The things that cause doubt

Well, I am so far behind in everything that it's not even funny. No, seriously. Stop chortling and looking at your stacks of crisp, completed, peer-reviewed essays that probably hold the key to curing all of the world's ills inside their smooth pages. I'm tearing my hair out over here.


Saw an author speak last night, an incredible guy who made me stop and think and take deep breaths. Y'know how sometimes, a person will show you a painting (Andy Warhol) or lend you a book (Michael Ondaatje) that is widely recognized as being a life-altering work, something to discuss half-heartedly over a cup of tea and a fruit scone, and you just can't muster up the energy to praise it's merits. Well, last night was the exact opposite. This guy wasn't interested in talking about his muse, or writing practices. He would answer technical writing questions if pressed, but higher up on his agenda was making you laugh, and cry, and feel a vague sense of disgust, preferably in the same breath. I am not clever enough to describe it properly. He was wonderful.


Back to more mundane matters, I think I may have seen Somebody That I Used To Know on the bus today. I was completely engrossed in a boring book, but shaking inside. Uh-oh.

What are we reading?

As soon as these papers are done, this is the book I'll be curling up with.


Theme music: Josh Ritter's "The Temptation of Adam".

Happy Halloween

 

Go have a picnic, or something.

Oh, play that thing

Listening to Louis Armstrong and fast-forwarding songs to reach those places where he hits long, pure, lingering notes. Good stuff. I'm feeling antsy/lazy at the same time today; kind of a strange emotional mix. F and C are occupied watching A Knight's Tale, or something like that. Dr. Cook would politely rail against the historical inaccuracy present in the film; Dr. Eidinger would not-so-politely rant about the subjugation and stereotyping of medieval-era women, and probably connect it to her Jewish heritage, or something. Myself, I think there has to be an eventual recognition that an academic tendency to break everything down into smaller portions detracts from a bigger picture that's somewhat slipperier, and harder to define. But hey, there are no letters after my name (yet).


Disappointed by the lack of costumes last night, a lone duct-tape knight that went around tackling people and beating them with rolls of paper towel was not exactly what was expected.


Tonight, I think Mexican food and frequenting a few quiet pubs with the other two apartment occupants is on the agenda. I won't lie, it'll be nice to not spend so much time tiptoeing around in a few days from now. Man, do I ever wish I was working next semester.

Motto for the Day/Life: Be Nicer to People. 

We look good walking back to the hotel

There is a wine bottle full of pink carnations on my kitchen table. There is also a massive stack of books, most of them with dull covers that carry a faint dusty feeling. Their pages are full of information about:

1) The Fraser River Gold Rush of 1858

2) The deportation of the Acadian people from Port Royal

Also on my table is this book:

I'm listening to "Absinthe Party at the Fly Honey Wearhouse", by (who else?) Minus the Bear.

This is such a procrastination post.

Trying to figure out our lives

 

Yup. It's that time of the year again. My main prof is away at an ethnohistory conference, which means tomorrow is a class-free Thursday. I'm going to celebrate by showing up extra-extra-early at the library. And going to a talk about wolves later in the evening.

Planning on reading a book about Wildflowers of the Yukon soon and baking massive amounts of banana bread.

Still having trouble dealing with my Women in Canadian History prof, who cannot go a single class without mentioning vaginas and the degradation of Aboriginal culture, usually in the same sentence.

 

One eye on the sky and the other on the road

I've just returned from an island sojourn. The weather was wonderful; I saw whales!, admired a bat hibernaculum and an obese sea otter, and watched other people eat sushi. We also passed a woman posing for wedding pics in the middle of Stanley Park, which was a little strange because the pathway was crowded, man. I don't necessarily think I'd like having spandex-clad rollerbladers in the background of my wedding photos. 


And guess what? In a tiny, hole-in-the-wall Greek diner, the head chef from C Restaurant was cooking lamb slouvaki. Out of necessity, he was opening up this small offshoot until they could hire more staff. He fed me free pastry, recommended the best places to eat in Victoria, and looked up directions to a local pub on his iPhone. He also talked about sustainable seafood for a good long while, which was interesting and informative and slightly scary. 


Last night there was more country music than I've ever heard...ever, so it's currently being counteracted with a good dose of James Keelaghan. Nobody rode the mechanical bull.


The roommate left to get gas for her sister's car a good two hours ago, and hasn't been seen since.


On the Reading List: Downtown Owl, by Chuck Klosterman. Also the author of: