So I took a plunge.

I auditioned for the Richard Eaton Singers.

Holy fucking hell was I nervous. I mean, I haven't sung on a regular basis in... 5 years. Yup. I quit McDougall's choir in 2002. I haven't sung solo in almost that long. I am NOT in practice. Not only that, but I was singing for the guy who, 7 years ago, rejected me as a candidate to take voice lessons through the U of A's Music Department as one of my fine arts options. I was not amused.

Apparently he didn't remember me.

Which is fine. Blank slate and all that, right?

I thought I was going to fail miserably, much like 7 years ago, but instead, with only one week's practice, I pulled off a 'beautifully executed, polished' rendition of my audition piece, and was accepted on the spot.

So now I'll get to sing with the Edmonton Symphony Orchestra (sounds all impressive, doesn't it?) and hopefully work myself back into some sort of vocal shape. The first practice of the season is tonight!

Honest. I suck. It's been nearly 3 weeks since my last confess... I mean... post.

Work is getting nuts. We have to look after all the applicants and have them ready for school by the beginning of September, and we've got all sorts of people whose applications haven't been successful all pissed off at us for various reasons.

Unfortunately it seems to be another office within our department that's dropped the ball on a lot of stuff, and there's not much we can do to pick up the pieces. They've also got three brand-new people working there, so they're not as able to pick up the slack that others have created.

This means that when I get home at night, I'm emotionally exhausted. As a front line staffer, it means that I'm the one constantly getting... not yelled at, yet... but I'm the one that constantly has to deal with the after effects of these things and peoples' complaints about them.

Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm off to my balcony to spy on the car crash that just occurred on the street below. Looks like there was just some rear-ending that occurred. With any luck, it'll be my cop friend that shows up to deal and I can harass the officer :) My next-door neighbour is probably already out on her balcony watching...

So I went to see Great Big Sea on Thursday night. It was a fun concert - there were some opening-night glitches, and the Edmonton crowd was not necessarily as excited as I thought they should have been. All in all great music. But then, I love their style of music, with its Celtic roots and modern flair. They did a great version of The Rover that turned the usual metrics on their head and until they actually started singing I wasn't sure it was the same song I'd learned in Ireland. It's music that actually means something to me - harkening back to the Scottish roots and all that...

But this isn't really a concert review. It's more a reflection on why I don't go to concerts very often.

They're so... ephemeral. You're there for an hour or so (maybe a few hours if the openers are good), listening to great music, having fun with your friends. But then they're over and you're back to day-to-day life and it all just goes away. It's kind of depressing, really.

And for me, there's all the what-ifs... what if I'd actually gotten around to learning those instruments I always wanted to learn to play? What if I'd actually dedicated myself to the arts I chose to practice and gotten good enough to actually perform at something more than weddings? What if I'd been born in a different time or a different place? Would I have had the opportunity to do something more with music? It's all these dreams that I haven't been able to fulfill and probably won't because I'm either too scared/too lazy/too busy/any other excuse I could come up with. It's a supremely bittersweet experience - music sweeps me away - but it also reminds me of all the things that could have been...

I'm pissed off. Quite. Below is a letter I emailed to a few of the editors at the Edmonton Journal this morning...

Good morning, Journal staff

I love getting the Journal on weekends. There is always quite a lot to read, and there’s no better way to spend a quiet morning than reading the paper and sipping coffee. This morning, however, my paper has greatly disappointed me.

As it so often is, my paper was delivered outside my apartment door, upside down. I began to skim stories as I was picking it up, and almost immediately had to throw it down again. While I won’t be melodramatic and claim that you have RUINED the final Harry Potter book for me, I was certainly less than impressed with your decision to print a spoiler on the front page of your newspaper.

I, like, many other people, value my sleep and decided to have the book delivered to my apartment. I pre-ordered from an online website for home delivery (and it’s a good thing I did – I’ve ended up being sick the last few days, and a trip to a bookstore would not be high on my priority list at the moment). It’s now 8:58 a.m. Harry Potter has been out for nearly 9 hours. I still do not have it in my hands. And while I’m a fan of the series, knowing that I will get it within the next few hours is enough – I did not need to have it in my paws at midnight.

I was, therefore, unfortunately shocked and disappointed with my door-opening, paper-fetching experience this morning. What about those individuals like me who DON’T have the book yet? How many of those casually picked up their upside-down newspapers this morning and were blasted in the face with the plot outline of a book they hadn’t read and didn’t yet want to know? Could you not have kept the spoiler even on the second page? On the first page of the second section? Anything other than glaring in my face when I perfectly innocently picked up my paper this morning. Sure, there was a little warning at the top of the article – not much good when you pick up your paper upside down, as the warning is on the top half.

So to you, staff of the Edmonton Journal, I say thank-you for taking a little joy out of the event that I’ve been anticipating with a ferocity that is probably only second to Christmas. Or at least Hallowe’en. Again, while I cannot say that you have RUINED the final instalment of the series for me, you have certainly diminished the excitement, mystery and anticipation that I’ve been holding for the last little while.

Bah. Humbug.

And I still don't have the book - I imagine it will arrive sometime this afternoon.

42.













Ok, just kidding.

I just don't have much to say right now, but feel guilty for neglecting the blog. In fact, there's really nothing for me to say. Still in limbo on a couple of other jobs that I've applied for... still working at the uni and at The Body Shop.

First cemetery tour tonight, should be fun...

And that is all.

Ok, if bad things happen in threes, then I'm wondering what the kicker will be...

1) Dad, skin cancer, see previous post.

2) I applied for a couple of nice, permanent, full-time-with-benefits positions in my department of the university. The first position I probably wouldn't have applied for if I hadn't been encouraged by the person who would be supervising that position. The second position I was waffling about, and probably wouldn't have gotten my hopes up about applying if it hadn't been for encouragement from the same individual. I found out about a week ago that I didn't get the first job, and found out today that I didn't get the second. It was down to two candidates for both positions - myself and another individual - and I didn't get either. I'm trying not to take it personally, but when you've been encouraged to apply for the jobs, it feels like a slap in the face when you don't get either. To make matters worse, I have to work with members of the hiring committee on a very close basis for the duration of my contract with the uni. I am NOT looking forward to going to work for the next couple of weeks, and watching the candidates that got 'my' jobs come in and do things precisely the way I wouldn't have.

So what'll #3 be? Anyone want to take bets? So not impressed with the world right now.

Having said that, though, this isn't really anything that bawling my eyes out for a bit and scarfing down a ton of ice cream won't fix (unlike #1, where I get to have a nagging worry sitting in the back of my head for however long it takes).

I've also applied for a job with the City of Edmonton that was recently vacated by a certain MA History grad that I know... although if I can't get myself hired by people who know me, like me, and know what an excellent worker I am, then what hope in hell do I have of getting hired by strangers?

And the cemetery tour gig is going to be a ton of fun - M McD is going to lend me some backup for the first couple of tours (and as far as I'm concerned, he can talk about his own family in that cemetery - I'm not going to pretend to be an expert!).

And my score for some of the music from Spamalot arrived today, so I will be sitting at the piano and playing with that. Perhaps with some ice cream.

It's gotten to the point where I can't process this internally any more, so here goes.

My dad has skin cancer.

Which, if you're going to get cancer, is the sort of type to get, really. You can usually just dig the mole-y melanoma-y thing out, and do a bit of follow-up chemical treatment stuff, and voilà! good to go. One of my former bosses went through having skin cancer in her younger years, and you'd never know it. Healthy, upbeat, fine...

Nevertheless, the 'c' word is a fucking scary one.

It's even fucking scarier when it's happening to someone you know and love. It's even scarier when, during a follow-up appointment, the doctor notices ANOTHER spot, digs it out, and sends it off for biopsy. And then he's doing a little more looking, and oh, look! there's a third spot. And it's in a place where my dad had skin grafts as a kid, making the skin, well, not entirely skin-like, complicating removal.

So, yeah. I get home, and my dad has new stitches and bandages, and we all avoid talking about it over our pleasant, picturesque family dinner, and I get in the vehicle so that my mother can drive me back to my apartment and this is the news that is casually dropped as we're backing out of the driveway, as I'm waving goodbye to my father.

We're still waiting on the results from the second biopsy, but in the meantime, I get to sit here and fucking wait again.

I thought I'd already cried about this as much as possible. I thought I'd exhausted all the tears, all the worry. I thought I'd talked it over with enough people that all my fears had been mostly allayed.

Apparently I was wrong.