Wrapping myself in the flag

The sidewalk on Maitland Avenue this week.  And this was the sunny side.

Ah, February.  Don't let the door hit you on your way out.  The theme of this month seems to be entanglement with institutions, so why not end with another?

This morning, I got an email from the Ottawa Public library.  The "BiblioCommons Team" was informing me that my comment for the King Lear has been removed from public view.  Their flagging system, they told me, allows other users to identify inappropriate postings for speedy removal, while preserving everyone's ability to express themselves.  If a post is flagged by three different library users, it is automatically removed from public view.  They conceded that systems that depend on public participation are not perfect and a small percentage of content removed by flagging does not violate our Terms of Use.

All this alarmed me as I couldn't recall posting a comment on King Lear at the web site.  Had someone accessed my account and left an offensive message under my name?  I checked my account and there it was -- a comment on a DVD of King Lear, a Royal Shakespeare Company production starring Sir Ian McKellen.  It was a much shorter version of a post I'd written for this blog in 2009, which I'd submitted to the library's web site in 2011. The closest thing to an expletive in it was "oh my goodness", and it was a ringing endorsement of the interpretation.

I figured that since this comment was on the site, then it couldn't be the one that the BiblioCommons Team had removed.  I fired off an email, expressing my fears about being hacked.

No answer came, and I checked in during the day.  My comment was still there, but the date had been changed from January 2011 to today's date.  I figured that the comment had been removed, then reinstated when found to be innocuous.

Something, I know not what, made me check again in the late afternoon.  My comment, plus the only other comment on the page, had disappeared.  (The other person had made the observation that while they thought McKellen's performance was terrific, they preferred the 1953 version with Orson Welles.  Hardly inappropriate -- or am I missing something?)

Fortunately, the same something that had made me check had also nudged me into copying and pasting my comment while it was still online.  I fired off an email to OPL with my observations and the text of my "inappropriate" contribution, remarking that I'm here to learn.  Which is true, even I was being just a little snarky.

See, I fail to see how the deletion is "automatic" after three flaggings, if my comment remained online a good five hours after I received the email.  Surely someone in charge was in a position to read it.  I'm ticked, but heck, the longer version is still on my blog and no one has demanded that I remove it.  Yet.

On the up side, our passports arrived this week.  Whew.

You may have noticed (probably not) that I've done a NaBloPoMo-type month of daily posts, but, like December, failed to officially sign in to NaBloPoMo, as I've found it increasingly difficult to link my posts there.  I plan to try again in September.

Update:  The following Monday, I received an email from BiblioCommons:  ...nothing wrong with your comment - our apologies!  Looks like we made an error in matching your review of this production to another production of King Lear, which someone has objected to and flagged.  I would like to ask your patience while we sort this out. Our plan is to restore your review once we do. 

Wah-Who Dorey

In a week I can only described as "Mist-mas" -- that is, repeated slow-motion and still-frame shots of the infamous Zapruder footage in which a curtain of red mist sprays from John Fitzgerald Kennedy's head -- it was a mercy to be also assaulted with visions of the Doctor past, present and future, as the world also observed the other 50th anniversary.

For November 23rd this year was like a Christmas Day to millions of Whovians world-wide, ready to watch, re-watch, analyze and dissect the long-awaited episode The Day of the Doctor - both on television and in cinema.

We did both, of course, but there was a price to be paid and rather more than the twenty-two dollars each.  First off, we didn't manage to get tickets for the 2:10 pm (Eastern Standard Time) showing of TDotD, in spite of ordering tickets pretty well the second they became available online here in Hades on October 25, nearly a month before the airing date.  The only show for which tickets were shown being online were for 7 pm our time at the South Keys Cinema which is some distance from our house and more than halfway to the airport.  All other tickets were "encore" presentations the following Monday.  It was a couple of weeks before the Resident Fan Boy noticed that, not only were there shows available at local (-ish) Ottawa cinemas for the exact same time as the programme would be released in Britain (all sold out, of course), but that the show for which we held tickets did not appear at the Cineplex web-site. We fired off an email and a phone message and two anxious days passed, until we were re-assured that, although our show was a "programming error", it would take place anyway.

"We were a bit surprised that this is so popular," said the young fella on the phone.

Well, whew.  We comforted ourselves with the fact that Space Canada would be showing the episode commericial-free, for once, and that we would have the benefit of close-captioning for our first viewing, because, let's face it, David Tennant talks a mile a minute.

Who Day dawned with the first snow of the season, lending even more of a mock-Christmas cast to the afternoon, especially as the pub where we had a quick pre-television lunch was full of families just in from the morning's Santa Claus parade.  We scuttled back home and tuned into Space Canada with minutes to spare.

And the Resident Fan Boy and I had a fine time.  (Younger daughter vanished upstairs to listen to music - you might want to do the same thing if you're still avoiding spoilers.) We cheered and gasped in all the right places - so far as we knew - especially in those tingly few seconds when we thought we might see John Hurt regenerate into Christopher Eccleston.  We hooted with delight when John Hurt's Doctor gave an exasperated "Oh, for God's sake!" in response to Eleven's "Geronimo!" and Ten's "Allons-y!" (Quite right too!) I was particularly relieved that Billie Piper wasn't Rose, and I found this story easy to follow;  I usually have to see a Stephen Moffat story twice before I understand what is going on.

However, we were going to see this story twice and the RFB carefully planned our itinerary so that we would arrive at South Keys Cinema at 7 pm, enough time to find seats for the 7:30 screening.  The #9 bus was spot on time, so it took several minutes of waiting at the Hurdman Station before we realized something was amiss.  Bus after bus went by, none of them destined for South Keys.  When a #98 finally turned up, it was packed with early Christmas shoppers and the driver wouldn't let us board.  Finally a #97 had enough room and, forced to stand, I gazed in despair at the clock on the bus.  It was already 7:10. Yet another day spoiled by OC Transpo, I thought miserably.

By the time we entered the theatre, all seats were filled except the very front row.  About ten feet ahead, the screen towered above us, as we craned our heads to see the bottom half of the images.  Matt Smith's chin looked humongous from this angle, and though I could tell that the eye-stalks of the Daleks were supposed to seem to jut into the audience, I was not in the position to appreciate it.

Knowing that David Tennant would be making his appearance soon,  I ducked out of my seat and made my way to the back, where I stood behind the wheelchairs.  I learned later that the Resident Fan Boy made to follow me, but was sternly ordered back by younger daughter.

And there I remained for the next hour, moving unobtrusively to keep the blood from pooling into my ankles, and marvelling at the 3D effect on Joanna Page's breasts.  Crikey. 

Not in 3D, thank goodness

I had a sneaking suspicion that the cinema crowd had already seen this at home because there were few big laughs in an episode that was pretty funny. One particularly big silence followed one of my favourite gags when Queen Elizabeth I explains that although she had the body of a weak and feeble woman, so did her Zygon double. It was a youngish crowd; maybe they missed the historical reference.

Anyway, we emerged from the theatre feeling pleased, on the whole, that we had been able to see the episode on a large screen in 3D, but annoyed that, at $22 a pop, Cineplex couldn't be bothered to have reserved seating and had the nerve to sell seats that bloody close to the screen. The Resident Fan Boy found a manageable angle, even in the front row. Younger daughter, who was seeing it for the first time, seemed happy enough with the experience. I was, however, still hopping mad at OC Transpo and, feeling that my spitting at the next bus driver would be unproductive, we caught a taxi just outside. Well, someone else had ordered it, but they were nowhere to be seen, so the cabbie told us to hop in and as the wind chill was something like -14, we swallowed our guilt and hopped.

We don't have a red button in Canada, so we didn't see the following spoof by Peter Davison until nearly a week later. It is splendid and takes a few viewings to catch all the in-jokes. Not being a Classic Who fan, I've probably missed a few, but I particularly enjoyed Georgia Moffett-Tennant's method of scarfing ice cream and John Barrowman's darkest secret:

Oh, and non-North-Americans may not get the reference of the title. It's another combination of "Who" and Christmas:

Sorry I might be

What I've rather missed about my annual Victoria stay is what I call "The Yoda Buses". For the past fifteen years or so, buses which are returning to the garage have flashed this message in two parts: "Sorry I am" then "Not in Service" reminding me of this gentleman from Star Wars:
Alas, I have seen no Yoda buses this summer. Instead, I have been confronted with the unwritten rules of the Royal Oak Exchange.

The Royal Oak Exchange is where Royal Oak Drive meets Elk Lake Drive north of Victoria. You really need to know exactly which bus you want because it takes ages to cross this impossibly busy intersection, which is a mess of advance greens, to the side of the road from which the bus you need may depart. If you fail to hit the button on time, you miss your walk signal and must wait through the whole damn cycle, unshielded from the wind, rain, or blazing sun, while watching your transport drive off without you.

Unless they are one of the 70-number buses that pass between downtown Victoria and Sidney, the buses drive into their section of the Exchange, discharge their passengers and change their signs to "Not in Service" while the drivers take a break. This means you have to wait until the route number and name light up again before you know if it's the one you want. Apparently part of the game is dashing for the bus as soon as it identifies itself because the number's reappearance is a signal of the vehicle's imminent departure.

I discovered this one hot and oppressive Saturday afternoon. I arrived to find two buses waiting on one arm of the Royal Oak Exchange, one lit with a "30", the other "Not in Service". Having read my trusty schedule, I understood the 30 to be leaving in 14 minutes while the "Not in Service" (presumably a masquerading No. 6) would leave a few minutes earlier. Either route would work for me that day, so I wanted to catch whichever bus would be leaving first. While I was double-checking the posted schedule, the 30 suddenly started up and left. Startled, I turned and exchanged looks of disbelief with a girl sitting in the shelter.

The bus driver sitting on the steps of the "Not in Service" bus watched us with relaxed interest.
"His signs were on. That meant he was about to go."
"According to the schedule, he's not due to go for more than ten minutes."
"Oh, that. Don't pay attention to that."
"Uh, well, I do use it to plan when to show up..."
"Well, when does it say?"
I fumbled for the right page.
"You mean you don't know?"
I'm a West Coast girl, so I recognized the tone and knew not to take umbrage. He was playing around.
"Look, it's the same time that's posted up there."
"And what time is that?"
"Uh..."
"You mean you don't know that either?"
"Well, I don't have the schedule memorized!"
"Well, the written schedules are wrong; I wouldn't pay any attention to 'em."
I gave him a mock glare. "So any schedule is wrong?"
"Well, there's a car rally going on, so all the 30's and 31's are being held up, so he's probably way behind."
I decided not to mention that his delayed buddy had been reading a large novel for five minutes before suddenly taking off. This didn't need to escalate beyond banter. As I said, I'm a West Coast girl.
"So you're the No. 6?"
"I might be."

Please tell me Victoria bus drivers aren't becoming like Ottawa bus drivers....

....and He (She?) has a warped sense of humour....

...because I couldn't get Disc Number One or Five to play --- and those are the ones with the David Tennant video diaries. Furthermore, these are scant, compared to previous seasons because DT claims he hasn't "any more stories to tell". For gawd's sake, man, unbutton your shirt a little and read the phone book! These discs will play on the upstairs DVD player, but get this, we accidentally lost the remote in the waste bin one Garbage Day and we can't access "Special Features". Aaaaaargh!! I finally got both discs to play downstairs, but only saw a few minutes of the video diary before rushing out to retrieve younger daughter from school. Now I'm home, the Resident Fan Boy and elder daughter are watching "Voyage of the Damned" without any features and it isn't even one of the good ones....

What exactly did I do to tick you off, God? (No, no, put that list away...)