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lanyang
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Name: LC
Country: Canada
Gender: Female
Interests: reading. i like to read. and writing. i like to write. singing. i'd like to sing more.
Expertise: poking people. flying monkies.
Occupation: Engineering
Industry: Engineering
Message: message meEmail: email me
Website: visit my website
Member Since:
11/9/2004
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| Cat TrappingI have a cat - a black/brown tabby - that's lived with me for about 15 years. Since I'll be leaving home in the near future, we had to make a decision about what to do with him. Taking him with me isn't practical. Getting rid of him is out of question. So after much begging and eye-lash batting, we reached a mutual consensus of sending him to mom's place.
Mom lives in Cambridge, MA which is an 8 hour cross border drive from where I'm at. It isn't a simple move by any means, but the long-drive isn't even the biggest of our problems. In order to cross the border, the cat needs paper to prove his disease free status. And that means a trip to the vet.
In the 15 years of that I've had him, he's been to the vet at most twice because it takes SUCH an effort to catch and transport him anywhere. He's very suspicious of (1) people (2) boxes or cages, and (3) people trapping him in small boxes or cages. My past calculated efforts has yielded a low success ratio and a very frustrated owner. After each attempt, I always mentally make a note to not to attempt this ever again.
However, like many uncomfortable aspects of life, such things are not to be avoided. In order to ship his sorry furry ass to the states, he needs his papers. So trap him I must.
In preparation I had his favorite treats ready, a green bean and some potted grass. I avoided feeding him all morning, so that I'll be able to get his attention with the said treated. My first attempt was with the grass: the planter goes into the carrier. Cat enters carriers to get grass. Door shuts and cat is trapped. Except it didn't quite work out as I planned since his hindquarters remained out of the cage, and when I tried to shove him in there, he quickly snapped out.
Second attempt: catch his eyes with the beans, swish the beans from side to side to gain his attention. Shot the bean into the carrier, and as the cat pounces after it, quickly shut the door. This time the hindlegs went in, too; however, the door shuts on his tail that was still hanging out. He doesn't complain about it much as he quickly realized that this is a trap(!!), and struggles to turn him self around so to make a break for it. But unfortunately it is too late. I have already latched the door shut.
The rest of the trip was relatively uneventful. In side the security and luxury of his carrier, he howled and scratched like mad, but once he's in the vet's he settled down due to all the powerful all emcompassing fear of strangers - which basically paralyzed him. After it was over, I brought him home, and surprisingly he was a lot calmer than I expected (maybe the Rabies shot has this side-effect? I don't know). The whole thing turned out to be stressful and but nonetheless repeatable.
I hope that maybe, just maybe, mom's life with the cat will be easier than mine.
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| How to get university housingGraduate student housing office has a 18 month wait list for its North Village. Eighteen frackin' months! While I was busy being bummed out about it, I got a email from the adcomm informing me about a small, limited number housing units that are available to this years admits. And all you have to do is write a 140 word paragraph on why you deserve housing. Simple enough, isn't it?
Dear admissions and financial aid officer:
Please consider me for student housing allocation.
Due to family obligations, I always lived at home in the past. While this was convenient, as a commuter to school, I never managed to bond with my class as much as I liked. Now that I’m heading back to school, I'm looking forward to a different experience. By living in student housing, I will have more energy to contribute to my class. More time can be devoted to study groups, attending various meetings, organizing charity events, and enriching the campus environment overall. My bond with our school will be strengthened through having fellow students as neighbors. As an international student, living on campus will help me settle in to a new environment and build a stronger network. In summary, I would really like to live in student housing as it is a once-in-a-life-time opportunity for me. Please save me a spot on the special allocations row. Thank you for considering my application!
Sincerely,
LY
3 days later, I received the offer.
Boo-Yah! Student rez, here I come!! | | |
| Kingston BonanzaOver the Easter Long Weekend, A convinced me to go on a mini-getaway to Kingston for a stab at writing. Kingston is a small city on the edge of Lake Ontario in the Thousand Island region. It is historically rich, a fort town with its own rightful sense of dignity and presence. I must say Kingston is quite the contrast to Quebec City. It is a city starkly loaded with the weight of reality as opposed to a romantic French fairytale town that glosses over its military upbringing with picturesque castles and quaint meandering promenades. When I walk down King Street, I can feel the oppressive weight of the history.
The buildings in all its limestone glory
We arrived around Friday at 5 pm, ate at the Cambodian Village aka hole-in-the-wall which was surprising good (so good we went there for a second night and considered taking out for supper on Sunday). The next 48 hours was divided between the Sleepless Goat, coffee and company, the Lake's end trading co and cafe, the pan chanco bakery cafe, and coffey's cafe, and so on and so forth Several jabs later, the writing project was set aside for general sight seeing. A was set on trying out the Wolfe Island ferry, which was free and gave a lakeview of the cityscape.
We serendipitously made our way off the boat and made the mistake of getting of a ferry that runs once every 1.5 hour What is there to do when you are stranded on a mysterious island? If good sense prevailed, you stay by the shore and wait for the next boat in. But good sense was not to be had that day, and we went exploring, and so for the next hour and a half we were stalked by a mexican toursit, discovered a haunted house, trampled through a graveyard, and chased by released hounds. On the plus side, we did manage to see some amazing looking windmills and churches. We didn't know but apparently Wolfe Island is known to be home to hundreds of snowy owls in the winter. Hoot!
One of the many fierce creatures on the Island
Back on mainland, there was some more general sightseeing, including a driveby glance at the lakefrong, the Kingston Penitentiary, and Queen's University. I've always wondered by anyone would consider the prison a site, but it needs to be seen to know why. The prison is similar to the Tower of London, an impressive castle-like edifice that boasts lavish doors and an expansive lake front property. Its the Caesar's palace of prisons. A and I debated who would end up in a residence like this. We figured you must be either really rich or really skilled, or maybe you have to had managed and strategically lead an international team of drug dealers to massively improved gross profit over past ten years to make your way to the King's Pen.
Lake front, baby!
We also visited Sir John A McDonald's residence, which is built as a Tuscan villa, a popular style at that time. It was full was mysterious stair cases, decorative alcoves and balconies, and antiquities of that era. We learned of the story of McDonald and his bed-ridden wife, whom McDonald read to whenever he can, because that's apparently all they could do in bed. Mrs. McD was quite stricken by illness that during her own brother's extensive stay, the excitement of her visitor caused her condition to deteriorate dramatically. Their baby also died of unknown caused at the age of one. It's a pretty sad life. A says the story is similar to George Washington. Perhaps this is a common affliction of most political leaders of that century, somehow the story always turns out to be about a devoted husband who stayed by their sick wife's deadbed. 
Me & The doorman of the house
On the way home, I decided to stop by Merrickville, which has been recommended to me by hoards of people, mostly the elderly. It is a quaint village with a high concentration of artists, potterists, and glass blowerists. It was a pleasant 30 minutes break at any rate, and I was enchanted by the glass works at the Kevin Robert Gray gallery where you can see the kilning process through a viewing glass in the back of the shop. I watched as Michael, Kevin's son, drew a mug handle out of molten candy-like glass, which looked absolutely yummy. The boy looked super delish too. :D Back to the glass, I found the tree of life series and the birth eggs series powerful. The glass sword was pretty wicked too. They were working despite its Easter Sunday, so I left some chocolate eggs for the hardworking atheists to hunt for. We took the scenic road beside the river all the way back to Ottawa, watching the remarkably clear blue sky with its cirrus clouds give way to rolling riparian farm land nestled in the river delta. As Prince of Wales road ended into an expansive budding crab apple forest, I was once again acutely aware of the astounding understated beauty of the Ottawa region.
All said and done, it was a fun weekend of adventuring. Although there were its disagreements as always when A and I travel together, overall we enjoyed each other's company and the spontaneity of not following the beaten track. Such is life with its little up and downs and arguments and getting over things.
Prize winning Kaffir Lilly a la Glenrill Place Ottawa
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| An experience in "culture"Thursday night. I hurried down Sussex drive to make my way to the NAC for the 8'o'clock show. It is the opening night of "Romeo & Juliet"' - an classic ballet offered by the National Ballet of Canada.
I've never been to a ballet myself, although I did dream about being AT a ballet as a little girl, as most little girls probably did at one time or another. The curious thing is I still remember my dreams quite vividly - the image is one of looking down on the stage from a higher vantage point, as the lone prima donna twirled and flied across the stage. Mst probably, this image is based on something I saw on TV, as most of childhood memories are.
Anyways, so the real live experience is, coincidentally enough, quite similar to that residual image I hold in my head. My seat was in the balconies and as I look down, it was indeed a bird's eye view of the stage. The ballet itself is quite a busy one - with at least 50+ dancers on stage at the first scene, quite different from the lone dansers pas deux that I imagined the script to feature.
The Juliet for the night was Heather Ogden. She appeared in act II, a perfect ballerina. The juliet in the story is suppose to be 14 years of age, a child just on the brink of girlhood. Heather delivered that part splendidly. She was light, playful and really quite the child opposit the round and stoutedness of her nurse. Her lightness and fragility was astounding. In the ballroom scene, she danced with the count whom she was betrothed to, but still let her glances drift to the Montague man in the mask on the side. As she was dragged across the stage, she held her pose like a carboard cutout, so weightless yet shapely. Her third scene was the pas deux with Romeo. Everything looked exactly like how a ballet should be - effortless grace. The only down side was her scenes are too short.
While the music and choreography wasn't exactly the best or hardest, it was excently delivered. So as you can tell, the bright spots for me was the leading ballerina, who was superb in her role. Although she didn't have the extraordinary extension like Svetlana or amazing leg strength of Jingzhong, she was a perfect Juliet. The rest of the caste didn't leave much of an empression on me, other than they are not technically superb. If I had to pick, I guess the most memorable scene for me would be the ballroom scene. Although the dancers and choreography wasn't exactly clean, the richness of the costume and the stunning staging made up for what was lacking in the ballet itself.
Overally, I'd have to say its worth the visit! There was swordfights, acrobatics, and jesters giving comic relief - the show tried to cater to all. And for me, it is confirmed that I am a ballet lover at heart. The lone ballerina flying through the stage will warrant another visit.
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| On war, genocide and the Tamil Protests on the HillA blistering spring night. W and I buddled up to skipp though downtown. As we walked up to the intersection of Metcalfe and Sparks, we were hit by the glaring flashes of police sirens and smell of pungent kerosene. A peek to the parliament hill revealed a dark calamity of people shouting slogans surrounded by police talking intently on their FM radios. There was some speckles of torch fire going. It was chaos. The scene looked like it belonged more in London or Boston, rather than the quiescent streets of Ottawa.
As curious and nosy as we were, I stopped a dude and his two companions to get the 411. I think he was really excited someone from another race cared to know what's going on so he started talking in fits about the war that is happening in Sri Lanka, that Tamils are being killed, that the protest is to get the message to Canadians of what is happening there. I remarked that they must be really braving the cold up there. At this comment, the man flared up. He started waving his hands wildly and screamed, "don't you understand? don't you know what genoside is?!? That's what's going on there! GENOCIDE! Go up there and have a look! They will tell you!". It was kind of awkward after that. The hill did not look inviting and W is not in any condition to be walking through an emotionally out-of-control crowd. I didn't know what to say or what sort of look to muster up. So we just mumbed thanks and carefully backed away.
I must admit I felt somewhat uneased and guilty afterwards. Turning away is so..against my nature.
This morning, a Tamil coworker told me some more about the protest. Apparently, its been ongoing for the past six days here in Ottawa and in London, UK. Some people have gone on hunger strike and a few have ended up in the hospital. Unfortunately the public response has not been good. He felt frustrated that there's so many people are suffering and dying back at home but no one (i.e. Canadian or British government) is getting involved. I mentioned the chaos and how turned off I felt about it. He admits that he personally feels the protests are not good for getting help, but at least it gets some publicity (which is true, otherwise I wouldn't be writing about this, I would write about my weekend in Kingston).
For some inexplicable reason, war and suffering touches me in a deep and profound way. I'm sure it does for many, otherwise why are there all there so many books about war and movies set during the war? It's this horrid fascination. It's like why people like to watch hockey or football - the violence, the savagery, the gore, the adrenaline. No wonder people can't get enough of it. But as for the suffering, I guess its less easily remembered, otherwise, there wouldn't need to be a need to build memorials and have Remembrance days. We must be genetically engineered to forget.
Speaking of memorials, I remember there was a Holocaust memorial in Boston near the Union Oyster House. At the end of the memorial, there was a large monolith that leaves the visitor with this quote ... They came first for the Communists,
and I didn't speak up because I wasn't a Communist.
Then they came for the Jews,
and I didn't speak up because I wasn't a Jew.
Then they came for the trade unionists,
and I didn't speak up because I wasn't a trade unionist.
Then they came for the Catholics,
and I didn't speak up because I was a Protestant.
Then they came for me,
and by that time no one was left to speak up. ---Martin Niemoeller
I couldn't help but think of this quote and how strange it is that genocide is actually in the world around me, but not in my world. It is removed from my life and I am trained to be diplomatically nonchalant. It is sort of sad - I feel like I don't have much compassion or sympathy or righteousness, but then again, sometimes I wonder if wars are a by product of such sentiments, among other things. But regardless, as far as humanity goes, genocide is a terrible thing. No other animals that I know of, will purposefully kill another group of its kind as a mean of securing resources. What a horrible thing it is to be human.
I don't know enough about what's going on in Sri Lanka, but as far as this protest goes, I think its totally not getting the message across, and very counterproductive - the longer its dragged on the more annoyed I am and the less I want to help. I would soon rather be sponsoring someone to bike across Canada to carry a message of peace than a group who's actively disturbing the peace that many Canadians had fought and died for (and many more struggles to find).
Last night, I met up with W again. We ended up walking through the same quarters with the same gut-wrenching cries of the protesters and the swarms of police. This is the eight day. The screams are louder. I brought up my Tamil coworker's perspective, and we discussed as we made our way to the Black Thorn. W think its important for the countries to use their own inner strength to pull through difficult times. I don't know what I feel. My extensive research on history of Sri Lanka via Google returned wikipedia pages that are marked with "this entry is considered biased" or "this entry is currently under editing restriction...". I'm aware that there is a war and people are suffering. But I can't make a decision without the facts. And the fact are not getting to me through the roaring through loudspeakers or the silent hunger strikes. Instead, maybe its a better idea to put this energy into getting properly educated, working up through the ranks of society, and becoming more influential based on actual accomplishments and achievements. Rather than crying for help for eight days, maybe spend that time to strengthening yourself and working on your cause?
Or write a book or something.
Anyways, enough with the screaming already. I can't hear anything. | | |
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