A Check-in

Can anyone believe we're three months into the year? I can, but it still seems pretty unreal sometimes. I thought I would do a bit of a check-in because a lot is happening in and around my life lately. Vita and Rena, if you would like to follow this sort of format and let us know what's going on in your lives at the moment, I would like that as I'm most curious.

Calgary
I just got back from visiting my Katima-sister in Calgary. Have I explained this? Katimavik is basically a government sponsored program wherein youth from 17-21 from different parts of Canada and social and economic backgrounds go to a different province and live in a house with 10 other participants. They volunteer in the community. They practice their second language. They do stuff.
I visited the Katima-house during their 48 hours off and had a generally swell time. Calgary is cold. My sister is very cool. That's all I have to say on the subject.

Canadian Politics
I'm not sure how savvy you guys are with our political system but in a nutshell, our federal government operates by having geographical ridings elect a MP (Member of Parliament) and whichever party has the most MPs elected forms the government whether it is a minority or majority government. Since 2006, the Conservatives have held a minority government which basically means they have more MPs than any other party but (largely because there are more than two parties) they do not have more MPs than all the other parties combined.
Hopefully that's not too confusing.
On March 26, Stephen Harper, despot of the Conservative Party, called an election for May 2nd. I am going to be taking part in this election with a larger role than usual, as the Youth Coordinator for my riding's Green Party representative. I'm not sure what exactly this job entails and I'm pretty politically jaded but I'm doing it and it's going to be a bit of a commitment for the next month. So I thought you should know.

BEDA 2011
I'm not sure what Maureen Johnson's stance on Blog Every Day April 2011 is but I am in. I'm not doing Script Frenzy this year, mostly because it was an unenjoyable nightmare last year* so my time is freed up. Well, not really, but I'm willing to set aside the daily quota of each day to write a blog. Most of these will be at my personal blog, The Corner Notes, but I will be trekking over here on Sundays and Thursdays as per usual. I'm also going to try to be more active on other blogs, reading and commenting. ¡Viva la revolución comentario!
Is anyone else participating? Let me know in the comments and I will try to follow along with support! Let's do this!

The Writing Scene
Still working on my novel. Slowly. I'm writing a bit of poetry these days, too, but most fresh and exciting: SONG WRITING. Yes, I have indulged in the studied art and I'm loving it. My songs aren't good but they exist and I think that is too cool. I don't really have anything else to say about this; I just wanted to share.

The Future
I'm pretty stoked about it.

*As opposed to those enjoyable nightmares, of course.

thoughts from Calgary

Lately, I've felt like expectations and disappointment go hand in hand. Always. I simultaneously hold the beliefs that you cannot be truly happy without looking forward to things and also that disappointment only keeps the company of people who are excited about something. Vulnerability is the key to both soaring happiness and crushing disappointment. Excitement makes you vulnerable.

Well, I'm excited about life. I'm excited to be alive and to wake up three times in one night after only an hour of sleep each time on a bus that is curving dangerously along scary mountain roads in the dark. I'm looking forward to my birthday and the summer and tomorrow and the rest of my life, however long that turns out to be. I take pride in the fact that I don't get bored. Why bother, when there is so much to do and be and experience? Why waste one second of this precious existence on the demon of boredom?

Sometimes, though, I'm on that bus with a bunch of strangers who are going different places but still united in some strange, unexplainable way. And sometimes we're leaving home and we cross imaginary lines into places where the sky is hidden my grayness and the only adjective in our minds is 'bleak'.

Calgary is nice enough. There are heated bus shelters and tons of statues and gathering places and I'm jealous of these things. There are shopping areas trendy areas and hip areas--not to be confused with each other. There's bridges and parks and a mostly frozen river. My sister seems to know her way around so well and it scares me a little. When I was too far away to be watching, this city became a part of her and it's strange to see that. I love it, witnessing this life of hers that I'm not a part of, but it's hard, too.

I wondered alone on Friday as my sister was at work in her Eco Store. This was after a fourteen hour bus ride and three unconsecutive hours of sleep but I'm young and somehow I kept walking. The air bit into my face and I couldn't help the question that was reverberating around my mind: why would anyone want to live here?

That's harsh and you should feel free to misunderstand me but the climate is just so incredibly hostile. The snow and frost has it's own beauty of course but I simply can't comprehend why anyone would want to make their life here.

And that's the weird thing about people and nature and our relationship with each other. For the most part, we make it work. We choose impossible places to live and breathe and sleep and we deal with it and we get used to it and nature doesn't bend or give in or fold to our will. We coexist, and us humans think we have some sort of authority but it's all just make believe. All we can do is work around our environment and pretend we're in control.

Every person I passed on the sidewalk became a mystery. I marvelled at their purpose and reason for being here. They weren't 'just people' who I passed by without looking at their faces and never thought of. They were puzzles, each of them going somewhere, each of them with their own path and destination and reason to be here, in this city of contradictions.

People are complex. We get on buses and travel in the same direction for a while but we're all going somewhere different. We live in cold places and it slowly becomes normal. We separate from our familie's and we reunite and we're constantly learning and changing.

That's about it for now.

And yet, you have the sophistication of a 13 year old...

Can I just say that Seventeen ought to win a prize for the most flamboyantly irritating use of italics?

Also, for giving the worst flirting advice? Ever? (Other than Ask Amy’s famously horrible advice on how to get divorced women to stop talking about their past marriages — and I quote — “When you’re out on a first date and your date talks about her ex, you reach across the coffee shop table, place one hand, gently, across her lips and soulfully say, ‘Please — let’s not tell each other our sad stories…’ And then you change the subject.”)

Also, for interviewing a slew of (albeit vaguely similar) youngish celebrities and actually managing to painfully extract the same damn sentences from each of their mouths, concerning either: a) how much they love boys or b) a sloppy attempt at appearing feminist by talking about how happy they are to be single and to discover themselves…

And I’m like, um, a) stop treating boys like accessories; they’re half of a human couple, not your plus-one, and b) if you wanted to promote female independence then maybe you could fucking interview them about themselves and not their love lives.

Like basically the only good thing they do is encourage girls to not be anorexic but like seriously now.

I realize that I could very easily ignore all of Seventeen’s silliness and never complain about it again but seeing as my subscription doesn’t run out for another month or so the stupidity starts to aggravate me.

Friday, Friday, getti---no

Tonight, tonight, the world is full of--obnixious people would don't use their turn signals and then scream obscenities at you for giving a light tap on your horn--light.

Yes, that's right, I have officially been initiated as a driver of the world: someone told me to 'fuck off.' My reaction: bemused incredulity*.

That's basically all I have for you today. I have to go. I'll be getting on a bus tonight to Calgary to visit my lovely sister. I'm trying not to think about the 14-hours-on-a-bus-trip thing. I'm focusing on the joy of seeing my nearly estranged sister.

I'm planning to write a Thoughts from Places-esque blog while I'm away so you can expect that on Sunday. I'll probably have some time to get online, otherwise, expect it next Wednesday which is when I'll be back.

Have a wonderful day/life/week. See you on the other side of the Rockies.

*Whenever one has the chance to use the word incredulity, one must use it.

To Help

To quote Bre Bishop, "What is this? Where am I?"

Hai y'all.

I've decided I want to do something important with my life. I want to rise to the challenge. It's never been necessary before but I feel ready for it now. Just a couple short years ago the thought of graduation made me quake in my boots, but I'm not scared anymore. I'm rarin' to go. I don't want to wait and wither and waste.

I don't hate Maryland, I don't hate my friends (quite the opposite, in fact) or acquaintances, and I don't even hate my school, really. I'm just done with it. In actual fact, it's difficult to convey how much the notion of trudging through another year of high school depresses me.

Anyhoo, the point is that I'm seriously reconsidering my future. I still want to go to college but I don't want to stay in this tiny little cocoon of a life. I need to become a butterfly. This metaphor needs to stop. That's how it goes. The thing is, I've realized that the last thing (well -- after, like, a math degree or a plethora of horrible career paths, really) I want to do is to earn a degree in Learning how to Analyze Literature and Speaking Pretentiously about it*. It's not even that I have disdain for artsy degrees. Actually, if you want to go be a history of philosopher major so you can pursue your sole job option, being a history of philosophy professor, go right ahead. That cycle won't work for me, though.

I'm so out of touch with problems in the real world. I mean, Libya, Egypt, Japan -- the latest country with a crisis -- they're just concepts, really. Sure, I feel enraged about murders in one and deaths in another but I can easily close a depressing web page. Sure, I can donate a few dollars and feel like I've done something, but I haven't got any closer to the problem. Do you know how I feel, how I honestly feel, about Libya right now? Not disgust, not shock, not horror. I feel annoyance. Yeah, a video might ignite some more passionate feelings for a few minutes, but overall, I'm simply fed up with the regime there. Rather than feeling horrified, I feel like I want to kick Gaddaffi in the balls for being such an asshole. And do you know why, the actual, only reason why? Because I see horrible things portrayed so often, in fiction, in the news, that I become desensitized to it. It's not that I'm emotionless; it's that horrible, awful videos have little long-term effect on me. I know that this brutality here or that natural disaster there is terrible, but I can't feel moved enough to really, truly do something to help. I feel like, sometimes, there's little point of helping this one disaster relief, because something worse is going to happen a week later anyway. That reaction scares and angers me to the point where I feel that I'm only ever going to be truly happy with myself and I'm only going to be worth my place in the world if I actually go out and do hands-on work with real, live people. I don't want to sit behind some desk somewhere and write pamphlets about how we should do this-and-that. I want to touch the hurt. I want to put the bandages on using my own hands.

Raising money is great. But it doesn't really put me any closer to helping people. I might do a walk-a-thon, I might start a bake sale, but what am I doing, really? Am I making any sacrifices? No. Am I innovating better technology? No. Am I interacting with people in need, realizing that they're the ones in charge, not some omnipotent western savior? No, I'm not, and that's a problem.

However, it's incredibly important that I don't patronize, invade, influence, coerce, overstep boundaries in the process. (I'll elaborate on that on Friday.)

*I apologize for mocking you, English Lit degrees. You're not even ridiculous, really.

Describing People: a writing post

Today I am going to set aside the latest franchise castings and social commentary and instead talk to you about an aspect of my writing. Last night, I had a bit of a breakthrough on the novel front. I'm not sure where it came from but I completely loved where it went. As a result, I am feeling a bit invigorated and ready to go and rewrite. But before that, I wanted to share some tidbits that I won't call tips for fear of your expectations. I'd also like to admonish that I'm not a professional.

One of the things that I personally don't believe I'm very good at in the writing sense is describing people. Usually, I'm quite a visual learner but when I'm reading, I never really go beyond imagining characters' basic make-up. Once I have a hair colour, approximate height/build and skin tone, I'm good. Eye colour and anything like that can be important to me but only exceptionally. Because of this, unless a book-turned-movie casting is *really* off (in the Jennifer Lawrence as Katniss sense, I guess) I rarely care.*

When writing, I do have a bit more detail in mind when I imagine characters but I'm not extremely talented at conveying that to the page. Every time I do try to fit in a character description in my novel, it seems clunky and awkward or too late in the story to matter.**

Last night I was trying to beat down this barrier and learn how to describe people in a way that is flowy and make sense. I brainstormed reasons a person would be describing themselves in their inner monologue and this is my current list:

• staring in a mirror (overdone and cringe-worthy whenever I'm reading)
• comparing self to another person
• dwelling on an insecurity
• enjoying a moment of vanity or pride

Think about it. When was the last time you thought descriptively about how you looked? If you have anything to add to this list, I'd appreciate a comment.

This got me onto thinking about my protagonist, Evie, and how she relates to herself. What is she insecure about? What features and aspects of her looks is she proud of? How does she think she compares to the people around her? It was a pretty successful moment for me and so I thought I'd share it.

I'm going to try and write some describtions for the rest of my characters now and then try to fit them in somewhere. Or should I find an appropriate place for them and then write? Novel writing: the ultimate evidence that I have no idea what I'm doing.

*On the exception front, Harry's eye colour in the movies really bugs me. Dan Radcliffe is great in every other way and I know he was ten years old or whatever but could they not have given the kid a pair of coloured contacts?? The green eyes are an IMPORTANT PLOT POINT. Gah. This still bothers me when I watch the movies.
**I dislike it when I get halfway through the book and then find out about a significantly defining feature of a character, whether it's race or a different hair colour. This doesn't actually follow my 'I don't physically imagine people complexly' trend but it is still bothersome.

Re: The Hunger Games Casting

Although I wasn't really involved in up-to-the-minute casting announcements and which actresses were considered for the role of Katniss and so forth, I would--retroactively--like to support Saiorse Ronan. She doesn't look particularly much like the book's description (nor does Jennifer Lawrence, but that shouldn't affect her performance. At least, that's what I'm assuming. Conversely, when actors DO look like their characters, it often turns out brilliantly. EX: Evanna Lynch as Luna.), but I've seen her in City of Ember and The Lovely Bones (both awesome, as books and as films).

Of course, this choice is riding on the studio's strict interpretation that Katniss is white. Blindingly, incredibly, white-bread white. In my mind's eye I could see her as sort of Native American (isn't District 12 supposed to be in Appalachia? I.e, a region of the US with very strong Native American roots?), and if I could draw to save my life I'd give an example. But maybe this is nitpicking. As long as Suzanne Collins is writing the screenplay it should be at the very least worth seeing.

Also: I'm more interested in who's going to be cast as Haymitch than I am Gale or Peeta. Am I weird (By that I mean of course weirder than usual or weirder than has been reflected by these blogs in the past)?

The Hunger Games casting

Alright, alright, I'll confess that I can be a bit obsessive. Back in the day, I checked Harry Potter news sites multiple times everyday to see who was cast in different roles. I was one of the first to squee upon seeing the face of *insert franchise love interest here*. I could be ashamed of this but instead I accept it as a part of my life.

Therefore, no one should be surprised that I have been living (sometimes subconsciously) on Hunger Games news sites for the past couple weeks. And today Jennifer Lawrence was cast as Katniss.

Now, seeing as my track record on franchise casting decisions  is nothing but tarnished, I'm not here to make judgments or proclamations. Hell, I was looking forward to Rob Pattinson playing Edward and we all know how that turned out. But I will say, in short, that I have confidence in Jennifer Lawrence. Though she's kind of physically off from my imagined Katniss, I think she can play the part. Did you see Winter's Bone? That movie was scary intense and she was very believable and impressive as the determined daughter of a crack dealer. Or whatever went down in the frightening town.

What I'm really looking forward to, of course, is Peeta's casting. I don't know, maybe 'looking forward to' is the wrong wording. I'm waiting, somewhat anxiously.

The real question is this: why do I care so much? The movie will obviously never be the book and I, sensibly in my opinion, have never expected it to be. I'd just rather is be, like, somewhat good rather than the alternative.
Must work on that.

a declaration of trekking my path while honouring yours

The contrast between the selection playing on my television tonight and last night is so stark it's comical. Granted, one was picked by my sister and the other my mom but still, Sex and the City one night and the David Suzuki movie the next? Crazy stuff.

I half watched Carrie Bradshaw and her cohorts and half read one night but I fully tuned in on the next for Force of Nature, a documentary that, well, documents Dr. Suzuki's life and legacy. And I know I've said this before but no matter: David Suzuki is brilliant.

To me, it's so absurd that people can continue chasing the paper dream of a prestigious career and lots of money to buy a huge apartment with a ridiculously large closest in which to put more shoes than any one person has ever or will ever need. When I look at that image, it's so abundantly obvious that there is nothing meaningful or fulfilling about it. I mean, to see the joy these women get from seeing a handbag, simply because it has five highly considered letters on it is mind boggling.

And it's easy, too easy, for me to look down on that and adopt an air of superiority. I don't buy into that consumer culture so I'm better. But honestly, it's not even like that. I'm just so dumbfounded and perplexed that we have somehow been convinced that the way to happiness is not through connection and family and self-fulfillment but through shopping and simulating perfection in every aspect of your life.

And speaking of simulating perfection and me being unconventional, I feel like I have an announcement to make. Drumroll. Heavy silence. Okay.

I'm not intending to graduate high school.

*Sigh* That was intense. Yeahbutso I didn't make this decision because I am lazy (though I sometimes am), ambition-less (meh, debatable) and stupid (which is not to say I don't feel stupid sometimes). I could very well complete the requirements and receive my Dogwood Certificate.* Heck, I wrote a novel in a month, not once but twice. I can do anything.

The point is, I've decided it's not for me. I've decided to defy the myth of high school Drop Outs** going on to nothing greater than a career at McDonald's. I've decided that I don't need a piece of paper to tell me I'm capable of doing what I'm told. I've decided to dare bigger and fail better.

And now I sound like I'm pissing on everyone else's high school parade. Excellent.

What I'm trying to get across is that I am a weird person. I do weird things and think weird thoughts and I am different. Yet I am doing my best to be the different person I am without condemning you for being who you are. I am trying--at times exceedingly hard--to not judge, and not look down on, and basically just honour your path while at the same time confirming that it's not for me.

The other thing I'm trying to say is that, sometimesusually, the act of honouring other people's choices and paths is really hard. I'm still trying.

p.s. To clarify this whole high school thing, it's not a sudden choice or even a solid affirmation. It's been a long time coming, I've thought about it all and ultimately decided that I don't need to meet all the course requirements of a high school diploma. Which is not to say that I've dropped all my courses. I'm still doing the courses I am passionate about. The main part of this is the fact that graduating is no longer something I'm working towards. It's not a milestone for me anymore, a necessary checkpoint on the road of my life. It's just there and maybe I'll get to it but it's not my purpose and it's not going to stop me from continuing on with my life. We good?

*British Columbian for 'you checked the right boxes and passed the right tests. You may now be functional. Oh no wait, go to university, then we'll talk.'
**I guess I'm not a true drop out as you can't drop out of something you never dropped into. Can you?

Comparisons

I feel like I haven't blogged in a really long time. Technically it's been a week, but nothing you can do will stop my fountains of guilt.* In that week, other topics have been of a magnitude** with which I cannot compare, at least right now. Schoolwork is killing my soul. (A message from my anguished soul: BITCH IT IS SATURDAY I SHOULD NOT HAVE TO DEAL WITH THIS.)

Wooo, personification.

While I haven't blogged, I've recently become addicted to tumblr, further spiraling down the path of social media and instant gratification. I like tumblr because it encourages plagiarism of sorts. Things other people have found/created can be used to create an image of myself as a whole. (Philosophical time: isn't this what even IRL existence is, really? Wooo, deep.) Though if you look at my tumblr as a metaphor for myself, I'm pretty random***. Venn diagrams, bouncy gay pride sheep, a meme for music nerds~ (What is that symbol? It's the tilde, only useful in the Spanish language methinks, but more than that, it shall henceforth be used to denote A SUPERTANGENT, like a footnote, but not at very the end, and like a regular tangent, but with intervening non-tangential thoughts.) Nerdfighter jokes, things I'd usually deem inappropriate to devote an entire blog to, such as how American Government is killing my soul. (See above. But not the subject of an entire post, you see.)

~So as not to make this post an advertisement for my tumblr, I'd like to discuss the notion of music nerdery. (I would say Nerdfightery, but for the sake of inclusion--and shorter words--let's assume base-level nerds.) I am not a particularly musical person, but over the years I've come to appreciate it as some people do sports, as a spectator. I like some things that are mainstream/contemporary, whereas conventionally defined music nerds shun that which is popular (see also: hipsters), yet are infatuated with the discographies of bands from *insert decade of choice here*. The percentage of music I enjoy from bygone eras does tend to exceed the percentage that is current, but almost never to the extent/level of absolute infatuation that people on the internet**** are. (Grammatically incorrect sentence ahoy?) And I know it's ridiculous, but it makes me feel like an unworthy nerd. Of course we're always told not to give a shit what other people think, but these things can't be helped.

Actual footnotes:

* Actually more like slight paranoia that you guys will hate me for not blogging.

** . . . no earthquake pun intended.

*** Wrong use of the word random! Disjunct, I mean. In reference to my personality.

**** And IRL. Honestly, "nerdier than thou" seems to have become a thing, and it's not fun.

Earth, in all her glory

When you think about it -- I mean, really sit down and think -- you have to admit that the Earth rocks (and not just the tectonic plates!). Like, earthquakes, hurricanes, tsunamis, wildfires? Earth does what Earth's gotta do. Dump a shitload of water over the southern coast of the USA? No big deal. Shake enough to drive a thousand cracks into the ground? Done. And yet, despite her daily duties, Earth manages to keep revolving around the sun.

It's easy to sit back here, in my stable house in inland Maryland, where the one earthquake I've ever experienced barely registered on the Richter scale and where we get "tropical storms," hurricanes' weaker cousins, and praise the earth for all her wonders. I mean, if I look at it objectively, natural disasters happen to every species on the planet, and they are -- as horrible as it sounds -- a necessary way to keep the population down. Disease, tornadoes, war, death -- if they didn't exist, neither would any of us. We'd overrun the planet. We'd kill us all by our sheer mass. So, yeah, I can look at any awful thing that happens to other people and shake my head and say, "Wow, that sucks, but it's part of life."

Except -- it's different when it happens to you. Most of us don't want to die of anything but old age, and none of us want to die suffering. Earthquakes fascinate me, but I don't want one to destroy my house and kill my family. Shit's always going to happen, but that doesn't lessen the suckitude of each individual incident.

In the end, I think that we have to continue to do what we're doing now: avoid natural disasters when we can, regulate ourselves so we don't cause not-so-natural disasters, and help clean up when the inevitable happens. And -- accept that no matter how often our leaders issue statements of condolence, no matter how much technology improves, no matter how many people suffer and die, this is a part of life, but not a part of life to accept in a defeated silence. Earth gives us so much, but she takes so much as well. By agreeing to stay on this planet, we must accept that, as the saying goes, no one makes it through life alive. The best we can do is extend a hand -- and more than that, extend our resources, our workers, and our hearts -- when something like this happens. We all live under an incredible amount of risk each day. We're all human. We can't control Earth, so instead, we all help.

the f word

As Vita mentioned, it's Women's History Month in the States* as well as International Women's Week this week and as International Women's Day on Tuesday, March 8th. That's a whole lot of celebrating.

On Sunday, I woke up too early and trekked all the way to Vancouver for a brunch at the YWCA with some empowering women which was actually just some fruit and a bunch of people talking about the work they do for the greater good. The young people in the room were put on the spot afterwards for the discussion and someone even gave me their card before I left. Fancy that!

For the rest of the afternoon, I hung out in the Vancouver Public Library's Central Branch (a huge and wondrous place). This, of course, is after my mom and I have dragged my friend all over the city in search of this one amazing sushi restaurant that we were sure was on just the next street. And then the street after that.** In case you're wondering why I sat in a library for three hours, A) that place is freaking awesome and B) it made logical sense to hang out in Vancouver rather than go home and come back for my writing class that night.

In my small hamlet we have not one, but two library systems. It's kind of ridiculous but pretty useful. It's nice that you can always play them off each other and it definitely widens the available material. The libraries themselves aren't extremely large but the database is quite full. What I prefer about central branches and especially those of big cities is that they have teen non-fiction. And I am a fan of teen non-fiction.***

I brought Catching Fire which I was rereading at the time, thinking I would just find a chair and read that, but then... I saw the teen non-fiction section. And I was lost to the world.

In short, I found a book called Full Frontal Feminism and figured I might as well read a bit, to participate in the movement in some way and three hours later, I was halfway through it and reluctantly put it back on the shelf. (I don't have an inter-library card. Alas.)

I learned a lot in those three hours and the book was pretty amusing, too. The voice was very honest and the argument compelling. Maybe the word feminism has a bad connotation in our society but that book made me want to embrace it (not the bad connotation but the word and the movement).

Anyway, if you're looking for some way to observe the 100th International Women's Day, I recommend Full Frontal Feminism by Jessica Valenti. It's lays it out, clear and simple, and if you're not a feminist by the third chapter, well, I don't know what to say.

*I think we celebrate Women's History Month in October in Canada. Or that's what the government is saying.
**We eventually found the place but it was the journey that made it worthwhile.
***Not that there's anything wrong with adult non-fiction but sometimes it's nice to read something that's written for you as an audience.

In Which I Write a Poem and Ramble

It's snowing in March and that makes me sad.

I didn't know what to write about today,

so I'll blog you a poem instead.

Meaning happy, of course, I am not.

Quick, before this gets angsty and existential,

Someone stab me with a pencil.

I've messed up the ABA rhyme scheme.

Or are things not as they seem?

I could continue like this until the end of time.

Just as long as the lines rhyme.

Did you know that Dr. Seuss

's name was meant as a rhyme for "rejoice"?

Now you do.

My stanzas are uneven,

The topics waxing pointless,

But hopefully you've lol'd a bit

As I give up and end in free verse.

Regardless of the questionable rhyming, all facts outlined in the above poem are true. It's 11:36 on a Saturday and I'm procrastinating on Government homework, which, in addition to the portion I'm procrastinating on, also involves the viewing of the Sunday morning news, which necessitates my waking up before ten in the morning, and so within reason I should be going to bed soon. I won't, though, because this has become how I roll given any free time in the hours during which most sensible people would voluntarily choose to go to bed, because of the health benefits of adequate amounts of sleep. I voluntarily choose not to be sensible. Or I'm naturally senseless, but by declaring it as choice my senselessness has effectively been hidden a bit. Yay for illogic and run-on sentences!

Calgary!

Despite the fact that it is -21°C (approximately -6°F) there at present, I am ridiculously excited to be travelling to Calgary exactly  three weeks from today.

Why? you ask from behind your computer screen, like any sane person would. Why are you so happy to be going somewhere so frigidly cold that the freezer in your kitchen is probably warmer*? 


Because, dear readers, I have a sister (three, actually. Technicality).

Visiting your grown up sister in her grown up house in a city you've never been to and are generally psyched to visit? Win.

I don't think I've mentioned that my older sister Rachel is currently on a program called Katimavik that's sponsored by the government (one of the few worthwhile things they seem to fund) where you go to a different province and live with ten other youth and work and volunteer and have general fun times. But regardless of whether I've told you, she is. And I'm visiting, come March 24th.

I will leave you with that because I am tired and you probably have homework to do. Don't deny it. I know the reality sucks but soon it will be over and you can follow your dreams. Maybe.

Calgary. Squeeeeeeee.

p.s. I've been reading so many books lately. Namely, It's Kind Of A Funny Story by Ned Vizzini; Delirium by Lauren Oliver; Shiver by Maggie Stiefvater; and others. I'm a machine.
p.p.s. For the comment revolution: What are YOU currently looking forward to? ALSO, do you have Goodreads? (It's like Facebook but for books. I recommend it.)

*Yeah, that's right. I have Food Safe Certification which, for you outsiders, means I have a piece of paper that proves I know when food is in the DANGER ZONE. Technically, I don't have the paper on me seeing as how they haven't mailed it to me but that's not my fault. I'm qualified, damn it!

A Rant or Something Like It

*

It's March! When did that happen?** Anyway, as is commonish knowledge, March is Women's History Month. Thanks to my superfeminist English teacher and a few sneaky*** males in my class, an entire period**** was spent in discussion of why such a month exists, and treatment of minorities***** in general. I'm not (i.e, I don't have the brain capacity at present to, and I have before anyway) going to go in-depth as to my position on this, but one thing, one thing bothers me to no end about this argument, and it's the slogan along these lines:

"It's not HISTORY, it's HERSTORY."

It wouldn't be "his story" if the word was split apart! It would be "Hi story" or "His tory". There would have to be two S's in "history" for that to make grammatical sense. The fact that an English teacher employed a grammatically incorrect cliche is rant-inducing to me. Leave it to me to be trivial. So be it. On to the footnotes!

* Ooooh, at footnote at the beginning! Shocking. Somewhat-unecessary apologies for not blogging in a while. We now return to your scheduled blog.

** At midnight, imbecile.

*** I.e, not actually male chauvinist pigs, just exploiting how easy it is to derail this particular teacher's lesson plan.

**** 47 minutes, Alex. ;) Think of all the things you could do in 47 minutes, then compare those things to listening to a 5 sided argument on the dedication of a month to women's history. It's just silly.

***** Which relates to the curriculum because we're reading about the Holocaust, see.