Good Morning, Miami

Here I am in the place where I come let go/
Miami the base and the sunset glow

High quality rhymes from Mr. Smith back in his heyday. My favourite part of the song is when he calls out the – ah, forget it. I’ll keep it moving as fast as possible, cause there are things overwhelmingly more necessary to discuss than that obnoxious concoction… just YouTube it. You won’t be disappointed after seeing the choice dance moves and how high Will Smith’s pants were ridin back in ‘98. Also, watch for the part where he says “jig it out”. Jig it out? I don’t think that was said, let alone cool in ‘98, nor will it ever be. But moving on.

After 6 weeks of strugglin’ with Team Canada in Peg City, it was time to see if we actually have the skills to pay the bills. Wednesday we rolled out to Miami for PanAm Cup and we’re here til July 4th, reppin for the homeland. After getting up at 3:30 am, we were looking real nice and fit right in with the locals but so far, it’s goin’…

We opened the tournament vs. Brazil a.k.a ranked #1 in the world (sidenote - how often do you ever get to say that? IN. THE. WORLD.) a.k.a m’freaking Beijing Olympic gold medalists. You just can’t really argue with cred like that. Needless to say they taught us a thing or two... The game can essentially be summed up in the following statement – they made 1 hitting error in the entire game. ONE.

Respect.

So we moved on to today vs. the Dominican Republic and we shoulda taken care of biznass but did some unfortunate stuff and lost in 4. Yadda yadda yadda. You live and learn? Or at any rate, you live.

Come and see how good we look.

So we have tomorrow off and then play Argentina and Trinidad & Tobago before hopefully finishing well enough for playoffs later in the week.

After we finish hurr, we roll to Puerto Rico on July 5th for a world championship qualifier tournament which is for all the marbles. We need to win the tournament (there’s only 3 other teams there… doable) to qualify for next summer in Japan. Heyo. And we also get an extra week off if we do. So eyes on the prize baby, we gotta pull it out bigtime.

Also, to sum up the last 6 weeks quickly:

• Peru came up (#17 in world rankings) and played a few games against us in Winnipeg.
• I had a weekend off and surprised my German in Phoenix. Too good to be back in the 480, I’m tellin’ you… I miss the people down there. Maybe I’ll write about that if I get bored enough in the next few days.
• Lastly, one of my top 5 favourite people, a.k.a my cousin Meg, got married last weekend in Alberta so I got to roll out there to be in the wedding. She was stunning and it was rad to see the fam for a short 48 hrs. Shoutout to the new Mr. & Mrs. Cano.

Anyway, back to the situation at hand. Miami is sweet? Well so far it’s just hot & humid as balls but we’re goin to South Beach tomorrow so my feelings on the place should improve significantly. Still, tonight I was walkin’ to the gym, listening to some chill hiphop with a nice little piano beat and just watched the sunset through the palms. And I had to think life’s not bad sometimes. Then I tripped on my flip flop, and we lost our game. Ha. That ended fast. Still, it’s nice to finally get out after training 33 hrs a week and play some games. And yeah we got bored enough to count that up.

R.I.P? No, wait...

Wow. Some realness went down this week… Well not this first part, so feel free to skip the next bit if you’re not feelin’ it. But later.

First off, we had a game in St. Raphael on the Med coast and it was maybe the single most ridiculous volleyball game I have ever been a part of. I don’t even want to revisit the sad event but suffice it to say that good competition doesn’t take place when both teams are trying to lose. To get all poetic on y’all, the essence of sport is lost. So why were we wanting to lose?

Well there are 2 major leagues/competitions here, the French Championship and the Coupe de France. If you finish in the top 4-5 places in the Championship, your team earns a bid for the following season in the Champion’s League or one of the 2 European cups. For example, we finished 3rd last year in the Championship, hence the journeyings to Romania, Italy, etc. this year. Anyway, this is all pretty important and prestigious and basically everyone competes in their country’s leagues for this chance.

Anyway, since you don’t earn a berth by winning the Coupe - and since Cannes, the top team in the French league has won every year since about 1904 - everyone figures there’s no point in spending more precious club bills to make the trip to wherever each round is played. So somehow this works out to, “let’s go to the first round and hopefully lose so we don’t have to advance” or something of the sort. We went with 5 players and a player with a torn ab, so we were fit to put up a good fight. We played the drawers off that game and (successfully?) lost. That’s about all the reminiscing I need to do about that. Not too sure why I wrote all that out now. Apologies.

Anyway I was less than pleased with the whole experience but when we got home Saturday afternoon, I realized that other than Christmas break, for the first time since September we had a Saturday evening off. The American and I located some tickets to the local pro rugby game and went in for round 2 of spectating. For the record, I still only understand approximately 50% of what’s going on.

I was late to the game but apparently before it got underway, the locals had a minute of silence for an older gentleman that used to play for the team and was a member of the club (or something like that) who had passed away. Please just take a sec to picture the scene with me y’all – some club official gets on the mic, gives some sort of tribute, and fond memories are quietly recalled during the minute of silence while the crowd of 10,000 strong remembers a lost friend… People are sad. Some people are also pretty shocked for reasons to become apparent.

Now fast forward to Monday - it comes out that this guy is not in fact, dead... Yeeeah.

Dude was ON VACATION.

Oh. Snap.

So ya screwed up...

Yeah I know y’all are sittin there, minds blown like, Say whaaaaaaat. Bahaha. And please believe, I couldn’t, heck, I wouldn’t make that up. Word on the street is there was an apology to the family in the local paper and such but ya can’t really take that one back too easily… Either way, that’s the way to get a warm welcome home after a nice holiday. On the bad side, the day this guy’s time actually comes, nobody’s gonna know to believe it or not. Took me a sec to process all that ridiculousness in one sitting, but try as I might I can’t even really begin to figure how someone just jumped to the conclusion they did. He missed the local bridge club meeting last week so he couldn’t be anything but automatically just dead, straight up…? And then they go ahead and even organize some public tribute without, I dunno, checking with the wife and kids? Pretty funny. More unbelievable.

I Dunk, Therefore I am

So I just got back from a little trip to Italy on Friday night. Started in Albi, mini-bused it to Barcelona and then flew to Rome and some other Italian city next to Jesi where we played. "France to Italy via... Spain?", you say. Sounds like a logical way to travel. Go west to get east my son!

As predicted we got pretty much owned in 3. I believe the scores were 25-14, 25-20, 25-19 and though we played well, they played better. A lot better. Actually it didn't go as bad as I thought it might so thanks for the prayers on our behalf. No noses were broken and other than a few egos, we got out unharmed. Unfortunately as soon as the game ended, I realized we get to recreate the drama a week later when they come to our house for the rematch next wednesday. All we have to do is beat them in 3 at home and then win a sudden-death "golden set" to take the series...

We played this...

In a word, we're about to be eliminated. And sadly, that means my days of gallavanting across (predominantly eastern) Europe are soon to be over... Pour out a little liquor of your beverage of choice for me.

Side note - back in France, we won yesterday in a record quickness of 1 hr 13 mins vs. the last team in the league. I'll take it.

Also, in keeping with the _______ of ______ album theme (see: "Hats of Romania" post for that reference to make any kind of sense), The American and I almost did an "Artwork of France's Neighbors" album on this trip since we saw some pretty clutch paintings in the hotel and truckstop restaurant throughout our travels... But the title didn't quite have the right ring to it.

Selections would've included a vivid watercolour of hot pink and red wild horses and a still-life of a lobster on a telephone. Not talking on it (that would be a reasonable artist's depiction) but sitting on the phone. Unfortunately we never got around to taking pictures of pictures, or of anything else much for that matter, so this post is conspicuously low on photos... Our bad. Either way, obviously I've been deeply moved since I'm for some reason writing about these paintings and though I don't know who's painting them - keep doin' your thing. I'd try to speculate what the deeper meaning or message behind the art could've been but it will only end badly in puns or stupid metaphors so we'll move on...

I was watching the NBA dunk contest this fine Sunday afternoon, a mere 12 hours late because of the unfortunateness of time zones and my need to sleep at night. And dayum, I wasn't too impressed. Other than ridiculously bad commentating and someone (not naming names, DWIGHT HOWARD...) attempting the oft attempted and boring dunk-from-the-foul-line, it was underwhelming. Nate Robinson, the 5'9" phenom, took the title with less-than exciting displays of physical freakishness. Here's to hoping Lebron does it up right next year.

Re-reading that paragraph, I realize nothing I just wrote really makes sense, so scratch all that. It just wasn't good. For any of you who missed out, this play-by-play was a lot more entertaining. Dude said it right:

"And he dunks the ball into the hoop, and people are ecstatic. Also, keep in mind ... same gag as last year. NBA: Where Creativity Happens."

This, That & The Other

I'm bored and I don't really have anything good to say... So here goes another post. So what have I been up to lately, you ask.

Well as I said, not much.

For example, in an effort to do something more productive with my time, I applied to a graduate program through a university in Sweden last week. Pray for me to your respective higher power that I get in. It's a Master of Child Studies, which I don't know what I'll do with or if I actually want to break my back to get, but since I've about the most indecisive person I know when it comes to my life and I'll likely not make a decision as to what I'm doing with my post-volleyball career anytime soon... I figure it's something. Whatcha gon' do. Great reasoning, I know.

Also related to life direction & time usage, I decided to make a new year's resolution for the first time ever this year. This is normally the part of the post where I have a passionate reason for not doing one before... but in this case, I guess it's just 'cause I was too lazy for the first 22 years of my life. Anyway, instead of only one grand 2009 resolution that I'd never remember, let alone fulfill, I decided I'd do 12. One per month. If I like it, I'll keep doin it... If not, it's out. It's all dramatic like that. Anyway these mini-resolutions aren't exciting enough to mention here but I'll indulge y'all on one example.

I unfortunately have a genetic weakness for chocolate (runs in the fam. It's my cross to bear...) and February is that time of the year where I realize I have 3 months til people I know will see me again and will be horrified by the way French cuisine has treated my bod. So I decided it was time to reign in the beast and give up my vice. (See what I mean about the resolutions not being exciting...) Unfortunately I shared this idea with The American back in January and a couple days later she decided she was gonna give up drinking for 4 months. I couldn't be shown up just like that, and so to make it fair and due to the challenge, my chocolate-less life has been extended to 2 months, starting yesterday. It sucks already. For example, in the 2 days since starting I've
had the following eaten in front of me - chocolate-filled crepes, a box of belgian chocolates, and homemade white chocolate mousse. I knew this endeavour would suck, but it's like people are inadvertently pullin' out all the stops for me to fail. Why do bad things have to happen to good people?! Why.

Cancel the Valentine's shipment

In other areas of life, things are little better. Kidding, life is good for the most part but we're going to Italy for a match soon and it's about to be rough. We made it to 1/4 finals of CEV cup and consequently we get to play Vini Monteschiavo Jesi, aka the 3rd ranked team in Italy's A1 Series. Italy is the best league in Europe and who knows if we would've even beaten the Ukrainian team we didn't have to play in the 1/8 finals... this might all sound pessimistic but for those in the know, it's more like reality. To break it down, think of it like we're a high school team playing the Bulls in their MJ heyday. I've had at least 5 different fans tell me we have absolutely no chance whatsoever... Oh the love. Those would be our "fans". So yeah, the people are behind us and should be fun. On the bright side, free trip to Italy?

Are you there God? Its me, Co.

I won't get into personal volleyball frustrations, but this is about the time of year where one feels the need to start a countdown to the end of the season... Which I'd be looking forward to if, for various reasons, I had any idea what or where I'm gonna be for the summer... And that about wraps up another round of super optimistic upate of the latest whatnot that's goin' down in my hood. Don't say I didn't warn.

Cross-Country Journeyings

After enduring what can only be described as a road trip of epic proportions, I unfortunately no longer have usable legs or a tailbone. My sports career has been a long and fruitful one and though I'm forced to walk away from the game I love, I'd like to thank my parents, my teammates and the many coaches that have been there for me al--

K, bad jokes aside, I'm semi out of commission because we had a match up in Calais this weekend and instead of flying - as I'm told the club used to back in the pre-economic fiasco days - we decided it would be fun to drive. And by "we" I mean the president and coaches.

So Friday after training we once again saddle up the ol' mini-buses and the caravan across the entirety of France begins. According to Google maps, it's supposedly only about a 9 hr trip... but somehow that translates into more like 11-12 hrs when you stop for multiple bathroom breaks and oh, I don't know, a full 3 course proper sit-down lunch. Forget making good time, it's apparent these people appreciate a good meal. I mean really appreciate. Then again, I guess you know you're in the culinary capital of the world when...

So, many hours later, we arrive in at our destination. The gym was old-school sweet and channeled somewhat of a hockey rink feeling. Naturally, as a Canadian, I felt right at home. The hockey rink vibe was due to the fact that the stands directly behind the bench were divided into what can only be described as penalty boxes. Enough room for maybe 3 people in each, I liked to think each walled section could either be utilized for crowd control to maintain the peace during a rowdy upset. Or sold as exclusive high roller court-side suites... The marketing department and I are in negotiations.

But I digress.

So we roll in and took care of the biznass we came for, winning in 3. Holla. Nevermind we won the first set 25-15 and then somehow barely came out alive with a 31-29 W in the 3rd... A win's a win. Oh and I played pretty well, which is a refreshing change from my on-court antics of late.

Anyway, travelling to/being in Calais was interesting for a couple of reasons... First, being a native of a Commonwealth country, and the fact that we were so close to Britain I could almost taste it, I felt a special connection with the (true) motherland I hadn't felt before. Heck, a couple times I almost burst into a rousing solo rendition of God Save the Queen. I'm not sure if all the driving was getting to me but I think it was just the proximity to the English-speaking world and the possibility of hearing decent music that warmed my heart. It doesn't really make sense, but allow me to explain:

In my opinion, the French do many things well. They do a good meal. They do a good wine. They do a good revolution. However, they do not do good music. I'm sorry, but it had to be said. 4 months in and the standard French musical fare is starting to get to me... I've been fed a steady diet of bad dance music, campy guitar singalongs and old Rihanna. And I don't get it.

The English - while their traditional cuisine leaves more than a little to be desired - I say they know how to do good music. Obviously and especially good rock, to which I'm particularly inclined. I recognized a couple songs in the restaurant during the post-game meal that nearly brought tears to my eyes since they were both 1) new, and 2) decent. And both by indie English bands that have not seen the light of day further south of the "border". I love France, don't get me wrong, but ah for a moment I pined to be back in a land of decent musical taste.

Moving on.

This trip was also interesting because the Canadian in me was brought out more than once. Obviously the hockey-gym thing was a factor but also because it started to snow heavily on the beginning of the return drive home. My panicked coach - being an inexperienced southern driver - handed the team wheels over to me and let me just say - the mini-bus might not look like much, but she handles like a beaut.

Actually, I chilled in the back of the bus and just hoped the unfortunate weather wouldn't tack on an extra 3 hours to the already lengthy voyage. It did make me reminiscent of home though... For about 2.4 seconds. A swift snowball to the face from my asst. coach snapped me out of it though, and I quickly remembered this was why I left Alberta in the first place.

So cold, so bored.

The real Canadian in me also shouldn't have been complaining about the voyage because this little joy ride was chump change compared to many a road trip I've taken in my youth. I don't know if Canadians don't believe in jet travel or are just too cheap for it, but I've concluded it's more something like a twisted rite of passage. 14-hr team trip to Vancouver? Check. 20-hrs solo drive to Winnipeg? Check. Oh wait, twice? Check. 36-hr family vacay drive to California? Check. Check. Check. (We made that trip a lot...). You get the picture.

So 10 hours across France shouldn't have been a big deal but, just my luck, I was sitting on the only chair in the van that was more of a jump seat than a real spot. Less padding, more pain. Basically, after my laptop died I had nothing left to focus on but the soreness of my bod, the van's mood lighting (there was an actual button on the ceiling, next to ON/OFF and DOOR that said MOOD. When pushed, it cast an appealing orange glow about the interior of the vehicle. I swear I'm not kidding this time) and the horrible music playing on the radio.

Not to be a downer, I'll finish this by returning to the fact that we played well, and more importantly, this trip is done for the year. Calais comes to us next and I will appreciate every minute I spend not in a mini-bus rumbling down French freeways... Which, at some point during the trip, ALWAYS lead to rolling down the main street of a small village going, at most, 40 km/h. Who planned these "highways"? It's another thing I don't think the French do well... But that's a story for another day.

Internationally Known To Rock the Microphone

So December is shaping up to what looks to be a solid month of travelling adventures.

First, since we lost to the Ukrainians in the first round of CEV (aka Euro) Cup we've been assigned to play against CV Unic Piatra Neamţ, a Romanian team, for the next round. They come here on the 10th and then we roll out to yet another former Soviet satellite on the 16th-ish. And yeah, I just like saying 'former Soviet satellite'.

Yes, please.

Truth be told, I'm pretty psyched about goin' to Romania since it's somewhere new but considering there was once the posibility that we'd be playing in Azerbaijan, I'm a little disappointed. I was all set to finally take full advantage of the chance to use my Azerbaijani with some native speakers... Plus, it's not everyday you get the opportunity to travel to a country that's priviledged to be the prime real eastate between Russia, Georgia and Iran. Maybe next year, but by then they might have discovered that it's barely still actually in Europe and therefore can't be in the Euro Cup... so I might not get lucky after all.

Back to Romania - We're playing in a city called Piatra Neamţ in north-eastern Romania, about 8 hrs from Bucharest. Word on the street is it's one of the "most picturesque cities in Romania" so let's hope it lives up to that description. Either way it has to be more picturesque than the Ukraine so I'm not too worried. My standards are low.

My expectations for ridiculousness, however, are high. Last time my club played in Romania a couple years ago they had some stories to tell. Apparently they actually passed a couple horses & buggies on the drive through the countryside to the city they were playing in. No word of a lie. Upon arriving at the gym, they found the Romanian army - complete with automatic weapons - surrounding the court. No big deal - you shank a ball and potentially take out some guy's loaded A-K... The soldiers stayed there for the duration of the game, presumably to protect the foreigners from the onslaught of cigarette butts and vodka bottles after beating the home team? Apparently people were allowed to smoke inside the gym during the match so I'm wondering if it'll be the same where we're headed. Should make for an interesting time. Here's to hoping nobody's asthma flares up during a long rally...

After Romania and the craziness that should ensue, it's back to Paris for our last match before Christmas break. We have an unheard of 12 whole days off so I intend on capitalizing fully and getting the eff outta Albi. Fortunately, My German will be in the house and we're rollin' to Venice for Christmas. I haven't been back to Italy since I was 6 so I'm lookin' forward to it. If Italian cuisine treats me anywhere as well as French has, I don't foresee any problems.

For New Year's we're hoping to head to Barcelona since there are cheap flights from Paris and I figure I should complete the French neighbouring-countries trifecta, as I was in Germany in August. Now if I can just fit in Belgium, Switzerland, Luxembourg, Andorra, and Monaco sometime before midnight I should be good on actually visiting all of France's neighbours before the end of 2008... D'oh. Yeah, I spoke too soon.

So that's what's been up lately. Planning trips and lookin' forward to a little change of scenery. It's a little crazy to think I've been over here for comin' up on 4 months. Yipes. What do I have to say for myself in terms of getting anything tangible accomplished off the court? Not a lot. Record amounts of time spent online and improved, but still pretty terrible, guitar skills. Rough. I think it's clear I need to spend some serious time planning some legit New Year's resolutions. I'm open to suggestions. For the rest of '08 I'm just focused on ball and takin' in more eastern European fabulousness. Should be good.

Back in the USSR

So I got back from the Ukraine* for the first round of the European Cup last night at 3 AM. It was a trip. Literally.

Ok, wow. Bad puns aside, it was certainly an interesting couple days. Here's a quick recap...

We roll out in usual mini-bus form from Albi to Lyon Sunday evening. Not before being informed that the foreign kids, aka the American and me, need our French visa paperwork to get back into the country on the way home. I hadn't seen that piece of paper in many a week...No big deal though. The whole team will just wait for you guys in the car while you go on the hunt...

Luckily I located mine pretty quick... but the American wasn't so lucky and ended up looking for about half an hour before they decided to leave her to come in the second fleet, with the other half of the team, a few hours later... The trip was off to a stellar start.

So we get to our hotel in Lyon that night after taking an extra hour on the road cause one of the freeways was closed due to flooding... but the flight the next morning was on-time and we were finally Odessa-bound. Whoever booked our flights was a gambling man but impressively we made our 15-minute connection in Prague so God was smiling down favourably upon us Monday.

Tuesday, He stopped smiling.

Just kidding... except not really.

Actually, first let me back up. We practiced Monday evening to work out a little of the stiffness that invariably comes as a result of being tucked into tiny airplanes for hours on end. We hadn't eaten anything since breakfast 12 hours before so it naturally follows that an appropriate pre-practice snack consists of Mars bars and oranges. Something about chocolate seems to spell pre-workout nutrition to the French because we have been fed it more than once before games. Strange, but I guess it's my cross to bear while I'm here. I don't want your pity.

Dig in

Anyway, Tuesday we had a light practice in the morning and it was game time at 5 PM. After getting locked in the elevator due to a lack of room key (for some reason it was necessary to get out. I didn't understand it either but had plenty of time to contemplate while I waited for somebody to push the button and open the doors from the outside. Surprise, I'm in here.) and discovering the hotel's public bathroom has a mirrored ceiling (which makes for some uncomfortable moments when the American is the stall next door...), we were ready to play.

Allow me to sum up the game in a few words:
The team we played was Jinestra Odessa.
We lost 3-1. They had a 6'5" outside hitter. Russians can ball.
That's about it.

So we didn't take care of business. God stopped smiling. And it was a long trip... Luckily, we saw some crazy stuff and some of my stereotypes about the Ukraine were broken so it wasn't all bad.
First - it was ridiculously hot indoors. Like everywhere. I was expecting to freeze, but it was quite the opposite and we sweated our ____s off pretty much the whole time. Our hotel room temperature was stuck at 25 degrees and we couldn't turn it down. The gym was stifling.
Second - the food was really good and the gym and hotel were luxe. In this area I shouldn't say I had pre-conceived notions about either being bad but we'll say I was just pleasantly surprised.

To be fair, I should say that certain stereotypes were reinforced. For instance, we saw a lot of babushkas in flowery scarves.

What else. The country is in rough shape and a lot of buildings and such were really really run-d0wn. For example, the aiport was basically a one-room bus station. The people also seemed to be somewhat "run-down" and we saw exactly 2 Ukrainians smile the whole time we were there. The American even attempted a social experiment to see how many people would smile back at her while we walked around downtown Odessa. The final score? Ukraine - 8, the American - 1. She gave up pretty quick, especially after the only person I smiled at returned the gesture and I undermined her whole operation... I was always told only a mother, and I now found out a Ukrainian, could love this face.

So that's about it. We took the 15 hr journey back yesterday and leave again the day after tomorrow for Paris to play Clamart. The Ukrainians then come to us next week for round 2. If we win in 3 sets or less, it's off to Belgium or Germany. If we lose, who knows where we go for round 2. If I'm lucky, maybe back to another part of the Ukraine. Stay tuned for part 2.

Only 9075 km to Vancouver...

They know how to pick store names in this country

The only man to ever smile for an extended period of time in the Ukraine was immortalized in this statue

Roamin' the streets

Worldwide takeover... You have to make that shape with your mouth to say McDonald's in Ukrainian.

*NOTE: I am told it's incorrect to say "The Ukraine" but rather should simply be referred to as "Ukraine". I tried... It sounds weird. I'm sticking with the The. I'm sorry.

Ukraine Is Game To You?!

We leave for our Europe Cup match in Odessa on Sunday... Wish me luck.

Lost In Translation

Yesterday the American and I became national French celebrities.

There I said it.

Ok, not exactly. But I did have an interesting day yesterday... Allow me to paint a picture.

I wake up, late as usual, and roll to practice for another day of fun and games in the gym. The day before, my freshly haircutted coach (see video) informed us that the local news was coming to practice to do some feature on my team before we start league this weekend in Paris. Little did I know, they wanted to do some kind of feature on the new recruits. That's all fine and great until one realizes I'm the only one among the new kids that supposedly speaks some brand of intelligible French (this is debateable for reasons to be made clear very shortly).

Anyway, halfway through practice - just about at that point where my rugged good looks are being highlighted by my loose ponytail & the beads of sweat running down my forehead - the newslady ("it's anchorMAN, not anchorLADY!") asks if she can interview me for a second. At this moment, my coach also informs me that he neglected to mention they also want to come over to my (really clean) apartment after practice to interview me in my native environment. Shwa? Say WHAT. I had no choice and basically spent the entirety of the interview trying to remember not to pee my pants. This left little cognitive effort to be devoted to actual thinking so it was a rousing success.

So there it is - the rags to riches story of my rise to French fame and glory.

Actually it was horrendous and I apparently forget how to speak french since, as mentioned above, coherent sentences were too much to ask for and my accent takes a significant turn for the worse. All in all I make a great impression. The best part is that at one point, I say "Je suis excitée" (my pronuciation is debateable on camera but that's what I was supposedly going for) which translates to "I am excited". At least in my head.

My lovely brother informed me however, that upon watching the video today with a French Canadian teammate in the Motherland, he was told "je suis excitée" actually means other things...Wow. In the interest of trying to keep this blog PG rated, I'll leave you to do some Sherlock Holmes-ing... but I'm pretty sure an online translator can point you in the right direction... Fortunately, my friend reminded me that nobody expects athletes to say anything intelligent anyway. Unfortunately, I reminded him that nobody expects them to make sexually explicit comments either, so I'm still toast.

Moments before my life would change forever with one slip of the tongue...

Luckily though, the story takes a turn for the better because today an actual, bonafide Frenchman told me it can in fact mean BOTH I'm excited and I'm "excited" so I'm not as brilliant as it initially appeared. French-Canadian vs. Frenchman? No contest. I'm taking his word for it.

Anyway, the video is online in all its glory so y'all not living in la belle France (make that anyone outside my region in France... the 'national celebrity' part might have been a little embellished...) can also partake of the bounty of me at my brutal finest. Click here and then on 'Mercredi 08 Octobre' to enjoy. The volleyball part starts about halfway through...

Feel free to comment away on the trainwreck...

Beach Day

Friday morning the teammates and I saddled up for a weekend trip to St. Raphael in southeast France. I was jazzed, and had visions of sipping pina coladas while bronzing my bod the sunny Mediterranean coast...

Instead I got an old gym smelling of spiced meats (Desma pinned it as being of the taco variety) and a shoebox sized, bunk-bedded (?) hotel room. Aah, the life.

Our caravan of mini-buses rolled into St. Raph from Albi around 4 PM and we got the juices flowing about 30 minutes later with a 2 hr practice with/against the locals. Somehow nothing gets me in the mood for volleyball quite like 7 hours confined in a cramped space... Not to worry though, my knees took kindly to the rude awakening that came in the form of rubber-coated cement flooring that moonlights as a court there. And the trip had only just begun. Practice was solid but our libero tore her glut this week so we were a little short on the passing end of things... Luckily I found out my co-middle, aka 6'3" 33-year-old Russian Gisele, also tears up the backrow so she pulled libero duty after straining an ab this week. The woman cannot be stopped.

Practice completed, we headed back to the hotel where the American and I bunked down together. I mean that in the most literal sense, since we opened our bedroom door to be greeted by my childhood favourite - le bunk bed. To make matters worse, I got beaten to the punch and she called Top Bunk so I was relegated to second class on the bottom floor. I soon forgot about my plight, however, since our tiny room was reminiscent of ship quarters and we spent the night telling each other tales of our experiences on the high seas. OK, wow, that quickly took a turn for the lame but you get the idea... Pure, 5-star luxury.

Saturday, I would live out my earlier dreams of beach side glamour after an hour of serve-receive practice in the morning. Actually, the beach trip consisted of a 15-minute jaunt into the sand and back before we walked 40 minutes back to our parking spot, but I felt fulfilled nonetheless.

North America at large...

The Sleeveless Polo. So hot right now.

I'd also just like to throw this out there - Who rolls around the French Riviera in a convertible, with the top down, and an IRONING BOARD riding shotgun? The American and I thought our idyllic vision of life on the coast had come true when we mistook one passing by for a surfboard. Turns out the driver was just really proud of their laundry gear...? Thankfully, right after Desma called out "Suuurf board!" in her best California accent, the assistant coach kindly corrected us. So much for seamless integration into French society.

Anyway, our pride was restored, as the day ended well with our team taking home the W. We could've played better but I guess that's what pre-season is for - workin' out the kinks and middles playing libero... My turn comes next weekend so be sure to tune in for a full recap of the carnage...

My bad.

Sometimes I just drop and crab walk mid-rally...

Desma also took out an unsuspecting child on the sidelines. Luckily it was captured on film...

Before

aaand after...

Weekend Update

We had our first tournament this weekend and I'm happy to report it was a rousing success. That's if you can call lime green spandex and 2nd place rousing.

I saw many a thing I thought mine eyes would never behold, for example high top volleyball shoes and many a player sporting only one knee pad (the partner is too much?). The highlight of my weekend came in the form of a grown man sportin' belted denim overalls, chanelling the always timeless farmer look. In my opinion the belt was a trifle unecessary since I figured the pants weren't going anywhere... what with the straps and all... but he did have 'em crisscrossed in the back (holla back if you sported this or the one shoulder look circa 1996) so I guess he was livin on the edge. Who am I to judge. After all, I'm the one in black kicks.

Anyway, as you can see below, I'ma be sportin' #6 this season which is somewhat traumatic since I've broken my record of being #10 since about grade 7... but I guess that's what happens when the foreign kid doesn't get the memo about requesting her number. I'm finding a way to cope. In the meantime, I have bigger things to cope with such as the flattering color of my team's spandex and the fact that GÉANT is written in huge letters across the butt. This is important when you do the math...er translation, and realize that Géant means 'Giant' in French. Oh the irony.

I only wish I was kidding.

Pre-gamin'

Note the unfortunate state of the Maple Leaf.
I see how it is here.

Almost wishing I had red shoes too...

Desma usually makes this face at me before I serve... It's our good luck charm of sorts.

I could barely hear myself think over the roar of the crowd.

Free lesson for the kids -
A block like this will make you no friends... Least of all with your back row.

New Kicks

Well, you know you've reached a new low-point of boredom when you devote an entire post to shoes. I guess it's cool though, I'm coming to terms with the fact that this level of excitement will define me for at least the next year and I'm trying to move on... After all, I guess y'all are the ones that have to read about it.

So as you can see, we got new team shoes on Friday and that means I'm currently rockin' it with Asics. The excitement of this post comes when I say I'ma be wearing black kicks this season. This may not seem important, let alone blogworthy, but in my otherwise uneventful world, it's a kind of the dawning of a new era.

This is because, to put it bluntly, I've always hated the black shoe. Well, to be exact I just don't like a black court shoe/runner/sneaker/tennis shoe or whatever you call it in your respective mother tongue (I realize those are all the same tongue, so let's go with respective term of choice then). I love a black heel, a black rubber boot, heck, a black pennyloafer but when it comes to athletic endeavours, I've never worn nor wanted to wear anything other than a white shoe. I've always thought black runners were reserved for refs, NBA ballers and refs. I just didn't think they looked good on anyone else.

Man, this post is losing steam even faster than expected...

The moral of the story though, is that when something is free, you don't complain and you suit up regardless. Black shoe or not.

They're everything I never thought I'd like... Black? Gold? Silver? Check, check, check and together. On my foot. To be honest though, I wore them at practice and I think I'm already starting to come around. At this rate I'll be releasing my own custom Signature Edition by Christmas, so if these bad boys tickle any of your fancies, keep your ear to the street for a launch date. You can think about picking up a pair for that special ref in your life. For now, the shoe as-is with the sick gold & silver combo will have to do.

Pink slipper not included

In other news, I had a pretty chill weekend hanging around Albi. Saturday morning was spent on an excursion to Ikea in an attempt to find something, anything, to spruce up my pad. Unfortunately, my best attempts were mostly in vain since this place is un-spruceable, at least until I paint the salmon coloured walls and put down some new carpet that doesn't happen to be blood red (see here for the proof in photos).

Saturday night I went out with my American teammate & her friends to a local creperie for my 4th meal of the day. The cuisine in this country has been too good to me... After, there was some kind of festival going on and we watched some craaaaaazy cats on BMX's test their aerial skills and the strength of their bones on some jumps set up outside the massive Cathedrale Ste-Cecile. Read on for some photo love...

I should mention that my American teammate, aka Desma, was a photography major so any picture posted from now on that's half-decent is the product of her capable hands. I take no credit.

Also, some loyal readers informed me that comments posting was screwed up (thanks to those who told me), so it's now fixed. Show me some love y'all!