Why is there peace?

The Decline of Violence

'In 16th century Paris, a popular form of entertainment was cat-burning, in which a cat was hoisted on a stage and was slowly lowered into a fire. According to the historian Norman Davies, "the spectators, including kings and queens, shrieked with laughter as the animals, howling with pain, were singed, roasted, and finally carbonized."' http://edge.org/q2007/q07_1.html#pinker

Dramaturgic

Office Hours was my first play done at Bishop's University where we could actually develop the script and the characters, rather like the usual festivals of New Plays and Theatre Activ, in which you are given the script, given an inordinate short amount of time to learn your lines, and then you are quickly booted on stage with a shaky and stumbling "go!" The set could fall over at anytime, you've only practised lighting the candle twice, if that, and your fellow actor jumped over a third of the script during dress rehearsal. Lights, sound, get on stage and don't screw it up!

Bam, crash, and lights! That's the feeling and energy of Theatre Activ; everyone is running around: painting and building sets, scrambling together props, learning their lines, and making their lighting design. Everything happens in the flash of fifteen days, and then BAM, the festival opens! Somewhere in there, you actually have to block the play and develop your characters. Somehow, it usually all comes together; costumes are completed, families and friends come, and the performances are generally well received. Sometimes, things don't work out as hoped, but that is precisely why these festivals exist: to experiment, to triumph, to fail. And somehow, somewhere, there is always the time to party.

But I digress. Office Hours', albeit our set and lighting was put together à la Theatre Activ, claim to fame were the extremely strong and well developed performances. We put on four shows, and our very last show on Saturday night completely sold out. We weren't charging for our performance, only asking for donations, so I guess we didn't so much sell out as completely pack the hall. It is worth noting that Office Hours was entirely directed, produced, marketed, and performed by students. Our director personally went around town, asking people to come and see his show. We all did our part; we assembled our own costumes, helped with lighting, contributed props and makeup, and told as many people as we could about the show. It went better than I could have ever hoped for; we were all very happy with the outcome.

The wrench thrown into this wonderfully executed show? Even though community members, shopkeepers, parents, and friends came to see us, not even one drama professor bothered to grace us with their presence. The two top drama professors were personally invited by one of our actors, and they declined, saying that they were busy the nights of the performances. It is a valid excuse, but only insofar as being actually busy is. The problem was that other students had talked to the professors about our show, and the top two professors said Office Hours conflicted with Theatre Activ (which it didn't), and that we shouldn't be doing such a show anyway, as it had nothing to do with Bishop's Drama Department. They, in turn, decided not to support us.

Now, I think this lack of support is absolutely appalling. It seems as though the professors were acting extremely childish. It shouldn't matter whether this had anything to do with the Drama Department or not -- we put on a play, and that is what should matter. If anything, they should be swelling with pride if a student at their university decided to put on a play on his own initiative! Not only that, but isn't their teaching supposed to teach us to do exactly what we did? Aren't they giving us skills to help us out in the real world? Isn't this exactly what we should be doing? Aren't we showing creativity, initiative, and ambition?

At the end of the show, though, it didn't matter anymore. What had mattered was all the people who had decided to support us. Other professors had come, many community members had come, as well as a pile of friends and family. People knew it was a stellar show, and when something is good, people talk about it. I am sure word got to the top two drama professors... but now, the show is over, even Theatre Activ is done for another year, so all we are left with are the pictures and memories.

Militant

I'm not apologizing; I'm not even going to make up some excuses. I haven't written in over a month now, and there is no place nor time to expatiate on my lack of entries. What is important is that I feel guilty and ashamed at myself for not writing.

Words haven't been spewing out with such gentle ease as they normally do; I feel a little constipated in my writing: idea and thought after thought but no smooth ease nor capability, it seems, to write them down. It all seems forced, like a sticky jam jar that won't open or like getting Andrea eating her vegetables. Forced. Constipated. Maybe there is an underlying, tragic loss of unbridled imagination. One shouldn't think such thoughts.

I came back to Bishop's University on the fifth of January, along with Alex and Andrea. I had an intensive rehearsal schedule for Norm Foster's Office Hours, which I am acting in. We spent much time in hot and sticky Bandeen Hall before opening on Tuesday, the 9th. Opening was fantastic, but I dare say that the other two shows after that were even stronger! I realize this is an extremely rare occurrence, as most shows tend to have a less good second run. Perhaps this is true in some cases, but the two scenes that I am in have only been improving with each show, getting more and more laughs. I haven't been in a real comedy like this since I was in grade 9, and man, does it ever feel good to get on stage, perform your shtick, and have people laugh at what you say. Truth be told, I had forgotten how funny this play is. Having an audience adds an incredible amount of energy to the play. Actors feed off of this energy, and it results in an even better show.

Also, even though I have had a rather awkward and embarrassing dream about my two male actors, I can honestly say that I have never felt more comfortable being on stage. I was acting alongside stupendous actors. Every other production I have been in, I have been worried for someone else screwing up their lines or messing up a prop or a movement. This time, we just dove right in and gave it to the audience. We had great fun with it. Nothing could have been better. I never thought that being a Jewish mother fretting over her son's homosexuality could be such a barrel of laughs.

Travel Pictures

Over four months after my trip, I have finally posted the pictures from Berlin and Poland in aisle 4. Go on, check them out, and know me better man!

"I happen to like McLobster"

Every single time, and I mean really every time, that we run the scene, where I, as the mother, am told by my son that he's gay, we explode into laughter. We can't help it. The play is quirky and funny on its own, but when you add goofy and hilarious Ben into the mix, forget it, you're done for. The three of us have this scene down pat; our lines are there, our blocking is tight, and we know what we should be doing, but we still haven't gone through a run of this scene without laughing at least once. It's dreadful.

Lately, Ben has been showing up in his costume as his character, Lloyd. Lloyd is Jewish and is married to Rhonda, who is me. His costume alone just makes me crack up because he hikes his pants up to his waist, wears a dorky vest, and walks with his pelvis thrusted out. We knew it was bad the other day when our director told Ben that there was "too much crotch". Ben tends to stick out his pelvis and shake it around here and there. Because he is so tall and gangly, this is absolutely hilarious to watch, making it impossible yet again to get a solid run of this scene.

This scene is funny on its own, and it only makes it worse (or better?) when we play around with it, purposely saying lines a different way for sake of our own amusement. Oftentimes, our comedian Ben will do something completely different or say a line in a different tone, and that'll throw the rest of us off. We'll try to stifle our laughter, which will escalate to a giggle, and then, we can't help it, break into a full-blown laugh. Ben will defend himself by saying that he was "just trying something new out". Yeesh. It's just not the same when Thomas and I do something different - we can usually get over that. But when Ben does something, the magic of the scene is broken, and we're back at the starting point. Don't get me wrong; he's a great guy to work with. It's a barrel of laughs acting with him, but man, I have never had so much difficulty in keeping in a laugh before. Just looking at this guy makes you crack up.

Just so this entry makes at least an inkling of sense, I'm talking about our rehearsals for a play entitled Office Hours by a Canadian playwright, Norm Foster. In this particularly hilarious scene, Richard gets a surprise visit from his Jewish parents, Lloyd and Rhonda. The climax of this scene is when Richard comes out to his parents, who evidently freak out.

It's a great play, with many connections and twists, drastic dynamics, and outlandish characters.
Can't wait to put this thing on in January. If I can't help but laugh now, how on earth will I be able to survive through a laughing audience? This is where my grounded thespianism should come in!

An Ode to Foot, 2

Useful, well-appreciated, and sentimental gifts. Not just gifts for the sake of gifts. Nothing in abundance. All in moderation.

Besides, had I not acquired such a lovely, useful, and recording of memories apparatus, I would never had snapped such a perfect picture.



















Can't wait for your party, Foot!

Petit Papa Noël

Stumbling across this get-scared, get-ready for Christmas article, I was reminded how frantically early our society likes to indulge in the Christmas festivities. Now, I suppose that I cannot consider thinking about Christmas or even buying Christmas gifts an abominal sin. Of course, the abominal sin is when stores vomit Christmas all over their shelves and walls come November 1st. The horrible kitschy elevator Christmas music that floats around in department stores, the Christmas advertisements, the rows of cheap chocolate and duplicated white teddy bears with a red and green bow -- these are the sins of November that I am talking about.

Besides, all of the commercial Christmas-prep, all of the advertised useless gifts, the plastic bows, the ridiculously early Christmas start isn't Christmas for me.

I'm not religious, I don't go to any mass (save for that midnight mass in Poland, followed by meat-eating and vodka-drinking), so Christmas, for me, is much more than Christ's birth.

Yes, snow usually starts in November, but Christmas for me doesn't start until halfway through December, and it doesn't end until at least January 6th (have we all forgotten the twelve days of Christmas, the first day being Christmas day itself?).
What I absolutely love about Christmas are the carols, playing and singing them; I love the smoked salmon and the good food we indulge in during the holidays, I love living at home again and doing things with the family, I love seeing my North Dundas friends, I love the various Christmas parties, and I love going sledding -- this is what the Christmas holiday is about. This is what brings me to the path of warmness and fuziness. Doing enjoyable things with the best people -- c'est ça que j'aime!

Now, going back to the article; it's about worried parents who feel they can't keep up with the expensive gadgets that their kids want for Christmas, such as laptops and iPods and any of that more expensive stuff. The parents were lamenting that they couldn't get their child only one big present, such as just a laptop because apparently they kid will complain and say that they should have gotten more. This is ridiculous. I have just reached my twenties and already these kids are too much for me! Why do these children have high expectations that they should be getting so much? Do they compare themselves to their friends and school and feel like their friends get more? The demanding and the expectation, driven by extreme advertising solely directed to kids (as well as the advertising that guilt parents), kills the good Christmas feeling and makes everything so stressful, when in fact, the holiday should be a time to relax and an opportunity to "take a load off".

In fact, every Christmas, my family and I get uncomfortable when we see so many presents under our tree. How on earth can we need all of this stuff? Just get one thing for someone. Make something for them. Take them out, go on a trip, see a show, spend time together.

I already have my two front teeth, so I'll settle for hot apple cider, a crackling fire, a good book, and some cuddling.

We're pretty tough

Bishop's University Gaiters

No, not "Gators" as in Florida Gators. Gaiter. As in this definition: "A garment similar to leggings, worn to cover or protect the ankle and lower leg."

Yes, fear the BU Fighting Leg Protectors.


Find out more about our Gaiters here.

You're too professor-y for me

Take yourself out of your every day self, of your every day thoughts, and just for a moment, plunge back into those innocent yet somewhat dreadful elementary school days.

Remember those days of teacher and principal authority. Your little self would whisper something to your classmate during class. Oh, but then lo and behold, it wasn't only your friend who had heard you! Your entire face would go white and your stomach would feel like someone poured cement in it when your teacher approached you with that look in her eye. She had heard you! It didn't matter whether she was 28 or 82, they were all equally frightening to me. It wasn't until at least grade 4 that I realized that teachers are also people. I never really thought about them much, but I figured that all they did was teach, and that was their purpose in life. Going to a school in another town meant that I only ever saw teachers at school; I just figured that they had no personal life.

During recess, lunch break, they could shut the majority of kids up. The kids who didn't shut up were punished and were thereafter known as the "bad kids". I remember the year above me during elementary school had a lot of "bad kids". They were a bit of an exception, though, because one of the boys in that class had set a church on fire at the young age of eight. It was clear that he did not know what he was doing, but he did it just the same. Even the "bad kids" didn't go that far; the burning-down kid was in a category all of his own, unfortunately.
Anyway, I digress.

Once you got to high school, authority had taken a large step down, but it was still there. You called your teachers by their last name (with Mister or Miss in front of it), they would warn you not to curse, they would give you detentions if you were late or had misbehaved, etc. In school, there is a thick line between teachers and students. Of course, it needs to be there, especially if one party needs to assume the position of authority. In high school, you can become more friendly with teachers, but they are still your elders, the ones you should respect, so it is highly unlikely that you will go out for coffee with them.

In University, it seems that line between professor and student becomes somewhat blurred. Of course, you are still expected to behave yourself and not act up during class (something you should have learned in grade 3); besides, you are paying loads of money to sit in a class, so you might as well respect the professor and listen to what he or she has to say. If you don't want to, you can simply decide not to attend.

At Bishop's, though, it seems that the line between professor and student is very, very blurred. Professors have been known to drink and even on rare occasions, smoke up with students. English professors get drunk with their students, Philosophy professors hang out in cafes with their students, and Music professors have been known to play and jam with the students. In many situations outside the classroom, professors and students are on common ground. Of course, you probably will not talk to a professor like you would talk to a close friend of yours, but hey, it seems as though some professors and students are actually friends here.

This is a phenomenon that I find hard to believe. I mean, it makes sense that professors and students are on a more equal footing; in many cases, they are both mature people (most students who befriend professors are usually different or more intelligent than the average) and have similar interests. What I don't understand is when students and professors hang out together. For example, I have seen one of my previous Liberal Arts professors hang out at the cafe with a few students of his. In fact, just last week, I was part of this little, elitist, smart group. I find it a bit odd to be sitting around with a professor discussing life and philosophy outside of the University grounds. What constantly comes to mind is the question as to why on earth are these professors choosing to hang out with twenty-somethings when they could be hanging out with their own friends and family? Isn't work just work? Why are they choosing to be around this young crowd? We must sound so naïve and inexperienced to them. I mean, when students are discussing philosophy with a professor, aren't they just bringing up questions and speculations that the professor has heard many times before? Also, when our choir director comes to student music events, how on earth can he sit there, drinking a beer and sharing a laugh with a group of kids? It all seems so strange to me. We can't be that interesting.

Once I voiced my opinion to Andrea, she reminded me that yes, we are young, but we're not that stupid. Besides, most students who hang around with professors hang around them for a reason -- they obviously have something in common and share similar interests. It's true, but I am still not sure. Perhaps I am not giving some students the credit they deserve, and perhaps I am still a little prejudice when a professor and a student become buddy-buddy, but this is mainly due to the fact that I am also frequently exposed to the completely idiotic side of students.

It's difficult to give students much credit when they swear at passing police cars, when they smash bottles on the road (indirectly puncturing car and bicycle tires), and when they throw up everywhere on the road and sidewalk. Of course, just like in "real life", there is always a mix of moronic and interesting people. It's just too bad that it's always the idiots who stand out the most.

Dancing!

This is worthy of a major announcement -- Tex, the one who denies dancing and refuses to particpate in the act, based his fantasy movie on, yes, dancing!
It was not I nor Andrea who had the idea of making a boogie fantasy movie; it was Tex himself who suggested it. Of course, we all thought it brilliant and terribly amusing.

Tex and Barry entered an (inter) National Film Challenge and recruited their friends to help out with the location, the sound, the acting, and all other parts of making a movie that needs to be done. This film challenge is unique in the way that you must write, create, edit, and complete a four to eight minute movie in 48 hours. Now, four minutes sounds like an awfully short amount of time, but believe you me, four minutes can take weeks to perfect, and we only had a few hours.

On Saturday, our friends and colleagues were invited over to partake in the filming of the movie. We had spent Friday night writing our script as it was only at 7 pm that we received our genre, line, character, and prop. Sunday was to be left free for editing and sound.

Our genre: Fantasy
Prop: Oil
Character: Bobbie Soxer
Line: "If it doesn't work, give it a shake."

Now, just by looking at this, it is beyond simple to deduce how we came up with the dancing theme. I mean, we already squashed the idea of the oil being shook; that was incredibly obvious. Oh no, we were to create a magical world in which everyone had to dance to do things. Simple things like opening a carton of juice needed a special dance for it. If you wanted to cook a meal, you had to dance, and there you have it, you'd be eating like a king no time. These magical dancing people don't even dream of using their hands. I mean, why would there when their shakin' it method works so well?

As soon as I heard the name Bobbie Soxer, a slightly disturbing yet exciting image came to mind: a dirty, chain-smoking, deep-voiced lesbian. With a name like Bobbie Soxer, what other kind of character could it possibly be? So, it was at the very early stages of the movie-making that I dubbed Andrea Bobbie Soxer. She won't outwardly admit it, but she loved her character (let's just say I had a tough time getting her out of her frayed, biker's shirt).

Making the movie was fun, tedious, hilarious, and long. It was really neat having your family and friends collaborate on making a movie. We took all day Saturday to film, and then collapsed from exhaustion that evening after replenishing ourselves with a Mamerz home cooked meal. After being on your feet all day long, repeating scenes over and over again, tweaking with the sound, changing angles, trying it different ways, and putting up and down the filming equipment, relaxing over sausages and Archie comics felt like magic (without the dancing).

Now that I have wetted your appetites, I am sure you are all dying to watch our five minutes of fame. You can watch All the Wrong Moves here.

N.B. If you wish to read another approach of the movie-making weekend (at least, I think that is what he's rambling on about), this will re-direct you to Tex's entry.

A Lesson on Snorting

I'll admit; I'm not the one to go crazy over celebrities. Especially movie celebrities. Heck, I have a hard enough time trying to figure out who is who. I rarely know who people are talking about, unless of course, they tell me the character they played in a specific movie that I had seen. Then, perhaps I would be able to place them.

Tons of people I know go crazy over famous people. I remember many of the girls I grew up with plastered their bedroom walls or school lockers with grinning poses of old men and skinny women with funny names. I could never relate. The most pictures I got in my locker was a naked picture of John Lennon and Yoko Ono, a picture of a cross-dresser, the letter "A" inked out in pretty calligraphy, and a snapshot of a cherished beanie baby. I wasn't what you would call "celebritity obsessed", but I wasn't what you would call popular for her locker contents either.

Of course, I am also not the one that doesn't have favourites when it comes to musicians or actors. My 'blog explicitly shows how much I am a fan of Leonard Cohen and James Spader. But, truth be told, I have no tangible pictures of them, I know little of their backgrounds (especially very little of Spader's), and I haven't (unfortunately) had erotic dreams about them. I just find them talented, like I think many people are -- the two of them just happen to be well-known.

However, as much as I can babble on about this, I do have one claim to fame: Stephen Chatman, a Canadian composer, born in 1950 and who teaches at University of British Columbia, wrote me an e-mail. I was in the process of learning one of his piano songs and absolutely loving it. It was a very modern piece, called "Night Sounds", and it involved playing strange key combinations, using a pencil to tap against the ledge of the piano, and using your voice! I had to whistle to imitate the wind, meow like an alley-cat, and, here's the kicker, snort like a pig.
It was really a great piece. I had the most fun with this song, and did it ever show -- that one piece got me into the most festivals I had ever done in any given year. Audiences loved it, adjudicators would always smile when I played it, and my piano teacher and I would get such a kick out of it.

There was only one problem: I cannot, for the life of me, snort. Never mind like a pig, but I just can't snort. You know how some people involuntarily snort when they laugh and then feel embarrassed about it afterwards? Well, that just doesn't happen to me. I can't snort. I can hork back spit decently enough, but that's really the extent of my snorting. I cannot snort on command, and if I do get it, it sounds like some pitiful cat wheezing. My piano teacher and I knew that the situation was hopeless, so we substituted pig snorting for dog barking. It was well received up until one of the festivals at Carleton. The adjudicator politely asked me at the end, why I had barked instead of snorted. I patiently explained to her that my vocal chords, or whatever does that sound, is just not able to spit out a snort. She went on from there, even though I knew that the answer wasn't satisfactory to her. She was only "OK" with it. After I told this to my piano teacher, he suggested that I write to Stephen Chatman himself and ask him what he thought about the pig snorts and the dog barks.

So at age sixteen, this is what I wrote, and followed is the response I got:

----- Original Message -----

From: Miranda Glen <zazaglen@hotmail.com>

To: <chatman@interchange.ubc.ca>

Sent: Sunday, February 10, 2002 6:33 PM

Subject: Night Sounds ~ from a fan

Dear Dr. Chatman,

Hi, Dr. Chatman, my name is Miranda Glen. I am a piano student in Chesterville, Ontario. I am presently playing your piece: Night Sounds. I'm really enjoying it; I love the contemporary notation and the sounds made by voice. It's so much different than other pieces, and that's a reason why I love it!

The only thing difficult for me to do are the pig snorts. I have tried so many times to do them, but all that comes out is a sound that sounds like a dying cat. So, I have substituted the pig snorts for dog barks. I know it's not what's written, but it's easier for me to do; you won't believe how many times I've tried the pig sounds. I was wondering if it was OK for me to perform it with the dog barks. I have performed it at a recital, and an adjudacator commented on it. She said the pig snorts didn't sound like pig snorts; I told her they were supposed to be dog barks. She seemed to find that OK.

Anyway, I was wondering what you thought about it and if I should keep on doing it or find an alternative suggestion.

Thank you!

By the way, because I really enjoy your piece, I think you should writemore in that fashion: with the contemporary notation. I know you have others like that, but have you written any above the grade 7 Grade? It would be great if you wrote more!

From a great fan, Mirrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrranda

From : Dr. Stephen Chatman <chatman@interchange.ubc.ca>
Sent : February 11, 2002 1:37:43 AM
To : "Miranda Glen" <zazaglen@hotmail.com>
Subject : Re: Night Sounds ~ from a fan

Dear Miranda,

I REALLY enjoyed you email. Thank you for writing to me.

Re: pig snorts, this might help: On a whispered "oh", try breathing invery suddenly and quickly through your nose, completely relaxing your mouth,and beginning with your tongue on the roof of your mouth, then removing yourtongue from the roof as you breathe in.

This might work. If this doesn'twork, a dog bark can be convincing as well. --- don't let any judge bother you!!

Best wishes
Steve chatman

The lack of the desire to write

Equals pictures!































Hot.

Why am I doing this?

Amateur theatre.

I've been in quite a few plays in my short lifetime so far: skits, cabarets, one-acts, two-acts, you name it. In most of these performances, I was an actor. Being in a play is typically a stressful affair -- I mean, no one wants it to be so, but usually there is something that everyone worries about, whether it be a wobbly part of the set, a wrong prop, or knowing that one of the actors just just memorized his lines five days before the show. And even if there isn't anything tangible that can go wrong, there is always a chance for a slip-up, someone jumping four pages ahead and then jumping back again, and then you having no idea what the heck you're supposed to say.

Days, hours, or even minutes before going on stage, there can be utter chaos. How on earth are you even supposed to pull this off? We've only done the plate breaking scene once with a real plate! Won't it be clear as day to everyone that you aren't even close to being ready? How long will you be able to keep up the facade?!
Now, this is the appropriate time when you will ask yourself, "Why am I doing this? Why am I putting myself through this madness?" There is stress coming out of your ears!

And yes, I have even heard my Dad utter those frenzied words minutes before opening night, getting ready backstage, as the chaos reigns around him. The set will fall over! Hubert doesn't know his lines! I need to run away! Why am I here again?

But, of course, the question is always answered at the end. Somehow, you've managed to pull the play off. Somehow, everything came together in the end. Nothing fell over! No one fumbled up! Somehow, the play was successful! Yes, successful! People actually liked it; heck, they even laughed! You had forgotten how funny it was. You had forgotten how much you love audiences.

After the play, you are on a plateau'd high, and you can't imagine doing anything else but theatre. You know exactly why you do it. For the love of the arts, for the performance, for the entertainment of the audience! You only remember the positive parts of it all; you remember how great your cast is and how wonderful it is that you will be performing this play five more times. Your day job can wait; you are living the high life of an actor now!

Repeated performances are always the best -- you are much less nevous, more excited, and you strive to make every performance the absolute greatest it can be. Finally, you now have the opportunity to actually concentrate on being an actor, rather than chewing your fingernails, asking yourself whether or not Marge will remember her cues.

However, perhaps the worst part of theatre is the end of it. The fact that you were part of this group, this magical ensemble, and suddenly now, you have finished your last show, and it is back to reality for you, man! No more crazy actors, no more theatre highs, no more audiences -- it's back to that grim factory of yours, where you are expected to work as a serf for 16-hours a day, turning trees into Thneeds. Okay, okay, so maybe your job isn't quite that bleak, but anything is depressing after being a real, live actor for two weeks!

But, what about having that magical opportunity to actually make acting your day job? Well, I only promised amateur theatre in this entry. If you've entered the realm of professional theatre, disregard this entry, and please, take me with you!

Balsamic Vinegar

There is only one kind of food that I really despise, and it is balsamic vinegar. Any one of those weird vinegars, like malted, balsamic, or the cider apple vinegar is absolutely vomitrocious.

Right now the smell permeates the entire house. Andrea oh-so clumsily spilled it on our futon. It is pandemonium. Out of all the foods that could be taking over the house, why must it be that blasted apple cider vinegar! Why, I would tolerate chunky stew or red wine spewn all over the couches rather than that filthy acidic stench.

Balsamic vinegar isn't something that should ever be consumed, let alone spilled on couches.

Oh, Canada?

Love to travel? But strangely enough feel more Canadian abroad than at home?

"Canadians are not, by and large, patriotic people, but if there's one thing I've noticed from my years overseas, it's how our national pride swells whenever we leave. Yes, there's nothing quite like leaving Canada to make you feel Canadian."

Read more of Cindy's great article here!

My little brown bag

Allow me, just this once, to wallow in self-pity. I so seldom do indulge my readers in my misfortunes; I figure that most people, including myself, are sick of hearing other bloggers complain about their so-called miserable lives.

I am merely miserable about one thing -- I have lost my purse, containing all of my cards and keys that I need. I did not have much money in it, thankfully, but the real problem is that so much is lost with that one thing. Even my Ukranian money! Phone numbers, Student ID, Bank card, Health Card, everything vanished with it.

The strangest part of this entire ordeal is that the loss of my purse makes no sense to me. From what I have deduced, it should be in the house. But, let me tell you, I have scoured my house from top to bottom and have come up with nothing. The only other plausible place it may be is Bandeen Hall, where I have choir practise. I still doubt very much that I left it there, but it is the only other explanation.

Just as a warning, as I am somewhat in the depths of despair, blog entries may slow down because of this dilemma.

Saving Face

The world of theatre is a strange place, not only due to its eccentric actors, to its "modern plays", nor to its abnormal schedules, but also because it is a place to express yourself, to release those emotions that you've bottled up for years... and then get someone to perform them on stage?

Many people release sadness of a particularly bad break-up through a painting, for example, or they will vent their anger and frustration of their world or the world around them in a form of a poem or a short story. But the strangest, almost funniest, way to release emotions, especially personal emotions of a particular circumstance or situation, is writing a play about it. I shouldn't really say strange because I do think that writing about something that has bothered you or is still bothering you is a good antidote; it can put your situation in perspective. I suppose the real funny thing about this is when you pen something hurtful that happened to you in your past, and then you spend weeks or months perfecting this very personal script, just so you can see it acted out in front of you! Yes, instead of burying these emotions deep within your wounded soul, you intentionally thrust these sharded feelings up on stage, for everyone to see, as well as yourself, so you have the opportunity to relive this horribly negative experience (that you likely never wanted to go through again) many times on stage!

Of course, not every dramatist has the desire to write about their darkest times, nor do many of them choose to write about something so close to home. It is true, however, that the majority of playwrights to tend to slip in at least something personal (such as a specific character or a political view they may have) into their scripts. It's very tempting to add something of youreslf into the script because it is always neat to watch something that has something of you in it. It's like your very own private joke.

So, is playwriting only for the strong and the bold? Not at all; people write anything from a milkman to octopus' to the country of Latvia. For some, it's just another way to get those artsy fartsy I'm-so-filled-with-emotions out. It is just peculiar that seeing your problem acted out on stage can be therapeutic, but I suppose it could be the interpretation of your play that you are interested in. Perhaps it helps you realize that others are in the same boat, or even, it helps you find a solution or a way to move on.

At the auditions yesterday, I had the opportunity to read almost the entire script of one of the plays. It is student written. I was shocked at the content of the script because I know the playwright, and I could never see him writing something like that. He is witty and funny, sometimes quiet, and he is a brilliantly hilarious actor. I just did not see him writing about a love triangle. Although, as Andrea pointed out, maybe he's just writing about something that happened to him. Makes sense -- even the witty and the funny get into difficult situations.

In a way, that reminds me of how interesting it is to read something for the first time of someone you already know. Sometimes, their writing comes to you as a complete surprise. You would have never guessed that they write that way! It makes you think about them in a slightly different way; you have now pierced into their life as a writer. I believe that someone's writing is a critical part about them, especially if they are one to write articles, music, or even a weblog.

Of course, something that is potentially even more interesting is meeting someone after having read and followed their blog religiously. Interesting, yes, but not necessarily pleasant.

Photos and Chocolate Chip Cookies

As promised, I have uploaded photos from my time in Germany on aisle four. Feel free to check them out. Pictures of my time in Berlin, Poland, Vienna, and Boston will come shortly.

For years now, I have been searching for the perfect chocolate chip recipe. It is the most well-known and standard cookie, but I also believe it is one of the most delicious. The chocolate chip cookie recipes on chocolate chips packaging are often lame and require strange ingredients. Those cookies have never turned out well for me. Only about a week ago, I stumbled across the most perfect chocolate chip cookie recipe. Now, I doubt that many of you were also on this chocolate chip cookie quest, but I have decided to post the recipe, just in case.

I follow this recipe very closely, except that I add about two tablespoons of milk to the batter, which makes a great difference in terms of the fluffiness of the cookies. I have also heard that adding a "dollop" of sour cream also makes the cookies softer. The amount of a "dollop" is left up to your own interpretation.

Preheat oven to 350 degrees F (177 degrees C) with rack in center of oven. Line two baking sheets with parchment paper. Set aside.
In the bowl of your electric mixer (or with a hand mixer), cream the butter. Add the white and brown sugars and beat until fluffy (about 2 minutes). Beat in eggs, one at a time, making sure to beat well after each addition. Add the vanilla and beat until incorporated.
In a separate bowl, combine flour, baking soda, and salt. Add the dry ingredients to the egg mixture and beat until incorporated, adding the chocolate chips about half way through mixing. If you find the dough very soft, cover and refrigerate until firm (about 30 minutes).
For large cookies, use about a 2 tablespoon ice cream scoop or with two spoons, drop about 2 tablespoons of dough (35 grams) onto the prepared baking sheets. Bake about 12 - 14 minutes, or until golden brown around the edges. Cool completely on wire rack.

Makes about 4 dozen - 3 inch round cookies

Recipe:
1 cup (2 sticks) (226 grams) unsalted butter, room temperature
1 cup (200 grams) granulated white sugar
1 cup (215 grams) firmly packed light brown sugar
2 large eggs
2 teaspoons pure vanilla extract
3 cups (420 grams) all-purpose flour
1 teaspoon baking soda
1/4 teaspoon salt
1 1/2 cups (270 grams) semisweet chocolate chips

The Art of Meeting People

Being a Freshman at University practically shouts out at you the welcomed words of "you'll meet new people", "a good place to meet people", "meet interesting people with similar interests as you", etc.
Most of these things are true, unless, of course, you have extremely atypical interests, where your idea of a good time involves reptiles and a shoddy-looking urinal.

Meeting people is an artform; there are many different ways to approach people. I find it interesting to note the various ways people choose to approach others; some prefer the loud and outgoing method, whilst others opt for a quiet, perhaps more intellectual approach. And, of course, there is never anything wrong with the witty and funny method.

I also find it very interesting to observe the way close friends of mine react and communicate when they are faced with new people. Different styles and techniques are used, depending on whether you are just humouring someone or making small-talk, rather than considering them as a potential friend; also, I will approach both sexes differently, especially when the situation is only a one-on-one.

As you get older and as you chalk up more life experience, I find it becomes easier to weed out the people that have no friend potential whatsoever. You know what you are looking for, you know the type of person you prefer, so it is easier to pick out those unworthy after a good conversation; then again, sometimes it just takes a five minutes or an obnoxious or ignorant comment.

I enjoy making people laugh, almost in any situation, whether it be a close friend or a possible new friend, so that is part of my technique. I also tend to be a little more blunt, sarcastic, quirky, and even witty when I encounter someone new. I find it amusing to be able to talk in any fashion you want, without the other person wondering how on earth you became so bonkers. You may just be naturally bonkers! Perhaps you are of the errant bonkish nature. They don't know. So, when you've found someone worthy of your time, savour it, play with it, test some borders, and before you know it, you'll be adorned in a pretty, yet somehow unmanageable long-sleeved white shirt that makes arm movement significantly more difficult.

Like food, painting, and theatre, overall in their goodness and disasters, people are an art.

This is how close I got to Ukraine

Through a rainy window, I managed to snap this shot before Maciej could yell at me, telling me that the Ukranians are paranoid and would take my camera away.

And this is my favourite Ukranian whom I failed to see!