::alio!::

so there was a little bit of a party . . .

. . . you can see pictures from it here.

Flickr update

Photos from Minda's birthday are up on my flickr. Also you can see some preliminary shots as Cait and I continue to experiment with my Hallowe'en costume.

new home

So I bought these shoes at Value Village two weeks ago for $5 because I loved them.

However, they don't fit me at all. I'm a 7, I suspect that they are a 6. They are too short and too narrow for me.

BUT I LOVE THEM. You don't find red genuine snakeskin pumps just anywhere. And the photo doesn't do them justice. They're a much deeper blood red than that.

So I'm looking for someone who will love them as much as me.

If you're interested, or know someone who would me, lemme know. They're FREE. Can't turn down free shoes. I just don't want to send them back to the store. They're too lovely for that.

(p.s. Sheri, I'm especially thinking of you here. You can't be as little as you are and not fit these babies.)

flickr!

So I bought myself a Flickr Pro account, which means that all those photos I uploaded a long time ago have reappeared on my site, and now I have no bandwidth limitations as to what I can send up there.

So I'm in the process of uploading a lot of old stuff, got some of it done today. So take a look at it, see what you think.

Other than that, these past few days have been very frustrating. I'm doing some transcriptions for a professor, and software troubles are driving me so batty I may have to forfeit the project - which is too bad, it pays good money.

So I'm spending my time organizing myself - hence the Flickr.

christ on crutches

No joke - I literally almost died about ten minutes ago.

I spent the evening with Andy and his brother Shannon, watching the Sens win (yay) and the Tigers lose (boo). By the end of the evening I was feeling a little sleepy, so I left to go home.

Everything was fine until I got on the Queensway.

There was construction, as usual, but I got past it, and moved into the slow lane, because I was getting off in two exits.

I'm driving a little faster than the guy in front of me, so when he brakes to get off at Parkdale, so do I.

I'm almost past the Parkdale exit when suddenly, from what seemed like out of nowhere (although really from the fast lane, behind me and three lanes to my left), this car appears directly in front of me, cuts me off, veers sharply to avoid those garbage cans full of sand at the edge of the exit, and heads off down the Parkdale exit road.

My first reaction was to brake like hell and then lean on my horn (which, in situations like this, I wish was more impressive).

You know, if I hadn't braked to allow some space for the first guy, I would have hit that second guy. I was doing about 120. He must've been doing 160 or better. It wouldn't be pretty.

My heart still hasn't stopped beating in my mouth. And I sure as hell ain't sleepy anymore!

undaunted

Hi Alison.

Unfortunately, the Alternate Routes editorial committee has decided not to recommend your paper for external review. However, our reviewers did enjoy reading your submission, and would encourage you to re-submit for another issue. I have included some of the general comments from our reviewers.

Thank you for your submission and interest in Alternate Routes.

[dudeguy]
On behalf of the Alternate Routes internal review committee.

Reviewer 1.

-very many good ideas throughout, but unfortunately, they remain underdeveloped. Lots of potential here.
-didn’t really find that she made the necessary theoretical links to make this article work. In order to tease out the link between hockey and nationalism, for example, I think she would have needed to really delve more deeply into the literature on nationalism. We are left with a summary of the importance of sport in national ‘ideologies’ and a bit of a manifesto on the importance of hockey in Canada. Importance in what? For whom?
-need to explore the role hockey plays in constructing a dominant national identity, but for many, hockey remains a hyper-masculine, deeply racialized space for the enactment of national identit(ies), not a universal...how to account for this?

Reviewer 2.

-I liked this paper, it's very well-written. The introduction was really strong although the conclusion could use some work.
-Her thesis statement states that she will consider three sports – baseball, football and hockey – but she doesn’t really cover the former two well and I think the paper needs more hockey.
-There is an extensive setting up of concepts and how sport contributes to national identity, but I think there needs to be stronger linkages made to hockey (the point of the paper) rather than leaving hockey to the end with some conclusive comments.

*****

Don't worry! I don't need commiseration or sympathy! Considering that this was my first ever attempt at publication and I merely chucked a pre-written term paper at it, this is very encouraging. In fact, if you wanna read it and give me some feedback of your own, let me know and I'll send it to you. So far only my mother and three profs have given it a look, so that's not very helpful.

Also, tell me your thoughts about the survey below!

other things that make you go hmm . . .

I made this up just now. Please fill it out for yourself - I'd like to read it.

****************************************************************************************************************

Things that make me sneeze: plucking my eyebrows, peppermints, sudden exposure to sunlight.

Things that make me cry: Bell telephone commercials, musical sports montages.

Things that make me angry: bad drivers, intolerance, stupidity.

Things that make me sick: reading in moving vehicles, Swiss Chalet.

Things that make me sleepy: prescription drugs.

Things that make me silly: hiccups, wrestling matches, sugar.

Things that make me remember: waves, seaweed, creosote, late-night marches, autumn, rain.

Things that make me happy: hockey, comfortable situations, being involved.

Things that make me think: cultural differences, gender relations, universal construction.

Things that make me react: injustices, pity, sharp motions, raised voices, falling objects.

Things that make me sit still: sunsets, rivers, conversation, apathy.

Things that make me hungry: fresh-baked bread, home-made pasta sauce, exercise.

Things that make me motivated: deadlines, sunny days.

Things that make me worry: the future.

Things that make me afraid: zombies, heights, deep water, the future.

Things that make me brave: my family, objects that centre me in the present.

Things that make me who I am: family and friends and a powerful imagination.

***************************************************************************************************************

In other news, I had the worst nightmare of my life a week ago. Andy was heading to Toronto and I had this dream and flipped out. Let's just suspend disbelief here for a second and let me tell you that I had some rather portentious dreams the night before my two grandfathers died, and before my first dog died. So, I wasn't really myself until he came back, but now I think I can tell you about it. I wrote all that I could remember of it in my diary, so here it goes:

16 October 2006
I had the worst nightmare of my life this morning. It was yesterday and Andy and I were planning a little trip for when he came back from Toronto, because I was disappointed not to be going with him. Just as I was about to finalize the trip on my computer, Andy came into the room and told me not to bother, as he'd just found out that he was going to die in a traffic accident before he even got to Toronto. There was no way to prevent it, so Andy said there was no point in telling anyone that we knew.

When I actually managed to wake myself up for real from that nightmare, I was as exhausted as if I HAD spent the day crying. That was at 530 this morning and let's just say I haven't felt fully at ease since . . .

Help!

I'm about to submit my very first article for publication. It's a paper that I wrote last term that I got an A+ for. I'm re-reading it to tweak it a bit and change the formatting, and I find it hard to believe that I wrote something that good. It doesn't even really seem as if I wrote it.

Wish me luck.

I'm also compiling a sports movie database. I was wondering if you could help me out. This is what I've got so far:

Sports Movies by Category

Baseball
A League of Their Own 1992
Angels in the Outfield 1951
Angels in the Outfield 1994
Babe, The 1992
Bad News Bears 2005
Bad News Bears 1976
Fever Pitch 2005
Field of Dreams 1989
Hardball 2001
Little Big League 1994
Major League 1 1989
Major League 2 1994
Major League 3 1998
Mr. 3000 2004
Mr. Baseball 1992
Pride of the Yankees 1942
Rookie of the Year 1993
Rookie, The 1990
Sandlot 2, The 2005
Sandlot, The 1993

Football
Any Given Sunday 1999
Friday Night Lights 2004
Longest Yard, The 1974
Longest Yard, The 2005
Radio 2003
Remember the Titans 2000
Replacements, The 2000
Rudy 1993
Waterboy, The 1998
We Are Marshall 2006

Basketball
Church Ball 2006
Coach Carter 2005
Glory Road 2006
Guarding Eddy 2004
Hoop Dreams 1994
Like Mike 2002
Love and Basketball 2000
O 2001
Slam Dunk 2005
Tournament of Dreams 2006

Hockey
Boys 2, Les 1998
Boys 3, Les 2001
Boys 4, Les 2005
Boys, Les 1997
Chicks with Sticks 2004
H-E-Double Hockey Sticks 1999
Hockey Girl 2002
Life After Hockey 1989
Mighty Ducks 1 1992
Mighty Ducks 2 1994
Mighty Ducks 3 1996
Miracle 2004
Mystery, Alaska 1999
Net Worth 1995
Slapshot 1977
Slapshot 2 2002

Golf
Greatest Game Ever Played 2005
Happy Gilmour 1996
Legend of Bagger Vance, The 2000
Tin Cup 1996

Soccer
Bend It Like Beckham 2002
Fever Pitch 1997
Goal! 2005
Kicking and Screaming 2005
The Greatest Game Ever Lived (?) 2006

Other
Cool Runnings 1993
Dodgeball 2004
Men With Brooms 2002
Murderball 2005
Rollerball 1975
Rollerball 2002

The italicized ones are the ones I own (yes, grand total of two). If you can think of any others, please let me know the title and year of production. And if you feel like buying any of these for me, I'm all for it! :D

Il Mare

I just watched The Lake House. If you watch the trailer on the website, it looks terrible, I know. Actually, the whole website looks like a piece of cheesy crap. But none of that blatant exposition stuff is in the movie at all. It's so subtle. The ending, while not a surprise, is nonetheless refreshing.

And you know what? I really like both Keanu Reeves and Sandra Bullock. In person, they are very compassionate and intelligent people, and I honestly think that their acting gets better with every passing year.

I actually think it was one of the most amazing movies I've seen in a long time. There's no weirdness about time travel, and everything that looks stupid about the trailer is missing from the piece. It's based on another film called "Il Mare." I think that if you hadn't seen the trailers at all you'd have better expectations.

I highly recommend it.

I bought shoes for the wedding today, with Caitlin. I got them at Town Shoes, along with a ridiculously sparkly brown pair, but they're both just in, and new on the line, so they're not featured on the website.

They were expensive, but not as expensive as I thought they'd be, and they're rather comfortable, which is a good thing.

In other news, I've been hearing back from those professors I wrote. Toronto is out, because everyone there appears to be retarded and one person even suggested I do my PhD in EXERCISE SCIENCE instead. AT YORK UNIVERSITY! I haven't heard much from the University of Michigan, but the people at Dalhousie seem to be very keen. There are about four professors who would be interesting in throwing caution to the wind and sticking out their necks for me, even though they aren't studying sports. So that's comforting - someone is willing to take half their time and maybe even some of their money from their own project in order to pay attention to mine. So some people do take me seriously. It's quite the ego-boost. I've also heard from my idol at Simon Fraser. He asked me plenty of questions. I hope I answered them well enough to impress him.

Also, I think I have an ear infection of some kind. I have had the same cold for the past month and a bit, and I think I've got fluid in my ears. I'm not hearing as well as I did before, and I'm having random episodes of vertigo (only very slight, mind you), every couple of minutes, or seconds, depending on what I'm doing. I should probably do something about that.

And that is life so far.

nostalgia

When I was in my last year of high school, I had the major hots for this guy who was younger than me (by two grades, no less!). Due to the indiscretions of some of my younger friends, this crush seemed to be a matter of public record. What was also interesting is that it seemed to be reciprocated, although we had hardly spoken two words to each other.

The night of my graduation, he came to the after graduation party. I had thought we were going to hook up, but I was accosted by someone else. Afterwards, I was on the dance floor. Having seen me making out with this other guy, my crush walked right in front of me, grabbed one of my friends that I was dancing with, and started making out with her. I think there was some point to be made, but I didn't really care at the time. He was hot, that was all that I was concerned about.

After the party, a bunch of us ended up at Dunn's, where I had the best coffee in my entire life, because that was exactly what I had wanted, and my date ate too many potato latkes (and no he wasn't offended that I'd made out with someone else - we'd gone as just friends, but I was the envy of everyone else because he was super hot and nice). My crush was also there, and, as he left, he looked at me through the window, and I looked at him. We nodded at each other, he walked away, and I turned back to my friends. I never saw him again.

So there was a large amount of mystique that built about this fella. He was very young, and I always wondered if his baby-face would get even better with age.

Last night, Andy and I were walking through the market, going to meet Cara and Will and Matt (p.s. Happy Birthday Matt!). Who do I see walking towards me with his girlfriend but my crush? I'd always thought that I'd seen him (because he is pretty generic, let's face it), but I was wrong every time. This time there was no mistaking it. I looked at him for a long moment before I looked away. I think he recognized me, too, but it's been a long, long time and I can't be sure. We both decided to play the stranger card and looked through each other.

But the best thing is that HE'S NOT HOT ANYMORE AT ALL! He got a couple inches taller, and it looks like his skin is stretched too thin. He resembles a really tall ghost, and that is not attractive.

*wins*

Begging

So I just sent the following letter to no less than 23 anthropologists and sociologists at the University of Toronto, the University of Michigan, Dalhousie University, and Simon Fraser University. I hope some of them bite, especially the one I sent to my sports anthropology idol at SFU:

Subject: Doctoral Studies in Anthropology at [Name of University]

Dear Professor:

I am currently completing the second year of my two-year MA Anthropology thesis program at Carleton University, in Ottawa, Ontario. I am considering applying to your university in order to study for my PhD, beginning in the 2007-2008 academic year, and I wonder if you would be interested in overseeing a project such as mine. I noticed, while looking through a list of faculty, that some of your interests match mine, to a certain extent.

I am interested in issues of masculinity and power in professional sports, and my specific focus is on the National Hockey League and its feeder programs.

Hockey is Canada’s national game, and its history and evolution have inextricably woven themselves into the Canadian ideology. Hockey victories are a matter of national pride; failures can be blamed on the problems of this complex sport.

There are many social problems, for example, associated with the socialization and professionalization of young hockey players. Boys as young as 12 years are shipped far away from home to train to be a pro the moment they display the potential to make it to the big leagues. This separation at a young age when boys are especially insecure about their identities and changing physiques results in severe homesickness in many cases. Young players combat this situation by identifying with the male-oriented, mother-absent environment of the locker room. A male coach presides as resident patriarch, and a dangerous hierarchy exists among players wherein the younger and more vulnerable are picked on and forced to conform to the often sadistic and misogynistic ideologies that exist in this environment.

The locker room has become a breeding ground for anti-social and deviant behaviour in young men. Athletes in male team sports, especially hockey and gridiron football, have been known to be more violent and more likely to abuse drugs, alcohol, teammates, and women. Recent court cases have shown that, once these socialized players become coaches themselves, they propagate this behaviour further, and, in some cases, their abuse of players has been seen as a criminal activity.

It is my hypothesis that the gradual re-introduction of women into the professional hockey system, starting in the pee-wee levels and moving towards the NHL as each cohort advances, will put a stop to the majority of this aberrant behaviour. Constant socialization with women in positions of authority and otherwise will enable young players to balance their ideas of masculinity and femininity, and will help to change how they behave towards other people, either male or female.

It is a rather complicated idea, and requires further explanation than can be delivered in a single email. I do hope, however, that I have given you enough information to consider my proposal. I look forward to being given the opportunity to outline my project and my passion for this field in greater detail.

Please take your time in considering this request, and thank you for your time. I hope to hear from you in the near future.

Sincerely,

Alison Bell
allythebell@gmail.com

Election 2006

I'm checking out the mayoral candidates for the 13 November election.

This guy is running. I feel like I probably know him, seeing as he supports my two favourite Ottawa bands. He's also got a neat Sony robots movie you should check out.

I'm prolly not going to vote for him.

So far, I'm behind Alex Munter. His platform is just common sense to me. He wants to make the city green, efficient, and friendly, and I'm all for that. Some of the others are pretty unrealistic.

As for councillors, I'm voting in the Kitchissippi Ward (which is basically Westboro and surrounding areas). I'm still torn as to who gets my vote. I want someone who is devoted to maintaining Westboro as a community in its own right, and who has a commitment to maintaining the public spaces in the community (such as parks and rinks, etc.). So I think I'm going to go for Gary Ludington, just because he actually goes into detail about what exactly he wants done with my little village. Besides, I voted for him in 2003.

And that's my story.

p.s. now I really want one of these. It's a pity that they aren't making them any more, and that they retail for a mere $40k US. Check out the Sony site for them, though - it's worth it.

two bits

Denis Hamel made the cut! Thank frikkin' god. I was so worried that he wouldn't get a chance after playing in Bingo all these years. I mean, he's 29, for crying out loud.

Also, I have a new favourite drink. It's club soda with a splash of lime or lemon. Just like Sprite, but without that cloying sweetness. Better than Perrier, which to me tastes bitter. Very refreshing.

addendum

also,

remind me NEVER to become a junkie.

withdrawal SUCKS.

I'm off the happy meds, if you didn't already know. problems with my heart rate and creativity and such.

the nightmares I can handle.

for the most part.

but the POUNDING migraines are something to which I am not accustomed. I would actually like at this point to take off my own head and put it in the freezer where it's dark and cold and silent.

alas, that would make things difficult.

instead, I will watch Pride and Prejudice.

gun battle

I had an absolutely terrifying dream last night/this morning. Every time I woke up from it and fell asleep again, I would go right back to the same place. Why can't that ever happen with the dreams where hot famous people and I go on steamy dates? Alas.

Anyway, I had injured myself somehow, and so had borrowed my mother's wheelchair and canes to get around. I was trundling merrily down this hill when I realized that I was entering a somewhat sketchy neighbourhood. Other than three black dudes with fros in wife beaters and jeans leaning against a pickup truck on blocks, it was deserted. They looked at me suspiciously, then approached me and began to harass me. I stood up from the wheelchair to confront them and they stole it. I tried to get it back and they nicked my canes, as well.

At this point, another black dude in a battered military-like blazer showed up with a gun. The wifebeater guys were afraid of him, but he wasn't a good guy there to save me. The four guys took off down the street after threatening me with the gun, and I was left on my own in this abandoned neighbourhood.

I began to walk, which was exceedingly painful, due to whatever injury it is that I had incurred upon myself.

It seemed like a few hours went by. It was now dark, and cold, and snowing heavily.

I had no idea where I am, but I kept walking. Eventually it appeared that I was approaching some sort of downtown core. My legs were in agony and I was freezing.

The place was in chaos. Cars were abandoned in the middle of the road, and some of the buildings were on fire. Broken glass and bodies littered the cracked pavement. In the light of the fires, all the people that I saw running around had an eerie, manic glow to their terrified faces. None of them stopped for long enough for me to talk to them, find out what was going on.

I saw this white girl with red hair and a puffy white opalescent jacket standing near a curb. She looked familiar to me. I knew that her name is Melissa. She was looking at a tiny silver gun in her left hand. I knew that she was contemplating suicide, and I could tell the moment that she changed her mind and decided to kill others instead. She disappeared before I could get through the crowd of panicked people that separated us.

I slogged through the slush that gathered on the ground, warmed by the fires and dirtied by the many passing feet. There was a pale car in the middle of the street ahead of me. A large black man, dressed as a policeman (although bearing a remarkable resemblance to the man who threatened me) stood beside it with a very small black boy, who was looking very frightened.

I approached the pair, and addressed the boy. "Are you lost?" I asked him. He nodded at me. "Me too," I replied, tears starting from my eyes. I began to tell the policeman about my experience with the guys who stole my wheelchair and canes. At first, I couldn't remember what they looked like, but then I remembered that the leader was wearing a jacket similar to that which the officer was wearing, although it was a very battered version. As I described the details of the jacket, a large crowd of white people run by. The officer, the boy, and I all turned to watch them go. I recognized Melissa's jacket in the crowd and I realized that what she was contemplating trumped my tale of petty theft.

I interrupted my story, screaming and pointing at Melissa's retreating back: "She's got a gun and she's going to kill people!"

The police officer turned to me and said, in a resigned tone, "Everybody's got a gun and is killing people. They've all gone crazy." He opened his jacked to reveal his revolver, and pulled it from its holster. He leveled the piece at me and suddenly Melissa appeared at my side. She overheard the whole exchange, and was not about to let the police man steal her first kill. She fired her tiny gun and the officer went down. The child ran, screaming, and was enveloped by the smoky darkness. Melissa hauled me by the elbow until we rejoined the streaming crowd. She pulled me across the flow and into a low doorway. We were headed for the subway with a group of about six other people. One of these was a small girl with brown pigtails. Her name was April, and she was remarkably calm for someone who was alone amongst armed lunatics. I suspected that she was either in shock or she was one of the armored crazies.

At this point the troupe was taken over by a very tall man. I could never really see him, because he was always behind me or above me or had his back turned to me. I knew that he was tall, and mean, and he intended to kill us all. The women in the group began to scream as the tall man forced us through the tunnels leading to the subway. He shoves us all in this hexagonal green wire elevator. There were no walls on two sides to protect us from gravity, and the floor was made only of black cotton. He activated the elevator and we were plunged into darkness. All we could see is one exposed wall in front of us, flying up past our eyes with astonishing speed as the bottom dropped out of the world and we tumbled into the unknown. As my stomach merged with my throat, I fell to my knees and clutched at the cotton floor. This flimsy surface was the only thing I could get my hands on. And a good thing, too. The elevator began to tip onto the side, and all who weren't holding on to something were thrown against the mesh. I closed my eyes in terror and prayed that I would not be thrown out of the moving elevator. After what seemed like forever, the elevator righted itself and slowly came to a stop at the bottom of this almost endless shaft.

I think that I fainted with relief, because when I awoke, I was on the floor of this basement, in a house that I knew was buried somewhere in the suburbs. I heard arguing, and turned to see Melissa and another man arguing with the tall man. They disagreed with his methods and thought that he should let me and the rest of them go. He didn't think so, and the argument escalated.

I tried to make myself as unobtrusive as possible and wormed my way along the floor towards the door, hoping they wouldn't see me and notice my escape attempt. But then April turned her head my way, and her movement attracted the attention of the tall man. In a few strides he was above me, shouting something I couldn't understand. I think my mind was still foggy from losing consciousness (in actual fact, this was one of the points where I had woken up and fallen asleep again). He stood over me, waving his gun and yelling. The gist of his words were that he couldn't justify letting me go if I didn't have the respect for him not to escape when his back was turned. He kicked me in the ribs and I rolled over onto my back. He lowered his gun to my chest, an inch from my heart.

He pulled the trigger.

The shock of the blast went through my entire body.

I had been shot.

I was dead.

Or was I?

In the split second after the shot had been fired, I realized that the tall man had unintentionally fired a blank. I wasn't sure if someone (Melissa) had secretly reloaded his gun or not, but I knew I had to continue to play dead if I had any chance of survival.

The tall man ordered April to check my vital signs to ensure that I was really dead. The little girl put her ear to my mouth as I held my breath. She put her hand on my breast to feel my heartbeat and I hoped that there was enough tissue there to muffle the vibration.

"Yep, she's dead."

Then they left me there.

For hours I lay still, trying not to move, not to breathe, hearing them move around me, make plans, and argue. I think I may have shifted a bit, because Melissa became suspicious. She began to poke me in the face, harder and harder. Eventually, it got so that I couldn't take it any more. I grabbed her wrist and opened my eyes, startling her. I motioned for her to keep quiet, and she realized what my plan was. She placed her palm on my forehead in benediction and said, loudly, "Rest in peace, Alison." Then she leaned forward to kiss my face and whispered in my ear, "You can go home, dear. You can go home now, at any time." I guess I had paid my dues, in her estimation.

She left me then, and I continued to lie perfectly still, only opening my eyes to slits every now and then, focusing on the large window in front of me, waiting for the night to come, when I would have the chance to escape.

I must have fallen asleep, because then I woke up.