“I can’t come to work today, the customers smell too bad”

I don’t mind my job. My boss can be a little trying at times, but on the whole I get to work pretty much solo, listen to BBC radio all day long, make friends with the old people, be creative and design cool things, and even the occasional photography field trip. I don’t call in sick – I’ve finished my shift having thrown up on the job, I’ve dragged myself in with man flu and even showed up with a broken arm before being sent to the hospital. But there’s been an issue recently that’s made it pretty much – no, absolutely – unbearable to work.

The Lady That Smells Bad.

This isn’t a regular case of B.O. we’re talking about here. She looks like a homeless person, and comes in off the streets with numerous bags housing goodness only knows what (open cans of 6-month-old tuna is what I’ve settled on). She’s dressed in a tilly hat covered in poppies pinned on from the last fifty years, an oversized man’s coat, a pair of glasses that look like they belong to Trevor Horn, and accompanied by the worst smell I’ve ever had the misfortune of encountering. I can’t even describe it. I seriously doubt she’s had a bath in the last twenty years, and her clothes are stuffy and musty and just outright dirty. My boss’s husband stands by me on this and last time he was in, he opened the back door, despite it being minus 20 degrees outside.

She sits in here for hours at a time, cutting and pasting together little posters for church events that happened 2 months ago so she can make photocopies and put them up again. She was in here yesterday for two and a half hours – the latter half hour of which I could no longer stand, and after coughing and involuntarily gagging several times, I begged my boss if I could work in her office until she left. This morning she and I had a talk about how we’re going to deal with this. I looked up on a few sites as to whether or not you can actually ban someone from your store for smelling bad. Concensus was that if it’s your store, and you’re not discriminating based on age, race, religion or whatever, and it’s actually disruptive to your workplace – you can kick them out.

But the boss told me it’s my job to do it.

She came in again this morning. I was in the middle of helping someone and so I asked my boss if she could help her. Seeing who it was, she said to her “Emily will have to help you, she’ll just be a minute.” Thanks boss. Thankfully she was in and out today in 5 minutes so I didn’t have to bring it up. But who knows the next time she’s going to spend the afternoon here? Sweet suggested writing a note and handing it to her so I don’t embarrass her out loud, which I thought was a pretty good idea. I’ve also had suggestions of blatantly spraying air freshener when she comes in, or even bringing my own gas mask to work. Seriously though – how do I politely and tactfully tell someone they can’t be here because they smell so bad I can’t work? It’s pretty much the rudest thing you could say to somebody. And I have absolutely no idea how to do it.

Christmas with the Cops

This weekend went by way too quickly and I don’t even know where to begin! I guess a good place would probably be on Saturday morning… which I spent in the company of two of the Winnipeg Police Force. You guys all know about my roommate situation: he’s stolen from me, is a walking health hazard, and is generally a complete prat, and this last week I came home to find myself unable to get into my own bedroom. Recently, I’d had a lock fitted on the door to prevent further things being stolen (and to prevent him entering and stealing usage of the new Internet account I’d had to set up after all the money I’d been funnelling to him for ours went straight into his bank account… and got us disconnected). This had worked pretty well until last Wednesday, when I got home to find that my key no longer fit. After several failed attempts with hair pins and credit cards (I knew I should’ve stayed in burglary school), two of my favourite people in the world helped me cut off my insect screen from the bedroom window, and after climbing up through thoroughly negative winter temperatures and a copious amount of snow, I hopped in. A total ninja moment which I thoroughly enjoyed. My dad proceeded to remove the lock and doorknob and replace it with another, and took the jammed one home for further inspection. The next evening I got a voicemail. He’d taken it apart to find the end of a broken key, jammed in the lock. My flatmate had actually tried to break in.

I was infuriated!! It was about 11:30 at night and I’d spent an hour trying to curl up with cats who wanted to do otherwise, so I got up, made some warm milk (closet grandma, I tell you) and checked my messages. I found myself with a ridiculously strong urge to find him at work and punch him in the face. There’s not a lot of things that’ll get me angry, but this was definitely one of them. I spent the next hour talking to a good friend who calmed me down, and the next couple of days seeking advice from friends on what I should do. I talked to the landlord, who couldn’t legally do anything because he was still paying rent and still on the lease. So we came to the conclusion that the police now had to be notified as it was now officially attempted breaking and entering. I called them, and that’s how my weekend began.

Two cops showed up at my place on Saturday morning. I told them what had been going on, they asked if he was home, and, it being 11:00 on a weekend morning, naturally my flatmate was still in his bedroom, passed out and more than likely hungover. The best part of this day was seeing the police hammering on his bedroom door shouting “OPEN UP, IT’S THE POLICE” and dragging him out of bed through a frightfully embarrassing bedroom full of dirty plates and cigarette butts. Actually, make that the best part of the last six months of living with him. They spent a little while in his room and came out to tell me the bad news: they couldn’t do anything. Couldn’t get a protection order against him because we weren’t in a relationship and were just roommates and there hadn’t been any actual violence or threats. Couldn’t get him evicted because both our names are on the lease and they couldn’t break a lease. And the best part, couldn’t do anything about the breaking in because he “didn’t do it to break in… just to piss me off because I’d been nagging him to clean up after himself.” Is it just me, or is that the most ridiculous thing you’ve ever heard? A friend said he’s found a new line of crime: throwing bricks through my flatmate’s window “not to break it or anything, just to piss him off.” Ri-diculous.

The rest of the day was pretty good though. Finally finished up my Christmas shopping, and boy am I glad I did it before December struck. This does mean I am officially a hardcore poor person for the next two weeks but it also means I don’t have to endure Christmas Shoppers. It was bad enough on Saturday. People with trolleys and bags and prams just barging in front of you just so they get their hands on that video game before it sells out. Good cheer and respect for fellow human beings is thrown out the window, replaced by a goal to buy, buy, and buy some more. I went to St. Ignatius last night and the pastor was talking about this. What comes over people in December to make them behave in ways they wouldn’t normally dream of? There was a story in the paper this weekend too, about a Wal-Mart employee who got trampled to death by Christmas shoppers, who didn’t stop to help. A life was lost as a result of this seasonal insanity, and a pregnant woman pushed over and injured. I’m very glad to be done my Christmas shopping, and most of it online, too. But if you still have gifts to buy, please keep your basic human decency intact!

Went to a wonderful concert in the evening; Steve Bell was playing with the Winnipeg Symphony Orchestra. It was totally sold out, and it was just a wonderful evening with wonderful music, a good message (he was giving away free booklets and DVDs on “Fast for Change”, after a trip to Ethiopia, after really realizing how much we overconsume in Canada) and Christmas spirit. We wrapped up the evening with some friends at Luxalune for a quick drink and then proceeded to spend the next three hours just talking. It’s crazy how sometimes time can fly so quickly. 🙂

Yesterday we put up the tree and I am officially ready for Christmas. This month has so much to look forward to. Tonight I get to spend with a wonderful friend in amazing seats at Lord of the Dance, I have the theatre and the Cannes Lions, an annual tradition that I always enjoy thoroughly. Later in the month I have two concerts, then there’s going to be probably the best Christmas I’ve had in years. And then I get to see one of my favourite people in the world, live on a boat somewhere close to the Hollywood Hills, and then spend New Year’s with a group of people very dear to my heart. Flatmate incidents aside, I think this month might just be the best one yet. At least I have a good story… 🙂

Crossroads

Sometimes I really wish I had a laptop, or even just a notebook and a pen to carry around with me. I think I’m going to invest in a journal. I spend a lot of time on buses, or walking around the city, and that makes for a lot of time spent taking in the outside world and dreaming about different possibilities. I often find myself composing mental letters too. If you were here with me right now, what would I be saying to you? Your physical presence may be missing, but you’re still in my thoughts…

I found my thoughts wandering on Saturday evening, a really lovely night half spent in lovely company at the theatre, and half spent solo, hanging out in a downtown coffee shop, curled up on a couch by the fireplace after a long winter’s stroll. I sat down with a steaming mug of tea in a deserted Second Cup; the city’s crowds stolen by bright and bustling hotspots far away from my little retreat. I pulled off my mitts, pulled out a book and began to read, and the experience immediately threw me back to my university days. I used to spend hours between classes sitting in coffee shops just like this one, reading for study, for fun, or writing notes and the occasional letter. And I loved it. Sometimes I even walked back down to the university on a Saturday night, and headed straight up to the library. I remember it vividly; on such an evening what it lacked in bodies it more than made up for in scenery, and I’d sit by the big glass window and watch the sun go down on the city, people below heading home as the day said goodbye and the night took over in front of my eyes.

Sitting there on Saturday night brought this all back to me, and reminded me how much I loved this. It also substantiated a thought I’d been hibernating for the last little while. School. I desperately want to go back. The whole reason I left in the first place wasn’t just because I couldn’t afford it, but also to take some time to figure out what I wanted to do. It’s been almost 4 years now and until recently I’d been pretty sure it was graphic design and photography. But sitting there reading my book, half reminiscing and half glancing over the words, my thought process was abruptly interrupted and my eyes fixed fast on a sentence that, rather creepily in its timing, really hit home. Use your talents to help others.

When I was in university, I took quite a few courses in psychology and I seriously wanted to continue with a degree in the subject. My efforts were discouraged, my mother telling me “everybody has a degree in Psychology and never does anything with it”, and this played a large part in my taking some time off, but even recently, with a near future in graphics in mind, I’d had the goal of becoming a psychologist in mind for later in life. I sat there and read the words again. Use your talents to help others. I asked myself the question, if my ultimate goal is a career involving helping people, why would I put that off just to have a few years doing something that sure, is fun, and I’m pretty good at, but fundamentally doesn’t help anybody on any really deep level. Plus, with technology advancing at the rate it is, even amateur photographers are becoming able to take professional level shots, and with software being so easily available, I’m pretty sure the demand for graphic designers is going to go down with everyone trying to do things by themselves. Yes I want to be creative. But I want to help people more.

So this puts me in a tough spot. I’ve spent the last four years trying to figure out what it is I want to do. Growing up I always thought it was teaching. I have an intense love and passion for learning and education in general, but I can’t for the life of me stand up in front of a group of people and instruct. I’ve recently been given a phenomenal opportunity involving going back to school next year, an opportunity for which I am immensely grateful and at the same time extremely excited. But registration deadline is February, and I don’t know whether to enrol at Red River and do 2 years in Graphic Design, or re-enrol at the U of W, and spend the time finishing a degree in Psychology. Would I ever get a job with a psych degree? Would I be able to keep a job with graphic design?

I’m at a crossroads; I have been for a while. Take a left, and it looks like a pretty safe road. I go into familiar territory; something I already know I’m good at and already have 3 years working experience in. But who am I helping? Taking a right and it’s a whole new world. Throwing an arts kid into a field of science. A few years of intense schooling and not even knowing what lies at the end of it. Nothing… but the hope that I’d able to do some good for others. Which way do I go?

The Abominable Snowsuit

As you probably all know, I don’t drive. It’s not like I never tried; in high school I made full use of being in Grade 12, and enrolled in the Driver’s Ed program. This was a disaster, although I had a series of “eventful” lessons with a lovely instructor and a good friend of mine. Still, a few weeks of mid-January night time lessons later, I was sufficiently frightened for life, and to this day have remained faithfully bus-bound.

This year however, I moved to Taylor Avenue. This street has one bus going down it, maybe once an hour, and it doesn’t go anywhere close to my work. So I’ve been walking. It’s good exercise and it’s free, and until this week I thought I was going to be alright, firm in a hopeful belief that winter wasn’t really all that bad… as long as I had my Big Headphones and Big Mitts, right? Sadly though, this week I was forced to accept that my wishful thinking really was a wasted effort, and admit defeat. Winter: 1, Emily: 0. I’ve been arriving at work with legs glowing scarlet and skin frozen to the touch, and even with my trusty mitts and headphones, still not the happiest of bunnies. So I made the decision to get a snowsuit.

I had one a few years ago. It was black, and consisted of a pair of padded trousers with a high waist and straps that went over your shoulders. You could wear it under a winter jacket and be absolutely toasty on the longest of walks and the coldest of nights, and it could pass as a regular pair of black trousers so you didn’t draw too much attention to yourself. Unfortunately I’ve put on a bit of weight since then, and it definitely doesn’t fit any more. And the legs were always too short anyway. I’ve spent the last few days looking around online, only to find either rubbishy “wind protector pants” with no padding or anything, or exactly what I am looking for… for $300. It came up in conversation with my boss, and she said she had a spare snowsuit she could give me for the winter. Huzzah! So, today she brought it in.

horror

It’s neon green. It has emo stripes on half the sleeves. It’s got a weird pattern across the top, and sweaty yellow stains around the neck. And she wants me to try it on so I can wear it home tonight.
Maybe she thought my walk home involved heading down Pembina and then taking a sharp right into 1984 where this thing may have almost been acceptable. Did I mention the neon green? This thing is fluorescent. Heck, if I did drive, I wouldn’t need head headlights, ‘cause I’m pretty sure this thing would glow on its own for a decent 10 feet. And it smells funny!

horror

So I have precisely four and a half hours to come up with an excuse not to have to come into physical contact with this abomination (or explain its sudden mysterious disappearance). And I’m begging you guys for help.

More engines, please

I had every intention of writing this morning, but unfortunately my self-induced waking coma prevented me from making any sort of sense whatsoever and I decided, both for your benefit and mine, to wait until it had somewhat worn off.

I’ve spent much of the last week in various attempts at rescuing my computer after it got a nasty attack of spyware, and decided (reluctantly) to give up and wipe the bloody thing and restart from scratch. I tried burning everything to DVDs with the help of my dad’s portable DVD burner, but it conked out on me after about 3 discs and I was stuck with my own, which I got to burn my photos and some music at a cheery rate averaging at about 90 minutes per disc. 8 discs and half a season of House later, I gave up and prepared myself for a teary goodbye to an entire hard drive’s worth of music, movies and UK TV shows, and it was carted off early Sunday morning.

The problem with this was one little mp3 file I use nightly. 60 Minutes of Pure White Noise. After trying various background sounds to drown out whiny cats and noisy room mates at night, I found the perfect file. Seagulls, raindrops and typewriters (with AND without carriage return, though it was nice to have the option) all failed miserably, but the soft sound of plane engines somehow did the trick. For the last few weeks I’ve been falling asleep and able to stay asleep with a pair of earplugs and a sleeping mask, with the comforting reassurance of feeling like I’m on a transatlantic flight. Lose the computer, however, and the night is suddenly full of too much silence. Being the lightest sleeper in the world, every tiny thing wakes me up. So naturally this is what happened last night. Well, for the first 45 minutes anyway, until I defiantly refused to go on tossing and turning and came up with the brilliant decision of making myself a cocktail of 3 Gravol tablets and 2 night time flu relief caplets, all washed down with a mug of warm milk. It sure did the trick, but I woke up this morning feeling like I’d just had an entire bottle of wine.

I tried to get up. After stumbling around a bit and walking around with my eyes closed, I reset my alarm and gave myself another half hour in bed. I didn’t have the energy to do my hair or makeup and I stood in my boots by the door, looking at my scarf and mitts on the upper shelf debating for a good 5 minutes whether or not I had the energy to reach up and get them. I somehow managed a sluggish walk to work, but refrained from typing anything important for the first few hours after I saw what I’d sent to Miss Kyla. I had no idea I used the words you01u and ggoodd so often!

Right now I’m contemplating going home early. Today I’ve successfully made a pot of coffee-less boiling water in the coffee machine, printed an entire order on the wrong stock, laminated an empty pouch and charged typing prices for printing. I don’t think I’m any good here. I hope my computer’s nice and safe and home tonight. Otherwise I’ll be calling somebody up and asking them to make plane noises for me.

Fireworks and Poppies

So it’s been a pretty eventful little while since I last wrote, but my lack of updating can be attributed to the UBER VIRUSY SPYWARE I picked up when I downloaded an episode of Heroes last week. It was a .rar file whose extraction turned out to be unleashing Pandora’s Box onto my hard drive, redirecting all my web searches to porn sites and closing down every program seconds after I opened it. Luckily though, my dad’s pretty nifty with computers, and whisked it away last night, fixed it all and I’ll be getting it back tonight good as new. My dad is awesome.

Last week shortly after the election we had Guy Fawkes Day, a time of year which finds me feeling awfully nostalgic for the one day of the year where thousands of people gather together in cities all over England, marching around with torches, candy floss and sparklers, burning huge great effigies of Guy Fawkes on bonfires and marvelling as enormous fireworks displays light up the skies. It’s not done this side of the pond. And the last few years I’ve made a few efforts to have some sort of Guy Fawkes magic…

Fail

But for the first time this year… we bought fireworks. Unfortunately you have to have a permit to set off any of the big ones that go up into the sky, but we got HUGE sparklers, things that fizzed and banged and The Fountain. We were assured we were only being sold ones that would stay pretty low to the ground and wouldn’t make any noise, so we wouldn’t have to worry about drawing attention to ourselves. We saved the big one for last, expecting a nice little colourful fountain of sparks, which we definitely got… for the first five seconds. Then it went up about seven feet high, sparking and banging as big as a bonfire, and WHISTLING louder than I’ve ever heard a firework whistle in my life. Neighbours started coming out of their houses to see what was going on. We couldn’t stop it, so we waited it out… but I can definitely say that was about as much fun as you can have at 9:00 on a November evening for less than $4. 🙂

Win!

This week was also Remembrance Day. Sweet and I went to the service at the Convention Centre – I’d never gone to one with anyone else before, but we went and I was really happy to see so many people turn out to pay their respects. I’m always deeply moved by Remembrance Day services and I really think it’s important to take the time, even if you don’t go to a service, just to take a few minutes of silence at 11:00 to think about those who went and fought, wives that lost their husbands, soldiers who lost their friends… families that had to go through such an awful time, and all for the freedom so many of us take for granted today. I wept the whole service, thinking of those who spent night after night in the cold and the rain in battle, praying for the days a letter from their loved ones would arrive… Today we text, and we call, and we e-mail so easily and so often; it’s so hard to imagine going weeks and weeks before a treasured page of kind words and thoughts and news from afar would arrive. And yet with the ease of communication technology has afforded us, it seems we tell each other less, not more, how much we care about each other. So in the spirit of Remembrance Day just past, I hope if you’re reading this, you can take a moment to think about how it must have been to spend such treacherous time apart from your most beloved, how joyous it must have been to hear a few words of love after weeks of knowing nothing, and just be thankful for everything we have today.

Remember, remember… the fourth of November?

Today is going to go down in history.

I don’t think I’ve ever written about politics before, likely as a result of my inability to vote: living in England I was too young, and I suppose living in Canada as a British citizen doesn’t really make my opinion on the country’s government count, I suppose, but somehow, today, I find myself ridiculously wrapped up in the state of the US presidential election. The recent Canadian election came and went, and I think it’s safe to say that a lot of people couldn’t have given a monkey’s about the result. As I was informed today, it was the “lowest turnout in Canadian voting history”. So what is it that the Americans are doing that instigates such strong opinions in Canadians, who can’t even vote in their election?

Over the last few weeks, much of my exposure to the campaigns has been through the UK’s BBC radio. At times I’ve been downright appalled hearing racist McCain & Palin supporters voice their opinions of Obama, voting Republican because he “must be a terrorist”. The number of ill-educated, chauvinistic racists in America recently reflected is atrocious. Unfortunately they make up a significant chunk of voters.

A recent AP-Yahoo News poll that found one-third of white Democrats harbour negative views toward people of colour — many calling them “lazy” or “violent”. The poll, conducted with Stanford University, suggests that the percentage of voters who may turn away from Obama because of his race could easily be larger than the final difference between the candidates in 2004 — about two and one-half percentage points. More than a third of all white Democrats and independents — voters Obama can’t win the White House without — agreed with at least one negative adjective about blacks, according to the survey, and they are significantly less likely to vote for Obama than those who don’t have such views.

How can people be so closed minded? And how can there be so many of these people out there? It disgusts me to see people fearing the end of the world as they know it if an African-American becomes president of the United States. I’m glad it seems that in spite of such widespread bigotry, it seems hopeful that Obama will win the election. But I can’t help but be deeply disturbed by the fact that some of the people advocating his campaign are encountering a raw racism and hostility that have gone “largely unnoticed — and unreported. They’ve had doors slammed in their faces. They’ve been called racially derogatory names (including the white volunteers). And they’ve endured malicious rants and ugly stereotyping from people who can’t fathom that the senator from Illinois could become the first African American president.”

I just went to the Fox News forum and the first comment I see?

A true Christian would not vote for BO unless they have been greatly deceived. That is what I think has happened to the Christians who voted for BO. They have been deceived and are not in their right minds. He does not stand for any of my Christian values and his ideas do not line up with the Word of God. The antichrist will greatly deceive many…I think BO is the antichrist. BO would be the first step into communism…socialism/marxism. If our liberal public schools were actually teaching the true history of this nation and other nations, the children that are now young adults would not be voting for BO. I will continue to pray for the souls of those deceived by BO and for our country.

Sadly this was the tone of the vast majority of pro-McCain comments I read. I hate to be controversial but I wonder why it seems that the words “Christian” so often go hand in hand with “racist” in this election. I don’t particularly want to bring religion into it because recently I’ve been exploring my own spirituality, and for the first time, Christianity. From this I take several ways of life and try and follow through with my own life. Forgive others, be a good person, don’t gossip, be thankful for what you have – all very positive ways of thinking and living. But it’s so hard to want to be associated with so many Christians who are outright racists. I can’t vote in this election. But I can hope that the appointment of Barack Obama, a fine leader for the most influential nation in the world, will help expedite the eradication of closed-minded racism.

DAVID TENNANT LEAVING DR. WHO :(

David Announces He’s Leaving Doctor Who

David has announced that he is leaving Doctor Who during his acceptance speech at tonight’s National Television Awards.
Speaking live from the Courtyard Theatre in Stratford Upon Avon David explained that he will be returning to Cardiff in January 2009 to film the 2009 Doctor Who specials, but when the show returns for a new series in 2010, it will be without him as the Doctor.

David said: “I’ve had the most brilliant, bewildering and life-changing time working on Doctor Who. I have loved every day of it.  It would be easy to cling on to the Tardis console but I fear that if I don’t take a deep breath and make the decision to move on now, I never will.  You would be prising the Tardis key out of my cold, dead hand. This show has been so special to me, I don’t want to outstay my welcome.”

He added: “This is all a long way off, of course. I’m not quitting, I’m back in January to film four special episodes which will take Doctor Who all the way through 2009. I’m still the Doctor all next year but when the time finally comes I’ll be honoured to hand on the best job in the world to the next lucky git, whoever that may be. I feel very privileged to have been part of this incredible phenomenon. I’m looking forward to new challenges but I’ll always be proud to be the 10th Doctor.”

The following interview with BBC News is about David’s decision to leave the show:

Why have you decided to say goodbye to Doctor Who?
When I first started back in 2005, I always thought that if it worked out, three years would be about the right time.

Three years, three series. Which I did and I loved and I had a great time. And with Russell T Davies and Julie Gardner [executive producers] leaving, that became a very natural stepping off point for me.

What became very difficult was when it was announced that Steven Moffatt was taking over because I’m such a fan of his, he’s such a great writer, he’s written such amazing stories for me in Doctor Who already.

The prospect of hanging around for a while and enjoying working with him was sorely tempting and very nearly changed my mind.

But I think it’s better to go when there’s a chance that people might miss you, rather than to hang around and outstay your welcome.

What’s your message to the fans?

When I was a kid, I loved Doctor Who, I grew up with it. For me, it was the most exciting time when the Doctor changed.

You know he’s on his way out, you know something terrible’s going to happen, it’s very exciting – and then you’ve got this whole new character to look forward and wonder about.

It’s very exciting and it’s part of what makes Doctor Who so great. I’m excited as a viewer to see what happens next.

Russell T Davies must have given you some hints about what your exit will be like?

No! He hasn’t. I do not know what he’s thinking about. But Russell being Russell, I’m sure it’ll be a send off to be proud of.

What are your memories of the last three-and-a-bit years?

It’s been the most extraordinary time, it’s been bewildering, life changing, very exciting. And just so much fun, such a great show to work on.

And again I think that’s one of the reasons I think it’s right to take a deep breath and bow out when it’s still fun, when it’s a novelty.

I don’t ever want it to feel like a job, so I want to move on when it still feels exciting and fresh and that means I’ll miss it.

What do you think you’ll miss the most?

I think I’ll miss all the people who work on the show. I’ll miss Russell’s fantastic scripts and of all the other writers who work on it.

And I’ll miss playing this character. I don’t think there’s a better character on television. He gets to be everything – he gets to be funny and intense, he’s a hero but he’s also a bit of a clown, he’s an anarchist but he’s strong and dependable and crazy. Like mercury one minute and like steel the next.

And to get the chance to play all those things for 45 minutes on a Saturday night – I’ll miss that I’m sure.

As an actor, do you think you’ll always be known as Doctor Who?

I think it’s one of those parts that does that does follow you around, yeah. I know a couple of the old Doctors and it’s clearly still a part of their life. I think the public has such an enthusiasm for it and such an intrigue for the show, that once you’ve been part of it it does tend to stick to you like glue.

But that’s fine – it’s something I’m very proud to be forever associated with.

Do you think you’ll ever do anything as special as Doctor Who again?

It’s difficult to know.… I think the cross-generational, cross-cultural appeal of Doctor Who is pretty unique. I can’t think of anything else that has fans who are seven and 70 in almost equal measure.
It’s difficult to think of what else one might do that could rival that. I hope I’ll do things that will be as exciting and as thrilling artistically and professionally, obviously, but I think Doctor Who is pretty unique.

How has Doctor Who changed your life – it must have had great positives and great negatives?

Obviously the great positive is I get to be involved in this show I’m desperately proud of, and I get to work on these great scripts and I get to play this incredible character.

I suppose it has a level of public scrutiny and attention which is very flattering and kind of thrilling to be in the middle of, but also bewildering, and sometimes it does make make you famous in a way that was never a particular intention of mine.

It’s churlish to complain about, but it does bring certain tensions to your life which you might not always choose to have. But I knew what I was getting into, that’s part of the job, and I wouldn’t have had it any other way.

The huge question is – who would you like to replace you?

Well I’ve always been a big supporter of Wee Jimmy Krankie. So the campaign starts here to get Wee Jimmy Krankie in the Tardis and big Ian Krankie as the companion. I think that works.

Whoever your successor turns out to be, what would your advice be to them?

I wouldn’t be as pompous as to offer them advice – I’m sure they’ll sort it out for themselves. Just have fun. It’s the best part around. Enjoy it.

What will it be like for the fans – you’re their Doctor and it will be a huge change for them when you go?

I guess if you were eight when I took over, you’ll be 12 when I leave, which is quite a big time of life isn’t it? But I think that’s one of the exciting parts of being a fan of the show – you know that the doctor can change, the character and the centre of the drama can be a completely different person, and act very different.

It’s not like James Bond, where you know he’s a certain type of man, like Tarzan is a certain type of character, or Sherlock Holmes.

The Doctor can change quite radically, but there’s still an essential Doctor-ness and I’m sure whoever takes over will find their own way of communicating that.
And when I was a kid, Tom Baker turned into Peter Davison, and it was thrilling and extraordinary and a little bit disorientating at first, but in a really exciting way, so I’m excited for everyone else getting to watch that happen. I think it’ll be great.

You’re not leaving immediately – you’ve got another year for the specials. Can you tell us about that?

We’ve already shot the Christmas special for this year called The Next Doctor, which in the circumstances is perhaps a more intriguing title than it was before. We see the 10th Doctor meeting another Doctor.

And then in January we’ll film four more specials, which will be screened throughout next year, and they’ll be the four last stories that I do.

I don’t quite know when they’ll go out, but they’ll go out sometime throughout 2009.

When you’re having a bad day, go to Winnipeg Airport

Last week was a bit of a struggle when it came to coming home at the end of the day and relaxing in my apartment. The reason being that my apartment is shared with the worst roommate in the history of roommates. Before moving into this place, I was living solo with my two cats, who, though occasionally would engage in such un-roommate-ly behaviours as throwing up and not cleaning up after themselves, were generally pretty good company and didn’t cause much trouble at all. I took my current roommate in on my couch after finding out he was living out of his car, having been kicked out of his parents’ place. After a month we agreed to find a place together – it’d be cheaper for me, and he’d have a proper roof over his head.

Things started off okay, and then true colours started to show. I should’ve realised when he was kicked out that he had no possessions. This was good in my last place, because he had nothing with which to clutter up my old living room, but in the new one, this translated to using all my dishes and cutlery, hoarding them in his room to fester and mold, and me having to go in there a week later and clean, just so I had something to eat breakfast off of. The pattern continued: no possessions meant no CDs or DVDs, so I would come home to find piles of them scattered across the floor, and various albums missing, having been taken into his car without asking so he had something to listen to. This behaviour continued; living in filth behind his bedroom door, taking things, and generally not cleaning up after himself. Not to mention my food and drink being consumed without permission and empty boxes left in their place in the cupboards. Having exhausted various attempts at rational conversation, notes left when he hadn’t been home, I finally called his father and asked for his help as it was becoming unbearable. Soon after this, the family went on holiday to England, so I had the place to myself for three glorious weeks. It was wonderful. He came home, apologetic for having been a bad roommate, and said he was going to change.

I didn’t realise he meant for the worse.

The first incident I had to deal with last week was him stealing money from my purse. It was only $6 or so in change, but it was going to be my breakfast that day before work, so definitely set the tone for a bit of a sour day. I had a lock installed on my bedroom door and spoke with my property manager, who said they couldn’t do anything else. A day later, I came home to find my TV, internet and phone had been disconnected. Now, he had always been in charge of paying the bills – I would give him half and he’d take care of it. Or so I thought. It came to my attention that for the last 3-4 months, the money I’d been giving him had been spent on booze and weed, and MTS hadn’t seen a penny of it. So naturally they’d disconnected us. This happened right at the point where I was designing an important poster that had to be sent to various newspapers and print companies the next day, relying on an internet connection to have photos and other info sent to me. The nice man at MTS said yes, I could get an account completely separate from him – but only once the bill had been paid, since it was going to the same address. Roommate has been found out – and has proceeded to avoid confrontation by not coming home since.

So I called Shaw, they set up my own account, and I now have a nice Gavin-free internet connection which I know will be paid every month. I also have a lock on my door so I can keep my personal belongings safe, and hopefully he’ll continue his pattern of avoidance so I don’t have to deal with him. As long as he keeps paying the rent, I’m just fine with this. The end of my lease cannot come soon enough…

But I want to end this on a positive note. Last night restored my faith in Generally Being a Decent Human Being. I spent the whole day over at Sweet’s house with his family while he was out in Montreal with the Bombers, which was just wonderful, and at the end of the day I went with his mum to meet him at the airport. Waiting for his arrival, I was reminded of the opening scene of Love Actually:

 

Whenever I get gloomy with the state of the world, I think about the arrivals gate at Heathrow Airport. General opinion’s starting to make out that we live in a world of hatred and greed, but I don’t see that. It seems to me that love is everywhere. Often it’s not particularly dignified or newsworthy, but it’s always there – fathers and sons, mothers and daughters, husbands and wives, boyfriends, girlfriends, old friends. When the planes hit the Twin Towers, as far as I know none of the phone calls from the people on board were messages of hate or revenge – they were all messages of love. If you look for it, I’ve got a sneaking suspicion that love actually is all around.

I saw families overjoyed at seeing loved ones coming through those gates. I saw wives eagerly anticipating the next person to walk through those gates. I saw a little dog jump straight up into his owner’s arms as soon as he walked down the stairs. And then I saw my Sweet, all dressed up with the rest of the team. Our eyes met, and I smiled the biggest smile I had all week.

I like airports.

Art and Soul

This weekend I somehow found myself perched on top of a platform in a whirlwind of fashion, beauty and environmentalism. My very artsy friend Fiona had asked me if I could stand in for her in a modelling gig at the Art Gallery’s annual “Art and Soul” event. The theme this year was “Eco-Chic”, so the outfit was going to be something plant-related, but I didn’t find out until my fitting on Thursday entirely what I was in for. It was lingerie. Beautiful retro corsets and bustiers, babydolls, bras and knickers with ruffles… made of old umbrellas. The only way I can describe my outfit is Marie Antoinette as a ballerina living in the forest. I had a neutral coloured corset with cream gauze sewn on into a kind of tutu, with lichen from Kenora sewn across the top and all throughout the gauze. Then recycled umbrella knickers, fully exposing everything above the boobs and waist down. My hair was big and curled and full of feathers and I had a white porcelain-esque face with big purple colouring around my temples. It was the most creative thing I’ve ever worn in my life.

There were three other girls, two of whom were actual working models, and we took half-hour shifts in pairs standing on top of a raised platform, surrounded by foliage and greenery and rich people. We opened the night with all four of us up there and then took our partnered turns. We had to pick a pose and hold it for five minutes – I had no idea how exhausting this was going to be! I tried going along with the ballerina type poses to go with my outfit, and the girl I was with couldn’t bend down in her outfit, so I got to do a lot of stuff on the floor, which was cool, but holy crap, I came home with bruises on my knees and a very sore back indeed!

We finished at about 11:30 and then got to change and enjoy the rest of the party. My gosh, rich people go all OUT for these things!! There were girls in prom dresses made entirely of magazine covers; two people dressed as energy saving lightbulbs, a girl in blue with a silver sparkling wig with a tap on top of it, a woman covered in leaves with a bag of actual leaves in it, on which she’d written individually “SAVE THE TREES, SAVE THE WORLD”, which she was handing out to anyone and everyone. There were lots of green outfits and girls with hair twice the size they were, full of recyclables and wire… it was just beyond amazing. And each level of the gallery was transformed into a different theme. There was the “midnight garden”, and a VIP lounge, and a beautiful blue-lit dance party, from which people spilled out onto the roof, which was lit with orange lanterns. It was unlike nothing I’d ever seen and I just wish I could’ve taken someone with me. Although I ran into the lovely Jane, who kept me company on the dancefloor at the end of the night, and a couple of others showed up later that I knew, so all in all a very interesting albeit exhausting evening!

The whole fundraiser thing has really been something I’ve been thinking about lately. My friend Vicki in the UK did a marathon last year to raise funds for breast cancer since her mum was diagnosed with it not too long ago. And this year she’s raising money by having people sponsor a skydive. I try and do my bit for charity whenever I can, and making a positive change in the world is something I think we should all think about more often. So much in life we take for granted, and complain when things aren’t going so great for us. But compared to how your life could be if you weren’t lucky enough to be living in the country you are right now, are your problems really as bad as they may seem? I really want to get involved in helping another charity, and I’ve been looking at a few of them. I’m not a singer or an athlete, I’m not part of team or a church or a school that could get together and do something big. But I want to do something. I’m thinking something that I wouldn’t normally do – like I’d love to throw myself out of a plane, but people just do that for fun, and I want it to be challenging – it’d seem more meaningful that way. So, being faced with 6+ months of deep freeze, I decided it would be a good time to train up. Really dedicate time to get myself in shape so by the time the snow melts, I can get out there and do something. Run a marathon, or do a triathlon, or something. Push myself to the absolute limit and have people sponsor it in the name of a good cause. If anyone has any creative ideas for me, or even wants to join me in doing it… I’d totally love to hear from you 🙂

Inspiration

Last night I went out with a lovely group to see Jacob Moon, a phenomenal musician I’ve gotten to know over the last few years. A local band “Robbed in Tuxedo” opened the show, with Dandy Warhols covers and a drummer with an amazing what Jenn and I described as “a magic box”, which he hit and smacked and provided a unique kind of percussion. Jacob was on next, and I was eager for my friends and family to be part of what was sure to be a remarkable performance.

I first saw him when he opened for a Steve Bell concert, probably about five or six years ago now. I remember being blown away by his musical talent, by his message and by his modest, genuine and down to earth personality. I signed up to his mailing list, and have been going to his concerts whenever he’s in town ever since. I’ve even been lucky enough to have built a friendship with him thanks to the magic of Facebook and I was excited to share his talent with a group of people I’m very close to. He opened the show with an uplifting, soulful song, “We Will Overcome”, astonishing the audience with his incredibly skilled use of loop technology. The instrument he uses allows him to record a section of music and play it back, giving him the freedom to play additional parts over the “bed” of music he’s created as a base, resulting in a phenomenal live sound I’ve never seen the likes of anywhere else. His timing is impeccable and his voice pitch-perfect. Two of his albums are live recordings, and could easily pass for studio if it weren’t for the applause at the end.

The set flew by and some of my group had to leave shortly after, but I was happy to see them queuing up for CDs and talking of how they wished he’d kept playing the entire night. Whenever I see Jacob Moon, I’m inspired both by his musical and personal excellence to become all that I can be. To see someone blessed with such incredible talent, writing songs about overcoming adversity, living life with grace, searching for something more than the humdrum of everyday life, and using that talent to not only create amazing music, but to be a part of making a positive change in the world, doing work with International Justice Mission, and donating all proceeds from this show to Lifewater, is nothing short of inspirational.

I’ve met some musicians, and I know other musicians, but there’s something interesting in that some of the most talented and gifted people are some of the most modest, down to earth and genuinely nice human beings. Jacob’s compassion for the suffering in our world is overwhelming and I was left touched and inspired to do all I can to help. Local singer Jodi King put on an impressive set following Jacob, and explained how she was heading to Liberia next month, and how these concerts were raising money to build a well and toilet facility in a place called The Forgotten Village where they have absolutely nothing. Watching her and the band perform a song called “I live for you” in front of a video showing the people in Liberia in complete poverty, but still finding positivity and singing in celebration when they installed their 200th water facility was incredibly moving, and Jodi explained how they were going to be there and be a part of building the 300th. After the show I made a donation to the cause and left with a strong sense of wanting to make a positive change in the world. One day I’d like to do something as phenomenal as what these artists are doing right now. I’m glad I got to share in an evening of such compassion, heart and soul.

Daleks reading the weather

LOL. The breakfast show I listen to on the radio in the mornings did an episode from the actual TARDIS, and this part made me laugh out LOUD. Daleks reading the weather and talking about bacon sandwiches and doing impressions of Frank Bruno. HILARIOUS.

Winter: 1, Social Life: 0?

In the last few weeks, my initial waking moment in the mornings has become progressively colder; each day becoming less inviting to step in to than its predecessor.

Winter is coming.

My morning walk to work is turning rapidly from a nice little jaunt, accompanied by summer tunes, iced cappuccinos and open-toed sandals, to daunting trials soon to only be even possible after first arming up in gloves, boots, even snow suits. At least if I wear a balaclava, nobody will know who this fashion disaster actually is.

Winter is coming.  And it’s going to punch me in the face and steal my lunch money.

I was thinking about winter recently after talking to my friend John in Dublin, who somehow manages to jet off to some sunny destination every other month, who is also unimpressed with the imminent coming of winter.  (Living in Winnipeg however, we are fully prepared to take on any “My winter is worse” argument and win hands down.  I wish I could take joy in this victory.)  I’ve been thinking about how I’m going to occupy my time for the next seven months while the city’s social lives are taken prisoner by Arctic temperatures and threats of frozen skin.  Hibernation! I would like nothing more than to crawl up in my apartment surrounded by kitten love and blankets and catch up on a busy summer’s worth of neglected reading.  But clearly this is not going to work.  I’ve spent this year trying to be very social, catching up with old friends, seeing more of my family, and just getting out there in general.  Winter kind of puts a damper on this, and though my Financial Advisor is probably eagerly anticipating the funds I’ll save over the next half a year, it leaves me wondering about the inescapable seasonal shift of my own social life.

Sure I have plans.  Scrapbooking the millions of pictures I took over the year, reading lots of books, pirating movies, baking cookies and really (hold me to this) learning to use my sewing machine. To do actual sewing, and not just attach the front of a dress to the back of a dress making it impossible to put on.  🙂 But I can’t help but think of the lack of actual human beings in this plan.  Thinking of my weeks right now, I usually have it all planned out by Monday night.  I’ll see so and so on Tuesday, have such and such over on Wednesday, go see this or that on Thursday, hang out with David’s family on Friday, and poof, the week’s done.  I’m left feeling content with the contact I have with the lovely people in my life.  But winter brings difficulty in getting to see those people.  No more going to Ready Mix and dancing every Thursday night.  Too cold.  No more popping round friends’ houses for dinner parties or movies or pot lucks.  Too cold.

So I wonder how I’ll be feeling come, say, February.  Will I be feeling sad and lonely and sorry for myself that I haven’t seen anyone for 4 months? Or will I feel a sense of personal accomplishment for the (intended) copious craft projects I plan to undertake to keep myself occupied? If this was a year ago, the answer would be the former. Hands down, with miniature violins in the background.  But this year, I think things are going to be just fine. I’ll have more projects than I’ll know what to do with, and I know a certain Mrs. Kyla will be helping with half of them.  I’ll read the Twilight series that everyone is banging on about and be happy just to be reading regularly again.  I’ll have a spick and span apartment, I’ll hone my baking skills, and have little movie nights indoors.  There’ll be pumpkin carving and Christmas tree decorating, and tonnes of festivities to look forward to.  This year, I have very little worries about winter’s effects on my social life.

But I can’t say the same for my outdoor style.  Next year’s plan most definitely involves a car. 🙂

Wedding Joy

This weekend I have found myself surrounded by love and happiness, and it has been wonderful. I sit here attempting to type at a normal speed, slowed down by the false nails I wore for Kyla and Jesse’s wedding on Saturday – the most beautiful, lovely wedding ever! The whole thing started on Thursday when we had the rehearsal dinner. I was very nervous about the reading I was going to be doing and the Pastor yelling at me didn’t help, lol, but Kyla was amazing about it and David’s words of encouragement really helped me just get up there and do it on the day – and it went okay!

I met their families and sat with Kyla’s dad at the rehearsal dinner, who was hilarious and we made fun of each other’s noodle-eating abilities. I caught up with Jenn which is always wonderful because I hardly ever see her. And I ate way too much Chinese food. 🙂 The wedding was on Saturday, and after spending Friday night with David’s mum sewing up and making alterations to my dress, I went and got my hair done Saturday morning, practised reading to Vicki and then set off. Thanks to the Bombers winning, David was able to come to the ceremony after all which was wonderful. As I stood up there and talked about “love which is permanent” I kept thoughts of him sitting out there in my head. I didn’t dare look up though as I was on the verge of tears, and after their vows both me and Jenn were just BAWLING. It was so beautiful and lovely and Kyla was THE most beautiful bride I have ever seen in my life.

We had dinner at Bistro 7 ¼ – amazing food, wonderful company, random bursts of song and a little too much wine and champagne! We went to Kyla’s dad’s house afterwards where I was just overcome with emotion, and my happiness for the couple, combined with my happiness at my own current romantic situation all got a little too much and I had to step outside. Had a bit of a wine-induced cry (read: bawl) to David (love gets me every time!) and then realised I’d been sobbing for a while and went inside to grab Vicki, who I’d left unaccompanied in a room practically full of strangers! And feeling like an awful friend (and an awful mess at this point) David drove us both home. Apparently there was a bonfire and sparklers which I was extremely sad to have missed, but we spent the rest of the evening reflecting about life and love, cuddled up and woke up to a lovely home-cooked breakfast (and copious amounts of water).

I am ridiculously happy for Kyla and Jesse right now. Two of the most wonderful people I have ever met; I know they will have a lifetime of happiness, and I was honoured to be a part of their special day. Congratulations to Mr. And Mrs. Taylor!!

Music Snobs

Anyone who knows me knows full well how much time, love, and bandwidth I continually devote to new music. I was lucky enough to be raised by parents with cool, un-parenty tastes in music; my mum listened to a lot of classical and world music while to this day I still thank my dad for raising me on late ’70s British punk and the new wave movement of the ’80s. Since moving to Canada I’ve made a concerted effort to stay on top of the music scene in the UK. I listen to BBC Radio 1 religiously from the moment I wake, throughout the work day and into the evening. I check the tracklistings and research the bands’ back catalogues and am a member of various online music communities. I buy iron-on transfers so I can make my own Kaiser Chiefs t-shirts. I had to buy a new hard drive because I filled one entirely with music.

So I guess you could say I’m a bit of a music snob. But do I really want to fall into that category? I think personally there’s two kinds of music snobs: the Music Aficionado, and the Music Know-It-All. I’d like to think I fall under the former. One of my favourite things in the whole world is to introduce someone to something new and wonderful, and have them fall just as in love with it as I am. I love sharing good music and seeing it appreciated as much as it should be. Sure, I’ll admit adamant refusal to voluntarily listen to anything played on Hot 103, Much Music, and yes I have been guilty of “oh I downloaded that MONTHS ago” moments. But I think the dividing line between MA and MKIA is defined by openness to new music.

I’d like to think I was open to new music. I make sure to schedule myself enough time to listen to Colin Murray’s “Best in New Music and Alternative Classics” show throughout the week and Huw Stephens’ “Introducing” show. I even contemplated naming my first born after Zane Lowe for introducing me to countless artists and albums that have played a large part in shaping my life in the last few years. But if someone I know sends me a song, I’ll give it a listen and I’d like to think I’d be as open to enthusiasm about it as if it were the track’s first airing on an obscure BBC radio show. This is where the Music Know It All differs. They claim to be open to “anything of quality” but have a predisposed upturned nose to anything they didn’t personally “discover” themselves.

I found a set of rules on some website, the Seven Rules Of Being A Music Snob.

1. Music Snobs always admit they are music snobs.

When music is all you have, you’d better live it up. Announcing your snobitude can be done with subtle phrases like (start writing these down), “Have you heard the new Preston School Of Industry record?” “Popul Vuh sounded way better live” or “James Brown? Give me a break! The real soul man was Solomon Burke.” If you’re not into subtleties then simply announce how many records you own (it must exceed at least 500, but heads won’t turn until you surpass 1000, and you must mention all rare, out-of-print ones) or wear a band shirt.

(Personal verdict: GUILTY. I did it just thirty seconds ago!)

2. Music Snobs dress the part

This doesn’t necessarily mean wearing a band shirt, but if you do it has to be an obscure band. Those Offspring, Tool, and Metallica shirts you can easily find at any Virgin Megastore do not count; in fact they only hurt your snob status. Your ultra-rare John Cale shirt will either have to be found by fluke at a thrift store or made by you via an iron-on label. You don’t have to wear a band shirt though because there is an alternative: dress like your favourite artist. The most popular and time-tested looks are the Elvis Costello (tight clothes, thick-rimmed glasses, receding hairline), the Neil Young (ragged/dirty clothes, rats nest hair, whiny voice), or the Ani Difranco (beads, beads, beads). So now you can walk the music geek walk but can you talk the music geek talk?

(Personal verdict: Refer to home-made Kaiser Chiefs t-shirt)

3.  When in doubt, Music Snobs hate

You’re in the middle of a heated discussion about just how underrated Ron Sexsmith is when someone dares to draw a comparison to Howie Beck. Howie Beck? You’ve never heard of him, but don’t let the other snobs know. Your safest best is to label the unknown artist as “pretentious” or “a sellout” or “a hack” and then just lean back and grin like you know something that they don’t. The hate card is a safe card to play because music geeks pretty much hate everything.

(Personal verdict: NOT GUILTY. This is what separates the two kinds of snob here!)

4.  Music Snobs never like the popular stuff

Beatles fan? Not anymore. You’d be better off listening to The Smiths and all the snobs would approve. Pink Floyd isn’t snobby enough for the true elitist, so listen to Can instead (also note: Can is a band, not a can). If Radiohead is your drug of choice then get off and get plugged in to Sigur Ros instead. Their name sounds snobbier and therefore the band is snobbier. Listening to a popular band is like telling the world that you’re only a wannabe music snob and the golden rule of snobbery is that “if it sells, it smells.” You have to find the music that never sells.

(Personal verdict: GUILTY)

5.  Music Snobs always like music everyone else hates

First of all, some clarity is needed here. Everyone hates John Tesh, Celine Dion, and Wham! but so do music snobs. Snobs like the stuff that normal people don’t know they hate, but would hate if they ever heard it (which they probably won’t). Pere Ubu, Crass, Joy Division, Tom Waits (post-Swordfishtrombones), Frank Zappa, and the later works of John Coltrane all fit under this category. (Also note: it never hurts to name-drop a classical composer that no one else has heard of by this stage of the game. The unwritten rule is that the composer must be less-known than Franz Joseph Haydn) If you can utter the phrase “sure The Modern Dance was an important record, but Dub Housing was much more groundbreaking and experimental” then you’re on your way to working up the Music Elitist rank.

(Personal verdict: Guilty)

6.  There is a Music Snob hierarchy

On the low end of the music food chain (although they are definitely still snob worthy) are clerks at mainstream music stores. They’re well attuned to hating popular music because they’re around it all day, but their exposure to the juicy rare stuff is limited to their private time only. Next up to bat are clerks are used/rare record stores. They make less money then the pervious group so they get extra points for dedication. They laugh at you when you try to trade in your old Eagles records and exclusively play stuff like The Birthday Party, Howard Tate, and Pharoah Sanders over the store stereo system. One tier higher you’ll find indy music critics (critics for Rolling Stone or Blender don’t count, of course). They take their love of music to the extreme by writing about it. It’s one thing to psycho-analyze every Joe Jackson album, but it’s another thing to write about it and make it official. What about DJs? They don’t count, unless you consider college DJs, which are the next level of snobbery. They take pride in playing The Cure b-sides when every other station can’t get enough of Justin Timberlake. At the top of the heap are indy record store owners. They don’t own the store to make money, they own it for the constant influx of music. They’re also the masters of rule #7.

(Personal verdict: This is my point exactly.  I think this rule should be summed up with “Music Snobs always think they know more about music than you do.”  To which I willingly admit complete and utter hypocrisy; I am 100% guilty but absolutely hate this about other Music Snobs :))

7.  Music Snobs always like the ‘snob album’ and the ‘snob song’

Sure, London Calling by The Clash is a good album and snobs enjoy it, but to call it their favourite Clash album would be too easy. The self-titled Clash album is a little more underappreciated and slightly less popular and therefore is the ‘snob album.’ Pavement songs like “Stereo” and “Cut Your Hair” are good songs, but every snob knows them. That’s why a song like “Saganaw” off the Pacific Trim EP would be the ‘snob song.’ If you’ve never heard that song, just say you don’t like it because it’s too pretentious. Now you’re catching on!

So there you have it, 7 easy rules to live (or bullshit) by to enter the elite kingdom of the music snob. When you’re 10 pounds underweight (or 40 pounds overweight – there’s no in between) and classifying your favourite records by genres you make up, like “Blonde Joke Jazz” and “Electronicountry” then you know you’re well on your way to snob status.

Putting things into perspective

Nothing particularly unusual happened on my bike ride to work this morning.  I cycled up to Pembina where I passed the usual construction workers, stopped at the normal lights, and the usual #60 buses passed by, ferrying students on their way to university.  I started to think about how my life would be if I were in school rather than working full time.  I’d see different areas of the city outside my own little work-home-Taylor-Pembina radius.  I’d pass by hundreds of different people every day, seeing a variety of outfits, attitudes and opinions.  I’d learn something academic on a daily basis.  I’d meet new people, people who could turn into some of the closest friends I’ve ever had, just like when I was in university before.  I’d sit in coffee shops surrounded by other students and listen to music, or catch parts of conversations, gossip, debates, or current events.  How different life would be if I were still in university.

I kept cycling to work and this got me thinking about success.  I’d be extremely poor if I were in university – I’d have to find some way to pay my rent and have enough time to study and find a part time job.  I’d have to give up lots of things and take out another loan.  But it’d get me an education and I think I would personally feel more fulfilled.  Ultimately I’d hope I’d end up with qualifications that would get me a better, more successful job in the end.  But by what means do we define “success”?  Natural inclination is to think of it as a monetary definition.  If you make a lot of money, you must be successful.  I don’t make very much money, does this make me a failure? I wouldn’t think so.  I guess it depends on how you personally define success.   So I started thinking about what it meant to me.

As of right now, I have a pretty big chunk of debt, I live in a small (but lovely) apartment dependent on having a room mate to help pay the rent.  I have no car but a full time bicycle and a full time job in which I design ads, business stationery, invitations, type articles and do lots of printing and photocopying.  Am I successful, by general definition? I guess financially, I just about scrape by enough to slowly pay off the bills, afford to go out once in a while, and buy the odd new shirt now and then.  It’s tight.  So if the standard and generally accepted definition of “successful” is indeed financially based, I guess my answer would be no.

But to me success isn’t synonymous with having a lot of money.  Success is made of up personal satisfaction with multiple areas of life, financial stability contributing a small piece of a much larger and more diverse whole.  You can be successful personally, emotionally, academically.   And it got me thinking about everything that’s changed this year.  I looked back on my new year’s resolutions from January this year the other day, and some of my goals included furthering my education, becoming more emotionally stable, less dependent on having a significant other and spending far more time with friends and family.  To grow as a person and feel like I’ve lived a more enriching life.  And looking back on the last 9 or so months, I can definitely say I’ve achieved that.

I’ve always considered myself a lover of literature, arts, creativity and academia in general.  I may not have been able to afford to go back to school, but it hasn’t stopped me researching the world of graphic design and learning enough to be able to start my own little side “business” if you will, with enough interest so far that it’s paid for my ticket to Los Angeles this winter.  I’ve made wonderful new friends and re-established connections with old ones and spent some amazing times with them this year.  I’ve met someone wonderful and our difficult schedules have made the scarce time we do get together absolutely cherished.  I’ve accomplished a lifelong goal and visited Ireland and seen sights I’ve wanted to since I was a small child.  So I think in terms of overall personal success – I can say I’m pretty happy with where I am.

This was quite the thought-provoking bike ride this morning.  And it just made me wonder about how often we think outside our own little boxed in lives of work and sleep and school.  How often do we question the general definition of things such as success? How often does it enter our heads to think of what’s happening in the world, right now outside our own lives?  There’s people out there learning, there’s people out there travelling to see amazing sights.  There’s people running companies so big that one wrong decision could change the way we live. There’s people dreaming of incredible ideas and bringing them into our lives through movies or shows to be made in the future.  There’s people dreaming of making science fiction science fact and changing our perception of reality. There’s people coming into the world, leaving the world, and overcoming enormous obstacles.  And it’s all happening right now.

I found this web site that has a live statistic of things like births, deaths, crimes, etc.  Click on “now”. It kind of puts your own life into perspective.

Russell T. Davies interview pre-Torchwood airing

I have always loved science fiction. As a child, I absolutely adored Doctor Who. It’s a passion that’s never left me. But I understand why there’s still a taboo around it. I’ve never liked fantasy. I get very put off by elves and dwarves and any sort of Middle-earth fantasy land. I can’t stand The Lord of the Rings. Science fiction, to me, is quite different. More rational, closer to the real world. My homemade definition of science fiction is that it deals in rational, scientific rules, rather than fantasy’s world of magic. That’s my distinction.
If there was a Doctor Who story in which magic occurred, I simply wouldn’t allow it. I’d rather it be alien technology than magic. Because I always want there to be some ordinariness in there; some mundanity with the extraordinary.

That, I feel, is what my work over the past couple of years has been all about. You have to look at what is being served elsewhere on television. These days there are 500 shows, good and bad, which have fleets of spaceships and monsters all creeping on what used to be Doctor Who’s preserve. So, in looking for scripts, you have to think, well, Battlestar Galactica’s got the big spaceships and Buffy’s got the fantasy and the vampires, what have we got that’s unique? And it’s the real world.

You can have the Tardis land on a street corner and have the real world running as a thread throughout the story. It’s the whole philosophy of the show. It’s one of the programme’s strengths, to find the sinister in the everyday. That it invades a young audience’s life. If you’re a child it really invades your imagination. Your whole house becomes a deathtrap in your mind. You’re walking past a wheelie bin or mannequins in a shop window and they could come to life, anything could happen. I didn’t invent that, that was all in the programme.

I have made changes. But if people say I’ve introduced a soap opera element into the show, I take that as a pejorative. What they mean is drama. A soap opera element would be the Doctor turning round and saying, “I am your father, Rose.” But if you mean people are happy or sad or affected by events, that’s drama. And it’s quite inconceivable that a primetime BBC show could be written in any other way today.

The emotion of the new Doctor Who gets spoken of an awful lot. But it was never talked about in the planning. To be absolutely blunt, it’s because they got me in to write it. And I’m not a hack, I’m not a new boy, I’m a very, very experienced and successful TV writer and there’s no way I could have got there without understanding character. And emotion. The issue was never discussed, we never sat and thought “I know! We’ll put some emotions in.” It is untenable for the programme to have taken any other course.

In Torchwood, which is on postwatershed, we can be more adult about such things than we have been before. (Torchwood is the name of a mysterious team of investigators, led by the charismatic Captain Jack (John Barrowman), who use alien technology to solve crime both extraterrestrial and human . . . in Cardiff. It is also, trivia fans, an anagram of Doctor Who.) That doesn’t necessarily mean being more adult in terms of sex and violence — even though I wrote Queer as Folk, I’m not terribly interested in depicting sex and violence; they can be so sixth-form if you don’t do them correctly — so much as in terms of emotions. One of the lead characters, played by Eve Myles, starts to have an affair. She has a lovely boyfriend at home, she has this extraordinary job at Torchwood which she can’t talk about. She starts to have this affair with someone at work because it’s the only way she can share what’s going on. It’s a very human situation. I’m very pleased with that storyline because it’s told in a very adult manner. There are powerful scenes of lust and anger and hurt and the joy you get out of the initial stages of having an affair. But it wouldn’t be right for Doctor Who to go into that sort of territory, you’d sit there at 7 o’clock on a Saturday thinking “What the hell is going on?” So why do some people still see it as kids’ stuff, or at least nerds’ stuff? Well, that’s partly because it is. From my point of view there is something very young about science fiction. None of us working on Doctor Who thinks it’s just for children but we do think it can be for children. Like Toy Story or Monsters, Inc. — that’s got some of the most intelligent, stimulating ideas of any film ever, and it’s a story about a talking eyeball! It also attracts a lot of geeks. You can’t deny that when you get a mailbag like mine. And what we’ve done on Doctor Who is to take it away from them, which has left a lot of the men screaming and crying. But to get eight million people watching it, which is the whole point, that male white middle-class audience that dominated the audience for so long has to put up with no longer being pandered to.

Television was younger when Doctor Who was in its first heyday. All sorts of fantastic shows that lack emotional resonance from back then — Randall and Hopkirk (Deceased), Danger Man, even The Prisoner, acclaimed as it was, even, dare I say The Avengers, the wittiest programme made — you couldn’t make them like that now. People have to be more involved.

And I actually think we’re wiser when we come to television and we know ourselves better. We’re talking about the 1960s when Cathy Come Home was shocking, and we sat there and said, “Oh my God, these people have no hope!” We were ignorant. I’m not saying we’re brilliantly clever now. But actually we are more aware of the world around us. We expect to be a part of the programme. I always get a bit puzzled when people talk about interactive TV, because as far as I’m concerned it’s all interactive TV. I sit there talking at the screen all the time, shouting at it, taking the piss out of it.

It’s interesting how we’ve warmed up over the decades. Take Columbo, in which all you ever saw of him was him doing his job. But actually what we loved best about Columbo were the references to his wife. Even though we never actually saw her. The more stuff that got made, the more people learned to seek out the emotional content.

And the process isn’t over yet. Our connection and our fixing on detail is continuing into reality television. I despise people who say they despise reality television. They’re snotty about a form that has all sorts of things wrong with it but is genuinely fascinating. My love of Big Brother is not ironic, I genuinely find it fascinating and powerful because it shows the tiny details of people’s relationships. It exposes the infinitesimal details of how people get on together.

There’s a chance that people who don’t get on with Doctor Who, who think it’s childish or whatever, might get on better with Torchwood. But there are still people who will run away, say, “Oh, it’s science fiction, I’m not interested!” Well, you don’t want to waste your time chasing after people who don’t want to watch. You just have to concentrate on making it good. That’s all that matters. People will watch something that is good.

Weekend Dreams

So I HARDLY ever remember my dreams. Once in maybe a couple of months I’ll remember something. But this weekend I remembered them two nights in a row and both were kind of hilarious so I thought I’d write them down 🙂

First one I dreamt I went on holiday with David to Florida and I really wanted to go to Disneyland. Except after we got there I started growing a beard and I got really upset because I didn’t want to go outside in public with all this stubble. Most of the dream was spent being really sad I couldn’t go to Disneyland, because I had a beard, but David was helping me and I was determined to find a Laser Removal centre so we could go see Mickey. I don’t know if I found one or not but I remember waking up and being VERY SAD for about 2 seconds before grabbing at my face and then being VERY RELIEVED I didn’t actually have any stubble. LOL.

The second one I had a dream about was Kyla’s wedding. In the dream I had to do a reading during the ceremony and so did our friend Jenn, but the two of us had to go find “something pretty” to hold while we did our readings. Jenn got this beautiful candle and we weren’t allowed to get the same thing, so I remember doing a bunch of running around and not being able to settle on anything so I bought an AIR FRESHENER. Anyway so onto the ceremony, it’s my turn to read and I had to do the reading from this big book. Except it was all in Middle English. I get up there.. and I can’t find my page to read from, so I’m thumbing around and it’s just not there so I started just reading from a random page in Middle English hoping nobody would notice because I figured I’d be the only one who studied it, all the while holding my silly air freshener. I talked to Kyla after the ceremony and told her how sorry I was for ruining her wedding and for some reason she wasn’t mad at me… even though what I read had nothing to do with marriage at all!

So… two dreams, both of them ridiculous but both of them kind involving some kind of stress and panic. I wonder if this has anything to do with my current room mate situation, ’cause I’m not stressed about anything else in my life right now!