A note to my readers

Yesterday, I started my second year of CreComm. I am taking eight classes – not including the work I will be doing on my IPP – and I know things will quickly become stressful.

As a result, I will not be able to post to my blog as frequently as I have this past summer. Occasionally, I may only update my blog once a week. This doesn’t mean that I don’t have anything to say; it simply means that I am just too busy to write anything new.

I will also be writing about Public Relations related topics on a weekly basis, as this is the main course I am currently studying at school. But, I will continue to keep the content varied and as interesting as possible. The name of this blog will probably change, but it will still be my thoughts, insights, and daily experiences that are expressed.

I value my readers, and I hope you will continue to follow my blog as I struggle through the next eight months.

About me

I’ve been posting to this blog for almost a year now, yet I’ve never really included anything basic about myself. Well, there’s no time like the present, so here are a few random facts about me...

My favourite colour is blue.

Ever since I was young, blue has always had a calming effect on me. It reminds me of the ocean, the sky, and everything pretty in general.

I don’t like flowers.

This might sound strange, but it’s true. I do occasionally enjoy getting flowers from people, but not anything I actually have to maintain. I prefer a book as a present...or, more recently, a gift certificate to Superstore so I can buy food.

Half the time I hate my height and half the time I love it.

Everyone in my family is tall (except my mother). Chris – my brother - is probably about 6’3” or 6’4”. My dad is 6’2”. I last measured in at just under 5’10”, which is a bit tall for a girl, in my opinion.

When I’m surrounded by short people, being tall is quite frustrating. But, when surrounded by tall people, I feel at home. It’s just one of those things that I’ll never be content with.

High-heeled shoes are my nemesis.

This ties into the height thing. I refused to wear heels when I was growing up, because they made me taller than every single guy. Now, I have serious issues walking in them. I did buy a few pairs this summer, and I’m determined to learn, but I have a long way to go before I cease to worry about falling on my face.

I play the piano.

It’s been an off and on struggle for a number of years, but the piano is something that has always filled me with a sense of joy. Music is a truly beautiful thing, and nothing can compare to it.

I collect books.

I’ve never actually counted how many I have – because I hate math – but I have a lot of books. History books, classic novels, interesting cultural specimens, everything. Some of my favourite books are the Post Secret series by Frank Warren and Vietnam Zippos.

Travel is essential to a happy life.

No place is off limits, and I will go absolutely anywhere once. This includes weekend getaways to Lake of the Woods, or more exotic locations like Europe. I also love to write about where I travel, a fact that my long-term readers will already be aware of. So far, I’ve pegged 63 cities in 13 countries on Facebook, which is a fair accomplishment for a 24-year-old if you ask me.

While interested in exotic cuisine, I’m allergic to pretty much everything.

I discovered a few years ago that I have a variety of serious allergies, many of which prevent me from being able to try new and interesting foods. Some of the more serious allergies include soy, tofu, and legumes like brown beans. I have to carry an eppy pen everywhere, and it’s really uncomfortable at house parties when I have to refuse trying appetizers because I don’t know what’s in them.

I love to be active, but I’m not very sporty.

A number of years ago, my dad and I got a treadmill. (Well, dad bought it and I tested it for structural integrity, but I consider it to be a joint effort because we’re the only two people in the family who really use it.)

We both started running, and tallied our monthly miles and times on a chart on the wall. Then, dad would enter the results into a spreadsheet that he would print out and display. If you don’t know my dad or me, this might sound odd, but we’re both very, very competitive. We wouldn’t admit it at the time, but we were always competing against each other. (But, naturally, I always won).

Then I moved out, and I try to either run or walk outside every day.

But my boyfriend is a very sporty guy, and over the years I have picked up some of his outdoor activities. Our favourites are biking, hiking, canoeing, and snowboarding. I’m not the greatest at snowboarding, but I give it my all. If I’m outside, moving around, I’m happy.

I’m addicted to school supplies.

This is a problem that has followed and taunted me for years. Even though I am a 24-year-old post-secondary student, I still want the pencil case with the hidden compartments. I always stop to look at the stacks of colourful journals, despite the fact that I write using a computer.

And pens. Don’t even talk to me about pens. I have a serious, serious problem when it comes to purchasing pens, and I love each and every single one so damn much.

Sometimes I get a little obsessive with the apartment cleaning.

I can’t write if I’m surrounded by clutter. The problem is that our apartment normally is cluttered, so I spend time each morning trying to find places for miscellaneous items. This will stop when school starts, and I don’t even want to think about what our apartment will look like then.

I want to talk to my grandparents on my mom's side again.

They both have died – my grandpa when I was only a little girl – but some irrational part of my mind keeps telling me that someday, somewhere, I might reunite with both of them, sit down, and have the greatest conversation. Nothing would be cooler than sitting down with my grandpa, drinking some beer, and listening while he tells me about his life. And my grandma would probably fall in love with my boyfriend instantly, which would be amazing to see.

My little brother and I actually get along.

I guess I shouldn’t really say “little” anymore, because he is 21 years old. But, to me, he’ll always be my younger sibling. Surprisingly, we have always gotten along, more or less. After my family moved to Winnipeg, we became incredibly close. Our bond has yet to be broken.

I ramble.

Initially, I only meant to write a few things about myself. I’m currently sitting at 1,020 words, so I think I’ll sign off for now. (It’s a lot easier to talk about yourself than I realized...)

I hope you learned something new...

Sayonara for now.

Not a comedian

I recently purchased Robin Williams: Weapons of Self Destruction on DVD. It’s his latest stand up comedy tour (from 2008) and it’s hilarious.

I remember watching various professional comedians perform on television throughout high school, and I was always in awe of their abilities. It’s difficult to come up with enough material for a fast-paced routine, but it’s especially difficult to create material that will actually keep people laughing.

At RRC, we have an optional course called Comedy Writing. It instructs students on how to write their own routine creatively and effectively. At the end of the semester, each student in the class must get up at the King’s Head Pub and perform their act in front of a live audience. Feedback is essential, and one never knows if they are truly funny until they make complete strangers laugh.

After much deliberation, I decided not to take Comedy Writing during my second and final year of CreComm. Watching Williams – a “professional” comedian – effortlessly deliver anecdote after anecdote only solidified my feelings that refusing to take the course was the right decision.

Why was this my choice, you may ask?

Well, along with the fear of being publicly ridiculed, I seriously am not funny. Sure, I can make jokes when surrounded by friends. But, I highly doubt that I could create and then perform a comedy routine that would actually make people laugh. My sense of humour is random, off-kilter, and more than slightly sarcastic, and sometimes, people just don’t understand what the hell I’m talking about.

Our Comedy Writing instructor – Kenton Larsen – assured me that everyone is capable of being funny. I disagree, and to prove my point, I’ve decided to write a comedy routine on my own time. My deadline is the end of the year, at which time I will allow a few people to read it. I’m not going to intentionally try to write a crappy routine, but I’m more than confident the result won’t be pretty.

I salute funny men like Robin Williams, Jim Carrey, and Eddie Murphy. It can’t be easy.

Burning backdrop

The fire in BC - and resulting smoke haze that has blanketed the country – reminds me of my trip to Europe last summer. More specifically, it reminds me of my last days in Athens.

Mom and I left Athens for Canada on August 24, 2009. For anyone who isn’t aware, this was during the time that severe wildfires threatened parts of the city.

The day we climbed the Acropolis to visit the Parthenon was one I will never forget. On one side of the impressive structure, our pictures were beautiful and clear with a blue sky backdrop. On the other side, however, the Parthenon was shadowed by a quickly-spreading, apocalyptic-looking haze. To be honest, it was actually pretty terrifying. I don’t really believe in Greek Mythology, but it looked like the Gods were literally getting ready to unleash their wrath upon the city.

The following day, we woke up in the wee hours of the morning to begin the long trek home. We drove down the highway to the airport while it was still dark, and barely saw another car on the road. Then, as we turned a corner, I was confronted with one of the most awe-inspiring sights of my life. On the hill, about three miles away, was a huge, angry looking blanket of flames. They cut into the darkness savagely, and lit up the sky in an angry array of red and orange.

Both mom and I didn’t know what to think, and thankfully the cab driver explained about the wildfire before we truly panicked. The fire was far enough away that we weren’t in danger, but close enough that we felt we were not quite safe.

At the airport in London, we watched BBC News report on the event while waiting for our next plane. I wanted to shout “we were just there” over and over again, as if somehow that would lessen the enormity of the situation. We hadn’t realized what was actually happening while we were in Athens, which is probably for the best. Thousands of people were evacuated, and hundreds of homes were destroyed. If we had known, we might have left early. That would have been a tragedy in itself.

If you want to read more about the Athens wildfires, a good link is BBC News. There is a video of the flames on this site, which will give you an idea about what mom and I saw that morning as we headed for the airport in the dark.

Below, I have included a few pictures that we took while atop the Acropolis on August 23, 2009. Even though the fire was burning in the suburbs of Athens during that time, the smoke travelled for miles.

We didn’t manage to take the clear, stock photographs of the Parthenon that most tourists desire. But, I think the photos we got are special in their own way. Who could have guessed that during our two days in Athens, mom and I would become more of a part of history than we ever imagined.

(These were all taken on the same day, during the same visit. I think this last one sums up the situation nicely, don't you?)

Irony

I guess it makes sense, in theory.

Last night, I burnt my index finger on my right hand. Nothing serious, but it was bad enough that Jeff and I needed to make an emergency trip to Shoppers Drug Mart for some burn spray.

I spent the entire night toggling between icing it and complaining about it. I really wanted to sit down and write a blog, but couldn't type. I also couldn't hold a pen, which I still can't do. Playing the piano was also out of the question, so instead I finished reading my 87th book of the summer.

It's funny. I spent four months writing whenever possible, then obtained an injury that made it impossible to write. I think that people don't realize how much they use their hands until they are unable to do so. Permanently losing the function of one - or both - of my hands is a horrifying thought, and something I refuse to even contemplate.

Next Monday, when I start school, I should be healed and ready to go. It's just interesting this happened to me now, at the end of my summer as a writer.

Maybe the Gods are trying to tell me something...

Or maybe, I'm just a natural klutz, and some things can't be avoided...

Something that really bugged me...

This morning, I was minding my own business (listening to music and dancing around my apartment like a ninny) when someone knocked on my door.

I didn’t open it, because anyone here to see me would use the buzzer outside. Instead, I took a quick and careful glance through the peephole. Two men were standing on the other side of the door, and both were wearing Shaw t-shirts.

I still didn’t open the door, but asked loudly through it what they wanted.

Here’s what happened:

Shaw dude: “Hello there, I’m from Shaw cable and we’re doing some work here in the building.”

Me: “I didn’t call for Shaw.”

Dude: “Yes, we know, we’re hooking up someone’s Internet in the building. It’s come to our attention that you aren’t using Shaw as your Internet and cell phone provider.”

Me: Uh...”

Dude: “You must be paying too much.”

Me: “... uh...”

Dude: “I have a special deal, $10 a month, and if you open the door I’ll give you my card.”

Me: (finally thinking of something intelligent to say) “No thanks, I’m all set.”

Dude: “Here.” (slides card under door) “When you’re ready to start saving money, give me a call.”

And they’re off, leaving me with a business card sporting a handwritten promise of Internet for $10 a month written in a casual scrawl.

I heard them knocking on every door in my building, and pretty much everyone told them to take a hike.

Don’t get me wrong. I’m all for cheap stuff. What I’m not for are people knocking on my door and trying to sell me things that I clearly state I don’t want. The Shaw guys got into the building because they are hooking up someone else’s Internet. They decided to use their temporary access to try to drum up some new business.

Not cool.

I support unique and interesting selling tactics, and I understand that everyone needs to make a living. But please, please don’t try to sell me things through my door. I’m a paranoid apartment dweller, and I will regard anyone who arrives unannounced and uninvited with suspicion. I also felt that the deal was “too good to be true,” which only compounded my frustration.

I just needed to get that off my chest. Now, I can go back to dancing to the Footloose theme song in peace.

Florence and a naked man

I didn’t like Florence.

Yes, I know, for many people it was one of the highlights of Italy, but not for me. It was hot, it was muggy, I was sun burnt, and there was a sanitation strike at the time. I literally waded through garbage as I picked my way cautiously down narrow, graffiti-laden streets in search of something impressive.

Maybe the fact that I had just spent two days in Rome, which was preceded by Venice, had something to do with my foul mood. Regardless, my one day spent in Florence was enough for a lifetime. We visited the Duomo di Firenze – the famous cathedral in Florence – and my first impression was “I’ve had better.” Sure, it was pretty, but nothing to write home about. Next, we wandered around a few squares, which were cute and covered with the usual tourist items. The only difference was that leather was the most common item that could be purchased.

The highlight of my day in Florence was a visit to the Academy Gallery to see Michelangelo’s David. Originally, the sculpture was placed in the Piazza della Signoria, but it was moved indoors in 1872. This was smart, because the last thing anyone wants is to see the world’s most famous sculpture vandalized. I spent an hour wandering around David, taking in every detail, and it was an amazing experience.

Now, I can actually say I've seen the naked man up close and in person.

(This was the alleyway we stood in to wait to enter the museum. The walls were covered with graffiti, and it looked like someones nightmare.)

I wrote a poem about my experience in Florence, and it’s hilarious. Unfortunately, I’m currently trying to get it – along with a collection of other Europe poems – published. So, I can’t post it here. I will give you the first few lines, and hopefully that will spark some interest. If you’re curious, and want to read the whole poem, I’ll send it to you.

Firenze

I’m surrounded by garbage.
I didn’t discover there was a sanitation strike until after my opinion of the city had been soiled.
It’s hot and muggy.
The man standing in front of me obviously hasn’t showered in a very long time.

But then again, that could be me who smells.

This is Europe, and personal hygiene goes out the window after about three days of travel.
A standard European bathroom leaves much to desired, and absolutely everything in the room is soaking wet after each attempt with the handheld shower wand.

Take a swim in a river. Or wait for rain. Trust me, it’s easier.

I read the entire poem at an Aqua Books Open Mic Night in July, and my audience was very receptive. They loved the part when I explained why David is proportioned incorrectly, but if you want to know why, you’ll have to read the poem.

I forgot to mention the awesome karaoke night my fellow Contiki travellers and I enjoyed. We found a dingy dive in the basement of some historic building, but it was one of the most elaborate karaoke setups I've ever seen. There was a huge stage for the performers, big screen televisions on every wall, and an abundance of really good of alcohol. It was a great night, and a great way to end a not-so-epic day in Florence.

I would visit Florence again if it was part of another, larger trip, but not if it was the featured attraction. I apologize to any Florence-lovers out there, but this was my experience and I tell the whole truth on my blog.

Stick around for detailed accounts of my excursions in Berlin, Rome, and Paris, as well as an account of how I almost died of heat stroke in Greece. :)

Jeans = my nemesis

I’ve recently entered that special time of year when I pull out my fall clothes and try them on. It’s not that I’m excited for winter, exactly. I just want to make sure everything fits.

Usually, I’m good to go, and most of my clothing remains just as it was when I packed it away last season. Occasionally, however, I have an issue with jeans.

I rarely gain weight during summer, but for some reason, my jeans usually fit funny. I think it has something to do with the loose-fitting shorts and skirts that make up the bulk of my summer wardrobe. Wearing jeans after a four months hiatus usually feels weird.

This season, true to form, my favourite pair of well-worn jeans won’t quite fit right. To remedy the problem, I did what I usually do – go shopping and buy new jeans.

And here lies the dilemma... I absolutely suck at shopping for jeans.

I have one of those weird body types that aren’t exactly user-friendly when it comes to denim. I have long legs, which means that jeans are usually either too long or too short. I also have almost no butt to speak of, which only compounds the problem. Most people who wear a 36-inch inseam have a figure, whereas I don’t.

What I wouldn’t give to be rich and famous with the luxury of a personal clothing designer and tailor on staff. Then, maybe, I could find a pair of jeans that would fit correctly without the angst and tears that usually accompany my search. There have been many shouting matches between my mother and me over the delicate topic of jeans shopping over the years, and if I had had someone to personally design a pair for me, mom and I could have spent the energy we wasted fighting on more constructive activities.

I’ve scoured both Polo Park and St. Vital Centre, and found nothing. With hundreds of clothing stores, one would assume that I could find something that resembles a well-fitting pair of jeans.

Nope. Not so lucky.

Jeans are my nemesis. The perfect pair, for me, is on par with a unicorn. They might exist, somewhere, but I’ll never know for sure.

Music sets the mood

Sometimes, a writer must work on a piece they are not particularly interested in. This could be an assignment from an editor, a boring press release, or a section of a story or novel. Deadlines are often non-negotiable, and whether one likes it or not, the job must be finished.

As I wrote my book this summer, I was struggling with certain aspects. In one scene specifically, I needed to write about a romance that ended sadly. I am currently in a happy, loving relationship, so it was difficult to conjure memories of misery when I’m so content. But, the show must go on, and I needed to figure out a way to place myself in the breakup mindset without actually going through a breakup.

Enter music.

To make myself feel depressed and lonely, I listened to the saddest songs imaginable on a very long and painful loop. This tactic worked surprisingly well, and I was quickly able to finish the scene in my story.

Below I have included YouTube videos of some of the songs I listened to. If you need any sort of depressing inspiration, this part of the post will be most helpful to you. If not, maybe bypass the videos and read one of my happier blogs. That’s all!

Rockin' The Albert

I remember when I had just turned 18.

I – along with a number of friends from high school – wanted to get out, explore the city, and immerse myself in the bar and pub scene. At that time, nightlife was a dangerous, exciting, cool world that I hadn’t yet explored.

Naturally, we began our quest for intrigue at the various Canad Inns bars around town. For any non-Manitoban readers, they are pretty much the equivalent of Chuckie Cheese for adults. No real drama there.

After we realized that visiting places like Tijuana’s and the Rum Jungle were nothing to write home about, we branched out. And the first downtown Winnipeg bar that I explored was The Albert.

I remember this experience fondly because it was brief, terrifying, and frustrating. I went with my best friend Ang and a few male co-workers. We parked on a side street, walked in together, and found a small, vacant table in the back near the pool table. We ordered beer – because, at that time, Ang and I didn’t know the names of any cocktails – and waited for something to happen. A local band played a set, and some guys got into a fight. That was pretty much the extent of the excitement, and we decided to leave.

Outside, it had started to rain. I pulled a crumpled pack of cigarettes out of my purse, and immediately, I was surrounded. Bar patrons, homeless individuals, and the bouncer himself were first asking and then demanding for a smoke out of my quickly diminished supply. I initially gave a few away, and then looked at my friend Chris for some type of support.

He picked up on my frustration, and motioned for Ang and me to start walking away. We tried, but I was cut off by a rather voluptuous woman who was thoroughly offended that I refused to give her a cigarette. As I was trying to reason with her, I heard Chris shout “run” behind me.

Ang and I didn’t need any further prodding. We tore down the street like two chickens with their heads cut off and left our knights in shining armour behind to deal with the aftermath.

This was my first experience with a downtown Winnipeg bar, and also my first encounter with The Albert. I can honestly say that I was scarred enough to not return to this particular dive until last Saturday.

Jeff heard from a few friends that The Albert hosts an open mic night every Saturday afternoon. There is a house band that performs, and a few musicians on standby, but anyone is welcome to show up and hop on the stage. We wanted to see firsthand what type of people show up to this event, and were pleasantly surprised.

The bar hadn’t changed at all since I was last there. The toilets in the ladies restroom are still chained to the wall, and the mirror is still cloudy and slightly broken in spots. It’s quite possible that I sat on the exact same chair as the one I occupied six years ago. I remember the weird, 30 degree tilt on one of the legs. The pool table is still located in the far corner, and save a few slat screen televisions mounted around the room, the decor is untouched.

The only difference was the fact that a variety of people were getting up on the stage, and singing/playing their guts out with a humble ferocity that was truly inspiring to see. I was at The Albert for two hours, and in that time I saw a number of people with truly inspiring talent. A member of our little group got up and played a number of songs on his gorgeous Gibson guitar, making me desperately wish that I would have brought my electric piano.

I forgot to mention that it’s also Happy Hour during this time, and the fact that Moosehead was only $3.25 a bottle helped my mood. Jeff and I both agreed that we want to perform on that stage, and we will return very soon to get another taste of this experience.

It’s funny how one day you can hate a place, and the next day you can love it. My eyes were opened, and I realize now that it’s not right to hold grudges just because I had a few people bug me for cigarettes on a stormy night six years ago. I’m going back to The Albert, I’m getting onstage, and I’m making music with anyone who wants to play along.

An evening in Colombia

I miss my girlfriend, Ashton. During the last term of school, we saw each other every day. We were also inseparable, and it was fantastic.

This summer, she’s been working like crazy and I’ve been writing like crazy. To make matters worse, we don’t exactly live close to one another, making spontaneous visits quite difficult.

When Ash called me Thursday night and asked if I would accompany her to the Colombian Folklorama Pavilion, I didn’t hesitate before saying “yes.” I love anything cultural and different, and it would also be a great opportunity for us to catch up and share some much-needed girl bonding time.

The reason why we chose the Colombian Pavilion is because Ash works with the woman who was in charge of the dancers. Her name is Nubia, and she’s a lovely woman. She actually – believe it or not – brought the dancers for the show all the way from Colombia to perform. They demonstrated a variety of Colombian dances, including a salsa number and a variety of group dances, all of which were well-rehearsed and visually interesting.

After the dancers were finished, Ash and I found ourselves being suddenly and forcefully whisked on stage by two very attractive Colombian dancers. They pulled us – and a few other people from the audience – onstage and made us dance with them. Initially, Ash and I were both a little uncertain about the situation. But, we’re both fairly outgoing ladies, and we rose to the challenge. Afterward, we had our pictures taken with our dance partners. Just in case we happened to forget what they looked like...

There were the usual jewellery and craft items for purchase, all of which were handmade and gorgeous. I caved and bought some Colombian coffee, which was $12 and will probably rock my world. We also tried the Folklorama beer while at the pavilion, and it’s not bad. Not my favourite, but decent and necessary when stuck inside in 40 degree heat.

Overall, I loved visiting the Colombian Pavilion. I don’t get out to very many Folklorama events, which is a shame, but I enjoyed myself immensely.

On top of the experience, I was able to do some bonding with my friend. School starts in two weeks, and I’ll return to seeing her every day, but it was nice to get out, just the two of us. I imagine we’ll be sick of each other by the end of the next school year... but not yet...

I'm published again!

I recently wrote a piece for the Winnipeg Free Press Sunday Edition of the paper. My story appeared today, and if you would like to read it, click on the link here.

It's always nice to wake up in the morning and discover your words in print. I half-knew the story would be in today's edition, so Jeff and I raced to Safeway to purchase a copy as soon as we woke up.

One small step, but I'll take it!

Exploring Alberta

Last weekend, Jeff and I went on a random road trip to Alberta. The initial purpose of the trip was to visit a few friends, but our travels quickly took on a life of their own. We only spent two days in Alberta, but filled the time with a variety of activities that allowed us to experience the largeness of Calgary, the beauty of the Rockies, and everything in between.

It’s been two years since I visited Alberta, and I forgot how beautiful the province is. The drive into Calgary alone is gorgeous, and the mountains in the background are a beautiful backdrop to the massive downtown skyline. Since my last visit, a few more high-rise buildings have been erected, and the Calgary Tower is no longer the tallest building.

I experienced a familiar sense of nostalgia as I navigated Deerfoot Trail, a feeling that was only enhanced when I realized that I would be staying with my childhood best friend, Allie, in an area of the city very close to where I used to live. It’s always weird to return to Calgary, because it looks both the same and different from when I used to live there.

On Saturday, we walked the short distance to Anderson Station, and hopped on a C-Train to downtown. Jeff had never ridden a train before, so this was an important experience for him. I miss the convenience of rapid transit, and hope Winnipeg will actually come up with something similar in the future.

We stopped at Victoria Park Stampede Station, glanced at the Saddledome (where I used to work as a vendor when I was a teenager), and headed down 17th Avenue. It’s basically likely Corydon Ave in Winnipeg, if you’re looking for a comparison.
The afternoon was spent driving and wandering around the South end of the city, visiting various guitar shops, and visiting with friends.

Sunday was the day that we drove to the Rockies. We had two destinations: Banff and Lake Louise. Jeff had never been to either, and none of us had been to Lake Louise, so it was definitely going to be an adventure.

Banff was closer to Calgary, so we stopped there first. It is definitely touristy, and there were people walking in all directions with cameras atop tripod stands. We walked up and down the main street, crossed the bridge and went up the hill, stopped at a quaint coffee shop, and played music down by the river.

Lake Louise was next. My first impression was that it looked like somewhere in Switzerland. The chateau, the glacial lake, and the mountains in the background seemed too beautiful to be real. Jeff, Allie and I all stopped and simply stared at the magnificent view, along with a few hundred other tourists. We took tons of pictures with the lake in the background, and toured the interior of Chateau Lake Louise before the drive back to Calgary.

I was also able to spend time bonding and reuniting with two friends, which was important to me. Allie has been my friend since before I knew what a friend was, and we have been through everything together. We’ve battled cliques, falling for the same guy, narcolepsy, and moving, yet we still can sit and talk as if no time has gone by. That’s truly an amazing gift to have, and she’s definitely a soul mate.

P.S. Thanks for letting me stay with you and Linden, A. We really, really, really appreciate it!

The second friend I was able to see was Rachel, and when I mentioned “reuniting,” I was referring to her. Rachel and I seriously disliked (ok, hated) each other for years, and it’s only been recently that we began to speak again. Part of the reason is because of Facebook, part as a result of our blogs, but I think both Rachel and I finally realized that we have too much in common to ignore.

I love when that happens.

It’s been eight years since we saw each other in person, yet we talked nonstop for hours. I really enjoyed our conversation, and when Jeff and I return to Alberta in the winter, I hope we’ll be able to meet again.

And speaking of winter, Jeff and I have decided that we’re going to the Rockies to snowboard this winter. He’s wanted to do this the last four winters, but something would always come up.

Not this time. We’re going.

Below, I've included a few additional photos of our trip. There were too many to post all of them, so I selected some of my favourites...

A French language lesson

I'm writing a piece about Paris, and had to cut the following anecdote. What are blogs for if not to provide a forum for anything and everything I feel like including...

The most important piece of advice anyone could give to travellers heading to France is this: say bonjour.

Parisians have a reputation of being standoffish and rude to tourists. This stigma isn’t true, but it is the preconceived opinion that they will be rude that makes tourists rude. It turns into a vicious cycle, and in the end, no one is happy.

Trying to use the native language in any foreign country will improve relationships with local residents by leaps and bounds. Even simply saying bonjour, then throwing up ones hands in a “that’s all I know but I really tried” gesture will be enough.

Always remember that you are a tourist in their home country, and not the other way around.

Coffee? Why can't you work with me?

I think it’s safe to say that most people who know me are aware of my intense and turbulent affair with coffee. For the longest time, there was no limit to the amount I could drink on any given day. Cappuccino's, espresso's, mocha's, I love them all.

Recently, however, a dear friend of mine pointed out that it’s possible I drink too much coffee. Initially, I ignored her comments and convinced myself there is nothing wrong with eight cups a day.

But, I am having trouble sleeping - as I’ve written in a few earlier blogs - so it’s becoming necessary for me to pay attention to her warnings.

To get myself thinking about healthy coffee consumption, I researched information about caffeine online. The results were astounding, and here are some of my favourite statistics...

1. 50% of the world’s population drinks some form of caffeinated beverage.
2. Independent coffee shops equal $12 billion in annual sales.
3. In Canada, coffee is more popular among adults than tea, milk, beer, fruit juices, and soft drinks.
4. Canadians drink an average of 2.6 cups per day.
5. Apparently, coffee also helps fight a common cold, puts you in a better mood, helps your memory, and helps you stay alert. Who knew.

I also tried to find a statistic for how long one cup of coffee stays in a person’s system, but no one could agree on an answer. One website said one cup would take 4-6 hours to wear off; another quoted 3 hours.

Either way, I’ve decided it’s necessary to cut back on my coffee intake. When school starts, I will only have two cups a day. That’s a promise.

(The above statistics were taken from the Coffee Association of Canada website. Take them for what they are.)

Bonding with Band of Brothers

I don’t have cable, so my television intake consists of watching movies and renting seasons of televisions shows. A few weeks ago, Jeff and I rented Band of Brothers. We just finished watching it last night, and I want to talk a moment to rave about how good it was.

As both a history-lover and a “war-related specialist,” I was eager to watch this critically-acclaimed miniseries. When it came out in 2001, I was only about 14 years old, and was avidly watching other things. When I started taking history courses at university, my classmates couldn’t believe I hadn’t seen it. I promised I would, and now, three years later, I finally did.

For those of you who aren’t familiar with the miniseries, here’s a bit of background:

The 10 episodes take viewers through the WWII adventures of Easy Company, an American volunteer paratrooper unit. It outlines their activities from the time they first jumped behind enemy lines on D-Day, to the end of their tour at Berchtesgaden, Hitler’s mountain.

All of the actors played real men, many of whom were still alive while Band of Brothers was being filmed. At the beginning of each episode, the real-life soldiers shared memories and anecdotes. Real footage of Easy Company was followed and re-created, and many of the actors even resembled the real soldiers they portrayed.

Overall, it was one of the best depictions of events during the Second World War that I have ever seen.

What about the acting?

The cast included a variety of well-known and unknown actors. Donnie Wahlberg (Dreamcatcher), Ron Livingston (Sex and the City series, Office Space), and Damian Lewis (Dreamcatcher) had lead roles, and each man was fantastic.

I was initially sceptical about Livingston in a title role, and during the first few episodes all I could picture was Berger from Sex and the City. I also wasn’t sure about Wahlberg, but I had already seen his performance as Duddits in Dreamcatcher, and knew that he could act.

I must also admit that I have a huge crush on Damian Lewis. Not because he’s some sort of hunky sex symbol, but because the man can seriously act. He made Dreamcatcher. I was truly terrified of him when he became the creepy alien guy. I was especially scared of the alien’s voice. I did a bit of research, and Lewis is actually English. He was doing an American accent, and then falling back into his traditional voice for the alien. Good work.

Other outstanding actors who stood out for me included Scott Grimes (Robin Hood – 2010), Neal McDonough (88 Minutes), and Frank John Hughes (Catch Me If You Can).

Watch Band of Brothers. It’s worth it...

The special features at the end are also seriously worth a look. Included is the documentary of Easy Company that was produced in conjunction with the miniseries. It features commentary from all of the men still alive today. They share memories and anecdotes as we are taken, step by step, through their journey across Europe.

I will warn you, though, that the documentary is pretty serious stuff. I cried my way through the last thirty minutes. Not because it was horrible to experience, but because watching men remember the war is both saddening and inspiring. It`s important to talk about what happened, but that doesn't make it any easier.

Lest we forget.

Struggles of an attempted novelist

When I started working on my book earlier this summer, there were two main challenges I was forced to deal with before I could start writing. These challenges made it impossible to move forward, and I had to resolve them quickly and efficiently. I thought it would be helpful to outline what I dealt with, in case other writers out there are facing similar situations.

The two challenges I had to deal with were tenses and names. They might seem like simple problems, but trust me, it got complicated once I started thinking.

TENSES – This was the first problem I faced when I sat down at my laptop to start writing an outline. I initially wrote everything in first person. This seemed natural, as I was writing a collection of stories about a specific person. I have read many novels, and the ones in first person always seemed to work out fine.

But, I personally couldn’t write in first person. I was writing about my aunt, and it felt wrong. I’m not her; I’m just writing about her. Using first person implied that everything I was writing was fact, and I’ve made it clear from the beginning that I don’t know all the information. I make up what I can’t uncover, so switching to third person allowed the outline to flow much easier.

NAMES – This was the second problem I faced, and it was significantly more difficult to overcome. After I decided to use third person, it didn’t seem right to use my aunt’s name at all. I was already referring to her as a character in a story, and not my “aunt” specifically, so it made sense to turn her into even more of a character.

In the end, I decided to change her name to Sophia, and it’s a decision I’m quite happy with. I might change it back later, but who knows...

There are two reasons why changing my aunt’s name has made writing easier: 1) because I am no longer attributing thoughts, feelings, and words to my real aunt, but a character, and 2) because I now have the freedom to take liberties with that character. She’s no longer exactly my aunt, but someone based on her.

I understand this must be confusing, and I’m terribly sorry if I’ve lost most of my readers...

Feeling comfortable with what I’m writing has been very important to me since I decided to take on this project. Many classmates came up with cool ideas – including going to South Africa for the World Cup, visiting all the provincial parks in Manitoba, and learning French – but I wanted my IPP to be as personal as possible. And, you can’t get much more personal than writing about the good, bad, and ugly of the life of someone you’re related to.

With that being said, changing the tenses and names in my book has made it so much easier to write. There is still a long way to go, and much editing to be done, but I'm happy about what I'm writing.

Infiltrating the Manitoba Writers' Guild

I have always wanted to be a writer. This summer, I actually am playing the part of a writer, so it made sense to join an organization for writers. Before school ended in April, I paid $25 to become a member of the Manitoba Writers’ Guild, and yesterday, my membership card arrived in the mail.

There are a few perks, of course, but the real reason why I became a member was so I could gradually unite myself with other writers. A published, accomplished author can provide insight and support like no one else. They know what it is like to deal with writers block, tension headaches, and problematic character development. They don’t think that it’s stupid to spend an entire day deciding between first or third person. And, they will spend hours discussing outlines and plot points.

This, of course, is all speculation. I have never been fortunate enough to sit down and have a detailed conversation with a published author. My goal is to do so – now that I have some sort of access to them – but who knows if I’ll ever actually get the conversation I desire.

I’m excited to be a Guild member, because it’s something else to cross off the quickly-expanding IPP checklist. Now I just need to get myself invited to some events so I can schmooze my way to the top!

Writing forward

It’s always rewarding to complete a written draft of a project. It’s also rewarding to discard the old draft, the notes, and the scribbles, replacing them with the new.

While in university, I developed a strange yet satisfying habit. I would write essays by hand, and then re-type them into Microsoft Word. After I finished typing, I would take one, two, sometimes five minutes to rip up each page of the initial draft. Carefully, and meticulously, I would throw the small pieces in the garbage, ensuring each piece was too small to read.

I started doing this for a few reasons...

First, because I can ensure no one will find my rough work. I am very serious about allowing people to read what I have written only after I have edited once. It would be embarrassing to allow a stranger the opportunity to get a hold of my raw, unedited thoughts.

Second, ripping up the draft is symbolic because, at least to me, it represents moving forward. I am getting rid of unnecessary papers that tie me down.

Of course, ripping up my old work also ensures that no one will find it and plagiarize it, but that’s another story...

After three months of hard work, I have finished a completed draft of my book. It is 82,000 words (and counting). I wrote most of the draft on my laptop, but there were moments when a computer was unavailable. Many times, in an attempt to find inspiration, I would bring a notebook and pen to the park and sit by the river. Other times, when I felt like I needed some human interaction, I would jot down notes on the back of napkins while sitting on a patio somewhere.

Now, all the random notes and papers have been typed, ripped up, and discarded, leaving me with a draft that I am proud of.

I know that eventually I’ll rip up this draft as well, and replace it with something better. But for now, it’s nice to take a moment and reflect on all the work I have done, and acknowledge how far I have ventured as both a student and a writer.

Till next time,
Amanda.

Surprising (and simple) ways to cut calories

I usually pay attention to what I eat, but it’s become much more difficult to be healthy since I’ve moved out. Fruits and vegetables aren’t the cheapest things to purchase, and having fresh, usable produce on hand at all times means visiting the grocery store every few days.

There was an article in Chatelaine magazine awhile ago that caught my eye. It discussed many ways to cut up to 500 calories a day. I’ve included some of my favourite...

• Save 50 calories by eating an actual orange instead of drinking glass of orange juice.
• Save 50 calories by using light mayonnaise instead of full-fat on a sandwich.
• Save 75 calories by mixing salad dressing with water.
• Save 100 calories by thickening cream soups with skim milk instead of cream or 2% milk.
• Save 200 calories by eating a grilled chicken burger at fast food restaurants.
• Save 125 calories by sautéing vegetables in broth or wine as opposed to oil.
• Save 75 calories by eating a frozen pudding cup instead of ice cream.
• Save 250 calories by eating biscotti instead of a muffin. Just don’t eat one completely covered in chocolate!

I hope some of these tips are helpful. I’m going to try the sautéing tip tonight, and I think I’ll use wine!

I love summer...

... but I absolutely hate the pile of beer bottles that has accumulated in my kitchen.

And, because I’m stubborn, I refuse to get rid of them myself.

Stupid, stupid beer bottles...

English novel prompts tea party

Recently, I’ve started reading books by John Harvey. He’s pretty much the UK’s version of John Grisham or Jonathan Kellerman, and his books are fantastic if you’re looking for something in the “whodunit” genre.

The only problem with Harvey’s books it that everyone is always drinking tea. Every chapter, on almost every page, the characters are downing enough English Breakfast, Earl Grey, and Orange Pekoe to fuel a small army.

This probably isn’t an issue for most people, but the more I read about tea, the more I want tea. English Breakfast especially is a guilty pleasure of mine, and in the winter I drink it every single day. Halfway through the book I couldn’t stand the craving anymore, so earlier yesterday evening I made a very strong pot of my favourite tea.

And, I thought it would be fun to do it with all the accessories.

The great thing about moving out for the first time is that people are more than willing to give you stuff to help you get on your feet. In my case, I acquired enough kitchen items to fill three households. Included in the many boxes I unpacked were teapot, tea tray, cup and saucer collection, and crystal milk and sugar holders.

If I was going to make tea, I was going to do it in the proper English style.

My boyfriend was a good sport, but I don’t think he appreciated the gesture. Oh well, I tried.