So, it occured to me that I should perhaps discuss what it is I have accomplished in the last year, sort of as a way of gauging how much I still would like to accomplish.

1. I successfully went back to school, and thus far, all of my grades have been above 72. I received 83 in my first film course in 10 years, mostly due to working my butt off on the essays.

2. I quit a job where I was unhappy because I could. This is a step forward.

3. I have felt more centred in my Self, and less afraid of change. In fact, if I’m afraid to do something these days, I do it anyway–unless it’s stupid, like walking in front of a truck.

4. I am living downtown in an old house, like I always wanted. It’s not exactly my internal picture with frothy curtains and a sweet breeze blowing in the windows, but it’s something. My apartment is cute. I just wish my landlady was more responsive.

5. I went to London Fringe events after shifts and hung out with a really cool group of people who were interesting, artistic and different.

6. I joined the Western Undergraduate Film Society (WUFS), and am making friends with people in my classes. One girl has asked me to partner with her on a project, and another one has told me about a job at her store, and encouraged me to apply.

7. I have signed up for extra-curricular activities, even though it terrified me–I’m a good deal older than most of the other participants.

What I would like to accomplish:

1. GET A JOB. I applied at the University library system, the University Hospitality division and at a variety of shops around here. No dice on any of them. I know I’m employable!

2. Curb my spending. Esso is up to his neck fed up with me on this subject. ‘Nuff said.

3. Get rid of fear in my life as much as possible. “Feel the fear and do it anyway” is my new motto.

4. Do well in my classes, particularly in essays. Go with the most radical, “out-there” theses. I have played it too safe in the past. However, it helps to know your audience. One prof will likely want me to be a little more conventional.

5. Find another place to live next year.

Someone broke one of the windows on the downstairs apartment, and I think it might be partly due to my actions. See, I have been locking the gate to the front of the house as it is right next to the entrance to my apartment. I’m not keen on someone using the area around my entrance as an access point for shortcuts, not to mention the kinds of things that occur between buildings after a rowdy night out: puking, fighting…fornicating…

Anyway, it’s clear from the damage that no one was actually trying to get in. They just wanted to get out their aggression and frustration at being blocked from taking a shortcut. The guys who live downstairs have not been around much in the last 24 hours. The one guy (I’ll call him Ryan) had people over until *at least* 1 a.m., which is when I fell asleep. (As an aside, this guy has people over every freaking weekend, and sometimes, they’re not very quiet). The other one (I’ll call him Steve), the one I get along with quite well, is in Montreal for a week–at least, I hope it’s only a week. Ryan disappeared today sometime around 10:30 a.m., and it’s unknown if he noticed anything.

So, I called the landlady. She gave me the typical run around with regards to coming over to have a look, but she finally did. All she actually managed to do, however, was assess the damage, clean up the glass on the ground and plunk a bottle of ammonia on my porch. (As another aside, there is a skunk living behind our shed, and she was told ammonia will “encourage” it to leave). She said she probably can’t get the window replaced until Monday at the earliest. She didn’t even put a board up to cover it.

On the one hand, it’s not my apartment, and I don’t really care. On the other hand, this is the house I am living in, and I don’t like the idea of having a broken window left like that. I met my friend, D for dinner last night at a little pub a few blocks away, and I was shocked–devastatingly SHOCKED–by the condition of several old houses on neighbouring streets. I should state that I love old houses, they have a charm and a character that enchants me. One house had clearly been used for student housing without any kind of proper upkeep, and was now completely boarded up and neglected. Broken glass, refuse, graffiti…all were in evidence on the property. A couple blocks over was a large house, which in its heyday was probably a showpiece. Judging from the architectural details, I’d say someone quite well off had built it. It now lies a broken ruin, an eyesore. I suspect it might have been a crackhouse at some point.

I don’t want this house to look like that, and I worry that my landlady is unable or unwilling to care for it properly. She has yet to rig the solution to my tub/shower. She has plans to put up a vapour barrier so that when I choose to take a shower, water doesn’t spray everywhere. It’s a beautiful old clawfoot tub, and I have been enjoying the baths, but with school on, time has become a premium. There are days when I don’t bathe because I don’t have the time, and/or I don’t want to waste so much water.

And it goes on…

The garbage cans are plastic, and they are all cracked and broken…and, there are no lids. With a skunk living behind the shed, you can imagine what has been happening. I have been dealing with a cold this week, and with the good guy downstairs gone, it was up to me to put the garbage out Thursday night. Friday morning at 7:30 saw me picking up and re-bagging ALL the garbage, lifting the bins upright and refilling them–IN MY PYJAMAS. So, there I was, walking around in my PJs, sweating buckets, achy, dirty and angry for about 20 minutes. It was horrible.

She’s come up with some cockamamie idea to contain the garbage cans in some sort of bullpen-type thing made out of wooden shipping pallets. If she ever gets around to actually putting the damn thing together, it’s going to be ugly, and incredibly awkward. For one thing, although the skunk won’t be able to tip the cans over, they still won’t have lids, as she does not intend to replace the garbage cans themselves. Secondly, we’ll have to lift the cans out of the container, and depending on how tall she makes it, and how heavy the garbage in the cans are, that could be a disaster.

Oh, and the last guy who lived in this apartment lied to her a little to see if she would replace his fridge. He said he’d been getting a shock off of it when defrosting the icebox part. She never even looked into it, and he basically gave up after a few months. I’ve noticed a distinctly bad odour in the fridge this weekend–even Esso has noticed it–and I wonder if some of my food has spoiled. And yet, she has been so unresponsive in general, I almost think there is no point in bugging her. It’s starting to drive me crazy. I KNOW I have some solid stuff to take to a tribunal, but I just don’t have the time or energy to start a war with anyone right now.

This is Clubs Week at my university, and out of curiosity, I decided to check out the booths. Within a second, some younger guy introduced himself by asking if I invest–which, of course, Esso and I have done since shortly after we got married. It’s of primary importance (we believe, anyway) to put money aside for that time when you won’t be earning it. If my family’s history can be applied to me (and with the improved medical care I’ve received over say, my Nana, it’s likely), I am another 50-60 years away from shuffling off the great mortal coil. But that takes me off the subject of this post.

A few minutes later, I joined the Theatre Club, and at the next booth, set up an audition for the Women’s Issues Network’s benefit production of The Vagina Monologues.

Me, an actor? Does that surprise you?

To be honest, it DOES surprise me a little. When I was a kid, I wanted to try my hand at acting. The idea of disappearing inside another character had great appeal for me. Unfortunately, my self-concept was heavily dependent on the approval and acceptance of my mother, who didn’t think acting or being involved in the arts was “practical.” She also, on a number of occasions, subtly displayed her belief that my shyness would mean I would either a) not be chosen or b) make a fool of myself, and in either case, the rejection would be too much for my fragile ego. I expect she thought she was protecting me, but what her actions really did was enclose me in a cocoon of fear and hesitancy that I’m just now learning to shed.

Frankly, I think this frightens Esso a bit, too, but that’s a whole other topic.

So, next Wednesday, I have a meeting with the Theatre Club, and the next day at 12:30 p.m., I have an opportunity to act, and maybe get a part. I’m looking forward to both.

Thirteen years later, we are still asking, “did he do it? Did he murder his ex-wife and her friend?” His criminal trial was the very definition of circus, complete with spectacle and hype. Careers were earned and lost over this man’s alleged actions.

And now, he may very likely go to jail on counts linked to armed robbery. If the arrest took place in the manner the police said it did, O.J. and several others broke into a hotel room to “retrieve” some of his memorabilia.

I was never a football fan. I knew Simpson from his movie appearances, and he seemed a jovial fella. However, to every person, there is a dark side, and during his trial, O.J.’s dark side came out to be of the very darkest (in my opinion): jealous to the point of obsession, arrogant, sure of his entitlement to do whatever he wanted, ruthless, bitter, mean, violent. I couldn’t understand how a man like this could have friends–especially the kind of friends who would try and smuggle him out of L.A. by way of a low-speed chase.

And apparently, he still has friends. In a recent article, one (unnamed) friend claims the whole scenario “feels like a setup.” That (gasp!) someone lied to The Juice and lured him to the hotel room on the pretext that someone had stolen his memorabilia and was planning to sell it.

Now, I don’t care what somebody stole from you, you don’t just go breaking into a hotel room. You call the police, you inform the hotelier or staff, and you take legal channels. Simpson has claimed that the police no longer respond to his calls, no doubt trying to use this as explanation and justification for his actions. However, as I was brought up, you just DO NOT take the law into your own hands. Simpson hasn’t had much regard for the law in–well, probably ever. And here, he’s going to play the victim–just as he did in his murder trial; it was HIS defense team that brought up allegations of conspiracy against Det. Mark Fuhrman.

O.J. is no victim, and it’s about time he got over himself.

My dream home:

(source here)

A 50’s souvenir:

(source here)

A playful kitten:

(source here)

I need a job. It’s a fact that without one I will have my expenses (such as groceries) seriously curtailed. Today, I had an interview with one of the libraries at the University, and I think I presented myself well.

I’d really love to have this job. It’s in a specialized library with a diverse and interesting collection. There would be a lot to learn, and it would be (from my perspective) the fun kind of learning. I would shelve books, check out materials, do copier problem solving, shelf read material and try to direct students in a pleasant, helpful manner. I would kick ass at this job.

Oh Please, universe, let me get this job…

(If any of you would like to say “good luck,” that would be amazing! Thank you.)

I feel I should shed more light on the problems I have with the Film Studies department’s choice to ban laptops. In my previous post, it may have sounded like I was a whining baby, but the fact is, I have found I require the use of my laptop in class lectures.

Most of the people who have known me for any extended period of time are probably unaware that I deal with Attention Deficit Disorder. I say “deal with,” because I don’t like the terms “suffer” or “struggle.” It has been my experience in the working world that ADD can actually be beneficial, however, in an academic environment, ADD is a liability, and as such, it is lumped in with Learning Disabilities and Special Needs.

In elementary and high school, I lacked impulse control and attentiveness. I learned, especially in high school, to fake attention in class, but if anyone were to really watch me, they would see other parts of my body moving and fidgeting–a release. My biggest hurdle, however, came from very poor eye-hand co-ordination and mediocre fine motor skills which made (and still make) note taking arduous and painful. I could never keep up with what the teacher was saying. I often had to fill in my notes from memory (that is, if I remembered anything) when I got home. I didn’t like to offer my notes to classmates who had been ill because they were very often incomplete, or worse: totally illegible.

In college, I was laughed at for bringing an old-fashioned cassette recorder to class. If I hadn’t, I’m not sure I would have graduated! My first pass at university was very difficult for me, and when I look back at my notes from that period, I can barely read them. I discovered last summer (when I took the History course) that I took more accurate notes and retained more information when I used my word processor. I did take a notebook one day instead of the computer, and those notes are horrible to try and decipher. See a pattern?

Now, I understand, even applaud the reasons for the department’s decision. I noticed many of my classmates were not paying attention in class, and it had nothing to do with interior mental distractors (such as I deal with daily, hourly, by-the-minute…). Most, if not all of them, were using their laptops to play games, chat with friends online or, in one famous case, watch a hockey game. I have to admit to chatting a tiny bit in class, but never during lectures.

Still, with my ADD, it means that I have to go through hoops in order to be given permission to bring my laptop. HOOPS, I tell you.

First off, I was diagnosed with ADD–what they at the time called a borderline case–when I was 14 years old. In the ensuing 22 years, I have not received any kind of external help for working through it, not even from my parents. That means no medication, no structured support, no academic counselling or concessions. It is hard for me to ask for help since I have managed to cope somewhat without it, and yet, in order for me to succeed now, I am going to have to. The trouble is, I have no test results from 22 years ago; ergo, no proof that I need concessions.

I checked with the Student Development Centre, and it clearly states that I must have recent test results or documentation signed by a doctor before they will send a letter to my profs. This means I’m going to have to get retested, which means I’m going to have to go to my doctor. And here I thought I just finished getting all my ducks in a row for this school year. sigh.

Well, it appears that my poor little laptop is not welcome in screenings and, depending on the professor, lectures. This means all of my reviews/discussions of the films I have seen will be written from the privacy of my own home. It’s an interesting development, to say the least. Apparently, too many students were distracting themselves with non-class related activities DURING class. I have to admit to being a tiny bit guilty of that from time to time, but certainly not as blatantly as a couple of kids I could mention.

This post cross-posted at The Flick Chick.

Original source here.

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I’m not quite sure what to do about this, although the solution may seem obvious to some of you.

Last night around 10 p.m., the guys downstairs started having a party. Everyone needs to have a party sometimes, to listen to music, watch a movie, hang around, drink…whatever. Thing is, I was pretty tired last night by 10 (it happens), and their music just seemed to thump up through the ceiling a bit louder with every song.

Not wanting to be a bitch of a neighbour, I attempted to listen to my iPod to drown it out while I tried to sleep, but that didn’t work. I did manage to drift off around 12 a.m. for about three hours, but then at 3:15 a.m., some idiot, some ASSHOLE decided to rev the engine on his motorcycle. I’m not sure if it was the guy downstairs or not, but the combined noise of that machine and the music downstairs woke me up, and there was no going back to sleep with all that thumping going on. That is when I put on my glasses & my sandals, and went downstairs to ask them to TURN IT THE FUCK DOWN…NOW. They did not.

I got on the computer and tried to distact myself, and by 4:30 a.m., the noise was off, the lights were starting to be turned off, and the party appeared to be over. I finally slipped into bed around 4:45 a.m., grateful for the peace. I still feel tired at 10:30 a.m., and I’ve been up for 30 minutes.

Here is my quandary: I obviously need to speak to them about the noise last night (this morning?), but I’m not sure how to broach the topic while I need a favour from them. See, I need to do my laundry today. The laundry facilities are in the basement of the house–so whether or not I do my laundry is dependent on my downstairs neighbours, who are no doubt still abed, and will likely be for some time. I have been invited to go to the movies with R and D tonight. This means, if I give the neighbours until noon to sleep before knocking on their door, I will have only 5 or so hours to do my laundry. There is a lot of it–at least four loads, which take about a hour and a half.

I could, I suppose, just go to the laundromat three blocks over and pay through the nose to use the machines, but I’d rather not if I don’t have to. What would you do?

In the meantime, I’m going to take a nap…if I can sleep with the light streaming in from the skylight over my bed…

ETA: I wended my way to the laundromat, only to find out it is closed today for the holiday and will re-open tomorrow (which is the actual HOLIDAY) at noon. So much for getting an option…