Relativity

Daylight savings is the strangest phenomenon. The number of hours of sunlight doesn’t change, the numbers of hours in the day don’t change but somehow because enough people say it’s an hour earlier than it actually is, it suddenly is an hour earlier. Don’t you wish everything was that way?

Gasp

In Victoria it seems that leaves don’t turn red. They turn pink. Fall is always the most beautiful time of year…a brief window when leaves turn all shades of yellow, orange and red. Really, the trees are just holding their breath till the days get warmer. We gawk at them while they suffocate.

From The Moment I Could Talk I Was Ordered to Listen

Why can’t I remember our conversations? Did I never talk?

Foot in Mouth or Tongue in Cheek?

Yesterday during a budget proposal simulation, when asked why my group decided to cut funding to an economic diversification board for Quebec without making cuts from a similar board for Atlantic provinces, I likened making cuts to the Atlantic Canada board to cutting the third leg off a three legged dog.

Highly offensive…I know.

Elephant Graveyard

O.M.G.

I have no other way to exclaim about this than that. My apartment is the elephant graveyard for moths. I’m so sick of moths flying in here and dying. I’m so sick of having to apprehensively scoop them up on my dust pan (fearing that they will magically come to life and fly at my face) and take them outside. I can’t stand moths.

It May Be Years Until the Day

My dreams will match up with my pay

It’s days like this I have to say thank God…in the best way possible

V for

I’ve always been a pretty firm believer in the fact that most people learn all that they need to get by in life by the time they finish grade six. Basic operations, an understanding of basic sentence structure, and in Canada an introduction to French gives you pretty much all that you need. Also, given that our newspapers and most media outlets don’t use language that is beyond an 8^th grade level anyway, you could probably understand major issues and be pretty well versed in current events (if you cared enough to find out about them). So as happy as I was with the quality of my education up to grade six, one thing always baffled me. Ever since I started attending school in Canada, every year in math we would have a whole unit on estimation. I did it twice the year we immigrated because I was in grade three for half the year and grade four for the other half. They would always show us a picture of rows of corn and asked us to estimate how many ears of corn that the field would yield. Twenty thousand? Sixteen hundred? Fourteen? I never understood how one could come up with a number that was anything other than a complete shot in the dark and even though the teacher would always tell us there was really no such thing as a wrong estimation, I was sure there could be. Clearly, if I told my teacher that I thought there were four ears of corn in the picture I would be wrong.

Initially, this led me to make several attempts at actually counting the corn in the picture. But eventually, when my friends would skip off to recess after completing their work and I would be sitting inside trying to count the corn on my (badly) photocopied worksheet, I started to realize that my method wouldn’t do. So finally, I began to take advantage of the ‘Never wrong’ principle of estimation. The estimation unit of my math class suddenly got a whole lot more exciting, mainly because I realized as long as I stayed away from ridiculous extremes, the teacher really couldn’t tell me I’m wrong. So from then on, I used to finish my estimation work in a matter of minutes and with the time I had remaining I would do two things; gloat about how I had finished before everyone else and simultaneously feel guilty for ‘cheating’ and wonder if I was somehow I was setting myself up for failure by doing it. I think now, in grad school, it’s safe to say it hasn’t kicked me in the butt.

Pearson and/or Toronto and/or Life Hates Me

The day started at 5. I was leaving Toronto on a 7.30 flight the day after a show (and what a show!). I had left town on Friday to perform for assessors and all sorts of important people and after two shows it was time to come home. Of course, I was on the earliest flight possible–it was the cheapest. I left half an hour before I had to be at the airport thinking this would be adequate given that I was only on a domestic flight. How wrong was I?

After being bounced between different lines I finally landed in a line 5 minutes after my flight had begun boarding. After pleading my case, and several glares later, I got to an attendant who gave me a look of such utter distaste I felt the need to tell her how ridiculous Air Canada is…I was given a pinch by my mom who reminded me that this woman was the one that would decide whether I got this flight or had to hitch hike down the runway.

I was still okay…cursing Air Canada but fine, until I got to security. There was no way I’d get past it in 20 minutes. So I pleaded my case (again) this time it fell on unsympathetic ears (whose mouth told me that he couldn’t make exceptions for everyone). So just as I was about to turn around and give up on leaving Toronto when a lady in the next line offered me her spot in line. I made a noise that I can only describe as “mgah?” and then I did something horrible. As I said thank you my voice cracked…I knew it was over. And that’s when it started. I started crying…in front of the security people and the randoms in line and my confused (and highly entertained) mom. The woman in front of me asked me when my flight was, tears and all, I told her it was taking off in 20 minutes. She let me take her spot in line. This happened one more time until I was right at the front of the line. I’d just like to say at this point for anyone who ever sees someone crying in an airport, for Pete’s sake, don’t ask me what’s wrong, don’t tell me I look like I’ve been crying (duh) and DON’T give me that knowing smile!

Of course, security always believes I’m a terrorist, so after I retrieved my backpack and stuffed my feet into my shoes I started running to my gate. With the final boarding call being made overhead I made it just in time to see…the first attendant I saw when I came into the airport smiling at me. He took my passport (as I tried to wipe the tears off my face and regain my breath after my record breaking sprint) and said “You can calm down Miss. (insert last name), you’re here now”. It took all the control in the world not to knock him out.

I wish I could tell you that this was the end of my extreme mortification but I didn’t regain my composure until a heavily accented flight attendant tried to explain to me how to use the emergency exit. After she finished her shpiel she added “Oh, and before you open it just make sure there’s no natural disaster or emergency outside” which for some reason made me crack up. I laughed even harder when the Brazilian guy sitting next to me turned to me and asked me in broken English if I understood what she said, because he had no idea.

A story as epic as this deserved some passive voice (i know grammar nazi…shame on me)…especially considering I’m actually posting it.

Pet Peeves–It’s Starting Already

I hate people who say they can’t do math. “Yeah…I’m not good at the math-y stuff” “Eww math” and the like. Math is necessary. Everything is math. Here’s how I see it. Politics is really economics, economics is really psychology, psychology’s really biology, which is really chemistry, which is really physics, which is really math. (Really doesn’t sound like a word to me anymore). If you passed grade 8 you should know how to do basic algebra.

That is all.

Novelty

When am I going to stop  (incredulously) telling people I feel old?