Smiling at Strangers











{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?



..Namely, Hazelton, BC. That’s my hometown, and yes, it is a land of ice and snow. I mean, it doesn’t get as brutally cold as the Yukon Territories or anything (our low this winter was -35, Yellowknife’s was -42, or so I heard), but it is, to my knowledge, the only place South of the North Pole where the snow has actually come down in June. Like that song.)

"Sometimes the snow comes down in June, sometimes I wish I lived somewhere else"

And now I’ve come to Victoria, where it’s mid-February and the daytime is already warm enough for shorts. I loooove it! Spring is on time! Spring exists! Sadly, today is the day of departure to Vancouver, which, no, is not exactly a cold place, but it’s…well…. rainy. Rain is irksome. Rain is the only weather in Hazelton after the snow. And yes, I realize that Victoria is a rainy place also, being on an island and all, but it hasn’t been lately, which is why I am so loath to leave.

So tell me, 28 viewers. What is your favourite type of weather?

I really need to stop posting every day. At least, I think I do. That’s sort of a taboo in blogging, isn’t it? Post weekly or twice a week or something, but not every day? well, I’m erring on this side of the spectrum to balance out my youtube account, where I’ve posted about 3 times in 3 years.

Anyway, it’s difficult to stop posting when I’m viewing this as sort of my public-domain diary. When I kept a physical diary, I would write in it multiple times throughout the day. Just narrowing posts down to once a day is kind of hard.



{February 17, 2010}   The Rapture of Rapture

Well, I leave tomorrow for Vancouver, where I am staying for a few days with a friend, and then on Friday it’s off to Kelowna for the provincial Miss Teen Canada – World competition. I should be doing my last minute laundry, packing, preparing some little speeches and researching my platform (also practicing piano because I have a concert in a month, but that’s another story), but instead I can’t stop playing Bioshock 2.

Pictured: Beautiful love.

You know how the reviews all said “It’s a good game, but rapture has lost its sense of wonder because you’ve been there before”? LIES. Rapture has not lost its wonder at all. Yes, it is still Rapture, but it’s different parts of Rapture. No, you will never again feel the shock of when your bathysphere first gave you the opening view of the underwater city, but in the first Bioshock you never gasped and instinctively held your breath because the glass between you and the entire ocean has just shattered and you’re now being tumbled through a mass of bubbles and debris. The ability to walk outside of the buildings in the open ocean is incredibly satisfying, there are new places that keep the atmosphere tense and surprising despite you being in the same overall environment (puppet shop, anyone? Eeeek.), and the level design is masterful. There are new plasmids and new creatures to fight (the Big Sisters’ shrieks are the sound of hell itself), and the game Now Comes With Multiplayer!….what more could you want?

I’m supposed to beat the game by tonight so Jarrett can trade it in for Heavy Rain on the release date, because we’re both super excited about that one too (SUPER excited)… but I dunno if it’s gonna happen. There’s just so much to explore. So many audio diaries to read. So many splicers to shank.

Speaking of which, why am I still here?



So, I just got back from the theatre before doing my video-completing and I’m going to say right off the bat…. Percy Jackson and the Olympians: The Lightning Thief was a terrible movie. Not terrible in the ways that it makes me want to gouge my eyes and soul out (like Twilight), but terrible like a huge disappointment. At least with Twilight I already knew I was going to puke in my mouth multiple times because I’d read the book. But the trailer for Percy Jackson made it look so awesome! Hydras? Colossal water columns writhing and crashing around? The fury? Yes please! Unfortunately, as soon as the movie started, it became clear that a 12 year old had been employed to write the script. The dialogue was so awfully cheesy and fake and painful… and weren’t these kids supposed to be in highschool? How did they have all that money to throw around in Vegas? And… just….

Okay, this isn’t meant to be a movie review. I just wanted to express my disappointment over the movie. Although to be fair, the monsters and water-storms were still extremely enjoyable to watch, though I wish there had been an appearance by the Chimera.

Well, I’m sure I’ve ruffled some (read: a LOT of) feathers by dissing Twilight, so in return, I give you my own video production for your critique. Save time and money….watch this instead of Percy Jackson. Yes, I was drunk at the time, and it’s all unscripted, and all I’m doing is recounting the sad tale of getting refused at a nightclub, but it’s probably just as good as Percy Jackson anyway.



It’s that time of year, which means… pink writing!

It also means angst, alcohol and bitter rants or chocolates, perfume and movies, depending on what kind of romantic situation you’re in. Or, if you’re like me, both. I managed to get so angry with Jarrett while we were at the mall that we walked home separately (actually, I, having the student card, bussed), tears were shed, and we broke up. He’s packed all his stuff. However, we’re still on for the Italian restaurant and movie tonight (Percy Jackson and the Lightning Thief… I’m excited for that), so this may all just be another of those big, toxic clouds of anger that hurts the lungs and pollutes the air but will eventually drift away.

Or maybe we’re actually totally broken up for good and I’ll be completely shattered when it hits me, and feel really stupid about this post.

Anyway, I’m determined not to sink into a state of misery and sorrow-drowning tonight, because there’s enough single people out there doing exactly that, and, being (I think) not single, I don’t really have a right to steal that away. Not tonight. Anyway, it’s a little too soon for a repeat, seeing as I did that last night. When I didn’t get into the Epica concert. I came home and drank a four-pack of Smirnoff Ice, which put me in a good enough mood to… record a video blog! I intended to post it on here for you, my perhaps-sympathetic and -existent audience, but there is a small problem getting in my way: I just got a new laptop and it doesn’t have Windows Movie Maker on it. It DOES have Roxio Creator, which I’m sure is a much better program (I’ll be the first to admit Movie Maker isn’t very good… but I was proficient with it!), and… well, I’ve actually worked out most of what I need to know by now, but I haven’t actually implemented that in the form of making the video itself. Because I am…. running late. And spaghetti awaits.

If I haven’t been too exhausted by sheer awe in the face of Poseidon’s power, I’ll do my video-splicing and editing when I get back, and have it posted by…. later.

I’m sure I don’t have a loyal enough fanbase at this point to care much if a video log whining about being underage is posted on time or not, anyway.

Happy Valentines Day!

It seems like 90% of the population HATES Valentines Day. Whatevs, dudes. *I* like it.



{February 13, 2010}   Epica tonight!

Day two of bloggery. Exciting news already: Epica is playing at the Sugar club in Victoria tonight! I have a ticket to the Meet & Greet function before the show, and I’m so very nervous… because, you see, the Sugar is a nightclub, and I’m 18, and I have no fake ID. Now, before I go on, I would like to say…

I LOVE Epica. Epica was the first band I heard since Nightwish that showed me that the metal of my dreams really did exist. Simone’s voice is the most beautiful sound I’ve ever heard. I’ve got such a chick-crush on her that I modeled my character in Dragon Age after her (if Simone had pointy ears and a face tattoo.)

No, it doesn't do justice, but it's the closest I could come.

So, despite the knowledge that I will almost certainly be turned away at the door, I bought my tickets and I’m showing up… even if I can’t get into the club, there’s always the chance that I’ll meet one of the members before or after the show. Also, I’m young and blonde and buxom. They might let me in underage. Or does that only happen in movies?

Also, some of my pictures bear a resemblance to Simone that makes me happy beyond measure.

Simone 😀

And me!

Hair coour altered and a bit more make-up... and voila! :O



{February 13, 2010}   Is this a blog?!

What the heck. I supposedly have a blog, but I can’t even find a “post blog” option. “New post” sounds promising, but last time I clicked one of those, it became an “About”. Which is apparently something different. I feel like a senior trying to work an ipod.

At least I can change the font colour! That’ll keep you entertained, The Masses.

Anyway, wherever this ends up posted, it will pronounce: I have uploaded the pictures from my photoshoot! After spending literally the entire day editing them (and only by the end had I got a good feel for the editor. The early edits are quite over-saturated. Some people do that intentionally and call it artsy. I’ll go with that.



et cetera