I am becoming an alien

After writing the midterm for my honours seminar this afternoon, I have opted to write a post today in a form of celebratory writing. Based on the comment by Anonymous in the post below, I have decided to tell a little tale ... a tale involving English, movies, and gruesome images. Prepare yourself.

Last semester, my honours seminar was about apartheid literature from South Africa. As part of the class, we actually watched two movies, which was neato! One of those movies was District 9. For those of you who have not seen it, I now give a selective brief summary. Aliens come to earth above the Townships in South Africa (Township = designated area for coloured people during apartheid. Apartheid = split between whites and coloureds that we hopefully now all recognize was horrible). Well! This dude named Wikus is put in charge of moving all the aliens into District 9 from the makeshift huts they currently inhabit. Of course this is intertwined with a love plot and a father-in-law who wants to destroy Wikus, but that is beside the point. Wikus becomes contaminated by alien fluids. *Cue dramatic music* He slowly starts to change after this, into AN ALIEN! Of course a lot of dramatic things happen after this, including capture, explosions, cool weapons, and suits that look like the Transformers; there are racial undertones and symbolic statements about apartheid, etc.

At the same time in my own life, for an unknown reason (which is still undetermined, but

may be resolved after a specialist appointment next Monday), two of my fingernails were slowly detaching themselves from their nail beds. Yep, I am telling you this embarrassing life story for the sake of entertainment. Enjoy. Now, in District 9, one of the first indicators that Wikus is becoming an alien is that his fingernails fall off. That's right, I was becoming an alien. It was just one event in a series of ironies called my life. Talk about getting involved with your class! But, needless to say, it was quite disturbing. Teachers out there: Text-to-self connection. So, of course I told the class, and my fellow students and professor gave me possible causes, all of which had been disproved by doctors. If you hear of some crazy person who slowly became an alien, it was probably me. It'll make a good party story for you! Or even just library talk. Maybe there will be a plaque, dedicating the library to me instead of the other option, something catchy with Alien in the title . . .

(As a clarification, said condition is not contagious, and has been improving. One fingernail is now fully returned to normal, and the other appears to be on the same path. Do not fear me, earthlings, I am not actually an alien and cannot infect you with a foreign parasite).

The Bathroom Cricket

Yesterday, I went to the bathroom. This is something I tend to do on a daily basis--go figure. However, this was no ordinary bathroom experience. Before you start forming your own idea in your mind, I better get to the point of this story quickly.

There was a cricket in the bathroom. Yes, a cricket in the women's bathroom by the large cafeteria. I walked through the bathroom doors (which I think have been painted recently - a nice fuchsia pink colour), searched out a relatively clean stall with a flushed toilet, latched the door, and heard the unmistakable "chirp chirp" of a cricket. Initially, I thought I was hearing things. Classes can make you go a little stir crazy, as can sitting for hours in the library doing readings or studying; so, of course, I thought I was hearing noises or maybe regressing to a childhood mental state which hopefully would not end catatonically (this would be very inconvenient and embarrassing to have happen whilst using the facilities - I'm sure you can imagine why). But no, the noise was definitely real.

My next theory was that someone had an interesting ringtone and was receiving many texts in the stall next to me. I have heard frog ringtones, so I assume there are cricket ones as well. I thought said person must miss summer and was living vicariously through her ringtone. Each time she received a text she was transported away from the -37 weather and back to her favourite summer evening, sitting in a rainforest in the Amazon, surrounded by the soothing chirp of thousands of crickets - or something similar anyway. But no. My stall neighbour left and the noise continued. I then saw the cricket. She (it WAS a women's bathroom) was sitting in the corner of my stall, contently chirping away.

I think the washrooms should have nature CDs playing when we enter. It would make my cricket friend feel more at home during these winter months and create a more soothing atmosphere; a trip to the washroom could feel like a mini vacation!