I've been thinking. I find it totally relaxing to read about the minutiae of other people's lives (especially the blogs of authors I like). Maybe I'll do some of that here as well, just for shits and giggles, but first I have to update you regarding recent happenings.
All is well in the land of Shinseiko and Caspian, albeit a bit cold, windy and covered with ice and snow. Don't visit Canada in the wintertime unless you have fondness for these things.
I wake up early every weekday morning, shower, put my (already selected) lunch together and walk [in arctic temps] about two miles to my university, where I'm in class with some really awesome people from all over the world. We have a doctor from Saudi Arabia, three Canadians from other provinces, two Mexicans, one Venezuelan, one Kenyan, a lawyer from Jordan, one Ukranian, one Chinese, one Thai and one Taiwanese. That's 14 people total, including me, the only American. I think it's hilarious and irritating that I'm considered like the representative of the USA in this class. When people talk about the US, they will address me with the plural "you."
It is a superb program, probably one of the best French language programs in the world. After all McGill University is the 17th best university in the world. I spend my days laughing, acting silly, making up skits, conjugating verbs and babbling in pronunciation lab. I walk home facing west (I despise sunny days, because the light reflects blindingly from the snow and ice on the sidewalk and into my eyes) at 3, get home at 3:30, and start work at 4, working until 7. My clientele has changed a bit with the new hours; I have plenty of Italian, Spanish, Portuguese and Japanese students. French students prefer to take their lessons in the early evenings on weekends, on which I also work, for six hours each day... Which means I don't have a single day off until the semester is over (I have a week of break between them). Hours of homework are completed by candlelight in the evening or on the weekends. I pretty much have no life right now. Luckily, that means that I don't spend much money either.
And yet, Felix (who has been stressed about work recently for reasons I can't disclose) wants to practice twice this week. I... Have been ultra irritated with him. With his simplicity and hyperactivity and unrelenting energy. It is difficult for me at this point in my life to have a friend like him for some reason. I feel like I am a child in his eyes, full of simple emotions and thoughts, in need of repetition, never learning, always making the same mistakes. Maybe it's true and things can be distilled like that, but I'm just not in the mood for it.
We also had a very sick kitty a couple of weeks ago. We came home from our friends' place and found Kiska unable to move on the floor of our bedroom. She had pooped and peed on herself. We rushed her to the emergency veterinarian at midnight on a Saturday, sure that she was going to die. I thought it was neurological and feared that the last memory of my little white cat would be the image of her struggling to move on the floor, crying in fear. Caspian held her to his chest and she just panted between cries, her face smushed up against him.
We discussed euthanasia that night for two hours in a stuffy exam room. I cried the most anguished tears of my life, over a little 8-pound creature. We couldn't afford any treatment, only hospitalization, with me a student again. We agreed that if she did not get better in two or three days, we would say goodbye.
Luckily, it turned out to be ideopathic vestibular disease, an uncommon but not unheard-of inner ear syndrome that strikes with a vengeance and usually corrects itself. Within two days, she was able to stand, eat and drink on her own, and we brought her home, where she joyfully reunited with her housemate. She has been playful, active and friendly ever since. $500 for those three days, which was part of my dance costume money. It looks like competition isn't in the near future.
The schedule above is how it will go for the next year or so, until I finish my Certificate of Proficiency. I've already started the job hunt, sending my CV to my career counselor for editing. Hopefully I will have a well-paying bilingual position lined up as soon as I have my certificate in hand!
Monday, January 30, 2012
Tuesday, January 24, 2012
Where's the wonder?
I feel the most wonder when I think of the silent, frigid reaches of northern Finland, pinpointing one old spruce tree in my mind's eye. I think of it living there amidst its fellows, never hearing a human voice in all its years, feeling the chill rain on its branches in summer, the heavy snows in winter, its roots creeping ever deeper into the soil. It stands mute and swaying almost imperceptibly, under the silent swerving arcs of the aurora borealis. Such sights it has seen, and such peace it has felt, never moving from the place where it nestled once as a seed.
I feel the most wonder when I lay on the powdery white beaches of western Michigan. Kids come and go with their plastic inner tubes, hot girls gather new radicals and tans there on the strand, people complain and throw their shit down and pick it up again endlessly, thinking only of themselves and their vacation. But the "eyes" of the trees are ever fixed upon the same vista. They've felt the same warm, western wind for ages. The sand rolls upon the beach to be buried and sifted among the waves again, over and over. The hills stand, thumping for miles with each heartbeat wave, the bedrock reverberates. The ferns are tossed in storm and glaze in heat and wither and die and are covered with snow, and do it all again, in the same place.
Humanity, ugh. Shitting and cursing and arguing and taking away the rights of other suffering humans. Standing in the middle of sidewalks and staring at nothing when other people have places to go. Judging me, judging you. Destroying. Fucking ridiculous.
I feel the most wonder when I lay on the powdery white beaches of western Michigan. Kids come and go with their plastic inner tubes, hot girls gather new radicals and tans there on the strand, people complain and throw their shit down and pick it up again endlessly, thinking only of themselves and their vacation. But the "eyes" of the trees are ever fixed upon the same vista. They've felt the same warm, western wind for ages. The sand rolls upon the beach to be buried and sifted among the waves again, over and over. The hills stand, thumping for miles with each heartbeat wave, the bedrock reverberates. The ferns are tossed in storm and glaze in heat and wither and die and are covered with snow, and do it all again, in the same place.
Humanity, ugh. Shitting and cursing and arguing and taking away the rights of other suffering humans. Standing in the middle of sidewalks and staring at nothing when other people have places to go. Judging me, judging you. Destroying. Fucking ridiculous.
Monday, January 23, 2012
:\
I am never happy where I am. Always thinking about the next achievement, the next goal, the next relocation. I've only got about 100 years (or less) to find the most beautiful place on the earth to live.
Friday, January 13, 2012
DnB Artist Personalities, Revealed
I love drum & bass basically more than any other genre, excepting perhaps classical piano. I've listened to a lot of stuff over the last 14 (!!!) years of my obsession and have come to feel real fondness for some of my favorite producers and musicians. So much so that I've sort of inadvertently constructed personalities for several of them, based only on how I respond to their music.
The Psychic. High Contrast is pretty much incomprehensible, but in a warm, knowing way that makes you want to trust him with your darkest secrets. Awkward and attractive in looks and suave and quietly confident in manner, he's the guy you want to talk to if you are confused by human nature in any context. So, he has some seriously sick beats bouncing around in that noggin of his, but he's still witty and human. And he's Welsh, so he probably has a gorgeous accent and can likely speak Cymric, which is.... Awesome.
The Enigma. Klute is the rare dude you see brooding at the bar in a snazzy club who can easily back up the force of his attitude. You see, he's a genius, a real genius. It might take awhile for you to get used to his manner of speaking, but once you do, you realize that he's just simply more evolved than all of your other friends, an entirely different type completely. You're pretty sure he can smile, since you've heard it in his music, but you've never seen it. He's intense.
The Party. Danny Byrd is the guy you plan to go jogging with early on that Tuesday morning... But instead, you end up going out together for beer and a burger - for breakfast. Things get worse (or better!) from there, culminating probably in a helicopter ride to an Angry Birds-themed Victorian rave, complete with moon bounce. You never know what's going to happen to you when you're with Danny Byrd, but you know you'll have a heluva time.
The Gentleman. Urbane and well-educated, Calibre pays no attention to the trends and goes his own way, and people always end up following. You probably want to take a few pages from his book when it comes to fashion. He can converse glibly on any topic, and if there's a concert featuring a speedcore/psytrance interpretation of Rachmaninov going down one night, you'll probably want to go with him... After getting baked first. It'll be great. Plus, he's from Belfast and probably commands a pretty kickass accent himself, so you'll want to parade him around in front of your American friends.
 |
| High Contrast |
 |
| Klute |
 |
| Danny Byrd |
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| Calibre |
Thursday, January 12, 2012
Onward!
So much for my prediction! It's just... So many adventures are happening, and I have to talk about them!
I took my French placement test on Wednesday morning.
Just to see what it'd be like, since metro tickets are up to $3 this year (the most expensive in the world by a large margin), I bundled up in my ankle-length down coat, insulated Kamik snowboots, insulated gloves and a sparkly black wool scarf I knitted, wrapped three times around my face and neck so that only my eyes were showing. Armed with my iPod and paperwork (jauntily placed within my snazzy new houndstooth backpack), I set out on a 25-minute trek to McGill University; it was -16 C (3 degrees F). I wanted to see what it would be like to walk both ways in extreme weather conditions. It was fine! One moderate hill, and then a nice amble northeast up Rue Sherbrooke, past the museums, ritzy hotels and outrageously expensive clothing stores. I could easily do it every day.
I say "extreme weather conditions" in a very hopeful tone, since last February there were two mornings of -40 C (-40 F as well; this dismal point is where the two systems meet). That's beyond extreme; more like deep space-esque. I had to wear three pairs of socks, a pair of long underwear, pants, a shirt and a coat, all under a fleece blanket when I woke up those mornings before the house had been heated to a bearable 10 C (50 F).
Anyway! Enough digression, it's depressing.
So I successfully trekked to my new university, #19 in the world, and so reasonably-priced! Classes are in a high-rise tower, and I was impressed by the people I talked to. I am extremely gregarious in academic settings and anticipated the usual Montreal standoffishness, but nope, everybody responded cheerily and with much wit. Everything was in order and I seemed to be miles ahead of the other students in my program, most of whom had not been in Canada for very long and were basically frazzled tornadoes of paperwork and forms. Many Europeans, Koreans, Chinese, and quite a few Canadians from other provinces; maybe three American citizens in my placement class. I was all paid up, had my public health insurance card, passport, work permit, student permit and CAQ (permission to study full-time).
I arrived early and gave my card to the young test moderator, but told him that I was a beginner; at that moment, one of the two main French profs came in and shook my hand in such a nice, friendly way after overhearing me. He told me to come chat with him, so I followed him to his interview classroom and we talked in English and French for 15 minutes or so. He was perplexed by me. My ear is abnormally good, my reading comp and writing are both passable... My speaking is Not Good. Not my accent, which he described as "very nice," but my ability to synthesize sentences on the fly, mostly due to crippling perfectionism.
He told me I had a knack for languages (not sure what preempted this comment), and that I was across the board in all four areas. He said that true beginners are exempt from the placement test, but he told me I should go ahead and sit for it in case the results would allow me to skip a level. A paragraph on the front of the test booklet warned students that "levels are very large, as level 1 is 'beginner' and level 5 is 'mastery'" and instructed us to try not to overestimate our skills.
So I sat for the test in high spirits in a multicultural group of maybe 20 peers and finished in only 20 mins (the advanced students took 3 hours!) and walked home. Results posted on Monday! I don't really care where I am placed, but if I do skip a level, that's $1500 saved.
If I go straight through this program without stopping for any reason, it is possible for me to achieve the Certificate of Proficiency by the end of October 2012. At 30 hours of class per week, it will probably be the most intense period of studies I've ever undertaken. It starts next Monday at 9 AM.
I took my French placement test on Wednesday morning.
Just to see what it'd be like, since metro tickets are up to $3 this year (the most expensive in the world by a large margin), I bundled up in my ankle-length down coat, insulated Kamik snowboots, insulated gloves and a sparkly black wool scarf I knitted, wrapped three times around my face and neck so that only my eyes were showing. Armed with my iPod and paperwork (jauntily placed within my snazzy new houndstooth backpack), I set out on a 25-minute trek to McGill University; it was -16 C (3 degrees F). I wanted to see what it would be like to walk both ways in extreme weather conditions. It was fine! One moderate hill, and then a nice amble northeast up Rue Sherbrooke, past the museums, ritzy hotels and outrageously expensive clothing stores. I could easily do it every day.
I say "extreme weather conditions" in a very hopeful tone, since last February there were two mornings of -40 C (-40 F as well; this dismal point is where the two systems meet). That's beyond extreme; more like deep space-esque. I had to wear three pairs of socks, a pair of long underwear, pants, a shirt and a coat, all under a fleece blanket when I woke up those mornings before the house had been heated to a bearable 10 C (50 F).
Anyway! Enough digression, it's depressing.
So I successfully trekked to my new university, #19 in the world, and so reasonably-priced! Classes are in a high-rise tower, and I was impressed by the people I talked to. I am extremely gregarious in academic settings and anticipated the usual Montreal standoffishness, but nope, everybody responded cheerily and with much wit. Everything was in order and I seemed to be miles ahead of the other students in my program, most of whom had not been in Canada for very long and were basically frazzled tornadoes of paperwork and forms. Many Europeans, Koreans, Chinese, and quite a few Canadians from other provinces; maybe three American citizens in my placement class. I was all paid up, had my public health insurance card, passport, work permit, student permit and CAQ (permission to study full-time).
I arrived early and gave my card to the young test moderator, but told him that I was a beginner; at that moment, one of the two main French profs came in and shook my hand in such a nice, friendly way after overhearing me. He told me to come chat with him, so I followed him to his interview classroom and we talked in English and French for 15 minutes or so. He was perplexed by me. My ear is abnormally good, my reading comp and writing are both passable... My speaking is Not Good. Not my accent, which he described as "very nice," but my ability to synthesize sentences on the fly, mostly due to crippling perfectionism.
He told me I had a knack for languages (not sure what preempted this comment), and that I was across the board in all four areas. He said that true beginners are exempt from the placement test, but he told me I should go ahead and sit for it in case the results would allow me to skip a level. A paragraph on the front of the test booklet warned students that "levels are very large, as level 1 is 'beginner' and level 5 is 'mastery'" and instructed us to try not to overestimate our skills.
So I sat for the test in high spirits in a multicultural group of maybe 20 peers and finished in only 20 mins (the advanced students took 3 hours!) and walked home. Results posted on Monday! I don't really care where I am placed, but if I do skip a level, that's $1500 saved.
If I go straight through this program without stopping for any reason, it is possible for me to achieve the Certificate of Proficiency by the end of October 2012. At 30 hours of class per week, it will probably be the most intense period of studies I've ever undertaken. It starts next Monday at 9 AM.
Monday, January 9, 2012
On another random note...
I've never been a huge fan of dubstep; I heard it for the first time maybe 6 or 7 years ago and was too enamored of IDB and liquid to really give it a second thought... But everybody has been hating almost universally on Skrillex so much recently that I downloaded Bangarang to see why...
And I heard a bunch of fun, club-friendly party music. It's fun as hell! Makes me want to dress up in shiny silver lycra and thrash around while doing the dishes. If you know me at all, you're aware that my musical tastes are incredibly broad and I've heard a lot of stuff I hate, and Bangarang... Really wasn't it. The guy is 23, has achieved wild success with the general populace producing dubstep of all things (a miracle in itself) and is rich beyond my wildest imaginings. I ain't gonna hate on him! Party on, dude.
This from the girl who adores Joe Hisaishi, Frank Sinatra, Peter Gabriel, Klute, Astor Piazzolla and... The Backstreet Boys.
Pulling Away
Things may be kind of sparse here for awhile... Maybe forever, since I'm trying to focus more of my time and energy on journaling by hand. Slower, less precise, but more real.
Right after we got married, I bought a 5-year journal, which I recently caught up to the present. I can't believe I'm on the third row, the third year. The French year... School starts next Monday, placement test this Wednesday, January 11th.
Caspian, my husband, is slowly deleting his Facebook account, and is spending very little time available on Gchat, a big change. He's deleting his friends (FB makes it pretty difficult to unfriend large groups of people) one by one and will soon have a skeleton profile referring people wishing to contact him to his e-mail address. He spends almost all of his free time studying biology, physics, chemistry and French. He hopes to apply to med school in two years.
I'm not sure I can let go of Facebook - I came pretty close over the holidays and was happier for it, but immediately resumed my addiction when I arrived at home.
Right after we got married, I bought a 5-year journal, which I recently caught up to the present. I can't believe I'm on the third row, the third year. The French year... School starts next Monday, placement test this Wednesday, January 11th.
Caspian, my husband, is slowly deleting his Facebook account, and is spending very little time available on Gchat, a big change. He's deleting his friends (FB makes it pretty difficult to unfriend large groups of people) one by one and will soon have a skeleton profile referring people wishing to contact him to his e-mail address. He spends almost all of his free time studying biology, physics, chemistry and French. He hopes to apply to med school in two years.
I'm not sure I can let go of Facebook - I came pretty close over the holidays and was happier for it, but immediately resumed my addiction when I arrived at home.
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