Nothing ever grows in this rotten old hole

10 interesting and completely useless Mike facts (in no particular order):
1) Mike has been known to drink coffee in the shower.
2) Mike knows the words to far too many bad songs.
3) Despite some claims to the contrary, Mike shot neither the sheriff nor the deputy. He contends it was someone else
4) Growing up, Mike's across the street neighbour (and coworker of his father) is/was Bob Marley's brother-in-law..
5) Mike has an inexplicable love of teen comedies.
6) Mike read novels in kindergarten.
7) Mike has a deathly fear of people singing to him in restaurants.
8) Mike, once, many years ago, dunked a basketball in a regulation basket.
9) Mike was in the audience for a show for YTV that was produced by Cory Hart's brother.
10) Mike saw Pulp Fiction a staggering 13 times in the theatre; he never paid full price.

Then like a sinner before the gates of heaven I’ll come crawling on back to you

A strange day, with even stranger revelations. Some people are such disappointments.

My sister had a rollerblading accident last night. Sounds pretty serious:

Scraped her leg badly. Went home treated it and could feel something under the skin. Went to the walk-in clinic near her and they sent her to emerg.
They removed 17 small stones and they've told her the tissue damage is so severe she will have to have skin grafting done. They will do it next week.

Gross. Skin grafting? Wonder where they'll take the skin from? If it's from her butt, will she have a bum leg?* Still, this confirms my all fears about going outdoors and doing, you know, "exercise" - running, biking, rollerblading, whatever. Not worth it if you ask me. Walking: now that's more like it. Less likely to fall down. If God had wanted us rolling all over the place, he would have given us wheels... you know, actually attached to our feet, as opposed to the kind we purchase and put on voluntarily.

*(NB, that was my wife's joke, and it gave her such pleasure that I felt inclined to include it).

Sam-I-Am and Star-you-are

I can't believe it's May already. Ugh. May means lots of things, some good, some bad. May means summer's almost here; May also means I turn a year older.

So, after watching them film for many hours Saturday afternoon, I ended up going back out that evening when the cast and crew returned from dinner. I never did get to meet Anna Paquin, or Breckin Meyer, but I enjoyed watching them work. I stayed out there until nearly eleven o'clock watching them rehearse and shoot one scene. There was even a punch that had to be choreographed. The punch was a much debated topic on the set for quite awhile. How should Anna punch Breckin? Should it be a tight shot, a wild swing, a slap? The scene, punch and all, was wonderfully tense and Anna Paquin ad-libbed a line that nearly made me wet my pants... and I'm sure that would have impressed her.

A bunch of neighbours gathered to watch, which was cool. I think I got to meet more of the people on my street in that one day then I have in 7 years of living here. Not everyone stayed for the whole shoot, but a number of us did. By the time they wrapped, the crew had already cleaned up everything not being used for that particular shot. As we all shuffled back to our respective houses and as the cast shuffled back to their trailers or hotel rooms or whatever, only the camera, monitor and the boom mic were left to clean up. By Sunday morning you'd never have known anything interesting had been going on.

And life just keeps slipping away....

It's just my job five days a week

So, it's Anna Paquin.

They've been shooting for three days now and today was the day they decided to shoot outside stuff. I went out to take a look and gradually find myself in the company of the director and some of the production crew. I got to watch monitors. Weird. I stood around and watched Anna and Breckin shoot three relatively short scenes, and that took 3 hours.

She's really pretty close up. Everyone on the crew commented how cool and down to earth she is. One of the guys (I think her brother) offered to introduce me to her when they were on a break, but that never materialized as they never seemed to really break. Besides, while it would be cool to meet her, what could I possibly say? "I liked you in X-men, or the Piano, or Jane Eyre"? Smooth.

Breckin Meyer's a really funny guy; quite witty.

See you got our fist out; Say your piece and get out

So, they're shooting a movie across the street from me. Actually, I don't know who "they" are. I haven't seen anyone I recognize (and let's face it, if I have one true talent it's recognizing people from movies). All I've seen is one group of people working very hard and another group of people sitting on my neighbor's lawn and looking unreasonably proud of themselves. Oh, and a lot of babushkaed extras wandering up and down the block and smoking.

It could be a couple of different projects shooting in Winnipeg right now. Apparently Ben Kingsley's in town shooting a "dark gangster film" in the Sexy Beast vein (which is great 'cause I'm tired of seeing him playing cartoony bad guys in B-grade kids' flicks). Anna Paquin's supposed to be in town shooting Blue State with Breckin Meyer. Or it could just be some crap Canadian made-for-tv thing I'll never see. If I had my preference, it'd be Anna. Even if she comes with Breckin.

Changed my hairstyle so many times now, don't know what I look like

Spent a few hours Sunday afternoon at Providence College's graduation ceremony. It's the first year I've attended, because it's the first year I've taught more than a handful of the graduates. I think 10-15 of them had passed through one of my classes or the other (and really there are only two). It was nice to see them get their opportunity to walk across the stage, receive their degrees, and flip their tassels - though some of them seemed to have trouble with the whole tassel thing, thankfully none of my former students had much trouble.

I tried to make my way around to congratulate as many students I knew as I could... I didn't see (or get to talk to) everyone, as the gym and foyer were quite cramped, but I spoke to many. Everyone looked so happy - the guys looked confident and mature, the ladies beautiful and radiant. Most seemed occupied with family and friends. I didn't want to bother or interrupt, just let them know that I was pleased for them. Don't know if they cared one way or the other, but it meant something to me to tell them I was proud of them. I don't think many student think of professors as "people," but we are. Well, most of us are.

The service was short, as far as grads go: two hours and a bit. My Laurier BA grad was a painful 4 hours... never got to my MA grad. I think when I finally get a chance to walk across the stage to be dubbed "Doctor," my Gameboy will be idling in my pocket.

Should've been one of these things first

Well, I'm well stuck into the marking. Finished one set of exams this afternoon, but, unfortunately, the rest of the term grades are in my office downtown. I guess I'll swing by there Monday and figure out the final grades.

So far, judging by the exams I've marked, I've been impressed. Maybe I actually taught some people some stuff. I suppose in this wacky world anything's possible *shrugs*.

Walked up to the ol' neighbourhood library yesterday; had to return one book and pick up a new one that had been brought over from another branch for me, (The Time Traveler's Wife, which, if you're interested, several people whose opinions I value have recommended). When I got to the library, there were actually 3 books waiting for me: the aforementioned TTW, plus Lost and Son of a Witch. These last two are by Gregory Maguire who writes revisionist versions of classic stories. Wicked, his first and most famous, retells the story of The Wizard of OZ and recast the Wicked Witch of the West as the hero - Son of a Witch is the sequel. I'm sure I'm going to love all these books, but it is a rather daunting amount of "rec" reading to get done in the next month. Good thing the television is wrapping up. No reruns for Michael!

If you start me up I'll never stop

So, I was talking to my good friend Chris yesterday. He was relating some wonderful sotries about his daughter/my goddaughter, Del, who is apparently growing up to be a little drama queen. Example: he was putting her to bed one night and she looked sad.

"What's wrong?" he asked.

"I don't have any friends," she said, burying her head into her blankets.

Now whether she's your child or not, when an adorable three year old says something like this and your heart doesn't break, you are no friend of mine... and I'm a caustic bastard. Chris was understandably crushed. "Man, I didn't feel like that until highschool," he quipped to me. He said something to try to comfort her, but the whole thing naturally bothered him.... until he found out that Del had seen this very same exchange on her favourite show, "Calliou". Calliou had said this to his grandmother and the grandmother reacted with sympathy and treats. Turns out Del thought she'd try it out and see what kind of reaction she'd get with it. Smart kid.

Let's get together and feel all right

Gave my final exam of the year this afternoon. So once all this marking's done, I get to party, I get to kick back, I get to write my PhD thesis! Whooo!

Invigilating an exam is a odd mix of conflicting sensations: so, so boring; so, so entertaining. I mean, I understand that we're a voyeuristic society, one that enjoys watching what other people are doing, but there really is something indescribably amusing about watching people who have no idea that you can see them. I can only assume that this truth accounts more the staggering popularity of reality television.

Students writing exams (should) have too much on their minds to be self-conscience about the little things like etiquette. I watched one guy stick his finger in his ear, root around for a good 30 seconds, and then look intently at his finger! There's no way he thought people could see him; he was totally absorbed in his own world ... and his ear.

Both today and yesterday I watched the way people sit with great interest. As the time went by and the chairs became less comfortable, student would shift their bodies in an attempt to find a position that they could sit in. I tried to discern how sitting style relates to gender. Females are much more likely than males to pull one or both legs up on the seat of the chair. They are also more likely to twist their legs around their bodies. One of my students had one leg tucked underneath her and the other one crossed. She looked like a pretzel.

Guys tend to push their butts as far back as possible and then lean their torsos on the table. They are also more likely to try to "crack" things - fingers, legs, arms, necks. I can't tell if this is an honest attempt to ease stiffness, or just a noisy way to pass some time. Guys are also more likely (not far more likely, mind you) to scratch themselves in a way that can only be called “inappropriate”.

I also noticed that many people, both male and female, have no idea where their shirts end and where their pants begin. I saw a whole lot of underwear during this exam period. It's not like I was looking for it or anything, but once you notice something like that it's hard NOT to look. Eyes are just drawn there even when you don’t mean to look.

When the cities are on fire with the burning flesh of men

Grrrrrr... another bloody plagarist! Too frustrated to write anything original (though I had a wonderful entry planned about watching people who don't know they're being watched). I'll survey it instead.

Some questions are missing. I don't know where they got to.

1. What time did you get up this morning? 10

2. Diamonds or Pearls? Blah... stupid question

3. What was the last film you saw at the cinema? Chronicles of Narnia, I think

4. What is your favorite TV show? Currently on: House, Spooks. Of all time: Buffy, Night Court.

5. What did you have for breakfast? Yogurt and granola

6. What is your middle name? William

7. What is your favorite cuisine? Ethopian

8. What foods do you dislike? Brussel sprouts. Stupid little cabbages. I hate everything and everyone in Brussells because of these blasted things.

9. Your favorite Potato chip? Cheddar, Roast turkey

10. What is your favorite CD at the moment? Buffy the Vampire Slayer- Once more with Feeling

11. What kind of car do you drive? A red one.

12. Favorite sandwich? Reuben

13. What characteristics do you despise? PLAGARISM!!!

14. What are your favorite clothes? Jeans

15. If you could go anywhere in the world on vacation, where WOULDN'T you go? Alberta

17. Favorite brand of clothing? Meh, don't have one.

18. Where would you want to retire to? England

19. Favorite time of day? Bedtime

21. What is your favorite sport to watch? Don't really have one.

24 Pepsi or Coke? Diet Coke is good, but Diet Pepsi I could drink all day long.

25. Beavers or Ducks? Is saying Beavers all right?

26. Are you a morning person or night owl? Night owl. No question about it. Unfortunately, it's a morning world.

27. Pedicure or Manicure? uh, neither.

29. Any new and exciting news you'd like to share with everyone? I shot a man in Reno just to watch him die.

30. What did you want to be when you were little? Big

32. What is your best childhood memory? Innocence

36. Piercings? Just the arrow in my heart

37. Ever been to Africa? Nope

39. Ever been toilet papering? Yup.

40. Been in a car accident? Yup

43. Favorite day of the week? Thursday. It's my Friday!

44. Favorite restaurant? Masawa's

45. Favorite flower? Shut up.

46. Favorite ice cream? Ben and Jerry's "Vermonty Python"

47. Favorite fast food restaurant? Taco Bell... when I've forgotten what it did to me the last time.

48. How many times did you fail your drivers test? 0

50. From whom did you get your last e-mail? Someone promising to make it bigger.

52. Which store would you choose to max out your credit card? Chapters

54. Bedtime? What a good idea.

56. Last person you went to dinner with? In-laws, Rachel, brother-in-law an his girlfriend.

57. What are you listening to right now? Eddy Grant's "Gimme Hope Jo'anna"

58. What is your favorite color? Black

60. How many tattoos do you have?? 0

65. Favorite magazine? This new one called Jeez

I can live with or without you

Well, the last week of school stuff before the summer. Both my classes write exams this week (tomorrow and Wednesday) and then I have to mark them. Might sound bad, but I'd take marking exams over essays any day. I'm marking essays right now (have to have them done for Wednesday) and it's making me suicidal! Exams you don't have to correct, comment and "justify" your mark like you do with essays. You read twice and give it a grade. Easy-peasy. I can't believe I just wrote "easy-peasy".

This weekend was amazing! The weather in Winnipeg has been unusually awesome. Maybe it's global-warming, I have no idea, but I like it! I've been wearing T-shirts and short sleeved shirts since Friday. My in-laws were in town and we spent a lot of time walking outside. Of course, it very well could snow again. Who’s to say?

The weather was just one part of a great weekend. As I said, the in-laws were in town (which was a good thing) and we got to spent a bit more time getting to know my brother-in-law’s girlfriend and her three year old daughter, Julia. Julia’s a riot. We played games, read to her, and went to the park. She dubbed my father and mother-in-law “Rabbit and little rabbit” (though I’m not quite sure why) and dubbed me “That guy”… which, unfortunately, makes perfect sense. After all, how many people in my life have referred to me as “that guy”? Not counting immediate family? Lots.

“Who’d you have for English?”
"Um, that guy. What’s his name? You know."
"Oh yeah, that guy!"

Awkward conversation number 405. Some people are so bloody hard to figure out. One day they're all chatty and friendly and everything's cool. The next day they're stand off-ish and weird. Then back to chatty again. Some people should come with instructions. Or flow charts.

Gimme hope, Jo'anna

Grunt...

It's a grunt sort of day. I'm tired, my head aches and I have a pile of work to do.
Plus the usual, "People are so very frustratating" thing (not you folks; you folks are great). Sometimes it amazes me how freakin'self-absorbed people can be. And some of you wonder about my misantrophy?

Last class at Prov. You'd think they do more than complain. *shrugs* It's not like I wanted a parade. Okay, a parade would have been cool. What about an old, "Hey, liked the class"? I'd planned on laving them with a final poem about how literature can mean different things to you at different times in your life, as an encouragement to continue reading good books. But, frankly, after the apathy and bored looks when reviewing for the exam, I figured, forget it.

I used to dream there were clouds in my coffee

Okay, the game is called "Two Truths and a Lie." It's pretty simple. You tell two truths and lie about yourself; other people (or me) try to figure out which statements are the truth and which is the lie.

Example: 1) I was born in Toronto. 2) Until I moved to Manitoba, only my grandmother regularly called me Michael." 3) I shot a man in Reno just to watch him die.

If your guessed #1 and #2 were true and #3 was lie, you're RIGHT. I did shoot a man just to watch him die, but it wasn't in Reno.

Wanna play?

It's too cold to be out walking in the streets

It's April and there's a smell in the air... and I'm not talking about the "farm" smell out in Otterburne. I'm talking about the smell of fear. It's exam time and here at the University of Manitoba, and the fear is so thick that you can taste it. it hangs in the air. Students are walking around jacked up on caffine, pencils stuck behind their ears, muttering formulas and dates to themselves. It's a beautiful sight. Sometimes I like to walk by the Multi-purpose rooms 20 minutes before the afternoon exam period. Students are crammed in to the hallways, sitting almost on top of each other to be early to, what?, get a seat? Trying desperately to cram just one more fact into their heads before the exam starts, they have every text book open and all their classnotes spread out in front of them.

You probably think this song is about you

I finally took part in a major Winnipeg institution: today I ate at the Salisbury House. I've lived here for 7 years and I had never even been inside one. Oh, sure, I made the occasional joke (especially when the chain was purchased by a group of investors that included Winnipeg legend/joke, Burton Cummings). For those of you non-Winnipegger's Sal's is... well, like a combination of McDonalds-style fast food, 50s diner and a Perkins. They have burgers (which are called "Nips" for some reason no one seems able to explain) and all-day breakfasts. I had a crispy chicken wrap that was quite good and piece of pie. Yeah, so... Sal's... ate there.

It's spring, and spring in Manitoba means one thing: flooding. The banks of rivers are overflowing; people are sandbagging. I have to watch the news to see if the highway I use to drive to Otterburne will be underwater Wednesday. At the end of our neighbourhood there's a park and a creek that runs off one of the main rivers. I was by there today and the footbridge that crosses the creek is completely underwater. The only evidence a bridge exists is the life-saver bobbing up and down in the water.

Classes are over this week. And while this has been a good semester, I'm glad it's all coming to an end. Caught a student plagiarizing on a major paper the other day. That kind of sucks and means headaches for me (not least of which is being generally pissed off and angry). Blah! I still have a pile of papers still to mark, and now I have no desire to mark them. I just have this sick feeling in the pit of my stomach about this. Why would somebody do this? And do it so badly? I mean, I googled one questionable phrase and up popped the original article. And why do I take this all so personally?

I don't have to fight to prove I'm right

1. Do you still talk to the person you had your first kiss with?
I honestly have no idea who I had my first kiss with, so I'm going to say no.

2. What would you do with 1,000 plastic spoons?
Find a thosand plastic bowls.

3. What did you do when you were in school in the 2nd grade?
In grage two I learned to swear. My friend Beau taught me.

4. What is the best thing about your job?
Well, it's not marking, that's for sure. I guess something about expanding young minds and shaping the next generations thought? Oh and that I can wear jeans to work.

6. Are you against same sex marriage?
No.

7. Did you vote for Bush?
To do what?

8. Where are you going on your next vacation?
I have no idea.

9. Have you kissed any of your blogging friends?
Um, no.

10. Are most of your friends guys or girls?
Girls.

11. Do you own any furniture from Ikea?
Yes, Quite a bit I'm afraid to say.

12. Last book you read?
Superman: Birthright (graphic novel) or James Ellroy's White Jazz

13. If you could have one super power what would it be?
Fly.

14. Where have you lived most of your life?
Oshawa, Ontario... Canada

15. What was the last convo you had about?
Work. At lunch.

16. Where do you see yourself in four years?
Sitting at my desk with a big stack of papers still to be marked.

17. What's your favorite smell?
Fresh Nan bread.

18. What is your favorite sound?
The sounds of silence.

19. Are you moody?
Yes.
No. Yes. I mean, I don' know. I hate you.

20. Favorite movie of all time?
Casablanca

22. Have you ever gone to therapy?
No, but I really enjoy the therapy scenes on the Sopranos.

23. Have you ever played Spin the Bottle?
Yes, and I wasn't very good at it.

24. Have you ever toilet papered some one's house?
Not a house, but I did toilet paper my highschool one Hallowe'en

25. Have you ever liked someone and not told them?
All the freakin' time.

26. Have you ever gone camping?
Only by accident.

27. Have you ever had a crush on your siblings friend?
No. My sister is four years younger and had ugly friends.

28. Have you ever gone to a nude beach?
Only by accident.

29. Have you ever gone streaking?
Only... no I have never gone streaking. I have performed in front of people wearing almost nothing.

30. Have you ever had a stalker?
Nope.

31. Have you ever gone skinny dipping?
I don't think so. You'd think you'd remember something like that. Unless it was really traumatic and you repressed it. So... maybe?

32. Have you ever laughed so hard you cried?
Yes.

33. Have you ever gone to a party where you were the only one
Um, that's not a party then, is it?

34. Have you ever felt betrayed by your best friend?
Sure.

35. Have you ever lied to your parents?
Of course.

37. Have you ever been out of the country?
Yes, I have. Thank you very much.

38. Have you ever thrown up from working out?
No, but I always suspected I might. That's why I don't work out.

39. Have you ever gotten a haircut so bad that you wore a hat for a month straight?
No. Not a straight month. A couple of days maybe. If I had a haircut that bad, I'd just have my head again.

40. Have you ever eaten 3 meals from 3 different fast food places in 1 day?
Three meals? Doubtful. I'm not a big breakfast person. But two meals, I'm sure I have.

41. Last song you listened to?
A live version of "Tango to their Sore" by Tom Waits. It's my very favourite Waits song.

42. Have you ever spied on someone?
The Russians. You mean professionally? No.

43. Have you ever slept in the same bed with the opposite sex?
Yes.

44. Have you ever seen your best friend naked?
Yes.

45. Who was the last person who called you?
My mom (somebody shoot me)

46. When was the last time you slept for more then 12 hours?
Friday night to Saturday afternoon. Heavenly.

47. Have you ever been arrested?
Nope. They keep trying, but they just can't catch me. Suckers.

48. Most embarrassing CD you own?
Well, if we're counting cds my wife purchased and I therefore own too, probably something stupid like the Top Gun soundtrack. Of cds I purchased and therefore have no excuse... um...can't think of any. I think I sold all the embarassing ones.

49. Have you ever had surgery?
Only by accident.

I can't help it if I'm lucky

Did you know that golf season is starting up soon?

Neither did I.... until I found a helpful little email from Golfer's World in my Junk Mail folder this morning. And it must be a big deal, right? I mean, they took the time to email me – me, who has never golfed a round in his life!

Now ordinarily the only messages that I find in my Junk folder promise to make me "bigger." Lately there have been a disproportionate number from "females" with names like Candy or Sindy, calling me "Sexy" and looking to "hook up." My astute eye has judged these as fraudulent - no one who's actually seen me would describe me as "sexy".

My goodness, I've used up two whole weeks worth of quotation marks in that paragraph. My apologies, "gentle" "reader."

But today, instead of one of these typical messages waiting to be Trashed like a Frat-boy on Spring Break, I found this one telling me all about the advent of the new golfing season. Now I don't like golf, not even a little bit, but it was refreshing to have something different breaking the monotony of the Junk folder, like a breath of fresh air. Okay, maybe not "fresh" air, but definitely less stagnant.

"But the fool on the hill sees the sun going down

So it's April Fool's Day. I've never been a big fan of April Fool's Day, never much saw the point in jokes and japes and larks being tied to a specific day. But if it's one the same day year after year, don't people start to catch on?

I saw a show on television this afternoon that got me thinking about fooling people and being fooled. The featured an interview with Ray Manzarek, keyboardist for "The Doors." He was talking about (surprise, surprise) Jim Morrison's final days. The interview brought up some of the shadowy circumstances that have lead some fans to believe Morrison actually faked his own death: there was no autopsy, no death certificate, an Algerian doctor who diagnosed failed heart as the cause of death, a closed casket, and a quick burial. Though Manzarek says he believes Morrison's excessive lifestyle finally caught up with him and that Jim did indeed die and is buried in Paris, he also said that if there was anyone in rock and roll who could pull off a stunt like that it was the Lizard King. But some people still believe. Just like some people believe Elvis Presley's still alive somewhere. Or that Andy Kaufman faked his own death as a huge Kaufmanesque joke on the world and that one day he'll return. Or that Tupac faked his own death and is still alive somewhere (I gotta admit this one seems possible as Tupac has released more material since he died than he ever did in life).

Why is it so easy for people to believe that someone would take the time and care to stage their own death and hide out because they're too famous, or they're tired of the fame? Why do people show up at the Comedy Store on the eve of Andy Kaufman's death hoping he'll show up? Has anyone actually pulled this off? And why has no one actually tried it? I think that it's about time that someone actually tried the "fake your own death thing only to return." Could you imagine how big something like that would actually be? Someone we all thought was dead right there on telelvision presenting best Onscreen Kiss at the MTV Movies Awards. We'd all go bananas! I nominate a New Kid on the Block. Any New Kid on the Block. Joey, Jordan, Timmy, Alan… I don’t care. Draw straws. They could certainly use the publicity.

Life's a laugh and death's a joke, it's true

So, I screened Monty Python's Life of Brian in class today. Wasn't excommunicated or burned at the stake, so I'll take that as a good sign. Of course, my student evaluation was given about 30 minutes after the films ended so if they wanted to blast me as a heretic or blasphemer I suppose they had that outlet too. But the discussion about the film was quite productive. People who have hardly said word one spoke up. Maybe next year I'll just teach Monty Python films.

Also, I have discovered a rather serious flaw in the whole Slow Club thing. I don't know if this is going to be a "might-as-well-pack-SC-in" flaw, but it'll take some figuring out. What do I do with people who are going slower than I want to go? I was in the bookstore at Prov this afternoon and there was a herd of elderly people shuffling along at a snail's pace. Whenever I'd get to the end of an aisle, where I could change my course and take a different path, there was another old person, cane in hand, shuffling in front of me. They were everywhere. Now I'm trying quite hard to incorporate this whole "slow down and enjoy the journey", but behind these octogenarians it was more "stand stationary". Maybe I'm not cut out for the whole Slow Club.

I was doing quite well with it too. I took my time driving to work today. Instead of doing 120 km down the 75, I drove the speed limit. Instead of cutting down sketchy dirt roads, I drove all the way out to the 59 and took paved roads to Otterburne. Sure it took an extra 10 minutes, but who cares? I wanted to enjoy the peace and quiet of the car ride. And then I run into the old people! Perhaps I should just avoid nursing homes, flea markets and McDonalds in the day time.

Your Deadly Sins

Sloth: 40%

Envy: 20%

Greed: 20%

Lust: 20%

Gluttony: 0%

Pride: 0%

Wrath: 0%

Chance You'll Go to Hell: 14%

You will die while sleeping - and no one will notice.

How Sinful Are You?

No one will notice? Ouch. That's my biggest fear. Seriously. I mean, people forget about me and I'm still alive.

I had to phone someone so I picked on you

I've been trying to hammer out the prelimanary details of this brand new course I'll be teaching at Booth College next year. I was told it could be whatever I wanted, so my imagination's racing (kind of working against the whole Slow Club thing, I know). I love the freedom that affords me. I need to come up with a pithy title by the end of the week in order to be included in the course listings for early enrollment. I find the whole process exciting.

Showed an episode of "Buffy the Vampire Slayer" today in class. Partly it was meant as break, partly to illustrate postmodernism. A few people skipped, so maybe there'll be a pointed Buffy question on the final. Overall people seemed to like it, I think. Tough to say. In the post-screening discussion there wasn't much... well, discussion. Hmmmm.

And the girls down by the strip tease show go

This weekend I went to a monastery for four days of quiet and peace. And I learned something very important. Actually I learned all kinds of wonderful things, but I think the best, or at least the easiest to communiate to other peoples, was that I learned to join the "Slow Club."

You see, there's a boy named Joseph who created something he called the Slow Club when he was just 5 years old. Even at five this little boy realized that the world moved far too fast. People were always in a hurry; rushing here, rushing there. Deadlines, appointments. Joseph didn't think this was a good way to life one's life.

To join the Slow Club is apparently pretty simple: you need to slow down. Sounds easy, doesn't it?

Take your time.

Look at your surroundings.

Appreciate the things around you: the melting snow, the bugs, the trees.

Now I'm learning how to view walks not so much as functional things (getting from point A to point B) but adventures.

Wanna join?

Michael Boyce
co-president, Winnipeg Chapter

The Slow Club.
We'll Get There... eventually.

We know Major Tom's a junkie

*wipes the sleep from his eyes*

Yesterday was a LONG day. I went out to Otterburne about 8:30 in the morning and didn't leave until 10 o'clock at night. And while I couldn't find anything to eat for supper other than a bag of Doritos and a bottle of Coke, I'm actually glad I stayed out. Last night was the opening night of the major production, An Inspector Calls. A former student of mine invited me (she's assistant director) and I had a really good time. There are some incredibly talented actors out there... in the middle of nowhere.

It's the middle of nowhere part that caused me all my problems last night. I wanted food. Something edible to put in my stomach. I couldn't recall any places to eat for the different ways I know to get into Otterburne. I didn't want to go driving around the country looking for someplace to eat (visions of a wintry Texas Chainsaw Massacre danced in my head). I settled on the little cubbyhole-sized variety store thing in the main concourse of campus. I was starving when I got home. In fact I'm still hungry just thinking about it.

I feel so funny deep inside

Coffee jitters. Can't concentrate. Lunch soon. But not soon enough.

Was in the mall today. Talking with the soon to be Academic Dean of Booth College. Saw someone I hadn't seen in a few years. Almost didn't recognize her. She almost didn't recognize me. Didn't get to talk.

Reading Ellroy has made my sentences choppy. Too highly influenced. Blame him.

Name your top 10 most played bands:
1. Velvet Underground
2. Beatles
3. Miles Davis
4. David Bowie
5. Wolf Parade
6. Spoon
7. Elvis Costello
8. Tom Waits
9. Nick Drake
10. John Cale


Now answer the questions according to the numbers:
What was the first song you ever heard by 6? "Something to Look Forward to"
What is your favourite album of 2? "Sgt Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band"
What is your favourite lyric that 4 has sung? "Insanity laughs, Under pressure we're Cracking"
How many times have you seen 5 live? 0
What is your favorite song by 7? "Veronica"
What is a good memory you have involving the music of 10? Standing in the old GenX picking movies with friends
Is there a song of 3 that makes you sad? Kind of Blue
What is your favorite lyric that 2 has sung? "I am the eggmen, you are the eggman; I am the walrus"
What is your favorite song by 9? "Fly"
How did you get in to 3? Chris Beckett
What was the first song you heard by 1? That I remember, probably "Pale Blue Eyes"
What is your favorite song by 4? "Live on Mars"
How many time have you seen 9 live? 0 and I never will
What is a good memory you have involving 2? The air band of Twist and Shout in Grade 8
Is there a song of 8 that makes you sad? All of them. But a good sad.
What is your favorite album of 5? They only have one. "With Apologies to the Queen Anne"
What is your favorite lyric that 3 has sung? Miles doesn't sing; he plays
What is your favorite song of 1? "Pale Blue Eyes"
What is your favorite song of 10? "Paris 1919" from Fragments of a Rainy Season
How many times have you seen 8 live? 0
What is your favorite album of 1? the first three are all perfect
What is a great memory you have considering 9? I don't.
What was the first song you heard by 8? "Tom Traubert's Blues (Four Sheets to the Wind in Copenhaugen)"
What is your favorite cover by 2? "Twist and Shout"

Don't the hours grow shorter as the days go by?

On Friday night CBC showed LA Confidential. Man, I love that film. Too bad they ran it at 11:30 at night. I couldn't stay up that night (being an old man, I needs my sleeps!). I taped the whole thing, but wound up watching an hour or so anyway. Something about murder, drugs and whores cut to look like movie stars that makes me smile! That's likely a character fault.

Saturday I shaved my head again. This is something I do when I'm stressed or annoyed or unhappy. It's my version of cutting. I didn't Bic to the bone it this time, so I suppose I wasn't that stressed, annoyed, unhappy. It's just very short. Short enough that I've cut a good 10 minutes out of my "start of the day" routine.

Today's Sunday: honestly can't remember what I've done.

Senility at 30. Sad.

This is our last dance, this is ourselves under pressure

An open letter to the loud, loud man who rides the 36.

Dear Fathead,

Many years ago the good people at Winnipeg Transit did a great service for the people of Winnipeg: they created a useful bus route. The 36.

The 36 is magical. In twenty to twenty-five minutes, you can get from Maryland and Westminster to the University of Manitoba. Quite simply, and at the risk of sounding hyperbolic, it this best thing ever created. Ever.

But with all good things, there must be the bad. And you, sir, are the bad. You have turned the most enjoyable of bus rides into twenty minutes of knuckle chewing, headache inducing tedium. You see, you start talking as you get on bus and you don't stop, ever, until you reach your stop. You never seem to be talking anyone in particular, but you use a voice loud enough that all can hear. I know you have children - I've heard all about their first steps, current friends and that ever-so-interesting fascination with dinosaurs; have you lectured them about using "indoor voices"? I suggest you look over your notes for that speech.

Maybe you think that people enjoy your loud pontificating about every subject under the sun. Maybe you think we want to know about your theories of municipal infrastructure or the need for a drastic restructuring of the University Senate. You would be wrong. Very, very wrong.

As much as I want to be, I can't be too angry with you. Part of me believes you are married to a shrewish wife who shushes you as soon as you walk in the door after your long day at the University. Maybe you're made to be quiet all evening, and the bus is your last chance to say something, anything for the rest of the day. That's my theory. But it doesn't make me anymore interested in listening to you detail the in-workings of a medieval Norwegian fish village.

I want help you. I see people snicker and roll their eyes at you while you're going on about how you'd reorganize the Canada Council for Research Grants. I see people make that "Oh, God, please kill me" face when you're detailing your son's most recent swimming lesson and how he must obviously be gifted because he didn't drown. And I feel bad for you. So here are a few tips to help you out.

1) Indoor voice. I know the bus isn't technically "indoors," but it is an enclosed space.

2) Avoid words like "dichotomy" or "infused". People will want to punch you if you use them. And you want to avoid being punched. Frankly, looking you, I don't think you'd be any good in a fight.

3) Conversations tend to involve more than one person. Try to find a partner.

4) Bring a book on the bus. It'll give you something to do instead of talk. Resist the temptation to read passages aloud.


Sincerely,
On behalf of a number of people on the bus

Mike

Mister, catch me if you can

Another mildly productive weekend. Did some reading, some writing, no marking. Guess I'll have to work extra hard on that in the next couple of days.

Watched The Breakfast Club the other day. It was on Diva. It's probably the only time I've ever watched Diva. Still, despite being shown on such stupidly named station, I watched with glee. Actually, "glee" is too strong a word. Delight. That's better. And nostaglia. Nostaglia for a time when your whole world stood or fell on the opinions of a very small number of people.

I didn't really dig highschool myself. University was a far better experience. Highschool wasn't horrible or anything. I mean, I had friends. I was moderately well-liked. And while I don't think I would have been as easily definable as "jock" or "brain" (I totally wasn't a jock, I can tell you), but I vividly recall the sense of isolation and frustration of being labelled. In highschool I watched a number of friends, for whatever reason, drift into separate groups. Groups that didn't typically hang out.

You broke the boy in me, but you won't break the man

So, my misanthropic tendencies flared up the other day: I was waiting for a bus to take me downtown. Right before the bus pulled up, a class of about 20 Korean ESL students showed up out of nowhere. And they all had large cardboard stand-ups, like old science-fair projects displays. Their teacher, a frazzled-looking, hippie woman with large hoop earring and a babushka, tried to herd them towards the bus, "I hope we can all fit on." And fit on we did - if by "fit" you mean I got crammed between a pole and rather large (and rather smelly) man. What fun! (this is where I’d add the smiley face with the rolly eyes, if I knew how to do that here)

The bus was, sadly, not an express. There are about 10 stops between where I caught e bus and where I usually get off. I figured I'd be stuck next to smelly for a few stops, but that people would get off.

No one got off.

Lots of people got on.

I couldn't take it anymore. I got off a few stops early and, muttering under my breath, walked the rest of the way.

Hung with pictures of our parents' Prime Ministers

Another year, another Oscar ceremony.

Having seen only 10% of all the films nominated, I don't really know if I have any business commenting on who did (or didn't) win; but than again, I DID pick more winners than my wife (who saw 90% of the films). I won. I get to do the dance of superiority. I must limber up. And I while I fully intend to do said dance, what did I really do? Guess the politics of the academy? As George Clooney said in his excellent acceptance speech, it's not they all played the same part. Luckily for me choosing the winners is less about discerning talent and more about knowing the game.

I have no idea if Reese Witherspoon was better than Dame Judi Dench (who should learn how to act happy), but I do know that Dench has won before and is nominated all the time. Witherspoon is young, learned to do things for the role (singing and playing the autoharp), and portrayed a beloved American figure. I picked Reese and it paid off.

I didn't pick Philip Seymour Hoffman, but I should have. This was a category where I had seen one of the movies and went with my reaction to that performance instead of figuring out the game. Joaquin (or however the hell you spell his name) Phoenix was incredible as Johnny Cash. He, like Reese, learned things for his role (singing and guitar), and he played a beloved real-life American figure. That should have counted for a lot, but that beloved real-life American figure wasn't a) disabled or b) gay. The Academy loves marginalized figures: handicapped, homosexuals, mentally unbalanced. Yes, Johnny Cash was a drug addict and that was portrayed in the film, but beloved and drug addicted was trumped by the also real life Capote's sexual preference and overall bizarreness (like that voice!). Not that Hoffman wasn't incredible in the role, but he had more things going for him. I figure that one year an actor will be nominated for playing a gay, handicapped alcoholic. If that happens, the other nominees might as well save themselves the cost of the tux rental.

Okay: true, Felicity Huffman played a transgendered male, but that's still a little too extreme for Hollywood. Or at least that's my way of justifying not choosing her and her not winning.

As for the actual show itself, I liked it. Hang on. Perhaps I should rephrase that. I mean: I liked what little I saw of the Oscar show. I figured, why watch the whole show when I hadn't watched all the movies that the show was about? But what I did see was good. Jon Stewart is one of my favourite TV personalities of all-time. I love the guy to death, but he seemed a little out of his element. Maybe it was the strict run time, maybe it was that he was told not to do anything too political; he seemed uncomfortable. He was funny, don't get me wrong, but he wasn't as funny as he is night after night on the Daily Show. That said, I did LOVE the "defense" of the importance of heterosexuality in cowboy films. That might be the funniest thing I've ever seen on an Oscar show.

Some random thoughts:

Are they making dresses in negative sizes now? Could some of those actresses possibly be in more need of a sandwich? Jessica Alba's a beautiful woman, but dammit, girl, eat something.

In one crowd shot, I thought, "Man, Harvey Ketiel looks scarier than usual." I then realized that it was Heath Ledger. Is he playing Keitel in an upcoming movie? There's no excuse for looking like that.

Is George Clooney the coolest guy in Hollywood? And Jon Stewart's right: how much more can he get?

Who was that weird-assed guy who wrote Brokeback Mountain? I get the feeling he doesn't get out much.

Should Will Ferrell even be allowed in to the Oscars?

Jack Nicholson sat next to Keira Knightley. Can you blame him? I would have fought Jack Nicholson to sit next to Keira Knightley.

It's memories that I'm stealing, but you're innocent when you dream

For the second week in a row the best thing on television was the Best of Monty Python on PBS. This week's episodes (3 and 4 in and series of 6) featured the Best of John Cleese and the Best of Terry Gilliam.

The premise of Cleese's episode, that he's now a senile, cantankerous old man, started off as funny, but became a little tired by the end. Still, I really liked that the show began with a fake memorial to Cleese - showing, once again, that there's not much funnier than death. Again, the focus of the show's is not (necessarily) the most popular sketches, but the personal favourites of the individual members. Cleese has always been my favourite Python. He plays straight-laced authority figures so well - trying so hard to be proper, but seething with rage just beneath the surface.

Gilliam's all animated episode worked surprisingly well. Originally, the stuff that linked the sketches together, there's more than enough substance in these pieces to warrant a full hour. While he's had the most obvious success post-Python, Gilliam always seemed the odd Python out: American, an animator, absent from most sketches. The framing narrative of Gilliam's episode is Terry exposing the secret origins of "Monty Python's Flying Circus." The show was originally supposed to be all animation and that he'd hired these unemployed "University boys" to do voices and a bit of live action filler, who later kissed butt to the bigwigs at BBC to get bigger parts. Gilliam's animation was (and is) unlike anything before. In an age when major animation studios are turning their attention the possibilities of computer-animation, there's a lost magic about the found art and unique vision of Terry Gilliam.

The chair next to you's free

Well, March came in like the proverbial lion. We got dumped with snow Wednesday, just in time for me to drive home from Otterburne through it. Whoopity do. Blizzards make me love driving even more than I do all the other time.

A student puts up her hand today and asks me if I've heard of some poet. I say, "I don't think so; why?" She informs me that I'd like him, 'cause "he's bitter about getting old." Now where did I put that grade book?

I just finished Phillipa Gregory's The Other Boleyn Girl. As far as historical fiction goes, very interesting: I highly recommend it.

Basically, it tells the story Anne Boleyn's younger (in the novel anyway - historians aren't sure who was older) sister, Mary and the events surrounding Henry's attempt to get his first marriage annulled by the Church. Before Anne married Henry VIII, Mary likely had an affair with the King, and possibly gave birth to two children by Henry. While the history is much murkier than Gregory suggests, the description of the politics of court are fascinating and deadly accurate. The deceit and conniving of Howard family (to who the Boleyns were connected on their mother's side) would make contemporary politicians green with envy. They decide to throw both daughters at the King in order to win the crown's favour. Henry, whose reputation for womanizing is well documented, takes the bait; he first beds Mary, then becomes infatuated with Anne. Gregory suggests that this infatuation leads to Henry's descent into tyranny. He challenges the Church, English tradition, even the support of his own people to get what he wants. People who stand in his way find themselves in the Tower of London or on the block. Of course, when Anne falls out of favour, the attitude and temperament she encouraged in Henry become directed at her and her family: trumped up charges, hearsay evidence, unlawful imprisonment and finally execution.

What was one part disturbing, two parts intriguing was the way things were done, particularly in regards to the manipulation of women for political gain. In order for Mary to be the mistress of the King, she had to be married so as to avoid scandal (?!) yet live apart from her husband; in case there was a child, paternity could not be questioned. As long as she was married Mary reputation was, for the most part, secure. Unmarried Anne must deny the King sex for fear of being labeled a common whore. And all the adultery and infidelity is not only encouraged but arranged by the Howard family.

Of course this being a contemporary novel, with contemporary sensibilities, both Mary and Anne have a few speeches about the unfortunate place of women and the role Anne's only child, a daughter, might play in the shaping of England. The daughter, Queen Elizabeth, would of course go on to rule England as one of its greatest monarchs

Like a hurt lost and blinded fool; Oh, no I said too much

I've discovered something profound about Winnipeg winters and my general dissatisfaction with them: it's not the cold. All right, that's not entirely true. It's partly the cold. But more than cold, it's the overwhelming grayness of the city at this time that makes winter seem so oppressive and bleak. The cold is bad, make no mistake, but the lack of colour and light are so much worse.

Today was a perfect example of this. The temperature was fine (minus 4 by mid afternoon), but the lack of sunlight combined with the dirty snow in the city seemed to have sucked all the colour, all the life, out of Winnipeg. Now there isn't much you can do about the sun. When it does, or doesn't, shine is sort of out of our hands (I think - I seem to remember a show that had some machines with weather-changing abilities, though I can't remember if it was on the Discovery Channel or Dr Snuggles). But what we can deal with is the dirt. You see, Winnipeg uses sand to spread over the icy roads instead of salt, which many other cities use to make their streets drivable. . While salt is more corrosive, sand is... well, sandy. As the winter rolls on, the snow banks on the side of the road look less and less like SNOW and more and more like hills of dirt. Cars get dirty, buildings get dirty, people get dirty... and NOT in the good way! With everything under a fine layer of sand, the city goes from a wonderful cornucopia of colours to a city of neutral tones.

There’s straw for the donkeys and the Innocents can all sleep safely

Someone I know - and love - is dying. It's not much of a surprise, to be honest. She's been in and out of hospital for the past few weeks, and she's been in generally poor health for some time: she's weak, she's coughing up blood, and she's just plain tired.
And I can't help but wonder if that makes it all so much harder. I've lost a number of people close to me over the years; some went quickly, some went slowly. And there's something different about watching (or in this case, hearing about) someone die gradually. People talk about relief of someone dying after a long illness - "At least the suffering's over," they say. This has always struck me as overlooking (glossing over) all the conflicting emotions and feelings that come with death. Yes, their suffering's over, and that is wonderful. But what about the guilt that feeling brings: being glad someone died, even if they were in horrible pain, makes me feel guilty. Isn't fighting for life what makes us human? Should we, even in the face of insurmountable odds, rage against the dying of the light?

Dylan Thomas was often dismissed by critics as being too sentimental a poet to be taken seriously. I think there's something to be said for sentimentality. I think, deep down inside, I am a sentimentalist myself.

Shhhh, it'll be our little secret.

It's the same old thing as yesterday

How sad is it that the thing I'm most looking forward to this week is installment 3 and 4 in the PBS "Best of Monty Python" series airing Wednesday night? Not that these specials haven't been fantastic - I particularly loved the Graham Chapman episode, despite the absence of Cleese's brilliant eulogy - but isn't there something else I could be getting excited about? And what happens after Wednesday? Is it all downhill from there? Oh, the questions.

Regardless, these special have been excellent. If you like, even a little, Python, check them out.

Things are trucking along nicely here in thesis-world (definitely the lamest "world" of all). Lots of reading and writing done; lots more to be done. The thing is I'm starting to put myself to sleep when I try to explain what I'm attempting to do with. Is this the great burden of all Grad students? You work so hard, spend so much time on a topic on something that most people couldn't care less about. I see people's eyes glaze over when I bring up theories of British masculinity or Winnicott's theory of child development. I guess I could look at this as a gauge of true friendship: my real friends are the ones who either stay awake or don't go running, screaming from the room when I talk to them about this.

At this point, the length of this conversation is way out of proportion to my interest in it. Dan Rydell, "Sports Night"

I guess I'm always hoping that you'll end this reign

1. What time did you get up this morning? um, 9:30.
2. Diamonds or pearls? For what?
3. What was the last film you saw at the cinema? Walk the Line.
4. What is your favourite TV show? Of all time: probably Night Court. I also love Buffy, Veronica Mars, Smallville, Firefly and Angel.
5. What do you usually have for breakfast? Coffee. And more coffee.
6. Favourite cuisine? Indian.
7. Middle name? Got one, thanks.
8. Food you dislike? Brussell sprouts. The devil made them.
9. Favourite CD at the moment? Tie between the Buffy musical and Wolf Parade's "With Apologies to the Queen Mary"
10. What kind of car do you drive? Mazda Protege. Zoom, zoom.
11. Favorite sandwich? The kind someone else made.
12. Characteristic you despise? Extreme moodiness/mood swings.
13. Favorite item(s) of clothing? Jeans.
14. If you could go anywhere in the world on vacation, where would it be? Back to London.
15. What colour is your bathroom? White. Very White.
16. Favorite brand of clothing? Oh, I dunno stuff liek that.
17. Where would you retire to? London.
18. What was your most memorable birthday? Turning 23, a party at this dive-ish bar in Waterloo. I don't think I've ever had as much fun.
19. Favorite sport to watch? Basketball, I guess.I'm not really a sports guy.20. Furthest place you are sending this? No place.
21. Coolest place you’ve ever been? Portage and Main. No, wait, that's the COLDEST place; the coolest? Key West or Miami.
23. Favorite saying: Don't think I have one.
24. Birthday? No, thank you.
25. Are you a morning or night person? Definately not a morning person. I am a night person but as responsibilities and adulthood force me to rise before noon, I'm less a night person and more an afternoon person.
26. Shoe size? 10.
27. Pets? Nope.
29. What did you want to be when you were little? Big. My friend Doug wanted to be a purple crayon. I think Doug ate too much paste.
30. How are you today? Same as yesterday.
31. Favourite candy? Chocolate
32. Favourite flower? Huh? You're joking, right?
33. A day on the calendar you are looking forward to: December 25... I hear there's going to be something big up that day.

But it's my destiny to be the King of Pain

My now weekly walk to the library made for an entertaining 45 minutes. People certainly are strange. There was the June Cleaver-esque woman retriving her mail. Her hair looked perfect and she was dressed pearls and an apron. I imagined that inside the world had stayed 1957: that the whole family gathered around the television Sunday nights to watch Ed Sullivan, that pot-roast was served with shocking regularity, that she and her husband slept in seperate twin beds.

Then there was camoflage guy walking his dog. The man was dressed in a full suit of proper green camoflage. He must have been military, as he was also wearing combat boots and a beret (and, really, aren't the military the only people who can get away with wearing those hats?), but I don't know who he thought he was going to hide from in the snow. I had half a mind to bump into him and claim that I didn't see him... but he didn't look like the sort of person who enjoys a laugh.

Where I have to go begging in Beauty's disguise

Post number 200, folks. I'd like to thank the little people, because I couldn't be where I am today without the Munchkins.

So, the Winter Olympics are in full swing. Half my class skipped out of the second period to watch the hockey game (and to see Canada lose... that's God getting them back for skipping my class).

I just can't get into the Winter Olympics. I've tried, but I don't get the point. Too many of the events seem so freakin' silly. Like, how many toboggan-based events do we need? We've got the luge, the two and four person bobsled... I don't know, maybe tobogganing's now an official event. Isn't it all the same premise: slide down hill on something. They should have crazy carpet event. Now those things are hard to steer.

And then there's skating and curling and skiing, and I just can't accept those things as sports. Curling? Shuffle board on ice. Skiing? My dad skis. That disqualifies as a "sport" right there. Those are activities. Sure, they're fun, people enjoy doing them, but they're not sports. Hockey? Okay, now that's a sport, not one I particularly like, but I can accept that one. Now I realize that being Canadian and admitting that I don't like hockey is akin to high treason, but I don't care: I hate the cold. Sue me.

Confusion is nothing new

I had a dentist appointment this morning. Nothing like starting the day off with sharp metal instruments and agressive gum poking. Mmmm.

Now I recognize the necessity of going to the dentist and brushing and all that, but I detest the falseness of the visit. The hygenist asking how you're doing - like she really cares, in few minutes you're going to be bleeding all over her. And she stops every few minutes to see if youre "doing all right." Like the whincing and white knuckled grip on the arm rests is confusing body language. I think the whole thing would be a lot easier if the hygenist just abandoned all sense of civlity or humanity when you walk in to the room: "So you're finally here, are you? You know, nobody likes, you're fat, and you're mother's right about you wasting your life." I think this would make the 20 minutes of oral torture a bit more bearable.

I had to walk a quarter of a kilometre from the dentist to the bustop, but that wasn't too bad. It's only minus 9 out there; almost spring (grrrrr, somebody please kill me). When i finally got to the University, I was met with a wonderful surprise: a beautiful photo/name plate for the door of my dumpy UM office. It's very cool and I spent a great deal of time showing my co-workers. Yes, it was a good way to avoid work, but I am proud of it too.

Sometimes fires don't go out when you're done playing with them

According to their prophets, the Blogging Gods have been appeased by the many sacrifices of comments and posts. They are now happy. We'll see.

It's still cold. And it's nice to know I've not the only one who thinks so. Author extraordinaire, Neil Gaiman has a brilliant post called "Land of Long Underwear" about the affects of the cold Minnesota winters on the mind over at his site. The temperatures are comparable, and Lords knows I wish I was wearing long underwear when I trekked over to the library on Friday. It damn near killed me. Killed me with coldness. I wonder if Neil would appreciate that I often trek to the library in these temperatures to check out his books? That said, I highly recommend his graphic novel,Marvel 1602. If all comics were even half as intelligent as this one, people would be a lot more respectful of the medium.

Anyway, it's cold and I should get a sweater. Almost time for Sunday lunch at Stella’s. Hmmmm, breakfast sandwich.

The Case of the Missing Comments and Posts

What's the definition of insanity? Doing the same action over and over and OVER again and expectig different results. And to that end, I am going to try reposting this AGAIN.

For some reason I have angered the Blogging Gods and they see fit to torment me. First, they started making comments people made vanish into thin air; then, they decided to start making my update posts about the situation disappear too. I have written this same post four times, FOUR TIMES, now and it keeps disappearing. It'll stay up for a few hours, maybe a day, and then, pffttt, it's gone. Where does it go, you ask? I wish I knew.

But like the lab rat I am, I keep re-writing this post over and over again, hoping that this time will be different, that this time it'll stay put.

So, one last time for the fans, here it goes: I don't delete stuff on this blog, especially comments. If you submitted a comment and it's gone, blame the Blogging Gods. It's their fault. I have received email notification of all comments, so I have read them. Thanks.

Now, I think I'll go and stick pencils in my eyes.

Whisper in a dead man's ear doesn't make it real

With the wind chill, it was minus 42 this morning. Minus FREAKIN' FORTY-TWO.

All I had to do was run across the street to feed the cats this morning. About half way there, in the middle of the road, my fingers went numb. About a quarter of the way there I lost all feeling in my feet. And that’s when I began to question, very loudly, why I lived in a place that got this frickin' cold. Minus forty two? To quote Lewis Black, that is not weather, that's an Emergency condition. The government should be called in, trucks should roll into town with blankets, hot chocolate and fire. 'Cause you'd think that if it was that cold outside people would just light fires all over the place, trash can fires that you could warm your hands by. But no. Not here in Winnipeg. Here in Winnipeg we're proud of the cold. When it's cold like this, we feel the need to mention it, often, with awe and pride. We stop each other on the streets: "It's crisp; really gets the blood pumping." "Yes, it does. And it's brisk out here today." Let's be clear about something: minus forty two isn't "brisk". Calling minus forty two brisk is like calling World War 2 a "misunderstanding." Minus forty two is "my eyes have just frozen open."

In his Divine Comedy, Dante described the frozen, desolate waste land reserved for the worst sinners and offenders in all of human history. He called that final level of Hell the "Judecca"... what he meant was Winnipeg.

I can see you're unimpressed

You know, I am a sucker for these things.

Your Candy Heart Says "Get Real"

You're a bit of a cynic when it comes to love. You don't lose your head, and hardly anyone penetrates your heart. Your ideal Valentine's Day date: is all about the person you're seeing (with no mentions of v-day!) Your flirting style: honest and even slightly sarcastic What turns you off: romantic expectations and "greeting card" holidays Why you're hot: you don't just play hard to get - you are hard to get

What Does Your Candy Heart Say?

If someone did manage to penetrate my heart, wouldn't I die?
And slightly sarcastic. Sounds just like me.
I'm hot 'cause I AM hard to get? Oh dear. That's almost as comical as the whole sense-of-humour-is-the-most-attractive-thing-about-a-guy crap.

Wish I could slay your demons, but now that time has passed

All right, my feelings on the whole Valentine's sham are pretty much summed up in the previous post. If you really love someone you shouldn't need Hallmark dictating when to treat that person to something special. The only good thing about Valentine's Day? The romantic crap that gets dragged out every February to make us feel all warm and fuzzy about ourselves. Like I happened to flip past Much More Retro this morning while I was eating breakfast. They'd dedicated the day to, surprise surprise, love songs. And I was so blown away by the cheesiness that I almost dropped my cereal in my lap. Sure, MMR is cheesy by nature, but 80s love song videos are so wondrously crappy that they should be reveled in as pigs revel in poop.

Case in point, Chicago's "You're the Reason in My Life". The video, which I don't think I'd ever seen before, has what I assume to be Chicago sitting around a room playing the song. This is par for the course as far as 80s videos go (see the earlier post about this "band-plays-song" phenomena). There are four, count 'em four, keyboards going, which is amazing for the sheer over-kill of a bad, bad instrument. Like they're saying "You know this song sucks 'cause there's so much keyboard!" The drummer's doing this complicated high hat thing, but there's no high hat to be heard in the song just the painfully simple bass drum, snare drum, bass drum snare drum. And best of all, the lead singer's droning on about this special woman who's his "inspiration," but THERE'S NO BLOODY WOMAN AROUND. Just these coiffed losers in spandex and neon who may or may not know what they're doing.

These endless days are now ending in a blaze

Happy Valentine's Day, kiddies. My heart bleeds.

If my heart could beat it would break my chest

Having returned to Sunnydale after a long hiatus, it was great to get a chance to revisit one of the most inventive episodes in all of television history: the musical episode of Buffy the Vampire Slayer. Now Joss Whedon has done other noteworthy "special" episodes (the silent Buffy, the puppet-Angel) but "Once More With Feeling" towers above those all both in terms of vision and storytelling.

This episode, the seventh in Season six, perfectly balances and utilizes the novelty of concept and the various storylines already in motion. It's not a one-off, like so many concept episodes of other shows: a dream sequence or the old "What if?" fantasy episode that ignores a show's continuity (Friends had one of these). Buffy is still depressed after being resurrected from a blissful, peaceful paradise by her friends; Willow's addiction to magic is straining her relationship with Tara; Giles is unsure of his role now that his slayer has returned from the dead. And Spike? Well, Spike broods.

The real strengths of this episode are how creator Joss Whedon both uses his universe to his advantage and uses/subverts conventions. Rather than having people sing and dance for no good reason (which is one of the reason I detest most musicals), Whedon offers an explanation -a musical demon named Sweet- and draws attention to the fact that this behaviour isn't normal, even in Sunnydale. There are references to the "fourth wall," implied audience and lines being filler which all function as meta-theatrical commentaries on the constructed (false) conventions of the musical genre. For example, one of the most moving moment of the whole show is the final group number, "Where Do We Go From Here?" The song is really a metaphysical search for an ending that doesn't come: we've done everything we're supposed to do, we've defeated the demon, but things aren't wrapping up nicely. Things are supposed to be resolved at the end of musicals, all the plots tied together nicely. But things don't wrap up nicely in this musical. Various characters have revealed secrets through their songs that will alter the group dynamic; some secrets are minor (Xander and Anya's prenuptial anxieties), some are major (Buffy's confession that she was in heaven). When the ending of the show comes, Whedon gives us the expected kiss and the expected orchestral swell, but this too is a false ending. The kiss doesn’t bring closure; it only invited more questions and more problems. This ending does not resolve plots, it only introduces new narratives. What will happen next? Where do we go from here?

I could tell you, but you should really watch for yourself.

It’s lonely out in space

I've spent almost the whole day reading. There have been a few Buffy-breaks (Rachel and I have resumed our watching of the entire series after an almost six month hiatus) and a couple of trips across the street to check on and feed the cat; but for the most part, I've been couped up here, reading till my eyes have become the dry, stingy marbles that currently reside in my sockets. Stupid eyes.

I have a couple of movies that I got from the library that I need to watch this weekend. They're not "fun" movies, but school movies (to be read: "films I'm using in my PhD"). Not that they won't be fun to watch: I've loved all the films I've watched, and I don't think these two will be any different. One I've been trying to get my hands on for a very long time. Now that I have it in my hands, I'm a little nervous about watching it. Great expectations are hard to live up to. Maybe I'll get to them tomorrow evening. It's not like the Simpsons are worth watching these days.

I wish I had something even remotely interesting to say. But I don't.

I got values, but I don't know how or why

All right, down on your knees and pray, kiddies ‘cause Armageddon's on its way.

Pamela Anderson has recently confirmed that she'll be making a cameo in the new Baywatch movie....

Just let that sink in for a second.

Someone's actually putting up money to turn that decades old lingerie-catalogue of a show into a feature film? Something this bad surely is a sign, like a plague or boils, pointing to the end of the world.

I know David Hasselhoff was successful at sucking in his gut for the 42 minute run time of a show that ran ten years ago, but does anyone in Hollywood or anywhere else in the world honestly think that people will pay their hard earned money to see a fifty four year old Hasselhoff prance around the beach in a Speedo? Oh sure, the Germans will. But they also wear leather shorts.

Will Hollywood make any old crap these days - I thought the barrel bottom had been scraped clean after the Dukes of Hazard movie and the soon-to-be fast-tracked to video Gilligan's Island. Apparently I was wrong. Instead of having meetings with writers or optioning novels of substance, it seems that movie executives green light film versions of whatever they happen to catch on late night TBS.

How many levels of hell did Dante have in La Commedia? I think he forgot one. We're now at the bottom, past the liars and falsifiers of Level 8, past the traitors and betrayors of Level 9. A new level, Level 10 filled with the evil people who made "From Justin to Kelly," "The Flintstones," and "It's Pat: the Movie". Let's all just pray that there isn't an "A-Team" in the works.

Come ride in my streetcar by the bay

Goat-boys on the bus again today.
Same ones. Different ones. Who cares?

Have you ever realized that conversation is like jazz? I only thought about this after a bad conversation, one I thought would go well.

A really good conversation has a rhythm and feel to it and the closest analogy I can come with is awesome jazz. Not that crappy light-jazz you hear in elevators; I mean Miles Davis/John Coltrane jazz; jazz that goes in a thousand different directions but always allows all the participants to reveal their creativity and support the creativity of the others. I love good conversations, and I don't think I've been all the quick to recognize how rare good conversations are. I have a few friends who, whenever we get together, find our groove quickly. We have our parts and we we're comfortable free-forming and improvising. We make incredible music on fly, the completely improv-ed "Elevator to the Gallows" soundtrack.

Uncomfortable conversations are rehearsing without knowing the music - hesitant, scared. You stick to the simplest beat, you play only the notes you have to for fear of playing the wrong note and ruining the music.

You can call me anything you like but my name is Veronica

Vague crisis this afternoon.

People who know me know that there's few things I enjoy then coffee. I love coffee. We're talking love poems and flowers. I'd take coffee on a romantic getaway if I could afford it.

I'd dismissed class, packed up my books and was about to leave when that sinking feeling of forgetfulness swept over me. "Where's my coffee mug?" I asked myself. Which was rather silly. If I knew surely I would have told myself without needing to be asked.

It was no where to be found in the classroom. I went to my office, figuring that I must have left it in there on the break. No such luck. No mug.

My mind raced back to all the times that I was sure I had it: had it this morning in the lounge; had it in my office before class; had it in class, where I drank that final sip of coffee goodness. Okay, so on the break I know I went four different places: 1) office (which I'd already checked); 2) the library 3) faculty lounge 4) washroom.

Three seemed the obvious choice; after all, the lounge is where they have the coffee. If I was going to carry it anywhere it would be where I could get more coffee. So I went to the lounge. I looked on all the end tables and checked by the sink. No travel mug. I even looked through the cupboards on the off chance that one of the ambitious staff memebers washed it and and put in away. No mug.

Fine.

So I rush down to the library. I glance over at the terminal that I'd been on earlier and don't see it. I apporach the front counter and asked if it had been turned it. No mug.

So I rush up to the third floor washroom. I don't usually bring my mug to the washroom, but hey, I was getting desperate. I looked there, and... NO MUG.

Then my mind starts racing. My brain kicks into overdrive. "They've stolen my mug." All of sudden I envisioned this massive student plot to deprive me of my coffee - the little bastards! I figured it was some act of retribution for making them read Salman Rushdie or Sylvia Plath. I started trying to determine who the ring leaders of such a scheme would be and what my next step might be (more Sylvia Plath is really all I came up with).

Defeated, I returned to the faculty lounge where I had left my coat and bag. And there, on the floor by one of the armchairs, was my cup. And all was well with the world once again.

And all I've said is just instead of coming back to you

I went to my neighbourhood video store today. They have this special where you can get one of their older "gallery" movies free. No other rental required. Now their pickings are slim, but a free movie is a free movie. Hey, I'd even watch a Will Ferrell movie if I didn't have to pay for it... all right, that's totally not true. I wouldn't watch one his films if I was paid.

So my friend Matt was working and he's never working when I go in. he walked around with me and tried to steer me to some decent titles. Even with Matt's fine eye and savvy film literate mind, there wasn't much selection. I was half-tempted to rent Hudson Hawk, as it was one of about 5 titles made before 1995.

And I had no idea that Steven Segal made so many freakin' movies! He must be the direct to video king! I can't imagine any of those films are very good. I mean they're supposed to be "action" but he didn't really move around all that much before he packed on the Kirstie Alley weight.
I passed on American Psycho 2, even though it had that really annoying girl from "That's 70s Show" and I was thinking to myself "really annoying girl + nauseating violence = fun, fun, fun! Thankfully Matt was there to correct my math.

I ended up renting... bah, I forget now.

Stupid slim pickin’s!

My name is Ivor, I'm an engine driver

An afternoon of intrigue and insights.

All right, intrigue might be overstating it just a bit. But there have been insights a-plenty. Insight number 3: if you don't safe files properly, you could lose a lot of work. Thought I had that one down pat. Apparently I was wrong. Man, I'm wrong a lot these days. Yeah, so I goofed, double-saved and overwrote a file that had six-seven pages of my lastest thesis chapter. I've spent the afternoon trying to re-create the brilliance of those now lost pages. Of course what I wrote in no way comes close to how good I now believe those pages to be. It's as Keats said in "Ode on a Grecian Urn":

Heard melodies are sweet, but those unheard
Are sweeter

Like the uncut 8 hour, 42 reel Greed or a lost episode of "Night Court" those missing pages have attained perfection through absence. They will be the greatest thing I ever wrote.

Hmmmm, maybe I should erase my whole thesis. Think how good it'll be then!

He was due home yesterday but he ain't here

Technology hates me.

I decided this today as I was trying (mostly in vain) to set up the VPU/computer in my classroom today. You see, I had a Powerpoint presentation to aid in today's lesson - really, if I'm honest, it was just a picture of John Keats, looking all Keats-y in his frilly shirt, and a picture of a grecian urn; not all that essential - but for the life of me, the computer would not cooperate. It would boot, then shut down, then reboot.

No matter what I tried, what threats I uttered (and utter threats I did) nothing would persuade this hunk of chunk to behave. It would discover the same new hardware again and again. It would ask me the same thing again and again.

"You have unused items on your desktop. Would you like to get rid of them?"
"No, thank you. I like them where they are."
"Are you sure? 'Cause I can get rid of them for you. It's no problem."
"I'm quite sure."
"You don't want to think it over a little bit longer? It's a big decision."

And it went on like this for several minutes. The more the cursed thing misbehaved, the more I became determined that it would. I reentered my password three or four times, I opened and closed programs, I tried, tried, TRIED to reason with it, but there was no use.
Then, finally, without warning or justification, it simply decided that it had tormented me long enough and started working. It stopped finding and installing new programs, it ceased worrying about the state of the desktop, it just worked.

But from inside the CPU, very faint but still audible, I heard a chuckle.

Meet the new boss; same as the old boss

I got last semester's student evaluations back today. And apparently, I'm still funny. Maybe I should just chuck this whole academic gig and do stand up. Nah, that would never work. All my jokes are about literature. Couldn't see me standing up at the local Yuk Yuks, "Okay, so John Donne's walking down the street." It'd never fly.

Couldn't find the sem lab (which someone recommended I use to kill time) so I found myself wandering up and down the hallway of the second floor. Pathetic! Someone should just put me out of my misery.

Before I go insane I hold my pillow to my head, screaming out the words I dread

Thirteen year old boys smell like goats. I don't know what it is about them, but they do. I've shared my "boy smell like goats" thoery to many people, but least you think I'm kidding, lemme tell you about my bus ride downtown today.
So I hop on the good ol' No. 11 - well, "hop" might be overstating it a bit, I'm not a leparchun after all. There are, no surprise, few seats to be found so I move way way to the back of the bus. At the back there are three 13 year old boys sitting there. The seat next to them was free, so I sit.
Now these boys thought they were the bee's knees. They were acting all cool, leaning the way cool people do, talking tough etc. And as I sat there the faint smell of goat hit my nose. As cool as these little goofs thought they were, they smelled like a barnyard. And I couldn't help but laugh.

You can have it all, my empire of dirt

Is there a rash of alien abductions or something going on? Are Manitobans being kidnapped in the thick of the night? Have I been left behind? People seem to be disappearing on me. I am apparently a dangeorus person to know. GET OUT WHILE YOU CAN!!!

And people wonder why I'm paranoid.

God help the boxer with no hands

Man, today's just been dragging by.

One of my co-worker's computer crashed or exploded or something, so she's using the fancy one I usually use in our "shared" office. That means I've been stuck in my little hovel (someone recently described it as a dump) office. I almost never work in here anymore. It's freakin' lonely.

It's also made me realize how much I hate cellphones. My office door is apparently made out of a type of wood that amplifies sound. And as people can't use cellphones in the library (located just down the hall), they invitably come out into the hallway to answer their phones and share their conversations with me. Pimply faces boys stand just outside my door and talk their girlfriends or girlfriend-hopefuls just to "chat"; highly accessorized girls call their friends, who are likely high acessorized as well, and loudly plan to go out and drink later that week; jocks phone their jock-y friends and loudly relate their drunken escapades and conquests from the night before. It's SO MUCH FUN to overhear.

And the last known survivor stalks his prey in the night

All right.

I heard the greatest story in the world the other day from my friend, Jaimie. Jaimie often has killer tales, but this is, hands down, my favourite. I couldn't even hope to tell the story as well as she did, so I'll just quote her directly:At first, there’s just the hum of the connection. Then, mumbling, a man with a thick South Carolina accent gives his name and something that might be a phone number, and says that he’s looking for a book. Then nothing again. Suddenly, swelling out of the silence are the pulsing strains of “Eye of the Tiger”. Duh. DUH duh DUH. DUH duh DUH. DUM DUM DUM! The music continues on through the chorus, and I’m thinking, ‘okay, he forgot to hang up’. Then, the chorus ends in a fist-pumping fury, and he says “Thank you.” and hangs up.

Isn't that great? I think it says a lot about telephone etiquette. Being polite on the phone just isn't enough, folks. You gotta ROCK! How much you wanna bet that this man has a mullet, a thin Pedro-stache and a Confederate flag thumbtacked to his wall?

So, whatever you do today, ROCK IT, MAN!

They say it's your birthday

Happy Second Birthday to an amazing goddaughter, Delphine Marlowe Beckett; Del's indoubtedly one of my favourite little people of all time. Hard to believe that she turns 2 years old tomorrow. Where does the time go? This picture is from our adventures in a pool this past summer. Forgive topless Mike. No one needs to see me without a shirt on. Ever. I made the picture as small as I could to hide my terrifying pasty-white skin while still showing how adorable Del is.

Don't bother saying you're sorry, why don't you come in?

Grrrr... What a day.

I've spent the day cleaning the apartment and working. So my hands itch from the various cleaning products and my eyes sting from all the reading. I'd really like a nap, to be honest, but I have somewhere to be this evening so no sleep for Mike. At least no time soon.

Oh, and I shaved today, so my face is a not-quite pleasant tingly as well as all the other irritants. Stupid shaving. I much prefer the House unshaven look... not that I think it looks good on me (or bad for that matter), but it spares me the frustration of shaving. I view shaving like I view cleaning the car: it has to be done sometimes, but I’m happier when I can put it off for as long as possible. I can’t imagine being one of those shave-everyday guys.

She makes me so unsure of myself

So, today was an Otterburne day. Those of you who aren't hip to the 'Toba (oh dear, did I just say that?), Otterburne is this little town/hamlet/couple of buildings about half an hour from Winnipeg. I teach out there. It takes me a long time to drive out there.

I've found myself increasingly bored out there this semester. Not the class - that's fine (actually better than expected). I mean the inbetween time. Last semester was all right because there were a few people to talk to, but with no computer in my life, and people either not there or avoiding me, the time I'm not in class just DRAGS by.

Taught Sylvia Plath's "Daddy" today, so you know it was like a giant party in class. Suicide and patricide - the room was rocking with mirth, merriment and laughter.

Dying
Is an art, like everything else,
I do it exceptionally well. S. Plath

And I wanna rock your gypsy soul

And the award for most surreal conversation overheard this morning: the two blind people on the bus complaining about how bright it was yesterday.

Time and time again, the bus inevitably proves to be the most clear example of why I am an anti-social person: humanity packed in together, dangling conversations about people you don't know or things you don't care about, screaming children. The other day, this guy sits done next to me, which annoyed me right off the bat, as there were open seats where he wouldn't have to sit next to anyone. What's worse is that he smelled. There was the over powering smell of tobacco, but there something else mixed in with the tobacco, cigarettes don't usually bother me. But this guy had cigarette smoke and something, feces? raw sewage? going on. And I knew when he sat down and pulled out a textbook, this guy was in for the long haul down the university.
So I did what any person in my situation could do (I mean, other than running away): I turned my body into the window... and dug my keys into my leg to take my mind off the stank

I think you're smart, you sweet thing

I don't really have anything to say today, but why should that stop me from writing something on this thing? I never have anything of any merit to say.

I thought I'd explain the phrases that make up my bizarre titles, because people have asked me... all right, that's a lie. No one's asked me, I just can't think of any thing else to write about. Though, I'm pretty sure some people have wondered.

They come from songs, usually songs I'm currently listening to on my mp3 player. They're lines that pop out to me as either hilarious or inane. Today's, for example, comes from the Flys' "Got You Where I Want You," which was featured in that 5 star epic, Disturbing Behaviour before the Flys buzzed off into obscurity.

There's nothing like an election to hammer home the Grand Canyon-like difference between rich and poor. If you're broke, wearing dirty clothes and shoe boxes on your feet, and talking absolute glibberish, you're crazy. If you have some money, are dressed up and talking the same glibberish, you're a politican. The other day I read an article/interview with a group of Manitoba MPs. They were asked mostly ridiculous questions like "What's on your iPod?" and "What's Gwen Stefani mean when she says she ain't no Hollaback girl?" Frankly, I don't know what's more pathetic: that that people running this country are so COMPLETELY obvilious to what's going on the world of pop culture or that this is what constitutes thoughtful journalism. Is it more pathetic that four adults who represent us have no idea who 50 Cent is? Or that a journalist got an opportunity to ask questions of people who make/break policies that effect the entire country and instead of asking about platforms or issues asked (and I wish I was making this up - but I don't have time to make stuff up anymore) "What you gonna do with that junk? That junk in your trunk?"

I see Hugh Laurie won a Golden Globe for playing of Gregory House on "House." Way to go, Hugh. I've said it before, if there's an actor better than Hugh Laurie currently working on television, I'd like to see it.

I'm so obsessed that I'm becoming a bore.

Some little known facts about Mike

Ten Top Trivia Tips about Mike!

1. Mike can run sixty-five kilometres an hour - that's really fast!
2. The canonical hours of the Christian church are matins, lauds, prime, terce, sext, none, Mike and compline.
3. The air around Mike is superheated to about five times the temperature of the sun.
4. New Zealand was the first place to allow Mike to vote.
5. Ancient Chinese artists would never paint pictures of Mike!
6. If you toss Mike 10000 times, he will not land heads 5000 times, but more like 4950, because his head weighs more and thus ends up on the bottom.
7. Red Mike at night, shepherd's delight. Red Mike at morning, shepherd's warning.
   
8. Marie Antoinette never said 'let them eat cake' - this is a mistranslation of 'let them eat Mike'.
9. Ostriches stick their heads in Mike not to hide but to look for water.
10. The water in oceans is four times less salty than the water in Mike.

I am interested in - do tell me aboutherhimitthem

Who knew?

The best line? "Look out for haughty hotties." Story of my life.




You're Great Expectations!

by Charles Dickens

Coming from humble beginnings, you have become pretty stuck-up in your
later years. While hard work and dedication were the path you first walked on, a sudden
fork brought you glory and fortune. Unfortunately, you have changed even more than your
bottom line. You really should turn back to your old friends and at least respect your
old life. Look out for haughty hotties.


Take the Book Quiz
at the Blue Pyramid.

Come on join the joyride

Teaching Austen's Persuasion tomorrow. I think I'll begin with a thoughtful analysis of crinolien and swooning; maybe delve into fainting spells.

The new class has, apparently, levelled off at 22. It's not 15, but it's very managable. Hopefully there are some stellar writers in that 22.

And it burns, burns, burns, the Ring of Fire

Finally got a catch to catch James Mangold's Walk the Line this weekend. Now, I've been curious about this film since I first heard it was being made. And while I could see how Joaquin Phoenix would make a compelling Cash, whose demons are well-documented, I was more than a little baffled by the decision to cast Reese Witherspoon as June. Now, Reese is hilarious in Election, but as June Carter Cash? Come on.
And after seeing the film? I think Reese Witherspoon deserves an Oscar.
She brings out the strength and complexity someone who, for better or worse, lived a good part of her life in the shadow and at the side of Johnny Cash. That's how most people think of her, smiling away at her famous husband's side, forgetting that she'd been performing (with her famous family) since she was child and helped Johnny battle drug addiction. June's introduction into the film, and to Cash, is an incredible contrast of the "June Carter" stage persona and the real June Carter, the difference which she explains to Cash in a later scene: I learned to be funny so I had a place to fit in.
The story is as much about June as it is about Johnny.

I know I love you cause I'm watching my weight

All right, so the class of 15 magically DOUBLED in size from the issuing of the registeration list (Tuesday) and the class (Wednesday afternoon). So either everyone brought a friend, or I have twice the marking to do for that class. Wish I had the power to multiple other things like that - money, shoes, bagels.

The only other thing to report (or describe or whatever it is I do here) that that I was struck by a very bizarre reality yesterday: I'm being stalked by the music of Tom Cochrane. It's playing everywhere lately. Whenever I'm driving in the car, his songs are on the radio; when I go into a store, his songs are being piped through the sound system. Currently it's limited to "Life is a Highway" and Sinking Like a Sunset," but the way this is going I'm afraid that "My Boy's Going to Play in the Big Leagues" song isn't far off. And it's not like these are new songs - they're at least a decade old now. Why are they being played so much????

I'm striking matches with explosives so near

You'll have to excuse the blog-silence (blo-ilence?); it's completely unintentional. I'm housesitting this week and can't, for the life of me, figure out how to connect to the internet. The last time I housesat I had no trouble connecting and stayed on-line a huge portion of my time there. Now I'm filling my time with reading, writing (with pen and paper, like a sucker) and a little Smallville. Season 3? Good, good, good (though the inherent flaw in having someone as beautiful as Lana "wait for Clark" is a black smudge on an otherwise intelligent show).

First new class of a brand new semester tomorrow (my other class is a full year carry over). 15 students in it. Good number. I hope they're talkers. I find myself telling the stupidest stories to illustrate points when no one talks. Today, for example, I talked about a theory of female insanity that Dave Foley once shared on the Bill Maher show about menstration and the frequency of periods. And it was to a ROOMFUL OF FEMALES, which is sort of like explaining French to people from France, don'tcha think?

And Resident Evil 4 gives me nightmares.

And who says there's no culture in Manitoba?

Mike and Rachel Boyce basking in the wonder that is Happy Rock