Three of my favourite syllables:

Hiatus: [pron: hi-AY-tuss] When television productions shut down for a week to prevent cast and crew from ripping apart one another's flesh due to the work-related stress and frustration of television production.

So I have the week off again, and this time I'm just lounging in my newly clean apartment (thanks Denise, for visiting two weekends ago thus forcing me to clean up for your stay!). With the down time, I thought I'd share with you what I am not doing this week:

I am not going into the writer's room:

There's the pin-board for sticking up index cards to plot out the stories. The large flat screen tv to watch the previous day's footage. The table to gather around and "work". You can't see the whiteboard that we use to... well, play Pictionary. (after taking the picture, I realized some important story beats were on the back of the easel -- whoops! Can't let those out prematurely!)

I am not going into my office, scanning all the schedules and call sheets and calendars to see what I need to do immediately and what can wait for ... oh, five minutes:

This isn't in the office -- but on Friday we got little "thank you" gifts from the Executive Producer:

It came wrapped in a sticker that said "I work on the highest rated show on Showcase and all I got is this lousy T-shirt!"

[p.s. After 29 months without cable, I finally got it hooked up yesterday. I positively could not pull myself away from all the channels to go to bed last night. Is there a Cable Television Watchers Anonymous? I'm willing to admit I have a problem.]

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A Picture Puzzler

A friend sent me another picture from the wrap party. As I looked at it, and recalled the good times, I was struck by something really unusual. See if you can spot it: I'll give you all some time to guess...

And they called me mad when I bought the bunker in the woods!

I had heard that one way of thwarting telemarketers was to make them think the number they have dialed is in fact a fax machine. I've tried different tones on my cordless phone, all to no avail. Then I had an epiphany: When I turned sixteen, my sister bought me a new-fangled telephone. It had push buttons, but it was still just a rotary phone - when you pressed each button to dial, you still heard the rotary "tat-a-tat-tat-tat" with every number. I had held onto this phone ever since. It's cute. It works. There was no reason to get rid of it. I was willing to bet that, in this day and age of advanced technology rendering yesterday's device obsolete on a daily basis, a telemarketer - who is likely going to be decades younger than my phone - would be unable to even identify a rotary phone by sight much less by sound. And voila! Answering the phone with my rotary phone, and constantly pressing the buttons, the telemarketer kept repeating "Hello?

Batten down the hatches -- we're in it for the long haul!

Given that the weather reports for Edmonton this weekend are grim grim grim (lows of minus 33, highs of minus 25 -- with wind chills of around minus 35 to 40), I woke up early this morning to get all errands for the weekend out of the way in one fell swoop. I barely needed a coat this morning as I headed out to my car to embark on my mission. With each passing hour, the thermometer dipped a degree or twelve. By time I was done driving around (and paused to catch a movie at the neighbourhood googolplex), it was chill-lay outside. I am now snuggly boarded up in my apartment, with no plans to so much as peek my nose out my window until Tuesday (when the temps shall return to a balmy minus 15). Groceries? Check. Toiletries? Check. Magazines to curl up with? Check. Christmas Presents? Check. Lessee, I got my father what he's been asking for since I was old enough for him to give me his Christmas wish list: And I think my mother will enjoy her bungalow by the stream: For my sister and he

A Skewed View

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