Josh Groban WITH Glasses

Who knew that the search terms for "Josh Groban with glasses" would be more popular than "Josh Groban Glee"?! I sure didn't. But, during my final night out in Manchester before heading home for the holidays, this was a discovery that will now help me sleep at night. ...not that it was preventing me from sleeping before.

In typical post-assignment submission tradition, my fellow IDMPers found a table at the SU bar, and began to drink away our sorrows/celebrate the almost end of first term. It was the night before I was due to fly home for a two week holiday. This little tradition appears to be drawing more people, which I will attribute solely to my awesomeness, and not the fact that a Facebook event allowed a wider range of classmates to be in the know. Either way, the evening was filled with laughter, debate, and drafting the first crack of the '2015 IDMP Bucket List of Awesomeness.' I've come to enjoy these casual, fairly low-key nights out. I'm surrounded by incredibly intelligent people, who are just plain fun to be around. I love the opportunities to learn about their backgrounds, their take on the world, and what their next steps are. Although it took a while to develop this social circle, it was certainly worth the wait!

Photo credit: Random girl sitting at the table next to us, via Arafat Safi

But, like most things in my life, as the night progressed, and I become more tired/hopped up the sugary goodness of ginger beer, I made things, shall we say, delightfully awkward/weird! Yes, folks, this is the tale of how I met 'Josh Groban'! Now, before you all get too excited, meeting Josh Groban, in this instance, is no different than that time I met Ban Ki Moon (i.e. I didn't). No, Josh Groban, is none other than my friend, Russell. After three months of spending many days with this guy, I finally figured out why he looked so familiar. Perhaps it was his post-essay crunch-time, over-tired demeanour, or maybe it was the glasses, matched with the Josh Groban-esque threads. All, I know is that out of nowhere, I semi-blurted out - "You look like Josh Groban!" And then we spend the next half hour or so debating whether or not this was true. And yes, this was how it came to be known that "Josh Groban with glasses" is a widely search Google inquiry.

Me pretending to be an excited Grobanite* with "Josh Groban" himself!

It's now two days later. I'm in another country, and I've just enjoyed a good cup of coffee. It has been three long months since the sweet, sweet, goodness of Java Blend's Dark Aztec has been happily consumed by yours truly. I slept in a bed that didn't involve being so small, that turning meant smoking my elbow into the wall next to me, and that had pillows... big, fluffy poly-filled pillows. Being home has never felt so good.

Getting here was a tale in and of itself. One that involves ripping pants, delayed flight avoidance, and almost not making it out of the country for weather- and technology-related reasons. I spent my first night with my childhood best friends, celebrating a 30th birthday! Luck girl, this one! Can hardly wait to see what the next two weeks will bring!

-the (jet lagged and slightly delirious) Orange Canadian

*Grobanite - "a rapid woman or man who enjoys the auricle ecstacy of Josh Groban's harmonious voice" (according to urbandictionary.com)

Girl's got skills!

Well, I'm happy (although slightly nauseous) to report that two out of my four major assignments have been submitted. Why I thought that assessments based on one, single essay for my mark was a good idea, I'm not sure. I'm having flashbacks to a certain undergrad prof who temporarily stripped me of my confidence by informing me I was not a writer. Thankfully I have an extremely supportive/good pep-talking brother and some amazing friends who settled my nerves post-submission. I am a writer! ...just not an editor...like...at all!

Last night I treated myself to an night off of essay-ing to support my pal, Rosie, who is currently in the Royal National College of Music's production of "The Merry Widow" - an opera by Franz Lehár. For me, the night was made before I even set foot outside of my flat, as I had an excuse to put on a nice dress and relax! Of course getting to see Rosie in action, was pretty awesome, as well!

Let me say this, I met Rosie through a few of my roommates in my first year at Acadia, and then had the pleasure of working with her when Pete's first opened in Wolfville. Until last night, the most I had heard her sing was carrying along to the soundtrack of whatever was entertaining us during monthly (weekly!) inventories. I knew she was talent, but had no idea to what extent! Mark my words, the girls has pipes - big, powerful ones! From the first note, I was amazed that this tiny lady could produce such an impressive sound! I had a proud mama moment throughout the evening - even though I had nothing to do with anything related to her or her talent!

The production itself was delightful! I quickly became engaged into the storyline, and shared several laughs with the rest of the audience. (Sidenote: the audience itself, by the way made up for a recent comment by one of my flatmates who informed me I was old and fat, for the theatre was filled with people at least double my age!) I could hardly believe that these stunning costumes and perfectly placed sets were part of the cast's education. The work that went into it was incredible. Nothing like the few productions I attended at Acadia. To say it was a step up was an understatement - more like several flights! And hey, I've been in my fair share of school plays, but they were more like the "Be Kind, Rewind" version* of what the RNCM puts on! And, rightly so - they are training these students to become professional performers and musicians!

Afterwards, I met with Rosie for a drink. It was so nice to sit and chat about end-of-term recaps and reminiscing on the good 'ol days at Pete's! Seriously first-summer-Pete's-crew, we need to have a reunion!

All in all, it was a great night! The rain even held off for me, so I didn't have to put use to the umbrella I bought for the rain I thought I'd be encountering here (I'm told I haven't seen anything yet, so I may regret this semi-sarcastic comment!)!

Now that I've been cultured, I plan on spending tomorrow relaxing, and running some final pre-boarding errands, before I head back to Canada for a quick visit. That's right - this girl is heading home! First term is two remaining essays away from being complete, and although this has been a difficult semester, I am looking forward to what next term brings. In the meantime, I'd ask that you all please cross any body parts you can to hope for smooth weather as I make the trek home!

-the Orange Canadian

*For those of you unaware of "Be Kind, Rewind" it is a terrible, slightly offensive, yet amazing movie about a couple of guys who remake classic films in an attempt to save a video store. It stars Jack Black. Enough said. 

One simple gesture...

Today I bought a cup of coffee and a muffin for a homeless man. I did it as part of my commitment to the 'Season of Giving Challenge.' It was cold. It was the least I could do.

One of the differences between what I see in Manchester compared to what I see in Halifax, Wolfville, or any other Nova Scotia city, town, or village, is that it's difficult to escape the presence of those without a roof over their heads here. It bothers me. It bothers me that it's so in-you-face here, and it bothers me that it's not back home. The reality is, there are people living on the streets in both places, and whether or not I (or anyone else) can see them isn't right. No one should have to live under those conditions. We should all have the basics of food, water, clean air, and a warm (or cool, depending on where you are) place to crash at the end of each day. This shouldn't be a thing. Anywhere.

But, the point of this post isn't to rant about homelessness. To be fair, I'm not really sure why I am writing this post. I walk by people crawling out of their sleeping bags under an overpass on a weekly basis, at least. To be truthful, I intended on buying some food or something the other day, for the three or four people I usually walk by on the way to get groceries. Now, go figure, on this particular occasion they happened to not be there. But, I was determined to make this a thing that I did.

So, this morning as I walked into city centre, I was confronted by a few people asking me for any change I had. I didn't have any. One of them huffed and walked off, another made a degrading comment towards me, and the third told me to have a nice day. I went about my morning.

Now, on the way home, that same man was sitting in the same spot. It was cold. There was "ice" on the ground. My checks were red, and my glasses fogged up when I entered the mall. It was cold. I saw that man sitting on the ground wrapped in an old blanket and I thought, it's too cold to be out here today. As I approached him he smiled at me. I told him I still didn't have any change, but asked if he needed something warm to drink. He did. I grabbed a cup of coffee and muffin at a nearby coffee shop. When I returned, the look of genuine gratitude was something I cannot put into words. There was a small crowd of people around at the time I did this, and the appalled looks I received for this act surprised me. He thanked me, and we parted ways.

On the way home, I wondered what had happened in his life that brought him to where he was. I wondered what his story was. I got mad at myself for not even asking him his name. I've thought about him the entire day, between journal articles, and essay restructuring. It's supposed to snow tonight, and now I'm worried. I hope he finds a warm place to sleep tonight.

The thing is, the point of my gesture was to do something nice for someone else. It was so easy, and in the end, I felt amazing. Imagine if we all did one simple gesture every day. Imagine what the world would look like.

"It's Africa raining hail right now, with an impressive thunderstorm!"

It's no secret that I love weather - rain in particular - but really I enjoy a variety of weather.

I'm currently in the middle of end-of-term crunch time, with two essays due in less than a week. I've spent several afternoons tucked away in one of two independent study rooms (nothing like those dingy, dark closets at Acadia - which for the record I have determined I prefer). Today, the time I could book was an hour earlier than what I am used to. Within minutes of arriving, it began to downpour. It ended as quickly as it came, but I spent those few brief moments gazing out the window, taking it all in.

Fast forward three hours. I walked back to my flat, and just as I'm getting settled back into 'essaying' the sky darkens, and it began pouring again. This time, however, I was treated to a nice bit of thunder, before the rain disappeared and hail started dropping. HAIL. Torrential down pour, African rainy-season, downpour IN HAIL FORM! Unfortunately for you (well, those of you reading who were not near a window in Manchester at this time), by the time I grabbed my camera, it had ended. But, I'd just like to tell you how unbelievable amazing those few moments were. It's the closest thing to snow I've seen in months, and, I'm exactly one week away from returning to Canada. If anyone could see me, I'm pretty sure I was a small child in a candy store on Christmas morning with an unlimited bank account, and all the choice one could dream up! Perhaps, it was a "we've missed you" present from the east coast.

It's now back to gloomy cloud cover, with a mix of light rain and a calm sunset in the distance. Back to the books, I guess...

-the Orange Canadian

50% everywhere else, 0% Canadian

Over the last six months, I've learned a lot about myself. Well, I guess I could say over the last 18 months... I've learned many of my flaws, my strength, my passions, what I want from life, and so much more. I've learned the shortness, and at times, abruptness of life. I've learned the impact one person's life can make. I've learned how to laugh, take a breath, and live in the moment. The last one in particular, is something I wouldn't necessarily attach to myself two years ago (although I am still guilty of thinking far beyond today)!  

Last night,  in what is becoming a conclusion to "Tutorial 'Hell' Week" tradition, I went out for dinner with a gang of friends - some newer, and some newish (...really 'newish' is actually a word?). And, like the 'tradition' of these nights out, it started with drinks, which two hours later resulted in quite the debate about where to go to eat. Now, let's just clarify one thing here, one person in particular tries effortlessly to get us to go to one location, and we all agree, but then when the time comes to eat, we all inadvertently change our minds and insist on going to Curry Mile (the complete opposite direction). For me, I do this mostly because, although most times I like to be a good human being, I do enjoy occasionally being a jerk, but also because by this point I'm so hangry that I don't want to walk the distance to the originally "agreed upon" spot.

Photo credit: Khalis Noori

When we arrived to our newly decided place of pending massive food consumption, a variety of dishes were ordered, and we happily passed around plates of things for everyone to share. It was pretty amazing - I don't feel that this is something that would happen back home, and in all honesty I instantly became overwhelmed with just how much was on our table! Perhaps the greatest part of this dinner was just sitting back for a second and realizing the range of nationalities plunked around the table, which led to some amazing conversation about geography, politics, languages and history! I'm fairly certain I learned more in those two hours than I have all term! This, is a true "university experience"!

Photo credit: Khalis Noori
I am reluctant to post this photo, mostly because I can't figure out how I look so abnormally formed...
I also appear to look strikingly like Tweeg from Teddy Ruxpin!

But what does this have to do with what I've learned about myself, and how I've come to question my 'Canadian-ness'? Well, one debate we had between bites was on the level of spice in each dish. On one side of me, I had a delightful chap from Afghanistan with a self-declared spice-intolerance, and on the other two heat-enthusiast men from India. The majority of the dishes ordered were of the mild-spice level, all of which were tasty! But, to test the spice-tolerance, of myself and my Indian friends the "spiciest curry ever" was ordered. Most people at the table refused to even try it. I guilted my heat-intolerant friend into taking one bite, and I basically shared the rest with the two guys to my right. This, my friends, is when it was declared that I have the "stomach of an Indian," for I did not find any of it uncomfortably spicy (and as a result, I think we now have a new challenge of finding something that is)!

So, over the last six months, the list of 'anywhere but Canada' associated traits I apparently have, has been growing. Things I apparently have:
1. The belly and behind of a Ghanaian
2. The accent of an American (probably the most offensive of all...haha)
3. The hair colour of the Irish or Scottish (depending on the person)
4. The humour of a Brit...or Dad (again depending on the person)
5. The spice-tolerance of an Indian
I have to say, I'm looking forward to discovering whatever other multi-cultural attributes I have. Especially since I apparently fail at living up to many of the Canadian stereotypes - loving/playing hockey, living in igloos, dog sleigh transportation, putting maple syrup and/or ketchup on everything, or saying 'eh' after every sentence...

-the Orange (not-so) Canadian

I think my label's expired...

The other day a friend referred to me as "rich." This marks, perhaps, the first time in my life that adjective was ever used in reference to me. The moment those words leapt off his lips, I felt sick and uncomfortable. Me? A rich kid?! Me - the girl whose mother skipped meals to ensure my brother and I could eat? Me - the girl who was once referred to as "the help's daughter?" Me - the girl who lived off of $12.50 a week in my first year of university because that was all I could afford? This one-worded description has been about all I could think about this week...and all because of a conversation about scholarships, which led to a question of how I was paying for my current academic endeavour. The interesting thing here, is that I didn't actually disclose my method of payment, other than confirming that I am not here on a scholarship. And while, no, I am not undertaking this part of my life with the use of a loan, it is not the result of my being "rich" either.

For the last few days I have considered how to approach this situation, and this method is by far the worst of my options, but to be honest, I've just worked tirelessly to rid myself of one label, only to be presented with yet another. I have avoided making friends with amazing people here, because I don't want to be associated with being "the girl whose mom died," which I struggled with immensely last year with people I knew before this was a fact. Of course, avoiding this situation has some obvious complications, being as I have a permanent identifier etched on my foot, but not many people ask about it's meaning. For the record - the placement is symbolic of the fact that although she's not physically here anymore, my Mom continues to keep me grounded, and the puzzle piece represents the massive chunk of me that a) is her and b) is lost because of her. And so, it goes back to my new status as "a rich kid."

Money has always been the least of my priorities. If truth be told, I'd love to live off the land in some shack in the middle of the woods where money isn't a thing. I pretty much want to be Snow White (less the seven men), where deer and birds help me through my morning routine, and hey, I've got the pasty skin tone already, so there isn't much of a stretch to making it happen! But, since that obviously isn't realistic, I now can't stop thinking about this awful word and how I can rid myself of it. I'm not here because I come from money. I'm here because I am without the most influential person in my life. I sold my home, my childhood, and the remnants of the one material thing my Mom work hard for and took pride in. My being here is ONLY because she is not. So, having that word attached to moving forward and living in her memory dirties it somewhat...it makes it feel less valuable...less significant. Sure, I get that I grew up 'Canada-poor' and that in comparison to an unfortunately-growing population of the world I lived (and continue to live) in excess. I'm not discounting that. But, if I am rich at all, it's because I had a Mom who gave everything for my happiness. I was spoiled with time spent and unconditional love, not material goods...because that's 'all' she had.

What does the Fawkes say?!

Well, my friends, I've fallen to peer-pressure once again! After a restless night resulting in my being up at 3:00 am (that's 11:00pm for most of you back home!), I couldn't resist the guilt-ridden pleas of my friends to join them for 'Bonfire Night' or Guy Fawkes Night. As per my usual failure to resist such pressures, I actually had an enjoyable night!

We met up at a bar after a long and semi-pointless dissertation writing workshop (apparently "water, water rights/access, and water boundaries" is not the correct answer to 'what are your interests?'!). In our newly forming tradition, the conversation transitioned from academic bitching to really weird topics, like pooping during child-birth and the results of an 18-year-old's 3-day long bad reaction to Viagra, you know, typical conversation amongst a bunch of 20-somethings over a beer, or my personal favourite ale...ginger ale (and no, I don't drink it because I'm a "ginger")! The purpose of this pitstop was to kill time in between class and the start of the festivities. When we decided we'd had enough of the increasingly disgusting conversation, we made our way to Platt Field Park. Sidenote: as we left, I noticed the two digit number marking our table. Yep, the number '27' makes an appearance once again!

I must say, I was quite surprised by what I saw when we arrived - it was like the Atlantic Winter Fair back home only less the Super Dogs and livestock (well, that part's debatable!)! There were rides and food trucks, and multiple children in strollers amongst the growing group of mostly university-aged participants. Seriously, why would a parent think it was a good idea to bring a small child to an event like this? Despite that, I was actually quite impressed by the range of people who had come out! It was the coldest night I'd felt since I arrived, but that didn't seem to deter anyone!

Our first goal was to find the food truck with the smallest line and consume ALL of the food. There's nothing like the bonding that happens between a crowd of strangers vying for a fried hotdog fresh from the jar, smothered in fried onions! One of the unavailable items at this spot was a 'Canadian steak'...anyone know what that might be? Apparently it's really good, as per the group of boys standing by us.

Next we made our way towards the bonfire, which had just been lit. Of course, we couldn't get anywhere near it, but that didn't stop me from attempting to take a picture of it...

Yep...that blob of light is actually the massive bonfire in the distance...

I don't think I'll continue on the path to become a professional photographer...at least not with my cellphone, anyway! It does look slightly like the outline of a pumpkin though, doesn't it?

Since we quickly accepted that we weren't going to get any closer to the fire, we decided to find a crazy ride to waste some money on... £5 to be exact! We found some brightly lit, turn thing, for which I do not know it's name (obviously!), and waited in line. Now, just to bring you up to speed, in between the attempt to get to the bonfire and making our way to this point, we had a long debate over whether or not a) the fireworks would soon be starting and b) we'd miss them if we were on a ride. Well, folks, I'm happy to report that just as we found ourselves in the line up for this brightly-lit, turny adventure, the first of many fireworks began. But here's the part of the night that blew my mind...we debated leaving the lineup to go watch them. I figured, by the time we got out of the line and found a place with a good view, they'd be over, and then we'd have to lineup again and start the whole waiting game over. We decided to stay in the line...but the fireworks did not end like they do back home (you know the ones, 3 red, 3 blue, a couple green, maybe a smattering of swirly yellow/gold ones, and then 3 minutes after they began they're over)! No, we went through the line, the entire duration of the 2-minute long ride, and still had time to scope out a spot to watch the last few minutes of the display! All-in-all, it must have been at least 20 minutes of firework-awesomeness. Nova Scotia - you need to step up your game!

After this, we, along with the 47 million* other people in attendance, decided we needed dessert - a crepe to be specific! So, off we went in search of a dessert shop in curry mile. To our surprise, there are a number of them (who knew?!). The girls got Nutella and chocolate soaked crepes, and we escaped the crowds and made our way home.

Well, that's all the crazy adventure for this girl, this week! I decided to forgo the Christmas lights extravaganza thingy, despite the desperate/drunken pleas of one friend, and instead went to bed at the late hour of 8:00 pm. A 12-hour sleep was in order. And that, my friends, is the tale of how one night out (which by the way, I was home by 9:00 pm that night), results in needing two days of recovery!

-the Orange Canadian

PS: To learn more about Guy Fawkes, do a quick Google search. It's an interesting part of British history!

*number may very from the actual number in attendance... don't judge me, I'm not a math major!