CD making

If I ever met Rob Gordon, I think he and I would have a longish conversation about how MP3 CDs are killing the art of the compilation album. I'm currently ripping a variety of miscellaneous stuff to make a CD for the boy and, who are headed to Toronto this weekend to attend the wedding of a friend. It's only an hour and a half drive, but I think this CD is going to be quite a bit longer.

It's a difficult process, this, as the boy and I have fairly different taste in music. I tend towards melodic, folk influenced indie pop (with a smattering of punk, 60s rock, and of course my weakness for the 80s) and he is a former rave kid who adores techno, particularly house. We find common ground in 80s new wave, a lot of the time, though both of us try to be fairly open minded.

The unfortunate part is that now my dad and I share something in common--we both have partners that enjoy music by listening to it over and over and over and over and OVER again. This occasionally ruins our appreciation for certain musics (particularly if it's something that both the boy and my mother enjoy, such as the soundtrack to JOseph and the Amazing Technicolour Dream Coat, because then I get a double dose of hearing it all the time--I could probably perform it acapella, singing all the parts myself, I've heard it so many times).

So, while the 'soul' and 'continuity' and 'cohesion' of the compilation CD is somewhat lost (it's hard to be cohesive when you're smushing 100+ songs together), it does have the added advantage of having a much longer replay value.

My dad is quite thrilled by this technology; he now has a CD that covers his entire Beatles catalogue, minus the 2 German tracks, the greatest hits, and Revolution #9. He also has the world's longest Bob Dylan CD and an entirely 80s one (which is awesome because there are a few 'crap song' skeletons in my dad's musical closet that have been exposed by this).

Go see Superman Returns. Bryan Singer, Bryan Singer, holy shit, Bryan Singer. If only he hadn't Xed off.

some idealistic future

I want to tell you a story. A few years ago, I took an honours seminar class on the works of Timothy Findley. The world of Mr. Findley is one of infinite wonder and madness, family and frenzy. I admire his work very, very much, and I truly wish I had been able to meet him before he died. I like to think that he and I would have much to talk about.

After I took this class, my mum began to pick up his books for me whenever she would see them in her trips to the Value Village, the Goodwill, or even at yard sales. Unfortunately, she's never remembered which books I already have, and as a result there are a few titles that I now have 3 or 4 copies of.

She bought me a copy of 'Stones' a few weeks ago. It's one of his short story collections (the one we actually read for my class, too), and the copy mum bought was the basic mass market paper back, which is substantially less pretty than my trade paperback. As a result, I didn't really pay much attention to it, and the book wound up 'hanging out' on our bar for a few weeks.

After my graduation from the BEd last week, the boyfriend was over for post-convocation shenanigans (er, supper), and as he was looking through the collection of junk that our bar attracts, he looked at the copy of 'Stones' a little more closely than my mom or I had.

As it turns out, neither my mother nor I had noticed the inscription on the title page.

I like to think about books and their previous owners. I wonder who this one was signed for, and why they were able to give it away. How strange that it should come to me...

write click

I haven't written here in a long time. That's mostly a good thing. I don't have words anymore. Not even for myself. I'm too pragmatic to be cryptic like this tonight. I feel bad and I want writing to make me feel better. I don't know if it will. I've spoken so much French these past few days that half my thinking, c'est dans une autre langue, so this may not even make sense.

The big things I can't write about. They aren't mine to write about anyway.

I wanted to have a party next week. I graduate from the BEd Friday morning, and the NB Rock City is sufficiently far from most everywhere that the majority of people will come into town the night before. So I figure that Thursday night, we have a few drinks at the University House(tm) and then head up to the pub to dance the night away. So I send out an invitation, via email, and ask people to email me back if they are coming.

As this was several days ago, and I've heard from no one...

I don't know what this means. Part of me wants to say that everyone hates me. I know (god, I hope) that isn't it. but surely someone would reply, even if to say "I'm coming over in the morning, so I can't make it"? I know I was not necessarily that well-liked this year--but I didn't think that it was like this.

If it is, though, I guess I'll just have to deal with that. I wish I knew how.

neither bang nor whimper

I am, at long last, finished school. For good this time. Honest.

Thus, I begin the next great adventure: Is there life after the books close?

I have employment for the summer. I have a few leads on more permanent things for the fall. In the meantime, I am going to enjoy life and do my best to trust that things will work out as they should.

I'm going to plan some role playing. I'm going to start writing scripts for graphic novels. I am going to get a tan. I am going to go to weddings of friends. I'm going to start planning my professional website. I'm going to start thinking about the research projects that I want to develop. I am going to create.

For the first time in my life, I am ready to move forward. I don't know if I am ready for what comes next, but I am ready to meet it head on.

On a lighter, and slightly more interesting note: New Beckett play found. This is particularly noteworthy because it was passed on to the boyfriend by a friend of ours, and the boyfriend got very, very excited about it...apparently he's never really explored the Onion before.

assorted sours, forgotten

One of my least favourite things about being sick is the way that it blunts my sense of taste. I can still taste things, but the tastes are neither as full nor as ripe (rich?) as they might be, and all things considered, Easter weekend is a bad time to lose that ability to taste, because there is just so much darn good food. Also, I just generally hate being sick.

It was a good weekend, all in all; having four days off (even four days of being sick as a very flu-y dog) is quite possibly the best thing ever. Now I just need to survive the next four days of descriptive paragraphs, research reports, and Romeo + Juliet madness. Strangely, I am starting to appreciate Baz Luhrmann's adaptation of the play--something that has been inconceivable to me to this point.

I'm a bit uncertain about the future right now (right now, of course, being a rough euphemism for "the last six months or so") and I wish that things would start falling into place a little more. I fully accept that they aren't going to, at least not in the way that I want them to...but is a little certainty too much to ask for?

stupid whistly song

Two weeks down, and only 7.5 days left to go. I am for the most part enjoying myself. Teaching English is actually a pretty good deal, though part of me still thinks my heart is in the Canadian history courses somewhere. I am in charge of a whole unit on The Great and Lamentably Tragedy of Romeo and Juliet and, wonder of wonders, I'm actually having a blast with it. Some of my students are, as well, though I think I lost a LOT of them when we got to iambic pentameter. People who lack rhythm should never have to teach such things. Note to future self: Cultivate friendship with a musician who will come in and explain iambs in a far better way than you can.

I was poking around my old diaryland site very very briefly this morning. I haven't written there in nearly three years, and there was a time where I believed very much in the importance of saving everything that I'd written. But having done the wee bit of poking that I did today, I can honestly say that I no longer have any investment in that writing or in that time of my life. For possibly the first time ever, I want to live in the now, and nothing is more now than here (or maybe podcasting. Difficult to say.)

Hurray for four day Easter weekends in Canada! I'm very excited to be going home tomorrow.

speechifying at the speed of light

Tomorrow, I have to give a speech:

Every person in this room knows [Daddy Skylark] in different way. For many—probably most of you—he was worker at the some point in the 34 years of his career. For others, he is a husband, a brother, a son-in-law, a brother-in-law. For all of us, he is a friend.

Because so many of you have known him in these ways, my sisters and I wanted to tell you about a different side of [Daddy Skylark].

Our father was blessed with a challenge. Between 1981 and 1988, he and my mother had three daughters. Outnumbered, he had to learn to navigate a new world, one of pink strawberry shaving cream, Girl Guide Cookies twice a year, and Cabbage Patch Dolls, Polly Pockets, and Precious Places.

He rose to this challenge quite admirably, learning not to leave the toilet seat up, to swallow his complaints when his razor blades were inexplicably dull, and also when the milk jug went back into the fridge empty. He also learned not to complain about peanut butter on his uniform hat, or the perpetual loss of black socks and the occasional white shirt. Do you remember, Dad, when we thought it was cool to wear your big clothes?

More than these trivial things, our dad taught us to be strong and independent. He always expected our best, and we hope, that most of the time, we’ve been able to give it.

To introduce the video that we’ve put together, I’ll use my dad’s own words whenever he comes home with a bunch of pictures to show us: “You’d better pee now. This’ll take a while.”

I've been good, as good as I can be

I have moved to Collingwood, and it seems that this business will actually be a pretty good deal for me. My apartment is quite nice; it has everything I could need, pretty much, aside from a cat. And tea. But I'm sure I will rectify that shortly.

I have a grade nine locally developed course, a grade ten academic, and a grade twelve college prep. I've only met the 9s and 10s so far, and one of my two associates, but I really think that this is going to work out well. *knocks wood*

I teach my first lesson tomorrow, on the use of poetic language and diction in Romeo and Juliet. Whee!

In like a lamb, out like a...lamb?

I write this entry from the boyfriend's bed in Sudbury, as he plays a Warcraft game beside me. I wrote my exams on Monday during the day, ate pizza with my friends Monday night, and packed like a fiend until Tuesday, when I came here. I have five glorious days here (3.5 of which have already happened) before I head home and to my final month. of school.

I am still in C-wood for the next month, but I have found a family friend to live with, and will apparently have lots of internet access and will only be five minutes from my school. All things considered, I am pretty lucky.

My father retires from his job today. He has been a police officer since he was 18, and he is currently two weeks shy of his 53rd birthday. I can't imagine what it feels like to leave behind something that has defined so much of his life. That said, I do know that he is quite ready to leave, and start his next adventure, which rumour has it will be installing hardwood floors in the house.

The littlest skylark got into the college program of her choice today. I am very proud of her.

and in the end the love you take

School will be over tomorrow around 3. Over forever, once I lay down that pen from filling in the Scantron bubbles for Special Education. Over until I choose to come back. If I ever do.

For the longest time, I never thought I would reach this point in my life. School has been life to me since I was old enough to read. Since I am now trained as an educator of some kind, school isn't really over, but I will be sitting on the other side of the fence. If I get a job.

This year has been really interesting. A much easier one than the last, in most ways, but harder still in some. The community formed by the people I have met is such a quick, fragile one...but strong in its own way, and may last far longer than any of us imagine. I came to the realization the other night that the one thing in my life that I am truly desperate for is to be liked by other people. I don't know why I want that, but that's how it is, for some reason.

For all of you who do like me, I am thankful. I don't know where we will find ourselves after this year, but this year would have been very different without you. I hope that some day I will be able to tell you that, and that some day I will understand what it is that you like about me.

We are all stronger people after this year. We are all one step closer to being who we want to. That, more than anything else, is worth celebrating.

pretty hate machine

Hell week is truly living up to its name this week.

I just got my third placement info - I'm at a school in Collingwood, which is some 56 km. from my house, and I have zero way to get there. This means that I will be looking for a place to live for one month, and I have zero way to pay for that. In short, I am so screwed.

I will going to the Practice Teaching Office later today to talk to them about it, but they are notoriously intractable in these matters. I have no idea what I am going to do.

I just want to go back to sleep

erin go braghless

Today I was given a choice between staying at a bar and going to my favourite secondhand bookstore. I chose to stay in the bar, because I thought that would be cheaper than going to a bookstore.

I think that statement tells you everything you need to know about me.

Old Friends Week

I am in my second last week of post-secondary education for the foreseeable future. (This count doesn't include that pesky practicum that I still don't know anything about.) This would be much more exciting except for the following factors: a variety of stupid assignments + complete lack of ambition + general apathy; all of which contribute to a very unproductive skylark. As long as I manage to buckle down this week, though, everything should be okay.

And one of the nice things about this program is that it's virtually impossible to flunk out...

It is officially Old Friends Week here in North Bay, and I am expecting (hoping?) to touch base with almost ten people I haven't seen in ages this week...including the one that I am most excited about, the Schrode! Whom I haven't seen in nigh on three years now, and who I think it is also pretty excited for seeing me. Jo and Dante are close seconds, though.

Saints-Martyrs-des-Damnees has been given a domestic release, at long last, but unfortunately it is proving somewhat elusive here in Ontario. Amazon and Chapters want me to pay upwards of $30 for it, and as much as I want to see it, that is a little too rich for my blood.

two minute hate

I am leisurely planning for tomorrow...I have three lessons from a unit on Orwell and 1984 due, of which I currently have two. 1984 just makes me so happy. If I ever get to teach one of the senior literature English courses (as opposed to the core University prep) I fully intend to teach one solely on dystopic literatures.

I also have my portfolio due so I will be shucking that together this afternoon as well.

I need a good culminating project for my 1984...

Atwood checks in at the big G with her remininsces about the book.

under, above, on and in: my skin

Those of you who remember the halcyon days of my undergrad at Nip will remember my feminist theory class and our study of Shelley Jackson's _Patchwork Girl_ (which more of you should read if you haven't). This was my first exposure to the world of hypertext and it was just incredible: even the problems of the text are magnificent.

Anyhow, I thought I'd check back in with Shelley to see what she is upto today, and it is a doozy. She is currently doing the SKIN Project: "SKIN is a mortal work of art: a story tattooed on readers' bodies, one word at a time."

Though tattoos usually aren't something I think too much about, this has got me incredibly intrigued...a mortal work of art, which is constantly in motion as its words grow older. I wish I could participate...but I don't know if I could. Would you, reader?

I'll fly away...

This is a crazy idea. I'd love to do that....if only, you know, I wasn't afraid of flying so much. Or pot, for that matter.

I am so tired right now I could probably go to bed now and wake up for my 6:30 head out time tomorrow. I only have to survive tomorrow (and tomorrow's lesson on birth control) and then I'm homefree for a bit, what with the PA day on Friday and my graduation on Monday.

there are no cats in America

Grade seven is the craziest stuff ever. My class is literally everything you could imagine it to be. Those of you who have survived the BEd will know what I'm talking about--basically all of those scenarios, all of those things that they tell you to watch out for in class, have shown up in my grade sevens. It's so...wow. Intense, to say the least.

I started teaching 'the math' today. Rate and ratios...well...my math vocabulary is a little off, and I find it hard to explain things when I can just see how they look. Isn't that dumb? Tomorrow I keep going with the math and start with the sex ed; specifically the birth control. It's going to be an experience, that's fo' sho'. I'm thinking about emailing Scarleteen and asking if they would be willing to add a teacher section to their site.

There's a swastika on one of the desks in my classroom and it makes me want to cry every time I look at it.

I'm just second hand news...

According to the UofG website, Scott "Griffin Prize for Poetry" Griffin will be my convocation speaker for the College of Arts graduation next Monday. He's also Scott "House of Anasi Press" Griffin if that means anything to you.

That's kind of exciting, though Adrienne Clarkson is one of the other speakers, and she would have been interesting to hear. Gwynne Dyer (whom I have already heard speak), Pamela Wallin, and Michael Ignatieff are also speaking at various other graduations.

Grade seven starts tomorrow. Wish me luck.

God knows I'll need it.

I like to go out dancin'

Reading week is slowly puttering along at a pace that's pretty easy to describe as 'much too fast' for my tastes. I have yet to accomplish much, I'm afraid, although I am getting closer to success on the laundry front.

I got to take my first trip to downtown Toronto in probably 8 or 9 months. Mom and I got tickets to see Julie Andrew's The Boyfriend at the Royal Alex. Nothing spectacular, but definitely lots of fun, great costuming, and a plot that was straight from a Shakespearean comedy, right down to the Carnival and the marriage.

Our afternoon downtown was lots of fun too--we hit up a Winners, where I got the most beautiful black pearl necklacke, with the help of some gift certificates I've been saving up, and the Queen St. LUSH. We then checked out the Winterlicious menu at Urban and browsed the Richmond and John Chapters. This was my first trip downtown since Jane Creba was shot in December, and I was surprised at how little the downtown was changed. Except for the security guards in the Chapters, you'd almost never know.

If I should win the lottery someday, I will definitely be spending a portion of my winnings at LUSH, though.

time I had some time alone

It is, marvelously, that week in which I am supposed to do nothing but read. There isn't actually very much to read in the BEd, so I will have to content myself with wreaking havoc, reading my mum out of house and home, and maybe eventually getting around to doing some homework. And possibly some prep for grade seven, which starts next week. Since I came back on Friday, I have read three books...I'd almost forgotten how glorious reading is, since I think I read all of three books in January.

The weather has been doing most of my havoc-wreaking for me these past few days. Poor North Bay Rock City got somewhere close to 90cm. in the last week, and down 'south' here it continues to snow off and on. We probably have between 50-60 cm. by now.

My dad has come up with a new mix tape/CD game. It would almost make a good meme, really. Basically, what you do is take about 20 CDs, randomly (dad currently grabs 1/2 of a shelf of CDs) and you have to choose your favourite song from each CD and put that onto your new CD. I will probably be doing that at some point this week, too. I bet it works better when you have nearly 2000 CDs, though, like he does, as opposed to the 250 I have.

Split Enz are reuniting!!