In other news...

I have to admit feeling more than a little thrilled at the fact that I was hobnobbing with G&Mers and listening to reporters and copy editors chitchat about how various papers deal with Blatchford and other star reporters who seem to think they're beyond reproach.

Basically, it comes down to the inside gossip and all reporters like to feel like they're in the know.

Tee hee. ;)

An earnest earful

In the past six days, I've had four cancellations of scheduled plans to meet up with friends.

Because my first impression of the T-dot was it was a land of schedulers, I put my faith in having inked in a brunch or a cocktail or two. But as with any stereotype, it's eventually proven hard to stick in a box.

Fortunately, I still have friends and met up with two in the last two days. Both spontaneous, or semi-so.

One of them involved meeting up with D. on Wednesday. After much heckling from C. in Ottawa to try to convince D. to pierce her earrings in time for her wedding ... I did exactly the opposite. Over a dinner of udon soup and california rolls, I urged her not to do it.

In the end, I don't really care what decision she makes. I just want it to be her own.

Mind you, I have my own bias. I can't help but cringe at the thought of planning the 'perfect' wedding. The idea of piercing ears just in time for a wedding seems to create this unrealistically high expectation that every little detail is going to contribute to everything going smoothly.

And to be honest shooting needles into your ear lobe just means next you have to spend countless hours worrying about what is worthy of putting into them on your special day. Just buy a necklace. Or a tiara. Or what about that fabulous ring on your finger?

What I like about D.'s approach is that she's not all that fussed about her wedding. She wants it to be comfortable. And likely, she'll enjoy the day a lot more for it.

Mind you, it's still a year away. Lots of time to get suckered into something.

Though I have faith that the lessons in aggression I like to think I taught her in university will stand firm. ;)

Of cadavers and bone boxes

Apparently I am physically the "twin" of my sister, B., according to my closest friends who delight in telling me it over and over again.

We also have a similar sock-it-to-you, no-nonsense humour and the ability to reduce each other to giggles.

Yet our career interests couldn't be further apart. Me, the journalist; she, the dentist-to-be.

I write about gruesome murders but can't bear more than a minute with a needle in my arm, sucking the life blood out of me.

My sister, on the other hand, is fascinated by blood and bones and muscle.


Cadaver Fridays

But I still don't know how she deals with Cadaver Fridays. It goosebumps my back just thinking about it.

Every Friday, her class dissects human bodies. Her first assignment was to peel the skin of the face and neck off a body and examine the veins and skull.

Asked if they were eased into what I think is a HORRIFYING class, she shrugged and said, "They showed us dead bodies in a Tuesday class, but we didn't get to play with them or touch them or anything."

The class is divided into groups of four. So far, one girl has completely refused to touch the bodies. There is no indication she's going to fail because of it.


Severed heads in a box

Apparently, the U of M is one of the few dentistry schools that continues to make its students dissect human bodies, mostly because of the exhorbitant cost of getting the corpses.

B. says the worst part is the overwhelming stench of formaldehyde and death when they get near the bodies. Sometimes it's just a severed head in a box that they're presented with.

"I don't think they knew when signed their donor cards that they might be a severed head in a box," she told me.

I don't think they did.

Box o' bones

Another part of her schooling that I'm obsessed with is the fact that each students gets to check out a bone box from the school. Check it out, like they're library books or something.

The box contains a skull and a femur, among other bones.

Professors gave them a stern warning before the boxes were distributed to the first years that they better make sure to return the boxes when they finish their degree in four years.

It seems they've had a few incidents where students moved, landlords came across a box left behind only to open it and discover human remains.

Of course, they call the police. And then the police call the school and chastise the administrators for not keeping better track of their bone boxes.

The bone box and cadaver dissecting and all this other grossness is, of course, so that she and other dentists-to-be thoroughly understand the human body.

I understand and appreciate that. But I can't help but shiver in disgust (and slightly in morbid curiosity) when she tells me her tales from class.

And I have to admit, it sure makes journalism classes seem like a breeze.