Jack Layton

My friends, love is better than anger. Hope is better than fear. Optimism is better than despair. So let us be loving, hopeful and optimistic. And we’ll change the world.
--Jack Layton, from his "Letter to Canadians"

Jack Layton's funeral isn't until tomorrow, but as I won't be in Toronto, I thought I would take a few moments today to remember one of the greatest leaders our country never had.

Jack Layton took charge of the NDP in 2002 at a time when its stock was pretty much at its lowest, with only 14 seats in Parliament. This was not a kind time for the NDP: the West was a lost cause, Ontario was gun shy after its provincial experiment with leftism resulted in Rae Days, and even the East had brought diminishing returns for the party. There did not appear to be much hope that the Canadian public would turn away from the Liberals and the Conservatives, but that didn't matter to Jack. In both 2004 and 2006, he fought the good fight for his party; even when his horse was lame, he was still there, smiling, slugging it out. And then things began to change. Earlier this year, the NDP made considerable gains in Quebec, resulting in a record number of seats in Parliament and the mantle of Official Opposition. These gains were very much because of Jack's quiet charisma.

I didn't necessarily agree with Jack Layton politically; he was often more left than my generally centrist beliefs. However, I admired him enormously: He had compassion, conviction, and commitment in a way that no other leader has had (at least in my voting lifetime). He was personable, charismatic, and...well, normal. His commitment to our country was incredibly; no matter how bad the NDP's fortunes seemed, he was always working, always committed to his vision of his party and our country.

It's heartbreaking to know that he lost his battle with cancer so soon after the greatest victories of his political career, to know that he'll never get the chance to explore his new position to its fullest.

heartsick

I feel physically and psychically ill from the last two weeks.

I'm probably going to lay low for a while until I can figure out where I'm going.

Jasper

We adopted Jasper in the summer of 1999. He wasn't supposed to come home with us; we were actually getting a kitten for Youngest Sister following the death of our latest cat. Every time we went to the SPCA, though, there was this one adult cat who kept sticking in our minds. When Youngest finally picked out a kitten, a little calico baby, my mom said, spontaneously, "Let's get the tabby, too; your dad really likes him."

He had been at the shelter so long (over a year)¹ that we didn't have to pay any adoption fees for him; they were just happy that he was going to a home. Later, we would remark that we couldn't understand how he'd gone unnoticed for so long: while he wasn't the most beautiful cat, his personality more than made up for it. He loved all of us (excepting, perhaps, Youngest) devotedly. Even though he and Padme² were not litter-mates or even related, they were best friends³, often snuggling up together:

Of all of us, though, Jazz was most devoted to my mother. He would stay up at night when she was working nights at the hospital, and he would wait for her to come home in the morning. If she didn't arrive home at 7:30, he would start to prowl around the house to look for her. He would then sleep on the bed with her for the day. He would sit on the computer desk when she was using the computer, and he would come up behind her and poke her in the back if he thought she wasn't paying enough attention to him.

He was an exceptionally friendly cat. My dad nicknamed him, "The WalMart Greeter" because he would forget about everything as soon as he heard someone on the doorstep, and run to the front door to say hello.

Unlike most cats, Jasper loved having his tail pulled. If you put your hand on his tail, he'd lean away from you so that you were pulling on it. We always had a hard time explaining this to people, who thought that we were making it up--until they saw him in action, and how loudly it would make him purr.

You may have noticed that this post is mostly written in the past tense. Jasper got sick about two weeks ago. Youngest took him to the vet's after he failed to get up for breakfast one morning. His bladder was enlarged, and he was unable to pee. After a few days of being catheterized, he peed on his own and came home, only to wind up back at the vet's for the same reason the next day. He spent a few more days with a catheter in, peed successfully, and came home again...and went back to the vet again two days later. My parents made the decision to euthanize him, and they buried him in our backyard on Thursday evening.

It was very strange to be home for Easter. Between missing him and wondering if she'd made the right decision, my poor mum was so sad. For me, the hard parts weren't the big things--I knew he wouldn't be there to greet us, and I knew that he wouldn't be begging for food around dinnertime. It was the small things: coming around a corner and expecting to see him on a chair; finding his fur on the bedspread in my bedroom; listening for him in the morning.

I'll miss him for a long, long time.
===
¹ Thank heaven we lived in an area that could afford to have a no-kill shelter.
² Yes, 1999 was the year that The Phantom Menace came out. Why do you ask?
³ Except when he would forget about the time he had the Big Operation and force himself upon her.

Ennui

Now that my knitting related blogging obligations have been discharged, I can return to you to our regularly scheduled programming. Which might actually be less interesting, come to think of it, because I am in a slump. Or maybe a funk. Hard to say. I think it's because all of the fun things are over--no more wedding, no more honeymoon, just a lifetime of scrimping and saving to try to buy a new furnace, a new bathroom, and a million other small repairs that our house requires. Sure, we're talking about planning a trip to Europe, but it will be at least a couple of years before that comes through. It's also because the school year is winding down, and this wasn't a good year in a lot of ways. It wasn't a bad year, exactly--not like that year I spent teaching high school--but neither was it a good year. I struggled with the material and some of my colleagues; I struggled with my personal life; there was that whole thing with negotiating a new collective agreement for my union during a time of wage restraint. I'm not sure how I feel about this year yet, either, and it's strange to be thinking about closing something off that feels unresolved to me. It's also the time of year. Spring always makes me feel like getting the hell out of North Bay Rock City, which is never at its ugliest more so than in those weeks when winter is dying and spring hasn't quite decided that it wants to be reborn. The detritus of winter is all over this city, and it's not even warm enough to be optimistic. There's very much a piece of me that wants to be heading "home" like I did when I was a student, back to my parents' house. All that's left here right now is being a grown up with grown up problems, and I am so effing tired of that. Surely the sun has to come out some time.

Nolite te bastardes carborundorum

It is, as of a few weeks ago, election season here in Canada once again. People are upset about this, for a variety of reasons. Some people are upset because they see the election as unnecessary and, if you're Stephen Harper, apparently dangerous. Some people are upset because the Conservative government was found to be in contempt of Parliament. Some people are upset because Canada has three parties that suffer from a lack of leadership. ¹

And I get that. I hate the attack ads that the Conservative Party of Canada runs about Michael Ignatieff--I hate that they are personal attacks, rather than attacks on policy. That said, they do resonate--it's not difficult to portray Ignatieff as an elitist blowhard who is out of touch with "the average Canadian" because, well, he comes off as an elitist blowhard who is out of touch with the average Canadian. If he was elected, he certainly wouldn't be the first elitist blowhard to lead our country, and I don't know that those qualities would necessarily make him a bad PM.

This will be an interesting election for a lot of reasons. We have three leaders who are likely fighting the last election battles of their careers: Layton, in addition to his health issues, has yet to lead his party to even Official Opposition Status. If Ignatieff fails to win even a minority government this time, it will be a death knell for him as Liberal leader. Anything less than a majority government means the same for Harper; after two minority wins, he needs to show that he is actually engaging Canadians.² Then there's the ubiquitous Green Party question: will Elizabeth May ever get to participate in a debate?

We are less than four weeks away from the election. I do not know what will happen in the next few weeks. I do not know what kind of dirt will be slung around, what kind of promises will be made, nor what crazy back room allegiances will be struck. I do know that our system is not perfect and that sometimes it feels very broken.

The other thing that I do know is that I, as a Canadian, am choosing to view this election as a positive thing. I believe in our system of government very strongly. I also believe in democracy and the right of suffrage. I am hopeful that everything that has happened in the world since our last election will serve as a call to arms to Canadians: Vote. Vote because we can, because our constitution enshrines it as a right and a freedom. Vote because others worked very hard to get us these rights. Vote because our country is worth investing ourselves in.

Above all else, I will not let the bastards grind me down. No matter how ugly this campaign gets (and given that the attack ads started before the writ was dropped, I think it's safe to say that it will), I will speak loudly in defense of our system and speak loudly in defense of ourselves. I will not let the bastards grind me down into apathy or subservience. I will stand up and be counted.

Nolite te bastardes carborundorum.
===
¹ I know I'm pressing at least a few of your buttons by saying that, readers, but I'm calling it as I see it. Your mileage may vary.
²Speaking of Harper, he looks uncannily like my father in this pre-election ad for Conservative jingoism. His hair, glasses, mannerisms, and Beatles mug are all the same. I have no choice but to see this as further evidence of the Masonic-Reptilian conspiracy.

Wedding Bell Blues

This is a wedding rant, so if you are uninterested in my wedding, you may make your exit now.

Gentle reader, if there is anything that I have learned in the last year that I feel is necessary to pass on to you, it is this one piece of advice: Just elope. ¹

Things have been relatively calm up until this point. There have been a few hiccups along the way, of course, but in the span of about five days, everything got stupid. For example:

• Wedding rings: Did you know that the price of gold is at an all-time high? It is. Which means that my plain, simple band cost almost $250 more than the price we were originally quoted.² It actually would've been cheaper to buy the pre-fab band encrusted with diamonds that we initially vetoed as being too expensive.
• The back up venue for the ceremony, which my father-in-law had assured us that we would be able to get (for free) is in fact booked. Most of the other possible venues? Also booked. Most of them in the last two or three days. Except for the one restaurant, which told my father-in-law that he normally charges about $200 to rent the space, but since it was a wedding he'd have to charge $500.
• Two of the three people that we'd intended to ask to do readings at the wedding are...not coming.
• The RSVP deadline was on Sunday and only 55% of the invitees have responded so far.
• My aunts on Facebook are talking about the black bra of doom.³
• None of the fascinator or jewelry supplies that I've ordered online have arrived yet.

The end result of all this is that I have taken to obsessing about things I cannot change. For example, I have just noticed that one of our floors is a bit slopy. The house is eighty years old, and I've lived here for just over two. I am sure that the floor has been a bit slopy the entire time, and that I've just never noticed before now. But now I cannot not see it or feel it every time I walk on it. There is not a damned thing I can do about it either.⁴

So in the meantime, I am going to breathe deeply, exhale slowly, and tell myself to accept that things are what they are, and that I need to conserve my energy. And then I'm going to go home and have a really kick ass weekend there.

=====
¹ My wedding has, in fact, driven me crazy. Mad. Loopy. Barking. 'Round the twist. I am losing it. I can't believe that there are still five weeks to go because I can't imagine living like this for five weeks without resorting to the consumption of copious amounts of alcohol.
² Not really the jeweler's fault--we got a quotation for price back in February, and gold has done nothing but go up since then.
³ It is an absolutely enormous bra that women in our family get to wear at their bridal showers. You are supposed to stuff pieces of wrapping paper from your gifts into it. The last person to wear it was my tiny, tiny cousin. I, unfortunately, pretty much fill out the bra to begin with.
⁴ Which is to say, not a damned thing that doesn't involved ripping up the floors and replacing them, which is not really a feasible solution at this juncture.

Saying goodbye

Sad times today--in a little over an hour, I'll be going with a friend to have her cat put down. Bing is a small but vocal black cat, who is quite fond of knitters, particularly when they act as warmers for any seat on which he might like to sit. The poor guy is seventeen, which is quite old for a cat, and his health has gone downhill in these last few months. He's stopped eating now, and dropped below 5 lbs. I don't envy Girl Tuesday the decision she's had to make, and I figure that it's the least I can do to go with her. God knows I wouldn't want to be alone if it was Bad Cat in the same position.

So if you have pets, make sure that you give them extra hugs and maybe a treat today, so that they know how much you love them.

A Heavy Heart and Lots of Prayers

A few weeks ago, my maternal grandfather fell in the shower. It didn't seem to be a big deal at the time, but then he started complaining of headaches and began throwing up. My grandmother brought him to the hospital, where he was x-rayed. The x-rays show a subdural hematoma; he's bleeding at the base of his brain. None of this is very good (particularly the vomitting), but it's even worse given all of my grandfather's other health problems: renal failure, stroke, electrolyte imbalance, diabetes, and alcoholism. He's 86, too, so when all that adds up together, it makes for a pretty grim picture. No one really knows what is going on. The hospital can't do anything for him other than treat his pain and his nausea, so they won't admit him; the brain bleeding is either going to heal itself or it isn't.

I don't know how to feel. I don't want my grandfather to die, but I don't want him to suffer, either. I've been trying my best to pray for peace for both him and my grandmother, but I've had a hard time controlling my emotions and focusing them towards that end.

Rather than dwell on the negative, though, I thought I'd tell you a little about my grandfather, and maybe tell my favourite of his stories. My mom's father is a joker and a trickster. He grew up in Schumacher, ON, which is now part of Timmins. He was one of several children. He worked on the railroads¹ and eventually wound up working for the Canadian Imperial Bank of Commerce in Peterborough and Scarborough. He always has a joke, or a rhyme, or a song for his grandchildren. He loves trains, birds, gardenning, and the Royal Family. He has such a tremendous sense of humour, and tells stories so well. Here is one of my favourite grandpa stories:

The Story of Tom, Lloyd, and the Daisy Air Rifle
When Tom (my grandfather) and Lloyd (his brother) were young, there was nothing in the world that they wanted more than a pair of Daisy air rifles. Trouble was, their mother flat out refused to let them have guns. They began secretly squirreling money away, pledging that once they had enough saved up to buy two air rifles, they would go to the store and buy the guns regardless of what their mother thought. When that blessed day came, however, the store only had one gun in stock. They elected to buy the lone gun, and went off into a field to try to shoot some stuff. Once they ran out of logs and rocks to shoot at, Lloyd said to Tom, "I wonder how much it hurts to get shot by one of these."

The two boys decided to find out. They drew straws; the person drawing the short straw being the first person to get shot. Tom drew the short straw. He bravely walked away from Lloyd, and bent over, offering his buttocks as a target.² Lloyd aimed, fired, and hit Tom square in the butt. It was the worst pain he had ever experienced in his young life, and the worst part was that he couldn't even do anything about it. He knew that if he so much as whimpered, Lloyd would chicken out and break his end of the bargain. Thus, he held in his tears just long enough to shoot his brother in the butt.

(Afterwards, of course, both boys cried, and had difficulty sitting properly, owing to the pellets in their butts, which resulted in both their mother's discovery of their evil plan and her confiscation of the air rifle.)

=====
¹ In the earlier parts of the twentieth century, the only choices in northern Ontario were railroads or mining.
² When my grandpa told me this story, he told me that there was a reason why they were going to shoot each other in the butt, but I don't remember what it was.

I dreamed I was dying, as I so often do...

I really hate the way that I'm most productive when I have a lot to do. If there's only a little bit on my plate, I will procrastinate and dilly dally and even lollygag, but the minute I have seventeen nigh impossible tasks, I will get that shit done. For example, today I have: done laundry, marked 1/3 of my exams, cleaned three rooms, watched Napoleon Dynamite*, mapped out part of my upcoming conference paper, read the graphic novel adaptation of "I Am Legend" and taken a nap.

Once these exams are graded and I start tabulating final marks, I will be more or less done for the year, which is terrifying and exhilerating. I have high hopes for this summer. I usually find my time off from work to be really stressful. I like having things to do; I like having a sense of purpose. I dislike not making money; I dislike being left to my own devices all the time. It's ironic, I suppose, that the time of the year that most people look forward to the most is the one that sends me into a depressive state.

Thus, this summer, I have decided that I will have ambition, purpose, and clearly stated goals, so that I do not lose track of myself. The preliminary goal list looks something like this:

1. Knit my mom's Christmas present (Rogue sweater)
2. Knit Mat a pair of kilt hose
3. Design, make, and mail wedding invitations
4. Write script for graphic novel idea found in old notebook
5. Write script for own Cinema of the Awkward film
6. Prime and paint living room, spare room, craft room, and upstairs hallway
7. Grow tomatoes and/or herbs in backyard
8. Miscellaneous wedding planning activities
9. Sew new curtains for bathroom

I hope this is enough to keep me out of trouble. I spent most of last summer napping extensively on the couch because I felt so poorly, and I don't think that I can handle going down that road again.


*I still don't really get it

left and leaving

My father was in town briefly yesterday, and he came over to check out the new guitar. He agreed with my assessment that it was in good condition, saying that it looked to him like it had hardly been played. He then tuned it for me, so I am playing around with it a little tonight.

It's been years since I've tried to pretend like I could learn to play guitar. I have no rhythm, and no particular musical talent. Strangely, my rhythm has gotten better as I've gotten older. While I'd never say that I'm good at Rock Band or GUitar Hero, my performances there aren't quite as EPIC FAIL as they once were.

Back in high school I used to spend a lot of time teaching myself bits and pieces of songs from the Oh Canada Tab Archive. The archive is still there, though it looks like it hasn't been updated in about 8 or 9 years. It is literally like living in 1999 again. Which manages to be awesome but sad.

Though sometimes I feel out of step with my generation, I'm glad that I wasn't born younger. I would've been an emo scene kid--one of the worst kind.

after the pity party

Thank you for bearing with me through last week's efforts at throwing myself a pity party. I'm working hard on keeping busy, at least until I think of another plan. Mat bought me a secondhand guitar last week, so that should help. Or at least eat into my knitting time.

My sort of-LYS, Sheepstrings, is closing. I'm not terribly surprised by this announcement, but am still sad. Girl Tuesday and I drove down on Saturday to visit the closing sale, but I didn't buy much. Hard to justify it with the looming house repairs. There was some remaining Mirasol Sulka for $4/skein, which was irrestible, but that was pretty much it.

Being responsible sucks. But I know it will pay off in the long run.

Against Despair

I don't like blogging when things are bad. Not that things need to be sunshine, lollipops, and rainbows for this, but I've started to realize that sometimes it's better simply not to acknowledge some of the negative aspects of life. I'm a person who dwells on things, and sometimes writing them out makes them real.

Thus, the radio silence around here as of late.

Things could be worse. *knocks wood* I have an unfortunate habit of manifesting my mental and emotional stresses with physical symptoms. My left arm went numb for about six days last week. It was very strange, and very uncomfortable. I couldn't knit (or do any number of other things)...and since knitting is my stress buster of choice, the feeling just kept perpetuating itself.

This time of year is always hard for me. I just don't know what to do with myself, and my end of year aimlessness is combining with my fear/anxiety (most of which is house related this year) to make me listless. I could accomplish so much right now, and I simply...have not.

Things still aren't great, but I'll survive.

I don't have any other choice.

Against Despair

A recent facebook post by a grad school friend about her favourite Timothy Findley book, Pilgrim, inspired me to pick up my favourite Timothy Findley book, Headhunter today. (I haven't read all of Pilgrim. It was a bathroom book at my parents' house for a long while, and I really can't think of anything less suited to be a bathroom book.) Headhunter is, in many ways, deeply uneven--but it is also magical and inventive, and thoroughly engrossing.

I had lunch with my mother in Huntsville last week, and we wandered around downtown, and spent sometime poking through the antique shops there. (Sadly, the downtown is mildly less exciting since the yarn shop moved 25 km outside of town.) I was surprised by how many Royal Family-related antiques there were until my mom reminded me of who used to populate the Muskokas in the summertime--anyone who was anyone in Toronto owned land there, and summered outside of the city. And, naturally, anyone who was anyone in Toronto would be a staunch Royalist. In Headhunter, Findley describes this attitude as "more British than the British", which I think works quite well.

The cat would like to say hello. We've been travelling so much these past few weeks that he's been a bit lonely, and is a bit sucky as a result.

I still have to collect my thoughts about Frost/Nixon, but I think I'm closer to formulating exactly why it doesn't work all that well for me--or at least, why it doesn't work as well as I want it to.

Starting Over, Passing Through

I didn't get to watch today's inauguration because I was busy running around trying to get a variety of things organized. One of my colleagues is out for two weeks, as per doctor's orders, so I am having to pick up one of her classes and a joint project we are working on. This isn't really a big deal, but when you combine it with essay proposals in both of my courses and the general high anxiety levels of my second year students...well, let's just say that it makes for a busy day.

A few good things did come out of all the busy times, though: I snagged a waffle iron and a hot air popcorn popper, and my new glasses were finally in! The types of people who "design" glasses frames (or lend their names to such) fascinate me. There's everything from Hilary Duff to Nintendo to Eddie Bauer to Cadillac. The pair I wound up with are Cosmopolitan (...I know) and I have to say that I think they are pretty sharp. This is my first new pair in about 3 and a half years, and it's marvellous to be able to SEE again.

Reading the status updates of my friends on Facebook today has been a tremendously uplifting experience.[1] It's hard not to catch that optimism, that hope. In one of those moments that is truly serendipitous, my first year students are reading Nella Larsen's Passing, a novella that will challenge them to consider and re-consider how they perceive race and gender. Right after the first lecture, one of my students asked me, "But how can it be that no one notices that these people are black?"

Which is, of course, a very loaded question to deal with in that few minutes while your class is filing out and the next class is filing in to the lecture hall.

My students attend a *very* white school. (In fact, every time I see the school's latest marketing campaign, I laugh a litttle, since it suggests a student body that's much more diverse in terms of both race and gender.) A lot of them will have never thought about race in anything more than an abstract way, much less realized the myriad of ways that race shapes discourse and interaction in our society. I'm hoping Obama's inauguration allows at least some of them to engage with the ideas that Larsen proposes in her novella.

1. The other thing that really struck me, upon reading through pages of Facebook status updates, is how many people viewed this as a historic moment. Which, duh, it obviously is, but it's interesting to see how people identify it as such in the moment: "...is watching history being made" etc. CNN has historic t-shirts, too. The half life of nostalgia is truly growing smaller each year...

End of the year

This is going to be a hard year's end for me to write. The year hasn't actually been all that bad, but the last month has, and it will be difficult for me not to let December change my perceptions of everything else that happened. I don't know that I've ever been so happy to see the back of a month--and I can only hope for better things for the next year.

Good things I would like to remember from 2008: Buying the house, moving in with the boyfriend, adopting the cat, the Danforth Music Hall, front row for Great Big Sea, the "Crisis in Orkientalism" lecture, 3 year contract, "Life of Pi" lecture, Darren's wedding, Ravelry, new friends, old friends, Extras, new babies, Juno soundtrack, Stars album, 7 Nights Pt. II announced, Tropic Thunder, Wall-E.

I will also remember the people I lost this year.

For resolutions, I have a pretty big list:
1) Eating better. (This is already in progress, but there's always room for improvement.)
2) Finish knitting projects, and knitting through the stash. It's getting quite big.
3) Be more sympathetic. (I've had a very hard time seeing beyond myself this year. I want to change that.)
4) Be more active.
5) Write more. (Including blogging every day!)
6) Be happier.

the most blunderful time of the year...

The countdown is on. One day left to this week; three days left next week, and minimal teaching all around. (Minimal teaching, of course, means maximal marking. Bah humbug to that.) I'm always ground down this time of year; I let my job be more stressful than it should be, and I am so effing ready for a break I can taste it. I went to bed at 11 p.m. last night, and woke up around 7:30 this morning. It's now 4 in the afternoon, and I am exhausted. There's nothing left in this tank. Just air.

(As an illustration of my point, I just paused from writing this scintillating rumination on my life to go pick up some stuff from the print room here. Apparently, you actually need to send documents to the printer before they will be printed off. Where the heck is my telepathic printer?)

Don't get me wrong. I like my job. But I'm ready for a break right now. I'm ready for comfy clothes and healthy food that doesn't cost an arm and a leg, and time spent with a cat who has no sense of entitlement except when it comes to the Boyfriend's computer chair. I don't want to read more essays that misinterpret both texts and questions. I don't want to be as tired and frustrated as I am right now.

I'm hoping the quick trip home this weekend will refresh me. If not, maybe I will just sleep for the whole month of December.

Gears of War: 90 years since Armistice

"But it's not 'Lest We Forget', it's 'Lest We Remember.'"
--Alan Bennett, The History Boys

I'm a big fan of Alan Bennett's The History Boys, though sadly I have yet to see a stage production of it. For me, one of the most intriguing scenes in the movie deals with Irwin, the teacher, attempting to teach the boys about how the first and second World Wars fit into their views of history. The quotation above sticks in my mind for a variety of reasons, not least of which is that I am currently very interested in how we choose to commemorate and remember our dead.

My maternal great-grandfather fought in WWI; my paternal grandfather participated in WWII as a Royal Engineer, and saw action in both the European and Pacific theatres. Both were fortunate enough to survive. I do not take war lightly; I do not take lightly the sacrifices made, nor the people who are overseas right now--no matter how much I disagree with our role in Afghanistan. That said, I'm really unimpressed with a commercial put together by the Royal Canadian Mint to commemorate this year's Remembrance Day. The commercial in question is below:



This commercial bothers me because it approaches war from the perspective of a first person shooter video game, like Wolfenstein or Halo. War video games have always made me uncomfortable: I feel that they trivialize the sacrifices made by those fought and those who died. They simplify history into the lowest common denominator of GOOD (us) vs. BAD (them), and remove the humanity from history. Battles that real people fought in become simply obstacles to be defeated; levels to be conquered. There is no humanity in it anymore: it is simply entertainment and cinematics.

(I am aware of the various counterarguments here--movies as entertainment/glorification of war/propaganda; no real difference from non-war first person shooters; etc., but I will simply remind you that when watching a movie, or playing Halo, there is an additional level of fiction built in. You don't have to kill anyone simply watching Saving Private Ryan, and you don't have to kill anyone human in an FPS, which makes it much easier to disassociate yourself.)

Obviously, the Mint has chosen to portray this ad in this way for a particualr reason: they think it will appeal to a different audience. And to an extent, I think they're right--I was sure this was an ad for a video game, since it apes the conventions of video game trailers most expertly. The implied message, though, is what makes me so uncomfortable. In the video game world, war is a finite series of combats that have an infinite number of 'do overs' and 'save points'. If you die, well, just start over! If you stick to it long enough, by Geroge, you'll eventually beat the whole thing! And then you can put the CD back in its case, and leave it on a shelf, and forget all about it. There is no real sacrifice--not by the soldiers, not by those living in the war zone, not by those left at home. The actions of the gamer have no real consequences--unlike the soldier's. Even more than that, there is no aftermath. The war simply ends when you take out the game. There are no war reparations, no post traumatic stress disorder, and no real cost involved.

What a sad statement it is on us, that we have to interest people in remembrance in this way.

in love with love and lousy poetry

I have travelled home for the weekend (although I'm not really sure why) and am now quite content to be sitting here, computering it up and listening to the Weakerthans rock my twentysomething world on Marigold. And now it's KT Tunstall, which is a pretty good time as well: My heart knows me better than I know myself so I'm gonna let it do all the talking.

I've been in the new place for two weeks now and I am finally starting to feel like everything might be okay. I didn't write very much about it at the time, but my experiences at my first job very nearly soured me on teaching as a career. They were three of the worst weeks of my life, to the point where I made myself physically ill as my body tried to cope with the stress. No job is worth that. In the end, losing was okay, because I would have burnt myself out before too long.

The new job is different. Maybe it's simply that I spent time at this school last year and that makes me comfortable. Maybe it's that I have friends on the staff. Maybe it's that I am starting to be more confident in my abilities as an educator (we can thank my second job for that!). And certainly the fact that I have a very nice, very well behaved group of students this year doesn't hurt. But I don't feel hopeless anymore, and I don't feel like what I'm doing is useless. I like that, and I hope it stays this way. *knocks wood*

It's been an interesting few weeks. I am saddened by grocery shopping for myself, because produce sucks in the winter (and especially much this year), and Facebook is not only sucking up lots of time but also reconnecting me to a variety of friends I haven't talked to in years, both from high school and even back before we moved up here. I have not had a chance to go skiing yet, but that is okay...my day will come.

I did have a lovely Valentine's Day, though...I assumed we weren't doing anything until I came home for the weekend, and then a stranger pulled over to offer me a ride home after school. He drove the hour to come find me, bringing me flowers, chocolate, a bottle of my favourite wine, and his companionship. Pretty special, that one--the irony, of course, is that I had just been telling my coworkers that he wasn't likely to do anything too romantic. I am a jerkwad, apparently.

It's hard to believe that I have had this blog for so many years now, and have never managed anything more than a few sporadic posts a month. Let's change that, shall we?

...and I'm losing all those stupid games that I swore I'd never play...

against despair

1. What did you do in 2006 that you'd never done before?
Stood in front of a classroom by myself and taught; legitimately lost a job; curled in a league; poked at the smoking rubble of my place of employment; went to four weddings (but, as you'll see, no funerals).
2. Did you keep New Years' resolutions, and will you make more for next year? I don't think I did keep any, but I don't remember the ones I made so, who knows? But I will always make more.
3. Did anyone close to you give birth? Sean and his wife had tiny baby Gwen, Darren and Ellen had tiny baby Caden, and Steve and Krista had tiny baby Lauren, the apple of my eye.
4. Did anyone close to you die? Theodore Degu did, but I don't know if that counts, and also the blacksmith shop.
5. What countries did you visit? Just this one.
6. What would you like to have in 2007 that you lacked in 2006? Better classroom management skills, better organizational skills, and a boatload more patience.
7. What date from 2006 will remain etched upon your memory, and why? November 3rd - my 25th birthday - was a beautiful day at the site, I was offered my current job, and I had a large group of friends come out to celebrate, including a couple from the BEd. Also, I drank my face off in a way I haven't done since high school.
8. What was your biggest achievement of the year? Keeping myself together after everything that happened in September.
9. What was your biggest failure? Everything that happened in September.
10. Did you suffer illness or injury? A few colds (including one right now) and my usual bout with dermatitis on my hands.
11. What was the best thing you bought? Well, technically I "bought" the Major at the end of the year...but I would have to say that it was the joint purchase that the boy and I made of all the graphic novels in the Sandman series. It devastates me, it's so good.
12. Whose behavior merited celebration? My dad's! Yay for New Dad!
13. Whose behavior made you appalled and depressed? Often my own, occasionally the boy's, and sometimes people I consider my friends...but mostly my various employers.
14. Where did most of your money go? Clothes, keeping the boy in the manner to which he is accustomed (kidding), books.
15. What made you really really really excited? My two year anniversary with the boy, the new Crowded House Live Farewell album, the Sandman (and Neil Gaiman in general), .
16. What song will forever remind you of 2006? When the Night Feels My Song - Bedouin Soundclash
17. Compared to this time last year, are you: a) happier or sadder? b) thinner or fatter? c) richer or poorer? I think a) happier, b) neither, and c) hard to say.
18. What do you wish you'd done more of? Being active; being more responsible for my own destiny.
19. What do you wish you'd done less of? Less being afraid of things.
20. How will you be spending Christmas? I spent Christmas at home with my family, and had dinner at my aunt's in the suburbs with our extended family. I fully believe this year's meal was the best in family history.
21. How will you be spending New Year's? At a friend's, dressed as Shellie from Sin City for our first annual "Movie Stars and
22. Did you fall in love in 2006? I am lucky enough to be with someone who I can continually fall in love with.
23. How many one-night stands? That's a negatron.
24. What were your favorite TV programs? The Rick Mercer Report; 22 Minutes; CSI; the first season of the X-Files.
25. Do you hate anyone now that you didn't hate this time last year? I think I hate less people now.
26. What was the best book you read? The Sandman cycle (1-11) by Neil Gaiman
27. What was your greatest musical discovery?
28. What did you want and get? An MP3 player, kisses,
29. What did you want and not get? A cat of my own, an apartment of my own, easy solutions.
30. What was your favorite film of this year? V for Vendetta, the Prestige, Flushed Away, The Departed
31. What did you do on your birthday, and how old were you? I had a great day! (See above) and I was 25.
32. What one thing would have made your year immeasurably more satisfying? A full time job.
33. How would you describe your personal fashion concept in 2006? Teacher-smart.
34. What kept you sane? Caitlin, Bryan, Tara, the boy.
35. Which celebrity/public figure did you fancy the most? Clive Owen (yummyummyummy)
36. What political issue stirred you the most? Global warming, same sex marriage, equality rights.
37. Who do you miss? My classmates from Nip and Guelph
38. Who was the best new person(s) you met? Ellen
39. Side question...who would you like to get to know better? Ellen
40. Favorite memory of 2006? Dancing to "Unchained Melody" with the boy at the union Christmas party; Brendan and Colleen's wedding, the joys of the jacuzzi bathtub; finishing the Sandman and then discussing it.