it's the most wonderful-- tv is so distracting.

I'm going home for the holidays after work tomorrow. Which is odd, considering I also consider where I am at this particular moment to be home. I suppose I have two. One is where I find my family, and one is where I find my life (however uneventful).

I should be packing, but I've been distracted by a documentary on the Stratford Festival. I was flipping through channels (how guyish of me) when I heard a very familiar voice speaking in iambic pentameter. For those of you who are aware of my Graham Abbey admiration (I used his bathroom once) and my Stratford obsession, you can understand how the combination of the two makes it impossible to ignore. Jonathan Goad is yelling right now. Michael Therriault is hitting someone. Apparently, I'm some theatre geek who regards theatre actors as highly as movie stars. If Shakespeare were alive today, he'd need to take out a restraining order on me.

Now Graham (yes, it's a first-name basis. I have his phone number. That makes us the bestest friends ever) is killing Jonathan. Now Graham is dead. I love theatre.

I suppose this is a blog to wish you all a Merry Christmas, and to not expect any great blogging wisdom from me until the new year. Unless I find myself incredibly bored, in front of a computer, inspired with witticisms like none I've ever typed. In such a case, I may post a sentence or two.

I shall leave you with my thoughtss:

• Today, I heard the song "Itsy-Bitsy, Teeny-Weeny, Yellow Polka-Dot Bikini" in French.
• I had a conversation with someone who speaks little English yet was able to use the word "serendipitous" correctly in a sentence.
• A homeless man on roller skates shouted "Farts to you all!" as he sped down Queen Street.
• I'm reading a biography on Cary Grant (born Archie Leach). Not really my type of guy, what with the abuse, perfectionism, bisexuality, LSD use, cheapness and alleged nose job. But he wore suits well. I will give him that.
• She just kissed Graham. Stage-kissing cracks me up. I'm surprised they didn't do the finger-over-the-mouth trick. There are no commercial breaks. How am I ever going to pack?
  
• My boss thinks it's funny to respond with "Patience, grasshopper, patience" whenever I e-mail him with a job-related concern.
• We sang "Jingle Bells" at church on Sunday. Thanks, Mom and Dad, for not naming me Jingle. Or "Carol of the."

I must go now. To pack. After the Stratford thing decides to end. Which it might not. Ever.

Unintentionally Amusing

The umbrella is broken. So goes my life.

My haircut is hideous. Again, how completely new an experience for me. I swear, I am not meant for vanity. Joel said he’d give me $10 to shave my head. Tempting. And apparently golden blonde streaks are supposed to blend in my light brown roots with my strawberry blonde ends. I must have failed colour math. I go back tomorrow to fix things. I’m terrified.

A friend from university called last night. As we were chatting about all things career, portfolio, risk-taking, Brian McLaren, The Devil Wears Prada and men (or lack thereof), she stopped me mid-conversion twice to make me write down what I was saying. I don’t usually quote myself (as I don’t usually remember what I’ve said), but since she encouraged me to transcribe my own quasi-amusing observations about my life, I shall share with you my words of greatness:

“I would totally give up film to bake cakes and sew my kids matching outfits.”*

“I shouldn’t spend so much time thinking about my hair. But I do because it’s always bad.”

*I would like to add a footnote to the first quote. I will probably be more of a steamed-veggies-and-Sears-catalogue kind of mother. Kirstie Alley took a break from acting to bake cakes and she ended up in a bikini on Oprah. Not something I aspire to.

And Beth, I wish I had some sort of phenomenal Christmas movie recommendation, but there doesn’t seem to be a clear must-see of the season. Personally, I loved The Prestige and The Departed. Dreamgirls has a lot of Oscar buzz around it, and Letters from Iwo Jima (Clint Eastwood’s counterpart to Flags of our Fathers) just won the top prize at the Critics Choice Awards. So if you’re up for a Japanese war movie (written by Ontario boy Paul Haggis), that might be worth checking out. My brother thinks Casino Royale is one of the best action movies he’s ever seen. And if you want to dance, watch Happy Feet.

I'm scheduled for a conference call with the Philippines at 8 a.m. tomorrow, so now I'm going to watch the finale of Top Chef and go to bed...

Good night, Moon.

Wonders Never Cease

The umbrella is back.

A really sweet girl on the German team borrowed her roommate’s umbrella last week. At the end of the day, she went to bring it home, but realized she wasn’t really sure what her roommate’s umbrella looked like. So she took mine. All is sorted out and forgiven; I ended up having a pretty upbeat day, knowing that tomorrow is going to be rainy and I won’t be wet.

I feel like I should be hosting a “Welcome Home” party or something. An umbrella has never returned to me before.

Yesterday, Today, and....

This morning

Last night, I managed to set my alarm clock for 6pm instead of 6am. Fortunately, I have a slightly functioning internal alarm system and I woke up at 6:44, wondering how much time I had left to doze before the alarm went off (11 hours and 16 minutes, apparently). So my morning was one of franticness, but I am extremely proud to say that I was showered, dressed, presentable (makeup but no blow-dry; I went for the ponytail look), fed (full breakfast and vitamins; breakfast is my non-negotiable), and out the door by 7:20. Yep, I did it. The girl who took over an hour and a half to get ready for high school took 36 minutes to get ready. Of course, I didn’t make my bed this morning. But I never, ever made my bed in high school.

Yesterday

I saw Babel yesterday. I’m still not sure what I think of it. I think it was good. Sometimes I go to movies because I really want to see them, and sometimes I go because I think it’s going to be critically important among the mass of that year’s releases. So I certainly didn’t go to be entertained.

It was long. Literally, yes, it was over two and a half hours, but it happened to feel even longer. And there was something a little off about the pacing of the storytelling at times.

For those of you who know very little of the story (as I did), it’s a multi-narrative piece that explores the confusion of language and culture within three very different stories and geographical areas. There’s the American tourist couple facing death in rural Morocco, the Mexican immigrant nanny (illegal, naturally) trying to make it to her son’s Mexican wedding with her American charges in tow, and the deaf-mute Japanese teenager desperate for sex/love in Tokyo. I don’t really feel like telling you too much about either of these stories as I’m not sure how much would be giving too much away.

The Moroccan story was by far the most captivating. It could have been an entire film in itself. Dad, if you’re reading this, you should probably see the film just for the Morocco scenes. I don’t think much has changed since you were there. Not typically a Brad Pitt fan, I can confidently admit that the man is brilliant in the film. Award-worthy. He is finally in a role that reflects his age (he’s 20 years older than me. I appreciate being reminded of that), and gives him the opportunity to be passionate and rugged and rough around the edges and imperfect and human. And Cate Blanchett is one of the greatest actresses on the planet, so the two of them together were pretty phenomenal. Almost as powerful were the performances of two young Moroccan boys, caught up in an international news story thanks to boyhood curiosity and mischief.

Mexico was also interesting, mostly because you know that the little blond children being scuttled across the border are the offspring of Brad and Cate. I’m usually not a fan of American child actors (the British are far more eloquent and endearing), but these kids won me over. It’s also a story slightly closer to home (literally and figuratively), as I live in a multicultural city and witness the interactions between cultures every day.

Japan was my issue. It felt very redundant. The pacing was a little ADD at times (to capture the essence of the ecstasy/rave scene, I guess), and yet it never really said anything. I was getting frustrated, wanting to shake the girl and break it to her that hearing and speech will not cure her of boylessness. I have always been able to hear and speak and yet boys at raves don’t make out with me either. And the absence of underwear will, I’m afraid, get her some attention one day, but not the kind worth getting. I also didn’t really care that her mom was dead. And then I didn’t like myself for not caring.

I realize that the Japanese story wanted to expose the lost within their own people and culture. The problem was, that against the other two stories, especially the one with Cate Blanchett clinging to her life, I didn’t really care if anyone ever thought the deaf girl was seduction-worthy.

If you have the money and the time, check out two-thirds of the film. Kidding. I give you permission to see it all.

'Tis the Season?

Two things:

1. My umbrella was stolen today. Or it ran away. I hung up my umbrella to dry at work, and at the end of the day, it was gone. Clearly, I have no umbrella skills. I'm not sure if I should take this personally.
2. I'm feeling a little gross. Too much peanut butter and sugar. I wonder how the Martha Stewarts of the world can do their Christmas baking without licking all those spoons. I'm loving the whole domestic thing. Yeah for Christmas. I'd bake instead of subtitle any day.

Off to hang out with my Swiffer. It has been far more faithful than my recent string of umbrellas.

Child's Play

Okay, so a couple blogs back I mentioned that I wanted to embrace my inner child. Here’s what I’ve observed since then:

1. I watched a small gang of children beating up a pylon. Yes, folks, a pylon.

2. While not really watching it this season, I was slightly disappointed that the finale of Dancing with the Stars isn’t a showdown between Joey Lawrence and Mario Lopez. What could be a greater guilty pleasure than a Blossom vs. Saved by the Bell dance-off?

3. I was busy subtitling a mid-nineties non-cool TV show this morning when I got an e-mail from a coworker. For the sake of all involved, I have changed names. The conversation:

Bob: Hey Nadine, do you think Frank’s cute? He called me chicken, so I had to ask.

Me: This reminds me of the fourth grade. Maybe the third. He may have called you chicken, but he's the one who has a buddy doing his dirty work for him...

Bob: Ouch, I guess that's a no, huh?

I then went on to explain that to say no would be cruel, but to say yes would be to imply something. I therefore embraced my right to remain silent and started wondering where I should go for my cootie shot. Do boys ever grow up?

Thought to ponder (for the men out there): Don’t ask manipulative questions like, “Do you think I’m cute?” That puts us in an awkward position. Awkwardness does not evolve into passionate love. It evolves into me ignoring you. Be a man. Take a chance. Read Wild at Heart and then live dangerously. If you don’t have the guts to ask me out, I’m not interested in your little games. The end.

Beyond Dukes of Hazzard

In response to Beth’s comment, I shall blog about TV. Since it is my day job, I watch it all day long. I didn't bother with the obvious ones. You know, the CSIs and Law and Orders. They're reliable standbys when nothing else is on (which is surprisingly more often than you'd expect.) Wendy and I used to spend our Sunday evenings watching Law and Order: CI (more specifically, watching Vincent D'Onofrio), asking ourselves where all the sexy/smart/manly men were. Then we realized we went to Guelph and laughed.

Below are some thoughts and favourites. In no particular order (with the exception of the first one):

1. Lost. It rocks. I was shown the pilot episode in college a couple of weeks before it ever aired on TV, so I like to claim that I was one of its first fans. I’m not usually into the whole sci-fi thing, but this is too well written/acted to ignore. If you’re not into the show, you must rent the first season. Then you will understand. The cast is also pretty. It’s not a prerequisite for great TV, but it certainly helps. Its creator, J.J. Abrams, is my hero (Wrote Regarding Henry and Armageddon, created Felicity and Alias, directed M:I:III. And he's still young. He gets around).

2. Studio 60 on the Sunset Strip. My main beef with this show is that it airs at 10 and I like to go to bed then. Unfortunately, the time slot has kept me from catching too many episodes, but from what I’ve seen, I don’t understand why the ratings aren’t fantastic.
• Exhibit A: Aaron Sorkin. The guy who brought us A Few Good Men, The American President, and The West Wing. That Aaron Sorkin. One of the best writers out there. Gotta love those witticisms.
• Exhibit B: I love behind-the-scenes stuff. I know that historically, fans don’t like these kinds of shows, but I’m not Middle America and I do.
• Exhibit C: There’s a Christian character with a job in the entertainment industry. It’s about time. Oh, and I love Matthew Perry.

3. Project Runway and Top Chef. The best reality shows out there. Why? Because they’re about skill, not eating bugs or hooking up. And because I secretly want to be able to design, sew and cook like that.

4. Medium. It’s coming back soon, people. I know this may be a shocker to you (I’m not really into the whole psychic scene), but this show is so well constructed, I can’t help but be sucked in. I would like to nominate the characters for a “Best Family on TV Award”, with a special award going to actor Jake Weber for “Best Husband on TV Ever.” If I was fictional, I would marry him.

5. Numb3rs. Math is sexy. Who knew?

6. Cold Case and Without a Trace. I actually care about the back stories of the investigators. I enjoy crime shows that are character-driven. And they have awesome guest stars (Ele Keats, the love interest in Newsies, and George Newbern, the fiancé in Father of the Bride and an uber-cool Christian actor, were in last week’s Cold Case.)

I haven't caught Heroes yet (I've been told it's the best new show this season). The Nine, from the couple episodes I've seen, looks pretty cool (the flashbacks don't work as well as they do in Lost, though). Ugly Betty, while it's based on a Columbian telenovela, feels too much like a Devil Wears Prada rip-off to me. It's cute, but not all that compelling.

I'm also well-versed in the crappiest television ever produced from the fifties to today. Not all TV watching is voluntary. That's when the element of entertainment is destroyed.

Off to watch TV...

Off to watch more TV...

Wicked

I almost cried last night. And considering I can often be a bit of an emotional stump, this was a big deal. And not a “my life sucks” cry either. I’ll call it a “Somewhere Over the Rainbow” tear.

About a week ago, a friend who used to work in subtitling (but has since seen the light and found employment elsewhere) emailed me. She offered me a free ticket to see Wicked. Yes, Wicked, the show I’ve wanted to see for so long. Unfortunately, since I’ve been broke for even longer, I could never find a way to justify spending $100 on one evening.

We went last night. It was amazing. Absolutely amazing. I sound like Katie Holmes describing her Tom in one adjective over and over, but in my case, it’s completely true and non-creepy. The music was phenomenal (new adjective); the talent was so good it was intimidating. I felt like a 9-year-old version of myself, completely caught up in the magic of the theatre.

For those who know nothing of the show, it’s essentially the untold story of the witches of Oz. The whole concept was carried out so smartly and hilariously. It also managed to challenge perspectives and superficial judgments without becoming a public service announcement. I was ready to see it again the moment it was over. And for one short night, I actually had a life.

The crowded theatre (it’s pretty much a sold-out tour) was on its feet the entire curtain call. And that’s when I almost cried. Because if I was a little girl, I would see that and decide that that was exactly what I wanted to do with my life. That I wanted to be taking that bow. And because I’m not, instead I woke up at 6 and subtitled ‘80s television. I think I realized that I stopped letting myself dream. Somehow I allowed myself to believe the lie that the life I’m leading now is the only life that’s out there for me.

Last night was magical. I’m going to embrace my inner 9-year-old more often.

Scary

I know it's Halloween weekend and all, but tonight I saw something truly terrifying on television.

W-Five did an exposé on a "Christian" cult in Hamilton. As I watching, I thought I saw a familiar face in the congregation. Sure enough, one of my high school friends is caught up in this movement that has convinced her to cut all ties with her family (to the point of telling her younger siblings that she will never see them again).

The "pastor" has twisted the word of God to isolate a congregation of young adults into thinking that not being of the world means turning your back on everyone outside of their group. That leaving is the equivalent of leading others astray, and that it would be better that they die than influence others to follow them leaving. The entire thing was completely disturbing.

It's strange how it took a familiar face to move me, as if these people weren't real until they were actually connected to me. I babysat this friend's younger siblings; her parents are incredible godly individuals.

I'm usually pretty skeptical of secular (esp. television) perspectives on evangelical movements. I saw a program that made Ron Luce look a little insane. But I genuinely believe something very dangerous is going on.

If you read the linked article, you may recognize the name of my friend. Even if you don't, pray. This does not ring true of who God is. And I'm scared for her.

Short Stories

Random string of thoughts for your reading (or skimming) pleasure.

Umbrella

Once upon a time, there was a girl with an umbrella problem. She tried desperately to be faithful to her umbrellas, but time and time again, her umbrellas would fail her. They would break; they would disappear. Determined to not be the source of discord in her relationships with umbrellas, when she met one she liked recently, she committed herself immediately to a one-year live-in experience with it. Apparently, the umbrella was overwhelmed by such an arrangement, and after a few short months, unraveled. If ever she experiences a one-year anniversary with an umbrella, she will invite her friends over to celebrate, with a particularly sentimental song being serenaded by a Mr. Gene Kelly in the background.

When it rains…

The Subway

On my way to church on Sunday, a guy on the subway started talking to me. I take that back. He started talking at me. He wouldn’t stop. It was obvious that the rambling was going to end with him asking me out, but I had a suspicion he might run out of air first. A very truncated version:

Him: Hello. Quite the day, huh? It just keeps raining. At least you have an umbrella. You’ll all over that. Not a problem, huh? But it’s a good weekend. My name’s Malcolm, by the way. What’s yours? (I mutter the truth. I can’t lie on the spot). That's such a pretty name. It really is. What did you do this weekend? Anything special? (I believe I utter a “Not really.”) Oh, that’s too bad. You really should. So….

At this point, I see my brother waiting for me. We go to church together most Sundays. I wave a little too enthusiastically and Malcolm is gone. I mean, utterly and completely out of my life forever. He didn’t know if I was single when he started (good assumption though), nor did he know who Joel was (bad assumption there), but I guess the presence of another guy was enough to drive him away.

Boyfriends

1. Why do only strangers flirt with me? I tend to get asked out solely by men who don’t know me. In fact, a semi-friend once said to me (while stroking my perm in a bar, but let’s not go there) that if he didn’t know me, he’d ask me out. Clearly, I must be greatly lacking in the personality department.
2. In high school, around Valentine’s Day, candygrams were all the rage. And every year, I got nadda. In my senior year, the selected candy was Smarties (also my personal drug of choice). I was sent a candygram. It was from Christian Bale. Fake boyfriends rock.

Baleheads

Yeah, they exist. My friends discovered them online when we were Googling Christian Bale back in the day. I’ve spent many a sleepover singing along to Newsies, swooning over Little Women and tapping my feet to Swing Kids. He is the reason for my nine-year range (It’s really a one-way only thing. I’m not into 14 year olds).

The Prestige

Finally, it’s decent-movie time at the theatres. After loving The Departed last week, I was pleasantly entertained by The Prestige this weekend. I happen to be a pretty big Christopher Nolan fan (and we all know how I feel about Mr. Bale), and while the film reached nowhere near the genius of Memento, it had plenty of twists and turns to keep me captivated. Some thoughts (without giving away any of the plot):

• Christian Bale was brilliant. And complex. It was nice to see real within-the-character conflict without any forced tears or that constipated look that actors tend to give when they want us to see their inner pain.
• Scarlett Johansson is fading into her own hype. She went from dynamic actress to sultry, pouty, corseted wallpaper. Piper Perabo was far better (and prettier).
• Sometimes, filmmakers don’t give an audience enough credit. Some things (including a major plot twist) were explained to death. We get it. I got it twenty minutes before they told me what to get.
• The British actress (Rebecca Hall) rocked. All the other women were Americans with accent coaches.
• Go see it. It’s fun. And it has the whole Nolan-screwing-with-time-while-screwing-with-your-mind element you love. Or should love if you don’t.

Miscellaneous

I made chicken parmesan and an oven omelet this weekend. My new calling is housewife (I believe the ladies on SNL would call it “a stay-at-home non-mom”). I just need a husband and a house.

Enjoy your Tuesday.

The Joy of the Sick Day

Since I spent the past week in various states of illness, I didn’t bother to blog. I barely bothered to breathe, in fact, as it was such an effort. For those who care, I am now happily almost-healthy and quite easily made it through a 10-hour workday today.

I approached this past grossness of being a little differently than I would under normal-Nadine circumstances. I decided to stop needing to be in control and all organized and put together and just accept a temporary life of congestion and weariness. I rented movies. I went to the grocery store in *gasp* sweats and no makeup. I schlepped around my apartment and didn’t even consider cleaning the bathroom (my weekly weekend ritual). And so, despite the fact that I had to cancel an afternoon with Meredith (I’ll make it up, I promise), and that Schindler’s List was possessed and kept skipping huge scenes (Blockbuster will make it up to me, I’ll make sure of it), I managed to appreciate my time being out of commission.

The heat is on in my apartment. By “heat” I mean “sauna.” I actually woke up in the middle of the night with sweaty kneepits (the area behind the knee. I guess it would be “legpits” if you want to be all technical). The temperate situation is strange here. It’s flannel in the summer, tank tops in the winter. Because of the sweltering conditions, I made myself leave yesterday. Still slightly stuffed and out of it, I made it to church (which was a little stranger than usual: the pastor just read the first three chapters of Ephesians. No commentary whatsoever), and then headed to the movies with Joel.

Okay, people. Go see The Departed. It’s the best drama of the year so far. Seriously. And if you hate Leonardo DiCaprio (as most guys do, which is clearly a sign of massive insecurity), you’ll be blown away by how brilliant he can actually be. He and Scorsese make a pretty phenomenal team (see Gangs of New York, The Aviator), and this film is their best pairing yet. The pacing and storytelling was the best I’ve seen in a long time. It’s a long movie that never once felt long. The acting was pitch-perfect: Mark Wahlberg, Matt Damon, Alec Baldwin, Martin Sheen, Jack Nicholson. Man, I would have paid to work on that set. So unless you have a hard time with language or gun violence, go. It’s worth your money. And you probably have more money than me. So your money is worth less than mine.

That is all. I’m reading The Notebook to balance out the organized-crime exposure. The movie is better. That doesn’t happen often.

Seacrest out.

In Sickness and In Health

Of all days, today had to be the crazy we’re-all-gonna-die day on the Danforth line.

I went to bed at 8pm last night. You’d think such a move would allow me to wake up refreshed. No such luck. Instead, I slept in 45-minute segments, tossing and turning and reaching for the Kleenex box all night long.

I spent the day barely breathing, sneezing often. Work was crazy/busy. Did I mention I couldn’t breathe?

I left after 9 hours. The weatherman (with whom I have a love/hate relationship) warned me earlier that it’s going to rain every day this week after today, so despite my congestion, I headed to the grocery store.

It took me two hours longer than usual to get to Food Basics (cheese is cheap this week and nothing was going to stop me). Apparently, someone left a briefcase on the platform of the Donlands station (my station). Of course, all briefcases are packed with explosives, and so five stations were shut down (two on either side of it), choppers flew overhead, and shuttle buses tries to shuffle 7000 commuters through Greektown. Yeah, it sucked.

By the time I got to the grocery store, it was dark and cold and the food was all picked over. I bought too much for my weak little arms to slug all the way home (I’m sick, remember?), but I pretended to be a trooper and managed to not make too many faces as the bags cut into my hands.

I know this sounds whiny. And I hate sounding whiny. And I really did have a pretty great weekend. I just didn’t sleep much, and now I’m suffering the consequences of the lack of zzz’s.

So here’s what I’m thankful for (in no order and by no means conclusive):

• Fresh produce in my fridge
• An awesome family (immediate and extended)
• Hayrides
• Pumpkin pie
• Stephanie letting me sleep on her floor (the basement is evil)
• Dinner at the adult table (finally!)
• A full workday
• Slippers and hot tea
• Sunshine at an outdoor wedding
• My scarf and gloves at an outdoor wedding
• Late-night conversations when I should be sleeping
• Walks in the woods with my grandparents
• Discounted Lego
• Decongestant

I’m off to bed now. If I can sleep. I’m also thankful for my bed. And my Bible. And Jesus. And I happen to be very thankful for that time at the end of the day that I spend sitting in bed, reading my Bible and talking to Jesus. It’s a pretty great combo. I suggest you all try it.

Doodlebops

Check this out. I almost worked on this show. Okay, maybe not almost. I had an interview about a year and a half ago for a position I was completely unqualified for. It was just a little CBC kids show then, but has since hit the bigtime (I'm talking Today Show concert, people). And since John Mayer is my sensitive-singer/songwriter crush, I find this quite amusing.

If only I knew how to troubleshoot their website. And had a car. I could have been part of that...

Lost in Africa

I was going to post about the random pop-culture knowledge I've acquired in the past week or so and the continued adventures in eyeglass-purchasing and better-job hunting, but it all seems so trivial now.

My friend Graydon is in Tanzania, starting a ministry at its university's campus. He's an adventurous guy, a Croc Hunter in training really (the accent is his party trick).

He and one of his teammates went missing in the jungle for two days.

Read about it. His story is way cooler than any of mine.

I want to join the flying circus...

I think I have a crush on John Cleese. The highlight of my workday was Cleese, as a drunk director, talking about a movie he was making:

This film is basically pro-humanity and anti-bad things. And it rips aside the hypocritical façade of our society's gin and tonic and leaves a lot of sacred cows rolling around in agony.

That is all. For now.

Time for a Story

It’s Sunday and it’s not raining. And I love walking. Church is over, and I decide to walk home.

This guy starts walking toward me. He yells something out, either, “I like you stay here,” or “I like your straight hair.” Either way, I’m not exactly swept off my feet. I keep walking.

He gets closer. I walk faster. Then he pulls out four shiny watches. Yes, folks. Those “Wanna buy a watch?” people exist, and they’re after me. I guess he was checking out my bare wrists or something.

Since I couldn’t really understand a single thing he said, I just smiled, shook my head and kept walking. All the way home.

That is my story. The end.

TIFF summary

Thanks to the all-weekend partying of the guy in the apartment behind mine, I’m afraid I’m too tired to write a very cohesive summary of the Sleeping Dogs premiere. Hopefully point form will be easier to understand.

• I’m an “assistant art director,” folks, not a production assistant. This is a very big deal. I can ask for more money next time :)
• My big-screen debut has me picking at cheesecake in the background of a restaurant scene.
• The movie was worthy of being proud of.
• My vomit scene was cut (I made the vomit, I didn’t do the vomiting). The vomit residue, however, was there throughout the film.
• I am now the proud owner of a Sleeping Dogs trucker hat and soundtrack. I could get used to this thing called “swag.”
• None of the creepy crew who want to date me made it to the after-party. Which meant that I actually enjoyed myself. Until it rained (I was on the patio).
• I think I’m officially addicted to moviemaking. I have to do it again.

For those in the KW area, it should be premiering at the Princess Cinema in early October. I’ll keep you posted on details.

I'm off to bed. As long as the guy on the other side of the wall doesn't decide to break out the dance tunes with his buddies (like Friday night). Or the guitar serenades for his girlfriend (last night). Sheesh. Why can't we all have no lives and sleep at night?

The Circle of Life

A side note before I begin: My roommate in first year university and I had an ongoing argument about who was better, Elton John or Phil Collins. It all came down to The Lion King vs. Tarzan. Elton John is the right answer.

Second side note: Brad Pitt does not eat in the food court and Jude Law does not shop at Sears. No celeb sightings for me yet.

Back on track.

I bought glasses today. Again. This time, I went to the Bay. They don’t let you return your glasses. I figured that this was better for me. I don’t know if it’s the frustration with work or what, but lately I’ve found myself wound just a little too tight. I over-think, over-plan, second-guess and put far too much importance on inconsequential things. So I bit the bullet and bought a pair. I will wear them. They don’t look weird on me and I don’t look like I’m trying to be too hip or too geeky or too futuristic or too ancient. The frames also happened to be 50% off, allowing me to buy a brand I normally couldn’t afford to even try on. I’m one of those people who tend to be anti-brand, mostly out of budgetary necessity. I did manage to stay away from Gucci and Prada though (if the devil wears it, it probably won’t look good on me).

I was paying for my eyes (the lady put them as a rush order after she learned that I wanted to wear them to a movie premiere) when I heard an all-too-familiar voice next to me. The guy (I was going to call him a man, but I just can’t do it) who sold me my first pair of glasses at Lenscrafters (after walking away from me, insulting my budget and disagreeing with my choices) was applying for a job.

I’m trying to be more thankful. Today I was thankful that I bought glasses before the Bay hired a new salesman.

Quite the Spectacle

Sometimes, you just need a mom.

I went to the eye doctor’s today. I was slightly concerned that she would tell me I was slowly going blind considering I stare at a computer all day. Instead, she said my eyes felt strained at the end of the day because my glasses were too strong! Yes, folks, my magical eyeballs are improving. Very happy news.

Lenscrafters is next doors to the optometrist’s. No coincidence there. The sales people were eager and absolutely not helpful. I decided on a pair I thought were quasi-hip (not quite Lisa Loeb, but certainly worthy of a guitar or paintbrush). The salesperson said they looked great, I paid way too much, and then walked around the mall for an hour as they got them ready.

For some reason, I started to feel very unsettled. As I wandered through stores aimlessly, I could no longer remember what my new glasses looked like. All I could picture was Harry Potter (I was wearing a striped scarf today; that must have been the influence).

Sure enough, when I got back to Lenscrafters, something just wasn’t right. I tried them on and the arms (is that what they’re called?) seemed to jut out from my head. There was a massive gap between the arms and my scalp, as if my head had shrink significantly in the hour I was away. Then I did what every girl buying glasses must do: I put my hair up. The glasses barely hooked around my ears; the arms’ width forced my ears to pull a Will Smith.

The lady fitting me kept encouraging me, reminding me of their 30-day satisfaction guarantee. I was about to take her advice and take them home to try them out, when inspiration hit me. I leaned in toward her, and looked her straight in the eye:

“Do these glasses really fit me? Pretend you’re my mom.”

Asking someone to represent your mother puts a lot of responsibility on their shoulders. She could no longer be a smiley salesperson. She had to be honest.

“Not really. They’re too big.”

Who needs a 30-day guarantee? I returned them immediately and headed home. I still need glasses, but now I’ve decided that I want them to fit me.

Moonlighting, the Movie and Men.

Moonlighting

David: I remember when they told Sylvia Plath, "Hey, Syl, cheer up!" I remember when they told e. e. cummings, "e, baby; use caps!" But did ol' e listen? No. Little n. Little o.

One of the advantages to subtitling for a living is getting an exposure to shows and films I wouldn’t normally see. Of course, this can also be the downside (a tip for you all: Never see Little Man). And while it’s a pain to title because they speak about 30,000 words a second, I’ve become quite the fan of Moonlighting. There’s something about the rapid banter that slays me. Yes, slays me. So when I heard that FOX was promoting a new show of a similar nature, I made a point to watch it. Big mistake.

Standoff is not Moonlighting. There is no banter. There is no wit. There is no overlapping dialogue. There is no Cybill Shepherd. There is no rhyming assistant. And worst of all, there is no URST. The whole chemistry thing is usually do to Unresolved Sexual Tension. If your first episode reveals that partners are sleeping together, the shark is jumped. It’s over. No tension. I don’t care. And did I mention it’s not witty?

Multiple thumbs down.

The Movie

I stood in line for over an hour today. Outside. In partial rain. It was the first day of ticket sales for the Toronto Film Fest and I didn’t want to miss out on the movie I worked on. Not that it’s necessarily going to be the first film to sell out (I mean, come on, Brad Pitt’s coming to TO), but I’d rather be safe. I bought one lonely ticket. I figure that if anyone wants to come, they can pick up their own. I can’t risk the financial loss if my indecisive friends back out.

If you’re coming, let me know. This leads to my next thought…

Men

No, I’m not going to lament the single life in the city. I usually enjoy it. Here’s the issue: There’s going to be a party after the premiere. I’m dateless. This typically wouldn’t be an issue, but considering that the associate producer, sound guy, 1^st AD, and one of the lead actors all asked me out on the shoot, I’m really not looking forward to venturing alone into their company. It’s just so weird. It was clearly a process of elimination for these gentlemen. I was the only non-lesbian under 40 working on the film. I’ve got a female friend from college who’s volunteered to come with me, which is great, but I wish I didn’t have to even worry about such things. There should be some database available of really great guys who are willing to be stand-in boyfriends for nice Christian girls who just want to avoid the advances of slightly creepy men. Is it dishonest to keep looking at my watch, mentioning that I’m waiting for my husband? It’s kind of true…

Half Nelson.

All of a sudden--for no good reason, really, except that I was sort of in the mood for horsing around--I felt like jumping off the washbowl and getting old Stradlater in a half nelson. That's a wrestling hold, in case you don't know, where you get the other guy around the neck and choke him to death, if you feel like it. So I did it.

Catcher in the Rye – J.D. Salinger

I’m reading Catcher in the Rye right now. I found it quite amusing that it described a half nelson for me…

I left work early today. I just couldn’t stand it anymore. I was the only subtitle editor left in the office by 3:30 (only three of us had work anyway), and the tediousness of having nothing to do was getting on my nerves. So I went to the movies.

Half Nelson.

The movie’s not a particularly entertaining one. It’s a little slow. The plot is pretty simple and subtle.

The acting was brilliant. If I were the type to throw in profanity before my adjectives for emphasis, I would have added something before “brilliant.” But since I don’t, I’ll add “very.” The acting was very brilliant. As was the character development.

It was a pretty intimidating experience actually, watching perfectly written characters with their fully developed lives. With so little happening at times (if you call nothing being a grade-8 teacher doing drugs in the girls’ change room), it felt like I was just observing real people living lives so obviously destined for (if no intervention) self-destruction.

Thumbs up if you’re into the indie-movie scene. And Ryan Gosling completely deserves an Oscar.

Maybe I should go write something. Or start acting again. I had to light a cigarette once for a play. Apparently, my first try was pretty pathetic.

I feel as though sitcom writing just doesn’t measure up after that…

I Have Teeth. But No Style. Yet.

I went to the dentist today. This is a slightly (or very) big deal, as I now have benefits at work and am no longer showing up as my father's dependent. The last time I went to the dentist, the paperwork that got filed listed me as my father's common law wife. Too weird and disturbing.

Apparently my Diet Coke habit has yet to erode my teeth (I specifically brought this up). No cavities for me, yet again. The dentist's assistant took me aside when the dentist left the room and explained to me that I am going to get cancer from the aspartame. She was so serious. I was trying so hard not to laugh. She said she couldn't explain why, but it would happen. I drink a lot of water and tea, too. She made it sound like I snort, inject, and binge on aspartame.

I also went to the mall. I tried stuff on. Some of it fit. I bought nothing. I'm trying to decide if I should look all hip and chic for the film festival (tickets go on sale on the 6th - Sleeping Dogs plays Thursday the 14th, and Saturday the 16th - let me know if you're coming), or I should look broke and desperately in need of work. Maybe I should dress up like a sleeping dog. Or like Cate Blanchett or Reese Witherspoon and sneak into one of their parties.

That was my day. Work was slow. I worked on Smallville today. I'll admit it's a pretty decent little teen drama. I actually like Tom Welling better than Brandon Routh. More interesting.

A Story For Your Monday Evening

I would like to tell you all a story. So gather ‘round, children.

Once upon a time (three years ago or so), I was spending my afternoon in the Christian clubs’ office at the University of Guelph. Did I have class? Probably, but the disintegrating couches were much more appealing, and I didn’t have much energy to walk across campus to wherever else I was supposed to be. But I digress.

My dear friend Adam (who just got engaged – congrats!) came in, eager to share some news. This was our conversation as I recall it:

Adam: You’ll never guess who came into Starbucks the other day.
Me: The blond guy from Breaker High.

I have never seen such a face of disbelief in my entire life. As some know (and others many eventually find out), I have a great guessing ability. And I guess with confidence. So if I’m playing a trivia game with you, and I correctly answer the most obscure question you’ve ever heard, it was probably a guess disguised as knowledge.

Back to Adam. I was right. Ryan Gosling (then only of Breaker High and Young Hercules fame) had ordered coffee at the Burlington Starbucks he worked at. And I was quite proud of my guess. I did rob him of his story, though. There was no big reveal. Perhaps I should have guessed Chuck Norris instead.

My last post (and the subsequent comments) inspired this little tale. I hope you all enjoyed it. And for those of you who don’t know, Gosling was in the Mickey Mouse Club along with Britney Spears, Justin Timberlake and Christina Aguilera. He’s come a long way…

Saturday. Not much to show for it.

“Welcome, shepherds, and thank you for shopping at seller.”

That’s what I thought she said. Apparently, it was:

“Welcome, shoppers, and thank you for shopping at Zellers.”

I walked to Zellers today, hoping to buy storage solutions that are apparently only available at Ikea. This particular shopping centre happens to be the cheapest, brand-less and sketchiest I’ve been to in a while. All clothing was polyester, the food court was no-name grease, and the bulk food was over-priced. Hardly a successful trip, but it got me out of my apartment.

Other updates/thoughts:

• I know Swiffers are contributing to the trash problems in our world, but I bought one today. My new toy. I love it.
• I hate meeting people through email. I feel like I’m writing a cover letter instead of just saying hello.
• If you wear the wrong shade of lipstick, your teeth can appear quite yellow. Be warned.
• I need to see Half Nelson. Ryan Gosling is the new Christian Bale.
• I applied for a job. I had an interview. Then they got rid of the position.
• By the way, I totally called the Benji win on So You Think You Can Dance?
• Pluto is no longer a planet. Grade school teachers everywhere are desperately trying to write catchy new solar-system jingles.
• Peter’s Friends is a pretty great little British movie. You can only see it on VHS. And I love Hugh Laurie. And Kenneth Branagh. And Emma Thompson. It’s full of that depressing humor I can relate to all too well:
• “It's like kindergarten, school, university, black hole.”
• Boys in cars with loud stereos will holler at you if you have blonde hair. They drive right past if you have auburn hair. Girls, in an effort to make our roads safer (and quieter), let’s all ditch the blonde.
• I sliced my hand open on a broken glass while washing the dishes. Being domestic is dangerous.

S.O.A.P.

Since work is still sparse, I left early yesterday to catch Snakes on a Plane with my brother and a co-worker. I figured it would be a better use of my time than checking my email. Again. Seriously, Gmail should give me an award for being eagerly pathetic and ridiculously dedicated to their service.

Here’s the lowdown, folks. I know you want to know.

It sucked. And because it lived up to my expectations, I must give my two thumbs up (since Ebert’s still in recovery and can’t do it for me). It’s been a while since a film delivered what it promised. I appreciate that.

It’s a little vulgar, it’s a little gory, the snakes are fake, and Sam Jackson even dumbed down his acting as if trying to nab that Razzie nomination. Questions are left unanswered (How did the snakes get on the plane?) and Playstation is the real hero of the story.

I found a cheap theatre that only charged me $4.24 for my ticket. That’s cheaper than renting it. And if you don’t see it in theatres, don’t bother ever seeing it. The whole point is the group experience – the laughter, the cheering, and the “Why did he do that?” from the "way too young to see a graphic snake attack during an initiation into the Mile-High Club" kid behind you. Apparently in the States, some teens let loose a couple rattlesnakes in the theatre during a showing. Sometimes I want to be a parent just to show people how it’s done.

Should you go see it? Only if you have either cash or time to waste (time was my waster. I never have cash). And you have no pride. Oscar season is coming…

Wanted

It was one of those "how can I drag my work out to fill 8 hours?" days at work today. Sometime around 2, I realized I hadn't eaten anything since breakfast at 7. With no work to peel myself away from, I headed to Pizza Pizza for a salad (yes, I order salads at pizza places).

On my way back to work (work = checking my email. Again), I saw a "wanted" poster tacked onto a pole. I don't usually spend much time hydro-pole reading, but this one caught my eye. Maybe it was the words "dangerous" or "one-handed." And the picture looked very familiar. Too familiar. I've seen him. Maybe I know him.

Five second later, it hits me that this is a promotion for Prison Break, and I'm staring at some actor's headshot.

Hmm. The advertising strategy worked. I hate that.

August 17th

I love Kendall Payne. And she happens to have a song about being 23. And I happen to be 23. Funny how these things happen...

Twenty Three

Twenty three when did we become grown?
I never noticed the seeds of the cynic being sown.
Will we starve will the harvest time reap
Freedom or chains hope or disdain for the weak?
Twenty three when did we become safe?
We pray to feel pleasure and hate when we have to feel pain

Let me see your burn let me see your bruise
You look just like me
Let me see where you’re broken in two.

We pretend when we find the end of ourselves
Afraid to be real so we say that we’re somebody else
Little ones teach the big to be free
Children are only un-costumed humanity

While we wait here in the dark love lends a spark
But we can’t decide
‘Cause coming back to life is harder than hell
Once you have died

Finally I can see with your eyes
That everyone angry is only just aching inside
Twenty-three when the sun sets tonight
There’s always a reason we just cannot leave it behind

Last Choice Hairbotchers

A girl at work got a great haircut from First Choice Haircutters. Not one to pass up on a good deal, I decided to give it a try. I mean, a cut for less than $15 in Toronto? Who wouldn’t love that?

I wouldn’t. I brought five pictures with me, all of them with slightly-layered chin-length bobs. Very chic. A little British, even.

I should have run when I asked the stylist if she had a washroom I could use and she thought I was asking her to wash my hair. If that wasn’t a bright enough red flag, perhaps the fact that she didn’t understand that I wanted my hair to look like the photos I brought should have had me out of there. Unfortunately, I do not easily run.

So my hair is too long, and the layers have that choppy “Look, Ma, I cut my own hair” look, and yet are still too few. My thick hair now hangs like a triangle off my head. She didn’t take shape or texture into consideration. In fact, I had to suggest that she part my hair in the middle so that the strands on both sides of my head could be even. This didn’t help much, but she did it. And she kept asking me what she should do. “Should I layer it here? Is this where you want the layers?” I DON’T KNOW! I want the picture. If I knew how to do it, I would.

I’m not sure if I look like a soccer mom or the kid being dragged to soccer practice. Yes, I’m either 35 or 10.

Sheesh. I am not built for vanity, clearly.

"The bag made me do it."

I went to the library after work today. I’m a big library fan. I blame this on my father. If you see me wandering through the stacks, it’s not because I’m lost. I worked at a library when I was in high school; I am well-acquainted with Dewey Decimal. I just happen to believe that I should give each book an equal opportunity to be read. And so I read about financial planning (I need to stop renting and invest in property of my own), true crime, Pilates, old Hollywood, interior design, and then I top it off with a novel or two (often picked somewhat randomly. Yes, I cover-judge).

The library excursion is not very plot-pertinent to my day, but I mention it because the event made me bring a canvas bag with me. This particular bag is clearly labeled: “Assembly 2004: Evangelical Missionary Church of Canada.” After filling it with a half-dozen books or so, I hopped on the streetcar and headed home.

Fast-forward to the subway. It’s packed. I’ve got an over-sized purse over one shoulder, a massive library bag over the other; I’m standing, trying to stay balanced while I fill out a crappy crossword puzzle (I tell you, you get what you pay for with those free newspapers). Finally, someone gets off so I can sit. I’m a little squished with two bags on my lap, but at least I’m no longer at risk of falling over.

There’s a cute little kid on the subway. Poor guy. He’s clearly tired and overwhelmed by the volume of people. A seat becomes available, and his mom tells him to take it. He runs for it, only to have a woman nearly sit on him. By nearly, I mean that her rear end actually touches his shoulder. She sees/feels the kid (who really is there first) and chooses to sit down anyway. Perhaps her pride won’t allow her to admit she sat on a toddler.

He starts whining. He loudly announces to everyone, “I want to sit down.” The response is the typical “how adorable” laughter, and yet no one moves. This is when I realize that my bag is facing him. The bag that announces, “This young woman identifies herself with the Church, and even more, with Jesus Christ.”

I tap him on the shoulder and offer him my seat. By the response around me, you would have thought that I just offered him my kidney. Nadine the superhero indulges the whiny kid.

I’m glad I gave up my seat. I just wish I didn’t need a bag to make me do it.

An unrelated side note: I seem to have misplaced two pairs of brown socks, two brown headbands, and two blue pens. If you happen to encounter twin thieves, please notify me.

Randomness Vol. 2

As sentences don't seem to be forming very well this evening, I will subject you to brain diarrhea:

1. I had chocolate gelato for dinner tonight. I've been told that a calcium-rich diet is very important for young women. And chocolate is good for the heart.
   
2. Crush of the day: Benji, the cute Mormon kid from So You Think You Can Dance. He's going to win, just watch.
3. I walked for over 2 hours after work today. That is a good thing. I was wearing sandals. Not so good.
4. Doris Roberts' autobiography has a recipe with every chapter. How smart is that? It keeps people opening her book beyond the first read.
5. Work is a little busier again. Not the most interesting stuff, but paychecks are interesting enough to make it worth it.
6. Taste of the Danforth is coming.
7. So is my birthday.
8. I found out that the cute 2-bedroom cottage-like homes in my neighbourhood are selling for half a million dollars. I shall not complain about my rent.
9. Lately, I've become a little obsessed with recipe websites. The next step is to actually make something.
10. I have nothing else to say. I just like the look of a 10-point list.
    

10 Days In My Life

Okay, so I haven’t blogged in a while. I figured that I’d give you a quick rundown of what the last week or so has looked like:

Thursday, July 27

Arrived at work early only to be sent home after 1 ½ hours. Fortunately I had my luggage with me, so I grabbed an early bus to Kitchener.

Friday, July 28

My parents’ anniversary. It’s also the first day of my Stratford weekend. I met my friend Jen in Stratford while taking a three-week course in Shakespearean acting and criticism in 2003. We now meet there every summer; it’s our annual outing. We saw Much Ado About Nothing. Pretty delightful. And then her parents took us out to a pricey restaurant. Nice. Although I’ve decided that white wine with a lemongrass aftertaste is a little gross. Who wants a lemongrass aftertaste? I want a wine that tastes like chicken. Or a Shirley Temple.

Saturday, July 29

Back in Stratford. Saw Coriolanus. I had no idea what it was about going into it. The real reason we went was because a certain actor was in it and we tend to casually stalk him. The play was quite visually stunning, including the onstage burning of a corpse. And Colm Feore was brilliant. Jen headed off to another show (after we spent a few hours at Down the Street-- my favorite bar in the whole entire world-- eating the best garlic fries in the whole entire world). I hope to live in Stratford one day. Picnics every day, I tell you.

Sunday, July 30

Went to church in a movie theatre (The Meeting House - Yorkdale Mall). Seriously. And they showed a clip from Scary Movie 3. Again, seriously. It was pretty cool. My whole family then headed to a surprise birthday party for my aunt and uncle. It was actually a surprise. And my sarong was fine, for those who might care. I think it’s time to retire my skit self. I enjoy acting, but family-written jokes aren’t really my thing. Had Rolo chocolate cones for dinner.

Monday, July 31

Went to work. Nothing special. The schedule was pretty sparse. That Shakespearean actor we stalk? He emailed me. Apparently he never checks his email. So we missed him. Maybe we’ll hang out next year. Crazy man.

Tuesday, August 1

I checked my work schedule at 6am. There was nothing on it. In my half-awake daze, I fired off an email to my boss, bluntly expressing my confusion at the lack of hours (and subsequent inability to pay my rent). My boss emailed me back by 8:15 and promised me that from now on I will have priority with the scheduling. I went in late, and ended up having a full week.

Wednesday, August 2

Went to my cousins’ for dinner with my brother. I think I confused them by explaining that the oldest son in Cheaper by the Dozen is really Superman. And that Dorothy from Wizard of Oz is dead. But Shirley Temple is not.

Thursday, August 3

Did some laundry. Drano’d my bathtub. You know you’re growing up when you actually go to the story to buy Drano.

Friday, August 4

Scrubbed my bathtub now that it’s draining properly. Boy, my life keeps getting more and more fascinating.

Saturday, August 5

Went for a walk to Value Village this morning. It’s farther away than I thought. It took over 45 minutes to get there. And the store was tiny with nothing that fit me. So I went home and watched Legends of the Fall. I had no idea that the kid from E.T. grew up to be Brad Pitt’s brother. I brainstormed some story ideas for a sitcom I’m still trying to develop and quite possibly overdosed on jelly beans in the process.

That is my life. Sleeping Dogs is now on IMDB, but there’s no cast or crew listed yet. There are also the beginnings of an official website.

Twelve days till my birthday…

Money Sucks

"Money is better than poverty, if only for financial reasons."
- Woody Allen

“I guess you’re glad you’re paid by the hour.”

My boss said this to me yesterday. I still don’t know what he meant. He befuddles me greatly. I was carefully complaining about the lack of work available to the English team, and that was his response. A salary would mean I get paid even when I’m sent home early. Being paid by the hour instills a certain fear in most of us. The fear of not paying the rent. Perhaps it is this fear I should be thankful for?

As if my landlord were psychic, my rent has been raised by just over $15 a month. And Rogers has expired my initial cable and internet discounts. Perfect timing. Just as my paycheques start dwindling, my expenses increase.

To make my day even better, I decided to do laundry. I found a sarong in a box under my bed that I want to wear to a Hawaiian-themed birthday party this weekend. It was all wrinkly and musty. I threw it in the washing machine. And then I threw it in the dryer. Then I noticed that it should be hand-washed and hung to dry. Who wears mini sarongs? Oh, I guess I do now.

An advantage to living alone is that I can’t yell at anyone. There’s no point in crying because there’s no one here to feel sorry for me. I just end up spending my evening talking myself out of my pity party and reminding myself that:

A) God is in control (cue Twila Paris, all you CCM fans from the mid-90s).

B) I never wore that sarong anyways. It’s not like I ruined my jeans.

C) Birds of the air are fed, lilies of the field are pretty, and I will not rot/starve here.

D) Maybe poverty will kick my butt into action and get me writing. For money.

Boredom. Absolute Boredom.

I checked my work schedule from home this weekend. I was supposed to subtitle an entire movie today, so I woke up early and showed up with my caffeine at 8am this morning.

Apparently, when LA assigned the project, they forgot that I can’t work on a movie without the movie. I waited for 4 ½ hours for the media to come in. Yes, 4 ½ hours. You can only check your email so many times. I read news headlines, looked at real estate listings, recipes, entertainment buzz, anything to keep me occupied.

I decided to buy my August Metropass during this wait. Shoppers Drug Mart didn’t have them in yet. Instead, I bought dark-chocolate-covered almonds. They were on sale. I ate the whole bag. Not a good idea. So I ended up bored, still waiting, and feeling slightly nauseous.

When the video finally arrived, LA couldn’t understand why I wouldn’t be able to finish it today. This project, if it arrived on time, would have taken about 10 hours. There was no way I was going to stay until 10pm. So I left at 5, promising that I would have it finished before the end of my shift tomorrow.

At least I have work. Only four of us had work today. And three of them were done in two hours. I had nine (with half spent doing nothing).

What did I learn today?

• Tiger Woods cried.
• The Hamptons has a ridiculous real estate market.
• I don’t have enough money to retire. Or live, for that matter.
• Janet Jackson might want kids. Maybe.
• I eat when I’m bored.
• Old instant coffee is disgusting.

Sleeping Dogs

Early last summer, I spent three weeks as a production assistant (working with the art director mostly) on an independent film, Sleeping Dogs. I had a blast, worked hard, and eventually stopped waiting for its release. The director was sidetracked with another project, and it didn't make it to the Berlin Film Festival in January as planned.

And then today happened.

It will be premiering at the Toronto Film Festival as a Contemporary World Cinema selection!!!!
Needleess to say, I am pumped. So if any of you are in the area in early September, come see my movie with me. I will tell you all about the fake vomit I made, the Vaseline I rubbed into the lead's head, the nurses' board I created, et c. I think I'm also in a scene, eating someone's half-eaten cheesecake at Kelsey's.

My name will finally be in the credits of a movie. I have no more goals. I can retire.

Blogging Killed the Conversation Star

Wendy and I were chatting the other day (yeah!) when we hit a strange little bump in the conversation. I was telling her some charming little story about my mostly non-eventful life, when she responded, “I know. I read it in your blog.” That’s right, folks, the blog is now stripping me of conversation topics. I’m not sure if I should tell less, or lie more. I was actually contemplating starting up a completely fictional blog just for fun.

I am now completely ignoring my don’t-share-any-more-stories advice, and will once again spew random thoughts at you. Brain diarrhea, really.

• Brandon Routh is too good-looking. In fact, he’s so handsome he’s not even attractive. Does that make sense? He’s got that vacant-J.Crew-catalogue kind of beauty that’s just a little too boring for me.
• Is Superman supposed to be Jesus? If he is, there are some major metaphor holes going on in that movie. Okay, the metaphor is just one big hole. I think there are two Sons and two Fathers and no Holy Spirit. And Lois Lane is either Mary (the mother) or Mary (of Magdalene) or just some chick who is way too young and skinny. I’ll go with the third option. Eat something, Kate Bosworth.
• Batman is cooler.
• Toronto is supposed to be hotter tomorrow. I just may have to give up breathing. And moving.
• I finally watched What’s Eating Gilmore Grape? Okay, so that’s a bit of a lie. I missed the beginning, and my grandma called me near the end (so I don’t really know what happened). I can, however, confidently admit that Leonardo was brilliant. As was Johnny.
• My church is not air conditioned. I didn’t notice this until today. Again, if I didn’t need to breathe, it wouldn’t have been a problem.
• “It’s better He hurt me now and heal me later than sugar-coat it now and have me suffer forever.” That’s all I remember from the sermon (re: uncomfortable truths: “The heart is deceitful above all things and beyond cure.”)
• My head hurts.
• If I can’t afford a house and a cottage, I think I’ll go with the cottage and live there year-round. That’s the plan. Now I just need to afford the cottage.
• French fries are great. I had McDonald’s fries today for the first time in-- and I’m serious here-- probably three years. I have missed them. I should eat them more often. To make sure I don’t end up like Kate Bosworth.
• I saw the pilot episode of So Notorious. Here’s the problem: I don’t buy Tori Spelling as Tori Spelling. I was embarrassed for her. And then I was embarrassed for myself for watching it.

That’s all for now, folks. I’m sure I’ll enlighten you all with deeper thoughts and more thrilling stories later. When I feel like writing fiction or plagiarizing. Oh, and for a great laugh, check out the letter from John Cleese posted on my dad’s blog.

Hasta La Pasta,

Nadine

Surveys Are Stupid

Every once in a while, I fall victim to the myspace survey. Unfortunately, today was one of those days. I'm sorry.

1. Do you sleep with your closet doors open or closed?
Usually closed. It makes me feel all orderly and grown up.

2. Do you take the shampoos and conditioner bottles from hotel?
What is this hotel you speak of? And maybe.

3. Have you ever 'done it' in a hotel room?
Depends on your definition of "it." I once called the front desk and asked for a deck of cards. I was also semi-chased by a security guard.

4. Have you ever stolen a street sign before?
No. And if you have, don't tell me.

5. Do you like to use post-it notes?
Yes. It's sad.

6. Do you cut out coupons but then never use them?
Nadine, the Coupon Queen. I had free milk on my cereal this morning, I have free All Bran bars in my cupboard, and I'll be using my free McFlurry coupon later this week, I'm sure.

7. Would you rather be attacked by a big bear or a swarm of a bees?
Let's go with the bear. Go big or go home.

8.?
Sure?

9. Do you always smile for pictures?
No. Sometimes I cry.

10. What is your biggest pet peeve?
Slow (or inconsistent) walkers in a moving crowd.

11. Do you sleep with your sheets tucked in or out?
The side against the wall is tucked in. My "entry" side is out.

12. Do you ever count your steps when you walk?
Only when I'm playing "What Time Is It, Mr. Wolf?"

13. Have you ever peed in the woods?
Isn't that what the woods are there for? I'm sure I have at some point in my quasi-wilderness experiences.

14. Do you ever dance even if there's no music playing?
Sure. It would be depressing if we were all dependent on music.

15. Do you chew your pens and pencils?
No. I'm not a fan of touching saliva. Even my own.

16. How many people have you slept with this week?
I think there were about 20 at the cottage. In separate sleeping bags, but still pretty cozy.

17. Do you like popcorn from those big tins?
Are the big tins free?

18. What is your "Song of the week"?
Well, I heard both an East-Asian version and trumpet-solo version of "My Heart Will Go On" this week. Oh, and "Kiss Me," which I actually quite enjoyed (the song, not the verb-- Not that I wouldn't-- Never mind).

19. Is it okay for guys to wear pink?
It's very European to wear a pink shirt with a pinstriped suit. So if you want to convince me you're sophisticated, boys, that was your fashion advice.

20. Do you still watch cartoons?
At work, all the time.

21. What’s your favorite scary movie?
I like thinking-people scary movies (M. Night Shyamalan).

22. Where would you bury hidden treasure if you had some?
Under Johnny Depp's house.

23. What do you drink with dinner?
Water.

24. What do you dip a chicken nugget in?
Sweet and Sour Sauce, BBQ, or honey.

25. What is your favorite food/ cuisine?
I like most food. Italian, Mexican, chocolate anything, salads with chicken...

26. What movies could you watch over and over and still love?
Life is Beautiful, It's a Wonderful Life, Singin' In the Rain, Braveheart, Newsies, The Notebook, Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind, Batman Begins, many more....

27. Last person you kissed/kissed you?
I believe my grandma kissed me goodbye two weeks ago.

28. Were you ever a boy/girl scout?
No. I was into the Pioneer Club scene.

30. When was the last time you wrote a letter to someone on paper?
I think I took a phone message for someone a while ago. And I signed a guest book. Quick, someone send me an address!

31. Can you change the oil on a car?
No. Can I drive a car? Now you understand.

32. Ever gotten a speeding ticket?
No. I don't walk fast enough.

33. Ran out of gas?
Every day around 3pm :)

34. Favorite kind of sandwich?:
Meat, cheese, mayo, tomato, pickle, lettuce, mustard, whole grain bread/pita. The works, essentially.

35. Best thing to eat for breakfast?
For my everyday breakfast, there are two options:
a) Shredded Wheat/ Cheerios, All Bran and Skim Milk
b) Eggs, turkey, tomato, salsa and sour cream. Separate or with cheese as an omelet.


36. What is your usual bedtime?
I aim for 10pm.

37. Are you lazy?
Yes, but I'm motivated by it. Seriously. I will be extra efficient with my time so that I have more time to do nothing.

38. When you were a kid, what did you dress up as for Halloween?
Bible characters when I was little. I didn't trick or treat until high school: A chef, an old lady.

40. How many languages can you speak?
Well, I know both UK and American spellings of English. And I'm semi-all right with French.

41. Do you have any magazine subscriptions?
InStyle. It's the best one. If you're into style that's in.

42.Which are better Legos or Lincoln logs?
Lego. It's the only one.

43. Are you stubborn?
Only on certain issues. Or on certain days. Or with certain people.

44. Who is better...Leno or Letterman?
Conan-- I mean, Leno. Hands down.

45. Ever watch soap operas?
No. Unless you consider Lost a primetime sci-fi soap.

46. Afraid of heights?
Not as long as I'm strapped in/ holding a railing/ et c.

47. Sing in the car?
Depends on who I'm riding with. But sure.

48. Dance in the shower?
Subtle dancing. No concussions wanted.

49. Dance in the car?
You mean streetcar? Man, this survey makes me want to get my license.

50. Ever used a gun?
Yes. A couple times. Watch out. If you stand still for a long time, and I have a loaded gun, there's a chance I might eventually hit you.

51. Last time you got a portrait taken by a photographer?
High school grad, probably.

52. Do you think musicals are cheesy?
No, and don't you dare suggest such a thing.

53. Is Christmas stressful?
No. "It's the most wonderful time of the year."

54. Ever eaten a perogie?
Multiple perogies, in fact.

55. Favorite type of fruit pie?
The homemade kind, fresh out of the oven.

56. Occupations you wanted to be when you were a kid?
Actress, fashion designer, bank teller (I thought they had all the money), mommy.

57. Do you believe in ghosts?
No. I believe my legs are as white as a ghost.

58. Ever have a Deja-vu feeling?
Very rarely.

59. Take a vitamin daily?
Vitamin C, Calcium (with Magnesium and Zinc), and Vitamin D.

60. Wear slippers?
Year round.

61. Wear a bath robe?
Yeppers. I've got a summer one and a winter one.

62. What do you wear to bed?
In the winter? A tank and shorts. In the summer? Flannel. My apartment has ridiculous temperature control.

63. First concert?
Sharon, Lois and Bram. Amy Grant when I was 11.

64. Wal-Mart, Target or K-Mart?
Neither. Target and K-Mart aren't around in Ontario, so I guess Wal-Mart (but don't tell my brother).

65. Nike or Adidas?
Which one's on sale?

66. Cheetos Or Fritos?
No preference. Where there's junk food, there must be a party...

67. Peanuts or Sunflower seeds?
Peanuts.

68. Ever hear of, "gorp"?
Kind of. Some version of trail mix, right? I used to call it "mixed snack."

69. Ever take dance lessons?
No, but I wish I did. I'm a little obsessed with Gene Kelly. I took hip-hop at university, but it was aerobic stuff (I would be thrown out of a club if I tried those moves).

70. Is there a profession you picture your future spouse doing?
Hopefully one that he, A, loves, and B, gets paid for doing. Unless he was born into money (but isn't a male Paris Hilton).

71. Can you curl your tongue?
No.

72. Ever won a spelling bee?
No. I got "lose" and "loose" confused.

73. Have you ever cried because you were so happy?
Yes.

74. Own any record albums?
No. But my dad owns some Larry (as in Norman). Maybe I'll inherit them.

75. Own a CD player?
Yes. I'm broke but not dead.

76. Regularly burn incense?
No. I'm a candle girl.

77. Ever been in love?
With Jesus.

78. Who would you like to see in concert?
U2. That is all.

79. What was your last concert you saw?
I can't remember. Probably Starfield. No, Steve Bell.

80. Hot tea or cold tea?
Hot.

81. Do you know who Bodom is?
No. Should I? Will he/she be offended?

82. Favorite kind of cookie?
I'm pretty equal opportunity when it comes to cookies.

83. Can you swim well?
Well enough to stay alive. Not well enough to swim the English Channel or anything.

84. Can you hold your breath w/o manually holding your nose?
Yes.

85. Are you patient?
Yes. Quite.

86. DJ or band, at a wedding?
Band. If they're good. I'd rather play a CD than hear a crappy band.

87. Ever won a contest?
Yep.

88. Ever have plastic surgery?
No. I was once told I look like Tori Spelling pre-nose-and-boob job. Why would I want to mess with that? :P

89. Which are better black or green olives?
Neither. I'm not picky at all, but olives are a rare dislike.

90. Can you knit or crochet?
No, but I really wish I could. Especially crochet.

91. Best room for a fireplace?
Living room. Or library. Or bedroom. Or all three.

92. Do you want to get married?
Yes, but some details need to be ironed out first (ie: who is he?)

93. If married, how long have you been married?
N/A

94. Who was your HS crush?
Toby Penner (Jake fans, you know who I'm talking about. Toby, so do you :)

95. Do you cry and throw a fit until you get your own way?
Nope. I don't cry very often.

96. Do you have kids?
Not that I know of.

97. Do you want kids?
Sure do. After question 92 gets sorted out.

98. What’s your favorite color?
Chocolate brown. Barn red.

99. Do you miss anyone right now?
I'm sure I do if I meditate on the question, which I refuse to do. I don't want to ruin my evening.

100. Who do you wanna see right now?
Um, Bono? King Hezekiah? Douglas Coupland? Aladdin?