Wow. I signed up for the Made In Canada mailing list/intern thing, which means that I get an email everyday from the site. These emails tell a story - apparently the story of my involvement with Pyramid Productions. It's very slick and clever; I mean, I know that they have a couple of good programs to fit my name into the right slot in the email, but it's so easy to forget that when you're getting email from television characters.
It reminds me very strongly of the television program in Fahrenheit 451 - White Clown. The fireman's wife is mailed a script, and every once in awhile, the characters from her 3 teevee walls will turn to hear her say something pre-scripted.
It makes the hairs on the back of my neck stand up, if you want the absolute truth.
ALAN: Yes Richard. You get the intern. What's the name again?
VICTOR: Amoret.
ALAN: Right. Only it's too important for an intern to deal with. I'm promoting Amoret to Executive Assistant.
VERONICA: How come he gets an Executive Assistant?
ALAN: Because if he blows this, I'll need someone to promote into his job. You can't just make an intern into a...what's your title again, Richard?
RICHARD: President of Television Development.
ALAN: See what I mean? You can't just promote an intern straight into a presidential role.
VERONICA: But an Executive Assistant would be okay.
ALAN: It's got executive in the title.
VICTOR: Great idea, Alan.
* * *
I went to the DMV today to get my Nova Scotia license. I've lived here for almost 2 years, but I've had no opportunity to drive a car since, and I've been letting the whole thing slide. Now that we have the Lassitude, everything is different...and the new normal requires me to get a new unflattering picture taken. Done and done.
I am on my way to female freedom not seen since the likes of Tank Girl. Cower ye puny mortals.
* * *
Finally, I was extremely flattered today when one of my students came over and asked how much longer I would be with the class. "One and a half weeks," I said serenely, while inside I ran in circles and punched the air with my fist. "I like you better than SuperTeacher," he confided next, "she can be mean."
To put this into perspective, this conversation took place at lunch, and he had just been pulled into class by ST for not completing a health assignment. So his judgement of her was a bit clouded by emotion - I think that there are few students who will leave her class actively disliking her, despite my own struggles to succeed in her rich, steamy gumbo of classroom politics.
Still, it was awfully nice to hear. And it was also nice that this was not the only high point in my week. Now that I am succeeding at this experience, I no longer need to mainline the cheap thrills. That alone makes me feel better about myself.
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1 year ago today: hop hop hop
