Cracking!

So, last night Rachel and I decided to set forth into the world and head over to one of the local movie theatres to see Wallace and Gromit and the Curse of the Were-Rabbit. Now, I've been a fan of the plasticine duo for quite some time now, so expectations were high. And a theatre packed of screaming, crying chidlren put a serious cramp into those expectations. However, once the lights dimmed, and all the thirty thousand previews were over, and the film begin, all was well. The plot was a little fanciful, but the wit, humour and imagination of Nick Park was still apparent. There's something almost magical about watching a film where the audience is so caught up in the story that they cheer and applaud when the film ends.

In other news, we got new MTS cable. As part of the package, we got 9 "bundles" of extra channels. There's something profoundly civilized about being able to watch "The A Team" 4 times a day.

Grrrr....

When did I turn into Ben Stein from Ferris Buller's Day Off?

"Anyone? Anyone? Anyone?"

Man, some days class is like pulling teeth!

I forgot my travel mug this morning and, with it, the sweet, sweet caffine-y goodness held within. I've been cruising around looking all day for things with some form of caffine to ingest: a cup of cheap-ass coffee, a watery fountain Diet Pepsi. I'm supposed to see a play with my wife tonight. If I don't get some stimulant in me soon, when the lights in the theatre go out, so will I.

I have to meet Rachel in an hour and a half... What am I going to do for that much time? This computer is seriously solitare-free.

Thanksgiving was fine. Guess I really turned on the world with that last post. The literary THOUSANDS of emails I received... oh, wait, those were for cheap medication and herbal Viagara. Nevermind.

Maybe it's the 12 cups of coffee...

I'm having a Linus moment; you know, one of those "what's the real spirit o' the holidays" things. You see, it's Thanksgiving up here in the Great White North (and in this part of the North it actually is white today). Now we don't have the cultural (and emotional) baggage that the Americans have about this holiday: no Purtians with those amusing belt buckles, no maize, no Indians we later screwed out of everything. Oh we screwed the Indians, all right; we just tended to be a little more subtle about it, is all. Were I an American, I would have real problems with Thanksgiving.

But I'm a Canadian and I rather like the holiday. And what's not to like? Turkey: good! Stuffing: good! Pumpkin pie: GOOD!!!! Food aside though, what's Thanksgiving all about?

"Giving thanks, Mike. You moron. It's right there in the name of the holiday," you're probably thinking to yourself.

And yes, you're right. It is. But do we do it?

So, who are you thankful for? Do they know it? I tend not to assign homework here, but I challange you to let the people who matter most to you know that you're thnakful for them.

Maybe we could start a thing, with signs and T-shirts.... All right, on second thought that sounds like too much trouble. Let's stick to the telling thing. We'll accessorize later, if we need to.

"I need a fix, 'cause I'm going down"

So, my Serenity high didn't last too long. Don't get me wrong, it was good while it lasted, but real life came and kicked me in the gut once again. Monday was the usual humdrum, no-fun at the UM Press. Tuesday was school. Still can't get a handle on my students, even ones I've had before. This one girl I'm pretty sure HATES me came up after class and asked me to edit her paper. I suppose that doesn't prelude hate. But the fire alarm went off during class so that was nice: huddled around the front door, hoping there really was a fire 'cause maybe then we could warm up.

It snowed all day here in Winnipeg. Driving was a pain, slippery roads will be the death of me. Where did the summer go?

Just got back from seeing Serenity. What a movie! Admittedly I was a little nervous when I encountered fans dressed up. But there was a comradorary at the theatre that you hardly ever see these days. People started singing the Firefly theme song during the commerials; we laughed, we cringed, we gasped. And in the end, applauded. It just seemed like the thing to do.


Kaylee, you made it!!!!

I think that there's enough context (and backstory) given so that if you didn't see any episodes of Firefly you'd still be able to figure out what was going on: River's a psychic and a fugitive, Mal's grumpy, Reavers are crazy cannibals dudes.

Serenity!

(singing off key) Seren, seren, seren, seren, serrrRREEENNNNITTTTTYYYYYY!

At 7:05 this evening, I'll have a huge smile on my face.

I think that was almost a job offer...

So, I met with the president of one of the colleges where I teach - very nice man, well manicured hands. He wanted to meet (with) me to, firstly, get to know me, and secondly, to tell me about the plans for the future of the college. In a nut shell, the direction of the college, expanding into Liberal Arts, appears to point to more teaching for Mike!

In other things: Veronica Mars, my dear, what adventures did you get up to last night? Why don't I get UPN?

Whole body aches....

Went away for the weekend with a bunch of friends. Played football, wall climbed and pushed my poor body past any reasonable limit. I'm sore in so many places. The wall climb was the biggest disappoint for me: last year (at a different place) I ruled the wall. This year I tried a medium hard wall; when I was about 1/3, maybe 1/2 way up, I couldn't find any grips that would let me continue climbing. So I hung there, mostly by my arms, trying to figure out what to do. I decided to descend and try another, easier wall. I couldn't even start climbing. None of the grips seemed right; my arms were killing me from hanging on the previous wall. It was pathetic.

Right...

So, I'm bored.

I've done the dishes, packed for the weekend, and now I'm putzing around on here. In a brazen attempt to entertain myself (while my wife watches ER) I decided to try to update this little blog with some fancy new template. I figure if you can't give 'em substance, at least try to wow them with aesthetics.

Why would you shoot a man in Reno just to watch him die? Surely there are better ways to spend an afternoon.

So, school's back in to full swing and I'm... well, flummoxed. Am I getting through to my students? Am I making sense? Is my fly down? I don't expect people to be as naturally excited by Old English Poetry or Joseph Conrad as I am, but sometimes I think that short of setting off firecrackers and throwing a parade, I'll never get their attention. The solution? Tell embarrassing personal stories, obviously. Today I related how I wrote a letter to a high school friend that said "Did I ever tell you I love you?" I meant it sarcastically. Apparently I was so naive that I actually thought that the intended sarcasm would be apparent in writing. It wasn't, and for the rest of high school this girl thought I was in love with her. Nothing major ever came out of it, other than a few awkward moments; never did have the heart to tell her. Can't remember how that fit into a conversation about Heart of Darkness. Probably didn't. I likely just wanted to tell humiliating stories about myself. Wait 'til my other class starts love poetry, and the pessimism really flies...

All weekend I intended to post something here, but, to be frank, I was just too tired. With the stress of the comprehensive exam over nearly everytime I sat down to read or watch television I fell alseep. Hard to post stuff when you're sleeping. And, if I'm honest with myself, I don't really have much to post here anyway.

I'm going away this weekend, which I'm really looking forward to. It's a retreat with a bunch of people I really love and care about (and haven't been able to spend much time with lately).

I'm marginally interested in the fall television season. New episodes of House are always welcome. There's promise in the Fox show, Bones (though seeing David Boreanaz in the daylight will take some getting used to). Of course the only show I'm really excited about is one I don't know when it'll air here in Canada: Veronica Mars. The more I think about it, the more I love that show. Can't imagine where the show's going (the major plot that ran through the first season was resolved), but I'm ready for whatever they throw at me/us.

Well, my lunch break's nearly over, so I'll sign off.

WHOO HOOO!!!!

School's starting, the University of Manitoba keeps screwing up my pay, but all I can think about is: I'M FINISHED MY LAST COMPREHENSIVE EXAM!!!! Sweet.

The comp (the reason for the blog silence of the past few weeks - and you all thought it was just that I didn't like you anymore) was a crazy amount of work, but it's over. Now, on to the dissertation. Forward ho!

Big thanks to all those who were thinking about me. You rule.

And to those that didn't: you suck. I hope your eyes fall out. Just kidding.

Went to a wedding yesterday afternoon. It was really nice; lovely, really. Haven't been to many weddings... there was my own (and the first one I'd ever been to, btw), the one in Newfoundland that Rachel performed, and this one. Think that's it. I must confess though that I'm a little surprised that whole "If anyone here has any objections" part has been left out of contemporary ceremonies. Isn't that hlaf the fun of the wedding? The idea that a poor woman in dishevelled clothing, infant child in arms, steps forward to reveal the groom as the father; the high school love rushing the front, waving a giant crucifix to hold off the ushers, groomsmen and priest? If movies have taught us anything, it's that the best part of the wedding, the most memorable part is going to happen when those little words are uttered...

So, I'm not sleeping well. It's the inveitable consequence of sleeping in someone else's bed. When you'r in someone else's bed the mattress is either too firm or too soft; the pillows are either too flat or too fluffy; nothing's the way you like it. Let alone the unpleasant visuals that accompany thinking about what's gone on in the bed before you slept there. And even a thinking about what's gone on in a hotel bed can't compete with what you imagine about people you know. Anyway, I wake up every hour or so, toss and turn for another half hour then fall asleep and start the whole vicious cycle over again.

I have a question for the one, maybe two people here, and I'm really interested in hearing what you think: do you think it's appropiate to tell somone, a friend, that he/she is dating someone you think is TOTALLY beneath him/her? I'm curious.

So I'm housesitting. All alone in a strange place. Just me and the dog. I'm glad there's a dog there. Talking to myself would just be crazy.

Watched Frank Miller and Robert Rodriguez's Sin City last night. Can't think of the last time I was awestruck by such a unique visual style. Absolutely beautiful, perfectly cast (except Michael Madsen, who just seemed out of place); the incredible violence will make some people uneasy (or quesy, whatever), but watch a film! And who is Jessica Alba and how did she get so beautiful? Really, it's like flawless, otherworldly beauty. It's hard to trust uber-beautiful people - they're nothing but trouble. Watch out for them. They'll only disappoint you, if you're lucky.

My neighbourhood...

I live in a small section of Winnipeg called "Wolseley," named after Garnet Joseph Wolseley, 1st Viscount, Baron Wolseley of Cairo and of Wolseley. Despite its rather assicipious namesake, Wolseley is regarded throughout the city as the "granola belt" for its Birkenstock sandals, hairylegged women and 3, count 'em 3, Organic food stores. Wolseley prides itself on being friendly, the friendliest place in the already abundantly friendly Manitoba. People greet each other on the street with warm smiles and earnest "Good mornings." "You're never alone in Wolseley," a neighbour told me, "there's always someone to talk to." Coming from Toronto, where making eye contact with someone can be akin to pouring a drink in their lap and questioning their mother's virtue, I find the whole thing just a little forced. I mean, it's a system based on lies that prevent us from actually engaging with other people. At least in Toronto you know the rules - you don't want to talk to them, they don't want to talk to you." Simple, easy, direct. Here, they seem like they might want to talk to you, but are really asking the most superficial of questions that repeal people, keep people at a distance.

"How are you?"
"Lovely morning, isn't it?"
"Are those Birkenstocks?"

People say these things EXPECTING you to answer positively. "Fine, thank you, and yourself?" Most don't even wait for a response before they start walking away. Just once I would love to answer, "Horribly! It's an awful morning. And no, these are the most environmentally antagnositic sandals in existence made out of styra-foam, old polyurothane Big Mac containers and baby seals." I wonder if there'd be even a glimmer of confusion before they grinned their Stepford grin and walked on to the one of the 3 Organic food stores.

So this afternoon I watched the Jean-Pierre Jeunet film, A Very Long Engagement. If I were to pick a single word from that title with which to sum up, surmise, or some other word that starts with "su" the film, it would have to be the third word: Long. It was very long. I'd purpose amending the already quite lengthy title to something that more accurately reflects the experience. Persoanlly I think A VERY Long Film about a Very Long Engagement covers it nicely.

It's a good film -nice story, solid acting, interesting visuals and all that- it's just so terribly LONG. unnecessarily long too. It's like the filmmakers took every pain to drag things out as long as they possible could. For example, Audrey Tautou, who's as cute as a button and you could eat up with a spoon, plays a woman suffering from polio. So any time she has to physically move from point A to point B it's A VERY LONG WALK. Seriously, if Tautou's character was healthy, the film would have run twenty, thirty minutes shorter.

Right, here's another picture; this one's from the trip to Newfoundland. This is me on one of the famous Newfoundland beaches. As you can tell, the Newfoundland beaches are famous for being crap. I could only stay there long enough for the picture to be taken, as there was a handful of sharp, pointy rocks sticking me in the kidneys.

I realize I haven't posted anything is a long while (sorry Jaimie), so I decided to finally get around to posting a picture I've been meaning to out up for a some time. This is Rachel and I and our lovely god-daughter, Delphine Marlowe Beckett. She's incredible; a lot of fun. We're reading a book we got her about a red bull who goes to the market. He's scared, the farmer reassures him: it's a fantastic read - highly recommend it to all.