sometime soon.

What am I writing about today? Music, mostly.

I came across this band recently, by listening to the London UK station XFm. The band is called ELBOW, and they sound like a cross between Coldplay, Wolf Parade, and U2 (actually, one of their songs, "Scattered Black and White," uses the same chord progression as in one U2 song), but they're way better. Really mellow.

I'm also really kicking myself for giving Stefan my Radiohead CDs. Why? Because I've finally come to understand Radiohead, ten years behind the rest of my generation, I know, but now I get it and I LIKE IT.

Alas.

there was drinking

Yeah yeah yeah, I know it's been a while. Calm the fuck down. Sheesh. You'd think that reading this is all you do, for Pete's sake.

Really, though, I got nothing. I'm only posting because I felt guilted into doing it. Nothing has happened.

Well, I suppose that's not entirely true.

Went out for a major drinkfest with Greg and Andy and two friends from school, Matt and Glenn.

In any case. Drinkfest. There was drinking. And Jagerbombs, whatever cracked-out concoction those were.

Then . . . ?

The floors are being re-done in my house, and my mother's studio is moving into the computer room and vice versa, so there's everything everywhere, which means the computer is in my room, for now -- until I fix it. Andy and I had some progress today, but there's plenty left yet for me to do.

And . . .

My cousin and his wife (see the wedding stuff on Flickr) just bought a house three blocks from us, AND Erika is pregnant. Weehoo! I love babies as long as they're not mine.

And.

That's it. No funny anecdotal references to my crazy so-called life. Sorry. That's it that's all.

Out.

hooky and hockey

So, I kind of skipped out of work early last night to go to the Pie's and watch the game. It was very stressful. The game, I mean. Of the SEVEN penalties the refs handed Ottawa, SIX of those were really bad calls. I mean really bad. It was like Philly all over again, except this time we won. Very stressful.

On the subject of stress, things are going okay right now, for the record. My new lightbulb is working wonders and I feel pretty good these days. I'm also not feeling pressured by anyone else to get married, but am only stating what they've said. I try not to listen to things people tell me.

Why am I saying all this? JonBoy (bless his little heart -- but where's your blog, Jon?) sent me a drunken email last night. I'd post it, but it would embarrass him and turn him redder than he already is (if such a thing is possible).

So yes, suffice to say that, although the heat is on, it's all good.

Oh, and I have a new reader. I think that brings my regular audience up to -- oh -- six? Not bad, not bad at all.

Still having bad dreams, though, despite not being on any caffeine or tranquilizer.

The night before last I dreamt that my parents were moving and didn't tell me until the last minute. I have this dream often, except the houses are different and so is the reason for moving, but it's always the same. I bought a lot of books by Freud and Jung recently for one of my papers, so let's try some psychoanalysis, shall we?

I always move. I was born in Halifax, moved to England when I was one, back to Halifax when I was three, to a different house when I was five, to Victoria when I was eight, to Ottawa when I was thirteen, to a different house the same year, to my current house when I was sixteen.

Okay, so it's been a while since I left this city (nearly eleven years, actually, the longest I've ever lived anywhere). Each move, though, has had its share of difficulties.

So am I afraid of moving?

This dream has only been recurrent in the past year or so, however. I think it's more to do with the fact that I DESPERATELY want to move out on my own.

Maybe.

Anyway, last night I had two dreams, and both were stressfull, like the two dreams I had the night before (I won't tell you the other one -- it was disturbing -- I rescued a small child from a sexual abuse scandal). I don't remember one of the dreams I had last night, which is unfortunate, because I remembered it this morning.

But the other one was about hockey. My first game of the year is tonight at Belltown. I still can't stop on skates, and this bothers me. Anyway, my dream was that I got to Belltown to discover that the city had put a billion dollars into that tin can and it had seating like that at the Corel Centre, and everyone I knew was there to watch me play. Even people from high school. I ran into my coworker, Sheri, and she and her husband and daughter were heading for the top row of stands to cheer me on. Way to expose my inadequacies to the entire world, right? I went into the changeroom, only to discover it had been redesigned as a very large walk-in closet, where every player had her own full closet to put her stuff in.

Then I discovered I had forgotten my bag. Yes. I'd neglected to bring the 40lb sack that's the same size as me. Just slipped my mind. I had my skates and my stick and my gloves, but no uniform.

It was getting late, and I was afraid I would miss my ice time if I went home and got the stuff. I was also having a lot of trouble getting my skates on. Then I did a neat trick, one that I've never successfully done in dreams. I remember thinking, "Let's say I didn'tforget my bag, and it's right before me." And I looked down and there it was.

I was still struggling into my equipment when Sheri came down, dressed in hockey pants and skates, to tell me that I was too late and that she had replaced me, and then I woke up.

politically incorrect

My cooking made a political statement tonight.

In my preparation of the baked "homefries" I am making for my dad's birthday dinner, I was stirring up the potatoes and their seasonings in a bowl when one of the little raw fries escaped.

I labelled it a "freedom fry."

My mother didn't laugh, but I did, and so did my dad.

Is it ironic that it escaped from the bowl only to land on the baking sheet that was to mean its untimely demise?

Eat THAT, Mr. Bush.

here comes the sun

How come the last four months of the year all end in "-ber"? Did they run out of suffixes?

And how come the word "suffix" is so cool?

Don't mind me, I'm not on crack.

Took a mental health day yesterday. I really needed it, and I hadn't done it in years. I feel so much better today than I did before. Might have something to do with the new NEODYMIUM full spectrum lightbulb that Pie gave me. We shall see if it works.