Friday, September 29, 2006

Viva Las Vegas!

Friday, September 29, 2006
That's right, blogfriends.

In approximately 8 hours, I will be coasting through the sky, soaring in the comfort of a WestJet plane, on my way to the sun-soaked sin city of Las Vegas.


I cannot promise that I won't come back with a hyphenated last name, but I do promise to collect some kind of outrageous blog-ready tales.

See you on Tuesday!

Thursday, September 28, 2006

Hullooooo, Zeeba Neighbah!

Thursday, September 28, 2006
I am in love with the following things:

This Comic Strip, particularly that fraternity of crocodiles, the Zeeba Zeeba Eetas. They make reading the Herald in the morning worthwhile (and my coworkers stare, confused, because I'm laughing too loudly, even for our office).

This Book. My god, I haven't read something so breathtakingly freaking fantastic in a very, very, very long time. If ever.

Wednesday, September 27, 2006

A Lesson In Chopsticks

Wednesday, September 27, 2006
Let's set the record straight here. For those of you that may not know, I was raised in Saskatchewan. Yes, the glorious province of wheat and canola and John Deere and Chinese/Canadian Cafes serving ginger beef and chicken balls and hot turkey sandwiches.

I know, it's shocking. I hide it well.

One of the things picked up when I moved to this whopping metropolitan centre was an appreciation of the wide variety of ethnic restaurants available. Oh yes, I am no longer limited to The Prairie Place or the Eatonia Family Restaurant (formerly the New Palace Cafe). Waiting just outside my front door are endless options- Indian, Thai, Vietnamese, Mongolian, Russian, and so on.

And yet, after four years of attempting to "citify" myself, I still am unable to properly manipulate chopsticks. As was made evident by the kind people in the Korean take-out place yesterday, who noticed that I was failing to successfully manipulate both the chopsticks AND a spoon...and brought me a fork.

Monday, September 25, 2006

Nefarious On-Goings in Kensington

Monday, September 25, 2006
As I learned late last night (late being 8:30-ish, but it was dark, so that qualifies as late in my world), when one is standing on a street corner in an 'inner city neighbourhood' and talking on their cell phone, the following phrase may cause passers-by to get suspicious:

"Sure, yeah, I can be there in a half-hour. Did you want me to pick some up? No, you've got some at your place? Great. Jazz..."

It is important to note that one is not ALWAYS referring to illicit druggery. Sometimes, a girl just needs her diet coke. (Or, Diet Pepsi Jazz Strawberry and Creme...mmm, hello, jazz...)

Saturday, September 23, 2006

It's Saturday, so I Must Have Survived The Week

Saturday, September 23, 2006
Here I am, blogging at you on Saturday morning, so one is lead to believe that I did, in fact, survive the opening week of the show at work. The insanity is not over, far from it, but the show opened, the reviews are in, and I'm still gainfully employed.

I don't think I'll ever get used to all this hobb-nobbery. I'm just not so great at random small talk with people that the general public percieves as highly important. Perhaps I should have attended more of those obscenely boring and awkward networking events while I was still a Haskayne student. One thing to note: when stuck for conversation, just don't blurt out "I read your play in Dramatic Lit 237!", because then surely that person will ask, "Oh, which one?" and the odds of getting the answer to that question correct under pressure and champagney influence are less than good.

I should go make the most of my day off, for I have to work tomorrow. But I'll probably just continue slumming in my bathrobe, listening to the radio clipshow, and hurtin' for a coffee.

Thursday, September 21, 2006

News Briefs

Thursday, September 21, 2006
A few things I've read in the Calgary Herald this week:

1. People in rural areas die earlier. Apparently, the total lack of ambulance service, open hospitals, and reliable health care didn't factor in to that study, but they did find that obesity rates are higher, and general health of rural folk isn't as fine as those living in urban areas. Oh, but stress is lower, and people in the country seem to have more of a sense of community. Thank you, Herald, for this useless and common sensical piece of information.

2. The bar that Ralph Klein used to frequent (he's the Albertan Premier) is closing. Oh, and he's retiring. That means we'll get a more different idiot to run around with his head (or her head) whacked off, directing a bunch of souless Tories. But where will they drink?!

3. McDonalds is changing their infrastructure, so soon, egg mcmuffins will be available all day. FINALLY!

Wednesday, September 20, 2006

With Heavy Hearts and Sweet Memories...

Wednesday, September 20, 2006
Today, we grieve the loss of our fishy friend, Messina. Beloved for his ebony scales and googly eyes, he is mourned by his tank-mate and heterosexual life partner, Loggins.

Messina will be remembered for his early morning love for fish pellets, for his unending affection for underwater plants and the gravel that colour-coordinated with his person, and for his continued attempt to breach the rift between his kind and the filter. Oh, sweet prince, may you frolic eternally in the great fishpond in the sky.

Tuesday, September 19, 2006

Precious Leisure Time

Tuesday, September 19, 2006
So, here's something I hadn't realized until just recently.

As a part of this whole "joining the real world" movement, apparently I am forced to relenquish about 80% of my free time. Or, time that WAS free time when I was a student. No longer do I live in the days of the 1:00pm haircut, the no-problem-I-can-wait doctor's appointment, the occasional late afternoon talk show binge, and the mandatory afternoon nap. Oh no, I have traded in the student lifestyle for one that leaves me with approximately 5 hours of free time a day, a raging caffeine addiction, and a bitter feeling towards anything and anyone that gets in the way of my time off.

This is how I figure it: On a good day, I leave work at about 5:05. I trample through the crowds and shove my way on to the CTrain, am shoved back, and generally resemble a sardine until I get off at my stop at about 5:33. Then, it's a 3 minute walk home, if I don't get distracted by the siren song of Safeway, and I still have no idea what I'm making for dinner. By the time I stuff something down my gullet (such a lady...), it's usually about sixthirty. Then I usually veg for exactly 31 minutes, trying to figure out what I'm going to do with the next 3 hours of my life.

And here it is, 9:45, I have 15 minutes left of sweet, precious free time before I should call it a day. What have I accomplished? Lots...but no mandatory afternoon nap was had. Not sure if the whole paycheque-and-benefits thing is actually worth the trade of the wonder that is the afternoon nap.

In through the nose...

I am nervous. Yesterday, I was nervous to the point of nausea. I have my first media call today, and while I have confirmation from those members of the media that are to be in attendance, I have confirmed with stage management, crew, staff and talent that they will be in attendance, and I’ve got it planned to the point of neurotic military precision, I’m still extremely nervous. Perhaps it’s just caffeine jitters, or low blood sugar because I was too freaked out to eat breakfast, but really- this has to stop.

They tell me that if I can make it through this show, I’m good to go for the rest of the season. But why did “THIS SHOW” have to be first?!!

I just hope I remember to breathe.

Saturday, September 16, 2006

Of Mice and Men

Saturday, September 16, 2006
Tonight I had the pleasure of attending the opening of Theatre Calgary's "Of Mice and Men". Isn't that a pretentious opening statement? All delusions of actually being an important person aside, it was a beautiful show. I don't frequently describe productions as 'beautiful'- but this one really was.

The set was really, really slick. The way it was manipulated, and the way that the scene changes played out was really smooth, the lighting design was subtle, the music as close to perfect as one could get, and even the dog behaved.

And really, it was Steinbeck. What could one possibly say about such a powerful and classic piece of literature, adapted so well for stage, other than that it was beautiful? Anything that can reduce grown men to tears; anything that so clearly shows the agony and loss of one's dream for something better (call it the American Dream if you must...) is just simply beautiful.

Go see it. Just trust me. I'll be re-reading it, because clearly I missed something in Mrs Brewer's English 10 class.

Oh, and in passing, there's another Urinetown Pay What You Can on Sunday.

Friday, September 15, 2006

"Rock n' Roll is a Full Time Job," you say?

Friday, September 15, 2006
Last night, I had the pleasure of catching the The Balling Jacks, a band out of BC, at Weeds. My roommate went to high school with one of the guitarists, so he hooked us up with free stickers. Also worth mentioning: 5 cups of heavily sugared Earl Grey, endless criticism about the spin tarts (thanks, Amanda- that's the BEST description of the stupid blondes in stilettos. WHO wears stilettos to a coffee shop, in the rain, on a Thursday? Even I'm not that tacky), some pretty solid mandolin action, and an awkward encounter with someone I dated a few months ago, but unfortunately cannot, for the life of me, remember his name. For shaaaame, Megan. For shame.

But back to the band. These four guys apparently went to school together in Nelson, and they do have a good sound. I did describe it as a little "b-sidey", but with time, I wouldn't be surprised if they became popular amongst the medium-sized venue crowd. Think oldmachall ballroom sized. Or- in Saskatoon, what would be the equivalent? Um, the Odeon, maybe? Where do you go see shows, Saskatchewanians? Their final number, which apparently sums up the band's general attitude, "Rock N' Roll is a Full Time Job" was cliche, but catchy.

And that's entirely too much of me playing like I know anything at all about popular music.

Tuesday, September 12, 2006

Had To Have It...

Tuesday, September 12, 2006
The New John Mayer CD (continuum) dropped today. I was reminded by the note I had made in my calendar at work, and sure enough, at 12:00noon, this lovely little reminder popped up on my computer screen. "Go Buy John Mayer CD!!"

I had to, work told me to!

But apres work, I didn't quite make it to humm-vee on time. I realized half way through a browse through the Media and Culture section at the McNally Robinson bookstore- but fortunately, McNally sells music! Meganude is in luck, I think to myself-as I frequently think to myself in third person using a nickname- one stop shopping has recently become really, really appealing. One small, insignificant snare in my plans.

Cute. Checkout. Guy.

Now, not that I really care, but I mean- c'mon. How desperate am I going to look, racing to purchase an adult contemporary poprock album at an independant bookstore? Pretty sad, I think. So I made a quick sweep through, found the Margaret Atwood book that Lady Rose has been urging us to read (yay, bookclub!), and made my way to the front. Nervous gulp.

Then made light conversation with CuteCheckoutGuy about sustainable lifestyles and horrible future scenarios and how frightening and realistic fantasy novels can be. Not my usual conversation starter- but I rolled with it. Any man that digs Atwood is my kinda guy.

I think I might be in luff. I don't think he even noticed that I was buying a John Mayer, king of pathetic, lovelorn sap music cd.

Sunday, September 10, 2006


Sunday, September 10, 2006
So good. Go see it. Unfortunately, you've already missed out on the mythical wonderfullness that is Pay What You Can night, so you'll have to cough up 60 bucks. I, on the other hand, am only out 10.

For those that don't keep up with my obsessive compulsive tendancies regarding the industry in which I am employed, Urinetown, The Musical, is a musical (thanks, captain obvious) produced by two pretty cool companies and playing in the recently reno'd Grand. It's very, very good. And now that I have satiated my Urinetown need, I can rest well for the remainder of the theatre season, not kept awake at night fearing that I've missed out on what everyone's been talking about for months.

Sigh. Of Relief.

Friday, September 08, 2006

Friday, September 08, 2006
When I was a child, I was terrified of death. More specifically, of dying in my sleep. I remember going through an awkward phase (lasting for about 8 years…but that’s another blog entry) where I alternated between feverently wishing that I wouldn’t wake up the next day, and then praying desperately that I would. It wasn’t so much death itself that terrified me, or the unknown that is the afterlife, or not seeing my parents and friends again- after all, I’d see them in Heaven!- but the concept that maybe, maybe, I hadn’t been good enough to worm my way through the pearly gates. That as a 10 year old, maybe my original sin hadn’t been scrubbed off enough (I also believed that I was already in the red in terms of Catholicism, as I wasn’t baptized until I was 8, and that just can’t be good!), that God really disliked the fact that Candice and I used Holy Water to baptize my hamster, and that I’d spend the rest of eternity floating around in Purgatory with a bunch of body-less babies and agnostics and those departed folk whose earth-bound families just didn’t give a damn about them enough to pray for their godforsaken souls.

Oh yes, I remember spending hours after dark, after I’d written in my journal and read whatever Sweet Valley series I was plowing my way through, praying that all the times I’d wished that I would merely cease to exist wouldn’t catch up on me. Even then, cynicism and indecision threatened to take over my life, but I think I believed that the Catholic God I prescribed to didn’t quite have the sense of humour required to deal with an angsty prepubescent, and that one day, He’d get fed up and just strike me down.

I don’t know what I’m getting at here, but this morning, when my bloody alarm clock went off, and I crushed my face into the pillow and moaned, “God, I wish I was dead”…it definitely didn’t carry the weight it used to. And should God strike me down, I sincerely hope that Purgatory isn’t full of baby heads floating around.

Wednesday, September 06, 2006


Wednesday, September 06, 2006
Yesterday, in an attempt to find this epic blueberry muffin recipe that I lived off of 2 years ago, I came across a hand-written copy of the valedictorian address I gave at my high school graduation.

I wrote that speech the day before grad, on Senior Skip Day. Oh, how livid was I, the only senior high student who was actually present at school. I got over it, and lived to skip many a class at University, but I used the time that I spent seething over the injustice I faced to write that speech. Then, I thought about our new JAs, (junior apprentice), who just finished high school, and who all looked so very, very excited about working with us in lieu of heading straight to school.

(I'm sure that after a day of following me around, photocopying and exercizing my every whim, that maybe school ain't lookin' so bad...)

But I wonder- knowing what I do now, about where and who and what, would I have changed that speech? What parting words to the people I grew up with (but have completely lost contact with...) would I have?

Perhaps I was just better off recounting the time that Denise crashed her van into the 21-44.

Monday, September 04, 2006

It's Official

Monday, September 04, 2006
I squandered my summer.

4 months, 3 university classes, a new job, 3 different places of residence, and a whopping 8 days of vacation.

I want a do-over!!

Assorted and Sundry Sunday Thoughts

Okay. We've all officially agreed that Nickelback does, indeed, suck. So why are they still making music? Why are they still on the MTV, and the Rick Dee's Weekly top-Whatever, and the crapy radio stations we have here in Calgary? Why does the music of drunk-driving Chad Kruger, who hails from the town I always stop to pee in on my way back to El Rancho Doug and Lenore, haunt me in my dreams? The band has been officially sucking since I was in grade ten or eleven.

Second on the docket. Why is the reoccuring theme of nerd-meets-hot girl/hunk so common? We've all read the Ugly Duckling. We know that eventually, swans will emerge, involving a) if you're female, an elaborate MAKEOVER! sequence, with poppy background music and a variety of sinfully hideous fashion disasters, until one's peers settle on an atrocious combination of marbou and lip gloss, or b) if you're male, a series of pathetic pining, poetry and rock-song writing scenes, some creepy stalking, and maybe a 'lying on the bed staring at the stucco ceiling ohgodmylifeissodark' moment, coupled with some kind of outrageous favour trade-off with a more attractive, yet clearly less intelligent dude who actually gets the girl, and she doesn't realize what she's passed on, until the end, she comes to her freaking senses, nerd dude ditches his equally-socially inept female hanger-on best bud, and we're all left cheering for our sad, hopeful hero, and finally understanding the eternal question of "How did he end up with HER?"

What I was originally getting at up there was some kind of outrage on how in teen movies, primetime tv and Shakespeare everywhere, lady-friends require a makeover on the grand scale to land the dude of their dreams, while the man-friends seem to only have to wait out the required "she'll come to her senses!" period until they score with the dudette of their dreams.

I need to stop watching movies on TBS.

And finally, 'taking a nap' on Sunday inevitably will ALWAYS result in waking up, 3 or 4 hours later, realizing that one has missed the dinner hour completely. Damn seduction of the late-afternoon Sunday nap.

Friday, September 01, 2006

A Story I May Have Already Told You

Friday, September 01, 2006
So, on Sunday, I was dropping off some stuff at the office downtown. Stuff being a 10 foot by 10 foot tent and a massive display board, hence, I was driving the ol' intrepid.

I'm obeying all traffic laws, and if you've ever driven around a business centre of a city at 9:30pm on a Sunday, you would know that there is no traffic. NONE. But sure enough, as the light on Centre and 8th turns green, and I advance m'automobile, the cop behind me turns on his lights.

I pull over. He gets out of his car. He asks me, "Do you know why I've stopped you?"

No. I have not a freaking clue.

"Your license plates seem to have expired on August seventh"

To which I reply, "No, sir. That would be August OH-Seven. As in, 2007."

Never fail to trust in the Royal Canadian Mounted Police.