Most highly favoured lady

One of the reasons that I like Christmas is that I can use a few Latin phrases and not look like a complete and utter loser. Gloria in excelsis At least those three years of Latin weren't wasted

And what was in those ships of three?

Likely this'll be the final post of 2005. Man, 2005! When I was a kid I imagined 2005 as this Star-Trekkie future world of flying cars and tin-foil pants. Who knew? So I wanna wish anyone reading this a Happy and Merry Christmas and as-best-as-it-can-be New Year!

I woke up the other morning and it was -29 degrees here in Winnipeg. I kid you not. I went outside to start the car and my face burned. When I put the key in the ignition, my car said to me, "You're kidding, right?" But Petey's a good car, and he started after a little grumbling.

As certain as egg nog and mistletoe (okay, since no one actually has mistletoe anymore make that holly), contemplation has become one of the things unpacked and put up every Christmas, I've been thinking a lot about friends old and new and loved ones. These past few weeks I've reconnected with some dear friends, one from long, long ago and a galaxy far, far away (Oshawa), two from the past few years. We don't tell people what they mean to us as often as we should. Though I'm not one for New Year's Resolutions, I'd like to think that this will be mine: I'll try to tell people who matter how much they mean. Of course, this will likely either fail miserably in the first week of 2006, or cause a whole lotta (more) people to avoid me like the plague.

It's the most wonderful time of the year

All right, it's not. But it's not too bad. It certainly could be much worse.

It's a virtual winter wonderland here in Winnipeg. It's been snowing for about 3 days straight. Luckily it's not too cold, so you can actually go outside and enjoy it a bit. I was waiting for a bus on Portage and was a middle aged man in a calf-length FUR COAT and MATCHING FUR HAT. It was glorious.

Last night we were invited to a carolling party a few blocks from our house. It was fun, but so many of the songs they sang were in German. Childishly, I giggled whenever we sang German words that look like some word in English (like "Nun"; my favourite was "Freud"... my mind came up with all kinds of delightfully inappropiate senarios for that carol).

There are stacks of essays and exams piled up around me, waiting to be marked. I hate marking. I love (or usually love) teaching, but marking is so tedious. Still, classes are over, exams finished. Now, if people could just figure out the difference between "desire" and "deserve".

So this is Christmas?

Being the culturally sensitive Renaissance man that I am, I've always been curious about the ways other countries spin the story of Christmas. I'm not talking about Jesus in the lowly cattleshed or anything, but the extras, the frills we've mixed into the story. I think we've become a tad complacent in our understanding of the holiday; our Santa, we assume, is everyone's Santa. Not so.

While the tradition of presents giving seems to be common to most Christian cultures' tradition, who gives the presents to the children varies. Faeries, saints, Christmas witches, even the Christ-child himself (though I imagine his arms would be somewhat restricted by the swaddling clothes) are all thought to bring treats and presents to deserving children. But of all the present-bestowing folk associated with Christmas, my favourite has to be Black Peter from the Netherlands.

In fairness, Black Peter is depicted as the associate (to be read: slave) of St Nicholas, the common Christmas saint who serves as the model of our Santa Claus. See, during the Middle Ages, the Dutch called the Devil "Black Peter." Somehow, as Dutch Christmas traditions were sorting themselves out, it was believed that St. Nick enslaved "Black Peter" and made him hand out presents to the good little Dutch children on the night before St. Nicholas Day (December 6). And if the children weren't all that good? Well, no lump o' coal in Holland. The children were said to be kidnapped by Black Peter. As the legend evolved, the representation of Black Peter took on political overtones. He became dark-skinned and dressed in the costume of Moorish Spain, for whom the Dutch had a particular hatred for having been controlled by Spain for a time. And where does Black Peter take the naughty children? Spain.

A friend of mine, Chuck, was telling me about growing up in Holland. He remembers being in school and having St Nicholas and Black Peter turn up to give presents to the students at an assembly. One little boy in particular was, according to Chuck, a notorious troublemaker, a real jerk. When Nick and Pete came to that kid, let's call him Johnny, St Nicholas looked down at and said in a booming voice, "And you, Johnny have been very naughty." With that Black Peter picked Johnny up and stuffed him in the sack that had held the presents. Apparently Johnny was always much better behaved after that.

I know that you can love me, when there's no one left to blame

So, I just got back from seeing an afternoon screening of Chronicles of Narnia: The Lion, The Witch and the Wardrobe. This film is, for me, a more important film then the much loved Lord of the Rings trilogy, because, well, to be honest, I've actually read The Chronicles of Narnia when I was young. And while I have come to read and love Tolkien's books in my adulthood, there's something akin to a deeper, truer love for C.S. Lewis's stories because I loved them in childhood. Yes, there was a cartoon and that BBC thing in the 1980s, but they were both, to be frank, crap. Men in beaver suits does not Narnia make!

And I was not disappointed.

I thought this films was brilliant. The writers/diretor fleshed out the right things by contextualizing the story within the evacuation of London during World War 2. The animals and creatures, always been a problem with adapting LW&W, looked spectular. And the White Witch was strangely erotic.

It was Christmas Eve, babe, in the drunktank

All right, I am sore today: So yesterday morning, I was taking our recycling out to the curb (like the hip, environmentally conscious guy I am). When I got outside, I realized that the truck had already been by. Nothing else to do but return the blue box to the basement and hope I don't miss it next week, right? Well, I open the door, take one step on the stairs descending to the basement and... ffffoomp. My feet, still wet with snow, slip right out from beneath me and I go crashing down the stairs. Apparently I was graceful (and quiet) enough both not to wake my neighbours, whose bedroom door in about 4 feet from where I went down or drop the recycling box. My lower back swollen and an attractive magenta, but I held on to that box, dammit.

Last days of both my half semester courses yesterday and today. The less said the better.

Going to go see The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe this weekend, and I'm quite excited by that. There are few films on the horizon that have peaked my interest. One that I was looking forward to, but am now excepting to be totally and utterly disappointed, is X-men 3. Saw a photo of BEast/Hank McCoy, one of my favourite characters from the comic... and he looks like a gay werewolf. Check it out for yourselves. FABuLOUS Beast

It's coming on to Christmas and that means Christmas music is playing. So here's a question: What Christmas songs (including version by different artists) do you absolutely love? I'll get the ball rollin, 'cause, well, it's my blog and everything; Christmas wouldn't be Christmas without The Pogues' "The Fairytale of New York", the greatest Christmas song of the 20th century. What other Christmas song has a line like "You're bum! You're a punk! You're an old slut on junk?" I get a little misty just thinking about it.

Do you hear what i hear?

All right, it's FREEZING in Winnipeg today. We're talking North Polar, chill to the bone cold. I hate this time of year. People balk when they hear about how truly cold it can get in Manitoba, but in all honesty these Artic tempertures are bearable but they do take some getting used to. It's the first couple of weeks that are the hardest, as your body readjusts to the need for hats, scarves, multi-layers, and thermal underwear. I opted not to wear thermal underwear this morning, and got to experience the completely unpleasant burning that comes from wearing jeans in minus 30 degree weather.
There's something disconcerting about standing at a bus stop with a dozen or so other people, people who you're not sure if you know because everyone has only as much skin exposed as is feasible. In fact you're often not even sure of the gender, as everyone has a non-descript puffy shape.

I want to be good, is that not enough?

My friend Matt emailed with some disturbing news: the run time on the new Woody Allen film is over 2 hours. Shocking? Maybe not as much as anthrax or the rising number of teenagers with syphilis, but as a former Allen fan, I think it ranks right up there because it adds credibility to my theory that Woody Allen has lost his mind. Let's look at evidence:

1) He's no longer shooting in New York. Apparently it's just getting to be too much of a hassle to shoot in New York. Allen's currently amoured with London, after shooting his lastest film there. Now he wants to set all his films there. But can you think about Woody and NOT think New York? The guy's a New York institution, like the Mets or the Yankees or the Dodgers... okay, forget that last one. Allen's screen-persona needs New York and is unable to function in any other city. Long shots of Allen and his 20-something love interests walking around Kensington Park or strolling along the Thames just ain't right.

2) Medicore Television actresses. Starting around Deconstructing Harry, Allen has had a BIZARRE fascination with tv actresses. Apparently he cast Elizabeth Berkley (of Showgirls infamy) after catching a "Saved by the Bell" rerun while he was working up. Perhaps he was using a rowing mahcine and couldn't change the channel. I suppose we should all thank God he didn't see the one with Screech in drag.

3) Drawer films. The last few Allen films to hit theatres (well, select theatres, anyway) have been what he refers to as "Drawer" pictures - scripts or treatments he wrote decades ago and having beed sitting in his bottom drawer, gathering dust. I know his "one picture" a year thing is absolutely incredible in this day and age, but maybe it's time to slow down. If you're making crap you yourself hide, maybe it's time to take a break. What's next? Adapting an old grade school play or a story he wrote in high school?

4) Two hour running time. Allen should be contractly obligated to turn in a 82-85 minute film. Since Annie Hall, Allen's best films have been in the 80 minute range. His humour will NOT work with a Titantic-like run-time.

Hold me closer, Tiny Dancer

Well, the weekend's finally over. Thank God for small miracles. Those of you "in the know" are aware that my wife's resignation was finally made public this past Sunday. It's been a whirlwind of mixed emotions: stress, relief, sadness. They've all been there and present at one point or another. Of course, I might feel differently, less relieved, if I hadn't spent most of Sunday hiding away from people, away from the questions and the whys and the whatnots.

Of course, the real kicker is that after a stressful weekend, I go to work today and it's utterly INSANE at the U of M Press. Apparently everyone in Manitoba, from places I've never even heard before, was trying to order books from us to beat, and I'm quoting here, "the Christmas rush." I was forced to criss-cross the campus a bunch of times (freezing, 'cause I'm too cool to wear a coat, let alone a hat or mittens), carrying huge boxes of books. Everytime I'd return to the office (with another 40 lbs box under my arm) I'd be handed one more order that "needed" to be filled. Like anyone, on Christmas morning, is going to thank Santa and their lucky stars that they got A National Crime: The Canadian government and the residential school system, 1879 to 1986 under the tree! If someone gave me that as a Christmas present, I'd kick them in their knee caps.

So, what else is going on?Well, I got a chance to watch the new Pride and Prejudice with the angelic Kiera Knightley. A solid adaptation, and I highly recommend it to fans of Austen.

"Smallville"... "Dawson's Creek" if Dawson could run really fast and had super strength. In other words: high addictive; like crack or pumpkin pie.

Here comes the twister

I know: I haven't written in a while, but... I'm still not convinced people read this.

Anyway, we had a big snowstorm, which shut the one school I was supposed to be teaching at down completely. Of course, I managed to make it in for my 8:30 am class. As I trudged up the steps, my eyes fell on a 8 1/2 x 11 sheet of white paper. "All classes cancelled due to weather." After waiting an hour for a bus, after stomping through half a foot of unshovelled snow, I didn't know whether to laugh or cry.

Driving out to Otterburne, Manitoba the day after the storm wasn't much fun. I could only go 60 km on the highway (poorly plowed as they were), and when I got there I discovered that the parking lot I've been assigned to use wasn't plowed at all. Grrrrrr. So I'm to drive 2 hours on dangerous roads only to get stuck AT SCHOOL? No way, Jose. Without asking (or even telling) I reassigned my parking space.

Sometimes I wonder why we moved to this crazy province.

Take a look at the crow's feet sitting on the prettiest eyes

Went to a birthday party the other night... for a 2 year old. It's a strange thing to be at a party for a two year old: there's a bunch of kids, running around, getting sticky and causing each other no end of trouble; but there's also a whole group of adults, sitting around eating Dora the Explorer cake and not talking to each other. Who is this Dora, and why don't her parents watch her a little more carefully?

But how can you possibly get to know other adults, even parents, when there's a video of the Doodle-pops, or whatever the heck those things are called, playing? You can't.

And you may ask yourself, "Well, how did I get here?"

Sitting here, letting the days go by.

More silliness in class. Frustration. Apparently, the self-motivated, self-driected approach to the class was a mistake. Oh well. Into the blue again.

Long weekend coming up. That's good. Friday's Rememberance Day, which in Winnipeg is an actual holiday. I love days off!


Same as it ever was;
Same as it ever was.

I think you're smart, you sweet thing

Right. It feels like it should be Thursday (my Thursday being most people's Friday - it's a little confusing at first, but you get used to it).

So, I got up this morning a little later then usual and headed off to Booth for my 8:30 class. I gave the class last Thursday as a work class (ie, don't come to class) on the condition that they have a rough draft of an essay ready for today's class. And how many shiny little essays were on my desk this morning? Seven. From a class of twenty seven. Now, I'm a little rusty at the ol' maths, but that's not good.

Of course this completely screwed up my plans for the class. I was going to have them read and evaluate each other's papers; three papers per person. So people had to work in groups of two, sometimes three. They could only get through 2 papers because the paper had to be passed between two people. And to think, I was worried that, due to the way I designed the course, I was going to have too many "A"s; that's not much a concern any more.

And it's hard to hold a candle in the cold November rain

Had an instructive and stimulating conversation with my advisor. George is unquestionably one of the most intelligent and well-read individuals I know. Just sitting and talking with him makes me want to read more. If my thesis is worth anything when it's all said and done, it will be due in large part to his insightful comments and questions.

The time's rapidly coming up for Rachel's staff Christmas party, which I really do look forward to each year. Last year we tried something new with great success, a murder mystery dinnner; we're all given parts to play and come dressed up. This year I get to be a lounge singer, which is, I think, a step up from the Nazi character I played last year. At least this year, if we use a photo from this as our Christmas card, we won't have to ask the nice guy at Blacks if he can "crop out the swastika."

Proposal Time

I've been working on this silly PhD proposal for the past few hours and I'm quite sure that my brain has exploded and will be, at any second, running out of my ear. So, best to set it aside for a little bit and take a nice relaxing blog-break.

I've found myself rather enamored with the writing of this Neil Gaiman guy of a few posts ago. Someone I know told me to check out Neverwhere; I did. Then I checked out (literally, from the Library) American Gods, Stardust and a couple of slightly disturbing (in a really cool way) Sandman collections. Again, if you like smart fantasy and you DON'T know Gaiman's stuff: pull yourself from under that rock and start reading!

Oh, I decided to show Alfred Hitchcock's The Lady Vanishes in my 20th Century British Literature class. Now the film is a favourite of mine and, after last year's Casablanca debacle, I was a little hesitant about showing a personal favourite that I would have to defend against a group of jaded and superficial Ashton Kutchon fans. For some reason I chanced it and was blown away by the response. They laughed (in the right places), gasped and jumped; they even cheered at the end of the film. It was almost enough to restore my faith.


I am plagued by the fact that Leonard Cohen is starting to look like my late grandmother. I expect him to knit me some mittens.

Happy Hallowe'en, Kiddies

Tis the time for ghosts and goblins to roam the earth and accost people for candy. Here at the university the only people who seem to be in the Hallowe'en spirit are a couple of people who work Administration, unless slovenly lacker guy and slutty girls are real honest-to-goodness costumes. To be honest, there's just something creepy about a handful of 45 plus-ers dressing up as princesses and witches.

This weekend Rachel and I went to see "The Apple Seed girl" at Femfest. It's a great play by my brother-in-law's girlfriend, Kerri. Saturday was the last night, but there was some talk of workshopping it... so if it ever plays near you, see it. While I think I'd need to see it again to catch some of the more symbolic elements, I loved the awkward, flirty conversation of themain character and her neighbour. Kerri seems to write shy, uncomfortable boy-girl dialogue as well as anyone else. Oh, and the main character grows a tree. And horticulture? Always good.

old videos

I'll admit it: I'm becoming addicting to MuchMoreRetro. There's something nostaglic about watching music videos form the 80s; it harkens back to a simpler, more innocent time. While today's videos have budgets comparible to the GNP of many developed countries, more celebrities than a P Diddy birthday, and narratives that have nothing to do with the lyrics, music videos from yesteryear were reassuring forumalic. When you watch one of these videos you can take comfort. You know that the terrorists won't win, that there still is goodness out there, that all will be right with the world.

I have been, as a side project of watching these videos, compiling a list of essential motiffs, themes and images in these videos. and I would like to share them with you.

Things 80's Videos MUST* have:

1) Hair! Lots of hair. Whether you're waking me up before you go go, or blaming it on the rain, you're going to need lots of style, hair-sprayed hair.

2) Shots, often black and white, of people on the telephone. Alexander Graham Bell's invention certainly changed the way we communicate with each other, but it also changed music videos! What better way to visually represent isolation and heartache than a girl on the phone?

3) Shots of the band performing. No matter what else is going on the video, we need lots of shots of the band playing their instruments and singing their song. Sometimes, there might even be elaborate dance sequences. Cross your fingers.

4) Cars. Like the telephone, another important invention is heavily featured in early music videos: the horseless carriage. What better way to express alienation, angst and mobility then with shots of the Go-Gos driving around Los Angeles? There are many videos that use the lead-singer-driving-and-singing plot... derived from the Greeks, I believe.

5) Neon. Nuff said.

*this list is by no means comprehensive. The author fully realizes that there might be many other things needed to make an 80s video.

Neverwhere? Right here

Right. So a friend of mine suggested that I check out this book Neverwhere by Neil Gaiman (which I did, literally, from the library up the street). "You'll love it," she said. So, I dutifully went and got it. I'm a sucker... well, for books anyway.

I started reading it on the walk home. On the inside cover (at this is true of the hardcover) there's a deailed map of the London Underground. "Cool," I think. "I recognize some of these stations."

I had to go out for a little bit, so I couldn't continue reading until later that afternoon. And when I was able to sit down and continue reading I found myself liking it more and more. It's an interesting story: guy moves to London, he finds an injured girl, there are some weird dudes who talk kind of funny. And as I'm reading, I'm thinking to myself, "Hey, this is pretty good." And as I'm thinking this, I look up and realize it's almost midnight! I've been reading for hours and have completely lost track of time. Now I like books, and would consider myself an "avid" reader, but I've never been a lose-track-of-time reader. The story is so interesting, the characters so well drawn, that it's hard not to be absorbed with the narrative.

So, when I woke up this morning all I wanted to do was come down stairs, pour myself a cup of coffee and finish the book. I had it less than 24 hours and it was done. There are very few books that have sucked me in so completely.

I highly recommend this book.

One of those days...

Ever just google your name to check what other people with the same moniker as you have are doing with their lives? What a great way to feel utterly pointless.

There's a Master Michael Boyce who teaches about a thousand different martial arts... I'll bet he's cool. There's just something very cool about a guy who can dislocate your shoulder in the blink of an eye.

There's Admiral Sir Michael Boyce, part of her Majesty's Navy. Guy's in charge of a bunch of boats: how cool is that? Bet he's got all kinds of those shiny little medals. And don't even get me started on the "Sir" thing. What's a guy gotta do to get knighted anyway?

And then there's me. Yes, I do pop up on google, but without all the knighted, ass-kicking coolness. I show up a few times on RatemyProfessor. Apparently someone thinks I'm "hot." Must be the corduory pants I sometimes wear when I teach.

Actually that reminds me: I got some student evaluations from a course I taught last year. Most of them were positive (though there was the constantly frustrating too-much-group-work/not-enough-group-work comments). I am, it seems, amusing. The predominant response was "Mr. Boyce/Michael is very funny." One of the comments in particular threw me for a bit of loop though: "Can we have one class were we don't talk about sex?" Either this student only came to a couple of the racier classes, or I talk about sex a lot more then I'm aware. Of course, I can alwasy shift the blame to the poems. "I don't talk about sex; John Donne talks about sex. Dirty man. I just talk about Donne." This is, of course, a modifed version of the argument I used to use on my mother whenever we were watching a movie that had a lot of swearing or sex: "Hey, I didn't write the movie."

Of course after reading that comment and feeling all self-concious, what do I do? Go into the classroom and start talking about sex.