Godwin's Law and the Weimar Historian

A quick thought before I run out to my last day of babysitting:

Why is it that I find it mildly unfair that a corollary of Godwin's Law (yes, that's Wikipedia, and for reference purposes it's about as useful as the IMDb) is that, if one invokes Hitler or the Nazis in an argument not directly related to them, that invoker loses the argument? What if your academic frame of reference is the rise of Nazism? Am I supposed to use examples that I understand less?

On the other hand, I probably know better than anyone where Godwin got the incentive to draft said "law." You encounter it in paper marking (especially in essays that have nothing to do with the Second World War, but especially those written by first years) quite a bit. One of the first papers I marked claimed that only a Nazi would disagree with his (flawed) claims. Understandably, I took issue with that.

The extent of my hermitage

I didn't realise the full extent of my absorption in thesis work and popular culture, for the last few months, until this took me utterly by surprise today. And to think that, in the Fall semester, I wrote a short biography of Romano Prodi, taught a 100-level class about the contents of the European Constitution, and devoured BBC Online and Deutsche Welle. It's surprising how sheltered I've become.

Yay, Search Terms

Somehow, someone found me by Googling this: "Abraham Lincoln kids neighbor hazelnut."

Changes and Flashbacks

I'm on the brink of a lot of change. Today, I said good-bye to Christopher, who was visiting this weekend. The next time I'll see him will be the week before we get married. I also talked to someone from Victoria about renting an apartment, and made an appointment to look at some places when I'm out there in two weeks. Two weeks! Today is my second-last day with Wee Girlie, and the last day at my house (tomorrow I'll be at her house, with the new babysitter, to teach her the routines and to ease the transition).

And I got my first wedding present in the mail today (from someone on Christopher's side, who can't come to the wedding).

At the same time, I've been reminiscing. Ky and I came to the realisation that we've been on a real 1990s kick lately, re-living a lot of things from our teen years. I've been mildly addicted, sadly, to the early seasons of Dawson's Creek (which is also the fault of the days when I babysit over at WG's house, because there's only so much on TV between 8 and 9, which is the hour I have before she wakes up). I watched Empire Records the other day, and Reality Bites a while ago. I've been reminiscing about when my hair was long and I wore plaid and Doc Martens, and have been analysing the mid-1990s obsession with angst. My whole year has been like this: I've been running into people from far into my past, and have been re-reading a lot of my really old writings. In general, there's something in me that feels about fourteen. Sixteen at the oldest.

I recently read something by a psychologist who said that we go through the same stages of development when we're little babies/toddlers as we do when we're adolescents, and again possibly when we reach adulthood, around the point where we move out, get married, etc. I wonder if I'm at that stage, where I'm finally going through the kind of absolute changes that I did when I left elementary for high school, and changed my entire group of friends. I feel like I've been in essentially the same stage since high school: sure, I've moved out, but I'm still here in Regina. Everything in my life is about to change, and for some reason I'm uncontrollably reminded of the adolescent and early teen years.

I don't know how else to explain why I'm here right now.

Creation, Destruction and the Toddler Mind

I just watched/participated as the Wee One played for a solid hour with her wooden blocks. She would have played longer, but her "Auntie" convinced her to put them away (apparently, I have the shorter attention span). I was mesmerised by the whole ordeal: she would work tirelessly to create elaborate mansions, called "houses for the kitties." (The "kitties" are actually two leopards from her Little People Noah's Ark set.) She builds and strategises, balancing things precariously at times. I can't believe how careful she is. And if she knocks over a tower, she isn't discouraged, but instead rebuilds it immediately. She is so engrossed in her task that she speaks far less coherent English than usual; she only speaks if I am near, because she feels the need to include me and help me to marvel at her creations.

This continues until every last block is somehow set into place, with the "kitties" posed inside. (I would say she has a tendency toward Roman architecture, which is understandable considering her father's classicist leanings, but she's two years old, for crying out loud.) The Wee Girlie then triumphs at her accomplishment, showing it to me, jumping up and down, and looking it from all angles.

Then, she stops, looks towards me, and asks, "Knock it over?" She is more excited in the destruction than in the creation: she becomes a tiny Godzilla, stomping through her wooden metropolis. When she is satisfied that every block has been knocked over, she begins again.

I can't get enough of this. It is entirely against all of my tendencies, because I have always been the historian, the archivist, the preservationist. I am constantly attempting to figure out how to preserve every moment perfectly: I journal obsessively; I take and categorise photos; I save everything. My favourite field of history is monument theory, because I love analysing attempts to make memory "concrete." I am convinced that, at her age, I would have been devestated by watching a creation destroyed. I had a horrible fear that my house was going to burn down, or a tornado would take it away, and everything that I treasured would be lost. From a very young age I had a strategy for everything that I would grab as I escaped, in case of emergency. And it can be assumed that those same possessions sat on my lap as I huddled in the basement, every time there was a tornado watch. (I blame WKRP in Cincinnati for both fears.)

And yet here is this small creature, who makes creation and destruction part of the same process, taking joy in both.

Acquisition Dream Come True

So, ages ago I over-optimistically special ordered Deborah Smail's White-collar Workers, Mass Culture And Neue Sachlichkeit In Weimar Berlin: A Reading Of Hans Fallada's Kleiner Mann, Was Nun?, Erich Kastner's Fabian And Irmgard Keun's Das Kunstseidene Madchen, which is the single most important secondary source for my thesis (and my upcoming dissertation), and which I keep having to order through Inter-Library Loans. I assumed that the usual would happen: after a couple of months, Amazon would e-mail me that they couldn't track down a copy, and then the next time I checked, the special order option would be gone (as they discovered that it is out of print and unavailable). This has happened to me before (as a result, I lurk on ABE Books, but I haven't had much luck with a couple of necessary books).

And then I got a message from Amazon today, informing me that my order has been shipped. It should be here within a week.

I'm still stunned. I own that book now. And it'll get here before my ILL order arrives, and just when I need it.

Coffee House Junkie's Review #3: Atlantis on Victoria

Okay, so apparently this didn't become as regular of a feature as I thought it would be in February (or I've become more of a hermit since then), but after a long absence, I present to you: the Coffee House Junkie's Review (I added in the possessive form of Junkie, so that we'd clarify that the Junkie is reviewing, and we are not reviewing the Coffee House Junkie herself).

First, we should have another moment of silence for Magellan's. (This will end when I find a proper heir to the glory that was Magellan's.)










Coffee Shop: the new Atlantis Coffee, in the Avord Tower on Victoria Ave.

The atmosphere: It's set up as a sidewalk café; they extend this outdoor feeling to the inside part of the café, having a lot of glass walls.

Good for: Thanks to its outdoor tables and glass walls, this is a good place for people-watching. Bonus points for being downtown, and so there are interesting things to watch. My friend and I sat in a corner with glass walls on both sides of us, and so it wasn't necessarily the best for deep discussion: we kept being distracted by our surroundings. (We were counting the number of police cars, ghost cars, and police on bikes that passed us.) I wouldn't recommend doing homework here; it's more suited to having fun with friends. (I have heard that there is another room, where things are quieter, but I haven't seen it. This is just a preliminary review.)

The hours: Fantastic, as Atlantis hours tend to be (I think they're open until 11:00 pm every night).

Parking: This is the main drawback, because it's downtown. It's all parking meters. So, I only recommend going after 6:00 pm and on weekends (when parking is free downtown).

Good points: decent prices, and some neat coffees available. I had a Hazelnut Truffle Latte, which was very similar to my Nutellaccino, which shall be my doom. And the place looks so cool that it's exciting to go there. (Whenever we drove past, we would slow down and gush over how neat it looked. I'm glad I finally went.)

Negative points: I didn't see any mention of wireless, and my guess is that if there is wireless access, it's paid. But I'd have to check again. And again: parking.

Grade: A-, but I may be willing to bump it up to an A. It wouldn't be good for working on my computer, but I'd love to go back with a bunch of friends on some Friday night. I'd like to hear Meg's thoughts on this, because she's been there more than I have. (But she has different expectations than I have.)

My goals for reviewing after this, in order of priority: Abstractions (possibly my new favourite place in Regina), this new place near the old Magellans site that looks cool and is peach-coloured, 13th Ave. Coffee House, the original Atlantis Coffee (it has a different atmosphere), Roca Jacks (popular coffee house, but a place that I tend to avoid), and (just to be Canadian, and for comparison's sake) Tim Hortons. That's going to be quite a bit of coffee, but that's a sacrifice I'm willing to make.

Evidence of the Red

And now you can see how red my hair was, for a few days. This was a couple of days after I dyed it, and so I'd already been washing it twice a day, to get the colour to tone down a bit, but this is pretty what it looked like. (Okay, so the picture's pretty dark and so you can't see how orange it really was.) Someone needs to stop me now; looking at it, I'm thinking, "Now, that wasn't so bad! Maybe I should try it again sometime."

This thrills me endlessly

Every time I take this quiz I get the same result:

You are a Revisionist Historian. You are the Clark
Kent of postmodernists. You probably want to
work in a library or in social services. No
one suspects you of being a postmodernist...
until they read your publications!


What kind of postmodernist are you!?
brought to you by Quizilla

Wedding Movies

Film One: Forces of Nature. (Yes, I know, it has Ben Affleck in it. But this was six years ago, before there was any such film as Gigli.) I bought this movie back just after it came out on video (previously viewed, so it was something like $5) just for the ending. The ending often makes me forget the rest of the film that preceded it; it's not just a satisfying ending, but it makes me think about what I believe about relationships.

It's also interesting to look at. Some of the camera work makes it look more like a really stylised commercial than a film. You can tell that the director had a lot of fun with it. (Okay, and it's just good escapism, because I've seen it so many times. I needed something that wasn't going to take too many brain cells, because I was just entirely drained after having a very long day. And so I watched a comfort movie and drank tea.)

Any suggestions for other movies about weddings I should watch in the next less-than-two months? (And now, in the half an hour before I go to bed, I'm going to finish reading through the primary sources that I wanted to check out, to round out my third chapter.)

Fine...

Now Sarah Bunting from Tomato Nation is forcing me to think rationally about the previously-mentioned film. I knew I was going to have to come to terms with the gaping plot holes at some point. But it was fun at the time.

I am wearing: a black Batman t-shirt, layered over a white long-sleeved t-shirt, jeans and purple socks.

I am listening to: "If I Could Have a Windmill" by Sharon, Lois and Bram. (WG is eating a snack right now. Okay, she's currently pretending to be a puppy.)

Other less-than-thoughtful movies I'm anticipating this summer: Batman Begins (the combination of Batman and Christian Bale? Huzzah!) and Mr. and Mrs. Smith. This summer I've given in to hype. It's been a long time since I could have said that.

I concede: that Derek is right, and the trailers make Fantastic Four look terrible. I'm still recovering from the disappointment.

Movie plans for the next month and a half: watch as many wedding movies as possible (barring Monster-in-Law -- I do have some standards).

The last movie I watched: The Lorax, this morning with WG.

On my brain: movies.

Confession

I crazy-loved Revenge of the Sith. Like, I was geekily excited about it. Which makes sense and doesn't. It doesn't make sense because George Lucas has real problems with dialogue and character development. I feel bad for him and want to get him some writing classes.

But I was thrilled by all the links to the original trilogy, and by finding out how everything happened. I was morbidly fascinated. That movie played me like a cheap xylaphone. It probably helped that I went with Chris and his dad -- good people to go with. Going to sci fi with them is like going to an action movie with my sister: they just make the movie better. (I never should have gone to Mission Impossible: 2 for a second time, without Janny.) Sometimes I really am a sucker for the cathartic movie experience, entirely guided by emotions. (As opposed to the film experience, guided by reason.)

I now must redeem myself by spending some quality time with my thesis and watching some historically important movies. Oh, who am I kidding? Last night I watched Empire Records: the Special Fan Edition Re-Mix (very jarring, this remix, although it repaired some glaring plot holes, or perhaps re-added the plotline) and I'm trying to track down the original Star Wars trilogy, without all the Special Edition garbage. Okay okay, I'll also work on my thesis. Fine. Are you less worried now?

Why should I have to think on a long weekend?

Car and Job Blogging

First, I am going to make a statement that I didn't think I would make (while possessing this Tercel): I love my car. I love it so much. The Rustbucket and I have had a reconciliation, upon the discovery that all of her major quirks were the direct result of the faulty spark plugs and wires. My car drives better than the entire four and a half years I've been driving it. That two and a half hours from Swift Current were a joy to drive. I never thought that would happen. The mechanic even said it's in good shape.

That aside, I was thinking about blogging a list of all the weird jobs I've had, in honour of the twenty-four of green glass Coke bottles I got from my friend Terra tonight. (Confession: I collect green glass Coke bottles, but only the kind that don't have the red ink label, but instead just have the raised glass letters. It's as a result of one of the weird jobs I've had.)

The Employment Record of the Queen of West Procrastination (specific names of business usually omitted):

Babysitter - sporadically, since I was twelve.

Graduation gown steamer and distributor - one spring, a year after I graduated.

[The next few are as a result of working with the Odd Job Squad for part of a summer]
Window washer - one afternoon, as a part of an OJS promotional, and was paid in donations. (aka "Glorified Squeegee Kid")

Casual gardener - three (non-consecutive) days, taking over from my sister.

Garden weeder - one day.

Ticket Vendor at the local fair - one week. This was simultaneously really cool and really scary. It was scary because I was working the night shift, and drunk people at the fair on a busy night can cause scenes, especially when you're working alone and somehow they think you're trying to cheat them. It was also scary because there were some shifty co-workers and employers (but some really cool ones) and because sometimes the business practices were questionable. And I learned that travelling carnival people (or at least the ones I met) never seemed to sleep while on the road; they worked long shifts, and seemed to party every night. One supervisor also tatooed herself. But it was really really cool at times, like when you walked down the midway in your uniform and all the callers at the games got quiet, because they knew you couldn't play games while in uniform. And it was cool when you walked your locked cashbox back to the office, escorted by guards. And when it was your turn to help with closing, and you took bags of used tickets through corridors into parts of the fair that you didn't know existed, and walked around the grounds when everyone else was gone. And on the last day, my supervisor took me on the rollercoaster for free, because she found out I'd never been on one. It was also cool because I caused everyone to lose their bets on how long it took before I quit in tears: I didn't.

Product Demonstrator - This turned into a year-long job, but was only on weekends. It paid ridiculously well. I worked for a company that did all kinds of demonstrations, for all kinds of companies, at all kinds of retail stores.
Highlights of product demonstration:

• Giving out food samples at places like Wal-Mart. I didn't do this nearly enough for how awesome it was (normally, they gave such jobs to the old ladies who also worked for the company, because I was the token young person and a lot of companies requested young demonstrators). The best part of the food gigs was that you took home whatever was leftover and open at the end of the weekend. As a result of this, I ended up with partial cases of pop and snacks, not to mention empty cans for recycling, on many occasions.
• Best food gig ever: handing out a thousand Cokes in green glass bottles in the course of one day, at the Firefighter Burn Unit Fair outside Wal-Mart. The pay was unusually good, even for this company, I got to work with crazy mascots, and at the end of the day the Coke reps let me take home a couple of cases of Cokes that we didn't manage to give away. This is how my collection of empties began.
• Make-up demonstration for Oil of Olay (they made me wear an apron and a brooch and target older women) and Cover Girl's CG Smoothers (I wore a black t-shirt and jeans, and targeted the younger crowd). They made me try out the make-up myself and wear it during those days, too, which is how I got converted to using CG Smoothers make-up.
• And the longest-lasting job: demonstrating Swiffers, just after they came out. Swiffer demonstrations took two forms. The first form was more fun, but I got to do less. In that form, you got a big display and samples of kinds of dirt and you physically demonstrated the Swiffers for people. After they became more known, I would walk around the store with a cart filled with Swiffer products (and heavily decorated with ads) and I would go around informing people about uses of the products. They let me keep the lime green polo shirt and my sample Swiffer. I actually became known at Wal-Mart as "Swiffer Girl."

Retail employee of a locally-owned office supply store: One year. In ways, it was kind of my dream job, because I'm such a geek about pens and stationary. There was a point at which I could look around a classroom and identify the pen that every student was using, the kind of refill (if any) that it used, and how easily available it was (ie. whether we kept it in the store). I also got my school supplies at a discount price, which is a joyful thing.

Teaching Assistant: Pretty much ever since I quit at the store. I've helped to design two new courses and have marked for more classes than I can count anymore. And that is the first job in my field.

With that, I must state that I love love love love love being a historian. Especially after working in some remarkably non-academic fields. I'm really not suited to customer service.

Amusements for a Lazy Morning

First of all, here's a link to that site that generates the Scrabble score of your name. As a reminder, my score for "Queen of West Procrastination" was 45. And I got the link via The Little Professor. There. Now I it's not entirely gone from my blog, but isn't messing up the format. It's been really emotional for me, folks. (Ky understands me.)

I've been reading through my Sitemeter stats a bunch more, and the Google search terms that find me have gotten funnier. So many people find me, looking for stalker songs! Huzzah! So many soulmates! (Or people to fear: you take your pick.)

Other terms: "canadian tire radiator coolant" Oh, I hope you didn't think I'd have some advice about your car. Just look what happened to mine, when I thought it was the coolant that was the problem. Car advice from the Queen of WP: you, too, can have your car stranded in Swift Current.

"glasses blind without my glasses" I'm not sure what one would find on the internet about this. Yes, you are blind without your glasses. I am, too. Good thing you researched it. (Or are they saying that their glasses are blind without glasses? Woah.)

"Queen Cliopatra" ... "Songs about Cliopatra, Joan of Archm and Afferdity" These make my brain hurt. "Afferdity" threw me for a loop, until I realised this person meant "Aphrodite." Wow, apparently many people mis-spell "Cleopatra," leading them to people who are punning on the name "Clio," the muse of history. Perhaps this mistake will lead them to read important historical blogging, leading them to become further educated, leading them to understand how to spell the names of important historical/mythical figures, not to mention to realise that there is less than no connection between Joan of Arc (or Archm) and Aphrodite.

And my favourite:

"summertime swelling ankles" Have I complained about my cankles enough that Google is now referring anyone with large ankles to me? Awesome.

On another Sitemeter-related note: I've noticed that I have a regular reader from the Moose Jaw School Division. That's really cool, especially because I don't actually know anyone from that School Division (at least, I don't think I do), even though it's only 45 minutes away from me. For the longest time, I somehow assumed it was Chris, but that's silly. And so: pleased to meet you, neighbour. (Well, in Saskatchewan terms.)

I am wearing: yellow pyjamas (capri-style pants, button-up shirt). It's 9am on a toddler-free day. Of course I'm in my pyjamas!

Accomplishments of the day: I left a message on my nurse's voicemail, watched the newest Sloan video (as e-mailed to me by my sister) and blogged. Update: okay, now the nurse has phoned, and so I've booked an allergy shot for this morning.

To do, today: bus to Swift Current, pay for car repairs, meet Chris at the mall, drive home as a convoy (my dad suggested I do this, in case there is something else wrong with my car). Then, I have a couple of hours until my friends' housewarming party. (By the way: why do I feel way too young to have friends who own a house?)

Highlight of yesterday: well, I received a few pieces of happy news that I can't share yet, but also my friend Matt came over in the afternoon, while WG was napping, and we hung out and talked. Then, after WG woke up, the three of us had a fun afternoon of playing! WG loves making new friends.

Favourite word of the day: "blogosphere."

Emotion of the moment: I am thankful.

Typical Day in the House of Procrastination

Time: 9:21 am

How long I've been up today: about an hour and three quarters.

I am wearing: a fuschia shirt with 3/4-length sleeves (my hair is now faded enough that I can wear pink again!) and jeans. Bare feet. Wee Girlie and I are in matching fuschia today. It's a big deal for her.

I have consumed: a fried egg and a piece of toast, just like Wee Girlie has. (We had breakfast together.)

I am listening to: WG "reading" Dr. Seuss books to herself in my room. (She pretty much has those ones memorised, and she also speaks a kind of gibberish when she thinks she's reading. It sounds like "Boo" from Monsters, Inc. Actually, she also looks like Boo. But not nearly as much as Meg does.)

Plans postponed due to WG: my allergy shot appointment, because Brandy forgot the car seat, and because WG is crabbier than ever, and has temper tantrums at the drop of a hat today. And I'll have to figure out how to get together with Matt, who I was going to see if it rained today (if it rained, WG's dad's work was going to be postponed for the day -- it's outdoor stuff).

I should be: um, working on my thesis? Okay, definitely during her nap today.

I talk too much about: children.

Now time for: playing with puppets.

P.S.

I'm going to have to post more, in the next while, so that I can get the Scrabble post off of the main page. It drives me crazy to have the formatting look like this, but I can't figure out how to fix it. Any suggestions, barring deleting that post? (A bit of the OCD is coming out now.)

Historical Musing

The Queen visited Regina today. Unfortunately, this Queen (of West Procrastination) didn't get to see her. But it was for the best, because it rained like crazy. My roommate did see her (she stood very close to her for a long time -- Meg was a volunteer, and shepherded about a bunch of the special guests) and she said that the Queen is very small in person, and very Grandma-like.

The CBC News said that three thousand people waited in the rain to see her today. The news showed people in tears because they met her (okay, one emotional person) and played all that up. And yet I couldn't help but think that none of this rivals the 1939 Royal Visit, with George VI and who we remember as the Queen Mum. I'd have to check my notes on it (I wrote a paper analysing the reception to the Royal Visit in the prairies), but three thousand is the kind of numbers you'd get out to a possible stop on the train line, in tiny towns like Unity. No, actually I think there were 6000 in Unity (including my Grandma -- she echoed the newspapers, saying that the Queen was "radiant").

Can we imagine everyone getting that unanimously excited about anyone now? Or, is it invalid to make such a comparison, because the excitement over the 1939 visit was less a matter of support of the royals (and had nothing to do with an impending war) than a response against the gloom and difficulties of the Depression?

Or, am I wrong in claiming that no one could get unanimously excited over anyone now? Is there a famous person who, if they visited Saskatchewan, would have hundreds of thousands crowding to meet them, with that kind of emotionalism?

I'm famous

I'm famous in Eatonia, Sask. Okay, so the town occupies the same amount of land as does my entire University, with a fraction of the number of people. But, my fiancé is very popular there, and it was a very curious thing to the people of Eatonia that they had never met the woman he is marrying. I hadn't been out there since late September, and the last time I was there I only met a couple of people.

And so the (half-joking) rumour spread that I didn't exist. When I was too late to come to the school to meet everyone on Friday, one of the teachers nicknamed me "Snuffelupagus." There were also jokes that Chris was going to hire someone to pretend to be me, or maybe I was a man and that's why Chris hadn't brought his fiancé(e) to the small town where he lives.

My arrival made quite a stir. The first person I met was one of Chris's grade 12 students, who happened to work in the store where you go to check into the town motel, and who also happened to start the "Mr. Reed's fiancée doesn't exist" rumour. As he was searching the bookings for my name, I mentioned that Mr. Reed was supposed to book a room for me. He stopped, slowly looked up, and said with amazment, "You're Maryanne! You exist!"

That exclamation, "You exist!" characterised my meeting with every other Eatonian that weekend. I even got the rock star treatment from a group of grades 7 to 9 girls, who came running down Main Street, screaming and taking my picture with their digital cameras. I felt like the Beatles.

Much as I loved my local fame, it was nice to go in to the tea shop across the street from Chris's house, and to discover that Donna (the owner) remembered me. She even asked how the thesis was going. As she served me Rooibos tea and peach cheesecake, I felt like I was home again.

Relief -- One More Update

I got a call from the guy at Canadian Tire, saying that they replaced the spark plugs and wires, and now my car is running smoothly!!! (Yes, it deserved three exclamation points. When I got the news, I cheered and danced a very surprised Wee Girlie about the room.) Here I was, drafting my eulogy for the Rustbucket, and then it recovered.

Sometimes I wonder if the Rustbucket is like the Bluesmobile. Sure, my "mission from God" isn't rescuing an orphanage or anything, but I still need something to get me around for the next two months, and that's pretty important, isn't it? All I'm saying is that I won't be surprised when, immediately after my wedding, the Rustbucket collapses and falls apart.

The next step: getting it home from Swift Current.

Swift Current: Kryptonite for Tercels

One:
Okay, so for most of the weekend I thought that this first story was going to be my big "my car broke down in Swift Current" story. I'd made so many notes to myself to check the fluid levels in my car before I left, but then I got going late because I had to wait until it stopped raining (my windshield wiper has never been the same since the infamous episode), and it was still really windy outside. I forgot.

When I was pulling into Swift Current (about two and a half hours away from Regina), my car started acting funny. So I pulled into the first gas station, to have my car stall when I tried to use the clutch! It turned out that my clutch fluid was right down to dry, and I was almost out of oil. Wow. My clutch went out in Swift Current: bad, but it would have been worse if I was in the middle of nowhere.

Two:
So, my car worked decently well for the rest of the weekend. I had a good time in Eatonia, which I shall recount at a later time. As I was driving toward Swift Current, I started getting tired and I decided that I would stop for a rest when I pulled into the city. The wind picked up and it started raining, and so I was even more convinced to pull over. And then my car started driving roughly. I pulled over at the first gas station.

I kept thinking that I had fixed the problem, would leave a gas station, only to discover that things were worse. At the second gas station, I phoned my Dad and he, along with a nice man who stopped to help, helped me to fill up my coolant and check the radiator (it seemed like it was overheating). That seemed to be fixed, and so I got back out on the main road, to find that everything was even worse! I was scared my car wasn't even going to make it to Canadian Tire.

I got to Canadian Tire, to discover that there wasn't a mechanic in the city who could look at my car that day. I called all over, and kept calling my father, and was quickly falling apart. That's when I met the pastor of my friend Kathryn's church in Herbert (near Swift Current). He and his wife had a tire blow-out and were picking up their car. He asked me if he could help, and what was wrong. I ended up breaking down crying in the middle of Canadian Tire, telling him the whole story. This nice couple offered to drive me as far as Herbert, if that would help with bussing. I didn't end up taking them up on that offer, the way things turned out, but they calmed me down and helped me figure things out.

Long story short, I ended up bussing from Swift Current, because the 4:30 bus to Regina broke down in Maple Creek and was an hour and a half late, meaning that I didn't have to wait until 9:00pm for a bus.

Lessons I learned in Swift Current: apparently, I have no coping skills, when I'm all alone and having to make big decisions. I forgot even that I had a roommate who could pick me up from the bus depot (my dad couldn't, and he suggested Meg). All I could think was I needed my parents. I felt very young and very alone, and very ignorant about car things. Took me down a few pegs from my earlier bravado, after fixed my clutch and got back on the road in record time.

But the main lesson I learned is that God's got my back. My car didn't break down in the middle of nowhere (which is essentially where I would've been if my car had broken down within the hour previous to arriving in Swift Current -- lots of nothing, and lonely road, before that). When I fell apart, all by myself in a city where I know no one, I really wasn't alone. Everywhere I went, kind people materialised to help me and to comfort me. Complete strangers. At the bus depot, I had the companionship of the kindest old lady, who talked with me and cheered me up.

The moral of the story: don't try to drive older Toyotas through Swift Current. Maybe the cars can tell that the city has no Toyota dealership, and outside of the one big box store, few people know how to fix them in that city. When I called the Chrysler mechanic (I was getting desperate), he pretty much laughed at me, and I could hear a mechanic in the background saying, "I wouldn't even know what a Toyota looks like on the inside!"

Update: I just talked to the guy at Canadian Tire, who is sure that the problem is with my spark plugs and wires (no surprise -- they were supposed to be fixed two months ago) and the fix will be relatively cheap, quick and easy. And they're not going to charge me nearly as much as the Canadian Tire in Regina was going to charge. (Those pirates.)

Observations from a Greyhound Bus

A. The woman who looks exactly like my friend Rhonda, except older and with a whiplash-type neckbrace, was eating a comically long baguette (I swear, it was as tall as her). She also sprayed perfume in the air, when the bus started smelling bad. Thanks, crazy woman, from all of us with perfume allergies.

B. The woman on the bus who tried to sell some crafts she made to the bus depot store was wearing a gym shirt from my old high school. This fact stunned me almost as much as the comically long baguette. Did she go to the same high school as me? Or was that the best Value Village find ever?

C. Behind me were the requisite bus Loud Friendly People. There were three: Loud Friendly Blind Man (their ringleader), Loud Friendly Black Man, and Loud Friendly Cheryl (the other Loud Friendlies used her name incessantly, and so I learned it). They only met today, but after a long day and a stop-over in Maple Creek when the bus broke down and they had to get a new bus, it was like they were all family. They all had the same sense of humour -- pet names and blindness and nursery rhymes. Amusing for the first half-hour.

D. The man in front of me was the doppelganger of Saddam Hussein, after they found him in that hole and he was all bearded and crazy-eyed and they were combing his beard for lice. He drank from a large water jug and stared sadly out the window. Perhaps he was remembering when he was a dictator and didn't have to ride a Greyhound bus. Perhaps he was wishing that napping was possible on such a bus, only a few rows in front of the Loud Friendlies.

E. I was the youngest person bussing from Swift Current, by about fifty years. Apparently I was on the Grandmas-Only Tour. The Grandmas and I got along famously.

Some of you, who noticed that I drove to Eatonia, may be wondering why I took a Greyhound bus from Swift Current to Regina today. That is the subject of tomorrow's entry (hopefully tomorrow): "Swift Current is Kryptonite for Tercels." I will regale you with tales of how my car broke down not once, but twice while driving through the same city (there and back).

The Feeling of My Muscles Loosening

I'm going to be okay. After all of this anxiety, I'm going to be okay. I had a really good meeting with Dr. B today. I was so nervous, and so convinced that this meeting was going to confirm my fear that everything was about to fall apart. I imagine I was quite pale when Dr. B arrived -- and I was praying fairly frantically. And then the meeting was lovely.

I'm pretty much done everything, except for chapter three, which needs some fleshing out. Realistically, I was expecting this. The meeting was good for giving me direction on how I can do this. For everything else, there's a word here and there -- little picky stuff that should only take a few hours. He likes my conclusion! I'm not supposed to change it! I'm still stunned. Dr. B raved about how well-written it was, and how it was enjoyable to read! I don't know whose thesis he was reading, because it felt like a mess when I handed it in. (Granted, I was only on a couple hours' worth of sleep over several days, at that point.)

The target is to defend in late July. One snag: Chris and I will have to live in Saskatchewan for a couple of weeks longer than expected. We have a back-up plan, if July doesn't pan out (defend in early September; have Dr. B and department head appeal to UVic for mercy, convincing them that I'm essentially finished and should be taken on as a provisional PhD student, pending official completion of my MA). I pray we don't have to come to that point, but it's there as an option.

So, I'm fine. I have no cause for panic. I'm still adjusting to that feeling; it seems new, because the panic had set in for so long. I feel light and silly, like boulders have been taken off of my shoulders.

And now I'll be gone for the next several days. I'm heading off to visit Backwater Sask, and won't be back until Monday night. I'm creating a long weekend for myself.

Pink?!?

We are practising our colours, the Wee Girly and I, and so I'm always asking her what colours different things are. So I made the mistake of asking her what colour Auntie's hair is. "Pink" is her very excited response, every time.

Of course, when I ask her what colour her own hair is, it is alternatively blue, yellow and green.

Maybe it's because the nuclear orange has begun to fade today. (I did that on purpose -- I shampooed it twice this morning, in the hopes that it would begin to fade. I may have overdone it with the colour, this time.)

In Spite of Myself...

...God's taking care of me.

So, I managed to set BOTH of my alarm clocks for 5:30 pm instead of am, and then stayed up later than I should have, AND had the ringer on the phone in my room shut off. And yet I woke up, on my own, at 6:08 am -- just when I should be getting into the shower.

And now I'll probably be more pleasant today, because I always am when I wake up without the barrage of alarm clock beeps. (I'm so notorious for sleeping in that I have two alarm clocks -- one set for a few minutes later, which makes the most horrifying sound.)

I even dropped something tiny on the carpet, and then found it instantly, without my glasses on. Most mornings I'm too blind to find my glasses, without my glasses on.

Having a Life While Academic

I was reading Profgrrl's blog today, and she had a post about fears, as a professor, related to colleagues discovering that she blogs. While some of those fears were related to having colleagues find out certain personal things in her life that might get in the way of tenure, etc., something else she mentioned resonated with me: the fear that they might judge her as not using her time well.

While we all know that I am the Queen of Procrastination (West), I have very defined anxieties about having professors (usually my supervisor, or ones who are teaching me at the moment) discover that I have a life away from school. That school is not my top priority, even. (At best, I'd place it at #3, after God and family+Chris.) Because I have chosen a life that has no set time limits, I tend to feel guilty when I am not directly working on anything school-related. When I have an impending deadline, I fear running into the professor directly responsible, during the days before that, while I am doing anything not related to that assignment. Walking through the university, sitting in the library -- this is okay. But talking to friends? At my mother's choir concert? I panic.

I thought twice about mentioning to Dr. B that I'm babysitting, when I e-mailed him last night. I then realised that I couldn't avoid mentioning it, because it is an important consideration in my life, and I did have to check first to make sure that I could get away on Thursday at noon for a meeting. It's not like I can be doing anything until I meet with him anyway. Why should I be feeling guilty?

That guilt provides too much of a temptation for me to deny my humanity, while I'm in an academic environment. (It must be mentioned that my department is quite traditional in its ways, and so professionalism is really really really emphasised.) I need to find the balance where I am professional, and yet not a robot. Where I achieve everything that I need and am an effective member of the department, but not to the detriment of myself or my loved ones. For example, I've had to learn that it's okay to allow myself some breathing space when I'm in mourning.

I originally embraced academia because it offered a more flexible lifestyle than any 9-5 office job. Now, however, I need to learn how to negotiate the negative side of this flexibility.

Red

I just dyed my hair red today. I needed a change/distraction/something to make me feel pretty, and I'm experimenting with having this colour for the wedding (I think it suits my skin colour better, especially when I'm wearing white -- I'm quite pale, and the blonde washes me out). People's responses have been funny this time. I have had a lot of people who are shocked that I would do such a thing "so close to the wedding." It's hair dye (and a colour that always fades quickly on me, regardless of how permanent, anyway); I didn't shave my head.

It was fun. I've always had other people dye my hair, and my friend Terra was going to do it tonight, but that fell through, and Meg and Karl were out mini-golfing this evening. And so I decided to do it myself (considering the fact that I've dyed other people's hair countless time, and that the dye was in cream form, making it less drippy, I figured that it wouldn't be a big deal). This was just what I needed to unwind, this evening. It was relaxing, work-intensive enough to be distracting, and made me feel really pretty. After I was done, I styled my hair, put on make up, and dressed up.

And so, feeling rather fabulous, I'll be able to face an upcoming day of childcare, and the fact that I'm not meeting with Dr. B until Thursday. (Just before he leaves for Europe for a month. Keep me from hyperventilating, please.)

One eery thing: when I was flipping out the ends of my hair, I realised that I had subliminally made myself look a bit like Marcia Cross. I realised this as I was parting my hair from the side and thinking, "Maybe I should put on my pearls."

Meta-Blogging and Stalker Songs

So, I signed up for Sitemeter, and now I'm a woman obsessed: checking out the traffic, the referrals, looking at the charts to see how my traffic compares over different days. I signed up for it last Saturday, but I wish I'd signed up a week earlier, before my infamous Prada post, which brought fifteen comments (my new record!). The thing is that, a week ago when I just wrote about fonduing and messing up invitations, I had 56 readers! That blows my mind, especially when I saw that there was a wide variety of people visiting. I am reminded, again, of the WKRP episode when Johnny Fever discovers that he has listeners (he encouraged his listeners to dump their garbage on the steps of city hall, and hundreds of people did so), and promptly gets stage fright. When you become aware that you have readers, how do you resist the urge to write for your readers, or to increase traffic? It's hard not to name-drop, just in order to get Google hits.

Speaking of which, here are some amusing discoveries I've made since signing up with Sitemeter:

• I get an oddly large number of visitors who are looking for photos of Margaret Atwood. How many soulmates can one girl have?
• No one blogs on the weekend, everyone on Mondays and Thursday. I am no exception. Neither are my readers.
• Today, someone found me by Googling the phrase "songs to stalk by." This makes me so happy, but also reminds me to get started on Karl and my dream mix CD, with that aforementioned title. Full title: "Songs To Stalk By: A Soundtrack For a Lifestyle."

Speaking of the dream CD, maybe you guys can help out Karl and me. For a couple of years, we've been brainstorming (off and on) about a mix CD that would include songs that, if you really think about it, sound really stalkerly. The classic, as mentioned recently by Ariann, is "Every Breath You Take" by Sting and the Police. But there is also "I Will Follow Him," and that creepy "Right Before Your Eyes" song where the man imagines he's Rudolph Valentino and the other woman who rides the bus is Greta Garbo. Oh, and "Just My Imagination (Running Away With Me)" by the Temptations. We have more, but I can't remember, and we never write it down. So, I'll throw it out to the audience: recommendations? For a secondary soundtrack, how about songs that are about really unhealthy relationships? (Such as "Sometimes When We Touch (the honesty's too much)" by Dan Hill).

These sorts of things amuse me.

Pondering of a Super Magnitude

So, I should have been asleep a few hours ago, and there are some heavy thoughts on my brain, but my pondering for this evening's blog post is much lighter than the other issues with which I'm wrestling. My question for you folks is this: when was the last time a screen female superhero was done well? This pondering is the fault of Derek, and also the fault of the Batman t-shirt I bought today. (I plan to wear it under whatever dress clothes I wear to my defense. That'll help me from being intimidated, because I'll feel too triumphant, and too much like I have a secret identity, allow intimidation to creep in.) I need some suggestions from the audience, because here are the realisations I had while driving today (but keep in mind that I'm only addressing recent representations, and that I haven't even seen all the movies I discuss):

The past few years have been really horrifying for crime fighting films starring women. Like, so bad that I fear two things: first, that these films will discourage others from having women play lead superhero; or that other such terrible films will continue to be made. Catwoman and Elektra, seem to (based on my readings about them -- I haven't bothered with either, but maybe someday I should watch them, to see for myself) embrace some theory that a woman can only fight crime if she is fitted out in lingerie and has nothing compelling or believeable about her to cause an audience to support her. The heroine is reduced to a sassy object.

Secondary characters have been better, and my only nominees for good recent heroines comes from that category, although it is still hit-and-miss. There's still the potential for female superheros to be reduced to one-dimensional objects, such as Storm, and very probably Jessica Alba's Invisible Woman (this last point is not my own -- it is one of Derek's most recent rants). (I would very much like the Fantastic Four to prove Derek's gloomy predictions wrong. I've been so excited, and I love Ioan Gruffudd.) (I also must note that, upon reviewing my nominees for worst female superhero of the decade, I am apparently not a Halle Berry fan.)

In spite of Storm (who isn't so much dislikable as much as she's forgettable except for the fact she has cool powers), the X-Men movies also have Anna Paquin as Rogue, and I love her. Her character is developed so well, and is possibly the most believable of the films. It also helps, for my analysis, that she manages to be awesome without having to show a lot of skin. And then there's Famke Janssen as Jean Grey, who has a lot of potential in her transformation into Phoenix.

But, interestingly, my top submission for best female superhero is a cartoon: Elastigirl from The Incredibles. Unlike the X-Men filmic women, who seem to need rescuing a little too often, she very much kicks butt. Between her and Violet, the women in that movie have by far the coolest powers. She has a complex and believable character, and a believable body shape as well. Have I mentioned how much I want to be Elastigirl? I really do. I would love to be able to stretch like that, although my laziness would increase a hundredfold. (I would mostly use said powers for reaching into the kitchen and grabbing a snack, while I'm sitting on the couch.)

Can you think of anyone else? Because, outside of The Incredibles (have I mentioned my love of Brad Bird?), the range of female superheros in recent films is fairly bleak. (On that note, would it help if we had a return of Wonder Woman?) Why is the female superhero becoming like that ridiculous claim that there are no funny women? What should we do, what does this all mean, and what is your opinion on this?

I need to re-watch the Adam West Batman. I love Julie Newmar's Catwoman, and my favourite was when Yvonne Craig was Batgirl (I bought a Batgirl Barbie, thanks to my love of Craig's Batgirl, and her purple motorcycle).

Now I really, really, really must sleep. Goodnight, blog people. Excuse my meanderings tonight. It's the sleepy talking; I think I lost track of my point half-way through here.

Getting Better All the Time...

And so, I moped around last night and for the first half of today. Cried plenty. Felt trapped. Complained to anyone who would listen. And then, during Wee Girlie's nap, I vented to my poor mother and then read Christy while listening to jazz. And then the lady from our reception venue phoned (they're also catering) and we arranged everything for the reception, which takes a lot off my mind.

And then Wee Girlie woke up, and we had fun! I made her a snack, and then informed her that, after she finished her snack, we were going to ride in "Auntie's Big Car" (that's what she -- ironically, considering my tiny hatchback -- calls my car) and get Mommy! That was a big deal. After I told her that she had to pick up her toys before we could go, she proceeded to clean both the living room and her bedroom, quite frantically. We even had to close the lid on the Rubbermaid tub that holds her books. We had fun.

And so, I'm more sane now. Even if I haven't heard back from Dr. B by Monday, I have that day off and I'm going to go over my thesis and do a bunch of revisions myself, in anticipation of his comments. Other than that, it's out of my hands, and I guess this is my big chance to live on faith. That's all I can do. This is my last full week of babysitting; next week is three days, as is the next, and then four days the next week (combination of both her grandmas' EDOs, long weekends, and a trip I'm taking to visit Chris). So, that'll help.

So, this is just to reassure you all that I'm not crazy anymore. It feels good to be back.

Not Very Clever

I'm going to do the unprecedented and go to bed soon. I can't remember that last time I went to bed before 11:00 pm, when I wasn't sick. I am definitely nocturnal by nature.

You know, after last week's musings on the effects of having a toddler entering my home space, I've decided that it's far preferable to leaving this house to watch a toddler. This week I've been getting up at 6:00 am (after having my alarm clock go off since 5:30) and then aim to be at Brandy's by 7:30. I'm not home until supper time (she's home between 4 and 4:30, but then we have to talk over the day's happenings and everything), and then either have plans (usually wedding-related) in the evening or I'm too exhausted to do housework. My poor house.

Sorry for all the complaining. Things aren't that bad really; I just spend too much time being tired and/or anxious, which distracts me from the fact that I've had some very pleasant days, lately. Wee Girlie and I had a lovely day today -- we were so busy that we didn't end up watching any TV. We went walking, and lay in the grass looking at the very blue sky. (Topic of conversation: the sky is blue, and so is Auntie's jacket. We also followed birds and examined dandilions.) When we got home from our walk, WG disappeared for a minute, and came back with a dressy scarf wrapped around her head, such as Grace Kelly would have worn with sunglasses, and with a little pink hat for me to wear. "Dance, Auntie!" she demanded. And so I turned on the kids' music audio channel on their TV and we danced around the living room.

It was a good day. She is definitely good for me; she forces me not to take tiny beautiful things for granted, because she's at the age where everything is new and exciting.

And now it's bedtime.

I am wearing: Delaware shirt, baggy pants, pigtails (I slept in and didn't shower today), and bare feet.

Song stuck in my head: the German song "Chor der Gefangenen," which is one of the songs that my orchestra is accompanying in the upcoming Sangerfest. (I had orchestra practice tonight. Did I ever mention that I play the flute?)

Most relaxing moment of the day: When WG was finally napping, I made myself a Chai and read Christy by Catherine Marshall. (The Tolkein and the Great War book was too closely related to my field to be relaxing, right now.) It was quiet and wonderful, as I lay on the couch and lightly napped, pretending to read.

The Queen of Invitations

This should be fast, because I'm meeting Derek downtown at 2:00pm (he's taking away Brownie, the couch). I just wanted to announce that the invitations and their envelopes are printed!!! And I had my Dad look over them several times, to reassure me that I didn't somehow mess them up. Today, I bought $109 worth of stamps (wow) and, after stuffing all of the hand-delivered invitations, I put stamps on all of the to-be-mailed envelopes, along with a little more than half of the RSVP envelopes.

With all of that said, I have this lurking fear that I somehow messed up stuffing the invitations, or putting on the stamps, and that I'll soon have to announce that I wasted $109 worth of stamps. Because, as you can tell by the previous post, it's been that kind of week.

Can you tell that I have the day off from babysitting? I'm trying to be as productive as possible, in anticipation of Friday evening's official envelope stuffing night. I was avoiding active work, because I was kind of tired after this morning's allergy shot, and so this was perfect. So are the Swedish Berries I'm currently consuming. To quote my friend Matt, "Mmmm...Swedish."

With more aggravating news, I finally heard back from Dr. B this morning. (Fortunately, I was checking my e-mail at 6:30 am.) He wrote to inform me that he had "just begun" reading my most recent draft, and could he have the marked copy of my previous draft, so that he could see how I've responded to his comments?

Two causes for panic there. First, he has just begun reading the draft? The draft that he got a week and a half ago, and that he said he'd read at the end of last week? Now, I understand that professors have lives, and have other obligations, but I know exactly what his work schedule is. He finished marking finals in the middle of last week (it's the first time in a while where I haven't been marking those finals -- I'm on scholarship this semester), and next week he begins teaching a very work-intensive Spring class. This is why he was planning on reading the draft earlier in the week, so we could get this all over with and not interfere with the spring course.

And then, in a couple of weeks, he leaves for Europe, for a month! Okay, so the plan has always been that I would defend after he returns, but we're really cutting it short. And I am beginning to panic. And he just says that he's taking care of things and that I shouldn't worry.

My other, more immediate cause for panic was his request of the marked copy of the previous draft. You see, last week I cleaned my room in a very fast and ruthless fashion, and I was convinced that I somehow threw out the previous draft. He'd never asked for a draft before; why start now? Thankfully, I found the introduction and chapter one (there were no marks on the other chapters) and put it in his mailbox when I went for this morning's allergy shot.

So, that's me right now. Caught between a few things, and working very hard not to go into a full fledged panic about my future. I'm thankful that New Kid on the Hallway's most recent entry (as of this morning) was asking her readers for non-medicinal ways to counter an anxiety attack. I attempted a few of the suggested relaxation exercises.

Now I'd better go meet Derek. Farewell, Brownie.

Early Morning Blogging

I first awoke at 5:30 this morning, because that's when my alarm went off; after all that, it turns out that I'm not going to Brandy's until 11:00, because she's taking the morning off (still sick). I have two stories for you. Excuse the typographical errors: I need coffee. (I just went back and looked at that last sentence and discovered that I had misspelled "excuse" and "typographical.")


Story the First: My Happy Weekend

I had a crazy weekend. The first part was really good: the fondue party went well, and one of the girls stayed overnight (it was supposed to be a sleepover for everyone, but only one could stay). Christine (the girl who stayed) and I had a good talk, and made french toast in the morning! It made me smile.

After taking her home, I returned to an empty apartment; I was feeling antsy and had no plans for Saturday night. Then my phone rang and it was a cousin who was in town for the weekend and wanted to know if I had plans for Saturday evening! And so, on the spur of the moment, I put together a "Leftover Fondue Party" for my cousin Ian, and invited some of "my boys" -- Former Neighbour Boy Eldon (he came just after handing in the keys to their apartment) and the infamous Ramsey Boys (a couple of my ushers, for the wedding -- they're very tall and tease me like I'm their big sister). We had a very good time, and I discovered this weekend how much I enjoy acting as a hostess. I love getting groups of people together that I think will enjoy each other, and facilitating the good time.

Now Ariann will be jealous; I had a fondue party with a bunch of boys.


Story the Second: My Gross Incompetence

My Sunday was not quite as good, and it was the combined fault of my own neglect and the wedding invitations. On Saturday I dropped off the note card paper and originals for the invitations at Staples, for photocopying. Two different copy centre employees told me that there should be no problem copying our invitations. And so I went to pick them up on Sunday, to be informed that they could only copy the one side, and then the paper became so curved that it couldn't go through the copier (the paper has perforations and pre-folding, and apparently can only go through an inkjet printer). Fortunately, Staples didn't charge me for the copying they did, and paid for half of a new package of note cards (some of mine got wrecked as they tried to get the notecards to go through the copier).

And so I took my computer and the paper to my parents' house, to print the front part of the cards on their printer. And that's where my comedy of errors begins. Apparently, I'm grossly negligent and cannot be trusted to operate a computer printer. First, I managed to print the front on the wrong part of the cards. On all 180 cards. After doing numerous test pages to be sure that I knew how to feed the paper through the printer. Then, I took the forty remaining sheets in the package (that would make 80 notecards) and printed up 80 invitations with the right alignment. However, I didn't notice that my parents' printer imposes a thicker border on the one end of the page, which I cannot eliminate through Word; on forty of the eighty invitations I printed off, there were words being cut off. (And yes, again I printed off a test page first, but somehow didn't notice.)

And so, after hours of work, I ended up with forty good invitations, and 220 that were garbage. I'm going to have to get a couple more packages of note cards and go back to print them at my parents' house. At least I got the RSVP envelopes printed, and Mom and I have made progress on the address database for the main envelopes (although that database was also the source of plenty of headaches).

Was I the one who thought it would be much simpler and cheaper to print up our own invitations, rather than having them professionally printed?