Day 230
I spent all morning washing my underwear and editing a story that I've read way to many times. Alas, this is grad school. What's weird is that it's not all that unlike what I was doing before moving here. Except: I don't have a car, I don't have any money, I don't have a kitchen, I don't feel like I should visit my parents, I am popular (no, seriously, I am), I am in a different country, I am not the smartest person here (at all), there are no screens on the windows, and I go to a giant room to eat my dinner with fellow nerds from around the world. Well, all that AND I entered my first of probably many writing contests today. Yeah, I could win 500 bucks. Well, minus the 37 bucks it cost to buy stamps, an envelope, a money order and and extra fiver for the processing of the money order. There is only one problem: I am not sure that my 37 dollar package will reach the contest.
This is both good news and bad news. The post office branch I went to is the one that I currently work at. You know, the one where I don't even know how to sell someone a stamp, let alone determine how many grams something has to be to be considered a "small packet" versus a "parcel." The good news is that I am not alone. One of the girls working today had no clue how to do anything either. The bad news is that she was the clerk helping me. But, as in all aspects of life, if you look hard enough the good news can outweigh the bad news. She was so lost that I helped her figure out how to do things. The good news: I felt like a genius and sometimes in this life that is worth 37 dollars no matter what the outcome.
So today was a first and a last: the first contest I have entered in and the last Creative Non-Fiction class. Creative Non-Fiction is taught by my favorite professor. The last class was cut short as he had to leave immediately to go on a book tour. The last two pieces we workshopped went wonderfully. Then he gave us an amazing speech offering that he would help us go through our first book contracts, line by line. The offer, as he said, doesn't expire. Well, he is 64 years old and, as he told me, takes caffeine pills. Shit.
Anyway, after his speech about book contracts he said that the class had been a pleasure for him to teach. He said it in a sincere endearing manner. After he was finished I started to applaud, after I started to applaud the entire room started to applaud. It was like The Dead Poets Society except that we weren't standing on the desks, we aren't prep school boys, and he was getting fired and we didn't study poetry in a cave. Okay, so it wasn't really like The Dead Poets Society. The best part though was that the professor soaked up a few seconds of it, and then ran out of the door. Makes you kind of wonder if he really meant what he said about liking the class. Hopefully he didn't fall down the stairs and kill himself. Oh well, that would get him out of looking at contracts we don't have.
I learned something terrifying at supper this evening: my upstairs neighbor throws her old food out the window. I suppose I should be mortified to think that she throws it down to rot in front of my window, but I am not. What I am more concerned about is that this food will draw raccoons. And these raccoons will eat the food. Then, these raccoons will climb up the side of the building and come into my window. And, the main problem I have with raccoons coming into my room is that I will be home when they come in. They will go to my window, take one look at me, and think "I can defeat this, bitch." And then, I will have to move. How inconsiderate can my neighbor be?
After supper I ended up at one of the rez hall's talks. Translation: Every couple of weeks someone who lives here gives a speech about what they are studying. Usually, I avoid these talks. Honestly, the only one I have been to was the one with the cute New Zealand couple playing all sorts of trumpets. Tonight's talk was given by a friend of mine who is getting a PhD in Education and has a music background. His talk was basically him reading an academic paper he had written that contained works like, "furthermore" and "phenomenology." During his reading of 15 pages, I had approximately 14 day dreams, examined the freaky toenails of the guy next to me, debated the age of a certain audience member who held her wine glass exactly how someone who is underage and thinks they are cool would hold their wine glass, and wondered if phenomenology was a word.
Luckily, after reading the paper, the person giving the talk started to play the piano. Now, I am not one for classical music, as it doesn't usually have words or a catchy beat. I blame my rock n roll upbringing. But, somewhere in the middle of this frigging Bach song I imagined a lurid sex scene set to the emotions of the music. Afterward, I went up to my friend who had played the song. He was surrounded by a group of people. He paused to ask me what I thought of it. I told him, "I liked it, that one part was like sex." Judging from shocked faces of the people around, this was the wrong thing to say. And, apparently, saying, "What? Was that the wrong thing to say? Should I not compare the music to sex--or, what I remember of sex?" was the not the right thing to say either.
This evening was my second evening working on the set-up crew. Turns out the set-up crew is super easy when there is a huge Norweigan viking to save you from being crushed under the podium that you are trying to pull around. Not only does he rescue you, but he puts the podium in place. Apparently, I made 5 bucks for that 15 minutes of work that he did. Man, am I exhausted.
Tip of the Day: The Canadian government website is set to auto-hate on Americans applying for work permits. There is no winning it over, do not try to woo it. It will just ignore you and make you re-register 10 times and tell you that you cannot go on until something magical happens, like you getting an EVN.
-Canadian Castaway
No comments:
Post a Comment