Hello, Viking.

There's a woman in Trent's office, Arlene, and Trent talks about her all the time. Arlene is one of those women who seems to know something about everything. She and her husband are snowbirds, and while spending Christmas in Florida, they learned to deep-fry a turkey. Her husband used to be a Nascar mechanic, and so they told Trent how to install some sort of fuel-saving... gizmo in Grillface. And last week, Arlene discovered that, this fall, they are filming a movie about aliens that arrive on Earth in 500 A.D. and have to fight the Vikings. Don't dwell too much on the plot. The thing that you need to know is that they are casting Vikings. Fair-haired, red-bearded, enormous, klobberbonking Vikings. Here in Halifax.

So Trent and I set up a backdrop and some lights in the basement and take a hundred or so photos of ourselves. A couple of them turn out pretty good, so we photoshop them into headshots, and I fenangle us both some performance resumes (Performance History: Ghouly Doctor, Spooktacular 2001, ...). Then we take them to the film office downtown. Trent has just come out of a big meeting at the waterfront, and is looking particularly hot in his borwn Tristan & America suit. We find the film office, which is on the ground floor (i.e. half-basement) of one of those old Victorian houses at the end of Barrington Street. The ceilings are, of course, about three inches above his head. I walk in first and hand my envelope to a guy at the desk.

"This is for Outlander," I say. "We hear you're looking for Vikings. I know I'm a bit of a long shot, but he looks like a Viking."

"I should," Trent says. "It's in my genes."

It must have been Christmas and Natal Day (Halifax August holiday, folks) all in one in that film office. The two other staff members instantly stop their phone conversations and start firing questions at Trent. Will you be around in October? Will you be available? Is your phone number on your resume? The guy to whom we've handed our envelopes tries to collect himself and shuffles through Trent's resume. "Yes, everything seems to be here. Nothing left out." Boy, am I glad I remembered to include Spooktacular on his performance history. "We can't guarantee you a part in the film," he says, putting Trent's resume on the top of the pile.

"But can you please start growing your beard now?" the other woman adds quickly before we leave the office.

Of course, nothing is set. I know that. But I can't help but feel that things went very differently from the Brad Pitt Jesse James film that Trent and our old neighbours Greg, Nadine and Garry went to audition for in Edmonton. For one thing, we didn't end up drinking mimosas at 9 in the morning instead of auditioning. That's promising, isn't it?

Green Drinks... They Get You Every Time!

Or so my friend Tannaya says. You see, when Brad and Toni were down, they met Tannaya and Brad fed her a green drink. It's best not to comment on the results.


This is a pic of me, Tannaya, Toni and Brad having cocktails at the Tribeca downtown. Pre-green drink.









And this is me and Toni. This is a different trip--we went for drinks after dinner one night.












Trent and Toni at the Economy Shoe Shop. A bar, not a shoe shop.











And then we started posing for the camera...

Right... about those green drinks...

This is the after picture. The guy in the centre, by the way, is a stranger. He was trying to pick Tannaya up. Don't worry--Toni had the entire dance floor keeping an eye on the situation!

I Swear, I'm in This One!

It's last Spring's edition, but they just posted it online. I'm in it. Really.

www.roommagazine.com

Clogging the Tubes in Saint John

Today, my faithful readers (and people who just found my Blog by accident), I am posting from quaint Saint John, New Brunswick, where Trent has been sent on a business trip, and I have tagged along for a lark.
Mr Phidit the Electrickal Enginerd, aka Cheese to his co-workers, sent the following video to Trent today. I appreciate the way it explains the internets in a way that we non-technical types can easily understand.

http://www.jimmyr.com/blog/Internet_a_Series_of_Tubes_193_2006.php

If that doesn't work:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6iMDRVzMfEM&mode=related&search=

And proof that it wasn't just a clever cut and paste job, the full recording:
https://my3.dal.ca/webmail/services/go.php?url=http%3A%2F%2Fwww.youtube.com%2Fwatch%3Fv%3Df99PcP0aFNE%26NR

It's Like Caffeine Withdrawal, Only Worse.

Wow. It has been an amazing summer so far. Admittedly, I've gotten next to no school work done, but I figure it's worth it (ask me again after my next meeting with my supervisor). On July 4th, Mom came to visit. She spent nearly two weeks and we had a great time touristing and taking apart our old deck. Then, right after she left Toni and Brad came for a week and we had a lot of fun. It's amazing how with some people, it's always like no time has passed. Then they left and Trent's parents came for a visit. We took them to the airport this morning, and now Colin (Drogues Colin) is in town for a family reunion, so we'll probably see him tomorrow or the next day. Then Julie, Bob and Emmet are coming in September, and Phidit just told me yesterday that he and Nancy are arriving on September 17th. I'll admit, I was a little worried about having so many visitors in succession, but it has been so nice, spending time with people that we love and that know us well enough for us to be able to just... relax. I think we are going to feel really, really lonely after Phil and Nancy leave.

But before we think about that, let's look at some pics of Mom's first visit to Nova Scotia!


Mom thought the guy on the left was hot. Quick, somebody check all the cradles!

Me and Trent drinking tea at Mahone Bay. Not caffeinated, thankyouverymuch!

On a whale-watching tour in the harbour. We didn't see any whales (boo!) but Mom did get to meet my friends Nikki and Miika.

This is why I'm not a recreational drug user

On my way to work this morning, I stopped at Second Cup for a coffee. I drink dark roast partly because I like the strong coffee taste and partly because it has less caffeine. This morning, however, they were out of dark roast when I ordered, so they gave me the top of the brew--put my cup under the drip just as the coffee started brewing. I knew as soon as I tasted it that it was strong. Really, really strong. Holy shit. I feel like a speed freak right now, I swear. I'm absolutely vibrating. I can't concentrate on anything and I think I have a headache, but I can't really tell. I just typed this entry in about 17 seconds flat. Hunt-and-peck, of course. So put out the word amond speed freaks and coke fiends that they are wasting their money. For under $2, they too can be absolutely buzzed on top-of-the-brew Second Cup coffee.

Would someone please tell the paramedics why my heart exploded?

Am I Wearing a Warning Label?

And does it say "Danger! Fragile and Prone to Meltdowns!"? I got an email today. It was a rejection letter from the Dalhousie Review, telling me that they've decided not to print "Flag Man." Rejection letters are not new to me. After nearly eight years of submitting my stuff to various magazines and publishers, I think the score is 2 acceptances to 50 or so rejections by now, and while each one feels like a kick to the gut, I've gotta say, I'm pretty used to them. (A sane person would have given up by now.) However, I'm pretty sure that my personal reaction to disppointment isn't exactly public knowledge--which is what makes this particular letter so weird. Here is a sample of the email:

I hope this rejection isn't too discouraging to you. Rejection by journals is something that every writer has had plenty of experience with. /The Dalhousie Review/ rejects somewhere around 95% of what we receive, and this rate isn't unusual among journals. Authors looking for publication just must, unfortunately, become inured to rejection, and keep trying.

Um... have they got me mixed up with some other Rebecca Babcock who goes postal every time rejection rears its ugly head? Or have I somehow earned a local reputation for being dangerously unstable? Perhaps I should point out now that this wasn't a form letter; in fact, he discusses at length the rejection process and the reasons they've rejected my story (if it were a Jackie Chan movie, the kung-fu hit sounds would have blown your speakers by now).
So. I gotta ask you guys (yeah, all both of you, my loyal readers): are you spreading dirty rumours about my emotional stability?

(No rah-rah comments allowed, please--I've got a cavity that needs filling already. Only cynical commentary on the publishing world and this weird letter in particular will be accepted.)