I Don’t Like People.

by Camille Posted on January 20, 2009

I am on a rampage.

That’s right—I’m mad.  Spitting mad, if you want to know the truth [though the spitting part has more to do with the phlegm I always seem to wake up to every morning, and less to do with my actual anger, but anyway…].

Let the record show that in school, I DO NOT LIKE GROUP WORK. Specifically in English classes.  In my life, I have taken one geography class wherein I found a group project to be beneficial. Notice, if you will, that’s 22 years of life; I’ve taken a lot of classes, participated in hundreds of group projects, and could only come up with one that was actually worthwhile?  Pathetic.

I am a rock. Image from here.

Here’s my theory: Group work in school is often hailed as “a good way to get ready for the real world.”  I will agree with that, insofar as the specific course’s subject literally does utilise group-think in the “real world.”  For example, surgeons often request second opinions of colleagues and utilise a network of nurses in the operating room.  Surgeons should learn how to work in a group setting.  Or perhaps forensic specialists, who regularly put their heads together to solve crimes—they would benefit from experience with groups. Another person who might find group work helpful on a regular basis is a police officer, who may interact with hundreds of human beings during any given shift.

But English, people?  Writers? Writers [generally speaking—there are always exceptions] sit with a computer (or typewriter or quill) and…write.  They don’t talk.  They don’t cooperate.  They don’t address juries.  They don’t even have to be personable with their editor, so long as the job gets done.  Writers write. In solitude, usually: They write in the mountains, on benches, at Starbuck’s™, in caves.  They write alone, and that’s that.

So why the group work in an English 101 class?  I could have come up with a ballad in half the time that would’ve sounded twice as professional, had I been able to fly solo.  My professor is really nice, and I respect her very much…but I do not work well in group settings when I’m trying to write.

I am an island.  And not a tropical one, either.  I’m a dreary island.  I am Ellis Island—I am Alcatraz.  Image from here.

With group work, there are so many opinions to heed—and I don’t really like heeding opinions—leastwise, not when my writing is concerned.  To write a ballad in 40 minutes, with all those ideas floating around, and hurt feelings to consider, and syntax to mind, not to mention a fluid rhyme scheme and—oh yeah—a plot…

…well, is it any wonder I got frustrated?  Of course then I became a laughingstock to the kid in my group who wore the backwards baseball cap and a pen tucked trendily behind his ear—you know the type.

“Relax,” he laughed, “why you stressin’, girl?”

Why I stressin’?  I’s stressin’ cuz this yo yo to the hip hop flip flop stuff actually matters to this beeyotch [me].  I’m stressing because I know I could crank out a fantastic four-stanza ballad in record time, and it would rhyme. It would be funny and light, and perhaps slightly cynical.  It would be perfect, if I could do it by myself.

In fact, I think I will…

Posted in fiascos, I hate change, my edjumacation and me, oh brother what next, theories, watch out or I'll blog about you, what I'm about, woe is me | Tagged | 31 Comments

Two Minutes You’ll Never Get Back…

by Camille Posted on January 19, 2009

…but then, why would you want to?

I have a page-long list of things I’ve been meaning to blog about, but couldn’t seem to find any motivation for any of them.  My iPod lended me just the sort of inspiration I needed for a day like today.  I give you…

“The Light is You” by Said The Whale

My like affair with Said The Whale started this summer, during the Beijing Olympics.  Being camped in front of our non-TiVo television for hours on end provided me the opportunity to see commercials.  Lots and lots of commercials.  I first heard this song, “The Light is You,” on an advertisement for fruit juice.  I know, I know…totally cheesy.  Nevertheless, I looked into their repertoire and learned that they are, for the most part, still undiscovered.  Their only web page is on MySpace™, for heaven’s sake [and did you see the size of their Wiki™ article?].  I’m happy when I “discover” music that isn’t yet on the radio; I consider this a smashing success.  No matter the venue, the music’s great.  Have a listen.

Said The Whale has a very distinct sound about them, and I can only describe it as a mixture between The Shins, The Weakerthans, and another group none of you have ever heard of (from Mesa).  Anyway, they’re excellent.

It was their album, Howe Sounds/Taking Abalonia, that almost singlehandedly got me through my most recent solo road trip from Arizona to Canada. That’s 24 hours of driving time, people.  And I rarely listen to one album twice in a row, so it’s saying quite a lot.

These guys remind me of boys that didn’t exist my year of high school: unique, independent, fashion-conscious [but not fashion-driven]…  Clever…  Intelligent…  [I can say without a doubt that 2004 was the worst graduating class to try and find a date in.  Slackers, the whole lot of them.  Slim pickin’s.]  At any rate, if these boys had gone to my high school, they probably wouldn’t have liked me, so there’s no sense crying over melted snowmen…

Speaking of snowmen, they’re Canadian (nice segue, I know).  I really do believe there is a huge source of undiscovered talent north of the 49th parallel, and I’m glad to be living in a country with so much musicality to offer.  Every time I hear a great song that came out of Canada, I add it to a mental tally of reasons I’m happy to be here (also on that list is my toothless husband and french fries dipped in gravy).

But seriously.  Said The Whale.  “The Light is You.”  If this song doesn’t make you smile, it’s because you’re dead and your body has already undergone rigor mortis.

Posted in Canada, do what I say, good tunes, It's All Good, like-it-link-it, Overall Good Things | Tagged , | 15 Comments

I Won.

by Camille Posted on January 19, 2009

Image from here.

In Mayberry, we all get our mail delivered to the community watering hole: The Post Office.  This, being very different for a big city girl like me, has taken some getting used to.  I have been known to go entire weeks before remembering to fetch my parcels.  When we first got married, the postal service workers simply stopped putting flyers in our box; they took up so much room, and space was a precious commodity in a box that is exactly one inch cubed.

In my defense, the PO doesn’t have a drive-thru.  If it did, I’d go every day.  (And I wonder why I’ve put on weight…)

Thankfully, I’ve pretty much gotten my act together.  Usually I remember to swing by the watering hole at least twice a week.  Last Friday night was just such a day.

Having a bit of spare time before needing to start dinner, I decided to fill my daily quota of exercise by walking to the watering hole and picking up our mail.  I grabbed my iPod™, bundled up, and headed out.  The walk itself was uneventful, and I shoved the stack of papers into my backpack before even looking at them.

By the time I got home, it was time to start fixing dinner, and as soon as Poor Kyle walked through the doors we sat down to eat.  After dinner, he went to unwind in the basement with some newfangled Xbox™ game, and I stayed upstairs to catch up on blog reading.  Typical evening at our home…

…When all of a sudden, I remembered the mail in my bag.  Wondering if anything interesting had come, I fetched the satchel and began rustling through the papers.

First I found an ad for Satan’s supermarket:

Rubbish.  These always go straight into the recycling bin before the devil can tempt me with his “good deals.”

Next was a holiday card from a longtime friend…

…which is now hanging on my fridge.  Thanks, guys!

…And then I spied an envelope bearing my new university’s letterhead.

“Oh, bother,” I thought, “What could these guys possibly have to tell me that couldn’t be sent in an email?  It’s got to be some pamphlet garbage.”  In case you couldn’t tell, I’m very suspicious of universities and their mail-outs.  (My days at ASU turned me into a bitter hag, I suppose [something in the water out there]).

Then I noticed which department had sent it…

“‘Scholarships and Student Finance?’ Well, I know I didn’t get a scholarship because I missed the application deadline, so this must be something to do with my tuition.  But it’s not due until February, so it can’t be a late bill…  They better not have raised my fees!  Dirty crooks…”

I opened the envelope and briefly scanned the words on the enclosed letter.

Then I scanned the words again, a little less briefly.

Then I re-read each and every syllable, just to make sure I wasn’t seeing things.

Can you believe what this university did to me??  See for yourself:

International Entrance Award…I’m nothing if not an international enteree…

A thousand bucks.

They totally gave me money that I didn’t ask for [I meant to ask for it, but I took one look at those scary forms with tax questions, and I put it off for too many tomorrows].  Sweet.  I’ll take it.

In retrospect, I can see that this may be a form of twisted manipulation: charging me three times the cost of residential tuition for no reason other than the fact that I come from a different country; then totally throwing me a bone and cutting my fees down to only TWICE as much what the other students are paying, in the hopes that they’ll gain my undying loyalty and approval…

…Actually, they may be on to something.  I am pretty stoked.  Although I don’t know what my school’s mascot is yet; that might be good to learn since I will be a member of this particular university’s alumni in a few semesters.

Anyway, I’ve had a really fantastic weekend.  I’ve lost a few pounds since Christmastime, I earned $1,000 for doing absolutely nothing, and I finally organised the hall closet which has been suffocating me since I moved here.

Score.

p.s.  I should also note that a big thank you goes to a different personal scholarhip backer who donated majorly to my cause of getting a degree.  Another chunk of change I didn’t even need to ask for. One that will help in so many ways. Thank you; it is very much appreciated.

Posted in Canada, It's All Good, my edjumacation and me, Overall Good Things | Tagged | 22 Comments

A Typical Day at University

by Camille Posted on January 16, 2009

I’m inside, sitting at a desk, staring out a window and wondering why the sky has so many black splotches in it…when I realise it’s a window that hasn’t seen a washing since the day it was installed…

Image from here.

…I’m outside, slipping down icy walkways with no railings, wondering whose stupid idea it was to build a university on a hill…

Image from here.

…I’m back inside, staring at the professor with shifty eyes; I  wonder what he’s so afraid of—he’s the one who’s already got a degree…

…I’m in the library, shuffling though the aisles of matching old-school books, wondering how long until they all go digital and libraries will be passé…

Image from here.

…I’m in class, sitting down, wondering how I always get stuck next to the kid who won’t stop raising his hand.  I hate him…

…I tell myself I shouldn’t, that it’s not nice, but I don’t stop hating him.  Don’t even know his name, and I can’t stand the kid…

…I’m wandering the halls, basically lost without my map, rubbing shoulders [not in the “I got a promotion” sense, but the “I’m going to die from infestation of germs” kind of way] with hundreds of people who I will probably never know…

…I’m learning about Romantic poetry but all I can think about is the Romantic era of art history, and I find myself wishing I’d never changed majors. The students discuss Isis, and the name sounds familiar, but I have to be reminded by the professor that she is the Egyptian goddess of childbirth.  In another life, I think I wrote an essay about her.  I’m so disappointed that I forgot…

…Then I pick up a copy of this week’s student newspaper, scan the pages for my name, and I feel hope…

…a glimmer of light at the end of this tedious tunnel…

It’s not a huge start, but it’s my start.  This is the sort of thing that makes classes worthwhile.

“Be cool.  Stay in school.”

Posted in I hate change, introspection, my edjumacation and me, self-actualisation | 22 Comments

Superbowl Appy With a “Kick”

by Camille Posted on January 14, 2009

When I first imported myself into southern Alberta from Mesa, Arizona, I was sure I would die within weeks.  Not from the sub-freezing temperatures, gale-force winds, or absurd quantities of snow to be shoveled…

…but because of the lack of decent Mexican food within a seemingly million-mile radius.

Do me a favor: Google™ the phrase “Lethbridge Alberta Mexican food,” and have a good laugh with me.  There is one (read it: 1) Mexican-themed restaurant [El Comal] to service a population upwards of 80,000 people.  Some might say it tells a lot about the food preferences of southern Albertans, but I’d like to think better of these people; maybe folks here suffer from heartburn more than average.  In which case, I would never blame a person for trying to avoid acid indigestion.

At any rate, there seems to be a serious shortage in this city, and I am setting about to change it.

See, where I come from, no party can be considered even marginally tolerable without tortilla chips and salsa on the table in abundance.  Surely—surely—such is also the case up here…right?  Either way, given the fact that the Superbowl is approaching in just a few weeks, I am determined to help each and every one of you make your party a smashing success, by imposing my ideals and standards onto you.  They’re guaranteed to work, or your money back—er, rather…they’ll just work and that’s final.

The recipe I’m presenting today is called pico de gallo (pronounced PEEK-oh day GUY-oh), and directly translated means “rooster’s beak,” [but that’s kind of creepy so we’ll just think of it as a fresh, chunky uncooked salsa].  It is a simple, straightforward recipe that costs well under $10.00 to make, and is completely customizable.  For example, if you can’t handle the heat, omit some—or all—of the jalapeños; if you’d rather taste lime over lemon, by all means, use limes.

Don’t these ingredients look happy about their fate?  They should be—on the hierarchy of condiments, pico definitely ranks #1 for deliciousness.

I generally serve pico de gallo simply aside a bowl of tortilla chips, but it’s also delicious mixed into guacamole, as a garnish for nachos, or in place of dressing on taco salad.

Pico de Gallo

Serves 4-6 (can easily be doubled or tripled to suit your needs)

Approximate 20 minutes prep; 1 to 12 hours chill

Ingredients:

4-5 tomatoes (avoid Walmart’s™ pithy ones at all costs; I prefer Costco’s)

1/4 c. white or yellow onion

1/4 cup cilantro (available in most produce sections, but Walmart™ tries to pass flat-leaf parsley off as cilantro, so again, beware)

jalapeños (fresh or canned, optional)

juice of 1 lemon

1/4 tsp. garlic salt, (or to taste)

Method:

1.  Finely chop tomatoes and onions; mix in large bowl.

2.  Roughly chop cilantro; add to bowl.

The stems of cilantro are completely edible, but I usually chop off the bottom inch for quality assurance.

This is what I mean by “roughly chop.”

Mmm…can’t you almost smell the fragrant savour of it?

3.  Dice jalapeños finely (Use 1/2 a pepper for a moderate kick.  Start with less and add more as necessary).  Incorporate into mixture.

4.  Squeeze juice of 1 lemon (fresh or bottled) into bowl; mix well.

Don’t worry if you haven’t got a cool lemon spout like me—they’re totally unnecessary.  I just like to use mine for the thrill of it.

5.  Starting with 1/4 tsp, add garlic salt to taste. (Remember most tortilla chips come salted, so don’t overdo.  Taste with chips before adding any more salt.)

I embrace sodium of every kind, so I started out with 1/2 tsp. of garlic salt.  Also, see my stainless steel measuring spoon?  I searched long and hard for just the right set, and I’m glad I did.  They make me happy.

6.  When pico has reached desired flavor, cover and chill for at least an hour (but up to 12 hours) in advance.  Flavours will intensify over time, but after 12 hours tomatoes can tend to become rather soggy.  Pico will keep for several days refrigerated, but is at it’s party-serving peak on day one.

Don’t be fooled by the pained expression on my face—this stuff is what dreams are made of.

Enjoy!

Posted in cooking, do what I say, It's All Good, photos | Tagged | 26 Comments

Fish out of Water

by Camille Posted on January 14, 2009

As a new transfer student, and an international one to boot, it was with understandable trepidation that I walked the halls of my new university last week.  My first day on campus was riddled with self-doubt and I found myself feeling rather anxious. Before each class started, I nervously checked and re-checked my schedule to assure myself I was in the correct room at the appointed hour [because my living nightmare is being the kid who has to gather her belongings and slink, embarrassed, out of class when the professor announces, “This is English 101, so everyone make sure you’re in the right room”].

My first course, Canadian Literature, went smoothly enough.  Walk in, sit down, take notes, leave.  Check.  Then I had a long break during which I secured a parking pass, payed part of my tuition, munched on snacks, and updated my Facebook™ status.  Check, check, check and check.  I was passing my first day in relative peace and had experienced no major catastrophes to speak of.

But (and there’s always a “but” in stories like these)…  My relative solitude was disrupted at the start of my second class, American Lit.

I knew from a previous encounter that this particular professor was American—a fact which drew me to her instantly.  And I knew from mere experience that many Canadians, students in particular, tend to harbor a lifetime of grudges toward Americans for a plethora of reasons (many of which are completely valid and warranted).  So it was with a measure of intrigue that I listened to the professor’s opening comments.

“I’m going to take a poll,” she said, “and it’s the closest we’ll ever get to statistics in this class, so bear with me.  I’m going to name a country, and you raise your hand if you have positive feelings toward it.  If you have negative feelings, simply leave your hand down.”

“Australia.” Every hand was raised.

“Japan.”  Again, every hand.

“Russia.”  This time, a few students kept their hands lowered, but most hands went up.

“Germany.”  This country was about 50/50.

Now at this point, most students assumed the “clincher” country would be Iran, Iraq, or another forerunner in political controversy.

So it was interesting to watch as the professor continued with, “America.”

Guess who was the only person to raise her hand?  If you guessed yours truly, you’re a good guesser.  [I should note I was sitting on the fourth row, and there were several rows behind me I couldn’t see.  It’s possible that some students back there raised their hands.  However, the overall tension in the room indicated otherwise.]

I am delighted to be living in Canada and meeting the folks here, yet harbor a lifelong sense of nationalism toward my own country.  How can I make friends with people—nice as they are—who won’t raise their hand for me? Image from here.

The professor, expecting those exact results, took it all in stride.  Easygoing and light-mannered, she went on to question students about their reasoning, and ended up with a simple request that we all keep an open mind as we venture into the vast world of American Literature this semester.

Image from here.

She might have been recovered from it, but for me, major damage was done.  See, on a regular basis, I am torn between pride in my country and loathing of confrontation.  I can’t count the times I’ve been put on the spot, called up to defend my countrymen for idiotic actions that make it on television.  Of course, if ever questioned, I don’t hide my nationality, but I’m not anxious to announce it upon first meeting.

“Doh!”  Image from here.

My biggest fear?  Someone will ask me a political question and I won’t have an educated answer, which will perpetuate the stereotype that all Americans are obese, lazy imbeciles whose only narrow view of the world comes from what tidbits they can glean off reruns of The Simpsons.

Posted in Canada, fiascos, in all seriousness, my edjumacation and me, sad things | 24 Comments

I Never Thought I’d Live to See This Day.

by Camille Posted on January 12, 2009

In keeping with my newfound motivation to lose 25 pounds by June 30th, I have been exercising for 30 minutes, four days a week [which is laughable compared to the effort most people put forth, but it’s 100% more exercise than I got last year]. Yesterday evening I was in the kitchen working on dinner, when I realised I hadn’t yet done anything that could be rationalised even remotely as exercise {because you know most days I make the hike from my car to campus and consider myself golden}.

I got my loaf of bread in the oven, peered out the window and beheld the most vivid red sunset I’d seen in Canada to date.  It looked so peaceful out there, and reminded me so much of home, that I decided I’d have a brisk, heart-pumping walk through the snow for my day’s workout.

Note: this is not the sunset I saw.  This is just proof that it’s cold up here.

I checked the temperature and was pleasantly surprised that it wasn’t too cold, so I grabbed a jacket, gloves and my iPod™, and made my way outside.

A few minutes into my walk, I came to a realisation so startling I actually stopped in my tracks:

When I had checked the temperature back at the house, the thermometer read 32 degrees.  Freezing.  And I was excited that it wasn’t very cold. Because, y’know, freezing is such a nice, balmy temperature.

Which leads me to my next conclusion:

I am certifiably more Canadian than I ever thought I could become; I might as well apply for dual citizenship instead of merely residency, at the rate I’m going.  Next thing I know, I’ll be calling beanies “toques” and sofas “chesterfields.”

Freezing, balmy…  Gimme a break.

Posted in Canada, I hate change, oh brother what next | 22 Comments