tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-81143072275404954772024-03-19T18:19:11.250-03:00Sign of the Gypsy QueenBeing a gypsy is more than just a lifestyle; it's a state of mind.Unknownnoreply@blogger.comBlogger39125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8114307227540495477.post-80666434249148465162013-06-23T23:09:00.004-03:002013-06-23T23:09:38.861-03:00You can have your butterflies. I have fireflies.A little tale: I remember going to a family friend's cabin when I was around three years old. It was the first time I'd ever seen fireflies. I called them lightning bugs. I remember watching them blinking on and off, filled with a strange and simple kind of excitement and awe.<br />
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Twenty years passed.<br />
<br />
I didn't see another lightning bug again until I went to Bonnaroo in 2010. The same feeling came back to me as if I was still a little girl, watching from inside the cabin.<br />
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Now, almost every night when I walk through my neighborhood, I see lightning bugs. I still feel the magic I did when I was three, now that I'm almost 27 (one more week!).<br />
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It's strange how such a simple thing can bring one immediately back to "the now."<br />
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I am so grateful for my life. I'm not religious, but I'm convinced that I'm blessed.<br />
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<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8114307227540495477.post-17040382143737220482013-06-15T01:55:00.001-03:002013-06-15T23:25:00.165-03:00Why we got married, but y'all didn't get invitedI've sat in a spot like the one I'm sitting in now, trying to write this blog post, for quite a while (like, off and on for the past four months exactly). I couldn't decide where to start, but then, while I was walking home yesterday, it came to me (shout out to Bob Babinski who always encouraged walks, noting that walking provides the perfect breeding ground for good ideas).<br />
<br />
So, here it goes.<br />
<br />
Like most couples, we had been planning on getting married for a little over a year. So, why didn't we send out invites? Well, ours was not your typical engagement (much like the rest of our story).<br />
<br />
It all goes back to when we first began getting to know one another. We were both thrilled and relieved to find out that neither of us wanted to get married (ever - not just to the other person). Matt's mother couldn't believe it - nor did she want to. Most parents dream of the perfect day their first-born son will eventually have with his bride walking down the aisle - and Matt's mom was no different - but with me in the picture, none of that would be realized. Matt and I, on the other hand, could not have been more elated.<br />
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Fast-forward to Christmas 2011.<br />
<br />
We'd been dating long distance for about a year and a half. Like any couple, we went through our share of struggles and difficulties, mostly due to us being apart more than we were together, but every time we talked and every time we <i>were</i> together, we knew the distance was worth it.<br />
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I tried, but had exhausted all possible routes for getting my U.S. permanent residence through my family. I even looked into getting a temporary work visa, hoping for anything that would allow us to be together without having to get married, but I kept coming up dry.<br />
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Finally, a couple of days after the New Year, a few days before I was set to go back to Montreal, we had "the talk."<br />
<br />
Don't think that this is where the story gets to romancin', because it's not.<br />
<br />
We spoke almost vaguely to one another, trying to get to the point without actually saying any of the "panic words" (married, engaged, etc.).<br />
<br />
I recall the end of our conversation specifically:<br />
<br />
"I don't want to be long distance for the rest of my life."<br />
"Well, I'm willing to do whatever it takes for us to be together."<br />
"So... Are we fuckin' doing this?"<br />
"Yep. We're doing this."<br />
<br />
(Sorry for the profanity - you can take the girl out of Nova Scotia, but you can't take the Nova Scotia out of the girl.)<br />
<br />
Although we were both relieved that we were willing to make a such major sacrifice so that we could be together, the next year couldn't have been much more stressful.<br />
<br />
My grandmother passed away, I was diagnosed with PCOS, a <strike>crazy</strike> bitter girl attempted to sabotage our relationship (we showed her!), I was finishing an 11-month intensive graduate program, Matt had started at a new university, I went away to Trois-Rivieres for five weeks for French immersion school then started a job at the Montreal Gazette (read: no vacation days), and Matt accepted a new a full-time job while he continued to study full-time. And to add insult to injury, we were going through the Fiancée Visa application process with U.S. Customs and Immigration, which - as anyone who has gone through it will tell you - is one of the most stressful, emotional and <i>expensive</i> experiences a couple can endure. Talk about putting our love to the test.<br />
<br />
During the 12 months between when we decided to "submit our paperwork" (that's what we called it while we got comfortable with the "M"-word) and when I finally got the stamp of approval from the U.S. Embassy in Montreal, Quebec, we had submitted stacks of paperwork with evidence of our relationship, criminal records, financial records, medical records, and photos; I'd received the flu shot, MMR shot, Td shot and had been tested for TB; and we wrote multiple checks (or "cheques" in "Canadian") for processing fees of all kinds. We traveled across the border countless times, and spoke often about how great life would be once we didn't need to show a passport to see one another. But neither of us wanted to tell anyone about our decision, in case for some freak reason our application got denied. It was almost as if we didn't want to jinx it.<br />
<br />
In November 2012, we decided the stress of waiting to be together was too much, and after Matt's mom offered for me to stay in their family home for an indefinite period of time, I crossed the border alone for one of the last times.<br />
<br />
I had to travel back to Montreal one more time for my immigration interview, which was scheduled for January 24, 2013. That's when shit got real. Matt half-joked that we should get married on Valentine's day (he's such a cheeseball), but we just wanted to have a Town Hall wedding, and Town Hall only did marriages on Wednesdays (Valentine's Day was on a Thursday).<br />
<br />
We put our planning on a bit of a hold when I left for Montreal, but then, finally, at around 11:00 a.m. on January 24 I heard seven of the most glorious words: "Welcome to the United States of America."<br />
<br />
When I got back to New Jersey, Matt's parents demanded that we make some plans. His mom said we needed to have a dinner at the very least, to celebrate with his family. In our usual fashion, we didn't want anything to do with it, but when his dad started getting invested in the planning (he doesn't usually involve himself in anything like this), I caved and Matt followed suit. <br />
<br />
So knowing we wanted to get married on Valentine's Day, Matt's dad - a life-long Livingston town employee - pulled some strings and within a few days we went from having a Town Hall wedding on some random Wednesday to being married by the Mayor of Livingston at the Art Council of Livingston Art Gallery in town center on Valentine's Day. Whodathunkit?<br />
<br />
So, if you feel offended, shafted or put-off because you weren't invited to our wedding, don't. We didn't want to get married to begin with anyway (even though now we're a blissfully, disgustingly happy married couple who can't imagine being anything less).<br />
<br />
And if ya don't know, now ya know...<br />
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<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8114307227540495477.post-85237232796664537962011-08-23T17:02:00.001-03:002011-08-23T17:22:02.885-03:00Grief MasqueradedGrief is something that is sacred, spiritual and specific to each individual. To overcome grief, some people turn to family, some to drugs or alcohol. Some people keep busy, while others do nothing at all. Some people need to cry, others need to laugh. <br />
<br />
Grief is one of those emotions that drives people to the depths of their emotional capacity and most of us simply don't know how to deal with it.<br />
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That being said, it can be difficult for one to relate to how another person chooses to grieve. While we might expect someone to react in a certain way, that may not be how that individual needs to cope with an emotion as complex as grief. <br />
<br />
Sometimes when one grieves their usual strength and tenacity takes a back burner. Someone who is emotional may shut down completely, seeming almost unscathed by news that <i>should</i> make them saddened or distraught. Someone who is stoic may break down, falling into depression. Someone who relies on others may end up becoming a pillar of strength for those they previously depended upon. Someone who is happy may become angry or violent.<br />
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Our role in situations where people are grieving is to recognize and respect that each of us will deal with grief in a different way. We shouldn't judge others for how they choose to grieve because <i>we</i> interpret <i>their choice</i> as callous, insensitive, inappropriate, weird, maddening, immature, or whatever; a judgement call of that magnitude is outside of our realm of understanding.<br />
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Be caring and considerate of people who are grieving. You simply can't understand how someone else experiences and deals with grief. Judging someone for how they grieve is, in effect, invalidating their grief. <br />
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No one wants to have their emotions invalidated, especially with one as deeply personal as grief.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8114307227540495477.post-15343039684205870352011-07-11T02:10:00.003-03:002011-07-11T02:34:28.532-03:00Some Thoughts On LonelinessI get by on my own pretty well, I think. I don't often find my mind plagued with morose thoughts. I enjoy my solitude. I have some pretty great friends here in Montreal, and I'm making more. I'm independent and career-driven. I can't say I really have much time for thoughts of loneliness.<br />
<br />
But there's something about knowing how good it is, and how much better it could be, that gets me to thinking.<br />
<br />
I don't struggle with this often, maybe just a for a moment or two - maximum a day or two - once every month or two. For those couple of moments, or couple of days, I just can't help but think of all the great things I could be doing as part of a two.<br />
<br />
Tonight I was biking home from my friends band practice. As I cruised down the bike path on Maisonneuve I looked up and saw the moon. It was huge and beaming down at me. Something about the moon always gets me emotional. Maybe because there's something in me that knows I'm not the only one looking up in longing. I think the moon has felt more love, more broken hearts, more desire, more yearning, more sadness, and more wonder than any other celestial body. <br />
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It's like I was looking toward the moon for powers of teleportation. Just to bike around the city in the warm summer air. Just to stare at the moon.<br />
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There is truth and depth to the phrase, "sharing your life with someone." It's what we want from a partner, from a relationship. Someone with whom we can have a shared experience. Someone we can show around, follow around, and show off.<br />
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For me, the quality of the time together and apart is so good that it makes the long stretches of solitude worth it - even when I get lonely. But sometimes, I just want to go down the street and get Southern cookin' with someone. Or go for a walk or a bike ride with someone. Or see a show or listen to music or cook or bake with someone. Or snuggle into my favourite spot on the couch and fall asleep with someone.<br />
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But "someone" won't do. It's got to be someone in particular - that one person. But it can't be. So instead, I think about all of the things we can do together, whenever we get to be geographically together again. Or I think about everything we've done already, when we were geographically together before. <br />
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It gets me by, but sometimes my imagination just doesn't cut it. I want the real deal. For longer than a few days, or a few weeks.<br />
<br />
These spurts of undeniable loneliness make me impatient, sometimes irrational and insecure. But for now, I have no other choice than to tolerate them. I just have to wait. And see. And stare at the moon. And wonder.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8114307227540495477.post-5236650975373945372011-06-17T02:46:00.004-03:002011-06-21T02:43:28.573-03:00Because a BA just ain't enough anymore...<div style="text-align: justify;">So I'm back to the precarious life of a student. This time, at the graduate level.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Three years ago, I thought I might be done for good, but after two and a half years in the public sector, six months of travelling, and four months working at a call centre (and thankfully, working at <a href="http://www.collectivelybeautiful.com/">Collectively Beautiful</a>, which legitimately kept me sane), I'm back in the groove.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">The familiar territory of student loans, academic registration, first-day jitters, and class attendance came back to me like riding a bike... just not <a href="http://signofthegypsyqueen.blogspot.com/2010/12/first-of-three.html">that time</a> in Florida when a palmetto bug landed on me and I wiped out. I'm definitely riding this bike a lot better than that.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">The anticipation for the first day of the Graduate Diploma Program in Journalism at Concordia was excruciating. I think I messaged my friend and Dip. '09 Alum, <a href="http://twitter.com/#!/AW004">Amanda</a>, roughly 18 bazillion times to ask her everything I could think of from how I should dress to what I should expect for workload. (Thanks again for all your advice, missy!)</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">In reality, as usual, the first day wasn't so bad. Actually, the first few days weren't so bad at all. We had orientation, got to know some of our professors, got lectured on scholarships, bursaries, health services, journalism societies, and the overall expectations for the program. We found out about internship opportunities, including a summer internship at a local weekly and a fall/winter internship at the CBC. And for those of us lucky enough to have some <i>money in tha bank</i>, there's even a four to six week internship available at the CBC office in London, England - that is, if you've got the $1,500 for a flight and $1,500+ CAN for a loft in the city for a month, plus money for food and entertainment. (If you haven't gathered yet, I definitely do <i>not</i> fall into this category.)</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">So, anyway. We all got our student IDs, security passes for the Journalism building, and received an extremely thorough orientation to the school, the faculty and the program itself. From the beginning we'd be warned about the intensity of the program and the level of commitment that was required. The workload would be extremely heavy and it was suggested that if any of us had jobs that involved having to be at work during specific hours we should probably quit.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">We began regular classes on June 9 and got our first three assignments in the next two days. Within another two days we had two more assignments. And just as we passed in a few of those we were assigned two more, and then another. They weren't kidding.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Between interviews (we've each done a minimum of nine so far), classes, writing assignments, researching, writing for <a href="http://www.collectivelybeautiful.com/">Collectively Beautiful</a> and going to <a href="http://www.mfitnessbootcamp.com/">bootcamp</a>, I didn't have much time for anything else. But, when you love what you do, you don't mind committing all of your spare time to those causes.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Thanks to the beautiful summer weather, I've been walking to school almost everyday and my classmates and I have stuck around campus for the most part at lunches, giving us all ample time to socialize and blow off steam in between classes. A few of us even spared some time outside of class to partake in a little undergraduate style alcohol consumption, which resulted in us receiving a threat from neighbours about the noise level and thus vacating to a nearby park where we proceeded to drink on a gazebo. Nothing says "bonding" like a little drunken debauchery.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Back to the classes, though. This semester we're taking Intro to Broadcasting with Bob Babinsky, Intro to Print with Wayne Larsen, and Computer Assisted Reporting with Leo Gervais (no relation to Ricky). I haven't decided which class is my favourite yet, but I have a feeling it's going to be a tug of war between Wayne's and Bob's. Computer Assisted Reporting is pretty dry so far (sorry Leo). On the other hand, Leo does referee in the CFL, has some pretty awesome stories, and makes some pretty hilarious comments about shut-ins named Gladys Poutine who live in Verdun. (Edit: Leo is also my official prof. homeboy... pound it!)</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Needless to say, the faculty this semester are both engaging and entertaining, each having their own individual flare, sense humour, and teaching style. And to be fair, my classmates, the "Dips" as they're referred to, are of the same variety of high-caliber individuals as well.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">The students come from a wide variety of backgrounds - the youngest being those who just completed from their undergraduate degree to the oldest who I believe is 37 and a recent immigrant from Egypt. Within that range you'll find people of all ages and all histories: world travellers, volunteers, scientists, artists, anthropologists (holla!), writers, jokesters, bloggers, poets and actors. We have sports, culture, music, and film junkies, advocates, political fanatics, technology freaks and military news hounds.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">If you couldn't tell, I think my Dips are the tits.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Although this year is already proving to be a challenge academically, with its extremely steep learning curve, I've got a pretty good lead (HA! Get it?) that we're all going to get through it together. Whether we're venting to each other at lunch, helping one another out at the lab, or blowing off steam off-campus, I know we've got a solid group that has a real desire to help one another, rather than elbow each other on the way to the top.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Do I think the class will be competition-free? Of course not. But it's already proving that it'll be a helluva lot of fun and a lot of laughs.</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0Montreal, QC, Canada45.5088889 -73.554166745.374671400000004 -73.699077699999989 45.6431064 -73.4092557tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8114307227540495477.post-16666120064497659452011-06-11T13:16:00.000-03:002011-06-11T13:16:06.421-03:00The Gypsy Re-emerges<!--StartFragment--> <br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">After having been in Montreal for 8 weeks, I’d decided my inner-gypsy needed to re-emerge so I decided to take off to New Jersey and New York for a reprieve from my very un-gypsy lifestyle. I got off work that night at 10:00 pm and the bus departed at 11:45 pm, giving me just enough time to boogie on up and stand in line – and what a line it was, no less than 75 people long, plus their accompanists. I was kind of worried I might not actually get </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">on </span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">the bus since seats aren’t reserved and it’s first-come, first-serve.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph;"><span lang="EN-CA"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">I managed to make it into a seat and settled in for what is quite possibly the worst commute on the face of the planet. There’s only one thing worse than a ride on the Greyhound for eight and a half hours, and that’s a ride on the Greyhound for eight and a half hours, where you need to get out of the bus twice, in the dead of winter, before you actually arrive in your destination. You were probably envisioning a nice, peaceful ride through the Adirondacks, my pleasant slumber accompanied by dreams of New York City food establishments and of course of my international love interest, but you couldn’t be more wrong. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph;"><span lang="EN-CA"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph;"><span lang="EN-CA"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Not only do you have to get off the bus to go through Customs at 12:30 am where you wait, always anxiously, in line while people ahead and behind you are questioned, have their retina’s scanned, and are sometimes pulled aside for additional questioning; but you also have to get out in what I will endearingly refer to as the “butthole of America,” Albany, New York. We arrived there around 3:30 am. It was about 15 degrees below zero. I was </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">not </span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">a happy gypsy. We sat in the station while they serviced the bus for another half hour, and then reloaded and as I approached my seat I came to realize that someone sniped it! I thought everyone knew the rules of travel, when you sit somewhere, that’s where you stay – especially on lengthy trips. I was delegated to the back of the bus, right next to the bathroom and some dude who snored loudly for the remainder of the trip.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph;"><span lang="EN-CA"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph;"><span lang="EN-CA"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">The only saving grace of the whole drive happened when we arrived just outside New York City. There was a cold, misty fog hanging above the skyscrapers, causing them to disappear into it, as if they could go on forever. The sun began rising just as we approached the city and the vibrant yellows and reds behind the beautiful New York City skyline blew me away. I was then grateful for being ousted from my seat, and for being kept awake by my snoring seatmate, because otherwise I wouldn’t have caught the magnificent view.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph;"><span lang="EN-CA"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph;"><span lang="EN-CA"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">I’ve briefly referred to the five days I spent in New Jersey/New York City in my </span><a href="http://signofthegypsyqueen.blogspot.com/2011/05/this-is-why-im-vegan-now-stop-harassing.html"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">blog post</span></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"> on becoming vegan. My trip took place just after I finished my four-week vegan cleanse and I was rewarding myself for my dedication by allowing myself to eat whatever I wanted, after all, I was on vacation. My body had other plans for letting me know what was going to go down (specifically down my oesophagus). Throughout the week I had a heaping pile of waffles with whipped cream and fruit, pork, chicken and beef taco sliders, burritos, Peruvian food, coconut cake, eggplant parmesan (it’s not a visit to Jersey without it), and chicken fajitas, not to mention snacks and other treats along the way. My body reacted by developing a chronic stomach ache and blessing me with nightmares every single night. It was then I decided I was going to be permanently vegan.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph;"><span lang="EN-CA"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph;"><span lang="EN-CA"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Surprisingly, it was the last day and my travel back to Montreal that left even more of an impact. Coincidentally, my best friends’ parents were in New York City for a conference, so before catching my midnight bus back to Montreal, Matt and I met up with them for a 20 minute, super fast, catch-up cram session and I was on my way, fearing that I was going to miss my bus.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph;"><span lang="EN-CA"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph;"><span lang="EN-CA"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">During the drive to the US, I kept to myself with my headphones on, but on the way back I happened to sit next to a fellow, or rather he sat next to me. He immediately offered me a piece of chocolate and so the conversation began. He just got back from travelling for six months in Costa Rica, Nicaragua, Guatemala, Belize and Florida. He told me about how he began as a deck hand for a rich Floridian man who was sailing down the coast to Costa Rica, but after a few days at sea he realized their personalities clashed too much to salvage even a working relationship, so when they docked in Costa Rica he decided to stay there.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph;"><span lang="EN-CA"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph;"><span lang="EN-CA"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">He took 48 hour long bus rides, hitchhiked, taxied and walked throughout all of the countries he visited, and all just at his own whim. The travel wasn’t planned, it wasn’t sought out, it just happened. He took the circumstances he had and made the best of them. He received his certification as a scuba diver and was only coming back to Montreal now for a brief hiatus from the seas before he was heading West to Vancouver to meet up with a documentary film maker who was going to be at sea for three to six weeks filming whale migrations.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph;"><span lang="EN-CA"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph;"><span lang="EN-CA"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">He didn’t know what he would do after that, but that didn’t matter to him anyway. What mattered was that he was following his passion, the sea, and his heart. I find the idea of static living to be so suffocating that a conversation with this late-twenties West Islander invigorating to the point that I couldn’t sleep until roughly 4:00 am. It’s always so inspiring when I find people who don’t blend in or conform to societies’ rules of what they should do and when. His life was full of uncertainty, not unlike mine, but also full of pleasure and pure joy, also not unlike mine.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph;"><span lang="EN-CA"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph;"><span lang="EN-CA"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">As we parted ways at the Berri-UQAM station in Montreal, I wondered if I should have asked for his contact information, to be kept informed on all of his adventures and travels, but as I slowly descended the escalator I knew our brief encounter was just what I needed to remind me of my own need for adventure, drive for discovery and absolute necessity of listening to my heart. The moment before a new, exciting chapter in life is what I refer to the “inhale,” and with that in mind I could feel myself breathe in.</span><o:p></o:p></span></div><!--EndFragment-->Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8114307227540495477.post-30586885237192395272011-05-26T23:48:00.007-03:002011-05-27T12:05:39.994-03:00Tales of an Urban Newbie: Pervert Edition<div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 24px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">So, by now you all know I work part-time for </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 24px;"><span style="color: red;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">CollectivelyBeautiful.com</span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 24px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">, and part- to full-time at a call center in the Old Port of Montreal. Now, I’m going to devote some time to give you a glimpse into my experiences at my first (and probably/hopefully last) call center job – trust me, it’s not what you’d expect</span>.</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Firstly, the call center is mostly inbound call for infomercials. We accept order calls for everything from health supplements, to exercise equipment, to small household appliances, to hair removal products and even bras. Yes – you heard that right, bras. You can only imagine the types of calls I’d hear in the course of a day just purely based on the sheer variety of products people are calling about. Yet, surprisingly, it’s this last item that gives me the most trauma of all.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span> </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">The problem with these bras is that the commercials show women traipsing around in pants and bras, all of whom, except one, are young, busty, and beautiful. The real problem is that it’s not just women are watching these commercials, men are, too. And only a fraction of them are watching to order bras for their wives, mothers, or daughters. I’m just going to call it like I see it and say that these men are perverts. They’re the same perverts who keep lingerie flyers in their bathrooms and who grab women’s butt’s on the subway. The worst part is, they’re not only watching these commercials in the privacy of their own homes – they’re calling in to hear a woman’s voice.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span> </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">In my opinion, it’s all fine and good if you’re whacking off to magazines and I know nothing about it, but when you involve me in your activity, it becomes a </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">major </span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">problem. And that’s exactly what happens, sometimes repeatedly by the same person. Whatever possesses these men to call a bra order line to get their kicks is beyond me – there are 1-900 numbers for that – but to call a bra order line, where you might end up speaking to a girl as young as 16? </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">That</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"> disgusts me.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Think I’m joking? There’s one pervert who calls more often that the rest – at least every weekend, maybe more. I’ll call him Perv 1. He really gets off on trying to get you to say the word panties, and I’m guessing he prefers the color black. Here’s how it goes. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span> </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 14.2pt; text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Me: “Thank you for calling, my name is Allison. What size bras can I get you today?” <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 14.2pt; text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Perv 1: “Yeah, 34C… I was wondering, do you have the panties?”<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 35.45pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: -21.25pt; text-justify: inter-ideograph;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Me: “No, sir. We don’t. And just letting you know this call is being monitored for quality assurance purposes. So you’re just getting the one set of bras?”<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 35.45pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: -21.25pt; text-justify: inter-ideograph;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Perv 1: “Oh, you don’t have the panties? I really wanted the panties? Do they come in black?”<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 35.45pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: -21.25pt; text-justify: inter-ideograph;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Me: “No, sir. We don’t have those. The bras will come in black, white and beige. May I have your credit card number now, please? We accept Visa and MasterCard.”<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 35.45pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: -21.25pt; text-justify: inter-ideograph;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Perv 1: “Can’t you give me the panties?”<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 35.45pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: -21.25pt; text-justify: inter-ideograph;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Me: “No, sir. They’re not available.”<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 35.45pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: -21.25pt; text-justify: inter-ideograph;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Perv: “Oh, but I really wanted the panties. Don’t you have black panties?”<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 35.45pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: -21.25pt; text-justify: inter-ideograph;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Me: “No, sir – and if you’re not going to give me your credit card number I’m going to have to disconnect the call.”<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 35.45pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: -21.25pt; text-justify: inter-ideograph;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span> </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify; text-indent: .05pt; text-justify: inter-ideograph;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Around this point is usually when I begin to hear him begin vigorously panting and I disconnect the call. Now, this particular pervert has enough smarts to block his number from appearing when he calls; other perverts aren’t so clever. For those who have the stupidity to call in with visible phone numbers and sexually harass women who are just trying to make an honest buck, I have a few select words, and they are: “Sir, I have your telephone number recorded. What you’re doing constitutes harassment and I’ll be reporting this activity to the police.”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify; text-indent: .05pt; text-justify: inter-ideograph;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span> </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify; text-indent: .05pt; text-justify: inter-ideograph;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">This usually results in them hanging up immediately, yet they’re still stupid enough to call back repeatedly, and often they get patched back through to my line. After I answer the second or third time they at least have the smarts to hang up before I begin threatening them with criminal action. At this point, I notify my supervisor and have their phone number blocked from calling our agents. This makes me feel like some sort of small-scale, feminist superhero. Protecting the innocent female call center employees, one pervert at a time.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify; text-indent: .05pt; text-justify: inter-ideograph;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span> </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify; text-indent: .05pt; text-justify: inter-ideograph;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Now, I have two things to say about these situations: 1) I don’t get paid enough for this sh*t, and 2) these are deeply, deeply troubled men who are a product of a deeply, deeply trouble society. But, that's just my opinion.</span></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8114307227540495477.post-85132706598537091002011-05-14T01:41:00.000-03:002011-05-14T01:41:24.885-03:00Tales of an Urban Newbie: February 14 - 20, 2011<!--StartFragment--> <br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13px; line-height: 19px;">My week started out innocently enough, I was scheduled mostly nights, starting at 5 pm, and since I was expecting a very special foreign visitor I had the weekend off again. It was my first full week on the phones and I was starting to get the hang of selling the wide variety of products that the call centre took orders for. We had scripts for all of the products that automatically popped up on our screens, so the way I looked at it was if you could read you could do this job. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13px; line-height: 19px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 150%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Most of the calls I received were for a bra that women (and sometimes men) would call to order after seeing an infomercial on television hosted by some Australian lady who I know nothing about. In training we were told that it was our job to make these bra’s out to be the best product on the face of the planet, which made my job extra entertaining when only a couple of weeks in I received a call from a lady who told me that she heard the fabric was designed by NASA. Although I don’t know if this is true, I didn’t bother correcting her because, after all, the best bra on the planet </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">should be</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"> designed by astronauts.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 150%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 150%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">While at work, the evening shifts were mostly laid back. Calls came in a lot less frequently than they did during the day and the evening staff was mostly young students, making the atmosphere even more casual. In between calls the agents would work on homework or chat with each other and when people found out how new I was to the city, they all went out of their way to share their own personal “best of Montreal” with me.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 150%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 150%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">In my first week I found out there is a bar that serves candy, aptly called <i>CandyBar</i>, and every drink has a candy at the bottom. I learned about an all-you-can-eat Brazilian restaurant where the waiters shave meat right off a hot skewer and onto your plate. There was a brunch joint close to Old Port with some of the most unique and delicious breakfast delicacies and espresso-based coffee. And, I couldn’t forget about the always inexpensive, but always delicious, Thai cuisine that could be found at a hip little joint in Chinatown.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 150%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 150%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Being the foodie that I am, I was more than excited to experience all of these places in due time. But first, there was work to be done. It was also my first week writing for </span><span style="color: red;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">CollectivelyBeautiful.com </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">and I’d chosen some really interesting, but rather challenging, articles to tackle in my first two weeks.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 150%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 150%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">While most of the articles I’d chosen involved research or drawing from personal experiences, there was one that I thought could potentially be difficult for me, especially on a moral level: I was going to be interviewing a friend of mine about her divorce. I believe there comes a time in every writer’s life when he or she questions their own capacity to write about people whom they care about.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 150%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 150%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">I consider myself lucky enough to have those people care equally for me, and embrace the opportunity to help me with my career, so when I asked Michelle for an interview she was more than pleased to shed some light on the topic. And as it turned out, the interview helped her develop her own thoughts and further understand her experience, so in the end we really both benefited from the interview.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 150%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">That Wednesday I was going to make another attempt at seeing some live music, this time for the Wild Nothing featuring Abe Vigoda at La Salla Rosa. My roommate and I arrived in good time, not only catching the main features, but also the local band that opened the evening, though I couldn’t decide if I liked them or not. My opinion wavered so much that I was changing my opinion as frequently as between verses and the chorus of individual songs. In retrospect, if my perspective was faltering that much, they probably weren’t that good.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 150%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 150%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Abe Vigoda, on the other hand, took me by total surprised and seriously rocked the house. These LA rockers had a ton of stage presence and energy and got even a hipster crowd moving (which is a feat, for anyone who’s familiar with the indie music scene which is full of shoe-gazers with their hands in their pockets). After a full set with a nice mix of old and new songs, they welcomed the headliners, the Wild Nothing, to the stage for a great display of musical prowess and stamina. They played all of my personal favourites, and even included some new material. Unfortunately, it didn’t seem to shake the crowd from their corpse-like hipster state, even though it should have. I know I got a little glisten on. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 150%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 150%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">We ended the night with some delicious Montreal smoked meat sandwiches and poutine, and though my appetite was satisfied, my mind and heart weren’t, suffering from the anticipation of having mere hours to wait before my reunion with whom I like to call my “foreign acquisition”, and whom </span><span style="color: red;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Ms. Charles</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"> and I like to call my “non-boyfriend”. Not because he isn’t, per se, or not because I’m a commitment-phobe, but because I’ve developed an aversion to the term after realizing that most people who call themselves by the title rarely live up to it. Anyway, he can go by a variety of monikers, including my personal favourite, “The New Jersey Love Machine,” but his proper name is Matt. He would be arriving first thing Friday morning and would be in Montreal for four days, so to say I was excited was an understatement.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 150%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 150%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">And so I found myself at the Greyhound station at 8 am sharp (I hate lateness), only to find out that his bus was held up at the border with two “illegals” on board. So I trudged to Second Cup for a coffee and to check out some local newspapers for things to do for the next few days. When he finally arrived, we were both hungry and sleep-deprived, but relieved of our anticipation.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 150%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 150%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">In the next three days our time was fully occupied with museum visits, restaurant trials, and more attempts at seeing live music. Friday night we went to two separate venues for two separate bands and were brutally reject by both of them, sent back into the cold to suffer through blowing snow and icy conditions (I’m not being dramatic here – this is actually what happened!). Due to the infamy of Schwartz’s Hebrew Deli, we decided to go, but this was my third visit in 2 weeks, and I was starting to tire of the routine.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 150%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 150%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">We made our way around by Metro all weekend, checked out all of the restaurants I had in mind, including </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Le Milsa </span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">on Crescent where I had the most delicious, hot, fresh and, most importantly, </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">unlimited</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"> quantity of spiced rotisserie meats. Ten different varieties of meat were all served alongside a live show of what I presume was a Brazilian man who was wearing nothing but a fedora, pants and a vest, and a woman dressed very </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">caribana</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">, both shaking what their mama’s gave them to</span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">some really loud Brazilian music. </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Nil Bleu</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">, an Ethiopian restaurant on St. Denis was also a treat, with their sleek, hip interior including a glossy white mini grand piano; though their serving size and selection for their variety plates were slightly less appealing than the other Ethiopian places we had visited in Toronto, New York City, and Montclair, New Jersey. And for brunch, we made sure to check out the </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Griffintown Cafe</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">, which had the most delicious Americano I have ever tasted, and a unique, fresh, flavour-orgy inducing menu (I recommend the French toast, but also laid eyes on the most breathtaking eggs Benedict, possibly in all of human history).<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 150%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 150%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">During the day on Saturday we went to the Musee de Beaux Arts and marvelled especially at their contemporary exhibit on their lowest level – it was quite the treat for the eyes. That night we made it to </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Il Motore</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"> for Akron/Family and New Jersey natives, Delicate Steve. To say I was pleased with the instrumental openers who hailed from the dirty Jers’ was an understatement – they were phenomenal, but Akron/Family, who we had been listening to frequently in preparation for the show, decided to pull an interesting stunt that left me far from amused. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 150%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 150%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Their spectacle included 15-20 minute long songs that didn’t resemble anything from their album, and included what I interpreted as desperate attempts to be unique, which included inaudible moanings into the microphone, which was being fully deep-throated by the lead singer, along with mutterings and gibberish that made me question whether I was at a live music venue or a Holy Rollers Convention. Now, I’m all for a good stage show – but when Matt had seen them only the week before, they were </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">nothing </span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">like this, which lead me to believe that they were probably hung-over and/or tired and/or too lazy and ungrateful for our attendance to play a full live set. So, after waiting 15 minutes for the current song to end, we decided to leave.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 150%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 150%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">We definitely made the most of our time together, even though we got lost a couple of times (on my account, as usual) and didn’t get to do everything or eat at every restaurant that we’d planned. But, that just leaves more reason for him to come back for another visit soon. He left Monday that on the midnight bus back to Newark, and so I returned to routine as well, taking calls for bras, writing, and experiencing more of this wonderful city.</span><o:p></o:p></span></div><!--EndFragment-->Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8114307227540495477.post-48108651480558377282011-05-10T01:37:00.004-03:002011-05-10T01:49:24.466-03:00This is why I'm vegan. Now stop harassing me about my protein intake.<div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">So, it was suggested to me that I should write a blog about why I became vegan. I've found that since becoming vegan, I've been explaining myself - a lot. Either defending my protein intake, excusing myself from eating certain things, ensuring that I'm being "healthy", defending my choice, and just about every other wild and crazy debate and discussion you can think of.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Here's how it went:</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Firstly, I "became" vegan unintentionally. After a visit from Matt over two months ago where I had eaten entirely too much meat and dairy (on his last night in Montreal we ate for two hours at an all-you-can-eat Brazilian restaurant that served 12 varieties of rotisserie meats), I decided to do a cleanse. I'd be vegan for a month to detox my system, give it a well-needed rest, and reduce the bloating I was having from all the dairy and salty foods I'd been eating.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">My first week of being vegan was a little challenging, but bringing food to work with me helped and I started researching and trying new recipes instead of just eating salad and quinoa. What I started realizing was that I actually enjoyed the hunt - I liked looking for new recipes, making alterations based on my taste and trying new things. I really liked cooking - a lot.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">During the next 4 weeks my energy levels increased, I lost a couple of pounds (probably mostly in water weight), I stopped craving salt like I used to, I felt happier, was sleeping better, and felt like I was getting into a natural rhythm. The only thing that became difficult was continually defending my decision, but usually when people found out I was only doing it for a month, they relaxed and stopped bothering me.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">On my 28 day mark, I was to arrive in New Jersey for a visit with Matt and the end of my vegan cleanse (since all we do is eat new food while we're together). For the next five days I gorged on waffles with whipped cream, pulled pork taco sliders, ice cream, and just about anything else I could get my little Canadian hands on. And in return I had severe stomach pains every day and nightmares every night. I felt lethargic, had no motivation to go to the gym or work out, and was sleeping 9+ hours a night.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">It became clear to me exactly what was going on. My body was happy with the way it was under my new vegan regimen, and was rejecting the old chemical-, hormone-, preservative-filled foods I was pumping into it again.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">When I got back to Montreal I started reading Alicia Silverstone's book </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">The Kind Diet</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">. This book touches upon a wide variety of reasons for becoming vegan, and just </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">one</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"> of these reasons is the inhumane treatment of animals in industrial food production facilities. I say this because for the vast majority of non-vegans that I've crossed since making my choice, most of them raise their eyebrows and make some snide remark about me wanting the save the cute little cows or chickens or whatever. While I disagree with the way animals are treated in mass production, unethical facilities, I've gotta admit that my reasons for deciding to stay vegan were a lot more selfish than that.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">In Alicia's book, she touches on the </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">way</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"> animals are slaughtered and how it actually effects the meat itself - this is what got me. When an animal is in a slaughterhouse, it's aware of what's going on around it, and when it's time to go under the knife, the animal knows it's about to die. All animals possess a fight-or-flight impulse that will help any creature to survive a threatening situation. When an animal goes to slaughter, it's fight-or-flight impulses and stress hormones kick in, causing the chemicals adrenaline and cortisol to spike in production. </span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Now, in humans, adrenaline is produced naturally, which can give us a rush and make us feel good, or in too-high doses it can cause aggression and anger (this is the "fight" part of the fight-or-flight impulse). Cortisol is naturally produced by humans, too; when we get stressed out, our cortisol levels increase and this has been linked to weight gain and a variety of other stress-related ailments (this biological reaction dates back to the caveman days when "stress" meant "food shortage" so our bodies released cortisol to store fat for famine, even though this is no longer the case). So, consider this: animal secretes adrenaline and cortisol moments before being slaughtered, therefore, those chemicals are released into the blood, which pumps through the muscles, which then get packaged and sent to grocery stores and bought by people who cook it up and eat it, so those chemicals get passed into </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">us</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">! If these chemicals are already proven to negatively affect us when we produce them ourselves, then what do you think is going to happen when we consume </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">more</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"> when we eat foods that are laden with it? Cortisol and adrenaline overload = angry, fat people! That's not good for anyone!</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">And not only that, but because the FDA doesn't enforce slaughterhouse rules as tightly as they should, we have cases of food contamination. Do you want to know </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">why</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"> that happens? You probably don't, because it's going to ruin eating meat for most of you, but I'm going to tell you anyway. When they string up an animal for slaughter, slaughterers go at it with knives, usually while it's alive, slashing away all willy nilly! In the process, sometimes internal organs are pierced, like colons, which are full of </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">shit</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"> - literally. What does this mean? </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 15px;"><em style="font-style: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Escherichia coli, or E. coli, which is responsible for 20-30 deaths, countless food recalls and over 70,000 illnesses every year. Fluids from the liver, pancreas and gallbladder can all make their way into our meats, too, filling us with all kinds of nasty toxins. Milk isn't safe either. Cows are often over-milked, causing inflammation and infection in their teats, which translates into </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">puss</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"> in </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">your</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"> milk, cheese, butter and yogurt. YUMMY!</span></em></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 15px;"><em style="font-style: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></em></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 15px;"><em style="font-style: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">To top it all off, these poor animals are fed nutrient deficient food and pumped full of hormones and antibiotics, which all (you guessed it!) gets passed onto us in their meat. And we wonder why we're living in an increasingly aggressive, anti-biotic resistant, messed up, cancer-ridden world.</span></em></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 15px;"><em style="font-style: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></em></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 15px;"><em style="font-style: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Also, the anti-establishmentarian in me loathes the incestuousness of the industry and government. These industries pay government parties and officials </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">millions</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"> of dollars every year to promote legislation that will keep them on top, and they spend even more promoting their "staples" as absolutely necessary to human survival. Let's get one thing straight: until refrigerators were invented, meat, dairy, eggs and cheese were rarely eaten at every meal. It's was impossible. They couldn't be stored for long periods of time like they are now. Yet, </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">somehow</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">, people still survived. How could this be?! Well, I know it's hard to believe, since the dairy, egg and meat industries have brainwashed us into believing that their foods are the only complete forms of proteins, calcium and other nutrients available, but you </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">can</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"> get all of those things from other sources - and they're even </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">better</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"> sources than meats, eggs, and dairy!</span></em></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 15px;"><em style="font-style: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></em></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 15px;"><em style="font-style: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Our bodies use a huge amount of energy to digest these nutrient-deficient, hormone-filled, antibiotic-laden foods. So, a plant-based diet - one that includes other sources of protein, like beans, lentils, dark greens, and sea vegetables if you're so inclined - is going to provide you with all the vitamins, nutrients, and amino acids (these make up proteins) that you'll need to life a healthy life. And you'll likely find that you're naturally staying away from preserved foods, which are often extremely high in sodium, and junk foods that have dairy products in them and are often high in fat and refined sugars. Just what the doctor ordered! </span></em></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 15px;"><em style="font-style: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></em></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 15px;"><em style="font-style: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Whodathunkit?! A natural diet makes us feel most human - not so shocking when you really think about it. And vegan diets have been </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">proven</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"> to reverse a plethora of medical conditions - even cancer!</span></em></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 15px;"><em style="font-style: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></em></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 15px;"><em style="font-style: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Now, I'm not writing this to tell people to become vegan or vegetarian, though it would be nice if a few did. I'm writing this because most people just don't know about this stuff - I know I didn't! But in order to make a change in your life, you need to find a reason that will work for you. If that's thinking about the cute furry animals and not wanting to be responsible for hurting them anymore--cool. If it's the reasons I listed above--cool. If it's jut wanting to make a healthy change for yourself and the environment (don't get me started on the waste that's produced and the water that's used for raising livestock!)--COOL! Whatever your reason is, you've gotta believe in it.</span></em></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 15px;"><em style="font-style: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></em></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 15px;"><em style="font-style: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">If you still want more information, hit up the interweb. There's so much information online. Go to www.sprword.com for some mad chill documentaries on food production and other cool stuff. Read Alicia's book </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">The Kind Diet</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">, or find another book that you are more drawn to. And even if you don't go vegan, at least educate yourself and stop making yourself look like an ignorant asshole when you talk to me about how "unhealthy" I am for being vegan. What's in </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">your</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"> food that makes it healthier than mine? Don't know? Then go find out.</span></em></span></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8114307227540495477.post-48328255268878513342011-04-14T23:31:00.004-03:002011-05-14T01:43:40.250-03:00Tales of an Urban Newbie: February 7 - 14, 2011<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13px; line-height: 19px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">After a full week of apartment sabotage, job interviews, and getting lost multiple times, I’m surprised I had any energy left in me to make it another week (okay, I’m a little melodramatic).</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13px; line-height: 19px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13px; line-height: 19px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Somehow, I made it through, and secured three jobs in the process.</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13px; line-height: 19px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 150%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">I began my first week in training for a position as a call centre agent. I greedily accepted this position with the intention of quitting after my training week so that I could move onto a more respectable position as an HR interviewer for a background checking company. After spending a week in training, making a few friends, and realizing that the job wasn’t as evil as I’d anticipated, my opinion started to sway. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 150%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">During the week I got closer with my training group, met some of the other call centre agents and staff members, and tried to catch my next concert, </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">the Weakerthans</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"> that Thursday at Le Cabaret du Mile End. My roommate, her sister and I left for the Cabaret at around 6:30 pm – which should have been plenty of time, even considering that we were going for smoked meat at the world famous </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Schwartz’s Montreal Hebrew Delicatessen</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"> and I had to meet up with Ms. Charles to sign our contract for </span><span style="color: red;"><a href="http://www.collectivelybeautiful.com/"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">CollectivelyBeautiful</span></a></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 150%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">But when we were outside the Laurier Metro station after filling our bellies and signing the contract we were asked by a kind, young stranger if we knew where the Brasserie Artisanale Dieu Du Ciel was. I could hardly pronounce it, let alone locate it on a map. After collaboratively inspecting the giant city map outside the Metro we realized we were going in the same direction, so we all decided to walk together. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 150%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">When we got to the Brasserie, our new friend invited us in to have a beer. In the spirit of making new friends, we thought “what the hell, why not?” and decided to join him and his friend (for anonymity’s sake, I’ll call them Shawn and Rick. Rick had recently moved to Montreal, and Shawn was planning to once he found work, so we all bonded through our common lack of friends in the area. After about 45 minutes, we decided to head to the concert and bid our new friends farewell.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 150%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Arriving at the Cabaret was like déjà vu. I could hear the music, I sprinted up the stairs, but when I got to the top no one asked me to pay admission and the people in the crowd gave us really strange looks. About thirty seconds later the band announced that it would be their last song of the night. (If you’re counting, the current score for concert attendance is Montreal - 2, Allie - zero.) So, I figured at least at this rate the next concert I’d go to that I would see three songs, minimum. You have to celebrate the small victories.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 150%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Now, by the end of the week there were a few things about the call centre that slowly won me over. One of my biggest complaints about my last job in government was that it was really difficult to make friends there who had similar interests as me, since the vast majority of my co-workers were married with children. So the fact that the call centre is made up of a predominantly young staff was really appealing to me. I was already making friends in a new city in my first week – more than I’d made in Edmonton in two and a half years. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 150%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Also, probably for the same reason that it was easy to make friends, it was a really laid back environment – I could wear leggings and a hoodie to work, which I can’t say the same for any of my jobs since I stopped babysitting. My co-workers all shared a similar cynical sarcasm for life in general and I felt like I fit in almost immediately.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 150%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Finally, my schedule at the call centre had the ability to be extremely flexible. The company used an online scheduling system that lets employees check their schedule, drop shifts, pick up shifts or trade shifts, request time off, and check when other employees are working. Being an internet junkie and techo-geek, the idea of having my schedule at my fingertips really revved my engine. Another small win-over was the potential for commission – it wouldn’t be much, but probably enough to make a small dent in the month bills.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 150%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">My final decision was made when I called the other job to find out if I could get time off before I started – I needed the following Friday and Monday off: that was it. When the woman called me back, she left a message saying that if I couldn’t make training they would have to offer the job to someone else. Now, it wasn’t necessarily </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">what she </span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">said, but </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">how she said it</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"> that I was offended by. Her tone came across “holier than thou,” like my very survival was in her hands alone, and the attitude turned me off more than the fact that they wouldn’t give me the time off. My roommate’s twin sister was in town that week and I ended up forgetting to call the other job I’d been offered until Sunday. When I called I mentioned not only would I be declining the position due to my scheduling conflict, but also that I’d been offered another position. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 150%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">This seemingly harmless voicemail would eventually give me the age-old “foot in mouth” syndrome, but I’ll save those details for week six.</span><o:p></o:p></span></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8114307227540495477.post-71176285466776602362011-04-03T21:21:00.000-03:002011-04-03T21:21:53.755-03:00My Promise...<div style="text-align: justify;">Althought at the moment I currently am writing about many past-tense issues and events, mostly to do with my own life, that, of course, is not my ultimate goal. As many of you may or may not know, I'm attending graduate school in June of this year to pursue a professional career in Journalism. I've been doing my best to remain up-to-speed with national and international events, but an open letter posted almost a year ago by the Canadian Association of Journalists only recently caught my attention, and it stirred something deep inside of me - giving me chills again and again.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Let me begin by defining my goals as a journalist:</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">I want to be honest and transparent, even if that means not getting the most razzle-dazzle story out there.</div><div style="text-align: justify;">I want to be dedicated and passionate, and I want those qualities to be reflected in my work.</div><div style="text-align: justify;">I want to be a representative and spokesperson for Canadians and citizens of the world, alike - finding out the answers to the questions that many will never be given the opportunity to ask.</div><div style="text-align: justify;">I want to have the opportunity to cover meaningful and powerful stories that will hopefully rejuvenate and revolutionize our nation.</div><div style="text-align: justify;">I believe this is my duty as a person, a journalist, and a Canadian.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">That being said, I think that it's imperative that every Canadian reads this open letter authored by many journalists in Canada who also share these values. Each of us needs to forget the glitzy, hot-topic, cultivated news that we have become so accustomed to. This is <i>not</i> real news. The real news is what we're not seeing. The acts that are staged by our government are just that - an act. The real news is that we're not getting all the answers, all of the facts, or even all of the footage, from our government. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">So please, read this letter and support your local and national journalists in their battle against our nations political representatives for truth, transparency, and respect - not only for journalists as professionals, but for each of us as proud citizens of this great nation and the world.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 18px;"></span></div><address style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;">"June 2010</address><div style="margin-bottom: 5px; margin-left: 25px; margin-right: 5px; margin-top: 15px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;">A few weeks ago, many journalists nodded knowingly at this Tweet by Canadian Press reporter Jennifer Ditchburn.<br style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;" /></div><div style="margin-bottom: 5px; margin-left: 25px; margin-right: 5px; margin-top: 15px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;">“My Friday giggle… a spokesperson who emails me “on background” and then says: I can’t answer your question.”<br style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;" /></div><div style="margin-bottom: 5px; margin-left: 25px; margin-right: 5px; margin-top: 15px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;">It’s a bit of gallows humour about a problem that began as a minor annoyance for reporters working on Parliament Hill in Ottawa and has grown into a genuine and widespread threat to the public’s right to know.<br style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;" /></div><div style="margin-bottom: 5px; margin-left: 25px; margin-right: 5px; margin-top: 15px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;">Most Canadians are aware of the blacked-out Afghan detainee documents and the furor over MPs’ secret expenses. </div><div style="margin-bottom: 5px; margin-left: 25px; margin-right: 5px; margin-top: 15px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;">But the problem runs much deeper.<br style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;" /></div><div style="margin-bottom: 5px; margin-left: 25px; margin-right: 5px; margin-top: 15px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;">Under Prime Minister Stephen Harper, the flow of information out of Ottawa has slowed to a trickle. Cabinet ministers and civil servants are muzzled. Access to Information requests are stalled and stymied by political interference. Genuine transparency is replaced by slick propaganda and spin designed to manipulate public opinion.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 5px; margin-left: 25px; margin-right: 5px; margin-top: 15px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;">The result is a citizenry with limited insight into the workings of their government and a diminished ability to hold it accountable. As journalists, we fear this will mean more government waste, more misuse of taxpayer dollars, more scandals Canadians won’t know about until it’s too late.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 5px; margin-left: 25px; margin-right: 5px; margin-top: 15px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;">It’s been four years since Harper muzzled his cabinet ministers and forced reporters to put their names on a list during rare press conferences in hopes of being selected to ask the prime minster a question. It’s not uncommon for reporters to be blackballed, barred from posing questions on behalf of Canadians.<br style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;" /></div><div style="margin-bottom: 5px; margin-left: 25px; margin-right: 5px; margin-top: 15px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;">More recently, information control has reached new heights. Access to public events is now restricted. Photographers and videographers have been replaced by hand-out photos and footage shot by the prime minister’s press office and blitzed out to newsrooms across Canada. It’s getting tougher to find an independent eye recording history, a witness seeing things how they really happened — not how politicians wish they’d happened. Did cabinet ministers grimace while they tasted seal meat in the Arctic last summer? Canadians will never know. Photographers were barred from the fake photo-op.<br style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;" /></div><div style="margin-bottom: 5px; margin-left: 25px; margin-right: 5px; margin-top: 15px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;">Those hand-out shots are, unfortunately, widely used by media outlets, often without the caveat that they are not real journalism.<br style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;" /></div><div style="margin-bottom: 5px; margin-left: 25px; margin-right: 5px; margin-top: 15px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;">In the end, that means Canadian only get a sanitized and staged version of history — not the real history.<br style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;" /></div><div style="margin-bottom: 5px; margin-left: 25px; margin-right: 5px; margin-top: 15px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;">Meanwhile, the quality of factual information provided to the public has declined steadily. Civil servants – scientists, doctors, regulators, auditors and policy experts, those who draft public policy and can explain it best to the population — cannot speak to the media. Instead, reporters have to deal with an armada of press officers who know very little or nothing at all about a reporter’s topic and who answer tough questions with vague talking points vetted by layers of political staff and delivered by email only.<br style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;" /></div><div style="margin-bottom: 5px; margin-left: 25px; margin-right: 5px; margin-top: 15px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;">In addition, the Access to Information system has been “totally obliterated” by delays and denials, according to a scathing report by the country’s information commissioner. Requests are met with months-long delays, needless censoring and petty political interference — the most cringe-worthy recent example involves a bureaucrat forced to make a mad dash to the mailroom to rescue a report on Canada’s real estate holdings after a senior political aide ordered the report “unreleased.”<br style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;" />Politicians should not get to decide what information is released. This information belongs to Canadians, the taxpayers who paid for its production. Its release should be based on public interest, not political expediency.<br style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;" /></div><div style="margin-bottom: 5px; margin-left: 25px; margin-right: 5px; margin-top: 15px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;">This breeds contempt and suspicion of government. How can people know the maternal-health initiative has been well thought out or that the monitoring of aboriginal bands has been done properly if all Canadians hear is: “Trust us”?<br style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;" /></div><div style="margin-bottom: 5px; margin-left: 25px; margin-right: 5px; margin-top: 15px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;">Reporters have been loath to complain about this problem. But this needs to change. This is not about deteriorating working conditions for journalists. It’s about the deterioration of democracy itself.<br style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;" /></div><div style="margin-bottom: 5px; margin-left: 25px; margin-right: 5px; margin-top: 15px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;">Last month, reporters gathered in Montreal at the Canadian Association of Journalists’ conference to discuss these issues. On behalf of our members, we are calling on journalists to stand together and push back by refusing to accept vague email responses to substantive questions that require an interview with a cabinet minister or a senior civil servant. We are also asking journalists to stop running hand-out photos and video clips.<br style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;" /></div><div style="margin-bottom: 5px; margin-left: 25px; margin-right: 5px; margin-top: 15px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;">We are also calling on journalists to explain better to readers and viewers just how little information Ottawa has provided for a story. Every time a minister refuses to comment, a critical piece of information is withheld or an access request is delayed, Canadians deserve to know.<br style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;" /></div><div style="margin-bottom: 5px; margin-left: 25px; margin-right: 5px; margin-top: 15px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;">Finally, we are asking editors to devote the time and money it takes to dig beyond the stage-managed press conferences to get to the real story.<br style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;" /></div><div style="margin-bottom: 5px; margin-left: 25px; margin-right: 5px; margin-top: 15px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;">This is not about ideology or partisanship on the part of journalists. Journalists aren’t looking to judge the policies of the Conservative government. Rather, we want to ensure the public has enough information to judge for themselves.<br style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;" /></div><div style="margin-bottom: 5px; margin-left: 25px; margin-right: 5px; margin-top: 15px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;">Journalists are your proxies. At our best, we ask the questions you might ask if you had a few minutes with your prime minister or with Environment Canada’s top climatologist. When we can’t get basic information, we can’t hold your government to account on your behalf. In order to have a genuine debate about matters of national interest, people need information. In order for citizens to be involved and engaged and make smart choices at voting time, they need information. It’s time we got some.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 5px; margin-left: 25px; margin-right: 5px; margin-top: 15px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;">Hélène Buzzetti<br style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;" />President, Canadian Parliamentary Press Gallery</div><div style="margin-bottom: 5px; margin-left: 25px; margin-right: 5px; margin-top: 15px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;">Mary Agnes Welch<br style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;" />President, Canadian Association of Journalists</div><div style="margin-bottom: 5px; margin-left: 25px; margin-right: 5px; margin-top: 15px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;">Brian Myles<br style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;" />President, Fédération professionnelle des journalistes du Québec</div><div style="margin-bottom: 5px; margin-left: 25px; margin-right: 5px; margin-top: 15px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;">Kim Trynacity<br style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;" />President, Alberta Legislature Press Gallery</div><div style="margin-bottom: 5px; margin-left: 25px; margin-right: 5px; margin-top: 15px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;">Christine Morris<br style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;" />President, New Brunswick Press Gallery</div><div style="margin-bottom: 5px; margin-left: 25px; margin-right: 5px; margin-top: 15px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;">David Cochrane<br style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;" />President, Newfoundland Press Gallery</div><div style="margin-bottom: 5px; margin-left: 25px; margin-right: 5px; margin-top: 15px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;">Réal Séguin<br style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;" />President, Quebec Press Gallery</div><div style="margin-bottom: 5px; margin-left: 25px; margin-right: 5px; margin-top: 15px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;">Wayne Thibodeau<br style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;" />President, Press Gallery of the Prince Edward Island Legislative Assembly</div><div style="margin-bottom: 5px; margin-left: 25px; margin-right: 5px; margin-top: 15px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;">Karen Briere<br style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;" />President, Saskatchewan Legislature Press Gallery Association"</div><div style="margin-bottom: 5px; margin-left: 25px; margin-right: 5px; margin-top: 15px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;">http://www.caj.ca/?p=692</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8114307227540495477.post-39717930645906380092011-04-01T11:41:00.003-03:002011-04-01T16:51:15.887-03:00Tales of an Urban Newbie: The Trials and Tribulations of Acclimating to a New City<span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 24px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">(</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 24px;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">This series of articles about my getting to know Montreal is also featured on the website www.CollectivelyBeautiful.com, along with many other useful, interesting, and thought-provoking pieces - take a look!</span></i></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 24px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">)</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
</span> </b></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span style="line-height: 150%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">So, although I’ve visited Montreal several times before, and have visited countless other cities, I’m still incredibly directionally challenged. And that’s just the icing on the cake. Add in the fact that I’m most familiar with running on New York time (where just about everything begins at least 45 minutes after it’s supposed to) and it’s a recipe for disaster.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span style="line-height: 150%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Firstly, I’m not sure if it’s just my apartment, or apartments all over Montreal, but I’m fairly certain that everything in my apartment, from the front door locks to the knobs on the stove, work backward. I arrived to my apartment after a 20-hour train ride from Nova Scotia, I had 9 pieces of luggage with me, and was stranded in the hallway because I couldn’t unlock my door. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span style="line-height: 150%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">After 45 minutes of turning one lock, then the other, then turning them back again, I finally managed to make my way inside. I’m used to locks that unlock when you turn the key counter clockwise, and lock when you turn them clockwise; however, my new door does just the opposite. I don’t know any other person who has broken a sweat unlocking their front door, but I somehow managed it. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span style="line-height: 150%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">One can’t live in an apartment without food in it, so I decided it was grocery time. I headed down the street to the local Metro to pick up the usual basics and everyday items. What I didn’t realize upon exiting the store was that there are, in fact, </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">two</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> entrances/exits in </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">two</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> different sides of the building. I, of course, exited out a different door than I had come in, without realizing it, which resulted in me walking four blocks in the wrong direction with five heavy bags of groceries. When I realized how lost I was, I gave up and called a cab. I had walked in the precise opposite direction of my apartment. Five dollars, and less than three blocks, later my less was learned.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span style="line-height: 150%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Now, I was starving. I hadn’t eaten since the night before on the train when I had a miniscule egg sandwich with couscous, which was grossly overpriced. I put a pot of water on the stove and waited for it to boil. This attempt gave me a whole new appreciation for the saying, “a watched pot never boils.” I waited, and waited… then waited some more. Nearly an hour passed and the water was still just barely warmer than room temperature. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span style="line-height: 150%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">What I didn’t realize, that my front door lock and stove knobs had conspired against me. For every stovetop appliance that I’ve used in recent memory, you turn the knob counterclockwise, to turn it on, and as you continue to turn, the temperature will get hotter and hotter. This was not the case in my apartment, but the complete opposite. And, to make matters work, only half of the burners on the stove are functional. I’m surprised I didn’t pass out from exhaustion by the time I finally managed to make my meal. Needless to say, I expected the worst when I went to take a shower later that night. Thankfully, showers are pretty fool-proof.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span style="line-height: 150%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">That weekend I had planned to see a band called </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">the Radio Dept.</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> that I’ve been waiting to check out for about a year now. They were playing at a little venue that is inside a bigger venue, on Rue Prince-Arthur. Tickets were only $15, and even though there was a blizzard outside, my roommate and I decided to brave the weather for some good live music. We left our apartment at 10:45 pm, expecting the headlining band to go on around 11:30 pm or so. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span style="line-height: 150%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">My assumption was based on the usual schedules of shows that take place in the greatest metropolis in North American – New York City – and this assumption couldn’t have been farther from actuality. After trudging though the snow with the wind howling past us, we arrived at the venue. It was around midnight and as I ran up the stairs the anticipation continued to build, but when I got to the top of the stairs and sprung through the door, the venue was empty, the stage was torn down, and the music was no where to be heard. I asked the bartender what time the bands usually come on. She helpfully responded, “Anytime”. “Yeah, thanks,” I thought, “That was really helpful.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span style="line-height: 150%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I sulked my way to the other, larger venue there, since we’d already paid cover. It wasn’t exactly the live rock I’d expected, but we made the most of it anyway. After evading a creepy Swedish man who was clearly on mood-enhancing drugs, watching a young guy spontaneously projectile vomit next to us, and dancing and laughing more than I previously considered humanly possible, we headed home. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span style="line-height: 150%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">It was a successfully unsuccessful first outing in Montreal and a solid way to end my first full week in my new home city. Though, I was hoping that my skills and timing would get better as time went by.</span><o:p></o:p></span></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8114307227540495477.post-66092869196321243282011-03-28T01:50:00.004-03:002011-03-28T02:06:23.984-03:00Magnetism<div style="text-align: justify;">The more I put myself out there, the more I start realizing that I'm constantly attracting more people with similar thoughts, perspectives, ideas and attitudes that are similar to my own. I used to wonder if I was crazy, if I was drinking the proverbial punch, if I was the star of some "Truman Show" of the 21st Century.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">How could it be possible for my life to change to drastically, so seemingly seamlessly, in such short periods of time?</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">It all started back in my sophomore year of university when I stopped listening to what society thought about what I should do with my life. I stopped being concerned with whether or not there would be a job or significant money for me waiting at the end of my degree, and I started listening to my heart. I kept thinking, "What use is a well paying job in a field that I hate?" That's when I realized, it's of <i>no </i>use at all. Why go through four years of misery, which is only going to inevitably lead to more misery?</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">I remember the day it all hit me. I was going to a leadership retreat in the south shore of Nova Scotia with Tim Merry among others, for a session called "The Art of Hosting" which focused on facilitating meaningful conversations through more organic methods of communication, like Circle and World Cafe. On the way from Halifax I carpooled with a young woman, not more than a decade older than myself. During our ride she asked me about what I was taking in school and when I told her Business Administration she asked me, "Why?" It was the first time anyone had asked me that. Most people just accepted it as a socially responsible course of education and moved on. The worst part was, when I thought about my answer, I really had no idea <i>why</i> I was taking Business Administration - not a good sign! And the more I thought about it, the more that bothered me.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">I ended up being roommates with two older women - around my mom's age - that weekend. I wish I could remember their names so that I could thank them, because they're really the ones who inspired me to follow my heart, not my head, which was so infiltrated with other peoples' opinions and expectations that I'd forgotten how to follow my own dreams. These women spoke to me about their opportunities, or lack thereof, when they were my age; forced into adulthood, being a wife, a mother, a provider. They wished they had the freedom that I had and they encouraged me to make the most of it. It took them another 30 years to get to where they wanted to be at my age - to be able to listen to their hearts, follow their dreams, and live their passion. They assured me that no matter what, if you're pursuing your passion the opportunities will present themselves.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">As the weekend progressed I felt empowered and liberated by this new perspective on life. At midnight that Saturday I sent an e-mail to the registrar's office at St. Francis Xavier University, requesting that I be transferred from the BBA program to the BA stream, majoring in Anthropology - the one course I felt a driving passion for. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">I called my mom, who is typically endlessly supportive of any choice I make. When I told her that I was switching programs, as a mother, she was obviously concerned. She hesitated, "Well, Allie... what kind of jobs can you get with a degree in anthropology? I mean, what kind of salary are you going to be making?" And although I understood where she was coming from, I couldn't help but feel a tinge of disappointment. But I reassured her, "Mom, we've never had money and we've always been happy. So would you rather me continue my education in the Business program and become rich and miserable? Or would you rather me follow my passion? Maybe I won't have much money, but I'll be happy." She sighed and knew that my happiness was more important, though she just wanted to make sure I was secure and not suffering in the tight grip of poverty, which can cause so much stress.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Since then I've adopted the mentality that following my heart will yield the most positive results, for me, for my work, for my life, and that will help me to be the best individual I'm capable of being. And if I'm my best me, I can be a better daughter, sister, cousin, friend, lover, employee, citizen, etc. After transferring to Anthropology I became a more involved student - I was a student assistant and liaison for a semester, I founded and was the president of the Anthropology Students' Society for two and a half years, my grades skyrocketed, I completed two field seasons working as an archaeologist, and was invited to participate in a field season with my Thesis Professor in Panama after graduation. Things <i>seemed</i> to just fall into place.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">The key to this strategy, for me, is being attentive. If I know what I want, I make sure I do everything in my power to get it. I decided I wanted to go to grad school for journalism, so I did my research, decided on the school I wanted to attend, and began drafting my application. I had friends help me to edit my letter of intent, so that it could be the best version possible, and I put my heart and soul into it. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">But then there are other things, decisions that aren't quite as clear, ones that don't have a definitive answer. How could I possibly decide what to do in a situation where there is no clear choice? I do what I now like to refer to as "putting out the feelers". I come up with a variety of solutions to said problem. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">For instance, when I moved back to Nova Scotia after my southern adventures, I didn't know what to do. So out went the feelers - some went to Ottawa, some stayed in New Glasgow and some went to Montreal. I made sure to stay aware and attentive and before I knew it I had my answer: Montreal was calling me, via loud speaker! I had 5 job interviews, 4 job offers, a free place to stay until I got on my feet, and the support of tons of my family and friends.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Now, I know it sounds easy, right? Not so much. I often hear the whole spiel about "luck," and while luck has a little bit to do with it, if that's what you want to call it (I prefer to call it fate), it takes a lot more hard work than that. To tell me I'm just "so lucky" is almost insulting really - it suggests that I did nothing to achieve the experiences I've had in my life. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">I didn't come from money, I've never had anything handed to be on a silver platter or a silver spoon, and I certainly haven't surfed any coattails to get to where I am today. So, yeah - I am insulted when people suggest that I'm lucky. I've worked damn hard to get where I am today. I've overcome hurdles of poverty, discrimination, stereotyping, sexism and just about any other barrier you can dream up. I'm an underdog, and a loud, tough one at that, so don't get me wrong. Following a passion isn't for the faint of heart - it's for the courageous, the determined, for those who are willing to sacrifice everything they've got for everything they want.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Firstly, you have to trust in yourself that <i>you</i> know what's best for <i>you. </i>No one else knows better than you what's best for you, but sometimes our own opinion gets clouded. We need to clear away all of the external influences and listen to our hearts. Once you hear your inner voice and trust yourself, you'll know what path to take.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Secondly, you have to be open to change, which isn't as easy as it seems. We all get comfortable, complacent with our current situations, by the familiar, the safe, the known. The unknown is scary as hell and facing it confidently is a challenge! To be truly open to change you need to be open to giving up things you've already worked hard for, in order to trade them for things that are going to make you even happier. But often times, people are too afraid - afraid that things won't work out, afraid that they'll make a mistake or regret their decisions - to welcome change with open arms.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Third, you need to watch for the signs. Often times these signs are right in front of us with big flashing LED signs saying, "Hey, you! Over here! I'm your lifelong dream and all you need to do to achieve me is forget all the rules and just do whatever is in your power to make me reality." But we're often too busy listening to what other people have to say, or we're too concerned about what we're supposedly giving up (really though, when you think about it, what is the value of giving up something that doesn't make you happy?). When I make a choice, or put out my "feelers", I wait for an answer, and usually it manifests in a matter of days. Oddly enough, it's usually the path of least resistance that ends up being the most fruitful. And although that doesn't equate to the path being <i>easy</i>, it does mean it's the most obvious answer to get you from where you are to where you want to be. It's almost like the <i>path </i>chooses <i>you </i>and it's up to you to take on the challenge, dodging the road blocks and pot holes along the way.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">You can't just sit there, think about what you want, do nothing, and expect to get results. Life has never, and will never, work that way. The only way to make progress is to take action, responsibility, and stewardship over your own life.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">After living my life like this for the past 7 years, I'm still making progress and working toward my goals. Life hasn't always been rainbows and puppy dogs, but I've always been able to look at my life and think, "I'm pursuing my life genuinely and passionately." And that feels pretty good.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">While it wasn't so common for me to find people at the tender age of 19 who shared in my perspective, it seems to be getting easier now that I'm getting older. So maybe I wasn't drinking the punch after all. Maybe there's actually something to this. Maybe everyone <i>else </i>is drinking that proverbial punch, sentencing themselves to a life of masqueraded misery.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">I guess I'll never really know. I can only know what works best for me and keep working toward that inner happy that I can feel radiating from inside of me. I seem to have figured out the equation to the meaning of my own life. What's your equation?</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8114307227540495477.post-752977636063205972011-03-27T00:00:00.002-03:002011-03-27T00:13:45.226-03:00Talking to Myself<div style="text-align: justify;">For some people, internal dialogue is an effective way of working through problems. For me it does quite the opposite, especially when it comes to interpersonal relationships, the future, and the unknown. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">I've always been pretty good at staying in the present, but it seems sometimes, the more I invest myself emotionally, the more I want to know what the future holds. I want to have a plan. I want to be able to see the light at the end of the tunnel. And most importantly, I want to know the thoughts of the other person that I should be having this conversation with, instead of myself.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Instead, I chase myself around inside my head - speculating, wondering, worrying. One thought leads to another and another. Before I know it, I've essentially kicked my own ass through internal debate, in the worst way possible.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">"What's the point anyway?" I keep asking myself. Why bother getting into these downward spiralling discussions with myself when there's no way for me to predict the future or read minds. All I accomplish is getting myself sufficiently worked up so that I feel like a hot pile of rotting garbage - or actually a sad, hot pile of rotting garbage. It's not productive. I don't end up with any more answers or insights than when I started. I usually end up shedding a few tears. And I almost always end up exhausted and migraine-ridden. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">So what's the solution when the only person you want to talk to has an addiction to internalizing everything? How can I put my bleeding heart on the table, when that table sometimes feels like cold stainless steel? And why bother if the only feedback I've historically gotten had been vague and almost diplomatic in delivery?<br />
<br />
It's odd to feel guilty about wanting to talk to someone about how you feel, but that's where I am. I don't want to freak him out, or worry him, or put him out of his comfort zone. But where I do draw the line between what's best for him, what's best for us, and what's best for me?</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Maybe it's just the 9 hour bus ride with no heat, followed by a night of too-little sleep, interrupted by house guests, followed by 8 hours of work talking... or maybe I'm onto something. I guess I'll debate with myself a little bit more and get back to you on that.</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8114307227540495477.post-64511882499848425392011-03-15T01:43:00.003-03:002011-03-18T01:30:23.892-03:00Brownie promise: I will be a more dependable blogger<div style="text-align: justify;">So, since I fell so far behind on my blogging but have now <i>almost</i> caught up, I figured I would share that my posts will be much more frequent again because they are also being featured (along with a bunch of articles I will be authoring) at the <b style="font-style: italic;">all new and amazingly awesome </b>online women's community that is set to launch in mere days! It's a community for the modern woman, for the new-age feminist, and for those of us who believe that we should be united by our sisterhood, not torn apart by societal pressures to compete with one another. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">I'm <i>so</i> honoured to be a part of this project. I love writing for the website, I love working for my amazing and intimidatingly beautiful boss (I swear I'm not kissing ass - she's really <i>that </i>gorgeous!), I love my new co-workers, and I love the concept behind it all. I've been asked to hold back on another blog update until the website officially launches, so that my first articles will begin coinciding on both my blog, and the women's community. No biggie!</div><br />
Here's a sneak peek at the staff for now:<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://a7.sphotos.ak.fbcdn.net/hphotos-ak-snc6/198669_583612560314_172301336_34287441_5007439_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="236" src="http://a7.sphotos.ak.fbcdn.net/hphotos-ak-snc6/198669_583612560314_172301336_34287441_5007439_n.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">(left to right: Cindy - Da Boss, Geneviece - Editor Extraordinaire, Tali - Website Go-to-Girl Event Planner, and the almost unrecognizable me - Staff Writer)</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>Check<b> <span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #990000;">www.CollectivelyBeautiful.com</span> </b>in the coming days to see a brand new kind of feminism! <3Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8114307227540495477.post-21832544582958334522011-03-13T01:09:00.005-04:002011-03-14T00:48:35.826-03:00This is me being concise... Enjoy it while you can<div style="text-align: justify;">So, now that I'm a solid 3 months behind on my blog I've decided I'm going to give the quick and dirty of the last 3 months of my life. Not that anyone particularly cares at this point, but a promise is a promise.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">While in New Jersey I was permitted to watch the slow deterioration of the extremely upper class in a FYEO exhibition of holiday drunkenness and anorexic food avoidance. I, the lowly server, had the pleasure of pouring wine for people whose clothing was probably worth more than my student debt, while they talked business, then pleasure, and finally ended the night by just yelling "NOOOVVAAA SCCOOOOTTTIIAAAA!!" at me repeatedly. Yes, Miss - I'm from Nova Scotia, for the twenty-seventh time. And no, it's not on the West Coast, and it's also not "like the north pole up there".</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">The rest of my time in Jers' was spent visiting as many restaurants as possible, hitting up the Museum of Natural History, seeing a few bands (Dark Star Orchestra jammed so hard that I almost lost consciousness - literally), visiting my great aunt and uncle, learning to snowboard (and subsequently crying almost the entire way down a one-mile trail), and of course, I was present for the infamous "Snowmageddon". We went to three NHL games, got 35 blocks away from Times Square on New Years Eve, and even hit up Carlos' Bakery in Hoboken! I spent a full 25 days at the Duker residence (much love goes out to Linda and Joe for being so hospitable) and by the end of my time there, between hanging out at the house, meeting lots of new people, seeing lots of older acquaintances, and even working the odd job here and there, I practically felt at home. But, I wasn't and so I had to leave and come back to Canada and get a <i>real </i>job.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">So at the beginning of January I hopped on my 9th airplane of the past six months and headed back to NOOOOVVVAAAA SCCOOOOTTTIIIAAAAA. (ha) Oh and of course, just for me, Halifax got hit with a blizzard the day I arrived. Luckily for me, my poor-weather rescuer was at hand again to pick me up at the airport, followed by our usual 45 minute bitch session and then parking lot donuts.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Originally, I'd intended to stay in Nova Scotia until May or June - in the hopes that I'd be able to find work and save up some money before going to Concordia for their graduate program in Journalism (which I had yet to be accepted to). But, as is to be expected with me, my plans quickly changed.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Firstly, being at home after being away for almost 7 years is a dramatic lifestyle change. I felt like I couldn't accept or relate to the vast majority of the attitudes and personalities that resided in my county. <i>"No girl at the bar, just because I looked in the general direction of your boyfriend for a split second <b>doesn't </b>mean that I'm going to try to steal him. Feel free to loosen your death-grip on him now." </i>In all seriousness, though, it had been so long that some people didn't even recognize me anymore. I wasn't home - I was away - and eventually this started to eat away at me. Within two weeks I was starting to feel anxious and depressed.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Like I may have mentioned before, I'm lucky, or blessed, to have the people in my life that I do. One of these people came to the rescue late one Friday night when I was feeling particularly gloomy and alone, and she offered for me to move to Montreal. "Honestly, Allie," she said, "don't worry about anything, just come here. You can worry about a job when you get here - just get out of Pictou County. Don't let that place kill you."</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">So, in the next few days I applied on seven jobs, and set up interviews for four of them the coming Monday. I had five days to figure out a plan and get my ass to Montreal. My brother and I decided we should rent a car and take a road trip up together with all my stuff, so we made the reservation and specifically told the agency the class of car we needed because we'd be moving some things. <i>"Shouldn't be a problem."</i></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><i><br />
</i></div><div style="text-align: justify;">But it was. That morning, all we could get was a minivan, and because we were leaving the Maritimes, it would cost us $0.18 for every kilometer past the New Brunswick border. The fees started adding up and eventually it just wasn't reasonable anymore. So, at 10:30 am I was forced to re-pack all my things, find a ride to Truro and take the train. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Lucky for me again, Janelle stepped up to the plate, and even though we had to pack her car in 30 minutes, and we had to drive the entire way with a snowboard in between our heads, she was a total trooper about it. I arrived, unloaded my stuff onto three trolleys, headed into the station and started sorting everything out. I had nine bags total, 2 carry-on, 4 checked, and 3 additional checked bags, one of which shouldn't have been accepted because it was a trunk. Thank goodness for ViaRail's amazing staff that day.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">The train ride was 20 hours long and when I arrived in Montreal I was a cold, lonely Anglo in my new city of residence. The porter for ViaRail on the Montreal end managed to somehow stack all my bags on one trolley, which garnered more than a few stares from customers and staff members alike. He made sure to point out that <i>generally</i>, porters are tipped $3 per bag. I gave him all I had left in cash after wasting my money on a too-small, disgusting train egg salad sandwich and couscous, which was only $15, but it would have to do.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">My taxi driver stopped at a CIBC for me on the way to the apartment and even helped me with my French, clarifying for me why sometimes one uses the noun "vous" instead of "tu" when speaking to an individual ("vous" is more respectful, by the way). Since he helped me learn French, and helped me carry everything into my apartment building I tipped him $35.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">I'd thought I couldn't be so happy to arrive somewhere. That is, until I couldn't get inside the apartment... But I'll save the rest for another post.</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8114307227540495477.post-14154964037242753192011-01-31T16:43:00.000-04:002011-01-31T16:43:06.110-04:00Yo' head-a look-a like-a tomata<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">Some things that cause me fear and anxiety are nuclear warfare, pregnancy, and the American Medical system. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">On my last weekend in <st1:state w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Florida</st1:place></st1:state>, I started noticing little red bumps on my skin.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They started just around my abrasions from falling on my bike, so I decided to put more of this anti-bacterial <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">neem oil</i> on the area.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’d been using sparingly before, to help heal my abrasions, as a natural remedy; the oil is derived from the neem plant, which originates in <st1:place w:st="on"><st1:country-region w:st="on">India</st1:country-region></st1:place>.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">I thought they were a stress reaction from the recent events and dismissed them.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I guess that was the wrong choice.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">By Sunday night, my Dad was gone, my step-mom and I were at one of their friends’ places, and the bumps were spreading.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So far they’d gone up almost my entire left side of my body.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My neck was red and roughly textured and it started spreading to my face.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">I was in denial.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I don’t get “allergies,” so it must be stress; I just had to chill out.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">I took a Benadryl, to humor my step-mom and her friend, and went to bed, thinking I could sleep it off (I tend to believe that enough sleep with cure almost anything, with the exceptions being strep-throat, cancer, certain diseases, and now allergies).</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">My sleep that night was uncomfortable, to say the least.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I woke up almost hourly, either hot or cold, but always itchy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was too dazed to do anything about it though.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I managed to stay in bed until 9:45 am, but when I went to open my eyes I knew something was wrong.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">I was peering through slits.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Slits which are normally fully-open brown eyes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The skin on my face felt taut.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">I ran to the bathroom to look in the mirror, at which point I immediately broke down in a fit of tears and called my mom.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">Overnight, my allergy had become unbelievably worse.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My face was so swollen and red that I didn’t even recognize myself.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">I ran frantically around the house trying to find someone, but everyone had left for the morning.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My step-mom’s flight was at 8 am and Tiff had gone out with her husband to drop off their daughter, run errands and take care of their business.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">They finally got home at 10:30 am.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Tiff and I agreed it was time to go to the doctor.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">Praise Ja for travelers insurance!</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">The American private medical system was everything I’d imagined.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Everything was so shiny and new, and I was immediately turned away from treatment until I could have my insurance company fax in a consent form.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">I was having an anaphylactic reaction and my throat could close over, but before I go ahead and die, I should really try to contact my health insurance provider so they can go ahead and save me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>BIZARRO WORLD!</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">This would <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">not</i>, I repeat, <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">would not </i></b>happen in <st1:place w:st="on"><st1:country-region w:st="on">Canada</st1:country-region></st1:place>.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The rep from the insurance was in as much shock as I was… and I’m not talking about anaphylactic shock.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">When I came back in from making my call, they got me to sit at a computer and fill out my particulars.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was admitted within 10 minutes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My blood pressure and other vital stats were taken, then I was whisked off to another room where the doctor would see me.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">He was a young, blond-haired, blue-eyed, Southern man, no older than 30, with a warm, caring vibe.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He took a look at my skin, listened to my breath and heartbeat, peered down past my uvula, and told me I’d need a steroid shot, some prescription strength Benadryl and steroid pills for the next week.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">My mind was reeling with the potential cost of prescription drugs.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This scenario is exactly what ever Canadian fears when they travel to the <st1:place w:st="on"><st1:country-region w:st="on">US</st1:country-region></st1:place>.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then I find out that since they can’t directly bill my insurance company, they’ll need to put a hold on a credit card for the cost - $342 US dollars.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">It could have been a lot worse, had I gone to emergency as opposed to the “Urgent Care” walk-in clinic I attended (though I’d challenge them to prove which part of their service involved actually <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">caring</i>).</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">Thankfully, since I was still traveling and beginning to run low on funds, Tiff covered the credit card hold.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I paid for the prescriptions out-of-pocket, but I’d be reimbursed once I submitted my paperwork.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">I noticed the effects of the steroid shot within the first 45 minutes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The swelling in my face went down noticeably, and my itchiness began to subside.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Sweet relief.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">Unfortunately, after about 24 hours, the shot wore off and I depended solely on taking my prescriptions every four hours.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And I always knew when four hours were almost up because I would start scratching vigorously.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">The next day I managed to board the plane to <st1:state w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">New Jersey</st1:place></st1:state> successfully without scaring any children with my residual redness.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">After de-climatizing myself to the cold for the past 4 months by living in the south, I arrive to <st1:state w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">New Jersey</st1:place></st1:state> on the coldest day of the year.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Lucky for me, I had a bearded comrade prepared for the worst, ready to pick me up, layers in tow and hugs waiting.</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8114307227540495477.post-3038838986162029822011-01-31T16:41:00.002-04:002011-01-31T16:41:58.133-04:00You Don't Have to Go Home, But You Can't Stay Here<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">The next two weeks in <st1:state w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Florida</st1:place></st1:state> would be a whirlwind of changing plans and alternative arrangements.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">Everyone seemed to be making their plans leaving me no other choice but to leave as well.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And fast.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">I had a week to make up my mind and commit to a plan, which isn’t much time at all when you’re in an unfamiliar country, with no friends or family in the immediate vicinity.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">My first thought was that I should head back to that hostel in <st1:place w:st="on"><st1:placename w:st="on">Florida</st1:placename> <st1:placetype w:st="on">City</st1:placetype></st1:place>.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I could live there for free if I volunteered.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I would stay for 16 days, volunteer, meet lots of interesting travelers, and spend Christmas in <st1:state w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Florida</st1:place></st1:state>.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">That didn’t sound so bad.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">I called the hostel.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The owner said just swing on by whenever.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I looked into finding transportation there; the Greyhound would take me so far as <st1:city w:st="on">Miami</st1:city>, but I would need to take Public Transportation from Miami/Cutler Ridge to <st1:place w:st="on"><st1:placename w:st="on">Florida</st1:placename> <st1:placetype w:st="on">City</st1:placetype></st1:place>… at night, with a 45lb expedition pack and a laptop bag.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">If a young, lone woman, clearly traveling and so out of her comfort zone doesn’t scream¸ “<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">TARGET</i>” then I don’t know what does.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">In leaving the hostel I would need to take Public Transit to <st1:city w:st="on">Miami</st1:city>, transfer to the Greyhound to <st1:city w:st="on">Fort Lauderdale</st1:city>, and then take a cab from the Greyhound station to the <st1:city w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Fort Lauderdale</st1:place></st1:city> airport.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Again, at night. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And very much alone.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">After spending 16 days at the hostel, I would head to <st1:state w:st="on">New Jersey</st1:state> from <st1:city w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Fort Lauderdale</st1:place></st1:city>, for two weeks, until January 9<sup>th</sup>. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">I was afraid, but I was willing to do it without letting on, for two reasons:</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .5in; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; tab-stops: list .5in; text-align: justify; text-indent: -.25in;"><!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">1)<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span><!--[endif]-->I thought I had no other options;</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .5in; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; tab-stops: list .5in; text-align: justify; text-indent: -.25in;"><!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">2)<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span><!--[endif]-->If I let on that I was afraid, then others might be afraid for me;</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">I didn’t want anyone worrying about me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When I told interested parties of my plans, I made sure to sound excited, fearless, in control, and collected.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">I was terrified someone would catch on, but I began arranging everything for my return to <st1:place w:st="on"><st1:placename w:st="on">Florida</st1:placename> <st1:placetype w:st="on">City</st1:placetype></st1:place> anyway.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I had the bus prices checked, the Google maps directions printed, I’d notified all interested parties of my plans, and I was going to leave in four days; which I thought was just enough time to get my things together and come to terms with my fear.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Also, I wanted to leave before everyone else did.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I didn’t want to be the last one at the house.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">Then, kismet stuck again.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">Matt messaged me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He’d been talking to his mom.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She really didn’t like the idea of me being at a hostel alone, especially at Christmas.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She suggested that I should go there for the Christmas season.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But, I’d already booked my flights, and I couldn’t afford to reschedule them both, and pay for the cost disparity.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was really nervous about being there for almost a full month.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>December 15<sup>th</sup> until January 9<sup>th</sup>.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">A month is a long time, and when you don’t know a family really well, it’s easy to feel like you’re in the way, like you’re a burden, or just plain out of place.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">I considered the option for a while and decided some momentary discomfort while finding my niche in the house would be less of a risk than say, taking Public Transit, by oneself, at night, in <st1:city w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Miami</st1:place></st1:city>.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;">I began packing, along with the rest of the members of the soon-to-be disbanded household.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The week was crawling by.</span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8114307227540495477.post-82669792868669893602011-01-31T16:38:00.000-04:002011-01-31T16:38:12.248-04:00No time for camera's we'll use our eyes instead<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">We left fairly early in the morning from Never Never Land to head to the Keys.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>After looking online for some information, we found a couple of State Parks that looked promising, so we started driving.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When we arrived at the gate, the admission to the park was three dollars per person.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Matt decided to ask if there was a better beach close-by, since this one seemed pretty narrow.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The attendant begrudgingly looked farther up the highway, pointed, and said, “Yup, Bahia Honda, about thirty miles up.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We took her word for it and up we went.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">When we arrived, the beach there really wasn’t much better than the one we’d just left from, and unfortunately, there was a weather system moving in.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We decided to make the most of it anyway.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">Bahia Honda is a narrow, shallow beach, so you need to walk a solid 200 feet out into the water before you’re even waist-deep.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We splashed around for a while, but then the clouds started rolling in so we went for a stroll and in search of dried up sea life.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was my goal to find a conch shell to take home with me.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">On the three-mile stroll we found pieces of reef, seashells, broken sand dollars and starfish, and a sand dollar that looked like it had been blown up like a balloon.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We were jumping around on old reef bases when Matt spotted a <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">big</b> shell.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">It was a conch!</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">Immediately I ran over, picked it up, and as fast as I snatched it, a giant tongue-like thing stuck out and almost licked me!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">alive</i>!</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">Unfortunately, it’s a felony to take anything alive from the beaches, and I couldn’t bring myself to shuck the thing right then and there, so I put it back in a sheltered rocky area and carried on my slightly-less-merry way.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">Just for good measure, on our way back onto the mainland, we stopped at a little local dive where I ordered probably the most amazing clam chowder on the face of the earth, and Matt, in a fit of vengeance, ordered the conch chowder.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">We showed that conch for being alive. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">We finished off the meal by sharing some of their “World Famous” key lime pie (we had to, being in the Keys and all – even though neither of us really like key lime).</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">The drive through the <st1:place w:st="on">Everglades</st1:place> was probably the darkest drive I’ve ever done.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There are no houses, no streetlights, and hardly any other vehicles on the road.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The only refraction of light I were the “Panther Crossing” signs that our headlights illuminated in the dark.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">After a four and a half hour drive north, the time was ticking by and the temperature was dropping.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We’d brought a tent, airbed and lots of blankets because we planned to tent for our last night – but we didn’t expect it to be 45˚F (around 7˚C).</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">We decided to take a time-out and stop for some Thai food in a town nearby <st1:city w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Sarasota</st1:place></st1:city>.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was 10 pm and we were the only people in the restaurant.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">This place was legit in every sense of the word.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">To start we got the fried tofu with duck sauce, and the steamed edemame beans.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I got the pad thai, extra spicy, and Matt got the chicken and broccoli with vegetables and steamed noodles.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">Everything was delicious and authentic.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So authentic that the chef, a tiny old Asian lady, came out after the meal to check on us!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We thanked her and began going on and on about how wonderful the meal was, when she piped in unexpectedly after only having said, “Ya!” and “Ok good!” so far.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She told us, in her best broken English, that she doesn’t speak or understand much English at all, so she had no idea what we were saying.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">Like idiots we decided we would talk louder and mime what we’d said to her.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">Talking louder and making idiotic hand-motions does not make you easier to understand, it just makes you look like an asshole.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">We thanked her many times anyway, bowing repeatedly, like those bobbing birds that drink water from a glass.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">Like I said, “idiotic assholes”.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">For the next hour we drove up and down the main street in <st1:city w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Sarasota</st1:place></st1:city> checking out sleazy motels, calling sleazy motels, and getting side-eyed by local crack-heads and hookers.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">Can you feel my affection for <st1:city w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Sarasota</st1:place></st1:city> yet?</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">By the time we chose a motel, we were both frustrated from searching for a motel so late, exhausted from driving, and a little somber, knowing Matt was leaving the next day to go back to <st1:state w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">New Jersey</st1:place></st1:state>.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">We called in a fairly early night so we could get up early-ish and check out the area.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><st1:city w:st="on">Sarasota</st1:city> is pretty much just like every other small, tourist, snow-bird fuelled town in <st1:state w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Florida</st1:place></st1:state>.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s got a quaint downtown, near the beach, with lots of upscale shops, restaurants and cafés.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">Miraculously, Matt had heard that the creator of Whoopi Goldberg’s favorite macaroons is based right here in <st1:city w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Sarasota</st1:place></st1:city>’s downtown circle.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">The bakery had more varieties of macaroons than I thought was humanly possible.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But at two dollars a pop, I’d only be getting one… and a coffee… and a <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">pain du chocolate</i>.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">A short hop, skip and a jump away was the beach.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was wide here, more similar to Daytona.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was hard and flat, too.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But what made it less enjoyable than the previous beaches was that it was roughly 37˚F (3˚C).</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">We picked up seashells, our fingers turning bright red, then purple, then blue-ish white, in the process.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When we were satisfied with our nautical treasures, we decided we’d better get going.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">The drive back to <st1:city w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Orlando</st1:place></st1:city> as cheerful as it could be, since we knew that we’d soon have to part ways again.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">We found a nice little earth-friendly café to stop for a bite to eat before heading to the airport.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We warmed up with some soup, chili and grilled Panini’s.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was sunny and even though it was cool we ate outside because it was full-blown <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">cold</i> in <st1:place w:st="on"><st1:state w:st="on">New Jersey</st1:state></st1:place>.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">Before I knew it, it was time to go again.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">Back to MCO.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Back to my life as the only 20-something senior in <st1:place w:st="on"><st1:state w:st="on">Florida</st1:state></st1:place>.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Adventures would need to be put on hold for now – or so I thought.</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8114307227540495477.post-32973048436148347242011-01-20T19:21:00.002-04:002011-01-20T19:23:51.294-04:00Never Never Land<div style="text-align: justify;">So, on Tuesday, after a full day of dodging birds, butterflies and everglade critters, we hit the road to Florida City. Along the mere 45-minute long drive south, there were countless plant nurseries, fruit shacks, and farms. <br />
<br />
We had to stop and grabbed some star fruit - three for a dollar (ya can't beat that!). The tiny little Mexican lady who was working there either didn't care to speak English, or didn't know how, so she just pantomimed the price for me.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">We had booked the hostel we were staying at while we were still in Fort Lauderdale. It looked like a really interesting place, and it was just 30 minutes from the Keys, so we thought it would be perfect.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Perfect is an understatement. If I could have stayed there forever, I probably would.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><a href="http://www.evergladeshostel.com/">Everglades Hostel</a> is probably the most thoughtful accommodation I've come across. From the moment I walked inside, the authentic Hispanic vibe had me swooning in delight: adobe brick flooring, mosaics along the top of the walls, rustic wooden banisters, and carefully tasteful themes in each room made the hostel more inviting than grandma's place.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">And that's just the inside. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">The secure, private garden area included a waterfall and wading pool, a giant wooden tree swing, a beached raft with it's sail made from t-shirts and undies, a sheltered gazebo with a C-shaped couch that fit perfectly inside, covered in throw pillows and blankets so you could snuggle up and watch a movie on the projector and screen inside. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">There was a communal BBQ and open air kitchen, hammocks hidden high in tree branches, outdoor sheltered beds and chairs, and there was even an area to put up a tent for the night.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">It was basically <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Neverland">Never Never Land</a>, except it's real and it's in Florida.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">The hostel has a policy that it will not turn away a weary traveler. And there was all-you-can-eat pancakes and bottomless coffee every morning! </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">They offer walking and cycling tours of the area, and also arrange tours to all the major areas in the area including Miami, the Everglades and the Florida Keys.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Everglades Hostel is definitely the most legit American hostel I've come across. I wish we'd known about it sooner because I totally would have stayed there on our last couple of nights, since it was just about the same distance from Miami as Fort Lauderdale.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">That night, we thought it was only fitting in a city with such a strong Hispanic presence that we should go for some Mexican food. As you can usually expect from authentic Mexican restaurants, the price was affordable, and the single servings could feed a small family.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">The rest of the evening we spent swinging in the garden, laying around chatting in the gazebo, and checking out the rest of the garden for hidden treasures. I'm definitely returning to this hostel if I'm ever back in the area.</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8114307227540495477.post-7598862976749888932011-01-20T17:25:00.001-04:002011-01-20T17:35:01.897-04:00Two and Three of the Thirds<div style="text-align: justify;">So for the last weekend of Matt's Florida visit, we decided to go to the Fort Lauderdale area to check out a few of Matt's old stomping grounds.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Oddly enough, the first thing we did when we got to the area was go to a New York style, Jewish-owned diner called Flakowitz's. As can be expected from such an establishment, breakfast is served all day, the portions are gigantic, and the service provided is done so in a fashion to turn over tables as quickly as possible. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">We enjoyed some breakfast and coffee and were back on our way in what seemed like mere moments.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Next on the agenda was trying to find the hostel we'd be staying at. It turned out that when I entered the address into our GPS, I forgot to include the direction of the street we were headed to. Not realizing this, we ended up in the Fort Lauderdale ghetto.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">I'm not talking "North End Dartmouth" kind of ghetto, but the real deal, American popular representation "Compton" kind of ghetto.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">The homes were ranged from run-down to decrepit, people were playing basketball in the middle of the street, and as two whiteys in a compact car, we definitely attracted some negative attention. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Upon closer inspection of the address we realized we were in the wrong quadrant of the city, so we entered the correct address into the GPS and got out of there STAT.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">We arrive at the <a href="http://www.bridge-hostel-fort-lauderdale.com/">Chocolate Hostel and Crew House</a>, finally, and checked into our apartment style semi-private suite. The hostel is a really cool concept that's different from others, because it's actually an apartment that was turned into a hostel. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Our suite had a fully furnished living room, kitchen, bathroom and dining area, and two fully furnished bedrooms. The bedrooms are private and are individually locked, but the common areas are shared. In the area, this type of accommodation is important for the cruise ship workers who are sometimes docked here for a few weeks or more in between jobs.<br />
<br />
Once we got settled we cruised around the Greater Fort Lauderdale area that includes Matt's old 'hoods, Coral Springs, as well as Florida Atlantic University. Later in the evening we took a stroll down by the beach, caught a Pathers vs. Rangers game at the BankAtlantic Centre in Sunrise, and grabbed some thai food on the way back to the hostel for the night.<br />
<br />
The next day was Saturday, we headed down Los Olas and onto the A1A to grab some beachside parking. We didn't have much change, so we decided to come back in a few minutes and top up the meter then. After refreshing our parking ticket and enjoying the Floridian sun for another couple of hours, we came back to the rental car and there was a scratch on the driver's side door. <br />
<br />
At first we didn't think anything of it, then I realized my X-ring was missing. I opened my wallet to see if it got stuck in the bi-fold, and noticed that my credit cards and cash were gone, and so was my almost brand new digital camera (with all my pictures from Disney World on it). Matt checked his wallet and his cards were gone, too.<br />
<br />
We were robbed. <br />
<br />
Someone must have watched me take my purse from the trunk to top up the meter, then as soon as I went back to the beach, they went to work. They didn't even bother looking anywhere else for anything (they could have scored two iPods if they looked in the glove box!).<br />
<br />
Getting robbed while you're on vacation is pretty much worst case scenario. We called the credit card companies and luckily we were able to cancel the cards before too much was taken, but those dirty rotten thieves still managed to get $90 in gas from Texaco and $130 in "pending" transactions elsewhere.<br />
<br />
Once we got everything sorted out, filed a police report (unfortunately we didn't get on the show "Police Women of Broward County"), and finished grieving over our losses, we decided we weren't going to let those scumbags have our things <i>and </i>ruin our trip. And we didn't! <br />
<br />
But, after crashing out on my bike and getting robbed, I couldn't help but think of the old says "trouble comes in threes". And it did, on the following Monday. <br />
<br />
Just like everything else that happens in life, there's really not a lot you can do about it. So I did what was in my power to do and moved along.<br />
<br />
All in all, during the 4 days we spent in Broward/Miami Dade County, we went to five different beaches, <a href="http://www.butterflyworld.com/start.html">Butterfly World</a>, the <a href="http://www.miamimetrozoo.com/">Miami Metro Zoo</a>, <a href="http://www.visitsouthbeachonline.com/">South Beach</a>, and <a href="http://www.key-biscayne.com/about/">Key Biscayne</a>. We got fresh fruits from the local fruit stands, including the ripest, most delicious star fruit I've ever had. We tried as many different ethnicities of foods as we could think of, including Greek, Mexican, and Thai. I can't forget to mention the unreasonably overpriced seafood we had in SoBe either, $65 for the meal, plus they so kindly included an 18% gratuity for themselves, even though the service was bush league at best - thanks for that <a href="http://www.yelp.com/biz/cjs-crab-shack-miami-beach">CJ's Crab Shack</a>.<br />
<br />
On our way out of the Miami Dade/Broward Co. area, we decided to stop for an Everglades tour. I've gotta say, for a relatively inexpensive price, you definitely get a bang for your buck. Our tour guide had an authentic down South accent and took us through the 'glades on an air-boat with about 15 other tourists. We started off slow, floating through the channels, catching glimpses of alligators, birds, turtles and fish. <br />
<br />
Once we got into the open Everglade areas, though, he kicked it into high gear and whipped us in circles around the 'glades like a bat out of hell! He even stopped the air boat to give us a little ecological history lesson and let those who wanted to step out of the boat to <i>stand in the Everglades</i>. In case you were wondering, it's just about the slimiest thing I've ever felt. <br />
<br />
I also learned that the portion of the Everglades that we were in was entirely man-made (previously man-destroyed). When settlers started developing the southern part of the state, they decided to build a nice little causeway across the whole stretch of the 'glades - ceasing the flow of fresh and salt water from the inter-tidal areas. The road is still there, but they've installed some technology to maintain the flow and keep the ecosystem alive.<br />
<br />
After the air-boat tour we went for a free wildlife show including such celebrity animals as the skunk who starred along side Brendan Fraser in <i><a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0492389/">Furry Vengeance</a></i> (2010). That's right, my one-degree away from Brendan Fraser is a skunk. Suck on that.<br />
<br />
We learned about alligators, and turtles, and toads and the like, then were feeling a little famished, so obviously we went for the deep fried platter, that included frogs legs, catfish, and gator tail.<br />
<br />
Needless to say, even though we encountered some major disappointment, we still managed to keep our eyes on the prize and enjoy the rest of our time in the Miami Dade/Broward Co. area.<br />
<br />
Note: I want to thank everyone who kindly and generously reached out to me with kind words and support when I was robbed. Even though nothing could be done about it, it was amazing to know that so many people out there were concerned and wanted to let me know how much they care. You guys ROCK! \m/</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8114307227540495477.post-28976571088119557882011-01-16T16:19:00.003-04:002011-01-16T16:22:07.268-04:00American Thanksgiving/taking<div style="text-align: justify;">(Preface: I realize I'm extremely late in posting this. My apologies for my negligence.)<br />
<br />
I find it ironic that the day after most American's traditionally give thanks for everything in their lives - the day they express outwardly their gratitude for all of the things they are already blessed with - is the most intense, greedy, consumerist, cut-throat shopping day of the year.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">But that's exactly how it happens.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">The third Thursday in November is Thanksgiving in America. This year, my dad, my step-mom, my usual called-upon-travel-comrade, and I all headed to my dad's and Lorraine's friends place. It was to be a not-so-traditional Thanksgiving, with a hearty mixture of southern and Italian flare.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Fourteen of us were there, two tables long, ranging from two years old to probably late 60's. Some of us had just met, but we were all family together.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">The day began early with shrimp dip, cream cheese and jelly dip, and tons of crackers. Most people knew of me for longer than I knew them, or even knew of them. Dad had told them lots of me, even before we had our own reunion. That was really nice to know. Most of them had anticipated meeting me one day. That was really nice, too.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">The cornucopia of foods served at dinner included a variety of Italian home made macaroni, turkey, ham that had been smoked for hours overnight, mashed potatoes, salad, sweet potatoes, roasted vegetables, breads and so much more. We all joined to give thanks and then dove into our meals without restraint. One plate, two plates later, appetizers, entrées, salads, and desserts later.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Though the meal and the company were both phenomenal, we had to give our thanks and head out. I had a time-sensitive project that needed attending to.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
We finished up our dealings a little earlier than anticipated and decided to head to Downtown Disney to see what was up and to pick up a little "thank you" gift for my Dad. After checking out the sights, we decided to head home. On the way home, we came across the most insane traffic I've ever seen. It was almost midnight and the exit ramp from the highway was backed all the way up onto the highway itself. The ramp lead to an outlet mall that opened at midnight for Black Friday shopping insanity. Never was I more relieved to not be a shopper than I was in that moment. I felt anxiety from just looking at the traffic, never mind actually being in the stores and I can only suspect that people who shop on Black Friday at midnight are nothing short of clinically insane.<br />
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Up next: Police Dealings of Broward County/the Florida loop.</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8114307227540495477.post-44609384502010294372010-12-11T12:57:00.000-04:002010-12-11T12:57:56.352-04:00The Two "isms" of FloridaColonialism and tourism: essentially, what makes up the vast majority of the towns in this state.<br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;">On Tuesday, we decided to take a trip to <city w:st="on">St. Augustine</city> on the east coast of <place w:st="on"><state w:st="on">Florida</state></place>. It was about a 3 hour drive from where we were and we decided to take the scenic drive through a National Forest. It was, as they say here in the south, “real perdy”. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;"><city w:st="on"><place w:st="on">St. Augustine</place></city> is famous for their lighthouse, a 180’ white and navy spiraled building built back in the late 1800s. That was our first stop. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;">We arrived and just as most historic lighthouses are these days, it was turned into a tourist trap filled with figurines and fudge. The great thing about this lighthouse is that you can still go up to the top. We climbed the innumerable steps of the spiral staircase and reached the top to see a spectacular 360˚ view of the <city w:st="on"><place w:st="on">St. Augustine</place></city> area. It was pretty fantastic.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;">After we soaked in the landscape, we climbed back down and took a little stroll around the property and went back to the gift shop. I let my sweet-tooth get the best of me and bought some butter pecan fudge. Matt bought a figurine for his mom (she collects sea-faring décor).</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;">We left the lighthouse and headed toward town where we stumbled upon an old fortress which was pretty cool. It even had a moat and an oven specifically to heat up cannonballs to shoot at enemy ships! My imagination went wild with the possibilities – alligators swarming and snapping in the moat, fiery canon balls firing at invaders, dramatic love stories (hey, I might not be the girliest girl, but I still have a heart!). It was a really neat place. The archaeologist in me got a little hot-n-heavy, too.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;">It was getting dark, so we decided to head to the beach. By the time we arrived it was full-on night time, but that was ok. We parked the car on the beach (something I still am troubled by), and walked toward the water. The sand was fine and soft like baby powder. The stars were out, there was a boat out on the water, but the moon was no where to be found. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;">As we were standing there, we noticed a crimson red light on the horizon. We speculated what it might be: a boat with a disco light, a space ship, a Coast Guard with an emergency light? Matt jokingly said, “If that starts coming out of the water, I’m gonna run.” But then it did. It got larger and larger. We stared at it intently trying to figure out what could be bright red and growing. Then, I noticed a slight discoloration on it and excitedly started jumping up and down screaming, “It’s the moon!! Oh my God, it’s the moon!” </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;">It was one of the most amazing and stunning things I’ve ever seen. We stood there, thinking this may be the only time in our lives that we’d witness such a thing. As it rose, its color faded slowly to white, but for that moment when it was rising above the horizon, it was blood red and beautiful.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;">We were beginning to get hungry, so we decided to head back to town, but stopped at this amazing little restaurant near the beach called Playa Chac-Mool. It was a small restaurant operated by a nice Mexican couple. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;">The food was amazing, authentic, the portions were humongous and the price was right. Twenty-one dollars for an appetizer, two entrees, and a dessert. We shared a delicious appetizer of melted refried beans and cheese on bread with pico de gallo, Matt had the sampler which included four small burrito-style wraps each with a different filling, I had the chimichanga, and we finished it off with a traditional Mexican dessert called sopapilla – it was French vanilla ice cream with deep fried triangles of what seemed like tortilla, all sprinkled with cinnamon. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;">I love being a foodie with a good metabolism, because I devoured every last bite.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;">The rest of the night was spent strolling the streets of downtown <place w:st="on"><city w:st="on">St. Augustine</city></place>. It’s a charming little university town with a ton of history. Cobblestone streets, historic buildings, and lots of Spanish influence makes you feel like you’ve travelled a lot farther than a few hundred miles. The streets were littered with shops, restaurants, bars, cafes, bakeries and chocolatiers. The people were really friendly and there were limited numbers of people who looked either homeless, crazy, or both.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;">After accidentally missing our turn-off on the way home, we finally arrived home again and once we had enough shut eye, we decided to head a u-pick orange grove a few miles away. They had a cute little outdoor farmer’s market area with lots of fruits, honey, gator meat, juice, salsas and other jarred and unjarred delights. We strolled around, didn’t pick a single piece of citrus, stood inside a giant wigwam (I don’t really know why this was on the property as the farm was clearly run by white people), bought some blueberry banana bread, pineapple salsa, and gator jerky, tried a piece of pomello, and left. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;">On the way back to the house we decided to stop at the Lakeridge Winery for a free tour and tasting. I’m so glad we did. We waited around for a while, then were lead upstairs by the most hilariously amazing tour guide: Doug. Doug was from the south, he said the word “red” like it had two syllables, and talked about himself in the third person, all the time.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;">Doug showed us a nice video about the winery, filled us in on everything you could possibly want to know about the <state w:st="on"><place w:st="on">Florida</place></state> native muscadine grape, and took us through the steps of harvesting grapes and making wines. We tried 12 different wines in about 20 minutes, and considering I’ve hardly had a drink since I got to <state w:st="on"><place w:st="on">Arkansas</place></state> on October 6<sup>th</sup>, I was feeling it. The wines were seriously delicious, even the red, which I don’t like. Maybe it was the fact that I was buzzed, but I ended up leaving the winery with four bottles of Lakeridge wine: Southern White, Southern Red, Chivas, and Sunblush. I’m really glad alcohol is so cheap in the <country-region w:st="on"><place w:st="on">US</place></country-region>.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;">Later that night we headed into <city w:st="on"><place w:st="on">Orlando</place></city> where we were persistently accosted by people trying to scalp tickets to the Magic game. By the 7<sup>th</sup> scalper, we started responding, “What game?” to which they'd shockingly respond, “The MAGIC game, c’mon man!” It was a slight triumph, but a triumph nonetheless.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;">We walked so many streets that my blood sugar was seriously tumbling and I was beginning to get agitated, so we settled on Church Street, which is a nice little historic district, at a Cajun restaurant that just opened a month before. We got an appetizer of deepfried gator, shrimp and these little deepfried veggies that were a little bigger than capers, but I can’t remember what they’re called. It was my first time trying gator and it was kinda weird: it had the taste of chicken, but the texture of seafood, and it was really greasy. For an entrée, I had half a rack of ribs, some sweet sweet corn cake (aka corn bread), coleslaw, and beans. It was pretty delicious.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;">For any city I’ve ever been to, LA included, <city w:st="on"><place w:st="on">Orlando</place></city> has the highest percentage of hoochie mama’s. I’ve never been so confused about women’s occupations. I couldn’t tell if they were out for a night on the town, or if they were looking to turn tricks. There was more lingerie being worn as outerwear than I’d ever seen on Halloween. It was almost troubling and in my denim, cardigan, t-shirt and scarf, I was most certainly out of place.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;">We had gone into <city w:st="on"><place w:st="on">Orlando</place></city> to check out a musician, <a href="http://www.myspace.com/aloeblaccmusic">Aloe Blacc</a> who was performing at the Back Booth. We decided to check out the venue and knew we were in the right place by the time we got close enough to see the details of the crowd gathered outside. Thick framed glasses, fedoras, suspenders, men’s skinny jeans, plaid and stripes: the wardrobe of those who attend indie rock concerts. We were at home.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;">The opening band was <a href="http://www.myspace.com/peterbaldwinrocks">Peter Baldwin</a>, a local group with tons of soul and great energy. We only caught the last of their gig, but were really impressed by the crowd they drew and their talent. Next up was <a href="http://www.myspace.com/mayajupiter">Maya Jupiter</a>, who was recently picked up by Aloe Blacc’s label and whose debut album was produced in part by Aloe amongst others. Maya was a super-empowered half-Mexican, half-Turkish, Australian-born woman with a really meaningful message. Politically charged and clearly feminist, she dominated the stage for her too-short 20-minute set, tackling everything from reggae to dancehall to rap, she was a force to be reckoned with and though most of the audience clearly hadn’t heard much of her stuff before, she had everyone moving.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;">Aloe’s band backed up Maya which lead to a perfect transition between their sets. Aloe, of course, played his hit <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iR6oYX1D-0w">“I need a dollar”</a> and proceeded to infect the crowd with his upbeat, soulful, R&B styles and inspiring, political messages. Maya even joined Aloe on stage for one song and added her own dancehall flare – she totally rocked it for being a newbie. If you get the chance to check out any of these artists, I would strongly recommend it.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;">Next up? My first American Thanksgiving, Downtown Disney, and the madness of Black Friday.</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8114307227540495477.post-50470204454840492852010-12-09T15:39:00.000-04:002010-12-09T15:39:43.991-04:00Where Dreams Come True<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span class="apple-style-span"><span style="color: black;">Picking up where I left off, I was awaiting a visitor.</span></span></div><div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="color: black;">It was like Christmas morning, only better.</span></div><div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="color: black;">So, I’m getting ready, checking flight arrival times, dollin’ myself up a bit, checkin’ out my butt in the mirror… you know, that kinda thing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m ready to rock at 12:55 pm, since the flight arrival time is 2:15 pm, but we need to stop at Walgreens and pick up some polysporin and Band-Aids because of the giant oozing abrasions on my left arm and knee.</span></div><div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="color: black;">My wonderful chauffeur (no sarcasm, seriously) is running late – as usual – but only by a few minutes, so it’s all good.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Shoes on.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Out the door.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Off we go!</span></div><div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="color: black;">When we get to Walgreens it’s raining, for the first time since we’d gotten back to <place w:st="on">Central Florida</place>.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Of course, the day I’m having a visitor.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Anyway, I exit the vehicle, assuring my driver that I’d be in and out and that I’d already scouted out the products online.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I got inside, grabbed the goods, showed off my battle wounds to the pharmacist, paid, and ran out to the car. </span></div><div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="color: black;">But, my driver was no where to be found, so I called his cell.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Of course, Ferrero Rocher takes precedent over being on time for airport pick-up.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I tease, of course.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But seriously, the flight was scheduled to arrive in 10 minutes and we were still 20 minutes away from the airport.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I hate being late.</span></div><div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="color: black;">I made it to the arrivals terminal, scanned the baggage area, but it appeared despite the chocolates, I was still on time or even better – early!</span></div><div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="color: black;">My usual, slightly finicky-when-anxious, self then proceeded to pace, lean against random structural objects, stare at arrivals monitors, pace more, sit in a chair, stand up, lean some more, then finally stand in one place.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Finally, down the glorious tile stairs (as opposed to the escalator) of MCO came that tall glass of water I’d been thirstin’ for.</span></div><div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="color: black;">Our visit together started out like most of our other experiences together – someone took a stab at Matt’s pride then complimented me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Here’s the story: we went to <place w:st="on"><city w:st="on">Enterprise</city></place> to pick up our rental for the visit.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The car rental clerk processed our reservation, looks at Matt hands him his card and says, “I’m sorry it says it’s been declined for insufficient funds.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Matt, shocked, knowing this is impossible looks like his heart drops into his toes and can only muster out a “what?!” before the clerk smiles, laughs, tells us she was just joking and she’s “so bad!” and then proceeds to tell me that she loves my haircut and thinks it’s super cute on me. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="color: black;">So off we go and our usual luck follows us, most of the way.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>First, we got a free upgrade on our rental car.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Score. </span></div><div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="color: black;">After having some supper and discussing the weeks plan, we decide it would be best to get up early and hit up Disney World the next day.</span></div><div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="color: black;">I’m sure it was a blessing in disguise, but I accidentally set the alarm clock for pm instead of am, so we slept in – not late though. We got to Disney by 10:00 am and filed through the endless crowds to get to <place w:st="on"><placename w:st="on">Magic</placename> <placetype w:st="on">Kingdom</placetype></place>.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="color: black;">We took the ferry across and arrived to one of the many periodic parades down Mainstreet <place w:st="on"><country-region w:st="on">USA</country-region></place>, involving all of the usual suspects: Mickey, Minnie, Goofy, Donald, Daisy, Belle, Cinderella, Ariel, Sebastien, Lumiere and almost every other Disney character you can name.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="color: black;">I immediately transformed into a five year old and felt blissfully happy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’d finally made it to Disney World, after all these years, and it was just as good as I’d imagined.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s really true what they say – Disney World is where dreams come true!</span></div><div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="color: black;">Now, if you’ve only got one day to spend at Disney, I would suggest you tackle it the same way we did to get the most bang for your buck.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If you don’t want to waste time driving between parks, you’re going to want to focus on <place w:st="on"><placename w:st="on">Magic</placename> <placetype w:st="on">Kingdom</placetype></place> and Epcot, which are connected by tram and you don’t need to move your vehicle to get from one park to the other.</span></div><div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="color: black;">Figure out which rides you want to do most and start at that park first thing in the morning to get “fast passes” so you don’t need to wait in line as long throughout the day. The fast passes are tricky, because you can only have one at a time, so you’ve gotta time it right.</span></div><div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="color: black;">We went straight for <place w:st="on"><placename w:st="on">Splash</placename> <placetype w:st="on">Mountain</placetype></place> and picked up our fast passes, then walked around checking out other rides with short stand-by times to fill our time before we could use our fast passes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We went through the haunted mansion, strolled through a few areas of the park, and watched Mickey’s Philharmagic Orchestra 3-D movie. </span></div><div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="color: black;">After realizing the wait time for <place w:st="on"><placename w:st="on">Space</placename> <placetype w:st="on">Mountain</placetype></place> in Tomorrowland was significant, so we wandered back to FrontierLand to use our fast passes. When we presented our passes to the attendant, he kindly informed us that they were for Thunder Mountain Railroad, not Splash Mountain (in our defense, the rides are practically side-by-side).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So we rode the Thunder Mountain Railroad, but the wait times for both fast passes and stand-by on <place w:st="on"><placename w:st="on">Splash</placename> <placetype w:st="on">Mountain</placetype></place> were too long, so we headed to Epcot.</span></div><div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="color: black;">After a short ride on the monorail, we arrived to the world-famous view of the Epcot Globe. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We headed straight for the main attractions: Soarin’, Mission Space, and GM Test Track – all of which had 180+ minute stand-by wait times and sold out fast passes.</span></div><div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="color: black;">Lucky for us, as we got to Mission Space and stared hopelessly at the wait times, a lady walked up and offered us her fast-passes which were <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">just</i> about to expire.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They wouldn’t be using them so they thought they should find people who would – and those people were us!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="color: black;">We went to the entrance of the ride where you get to choose between “green” and “orange” tickets.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The ride has a very specific disclaimer warning people that if they get motion sickness, or a variety of other motion related ailments, they should choose the green ticket.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><city w:st="on"><place w:st="on">Orange</place></city> is for “true astronaut training”.</span></div><div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="color: black;">We chose orange.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’ve never felt more afraid of voluntarily subjecting myself to something in my life.</span></div><div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="color: black;">Of course, the waiting line didn’t make it any easier.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Every minute that passed I got more anxious.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Video monitors on the walls offered constant reminders that if you changed your mind and wanted to do “green” training, you could still opt-out.</span></div><div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="color: black;">Apparently, more people throw up on this ride than any other ride at Disney World.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Isn’t that charming?</span></div><div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="color: black;">So finally, we get called into our “pod” for a briefing by one of those guys who always plays the role of a scientist or astronaut in Disney movies.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And we wait.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And we wait some more.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>People begin to sit down, getting fatigued from standing in line then standing in our training vessel.</span></div><div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="color: black;">Finally a door opens.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But it’s the wrong one.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Through the door we entered from stands a ride attendant, in his astronaut gear.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Apparently no one told them that the ride they sent us into was broken.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We all got switched to the next available pod and went through the debriefing all over again.</span></div><div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="color: black;">We all entered in our space ships to prepare for a six month voyage to Mars.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Sweet.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>One of the girls in our row opted out at the last minute, so we were down a commander.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We would just have to make due.</span></div><div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="color: black;">We each locked down our chest-restraints and proceeded to obey our orders to keep our heads pressed firmly to the back of our seats and stare directly through our viewing window.</span></div><div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="color: black;">Engines: check.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Fuel: check.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Mission is a go!</span></div><div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="color: black;">There was a loud and viscous rumble from below, and lift off! We were propelled through Earths’ atmosphere and into space.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The six month journey would sling-shot us around the moon and onto Mars.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Thankfully, since the voyage was so long, we were put into a hibernating state to pass the time.</span></div><div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="color: black;">Six months passed as quickly as we were told it would and upon awakening Mars was in sight.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Unfortunately, so was an asteroid storm!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We dodged and darted through the chunks of space debris successfully, but ended up off-course for our landing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We’d need to work together to complete an emergency landing.</span></div><div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="color: black;">The captain was called on to steer us in, lights were flashing, options were ignited, and after a rough up-and-down, through ancient fjords, and past our landing site, we crash landed, albeit successfully, on the edge of a cliff.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Phew.</span></div><div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="color: black;">For the next 45 minutes after exiting Mission Space, we were disoriented, unbalanced, and slightly nauseous.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I now fully understand why there are so many warnings and disclaimers on the ride.</span></div><div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="color: black;">So we checked out a slightly more low-key ride: Ellen’s Universe of Energy with Bill Nye the Science Guy!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I learned all about fossil fuels and dinosaurs and lots of other forms of energy and laughed heartily because the Ellen who hosted was Ellen circa 1998, a slightly less fashionable, slightly more “mullet-ey” version of the Ellen we know and love today.</span></div><div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="color: black;">After that we headed to the World Pavilions, which included: <country-region w:st="on">England</country-region>, <country-region w:st="on">Canada</country-region>, <country-region w:st="on">Morocco</country-region>, <country-region w:st="on">Germany</country-region>, <country-region w:st="on">China</country-region>, <country-region w:st="on">Norway</country-region>, the <country-region w:st="on">US</country-region>, <country-region w:st="on"><place w:st="on">France</place></country-region> and a few others.</span></div><div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="color: black;">I was, of course, very much intrigued to see how us Canadians are represented.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And, I’ve gotta say, they did a pretty spot-on job, if we were all lumberjacks, that is.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The female Canadians had the pleasure of wearing the always flattering ¾ length, mustard-brown pleated skirts with delightful button accents down the front, construction-style boots with wool socks, and red and black plaid shirts.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The Canadian boys had a similar uniform, but got to wear pleated pants instead.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Lucky!</span></div><div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="color: black;">So I obviously have to see what else the visitors of Disney are learning about our beautiful country.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We stroll through a beautiful reproduction of <placename w:st="on">Stanley</placename> <placetype w:st="on">Park</placetype> in <state w:st="on">British Columbia</state>, and head toward the 360˚ theatre to watch an 18-minute movie about <country-region w:st="on">Canada</country-region>, as presented by one of <country-region w:st="on"><place w:st="on">Canada</place></country-region>’s top comedic exports: Martin Short (sarcasm intended). </span></div><div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="color: black;">As I’m heading toward the theatre there are two Canadians waiting to greet us.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I begin to get closer and find myself squinting in disbelief.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I wait until I’m close enough to confirm this Canadian’s identity via her nametag and say, “Amy Irving?!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Umm, Allie Mason?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>New <place w:st="on"><city w:st="on">Glasgow</city></place> High??” </span></div><div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="color: black;">We were both shocked.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>What are the chances?!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Turns out from my small high school of 300 (at the time when she attended before we were amalgamated), Amy Irving had made her way all the way to Disney World to work for a full year.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She was two months in, at the time.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>After we chatted for a couple of minutes we went into the theater where she happened to be hosting today.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She gave me a nice little shout-out in her introduction, where she shocked audiences by telling them we don’t say “eh” all the time and we don’t live in igloos or take dogsleds to work.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>One man requested she give a “Hey hoser!” to his son.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I have no idea what that means, but he seemed to enjoy it.</span></div><div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="color: black;">Anyway, the movie was a beautiful tourist-ey type of movie, showcasing all that <country-region w:st="on"><place w:st="on">Canada</place></country-region> has to offer from our major cities to beautiful backcountry villages and our vast natural landscape.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I always find it odd when our strong aboriginal presence is ignored in our cultural history, but that seemed to be the case again.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Heck, even the US Pavilion had an animatronic Chief!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I guess it’s to be expected after seeing the outfits they had us in.</span></div><div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="color: black;">We checked out all of the other pavilions, took a log ride through Norway, stopped for a meal in Morocco, took another ride through Mexico, strolled the streets of Germany, France and China, and watched a completely animatronic theatrical production starring the founding fathers of America.</span></div><div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="color: black;">I don’t know about you, but I this animatronics are hysterical.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The fact that they had an animatronic Mark Twain, smoking a cigar and talking to George Washington was slightly entertaining to me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m sure it’s just because it’s Disney, and Disney would never recognize negative relationships between cultures, but the US’s depiction of their history was about as ignorant and their depiction of Canada’s history.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was so bad that Matt made sure to point out when it was over that he, “hoped I didn’t think it really happened that way.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I had a laugh.</span></div><div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="color: black;">We hung out at Epcot to see their fireworks, which were absolutely phenomenal.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A giant light-up globe floats out into the middle of the lake and opens up to show a video inside, fireworks are going off everywhere, there are torches lit up in the middle of the lake.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was an amazing display.</span></div><div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="color: black;">When they finished, we headed back to <place w:st="on"><placename w:st="on">Magic</placename> <placetype w:st="on">Kingdom</placetype></place> to see if we could catch their fireworks and hit up a few more rides before we headed home.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We arrived just in time to see Cinderella’s castle lit up from all sides with fireworks.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Mainstreet <country-region w:st="on"><place w:st="on">USA</place></country-region> was packed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We found a good place to witness the rest of the spectacle and took it all in.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The castle looked like it had been sprinkled with fairy dust.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was beautiful.</span></div><div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="color: black;">We figured since all the parents and young kids would be heading out after the fireworks that we’d have a better chance of getting onto a few of the rides that had long wait times earlier.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We went straight to <place w:st="on"><placename w:st="on">Space</placename> <placetype w:st="on">Mountain</placetype></place> – an entirely indoor rollercoaster that zips and zooms through the universe!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Out of the coasters at Disney, <place w:st="on"><placename w:st="on">Space</placename> <placetype w:st="on">Mountain</placetype></place> was definitely my favorite.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was fast, had lots of dips, dives, swerves and spirals, though it didn’t go upside-down at any point.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was a lot of fun and being in the dark made the ride that much more suspenseful.</span></div><div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="color: black;">After, we went to go check out the inside of Cinderella’s castle, and go on <place w:st="on"><placename w:st="on">Splash</placename> <placetype w:st="on">Mountain</placetype></place>.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><place w:st="on"><placename w:st="on">Splash</placename> <placetype w:st="on">Mountain</placetype></place> is pretty low-key, comparatively speaking.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s a log ride, and for the vast majority of it you’re just floating around through this strangely erotic animatronic woodland.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m not gonna go into any more detail about that.</span></div><div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="color: black;">When we left <place w:st="on"><placename w:st="on">Splash</placename> <placetype w:st="on">Mountain</placetype></place> we were a little wet, so we decided to dry off on the Thunder Mountain Railroad.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We made our way to the top and were all settled in within 10 minutes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Toward the end of the ride, the rollercoaster got stuck.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Slightly anti-climactic, but since it was almost back to the end it wasn’t so bad.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="color: black;">We were pulled into the station where some people fiddled with whatever got jammed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>About 5 minutes later, the problem was fixed and the ride attendant yelled, “We’re all fixed… and you’re going on again!!”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The crowd cheered and off we went for one more round.</span></div><div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="color: black;">We strolled through an eerily empty, midnight Disney World, took the ferry back to the parking lot, and took the tram back to our car.</span></div><div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="color: black;">Disney World -<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>great success!</span></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8114307227540495477.post-74173320039761984212010-12-06T00:27:00.004-04:002011-06-17T01:25:30.641-03:00First of Three<div style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">So, after getting all settled in, I had about 5 days to prepare for my first and only visitor in </span></span><st1:state w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">Florida</span></span></st1:place></st1:state><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">. It would be the first friend I'd seen since October 6th (also happens to be the last person I saw on October 6th!). Needless to say, I was pretty darn excited.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;"><br />
</span> </span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">I was so excited that I’m pretty sure my nerves got the best of me. The whole week before said guests’ arrival I had this weird feeling that I was going to get hurt. I didn’t know how or when, but I had an eerie suspicion something was going to happen. On the motorcycle I was paranoid. When I went for a run I would be extra careful not to drag my feet or trip. </span></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;"><br />
</span> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;"> </span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">The day before arrival day, not even a mile from the house, I’m casually riding my bicycle down the street and a palmetto bug lands on me.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;"><br />
</span> </span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">Now, if you know anything about palmetto bugs, you know they are like giant flying cockroaches and they won’t hurt you. If you’re me, however, and know nothing about palmetto bugs, you automatically assume the worst case scenario: it's going to bite/sting/plant its' eggs in me and I'm going to die.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;"><br />
</span> </span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">It flies toward me and lands directly on my foot. I panic. I start shaking my foot furiously, but it’s got a grip on me as tight as a headlock from Mike Tyson. So I attempt to drag my foot against the foot pedal, all the while still attempting to maintain my balance and continue my bike ride. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;"><br />
</span> </span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">In retrospect, I should have just stopped dead in my tracks and went and rubbed my foot in the grass, but all reason escaped me when that giant bug landed on me.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;"><br />
</span> </span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">So, I manage one scrape, but the bug is still there. At this point I can’t even tell if it’s dead or alive, but I just keep trying to get it off. By swipe three against the pedal, the bug is undoubtedly dead, and I’m flying toward the pavement. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;"><br />
</span> </span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">Instinctively, I clench my fists, so that I don’t scrape up my palms of my hands upon impact. I land squarely on my left forearm and left knee. I burn a hole through the knee of my pants, and into my skin, and scrape a solid four and a half inch gash into my arm. Luckily, I didn’t hit my head, or scrape my face. Apparently my emergency landing skills are top notch.<o:p></o:p></span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;"><br />
</span> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;"> </span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; text-align: justify;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://sphotos.ak.fbcdn.net/hphotos-ak-snc4/hs1180.snc4/150247_575727981074_172301336_34085776_3556005_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://sphotos.ak.fbcdn.net/hphotos-ak-snc4/hs1180.snc4/150247_575727981074_172301336_34085776_3556005_n.jpg" width="320" /></span></span></a></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;"><br />
</span> </span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">I’ve come close fainting only a few times in my life. When I looked down at my arm, this was one of those times. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;"><br />
</span> </span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">I stumbled to the nearest house and rang the doorbell. No answer. <o:p></o:p></span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;"><br />
</span> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;"> </span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">I looked at my arm again. I felt the blood drain from my head, my vision narrowed, my ears began ringing, and I stumbled again, like a bloody drunk, back to the grass where I proceeded to accept my demise.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;"><br />
</span> </span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">All I could think, sitting there, bleeding in the grass on some elderly persons’ lawn in a gated retirement community, was, “how am I supposed to walk back to my Dad’s when I can’t even walk 10 feet to a neighbor’s door?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;"><br />
</span> </span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">Now, as much as I give nosey neighbors slack for constantly having their noses perched between their horizontal blinds, on this day, I was thankful.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;"><br />
</span> </span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">Sitting in the grass, bleeding away, fearing losing consciousness, I notice a man walking toward me. Once he gets close enough, he notices my arm and asks if I’m okay (pretty sure if you see someone sitting in the grass, bleeding and incoherent, they’re probably not “okay,” but whatever). I tell him I feel like I’m going to faint. He says he’s a former marine and if I ever feel like I’m going to faint I should put my head between my legs, so I do just that.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;"><br />
</span> </span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">After giving him the low-down on what happened his wife joins us and said she noticed me staggering around while she was on the phone with her daughter. So she sent her hubby over to check on me. God bless and hug a veteran, all at once.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;"><br />
</span> </span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">They drove me home. Needless to say, I was pretty ashamed of the gash considering the circumstances, and the fact that the bike was only a one-speed.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;"><br />
</span> </span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">I guess it was just a self-fulfilling prophecy.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;"><br />
</span> </span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">Next, I thought about how trouble always comes in threes. Maybe I shouldn’t have thought that. </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0