Smiling at Strangers











Would you like to hear about my first week in Toronto? Excluding the trip-from-hell from BC, which involved a car breaking down on the way to Prince George (where I was to catch the plane), a resulting midnight jaunt on the greyhound, three 50-lb gigantic luggages I could not carry by myself, having to place my life in the hands of the gods whilst taking a ride from a complete stranger (thank you, Matt-from-the-bus-depot), waiting for 4 hours in freezing temperatures outside the airport in the wee hours of dawn and falling asleep on the pavement at 3 in the morning, losing luggage in the Toronto airport terminal, and the ride I was supposed to get FROM the airport terminal not showing up?

Unless the problem was as severe as this, there is no excuse.

No? You hate hearing me gripe and moan? Ok. Fair enough. I’ll just skip straight ahead to my first few days IN Toronto, then, which was, has been, and is all peaches and cream.

Googling "peaches and cream" also gets you creepy cartoon animal lesbians. Just so you know.

My apartment is like a replication of some pseudo-impoverished Mexican dive… ok, that sounds way more negative than it was meant to. (Also, what on earth is “pseudo-impoverished” supposed to mean? I’m tired.)  Anyway, don’t get me wrong; I adore my place. It just makes me feel like I’m living in a hostel in Mexico…cracked plaster and horrendous, garish paint on the walls and the heaters; pastel blankets on the low bed; door handles installed improperly so that the wedge sticks straight up and has to be turned sideways to open, rather than the wedge sticking out to the right and getting pressed down to open as is the norm; a window that looks down three floors into a little alley crisscrossed with power lines, or 6 feet across the alley to the next building. This alley is also enclosed completely by wire mesh, across the tops of the buildings and all the way down the side, yet somehow it manages to house quite a number of pigeons. I don’t know how they survive. But they do entertain the cat, Chester, who always freaks me out by looking like he is going to pounce from the window to his demise on the ground below.

So that’s the house. It comes complete with cat, who I mentioned, Spanish dentist, Spanish house cleaner (other peoples’ houses, not ours, more’s the pity), Japanese business student, and ornery Room #2 who will get mad at you for creaking the stairs when arriving home at 2 in the morning. More on that later.

Actually, more on that right now. There’s this very good invention called the internet; perhaps you’ve heard of it. Anyway, with the aid of this convenient tool, I made connections with people in Toronto before moving here. And by “people” I basically mean “one person”. And by “made connections with” I basically mean “had a few months of great email exchanges and chats with and developed a crush on”. So yes, I’ve had quite a few things to look forward to in moving to Toronto. (I wonder if he will ever read this. If he does, I wonder if I will be embarrassed.) So, the very first day after arriving, and virtually every day since, I’d been hanging out with said young man and waiting for him to make a move. But, people in Ontario are conservative and prudish, so in the end it was me who had to make the moves. As aforementioned, these moves ended in me taking him home at 2 in the morning… oooo, doesn’t that sound risqué? Don’t worry, my blog is PG-13, and so were our actions. The nub and gist of it is that the stairs up to Room #3, my apartment, are apparently very loud, because in the morning, Room #2 complained about my noisy homecoming.

I responded with a sincere letter that I left outside their door. It read as follows:

“To the stairs of 1— C——- Street,

It would be greatly appreciated if you did not creak so loudly. Your sounds during the night are disruptive and uncalled for, and there have been complaints about you. I hope this will not continue to be a problem.

Sincerely,

Rooms #2 and #3.”

And the next day, the slip of paper was back, with a response from room 2! It said “Dear stairs, you are doing a wonderful job and your work is appreciated. Please do not blame yourself. -#2.”

I personally think the stairs should speak for themselves in their defence; they don’t need representatives. But I do appreciate the work they do as well, so perhaps I should just leave the issue as it is.

For now.



{September 2, 2010}   SO BASICALLY, I moved to Toronto.

Quit my summer job a a waitress, just like in every movie about aspiring actresses, ever. I figured I would probably resume working in TO, probably as a waitress also, but now I’m pretty sure that’s not going to happen, seeing as I’m <whispers> updating this from the future, and I’m now IN Toronto, and I don’t have a job, because I don’t have the time.



{July 12, 2010}   SO BASICALLY, I got in.

Into the Toronto Acting Academy, that is. Please excuse my lack of “OMG”ness and “I’M GONNA BE A STAR”ness, because…<whispers> I’m actually updating this from the future. It’s currently September 17th as I write this. But I’m beaming this update into the past, where it will be displayed as an entry from July 12th, when I found out. This way, I can maintain a chronological unfolding of events in blog updates, even though I’m really <whispers> doing them all in the same night. >.>



Two, actually. I may have mentioned them at some point in the past, but probably not, because I neglect this blog like an abusive spouse, or pet-owner, or lazy teenager. Anyway, the first one was sort of a fiasco, the second one rocked a number of socks. I also raised almost $700 for Haiti with it, which only goes to show I do a lot more good for the world on my own initiative than through Miss Teen Canada pageants. :P

(Click here to watch the whole thing in playlist form on youtube)



{May 28, 2010}   Uninspiration.

Oog. Both my laptops are broken, I’m home with my mom for the summer but her computer is too slow to function, so…. this update comes to you via the computer of my ex, whose room I am chillin’ in while he is at work. That makes me sound a LOT crazier than I actually am, but it’s all good, never fear.

Anyway, but now I can’t update when the inspiration strikes; I have to pre-plan anything I want to say. And I have pre-planned nothing today; I am just updating to remind myself that I have a blog. With blogs, comes great responsibility. And all that.

Here is the description of my summer as it stands:

I did get a job, though I feared I wouldn’t! Two, in fact. Both waitressing. I part-timed at one for a few weeks, and now I’m switching over to the other and starting full time this Monday. Then I’ll have even less time to commandeer Jarrett’s house (and PS3), for which he will probably be grateful.

In the evenings I am dedicated to the piano in the church, because my piano at home is too out of tune to practice on. So, playing piano for my church on Sundays has been beneficial in that now I am trustworthy enough to own a key to the place and get free reign. I’ve spent some extremely late nights practicing… when it gets dark is when I plug in the electric organ and play Phantom of the Opera, just hoping someone passing by hears me and wets themself. As a matter of fact, the church is on a hill just behind the old people’s home…… I may have caused some terror already. It is all necessary, however. I’m doing two concerts for Hazelton and Smithers in July, so I need to stay on top of my songs.

On top of waitressing, I’m earning money in two other, and utterly miserable, ways. The one job is only a weekend of work coming up in June, where I am head of maintenance at the annual rodeo… this includes a LOT OF POO. And vomit. And garbage and beer cans. These key words can be mixed together in any number of combinations, and I can assure you, I will encounter it. But it’s good money, and I’m a tough ol’ farm gal, so….. I deal.

The other job is actually worse, though it certainly sounds preferable at first. I’m babysitting my stepdad’s spoiled dog while he’s away in camp, and at first I thought the thing was just stupid… but it turns out she is actually very clever, and simply malevolent and, like I said, spoiled. I take her for a long walk, she comes in and pees on my bed. And then stares me in the eyes, waiting for a reaction. She terrorizes the cats and kills the chickens… <sigh>….. I’ve had her for 3 weeks, so she is actually getting somewhat fond of me (no longer wetting my bed just to piss me off), but she still doesn’t listen to anyone but the demons in her own head.

Lastly, I am applying to the Toronto Academy of Film Acting for a 3-month full time acting course, and hoping against hope that I am one of the 12 students accepted. They don’t even do auditions for the positions, which just seems…. off. So I’m writing and re-writing an entrance letter…. and I better go focus on that more. Later!



{March 26, 2010}   Script Frenzy upcoming!

I’m back, and with a whole new level of disregard toward my supposed readers! According to my stats I do have consistent viewers, but none who will ever give me the time of day to write comments, so I currently feel a marvellous detachment that really gives me a new freedom in my prose. If I want to spout random words that I thought were funny in 8th grade, hey, I can do that!

“Nuts! LOL.” See? There. 13-year-old Tab would be laughing her head off. She still exists somewhere inside me. I feel I’ve just done her a favour.

Unfortunately for my adolescent self, today’s blog does have a topic… I still can’t seem to bring myself to write truly irrelevant posts. I’ll work on that. So, today’s topic I will open with this marvellous quote by Edgar Allan Poe: “Sleep, those little slices of death; Oh how I loathe them”. Isn’t that prime? I lol’d for realz, because that is exactly how I feel whenever I’m caught up in something: a book, piano, a video game, whatever. I do have those times when the insomnia catches up to me and I sloth around for days on end, getting up from bed at 5 in the evening only to eat and visit the bathroom, so I’m probably not entitled to this quote the way Poe was, but nevertheless I appreciate it greatly.

Actually, on second thought, even if I never slept I would probably not understand the quote the way Poe intended, anyway… something tells me his reasons for not sleeping were because demons spoke to him through dreams and he could hear disemboweled hearts beating when he closed his eyes.

Now, the relevance of this notion of loathing sleep pertains to… the upcoming event of Script Frenzy! For those of you don’t know what that is, as I didn’t a mere week ago, Script Frenzy is a sort of designation of the month of April to the gods of masochistic, tortured artists… in other words, attempting to write a hundred-page script within the month. ( Interested? Sign up at http://www.scriptfrenzy.org ) This shouldn’t actually be a huge deal to me, as I have *cough* written 2 award-winning plays in less time combined,  *swagger*, and wrote one “honourable mention” 30-page play in *ehem* a day. No big deal, no big deal. *preen* But all my former scripts have been for stage, and no longer than 30 pages. My project for SF is intended for the screen, which calls for a much different sort of plot development and presentation. Also, day-long spurts of inspiration are great when you can rattle off 50 000 words just like that, but those don’t exactly happen very regularly or predictably. My SF script is to be a regular, paced and dedicated project. At this point my characters are all blossoming in my head and plot details are smoothing themselves all the time, and I’m raring to start writing. I wish I could start tonight, but that would be cheating. So I soothe my itching fingers by blogging….

Let’s try for some more interaction from the invisible readers. What do you think of things like Script Frenzy and NaNoWriMo (the National Month of Writing…. More (I think that’s what it stands for, anyway))? Are you going to participate? Let me know the great plot ideas you’ve had circulating in your head your whole life, or that one character you can’t wait to bring to life! And if you’re participating in SF, send a message to username Tabiko! I’m so… so lonely… ;_;

"Shut up!... Shut up!"



I get that a pageant is something that is a whole lot more interesting to the competitors and their families and girls under the age of 12 than it is to…. everyone else. So I will keep this brief. And include a lot of pictures (ganked without permission off of facebook), because that’s always a sure-fire way of keeping attention.

This is just one of the many interesting pictures that came up when I googled "attention grabbing"

Attention kept? Good. So, as I ended my previous post with, I arrived at the Sandman at 2 in the morning, slept, got downstairs to the conference room on time, which was difficult, because the Sandman in Kelowna has a layout like… like… The Enterprise or something. It wasn’t just straight up-and-down like regular hotels; multiple staircases from the first floor led up to the third with no stops in-between; some staircases were hidden behind doors… I can’t even properly describe the confusion that was that hotel’s architecture. Oh yes, and it had no elevators.

It also lacked the convenience of teleporters.

So, 32 girls converged in the conference room, myself included, and we gabbed and introduced ourselves to each other and shared our platforms. Strangely enough, another contestant who was now from Williams Lake originally grew up in the same hometown as me, and we had even worked together in theatre for a year. I had always gotten the feeling she wasn’t too fond of me, and I worried that she would snub me at the competition, but luckily I was wrong there. In fact, I was quite struck by how nice everyone was; there were no catty attitudes or snobbery from anyone, at any point. It could all have been a facade, of course, but it was a very well-done and comforting facade, in that case. Anyway, I was sincere. I’m just a nice person.

On that first day, after we’d all become acquainted with each other, the work consisted of learning… well, watch the video on youtube of what I learned, if you’re interested. The model walk, stance, and turn, basically. Fun stuff. Impractical, but fun.

I know. I’ve never seen a sexier thumbnail either.

Then we had our interviews with the judges (where they did not ask me any of the questions I’d been told to prepare D:), we  in front of them in swimsuits and mine rode up my bum, and that ended the first day! The second day was basically a bit more dance rehearsal, and then hours and hours preparing for the show. It took so long due to the limited number of hair stylists and the extravagant demands of each contestant… those selfish jerks. (Mine was one of the most elaborate, haha. I didn’t want it to be! My stylist just misunderstood me.)

I am going to tell you right now that I single-handedly saved the dance, from backstage. It would have ended in confusion and muddlement and complete not-in-synch-ness were it not for me. I exaggerate 0%. We danced to Lady Gaga’s “Lovegame” (that’s family friendly for you >.>), and due to its repetition the choreographer didn’t seem to understand why we would never end on the same part in run-throughs of the dance. It was because he was simply going by the 1-2-3-4 beat and not paying enough attention to what part of the song it was. Namely, the exact moment where the discrepancy most commonly occurred was the last chorus before Gaga goes “I can see you staring there, from across the block, with a smile on your mouth and your hand on your huh!” Sometimes Shaun (choreographer) would cue us in on the first time the chorus came in there, and sometimes he would cue us in on the second repeat. And the reason this happened was right before that there was a transition, as a group of girls came onstage and took position, and this would take a varying amount of time. As luck would have it, I was in that group. Unluckily, though, I wasn’t the one leading that group. Anyway, this is a bit difficult to explain through writing, but the short and short of it was, I figured out that if we just delayed our coming onstage a tiny bit, we would have no choice but to wait to start dancing on the repeat of the chorus, and not the first time it happened (which would let us end on the proper time). So, I was backstage, and my group was there, all antsing to march onstage and do our stuff. So, performance night, the lead girl started marching to the stage too early…BUT. We were equipped with canes. Excellent props for my purposes. I whipped mine out in front of her and blocked her way, and went “NOT YET.” She fought me, because she though I was being a controlling, panicking Nazi in velvet, but by the time she had knocked my cane aside, we had delayed long enough anyway. And thus the dance went perfectly.

If anyone had just recognized that I had literally saved that show from being a humiliating disaster, I’m sure I would have gone on to nationals…. but never mind.

Right-o. Welp. Here’s some pictures. And by now, what with people in real life constantly asking me how the pageant went, I’m a little sick of it now, to tell the truth. Serves me right for taking so long to blog about it. So, pics and then it’s the end of the whole shebang.

The stunning girl in light blue? Yeah. She won. I can't even hate her for it, because she was one of my very favourites. She's hilarious.

Sadly, all the pictures taken of the dance are terrible quality. This one was the best. I black-and-whited it because, honestly, we were in top hats and canes. We needed black and white. Also, I am the one farthest right. My dress rules.

Group photo! The super-blonde in the front row was my other favourite other-contestant. :)

Alex and me...

And Mary and me!



{February 28, 2010}   CANADA! Versus! USA!

You know, I find it unfair that the U.S.A. gets their name in all capitals, so I’ve evened it out here. Uh… and now I don’t know what to write. Or how to write it. I’m looking at a different screen than my computer screen right now, you see.

I started out half an hour ago writing my next post on the episodes of Tiara-less Tab, but then the hockey game started and now I can’t exactly concentrate on anything else.

Ah…AH! LUUUuuuuu. And he blocks it!

*phew*

You know in the previous Team Canada hockey games, people were getting upset because they thought the crowd was booing Luongo? Then it turned out they were calling “LUUUUUU” in support.  Interesting bit of knowledge for those of you outside of Canada.

Ok, this isn’t going to work. I can’t commentate on a game like this. It needs my undivided attention. Later.

Update: FIRST GOAL FOR TEAM CANADA!!! YEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

Update: America scores with 24 seconds left?!?!? What is this? What. Is. This. This is bullshiiiiiiiiizzzzzzz…. I might cry. I also feel like this is my fault on some meta-physical level…. in the last minute, I said to Jarrett “I’m not hoping this will happen, of course, but wouldn’t it be incredible if the US managed to score two goals in the last minute of the game?” He gave me a real evil glare like I’d jinxed the game, and I JUST MIGHT HAVE.

Canada. I am so sorry. But there is still a chance….!!

UPDATE: I’m sure I don’t even have to tell you. Victory was so much sweeter due to overtime. Goodbye for today. I’m gonna go …. climb mountains. Fight grizzlies.



{February 23, 2010}   Tiara-less Tab, part one: Greyhound

Gooood morning, world! What a crazy weekend. The verdict is already in the title (I didn’t make it to the national round), but I’m still going to give the details of the event. And the events leading to the event.

It was complete hell getting from Vancouver to Kelowna; even worse than the return trip of Kelowna to Victoria, even though the return was twice as much distance. As I may have posted before, I spent the few days leading up to the pageant at a friend’s house in Vancouver; on Friday, she drove me to the Skytrain in Surrey and I was on my way to the greyhound depot, where I was to arrive at 11:30 to pick up my ticket an hour early for the 12:30 bus. On the Skytrain, I realized that I didn’t know where the bus depot was. That was a small problem. But only small, I thought, because here I am on a bus full of Vancouver residents who will be able to help me.

Wrong. The Olympics had drained all local existence from Vancouver, and everyone I spoke to on the bus either said, “Sorry, I’m not from here,” or “я не говорю английскую язык” or something to that effect. Now, despite what a great many people will tell you, I am not incredibly hopeless with directions and finding my way around cities, but I’m going to tell you the address I had from the greyhound website, and let’s see if YOU can make a great deal of sense out of it.

MAIN TERM

1150 STATION ST

PACIFIC CENT STA, RAIL 1

VANCOUVER, BC

I eventually gleaned little bits of helpful information from a number of people who seemed to have some minimalistic knowledge of Vancouver, and that would have been great if they hadn’t all contradicted. “Oh, so, the main terminal,” said one lady. “That would be right here,” And she pointed at the rail map on the train where one terminal was labeled “MAIN/SCIENCE WORLD”.

“That’s what I thought,” I told her, “But then what’s this ‘Pacific Centre’ part about?”

Well, she didn’t know. So I asked another girl, who said “Oh, the Pacific Centre is in Granville. So get off in Granville. The ‘main’ just means the main terminal in Granville.”

She seemed quite sure of herself. Another lady, however, seemed equally sure of herself when she said “There’s a big bus depot at the MAIN/SCIENCE WORLD terminal; that must be it. It’s on Terminal Avenue.”

“Are you sure it’s not Station Street?” I asked.

“Yup. Terminal Avenue.”

So, I ended up going to the Granville station, because even though a “big bus depot” definitely sounded like what I was looking for, I was definitely not searching for Terminal Avenue.

Especially if it was like this.

And if you’re a Vancouver resident who happens to be reading this, you’ve probably got your palm in your face by now, because Granville was definitely not the right station. (But if you’re a Vancouver resident who happens to be reading this, I’ve got a personal grudge against you for not being on the Skytrain at 11:00 on February 19th.) And by time I got there, it was 11:30 and I was supposed to be picking up my ticket at that moment.

I dithered about helplessly for a few minutes, standing outside on the street that was not Station, with my 46 lb luggage in one hand that I had just hauled up a great number of stairs, and then resignedly trudged back down and took the next Skytrain to Main. Applause, applause, it was the right one. But when I got there it was quarter after 12, and by the time I got to the front of the line at the ticket booth, it was 12:30 and my bus was just leaving. I woefully told the ticket lady that “I guess I have to buy a ticket for the next greyhound to Kelowna,” and she kindly informed me that it was okay; tickets can be transfered to the next bus time free of charge. The next bus was at 2:15. That was the first wonderful news of the day. No matter that I would get to my hotel at 9:00 rather than 7:00; at least I wasn’t going to have to fork over another $100 dollars for a new ticket like I’d thought. Oh happy day!

So I hung around until 1:45, then went through security and showed my ticket to the guard. He said, “Ok, terminal tirteen.”

“15?” I asked, mishearing (he had an accent).

“Tirteen. One-tree.”

So off I went, and waited at Terminal Tirteen for half an hour. Then another half an hour. More people showed up and lined up behind me. No bus appeared. But more people were coming. There must have been a delay, I thought, and I stuck it out. Finally, at 20 after 3, a bus pulled in and we were herded towards it. At the booth by the front of the bus, the lady asked me where I was going. “Kelowna,” I said. “You’re on the wrong bus,” she said. “WHAT,” I said. “That was at 2:15. Terminal 21,” she said.

I stormed over to the security guards where I, for the first time in my entire life, got angry at a stranger. I’ve been furious in public before, with family members usually, but sometimes with strangers. But I’ve always been polite and figured, well, everyone makes mistakes. But I had just stood waiting, in the cold, for a bus that was already putting me behind schedule as it was. I know Miss Teen Canada should always be graceful and composed. But I was not. “YOU TOLD ME TERMINAL THIRTEEN,” I yelled when I was 7 inches from his face. “I just waited for over an hour for the WRONG BUS! I told you I was going to KELOWNA!”

“Oh, I’m sorry, Miss,” he replied. “The next bus is at 6:00. There is nothing I can do. The bus to Kelowna has left.”

Oh, really? It had? Thanks.

Six o’clock. Well, I wasn’t about to believe his word so readily this time, but unfortunately, he was right about the time of the next bus. I trudged back into the depot and sat in a corner and cried for 5 minutes. It sounds pathetic on here, but this was actually a much bigger problem than mere inconvenience and infuriating employees. You see, the Sandman where I was supposed to be staying had a check-in time of midnight. Taking a bus at 6:00 would get me to Kelowna at just a bit after midnight, and by the time I got to the hotel from the Greyhound, it would certainly be too late to check in. I have no friends or family in Kelowna, and I had very little money left at this point to just book a room in some other motel or hotel. I was panicking. I had no internet, and my phone was dead (I lost my charger), and here I was, stranded in the Vancouver bus station wondering if I was going to have to sleep in a Salvation Army that night.

If I had a REAL greyhound to ride, I would have been there in no time at all.

I got myself together after the few minutes of indulging in self-pity and anxiety, and since I had some time to spare, I went and searched for an internet cafe. I paid 5 dollars for half an hour, and I wrote to the director of the pageant, who I hoped was already in Kelowna and could help me. And… well, she saved me. “I’ll tell them you can’t check in and sort it out. Ryan will pick you up from the bus depot when you arrive.”

I felt like she was already judging me on my helplessness, but I accepted gratefully. And so I made it to Kelowna and got to my lodging safely in the end, at 2:00 in the morning. I got five hours of sleep before the first big day of training for the pageant. But at least I got there.



{February 19, 2010}   If *I* Were a Judge…!

Well, first of all, I would have wept such tears of joy at being there, at the 2010 Winter Oympics, in person, that I wouldn’t have been able to see the events properly and would have had to resort to looking over the shoulder of the next judge to appoint a mark, like a naughty schoolchild. So it’s probably good that I’m not a judge after all, even overlooking the fact that I am in no way qualified. But sitting here in the warmth of my friend’s home in Surrey, watching men’s figure skating all day and armed with my laptop and the freedom of speech, aint no one gonna tell me I’m not a judge in my own right!

You know what? I hadn’t watched men’s figure skating before today since…. since I was a young, young child, who registered only minimal interest. I had no idea that I would like it so much. I’ve always enjoyed watching the Olympics, but the only event before today which I took more than a casual interest in was gymnastics (being a pseudo-bendy-gymnast-wannabe myself). So the impact these men’s performances had on me was …surprising. Anyway, let this act as a disclaimer that I am not a professional, and not even a skater, and thus I will not be delving into details of the way one skate turned inwards on the landing of a triple-salchow or anything. That was the judges’ jobs, anyway. As the post-medal-disgruntled-irritant-judge, my job is only to complain about why they were wrong.

So, if I were a judge, first of all, I would like to say… yes, I would have given Evan Lysacek the gold. He was brilliant. Firstly, it was a simple relief to watch him consistently land his jumps, after virtually every contestant previous had fallen or stumbled at some point. But it wasn’t just his almost-flawless technique; the energy and power with which he delivered just… gave me chills.

Although it helped that he looked like a total super-villain, which was really cool.

He looked like such a super-villain that I thought he was Russian. Only Russians look that nefarious.

And while I’m agreeing with the judges, yes, Plushenko, if he wasn’t to get gold (because that was a close contest if I ever saw one) would obviously get silver. I know there’s a big frenzy going on right now with the dispute of why Lysacek won over Plushenko despite not doing a quad (was it Plushenko’s attitude that swayed the judges? Did they not want to give him a gold because of his aggressive remark that with a quad it is not men’s skating? Was it all rigged by aliens? Has this controversy all been created to draw attention away from Johnny Weir’s outfits?), and no, I don’t have any arguments that will sway the minds of people who are on Plushenko’s side. All I can say was that Plushenko’s quad was not perfect, and his performance did not give me chills like Lysacek’s did.

Although they actually scored the same in the component part, so that last bit is obviously just me.

The issues I have with the figure skating events of the night are with Patrick Chan, Johnny Weir, and Nobunari Oda. Well, no, not with *them* personally (unless we’re talking about the issue I have with Weir’s costume choices), of course, but their placements. Seriously, this does pain me, because Patrick Chan is a good ol’ Canadian like yours truly… but he stumbled bad. And then he fell. The rest of his performance was good; great, even. But there was no way he should have beaten the two contestants below him.

I have such a problem with the mark docking on Oda’s mishap with the skate lace! Sure, it is his responsibility to come to the arena with sound equipment, but a snapping lace that causes one to fall is much less one’s fault than just falling is. And other than that, Oda’s skate was incredible. Better than Chan’s. So if the good parts of his performance were better than the good parts of Chan’s, and the flaw was more out of his control than Chan’s was….. arrgh.

And then, of course, where does that put poor Johnny Weird Weir? He didn’t even fall on his rump like the other two. He was marvellous and charismatic on the ice, he skated a clean program… I’m not going to stoop down to crying “The judges are homophobes!”, because much as I don’t share the same viewpoint as them, I grudgingly admit that I’m sure they know what they are doing a lot better than I do.

So I’m just going to cry “It’s not fair!” instead.

Not pictured: a bronze medal. Pictured: I'm still not entirely sure.

So tell me, ever-elusive readers. Who do YOU think skated better than the rank they earned?



et cetera
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