Excitement at Chateau Frontenac

Okay, so I just finished the third draft of my SSHRC application, incorporating comments from two grant officers and three colleagues. I think it’s very close, apart from the probably 1 million typos in it. Ah well. After I proof it out loud and impose on Carrie, Tuesday, it will go to the Research Grants Office, and that will be that. In terms of word count, it’s probably about the same as a 40 page paper and it has completely absorbed my September and part of my October. Two years ago, when I started seriously looking at digital audio as an object of research I had no idea that I’d have the kind of resources at my disposal that this grant would give me. Of course, one of the things about SSHRC is that they like to trim applicants’ budgets, but I can’t help being excited just by the possibility. And while McGill’s success rate is quite good in comparison with the rest of Canada, it is by no means a sure thing. But it’s impossible not to dream while putting the application together and it’s probably better in terms of making the writing engaging for reviewers.

With finishing off the tenure file next on the docket, you could say that this is the fall of applications.

In other news:

Carrie’s dad and his partner Diane arrive tonight for the thanksgiving weekend (yes, American readers, Canada has a different thanksgiving), and Sunday we’ll do up a full-on vegetarian feast. It also means a couple of VERY BADLY NEEDED days off for yours truly. We’ll see what it’s like to have guests in the loft. We still don’t have that digital camera to show and tell, but there’s a hole in the wall that separates our bedroom and the living room: the only truly private rooms in the place are the bathroom and the studio/guestroom.

Canadiana/Franglais Update:

Wednesday morning’s cabdriver (what, me late for class? never!) was a retired Montreal police officer, who was very active in his union (which he called “the brotherhood”) and spent 10 winters as a snowbird in Florida until health insurance costs got too high. I got in and even got through a couple exchanges in my broken French (which was an accomplishment). The guy was super chatty and had lots of stories to tell, but my favorite exchange happened at the end:

Him: “You gonna stay in your neighborhood?”
Me: “At least for awhile. The neighbors are nice, the price is right, and although it’s not as hip as the Plateau, it’s a nice place to be.”
Him: “The Pleateau is bullshit. I grew up there. It used to be cheap and for working people. Now it’s not.”

“The Plateau is bullshit.” That’s a combination of words you don’t hear too often in Montreal. Wish I could catch that guy’s cab every time I needed a ride.


OK, off to the obligatory pre-parental-guest vacuuming.

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