A gold medal kind of night

Sometimes, Fortune (yes, capital F fortune) smiles upon you.

It was about 30 minutes prior to the men's moguls final that my friend Brad called me up with an extra ticket to the next night's medal ceremony. Why not? I figure. It's Quebec night, and I can always handle some wholesome Gregory Charles post-awards. Count me in!

Of course, less than an hour later, I was in possession of a ticket to see the first Canadian gold medal presentation of the Games-- and the first one on home soil.

What is there to say? Our seats were so high up, I finally understood the expression "nosebleed". But to be there, to see and feel the frenzy that started before Alexandre Bilodeau even stepped onto the podium-- it was a pretty fantastic moment.

As Gregory Charles, the entertainment for the night, came on, BC showed its impressive apathy towards anything French by leaving in mass numbers... which allowed us to sneak in to ground level, where we managed to make it in to frolick in the fake snow under the "ice stage" (that y'all probably remember from the opening ceremonies) and dance party with the brave souls who stuck it out. Dance train with a bunch of middle aged folk in various countries' jerseys? I can check that off of my Olympic "to do" list...

Next up on said list: sneak into Sochi House and drink with the Russians... and acquire a pair of those Norwegian ski pants.

Let the Games begin...

I hopped off the Canada Line at W. Georgia this morning and nearly collided with a parade-- a typical Friday morning in Vancouver.

It's the last day of the torch relay and the town's starting to get a bit crazy... I deked through the Art Gallery's square to Hornby in an attempt to make it past the crowds. I had five minutes to grab a coffee before I was to be at the office-- crunch time.

But it was as I carried my cup of bold roast around to Robson that things got interesting.

CTV torch party! At least, that's what I'm calling it. In celebration of the torch passing by that morning, it seemed like everyone and their dog-- and their torch-- came out for the festivities. In a two-block radius, I saw at least twenty people in their hip white track suits, clutching their torches proudly.

It's a bit funny to see so many in one place-- the Olympic torch is marketed to seem special and one-of-a-kind. But in reality, there are over 12,000 torches. And everyone who ran with it was able to purchase the torch for a cool 400 bucks (before you get all excited, I'm pretty sure it can't be lit again. Sigh).

As I walked into the lobby, the room was chock-full of at least 50 or 60 revellers. A photographer from above called out-- as the crowd yelled "cheese!", about half of the audience raised their own torch.

Today, the torch will continue to zigzag across the city. It will go on a bike, a canoe, a dragonboat, and a bunch of other forms of transportation in a decidedly Seuss-esque manner.

Oh, Vancouver.

Let's go back to the coast, baby, westward to the ocean...

In true BC spirit, I had Said the Whale on my iPod as I ventured to the Ottawa airport yesterday morning. My destination: Vancouver, with a stopover at Olympic Glory (yes, capitalized).

The last few weeks have been busy but a lot of fun-- my feature article on MPs and social media was published (front page!) in the Ottawa Citizen's Saturday Observer (you can find the piece online here) and I've just finished a promotional video for the Youth Services Bureau of Ottawa that was part of their 50th anniversary launch on Thursday. But now I'm back home-- well, a few hours from home-- in Vancouver to intern with a what-will-for-now-remain-unnamed Big Media Group. They're covering some sort of big sporting event going on in town, I think?

While I know I'll probably be out East for awhile (yes, Ontario counts as "out East", though to be fair Alberta is also East by BC standards), parts of my heart still belong to the coast. Vancouver is warm (9 degrees today! 9! While Ottawa was -11, warm by Ottawa standards...) and it's even cleaner and prettier than usual thanks to the Big Olympic Machine that has taken over the city. At the airport, there were more volunteers than travellers-- there were even two volunteers at the luggage carousel who organized the bags as they came off the conveyor belt-- not one, but two!

Today was a lazy settle-in day, and it's never too hard to get back into the BC pace: sleep in, read all of the Olympic news clippings and updates, all-you-can-eat sushi date with friend and roomie Scott (and the ensuing stomachache...) and wandering Granville Island with one of my Vancouver friends. Then a long walk home in the balmy air, enjoying the mountains and my favourite familiar spots in the city. And, of course, grabbing a copy of the Georgia Straight, which I will devour as soon as I've finished this entry.

The internship starts tomorrow, so I'm sure to have more interesting stories then... and, if not, my roomie is volunteering at the Athletes' Village, so I'll just steal all of his ridiculous stories and post them on the interwebs for your entertainment. Deal?

A week and a half...

... looks like the PVR wins again.

Added the link to the third Bandwidth episode from my internship over the break to the post below.

Off to eat more cookies, M.

The break begins!

As usual, December comes and we all get the school crazies. End of semester papers, documentary edits, internships, beer. Lots of beer.

But somehow we all make it through (mostly thanks to the beer) and now I'm pleasantly back at home in Kamloops, sipping a gingerbread latte that my Starbucks-trained sister lovingly prepared for me and enjoying two weeks sans classes and deadlines. Work? Sure... I've got a website to update/redesign, two proposals to write, and a tidy stack of books to devour... but no deadlines. Woo!

For the past two weeks, I interned at CBC Radio Music and was lucky enough to work with Amanda Putz on Bandwidth. Two weeks of interning bliss: researching and learning about Ontario indie bands, interviewing and producing segments, audio editing to my heart's desire-- I even got to produce this coming week's episode! And Amanda is fantastic, so much fun and a great person to learn from. If only I could sneak to the second floor of CBC Ottawa and live there forever... sigh.

And, of course, I wouldn't be a shameless self-promoting j-student if I didn't provide links...

This past week's episode of Bandwidth- the Chanukah/Holiday episode- can be found on the NXEW blog. Amanda mostly worked on this show, but I came in to help in announcing Christmas shows around Ontario and also made Amanda a special Chanukah gift, which I give to her on-air near the end of the show.

The week before was All Things Hamilton- at the NXEW blog by clicking here. On this show, I interviewed TO band Hamilton Trading Co-- my first radio feature on air, which is pretty exciting.

The episode I (mostly) produced-- The Not-Quite-Christmas Show-- will be on this Saturday on CBC Radio 1 across Ontario and Nunavut (not in the GTA though) at 5:05pm. And, of course, I'll link it when I can ;)

*edit: you can find the show here!*

The holidays may mean I blog more. Or they might mean I just eat more Christmas baking and shun my laptop in favour of the family's new big-screen TV and PVR. I guess we'll find out which one wins out in the next week or so...

Journalism on my own terms

School and life and assignments continue to pretty much run my life. But last month I decided to strike a deal with j-school: I'll write its often-useless assignments and meet all of its mostly-arbitrary deadlines if I get do at least some of it on my own terms...

What are my terms, you ask?

1. Docs that are not umentary: if you're going to cause me so much stress and grief, I get a beautiful shiny new pair of red Docs. Because, even though my feet are in pain from breaking my Docs in, its going to be worth it in a couple of months (I tell myself this about the course, too, though I sometimes have my doubts).

2. Internships: if you're going to make me write multi-page analyses of your new programming, essentially using me for free consulting, then I'm going to submit it as a liveblog. And compare Evan Solomon to John Cusak.

3. Internships, part 2: if you're going to make me fulfill work requirements, then I'm going to do them at the Olympics. I've booked my flight for Vancouver and can't wait for February!

4. Editorializing: if you're going to require that I make non-reporting videos, then the reporter will need a helmet

5. Social life: if you're going to take over my life, I get to use you as inspiration for a brilliant April O'Neil Halloween costume (literally- check out the jumpsuit...)

A letter to my previous internship that I seriously considered sending

Dear CFJC newsroom,

I have noticed your new "Firewatch 2009" advertisement that has been playing consistently on channel 7.

I approve of the jump cuts of shots of forest fires and men battling the elements. Big helicopters dumping water! Drama! Excitement! Exclamation mark!

But may I offer one small tidbit of a suggestion?

I humbly request that the epic circa-1995 newsroom music be replaced with Sarah McLachlan's "World on Fire"...

Don't pretend you don't want to.

Indubitably yours,

Meg.

To the Island and back again

It was a typical evening drive in Saanich when the old mix CD turned to its next track: Shakira's "Underneath Your Clothes".

"Yes!" I exclaimed, thrusting my fist in the air and getting ready to ballad about endless stories and territories.

It was then that I realized that not everyone shares my love of old Shakira. I looked sheepishly to my friend Dee, who thankfully looked as enthusiastic as me.

"Wait!" she exclaims. "Before we go all out..." she closes the car windows.

"You mean we can sing out loud to circa 2000 Britney Spears without shame, but not Shakira?" I asked incredulously.

"Don't look at me like that," sighed Dee. "Shakira is amazing. But a window-closer."

As usual, Dee was right. I quickly remembered the time last week when I pulled up to a stoplight belting Alanis Morrisette at full tilt only to discover that the car next to me also had its window open. Dammit, why weren't they like the 99% of cars in town smart enough to roll up their windows and let the AC work its magic in this dry and dusty desert?

The problem with not posting as regularly as I'd like means that there are too many things to write about. It seems too long past to write in detail about my last few days at the TV internship (I think blog years is like dog years... so even a week suddenly becomes almost 2 months. Right?).

I celebrated the end of internship #3-- and the August long weekend-- by visiting Dee, one of my very best friends from high school, out on Vancouver Island. Gloria and Friso came along for the adventures as well, and we had a brilliant weekend of wandering the downtown, enjoying the patio weather, riverfloating and hiking and trail running and movie nighting and eating and visiting and all sorts of other good things. And I think we ended up stopping in every small town between Victoria and Nanaimo in the process. I even managed to interview an artist for my MRP at a farmhouse out in Duncan and was able to justify a bit of art gallery-ing in the name of "schoolwork". Happy sigh.

As I sat on the ferry deck on the way back to the mainland, I had no doubt in my mind that this time back home was exactly what I needed this summer. In the last four months I have moved thrice and tried my hand at three very different types of jobs in my field-- which has been both exciting and at times overwhelming-- but the chance to hang out with old friends and live in, rather than just visit, the place I call home has made all of the difference.

I'll end this before it gets any sappier.

I'm blaming all future psychological trauma and/or neuroses on my father

I stumbled sleepily into the kitchen on Friday morning, wiping sleep from my eyes as I yawned a yawn of near-epic proportions.

My dad turned around from the stove, where he was frying eggs and tomatoes for breakfast.

"Good morning, boobs," he said casually as he turned back to the stove.

I stopped. I looked down. I was wearing a decidedly demure grey tank with black slacks.

"What?"

"I said, good morning, boobs," my dad repeated offhandedly as he flipped the tomatoes over in the pan.

"Da-aaaad!"

At the end of the day, I waited outside of the station for my ride. It was day 3 of my internship at CFJC, the local TV news, and I was excited that I had my first on-air story. Sure, it was about a United Way project redoing a preschool playground-- about a .75 on the news scale. And it was a mad dash to have the piece ready for 5pm broadcast-- literally, as I ran the tape to the control room two minutes before air and had to cue the staff on supers because there was no time for timecodes. But I was full of pride that I'd made it on camera so soon, even if it was about tots and their tonka trucks.

As I got into the car, dad started talking about the piece. He'd stayed to watch it before running down to pick my sister Catie and myself from our respective jobs.

"Not too shabby," said dad, "for a fluff piece, it was pretty good. But you know, that camera really does add 10 pounds..."

"Da-aaaad!"

"... well, it might have been the angle. The cameraman was shooting from above; it might have been better to be more level..."

"Let me get this straight... Your daughter gets her first TV story, first time on camera, and the first thing you say is that I look fat on camera?!"

"I never said fat... but the shot was from above... were you on a hill?"

"Yes, I was on a hill... a big dirt pile... it was a mini construction site!"

"Well next time, try not to stand on a hill, maybe. And your hands..."

"Yes, dad, I know I talk with my hands..."

"... Maybe just next time a wider shot would work. Or stop moving your hands so much."

"Fine... so... what's for dinner?"

Why I will never pee in the Amazon

This week’s assignment: researching for a quiz for the Backpacker Battle show this weekend.

Pete, one of the show’s producers, tells me to start with freaky animal and/or world travel facts.

“You know, like, the Amazonian pee fish,” he says in his British accent.

“The what?”

“Google it, you’ll figure it out.”

Hoo boy.

Note: once you’ve been traumatized by the description of the candiru’s feeding habits, you have to read this. It’s one of the funniest things I’ve seen in a while…

The best way to spend a Sunday afternoon

I’m sitting in a radio studio on the second floor of the CBC building on a Sunday afternoon. As the clock above turns to 4:04:40, a 20-second countdown begins to flash in red.
3, 2, 1…

“I’m Rex Murphy, and you’re listening to Cross-Country Check Up.”

Cue epic music. And my skwinkling.

I’ve been listening to CCCU for as long as I can remember. My dad, a huge Rex Murphy fan, had me tuned to the show before my young, sponge-like brain knew what it was absorbing. I remember many afternoons in dad’s art studio, wrapped in an old plaid workshirt and painting many a watercolour while my father worked away beside me at his easel with his acrylics. I was his de facto audience when he needed to rant on the week’s topic. And, while most of it likely went in one ear and out the other as I toiled away on my next unicorn masterpiece, I like to think that my young mind grasped at least a bit of Rex’s wisdom along with my dad’s lectures. Well, that and a strong affection for the music of Tom Cochrane and the Eagles.

Mere seconds after Rex gave the week’s topic, the three phones to the right of the production booth jumped to life.

“Hello, this is Cross-Country Check Up. May I ask where you’re calling from?”

The booth worked like a well-oiled machine, with the phone operators taking careful notes on yellow cards that were then handed to the producer, who would vet the callers and arrange the lineup. The cards then made their way to the senior producer, who would enter the information into the computer that would send it to Rex in the studio.

My friend Jeff, who gladly came along when I promised Rex Murphy, looked around wide eyed. “It’s like an election war room.”

The energy of a live call-in show is remarkable and very different from pre-recorded shows or even live studio shows like GO. And there’s a healthy feel of democracy to it as well, which warms my young idealistic spirit.

When I got to meet Rex after the show, I could barely keep up. The man is so sharp, it’s frightfully intimidating. But such is the price one pays for meeting one’s heroes, I suppose…

First show: Meg and Sheila, BFF

Week one’s theme: The Awkward Show. Almost too apt for our intrepid intern.

The concept is a bit much to explain in a blog, but revolves around a previous show of GO where a singer from Hamilton, Tiny Bill Cody, wrote a song about Sheila Copps called “Sheila Dreams of the Water”—that is quite awesome, albeit with some questionable lines. This time, Sheila confronts Tiny Bill about his song… hence the awkward bit.

Of course, Sheila has to be kept from the audience during the first half of the show, so who is in charge of keeping the former Deputy PM company? That’s right, yours truly.

I can say quite fairly that I’m generally a pretty big fan of Sheila. As a young woman (well, according to my grandfather at least) with an interest in politics, I think it’s natural to take an interest in strong female politicians and Sheila’s longstanding political career is one of many reasons to admire her.

So, of course I can’t help myself as I hand her a glass of water:

“Wow, this is a bit of a flashback”

Sheila looks confused. “Oh really?” she asks politely.

“Yeah, well I used to be a Page—“

“Oh, in the legislature?”

“No… no, in the House of Commons… in 2004.”

“Oh really?”

Cue 45 minute private conversation with Sheila about politics—from university funding to female representation on Parliament Hill (from sculptures to the House)—and a variety of topics in between.

It was when she entered the radio studio and related many of Brent’s questions to feminism that I realized I may have primed her a bit for where she would direct the show.

When she used the word misogynist, I was fairly certain I had.

One more point for the feminists. Now if only I can get the next guest to talk about vaginas…

Also notable: Sheila and Tiny Bill Cody’s duet of reconciliation: Funky Disclaimer. You can also listen to the episode here.

A heartening welcome

Day One of my CBC Toronto internship.

I walk into the senior editor’s office, slightly drained from the morning’s Dalet Plus training session.

“Hey Meg,” says Dave, “how was the morning?” He points to a man sitting on the couch next to his desk. “Have you met Brent? This is Brent Bambury, the show’s host. Brent, this is Meg, our summer intern.”

Brent is reclining into the armrest, appearing completely at ease in a t-shirt, jeans and a pair of red Chucks. He has a disposable camera in his hands.

“Hi Meg,” Brent says casually, waving the camera as a hello. “I’m taking photos of people eating today. So, if you don’t want an awkward and unflattering picture of you shoving something into your mouth, I wouldn’t eat anything around here.”

I think I’m going to enjoy myself at GO.

In the Big-ish City

So it's been a busy two weeks since my last post. I had two fabulous weeks at CBC Radio in Ottawa... there's something about sitting in the newsroom seeing your heroes on a regular basis: Rosemary Barton leaving for the Oliphant trial as I head in for work; Keith Boag talking about Jamaica at the morning meeting; Don Newman winking at me as I come back from lunch with a huge Laura Secord ice cream cone.

When I wasn't staring in wide-eyed wonder, I even learned a bit about current affairs radio programming. And managed to land a big interview for last week's show as well. So I was able to leave on a high note... yes, still a lowly intern, but I'm the little intern who could!

Trying to pack and say goodbye to everyone made everything pretty hectic... but I somehow managed to get everything packed and make it to my train yesterday evening. And while I know I'm going to miss Ottawa in the summer— the canal, the Market, the jogging paths— I was welcomed to Toronto with a gorgeous penthouse loft apartment in the Village by one of my fabulous roommates, vegan chocolate cake and a big, comfy bed. So maybe the Big Smoke won't be so bad after all?

... Of course, I had doubts when this morning I awoke to the fire alarm. With the roomie gone, I dazedly grabbed the keys and my bag. Suddenly, the penthouse didn't seem so glamorous as I made my way down the stairs...

Then the announcement: false alarm. Go back to your lives, citizens... Which would have been great had my keycard worked.

First morning in Toronto: locked out of my apartment in my PJs. And, of course they're the pink pajama bottoms that say "one tough cookie" and have angry-looking chocolate chip cookies on them.

Down to the rental office— it seems that my messy hair, pajama bottoms and sleepy look convinced them I wasn't trying to break in— and I got my new keycard. People on the street looked at me like I was a hobo. A hobo in really cool pants... I hope.

Tomorrow I start internship #2... and I get full-on radio software training! This should be an improvement over my yelling at Dalet when it wouldn't do what I wanted until Chris, the tech guy, got annoyed by my expletives and came to fix it for me.

Everyday is the weekend

I've had the last two weeks off of school, with few assignments and responsibilities. As is the end of any semester, it felt really weird.

Then it felt really, really good.

Janelle and Daniel were in town for Easter weekend and, in short, I spent the weekend eating, drinking, and generally being merry with two of my favourite people. Janelle came down a day early so we spent our Good Friday catching up, eating Korean fusion food, wandering the downtown and ending up at Oh So's. Saturday and Sunday was full of food, including an amazingly delicious Orphans' Easter Dinner with my bar coworkers in which everyone seemed to outdo each other on the cooking... impressive considering we work at a place where the kitchen consists of a microwave and an oven. There was lots of rye and Settlers of Catan (Wilcox House Rules) and good times.

I also gave Janelle and Daniel their wedding quilt— only about six months past their wedding!— which was pretty fantastic. It was actually a joint gift, I chose and paid for the fabric and my mother did the quilting. My mom is one of those crazy hardcore quilters, she's actually part of the Quilting Guild back at home, but she really outdid herself with this one, especially since she made it large enough that Daniel, who's well over 6 ft 3, can fit it comfortably.

Actually, as soon as he saw the quilt, Daniel wrapped himself in it and took a nap on my futon. If that isn't the sign of a great gift, I don't know what is.

This weekend, Tiffany came back to Ottawa and we did the "ultimate Ottawa in a weekend" tour-de-force, squeezing in a bit of shopping, ample Market wandering, drinking and socializing and hitting up the downtown's tastiest locales.

But alas, my glorious days of brunching and used book hunting and vintage shop browsing must come to an end as I start my internship tomorrow.

Yes, tomorrow I start at Canada's national broadcaster, radio side, for two weeks.

Which also means that I move to Toronto in two weeks for my next internship.

Am I mildly terrified? Hell yes.