William Matheson's Journal

10:50 pm - Next Year I'm Going Camping

Learned something new tonight: Never try to host a house party on a summer holiday weekend. I'm like "party!" and other people are like "leaving town! camping!"

Which is great, actually. I just wish I'd gone with them! What happened was this was the weekend between the end of my physics course and the weekend of my high school reunion. So I was like, "OK, party here" three weeks ago, without flipping the page of the calendar and seeing "Natal Day (NS)." As a perpetual student, I'm barely aware that an August holiday even exists, unless we're talking Obon. It's not like everybody left town, but the people who haven't left are almost by definition the ones who are working, often early in the morning.

Anyway, there'll be other times to go camping, and there'll be other parties. It's just funny that I've become the sterotypical nerd that hosted a party that no one came to.

My physics exam yesterday went OK - I'm anxious to see the grade! I should have gotten into this years and years ago. It's almost like all I really needed to do was seize control of my own life, and now I'm going somewhere - I don't know where the road goes, and I'll never reach the end of it, but at least I'm going somewhere.

"Did you know you can't steer a boat that isn't moving? Just like a life." - Paul Lutus

Alright! Just got a call to go join another "party." So this evening wasn't a loss after all, and I got the house cleaned up. ;-)

Current Mood: cheerful

09:19 pm - Will 10K

All my el-jay / RSS friends in the Halifax area are welcome to come out to Oasis on Thursday for my 10,000th day party, "Will 10K." Actually, I don't know if I really have any regular local readers who aren't already IRL friends, but just in case! The Facebook event is here, and you are welcome to add yourself to it should you desire. The things to know: 7:30pm, Thursday, Oasis, 25¢ chicken wings! As always, 877-WILL for the latest.

Current Mood: excited

04:13 pm - one party to another

If hosting a party on Friday night was taking a step forward, I took two steps back the next night. However, let’s just look at the party:

It was an unqualified success. Nobody looked down their nose about where I lived, which surprised me. And there were lots of people. I remember thinking I would be lucky to get six. In fact, we got to just shy of twenty. The party really took off when D.S. suggested removing the coffee table from the living room. (Next time we’ll start without it.)

The only thing was, it did wind down kind of early, because people were driving / had to work the next day / were taking the bus home. I think next time more people will come prepared to crash and we’ll squeeze out a few extra hours.

I was really happy to have held this party – I’ve always wanted to have one since my friend Joe’s epic party of long ago. It was on a much smaller scale, sure, but it had that same aura of speciality. Some of his guests said it was the best party they’d ever been to. One of mine said the same thing.

In fact, it was a much more fulfilling achievement than getting a 97 on my chemistry mid-term, because this way I was making other people happy, too. I also felt validated by the fact that people liked my hastily-thrown-together playlist! (I’d been scoring ridiculously low on “Who Has the Best Taste in Music?” in Facebook’s Compare People application, which prompted me to specify in the party information that I was not known for my taste in music. I’d sure like to reverse that trend.)

There was so much going on in a few short hours that I neglected to do most of the activities / diversions planned. The party just morphed into its own self-sustaining rhythm, and it did so early on. Also adding a welcome anchor to the real world was the most important hockey game of the decade, which I maddeningly only saw five minutes of, but at least everyone will remember where they were when the Penguins won the Cup. =)

Now, as for the next night, picture the puffed up balloon of ego blinding my eyes, such that I inevitably walk into a spike-lined wall and pop it. To make a long story short, I forgot that when a friend invites me to a birthday party, they want *me* at the party, not whatever personality experiment I may be trying that has the prime effect of turning me into an arrogant blowhard. (This may actually work for some guys, but for me it's been the experience of a walrus performing ballet.) If I can’t find a happy medium (or, as would have been appropriate in this case, a happy tenth), I really ought not to be attempting this kind of thing at all. I may just be better off with sincerity – especially with my friends! What was I thinking? (Only about myself, it seems.)

As to the broader implications from that question, I’m going to have to kick them down the road a piece. For now, let’s be happy we survived this crazy weekend.

Current Mood: pensive

12:45 am - Chemistry Midterm / Dinner at Co.'s

Well, I had my chemistry midterm tonight. I've been telling everybody who cares to hear that I think I rocked it. Now, I dunno what to compare it to. This course can be summed up as: "Grade 11 and Grade 12 chemistry in eight weeks." I'd never before taken chemistry.

It was a two hour exam, but we were given three hours. I needed ninety minutes. I dunno, I just kinda... knew the stuff. I only had to guess two or three times, so I should crack 90%.

So there I am, getting up with my papers (checked over), the room's still jam-packed - I'm probably the first one leaving, and I have to be careful about how I'm carrying myself so as not to be all like, "Nyah nyah lookit me" kinda thing. 'Cause I'm not really about that, and besides which the fact that I'm doing something well at 27 that I should have done at 15 is really nothing to brag about!

But lo! Another person is finishing, too! And I walk out of the room just behind her, and once we're safely around the corner, I ask her what she thought of it all.

"Oh... it was terrible! I didn't even do anything on the last page!"

Uh-oh. What do I say here?

"Uh, yeah, there were some parts that you kind of had to guess on - it's pretty solid, but it's not perfect." I said something like that, I'm not sure of the exact wording.

"Yeah, I've taken chemistry three times and I just can't get it!"

Oh, man. =) So hey, as bad as things are for me, they could be worse! I could be a poor girl who just wants to be a dental assistant but can't pass chemistry (well, let's hope otherwise).

Really, though, isn't that a kind of thing that people can learn to do by doing? Yeah, maybe you want to know why strontium chloride forms a protective coating over your exposed dentin to reduce tooth hypersensitivity, but do you really need to know the ins and outs? It's not like you need to be a mechanic to drive a car, you know what I'm saying? Of course, since dental assistants and hygienists are doing so much more of the routine work in many dental offices these days, with the actual dentist stepping in less and less, you could make a case that they do need to know this stuff. BUT THEN WHY DON'T WE JUST TRAIN THEM ALL AS DENTISTS? It's like we're actually trying to perpetuate classism. God forbid more people who work with teeth would end up getting to drive those Mercedes. </glib rant>

So yeah, we both leave early, but for very different reasons.

I grabbed a #1 bus and rolled up towards Co.'s neck of the woods. Got to chat with lots of friends, relatives, and new friends at a fun post-wedding-rehearsal gathering. And tomorrow is the big day! Note to everyone: It's at 4PM. =) Honestly, if C. hadn't reminded me as her folks were leaving, I would have schlepped into town at like 6, because that feels like dinnertime, and there's going to be a dinner. LOGIC! But yes, weddings happen at specific times. This is not Hawaii! =)

Oh, yes, and I must charge my camera batteries!

Current Mood: bouncy

01:18 pm - Socializing Notes

Reconstituted from notes written in my chemistry binder

I wore too much scented crap to chemistry class (OMG the irony) and since the room was so staid and stuffy, it got to be extremely awkward. I did manufacture some goodwill, though, mostly in picking good moments to speak out. I'd written down the formulae representing a bunch of chemical names, and the only thing I got wrong was that I wrote a "P" for potassium! ;-) Sharing this fact, "What if we wrote a 'P' for potassium?" got a few laughs.

I'd started the class on the wrong foot, too. Anxious to show off, when the professor asked what we would write for lithium phosphate, I knew it was Li₃PO₄, and after waiting to see that nobody else was going to volunteer I ended up blurting out "three lithiums, four phosphates." "No, PO₄ is one phosphate." Whoops. =)

Anyway, it's always good for me to keep in mind that I'm not the only sharp basketball in the class.

I'm finding it difficult to apply my new social principles all the time. Sometimes I just fall back on making a conscious effort to look pleasant. I'm trying to passively read other's body language, too. And there's also the choice of what to and what not to tell people - I can usually tell when I've said too much after the fact, though! =)

In conversation, if there's a lull, I should actually be more assertive about what interests me. If everyone's deferring, I should be making my own segueway, and seeing if I what I have to talk about will engage the other party(ies).

On names, here's some good advice. Start out with (for example), "'Will,' by the way," not "What's your name?" The former is casual and disarming, the latter puts people on the spot. I've been relying too much on direct questions in conversations - especially with the opposite sex. I guess, instead, I should be laying the groundwork, talking a little about my own interests, and seeing if the other party opens up. [With some people, there's just so much labour involved. I usually don't want to bother with it, and as a result I come off in the end looking like a snob.]

In the course of a certain bachelor party, I forgot most of these principles. (When I remembered them, it was only to worry incessantly about having transgressed them.) I can take a small bit of comfort in one thing: so did everybody else! =) And with all that wildness out of my system, I can sit back and enjoy the wedding, reception, and next-day-BBQ in relative sobriety and tranquillity. ;-) I know there are a few people that I have yet to establish goodwill with, and I should have done so before, but I'll have more opportunities next weekend.

Current Mood: sad

05:19 am - Maxwell's Reflections | snoitcэlfэЯ s'llэwxaM

So here I am, enjoying another fine morning in the McNally East Wing computer lab. You can be sure that I will think once, twice, and three times before I ever put myself in this situation again.

Still, coming home at the break of dawn yesterday had its benefits. You should have seen the morning sky and its reflection on the Bedford Basin. The peninsula looked pretty cool backlit, too. I stared at the panorama in awe, mouth agape. I snapped a few photos but they can only refer to the power of the scene. When I got off the bus in Mill Cove, I walked across the tracks to the Convoy Run and took some more photos. The view was achingly pretty, and I couldn’t help but exclaim to myself how happy I was to live here. [Update: See the photos here.]

So I got home, slept for a few hours, and then went out with my mom in the afternoon to patch up the driveway. Oh, the joys of exurbia. It was very muddy out, too – I soon discovered that I’d better change from my sneakers into rubber boots if I ever wanted to wear those sneakers out on a date ever, ever again.

Mom talked me into subbing for her at her private school on Wednesday morning. I’m kind of looking forward to it. I hope I don’t embarrass myself in front of my uncle, though.

Tonight: Maxwell’s was lively. I got in a bit early and read a few chapters of Hitman. Also, because I was still kind of reeling from last night, I started off like this: “Could I get a pint of Coors Light?” Those are words that don’t usually go together in one sentence. JuJu came after J.G., rolled his eyes, and started us on brewtenders.

My unbirthday party at Maxwell’s went surprisingly well, but… I think I drank too much, and I also went to Reflections when I should have just gone home on the last bus like I originally wanted. JuJu was even subtly trying to tell me, “Hey, don’t come with us just for such-and-such,” but it went over my head. More to the point, though, I should have stuck up for myself and what I wanted. I went along with things just because I was trying to be nice, but it totally misfired, and I had a miserable time. It was a wasted $10 ($9 cover plus $1 to check my backpack), except for JuJu’s timely upbraiding. As he put it, being someone’s friend does not mean having to go along with everything they suggest.

I don’t know what it is with me and dance floors. For me, it’s like swimming through a river of vomit. I just hate hate hate all the posturing and chicanery and games. I can’t court on a dance floor – well, I suppose I have the wherewithal in a physical sense, but there’s a funny mental block that actually keeps me from doing anything. I’m all but paralysed. I tried going around it when I was in Ukraine, but the few times I did just made things worse. So fuck dance floors. For me, they’re dating kryptonite.

“You have to play Wingman.”

“Look, she’s dancing by herself.”

“Talk to people.”

“Make eye contact.”

“Aren’t you enjoying this? Don’t you like the music? Don’t you like watching people?”

“See what the guys are doing, and imitate them.”

Maybe I’m just a lazy bum, unwilling to cultivate skills in areas where I have little to no natural talent. The worst part is, it’s all my fault. I can’t console myself with the tired old “woe is me” schlock – all responsibility and blame for my miserable time lies with me alone.

Still, “it’s not a big deal.” It sure feels like it is, though. It sure felt like a me versus the world moment.

Earlier, at Maxwell’s, by some strange turn of events I had my head in somebody’s lap, but I stretched it just a little too far (in duration) and changed it from funny to awkward, as was explained to me while the two girls involved darted off to the washroom together for the fifteenth time that evening. (She’d stroked my head; what was I supposed to think? But, as JuJu said, it was just lack of experience on my part.) I needed to hear that, but at the same time the news, even though it “wasn’t a big deal,” put me off my feed.

And you know what else? Clubs are breeding grounds for assholes, and not just the ones that start close-dancing with the girl you came with (not With, but still) the moment they spot more than three inches of air between yourselves. Having finally decided to cut my losses (and come here), I had to wait nearly fifteen minutes to get my jacket and bag back from the coat check. And just as I’m getting to the front of the line, some fucker cuts in front of me.

“Hey, I’m cutting in front of you.”

Well, fuck you, asshole. Keeping the indignation off my face, I eventually tap him on the shoulder and ask, “Hey, why did you cut in front of me?”

“Well, it’s not like you’re going to do anything about it.”

Fuck you with a farming implement. “Well, OK, but you know, you should have a reason, like if it was an emergency-”

“Well, I gotta get out of here… I gotta puke, I’ve got to get out of here before I puke.”

Well, he should have just said so in the first place. How about: “Excuse me, could I go ahead of you? I’m not feeling very well.” That’s all he needed to say! Instead he just ran over me like I was some kind of doormat, just because he could.

It will be a very long time indeed before I darken the door of Reflections again, let me tell you.

There’s only one other person in the lab with me tonight – a poor fellow working on an imminently due criminology assignment. He even asked me out of the blue if I happened to be such a major. So there’s one good thing to note: I don’t have any assignments to worry about! Yet.

Update, 9:00am: It just gets better and better. ___ phoned me, saying ___ didn’t come home. So if anyone knows where ___ is, call ___ or call me, and I’ll call ___. Much obliged. 2:00pm: Lawrencetown! And all's well.

Current Mood: cold

04:08 am - Winter to Spring

It’s been an interesting few days.

Tuesday was Saint Patrick’s Day, but that’s also my cousin C.’s birthday. The Carlton Cards outlet at Scotia Square had “Birthday on St. Patrick’s Day” cards, so that made card-shopping easy – they had “Cousin’s Birthday” cards, too, but I think it would have been a stretch to expect “Second Cousin’s Birthday on St. Patrick’s Day” cards. I’m sure they’re working on that, though. Incidentally, I got lucky (in a strictly ordinary sense) because C. alternates the parties between strictly-birthday years and acknowledge-that-it’s-St.-Patrick’s-Day years, and I just happened to hit the latter.

We ate at the Citadel Inn and even topped up at Boston Pizza later. I think I spent a pretty obscene amount of money on myself, but I guess I got my money’s worth because I had a pretty good go of things. In the big picture, I foolishly went from beer to vodka to vodka with lemonade to beer to wine to beer. Kids, don't try this at home. C. let me and a friend of hers from Truro crash for the night. That was pretty cool.

The next day, though? Well, I put up a brave face, but the truth is that the bus ride home was spent fighting off nausea. I could barely even bear to glance at the schedule to figure out when my connecting bus would be. Man alive. I shouldn’t have spent that hour on C.’s floor reading her book of Far Side cartoons.

Somewhat later on Wednesday I took Paul out for groceries. A quick stop at family friend H.’s to drop off maple syrup became me helping him move a mattress (happy to oblige) and then sitting in the cold van with the blower on while they chatted… of course, the van hadn’t been running much at all while I’d been in PEI, and so when I went to start it up again all I heard were clicks. Man. So there was more standing out in the cold while H. tested the battery (I had to roll my eyes internally a bit at this) and then kindly used his Eliminator powerbox which we boosted off of to get the van started again. He encouraged us to take it with us, just in case we needed it again – fortunately, we were OK. So yeah, I guess the moral of the story is to be careful not to run your accessories for too long. Why can’t there be a gauge or something that lets you know the power level remaining in the battery?

On Thursday I went out with S. We went to the Roadhouse down in Bedford, but tiring of that “scene” we rolled into town. I’ll put this politely: I should have gone before we left. We saw D. (K.’s ex) on the bus, which was fortuitous because I needed all the conversational distraction I could get as I swung my left leg back and forth in the aisle, not giving a shit who saw. I negotiated a premature bolt at a penultimate block, and dashed into the Tim Hortons.

I guess I’d left it for so long (not to mention that I’d run across a parking lot, car wash, and drive thru at a straining, breakneck speed) that I didn’t feel that characteristic “Aaah” moment. Instead, I nearly doubled over with pain. It took me some minutes to get myself back together.

And you know what? I’d misread the bus schedule – we’d gone out too late to get the bus we wanted, and quite early for the one we got. I’d had plenty of time at that bus stop at Mill Cove – I could have walked up to the Dairy Queen and back, easily.

So we walk the last couple of blocks and reach Gus’ Pub. There’s an interesting crowd there. My type of progressive seediness. V.’s even bartending – I hadn’t seen him in many a year.

You know that sinking feeling when some sketchy fellow leeches onto you, or more to the point, the girl you came with? V., bartending, remarked wryly: "I didn't not notice that."

Like, if you went to UPEI, you should be able to tell me the year you graduated. This guy had supposedly gone to UPEI, and he also said that he'd lived in Toronto, but he couldn’t name names or cite specifics. I just – I dunno, I just kinda felt rubbed the wrong way. On the Toronto basis alone S. figured he was lying too, but decided he was harmless, which I couldn’t disagree with, except that I personally find dishonesty of this kind profoundly disturbing. I had the misfortune of running smack between two pathological liars in my last semester at SMU. Hey, I’ll have to tell T. that we met another whats-his-face. (Private joke concerning a congenital parasite of our acquaintance.)

I left to catch the last bus; S. decided to stay on. On parting, we embraced. That was kind of hot. =)

Friday! I make a run to the library and pick up the Sloan tickets at Dalhousie. OK, online information on this concert is scant, so I’m filling in: It’s a club performance, basically – they’re playing the Grawood next Friday (the 27th), and tickets are limited. They had less than 100 left when I picked up a pair for S. and myself today. (I have tickets #165 and 166 out of a total 250.) J. and his girlfriend might be coming, too – that would be neat, I think.

From my understanding, you don’t have to be a Dal student to attend this concert, unless you’re under 19, in which case you’ll definitely need your Dal ID. (It’s wet / dry, but you can see why they don’t want to have to deal with minors who aren’t connected with Dal.) There’s also no way to get tickets online or by telephone – you yourself have to schlep on over to the info desk at Dal’s Student Union Building and plunk down the cash ($15 each).

I’m pretty excited about this – it’s my first rock show, basically.

Also on Friday, I went to see the B.s – mostly to drop off a book that I’d borrowed and held onto for two years (I’d better not let on that I didn’t read it), but I ended up staying for quite a while and even coming back again (this time by invitation) after my voice lesson with C.

Dr. B showed me this terrific homely little sanctuary he made in his basement – he calls it his Mecca. This is a Hajj that one can perform with household slippers. Anyway, it’s just so perfect and awesome. It’s a nerd cave of the best kind. Even the path there is lined with numbered, neatly stacked boxes, and there’s a ton of charming kitsch all around. Man. I rarely feel genuinely impressed and enthused (and envious!) about what people are trying to show me, but I sure felt it then.

And my voice lesson, as it happens, was pretty great. Mostly we did things related to posture and breathing. It wasn’t at all like going to the dentist, I assure you. =) And I was starkly astonished at some of the little things she told me about – honestly, I really had no idea what a diaphragm even was, though a few drama teachers and such faintly alluded to them. And C. has cool ways of explaining things, too. I’m pretty excited for next week.

Ah, fun fun fun! Thanks to the 89 bus, my life is ten times easier. (Having a clothes dryer here is a big help, too – I love having my clothes free of unsightly lint pills.)

As far as that bus goes, it doesn’t really help me get in and out of town faster, but it does make the trip easier and more convenient. The one downside, though, is that with the 25-minute walk to the 80 came some flexibility. If I was running a little late, I could run down the hills and gain five minutes. If I was really late, I could run up and down the hills and shave off nearly ten. I’d be a sweaty mess, but I’d make it. With the 5-minute walk, there isn’t nearly so much flexibility – I have to stay on my toes, because there’s less room to make a mistake.

Funny, there are no stops on the actual Hammonds Plains Road near my house – I have to walk to and from the foot of Bluewater Road. It’s not bad, but it’s curious. Well, as I stood up at the front of the bus to keep an eye on the stops while we rolled down the hill in the dark just after midnight (I was the only passenger), the driver asked me where I was getting off. It was super late and there wasn’t any traffic, so he was in the mood to make a request stop. So I told him where I’d ordinarily get off, but also where I would like to get off.

He said he’d take a look, and we let a car go by, leaving the HPR empty. And here’s the surprise: The Nova Scotia Department of Transportation and Public Works specifically forbade Metro Transit from erecting stops on that stretch of the HPR, and Transit in turn instructed their drivers not to stop there! If you’ve ever driven there, you’ll know why – I think it has a lot to do with the wicked blind crest that they’ll be lowering and widening this summer. After that gets finished I could see there being stops – at least I hope there will be!

“I won’t tell anyone,” I laughed as he pulled over. (Whoops, I guess that turned out to be a lie.)

“Just don’t get run over when you cross the road,” he rejoined.

Anyway, that was nice of him, but I won’t ask to be let off there again, because it kind of puts the drivers in an awkward position. Oh, and in my experience Metro Transit drivers are pretty OK. There’s been a cluster of funny things in the news lately that give people pause, but I have to go back nearly a decade to reach my last really bad experience with a driver, and if I had been more educated for my own part it wouldn’t have happened.

I apologize to those concerned for having been a little gossipy with this post. =) Catch you later!

Current Mood: anxious

09:32 pm - Leaving Japan, Never Easy (Part 1)

Written on Christmas Eve in Osaka

I stepped out wearing my indoor shoes. I’d be pitching my old beat-up shoes, and I wouldn’t need a separate pair of indoor shoes anymore. I wasn’t coming back. Alone, I walked out of the genkan and out onto the driveway.

I saw S. and spoke to him. “You’re done? That’s it? Must feel good!”

“Yeah, but I feel like there’s more I could have done, but I guess I have to blow the whistle somewhere.”

I got back to the apartments to find the ball players washing and scrubbing the steps. I guiltily picked my way through them and into my apartment.

K. hadn’t returned my bicycle key and wasn’t home, so … I had to go back to the school again to get the other key from F. I hiked up the steps in my sock feet.

More teachers were in the staff room now than when I’d “left” - this was a good thing, because I’d said goodbye but as it turned out most of the Japanese teachers didn’t realize it was the final goodbye.

My first cooperating homeroom teacher was solemn and stoic. The vice-principal thanked me for putting in so much extra time lately (but it still wasn’t enough – my desk looks acceptable at first glance but it is quite messy on the inside; I wrote a brief apologia for this at the beginning of the 14 pages of notes I’d prepared for my successor). The other teachers said simple goodbyes with varying degrees of warmth and sincerity. I know that some of the teachers weren’t quite satisfied with the job I’d been doing, so it was an awkward experience all around.

I went outside again. I saw my third-grade homeroom class playing on the driveway by the gymnasium. I said goodbye and was prepared to walk away – I didn’t want to drag it out – but three or four of the girls came running to where I was and surrounded me. One nuzzled my mitt with her cheek and said “I am Canada!” (meaning that she intends to come and visit me if she gets her druthers).

I was overwhelmed. First there was the book the kids prepared on Saturday (when I naturally wasn’t there, so it was the perfect opportunity), and now this show of affection – it felt like love. Maybe it was. I certainly loved them. I’m not a professional, but if I were I’d hope that they forget about me, because I won’t be back except to visit.

Going home is a melancholy experience at best. Even finishing up at S.G. is like “winning” a war. I can’t complain, but that’s because I no longer have the energy to do so. That was the better part of the real reason I stopped writing – I couldn’t sustain the pace. I also felt guilty, as if Japan didn’t want to be exposed to my scrutiny and was punishing me for it. Now I realize that Japan wasn’t the problem – it was my job. To put it candidly, my former employer is spiritually bankrupt and can’t afford the slightest candor. (My new favourite anecdote is how the boss’ daughter and our translator were tearing the ¥700 price tags off of some junior high English books so that they could turn around and charge the parents ¥1500 for them.)

So I said goodbye again – I wished for a moment that I could stay… I doubt that very many of their many future teachers will be as obsessed about writing as I am, and the students felt that they had gotten a lot from me (I was even complimented about the science classes, which surprised me). I was giving more than I could sustain, though. As I write this, my right wrist is still kind of wonky because of the thousands of hours of corrections and suggestions and responses written in their journal books. Teaching demands sacrifice – sometimes unsustainable sacrifice.

I said goodbye again and got on my bike and drove to Awa Bank in the drizzle, whistling “Why Don’t You Write Me?”

I got to the bank and was thoroughly nonplussed by the service procedure – I expected there to be a machine to take numbers from but what was really happening was this: you’d give your passbook to the teller at kiosk #1 and tell her what you were there for, and the teller at kiosk #2 would call you back up to collect your passbook and your paperwork, money, or whatever. It’s not really analogous to a Canadian bank. Furthermore, the hours are ridiculous – the branch closes at 3pm, and ATMs have limited hours as well. Awa is not the worst - JPBank is now advertising that their ATMs will be closed entirely on the first, second, and third of January. (“Why?!” I exclaim incredulously at the TV. “Why do you hold your customers in such contempt? You should be advertising that you’re opening (certain?) ATMs 24/7!”)

So yes, you have to take time off work to get your in-person banking done. In this case, I had to transfer my hard-saved yen via furikomi to GoLloyds, who would then remit the funds to my Canadian bank account minus a handling fee. The rate is quite favourable right now, and in any case the direct remittance rate is always better than the cash rate.

The procedure was straightforward, and I could even sort of follow along with what was going on as the teller keyed her way through it on the ATM, but it would have been hopeless trying to do it myself, as the interface was unilingual Japanese. (Awa Bank is local to Tokushima Prefecture.) At the end of it, the machine spit out a new card that I could use for future transfers to the same account.

I transferred the entire contents of my account, minus a ¥420 transfer fee. You get nickeled and dimed everywhere; CIBC also extracts a $10 fee as they handle the inbound remittances. Still, with large amounts, it’s far safer and somewhat cheaper than exchanging cash (though that was my original plan – just what I’d need: even more things to worry about while travelling!).

And lastly, I hope GoLloyds isn’t taking me for a ride.

Downtown, I treated myself to lunch at my favourite place in the whole world – CoCoICHI curry! I took the pork cutlets, an extra 100g of rice, and ate at level 2. They give you a personal pitcher of ice water. At level 3, I’ve had to drink it and then some.

I went to the Awa Odori kaikan for gifts for Mom and Masae, then I went home. I still had to clean. I didn’t get much done before we left for the secret party we primary school foreign teachers had in lieu of the one we would have had (as the primary school teachers entire) were it not for Mr. O’s passing. I’ll write more about this later; suffice it to say that Japanese custom has it that social gatherings and observances shut down completely for a month after someone dies. Of course, in Western culture, going out for a few drinks in someone’s honour is a good thing. My homeroom cooperating teacher understood this perspective, but here such an outing is too necessarily celebratory and would therefore be inappropriate.

I also had to speak to Mk. again that afternoon, as I wasn’t able to contact NTT through their English help line. I’m not the only one having problems with it; it’s almost always busy. Anyway, Mk. called the Japanese line and at one point I was required to say, “William Matheson,” and “Yes, I would.” in reply to “What is your name?” and “Would you like to cancel your NTT phone line?” The call took fifteen minutes, but that wasn’t as bad as the Yahoo!BB internet cancellation call that took the better part of thirty. Japan: Life in the Fast Lane!

Another awkward goodbye: “Thank you for doing good job!” Meanwhile, I’d spotted contract extension papers in her arms that two of my co-workers presumably signed minutes earlier.

We went to an Italian restaurant – I ordered a terrific calzone; it took more than thirty minutes to get it, but it was worth it! The only down side is that most of the others were finished their meals by the time I dug into mine. They don’t follow our practice of holding all the dishes in the kitchen until they’re all ready, and then bringing them all out at once.

Singing at Casanova, F. discovered that the karaoke remote had a tone adjustment control. I’d been trying to sing the songs the way I thought they should be while the backing was flat – I sing by ear, so it was a disaster. But once we figured out the tone adjustment, it was like getting a new lease on life! It was then that I also realized the karaoke music here is entirely synthesized. Back home, most karaoke is CD+G based, meaning that the backing track is regular CD audio and is probably recorded in a studio – even though it’s almost never by the original artist, it still means a better and truer karaoke experience. It’s the one Japanese thing that I think we’ve improved upon. (There are hundreds of our things that they’ve improved on… =) The downside is that our system usually requires a karaoke operator to handle the discs. In Japan, you key in the songs on your own, and there are wireless remotes with which to do this – some even have a touch-screen on them so you can pick a song without looking through a book. Still, I prefer our system.

Anyway, I can’t explain how happy I was to find that there was a tone adjustment. Sometimes I’d sing and I’d be completely out of whack and I had to pause and think, “Gee, maybe I just suck.” Blaming the machine just sounded like a childlike, narcissistic way to avoid reality. But in these cases the machine may really have been to blame! Even though C1 said that I was the “Karaoke King,” I’ve had as many misses here as hits, and I’m chagrined to be discovering a possible reason why just as I’m leaving.

After we went our separate ways, I went to Komputa Taxi to catch a discounted cab. The cabbie didn’t know where S.G. was! We got into Ojin-cho and took a roundabout way to get there – I directed him, and I think I learned the Japanese word for “straight” – since he knew of “left” in English, we were OK. Even as we approached the school the incredulity in his voice was saying that he didn’t believe S.G. was where it was!

He may also have wondered why I was going there, so I volunteered: “Watashi wa ego no kyoshi deshta. Suiobi wa Canada e dekakemas.” (I think I was saying, “I was an English teacher. I’m going to Canada on Wednesday.”)

Anyway, it was a very comical end to the cab ride – “I’m sorry!” he stated and bowed repeatedly. Under the influence of good-humoured laughter I was in my apartment just ten minutes after midnight.

The next day: cleaning.

Drain cleaning was ick. And after I’d finished cleaning out the kitchen and the fridge, I discovered that I still had to clean the fan, the A/C filters, and wash the windows! My string of panicked exclamations is best left to your imagination. S. was coming to get us at 4 – it’s a good thing he was late, as I was still scrubbing under my fridge at 4 when I discovered that vacuuming just wouldn’t do.

S. was mercifully about fifteen minutes late and wasn’t in a hurry – he had a dryer and was willing to dry a few of my wet clothes, so I threw them in a trash bag and ran out the door. We all piled into the car and set off. He was hosting K. and I and other interested parties for a farewell, and K. and I would be crashing there as he lives near the Matsushige bus stop.

At S.’s we drank, ate, bitched, watched funny YouTube videos, the whole shebang. He’s got a great place; his washer is also a dryer, and it even weighed my clothes and estimated how long they would take to dry and acted accordingly. I am getting one of those. His fridge door also opens on both sides – you kind of have to see it to believe it; there are latches to hold it up on both ends, and they come out seamlessly when you tug on their particular end. You can close the door with the left handle and as soon as it clicks you can open it again with the right. I may have to get one of these too when the time comes. He and his wife were justly proud of their appliances and had brought them down from their previous house in Sapporo!

I was feeling a little bit sickly later on in the evening, and I was starting to wonder when the children would take themselves to bed. (answer: never =) I enjoyed playing with them, or rather, they enjoyed playing with me – they seemed to latch onto me for some reason. I was coughing, too – perhaps I’m coming down with something, and in any case I was definitely reacting to all the dust I’d stirred up cleaning. Mostly because of this and my fatigue / exhaustion, I didn’t have as much patience for them as I would have liked, but I tried my best to humour them with the energy that I had.

Oh, I should mention that S.’s older son had seen my Idol appearance! S. warned me that he might be singing “I Am A Rock,” and sure enough, he was. Gracious. I can’t go anywhere… =)

In the end, S.’s and his wife’s hospitality did a lot to ease my worries – I wanted to be home, but I didn’t want to go home, if you gather me. Now that I’m underway I’m feeling fine. (Although I wonder what will happen when Mk. discovers I didn’t clean my microwave… since the bulb in it is out it’s not really an aesthetic concern and I barely used it anyway. K. and I also put all our garbage out for collection even though this morning was only for non-burnables.)

S. took K. and later me to the bus stop – good thing, too, because he was able to look at my ticket and tell me that I had to get off at my bus’ penultimate stop. Itami Airport is north of Osaka, so going all the way down to Namba station would eat up time and yen unnecessarily.

In Umeda, I had a nasty bout with Osaka signage and got quite turned around and lost. Fortunately, there was an English-friendly information desk inside Osaka Station to put me back in the right general direction. I was very glad that I was only carrying handbaggage (my suitcases left Sunday by courier), and even that was onerously heavy. I would have been spitting blood had I been wandering around with my suitcases.

And now I’m on the departures concourse at Itami! It seems like a small airport – I don’t think it’s any bigger than Stanfield. Sadly there is no free internet (although there are coin-operated kiosks and non-free wifi), but I do have the chance to plug myself in electrically and type. In my search for a power outlet, I pushed on a button by the window marked “PUSH” and suddenly there’s this clicking and grinding and I’m wondering if an alarm is going to go off and I’ll be hauled to security and sent to a Japanese jail (etc..) but then I look up and discover that all I did was open a window.

Speaking of security, if you bring something sharp through security here (especially knives, even the Swiss-army kind), you could very well be fined, to the tune of half a million yen. Ouch. I guess they figure that the time for simple confiscation is over and it’s time to put in a serious deterrent! So, as always, pack carefully.

OK, time for a bathroom break and a snack and then it’ll be time to board! It’s still a long trip yet – there’ll be another bus trip between the Haneda and Narita airports in Greater Tokyo, and I will be staying overnight at a seedy motel in Queens. See you soon!

02:07 am - Election '08: Opening Speculations

In 2000, the Alliance was not a threat. It was my first federal election as an eligible voter, and I felt free to vote as I pleased; in the end I voted for the NDP incumbent, who’d appeared for a candidate’s debate at my university in place of then-leader McDonough, and rather than being disappointed that McDonough couldn’t make it (it was understandable; she was a party leader, and we were in the heat of the campaign), I was impressed by his gentle confidence and his erudite disposition. So I voted for him, but he lost to the Liberal, but that was OK, too, because our Liberal is well-connected and has a well-deserved reputation as a hard constituency worker. (Now if only he had a blog…)

Despite voting NDP, in this election I was rooting for Joe Clark’s Tories. Actually, I was probably just rooting for Clark. Aside from Clark, the party was all but dead, and it was hard to stir up enthusiasm for their no-name candidates just to support a terrific but long-shot leader. Still, it was a respectable last hurrah, and Clark won his seat in Calgary Centre.

It should be noted that 2000 was an odd situation – there were no Liberal incumbents in my province: in 1997, not one Liberal was elected from Nova Scotia! In the wake of John Savage (who had to make many unpopular decisions), the Liberals were not popular there, and at the Maritime-level Charest’s Progressive Conservative remnant really cleaned up (the Reform wave mercifully missed us, so we still had A-list candidates), and the NDP made big gains at the Liberals’ expense. Unfortunately, the Tory resurgence stopped at the Quebec border.

By 2004, the Conservatives had by then stolen the branding and the lineage of the Progressive Conservatives, and the new wolf in sheep’s clothing was now a serious pan-national threat. Martin barely got a minority. You can be sure I voted for our Liberal incumbent.

2006 seemed like a toss-up. Confident that our Liberal would be re-elected, I voted Green, partly because I was going through a lot of trouble to vote by mail and the best I could probably do was to help confer a little bit of legitimacy on that party by voting for their candidate, even though he didn’t have a chance.

And now, in 2008…

The Conservatives (I refuse to call them the Tories – in Canada, that name died along with the Progressive Conservatives) will probably at least retain a plurality. However, the landscape could still change dramatically: The Bloc could become the daily kingmaker – if they perceive the progressive parties to be gaining ground and willing to grant Quebec-friendly concessions, they may support a Liberal / NDP / Green opposition bloc. In any case, after this election, the Conservatives will need the Bloc – the Liberals can’t afford to spend another parliamentary session abstaining from critical votes or being seen to prop up the Conservatives, so I wouldn’t expect more of the same behaviour.

The irony of the present situation is somewhat droll – you’ll remember Preston Manning and his exhortations to “Unite the Right?” Now we may need to “Unite the Left,” though I really hope it doesn’t come to that. I don’t want to see our five-party “system” reduced to two or three. A diversity of voices is good for democracy. I also happen to have a fondness for minority governments – they’re so much more interesting to watch. Although sometimes, like in Nova Scotia recently, they just find a way to get down to business, and kudos for that. But we’re not going to see that kind of civilized restraint in federal politics anytime soon!

Could we come out of this election with some sort of a coalition? That could be interesting. If Harper has a plurality but can’t command enough MPs, could Dion and Layton (and heck, maybe May – but the Greens will be lucky to elect May and keep Wilson) get together?

THIS JUST IN: willmatheson.com predicts a Duceppe minority! Actually, mathematically anyway, it could happen if the seats were split closely / deeply enough. I wonder what would follow? Gee, it’s fun to speculate.

Current Mood: awake

12:37 pm - 97. (1.) Tokushima to the Pacific

Written on Saturday, August 2nd aboard the Ocean East, clipping along the Pacific at the breakneck speed of 36.1 km/h.

Last night we were all abuzz – not only was D.’s successor arriving, but we were going to see a fireworks display on the river.

S. and I set off for Circle K to get supplies (mostly beer), and we saw Ms. M. dropping off F. They’d just had a chat about the yoga lessons she had volunteered to give during the intersession (M2 has a similar thing going in photography). F., as she was volunteering to give these lessons, was going to give them for free. But S.G. wants there to be a charge for them, and she found that to be a bit of a shock.

It’s a nominal charge (maybe ¥500), and in a sense charging is a good idea as people tend to take things they pay for more seriously (and even more so, the more they pay). But the philosophy behind all this isn’t goodwill or community outreach – it’s business. (“STEP RIGHT UP AND WATCH THE WHITE MONKEY TEACH YOGA! $5 for a peek; $10 if you want to touch her.”) S.G. is in worse straits than even I think, though, if they’re going to be carefully counting the yen from these micro-ventures (but of course they will).

After the beer run, we hung around the dorms a bit and waited for the new teacher to arrive. We all got to meet her – for the purposes of this journal, let’s call her Ch. Ch. Was very tired and couldn’t accept our invitation to see the fireworks. But that would be okay – there would be more the next night. Nice to meet yous and goodnights and see yous done, she deservedly retired for the evening.

Feeling social (or, more to the point, rested and energetic), we walked to the festival grounds and saw the fireworks from the levee. It’s a bit of a haul – crossing the bridge alone takes about fifteen minutes. But being in good company, the time passed quickly.

We reached the grounds on the south bank, and the party revealed itself to be the Yoshinari (River) Festival. Post-fireworks, it was all Awa Odori (at least on this night) – same music, same dance… heh.

We met up with F.’s friends S-go and Em., and we enjoyed the short time remaining (the party ended just after 10) making plans and talking about funny things. I must admit I was rather taken with Em. She was hilarious. She thought I was crazy hilarious. I don’t even remember how it came up, but as far as my name went she suggested I could use a combination of kanji that makes the sounds ma-se-so-n. Of course, I could end up with characters that mean “bat excrement,” but this still merits further research. If the kanji are cool and/or mean something awesome, I will probably use this method. (Or, I could just grow up.)

Everyone was shocked to hear that I would be taking the ferry to Tokyo. I jokingly suggested that it’s better value – you get 18 hours for your money instead of just 11 or 12. I’m now experiencing that it’s better value in another sense – the boat is an attraction in itself.

Anyway, so we stayed at the river until they kicked everyone out, and then we stopped at an outdoor toilet. I laid my things on the grass when I went in, and when I came back I grabbed my backpack.

Em. and the girls then went off to Ingrid’s – we boys headed back to Ojin-cho. Back on the north side, M. spotted an udon shop, and he and A. went in…

Hey, where’s my camera?

<Gulp!>

I left them to their meal and walked briskly (it was way too far to run, and my pack was heavy) back to the river, back over the bridge again, and back by the outdoor toilets, and there was my black camera pouch, lying in the shadows. The camera was safely inside. Whew!

So after an interminably long, lonely walk back home, I ate a sandwich, did a last-minute load of laundry, and went to sleep. By now it was almost 2, and I needed to be up at 6.

This morning, the three tall malt beers had come back to visit me, so much so that I was tempted to just leave the trip until Sunday. But I knew this would be a mistake, not only because it would have been wussing out (“Will, weren’t you going to Tokyo today?”), but also because Saturday night would have been another party night with F. and Em. and the crew, and that would be great, but I’d have this very problem again the following morning.

I fought through the process of getting myself and my things ready, and I left with barely ten minutes to catch the train at Yoshinari station. Running even a few steps with a full backpack and 30-pound duffel bag is painful, but I did make it to the 8:34 train.

Downtown, I needed to catch a particular city bus. I went to wait by the bus terminal. You’d of course think catching a local bus would be simple. You don’t know me.

First, a bus came by that said “ferry” (though not specifically my ferry). Could this still be it? Nope. Then another bus came, and stopped at the appointed “platform.” Oh, is this it? No, no!

Finally, a bus came by that said “Ocean Ferry.” OK, this must be it, right? OK! So I stand in front of the front doors…

Oh, you’re supposed to get on at the midship doors. I’m the only young person getting on. I notice that none of the older folks put money in anything. Maybe they all have passes? But I don’t have a pass! I go up to the front. Ah! There’s a coin slot! Great! I put in my 200 yen.

I get… change?!

I look askance at the driver, who says “Two hundred yen.” OK, I get that part… I start to put money in what I see is the farebox, but he holds his hand over it.

OK, I must need a bus ticket. I get off and give my ¥200 in assorted change to the booth attendant. She counts it up carefully and gives me… two ¥100 coins.

EYAUH? She notices my confusion and leads me back onto the bus and indicates the farebox. I go to put my two 100 yen coins in it. She covers it up, but makes a gesture of leaving.

OH YOU PAY WHEN YOU GET OFF

I slink into my seat and attempt to enjoy the ride. The hangover and fatigue are setting in, and the excitement has faded. I should have packed the night before instead of partying, but socially-speaking that first choice would have been nowheresville.

I turned out to be the only person taking the bus all the way to the ferry. At the terminal, though, there were lots of… trucks. You can take your 13m tractor trailer from Tokushima to Tokyo for the low, low price of $1049. At least you’re not spending money on diesel and expressway fees! Cars up to 3m get on for the more reasonable price of $190.

I read all this from the signs inside the terminal – after a fashion, anyway, as you know how great my Japanese reading is. The booths hadn’t opened yet, which I didn’t think was a terribly great sign.

About a half-hour later, a booth did open up, and a lineup formed. As I neared the front of the line, I noticed that all the other people were holding little forms. AW GEEZ THAT’S WHAT THEY WERE DOING BEFORE THEY OPENED UP… I must have thought they were balancing their chequebooks or something.

The guy behind me noticed my predicament, and speaking a little bit of English, he helped me fill out the unilingual form in haste.

There were a few still-unanswered questions when I reached the booth, and the ticket cost more than what the website and the girl at TOPIA (though she too was only reading the website – she was my Japanese second opinion) said – it was $102, not $93 or whatever. And then the attendant started asking complex questions, and I had no sweet clue what she was saying. My mouth was agape, and I uttered “Uhhh…” I passed her K.’s electronic dictionary. The attendant’s expression showed no interest, and she passed it back, along with my ticket and directions to wait on the second floor (I’d already figured that out).

The upstairs waiting area had seen better days, but they kept a great selection of comic digests with provocative girlie photos. Outside, the cars and motorbikes were lined up and ready to drive on, and then they did. It was funny because I’m used to ferries loading (and unloading) passengers first, then vehicles. This was the other way around – it was only ten minutes before departure when a worker came and opened the rope blocking the steps up to the skybridge.

The man who took my ticket asked me right away if I spoke a little bit of Japanese. Very little, yes. =) On deck, a senior officer greeted me. He was missing some fingers. He also asked me if I spoke a little bit of Japanese. Well, yesss, but...

“Is English okay?” he asked.
“Oh, yes!” I happily exclaimed.

He led me on board and told me what I think the ticket counter attendant had been trying to say: We would be arriving at the port in Tokyo at 5:40am. This part I knew. But 5:40am is also before public transportation and taxis (in that area) start up, and the nearest train station is a 30-minute walk away.

So, the ferry company reserves a taxi – I can stay on the ship until 6:20, and get the shared taxi at 6:40. It would cost 200 yen. Was I interested?

You bet. I’ve got too much stuff to really enjoy a 30-minute walk (before finding a coin locker, that is – such will be the bread-and-butter of this little trip). So he helped me fill out another little form, and told me where my “room” was.

Hey, cool! There was a huge sleeping area (rated for 128, thankfully there were nowhere near that many), with blankets and racks and lots of sleeping truckers and a few young families.

The seas were calm, but the winds on deck as we were sailing out into the Pacific could blow you backward! I can also see why they were concerned if I could understand some Japanese. They can’t spend their time babysitting foreigners, and I’m the only one on board.

There was a lot to explore on this vessel, though it’s a story better told with photos, so I will leave it for now. Let’s just say this ship has everything – there’s even a mini-sento! There are vending machines everywhere, which have everything imaginable, and at reasonable prices, too. There are even ones that microwave your meal for you – all you do is put your coins in, select your choice, and wait.

As we plod into darkness, it now becomes easier to imagine that our 36.1 km/h is really 36.1 times the speed of light as our space-warping ship plies the space lanes between two Japanese colonies. I’ll go out on deck and see if I can see any stars.

* * *

I lay down near the bow and looked up at the Summer Triangle. I saw many satellites and even a few meteors. The roll of the ship was indescribably soothing. This is the only way to travel.

Update: Both the yoga and photography lessons ended up being cancelled, as only one person called to enquire about the yoga, and none called for photography. Even (and perhaps especially) in light of my misgivings about the particulars, it was really sad to see the leftover yoga posters with F.'s face being used as scrap paper in the color printers.

07:36 pm - 91. Beach Barbeque

We had a beach barbeque today, which was also kind of a last hurrah with D. We invited the Japanese teachers; they all sent their regrets, but a few also sent beer. =)

The water was blissfully warm. I’m pretty sure it’s the warmest salt water I’ve ever swum in.

We had a little gazebo all to ourselves; I tried to stay under its shade most of the time, but I still got some sunburns. I really should have worn sunscreen, but I thought I could get away without it.

At some point I said, “You know, when I’m drunk and not working, I love this country!”

D. just gave me a bunch of maps and a flag of Nova Scotia. I’m going to need to get some more thumb tacks so that I can hang it all up.

I’m really looking forward to getting on the ferry and sailing away. I go a week from today. I’ll be calling TOPIA tomorrow to confirm my understanding of the departure time and cost. Masae (the woman who visited us in PEI 20 years ago) is expecting me in Tokyo; I don’t know if this will be just for coffee or tea or if she’ll actually invite me to her place to visit, but either is fine by me, and I’ll bring some Tokushima indigo-dyed omiyage in any case. There’s always the cybercafé! =)

Current Mood: burned

11:50 pm - 77. Temples 6-10 + Friendlyship Party

Well, it’s been another great week here in Tokushima. It’s been very hot. Sometimes at school it gets so hot that the air conditioning is permitted to be turned on. The rest of the time, the controls are kept hidden away. I almost wish there were more school visitations planned for the summer, because then we’d have air conditioning for those days!

Sometimes it’s not too bad, though. Either I get adjusted to things, or the wind picks up, and since we have doors and windows opened on opposite sides of the rooms, this sometimes allows a slight, refreshing breeze. Of course, there’s a delicate balance between being so hot that sweat is dripping off of you and being able to enjoy a refreshing breeze that is also blowing papers and posters off of desks and shelves.

I’ve so far managed to avoid turning on the air conditioning in my apartment, but I don’t know how much longer this will last.

Last night we had a Friendlyship Party [sic] for D. – I just realized that at the end of this month, he will have been here for seventeen months. Seventeen months! This is at a school where people are lucky to get through twelve, while some people don’t even get on board the airplane. His tenure, in this context, has to be considered as something of an achievement.

We ate and drank prodigiously, and I ended up walking myself home between 11:20 and 12:30. It seemed to take forever. I already had a headache even as I went to sleep.

This morning the ball players were out around 7, and I could only groan, sweat, and make periodic adjustments to my fan. I painfully dragged myself up for food and water a few times. One way or another, this continued until nearly six o’clock – after lunch, resting in front of my fan would usually become sleeping in front of my fan. It might be time for air conditioning after all if the heat saps all of my energy and productivity.

* * *

Earlier on Saturday, F., K., and I got out to Temples Six through Ten. This was no easy task, as Temples One through Ten are in a line heading west from Naruto – Temple Six is in Kamiita, and the rest are in Awa City. You bike out to One, make it to Five, then bike back home. But when you want to do Six, you have to bike out well past Five, and when you’ve finished Ten you’ve got a huge ride home left.

On the bright side, that gave us an incentive to manage our time wisely and get to all five temples so that we wouldn’t have to go out that way again! We had a shorter-than-usual time limit, too, as F. and I needed to get back in time for the Friendlyship Party.

Aside from the predictable butt-soreness, fatigue, thirst, aching legs, etc.. we did quite well. Each of the temples was well worth visiting on its own merit – Eight deserves special mention for its flower gardens and vertical layout, and Ten is in a terrific, secluded spot on the side of a mountain.

Ten was quite a bit of work to get up to – much more so than Four. We gave up on our bikes less than a third of way up. Once inside the temple grounds I was shocked to find that the fun was just beginning – there was a very long set of stone steps to get up. By then I was already feeling weary, so you can just imagine the surprise and delight I felt upon seeing another long stair, even longer than the first!

After the top of that stair, a landing, and another short climb (which F. and K. watched from the top, no doubt thinking me a bit of a slow poke), we got into the temple proper.

Then F. found more stairs.

We went up, then up again. Upon the ultimate promontory, there were some great views of Awa and the entire river valley, and K. also found a monkey.

“Oh, look! A monkey! Look!”

I get my camera rea-

“AAAAAA! AAA! AAA! IT’S CHASING ME! AAAA!”

I do have one picture of them facing off, but both primates moved too quickly for me to set up a good shot.

The monkey ran off into the trees, and we were free to explore the top level (though I kept my distance from the woods). We started back down.

“You know, I think we could be friends. We just got off to a bad start, that’s all. I wonder…”

I followed her back up, staying about 5-10m behind her.

The predictable encounter was too frenzied for me to capture at all, although I do have a shot or two of K.’s post-facto, breathless shock. At one point the monkey had grabbed onto her pantleg. At least she had pants – I was only wearing shorts and had no leg protection.

We returned to the main part of the temple to find the people staring at us and grinning. “Did you hear us?” we asked F. “Yep, we sure did.”

K. surmised that the reason their encounter had been such a ruckus is that she’d had some fruit tied to her waist that the monkey wanted. Actually, she may have unwittingly taken fruit from a stash the monkey was eating.

It’s scary how quickly relations between humans and/or their distant cousins can go south upon little misunderstandings. Sometimes I feel like I’m in a similar situation myself, being in a country where I know nothing of the culture and but a miniscule modicum of the language. And at some points in our lives, we all do things that are downright uncivilized.

After the encounter, I found myself impressed at the monkey’s ability to express his frustration. He needed no interpretation or translation. I also wondered if we are all like that monkey on the inside – just a collection of wants and desires that need immediate gratification, and with a violent response at the ready whenever things don’t go our way.

Temples Eleven and beyond should be really interesting…

Current Mood: tired

08:31 pm - 71. Ingrid's

We went to Ingrid’s birthday party last night. It felt fun and surreal to get on the train with the rain coming down and experiencing the giddiness of anticipation.

Boy, was it ever crowded in the place she booked. There was food and fun aplenty. But I also realized why cover charges can be so high in Japan – not that I’m picking on this event, because food was included – they need the money to bribe the fire marshal!

I met a guy there who used to teach core English in the junior high at S.G.

“[S.G.] is very very low salary!”

I laughed.

“I quit [S.G.]! Now I work in public school! I get twice the salary!”

He was a bit drunk, but he had a valid question in asking me why I don’t quit. I had to think about that. Well, staying with the job is the path of least resistance (though I didn’t tell him this), but I also like my kids – I even want to stay a little longer and finish this academic year, because I think they deserve that. Plus S.G. paid for my airfare. On that note, I emphatically suggest that people arrange their own travel to where they plan to work – you neatly eliminate the possibility of your workplace charging you for the ticket post-facto, which therefore makes you a free agent, putting you in a much more effective bargaining position.

The boys from S.G. sang “You Sexy Thing” for Ingrid; I attempted to follow this with “Birthday,” and what I wanted to have come out of my mouth wasn’t at all like what actually did. Mercifully, it was a short song. I talked to M2 about it later – he killed on such standbys as “It’s Not Unusual” – and he said that for an updress special event like this, one should sing songs that one knows they are comfortable with. (It didn’t seem like the right venue for “Welcome to the Jungle,” though. =)

* * *

These foreigner-rich social events are kind of hard for me. Everything feels superficial. As F. put it, people wear masks. As I put it, we make up the Island of Misfit Toys. Most people aren’t really here because they love travel and seek out enriching intercultural experiences. I know I’m not.

I was really disappointed, because I had wanted to – well, you know, meet somebody. But I don’t know if this is the right venue. (Or the right country, for that matter.) The dating pool of foreigners and Japanese-girls-who-speak-English-and-like-foreigners-and-go-to-these-places is vanishingly small.

Even making friends isn’t always easy. Well, it’s about the same as it is anyplace. And that’s the problem: this particular group is so small that you keep seeing the same people again and again and again and again and again, and if you didn’t hit it off with them right away it just becomes super awkward. Like, “Hmm, OK, I’m going to go stand over here now,” awkward. You know, people that you see all the time that you should be acquainted with, yet you’re not ever going to be acquaintances? Unless you’re still in high school or you live in a very small town, you might not know.

I did get to talk to some people I didn’t previously know, which was super. And who knows, maybe over time I’ll get to know more of the group, and these kinds of events will become less and less awkward. I feel like an outsider, and I don’t help my own cause by leaving Ingrid’s bar repeatedly to walk around and take photos. I just don’t like the smoke and the noise and the so-called “dancing.” It’s boring and superficial.

I met a girl back in February who felt the same way. Unfortunately, we didn’t hit it off. She was sXe, and I was goofy. And that’s fine and normal – most potential pairings don’t click – except here it could be a while before the next person like that comes along!

So I’m coming to accept the fact that my choices are limiting my opportunities. I don’t think it will be so much of a problem when I get back to Canada, though. Even though the odds may still be against me, the sheer numbers of people mean that I’ll have to meet someone eventually. And I can work on not being so boring and pedantic – what was I thinking when I said to that Japanese girl who taken a photography program and mentioned that she liked macro photography that I didn’t know what marco photography was, could she please explain?

Of course, one person’s boring thing is another’s interesting thing, but I could still stand to work on my conversation skills. And I really need to stop “selling myself short.” I don’t know how equivalent this is to, “don’t be completely honest.” Input would be appreciated.

Have a good one, everybody!

Current Mood: contemplative

10:14 pm - 44. Language Lesson / Rainy Party

The language lessons at TOPIA this morning were... interesting. =) The lady in charge? Let's just say that she was flustered, and the result was that she knew which side her bread was buttered on. She apologized after the classes were over, so no hard feelings - but it was really, really nuts when we first came in. Get in line, sit down, where's your paper with your name, did you register, etc.. etc..

Anyway, the lesson itself was very well done - we had a very kind, patient, humorous, and skilled teacher. No complaints there! She was okay with us not having the hiragana and katakana memorized backwards and forwards too; she even romanized a few things for us.

I held my own through the lesson; the people who were better than me were... you guessed it, Chinese. =) And, OH! Wow, there were so many cute Chinese girls there! I wonder if any of them speak a little English... =)

M., A., and I went to Ingrid's Hanami party at the park later on, and F. and D. joined us later. Wow. It was a great experience; all the beer you could drink for $10, yes, but it was more than that. The cherry blossoms had mostly blown off, the skies were gray and later rainy, and the weather was mild, and people were cheery - the whole expereince underlined the transitory nature of life. It was like carpe diem in a glass. M. and I climbed the castle mountain - he talked about some things, and I took a ton of pictures. It was a sublime experience all around.

I got to chat with a lot of new people at the party, and I hope to come out of it with a few friends in the long run. What's more, we all had a great time even though the rain started to pour as it got dark. That reminds me, I've got to put my things away and hang up my wet clothes. Riding slightly inebriated with an umbrella in the driving rain? Not the easiest thing in the world, not by a long shot.

This Sunday is different from all the others that have passed before, because I'm actually kind of looking forward to going back to work. I'm completely prepared for my classes, and I'm looking forward to all kinds of different little things. This is a great time to be here. Wow.

Current Mood: drunk

03:33 pm - 39. Sanjikai

Wow, it's HOT today! I had to take off my coat when I picked up my bike at the train station and went to MaxValu. What a gorgeous, gorgeous day. Too bad it's a Sunday - we wasted half of it sleeping in, and for the other half you're thinking about going back to work the next day. =)

K-sensei A-sensei's nijikai was a great time. I had the wrong idea about it, though. I thought it was comparable to an after-reception dance or something. This was actually a complete second reception, meant for the A's larger sphere of friends and associates - there weren't any spaces for people who had gone to the reception and wanted to "keep partying." I was also surprised to learn that though we paid $70, the people who had gone to the reception would have had to pay, too - to the tune of $300. And the closest friends pay more - in these cases, the payment counts as your wedding gift. I think this would be a pretty cool system to have in North America - it would definitely ease the costs associated with weddings.

Several of the guests knew A-sensei because she had been their teacher, or field trip chaperone, or what have you. Is it just me, or would that be uncommon back in North America? I remember once being "invited" to write a few words for a favourite teacher's retirement party, but given that I wasn't being invited to that reception itself, I didn't go out of my way to find time to write them. I probably should have, but you get my point - we kind of keep the spheres separate. Perhaps lots of former students went to my aunt and uncle's wedding reception in a small PEI town, but that was a small town - that's different, isn't it?

At any rate, it's a testament to A-sensei's character that so many people who knew her starting on a professional basis went out of their way to come.

After the reception, we went to Casanova - it had been a while! Same great place, though. We sang lots of songs. Then we went to Ingrid's. I tried to sing "This Love" by Maroon 5 (especially for its loud, emotional bridge), but I had no voice left - we'd all left our voices at Casanova. My voice is still a little raspy this afternoon.

After Ingrid's, the group went to this other place, and I just sat and later slept in a corner. And then one of us got obsessed with finding a ramen place. This delayed some of the rest of us from being able to share a cab back, which is the only reason I was still hanging around after Casanova. To top it off? This person was obsessed with finding noodles even though she didn't have any money left! She would be borrowing for that AND for her share of the cab ride home! Sheesh! No hard feelings (we were all quite drunk) but next time, I'm biking in and biking back so I can decide for myself when to go home. I won't be able to drink very much that way, but drinking is overrated these days anyway, especially when it's $5 or $6 at each go.

Current Mood: hungry

11:30 pm - 18. Catch Up

Now I’m sipping on my curry noodle cup-a-soup. It’s succeeded peanut butter and strawberry jam (or marmalade) on bread as my go-to meal. This tastes a lot better, and all you have to do is boil a kettle, then open the lid of the cup and pour. Maybe we have this in North America, too. This is seriously my first exposure to this kind of thing, though.

On Friday we went to Fuji Grand to see American Gangster. What a movie! It did so many little things well. You should probably just go see it.

The first night of the month is the time to go see a movie. The price drops to 1000 yen ($10) apiece. Regular price? Closer to $18. Yeah.

By the way, the multiplex at Fuji Grand is not just the best place in town to see a movie, it’s the only place. And it’s not just the only place in metro Tokushima, it’s the only place in the prefecture.

I think these two facts are related.

Nevertheless, it’s clear that local businesses support the multiplex – most of the pre-preview advertising was local. More than half of the ads were related to weddings, including one ad for diamonds, and two or three about local hotels and conference centres where you could have a wedding.

And then you could go back to the multiplex as part of your honeymoon. It’s cleaner than a North American multiplex, for one thing.

Back at the apartments, I had F. and D. over, and we stayed up gniknird and chatting until 6.

I dragged myself back out of bed at 9 to go with Mt. to a farmer’s market on the north side of town. (We had all been casually invited, but I was the only one who showed.) We went in his van, marking my first non death-defying drive in a private car in Japan. =) Once back, I went back to bed and couldn’t coax myself up again until nearly 2:30. I kept saying things to myself like, “Hey, don’t you want to live life to the fullest?” and “Wouldn’t you like to have time to go for a bike ride?” (to assist the motivation, I made cycling motions with my legs under the sheets). But nothing worked; I couldn’t lift myself out of bed until the terribly late hour of 2:30.

So after that, I started cleaning up the apartment and making preparations to have everyone over for an okonomiyaki-themed potluck.

[Argh. Someone just called me, but I have no idea what it was for or if it was important. She was pretty persistent, too. All I could say to her was, “This is William Matheson,” but she kept saying “Japanese blah blah blah Japanese there?” and then finally, “I don’t speak English,” in English. So I said, “I don’t speak Japanese,” in English followed by “Is this important? Who is this?” She was still humoredly persisting, so I said “one second,” in English and put down the phone to dig for my phrasebook. By the time I found out how to ask “Who it it?” and came back to the phone, she had hung up. Argh. Even Ukraine wasn’t this bad.]

So, anyway, that Saturday night was fun – we had our food and then used my internet and TV to watch a bunch of YouTube videos. One person would go up and fetch a favourite video, then someone else, then someone else… t’was good times. And that went on until about 2.

Sunday was the spring Setsubun, and so at 11am we all went to Fuji Grand, purchased our uncut makizushi (I was worried about it because although the fish inside was cooked, it did include long-stem mushrooms), and then took a table up in the food court. We all faced south-southeast (in our case, facing through an archway to the cell phone store) and when we were ready, we started eating.

We had to eat the rolls in one go without talking or making a sound, because otherwise our luck would run out of our mouths along with the noises or words. I took my first bite with sincere trepidation but swore internally that I’d try my best to slog through it despite the mushrooms. Seize the day, when in Rome Japan, and all that.

Much to my surprise, the roll was good! It was so good that I’d order it again as a lunch item with little hesitation. The texture was very reassuring, and the whole roll was easy to eat.

We then went our separate ways, intending to get together later for the bean-throwing back at the apartments. Some of us went to Mister Donut for doughnuts. Hmm… this was a disappointment. You just don’t get the same kind of deep-fried wonderful doughnuts that they have at Tim Horton’s back in North America. I mean, this didn’t stop the Japanese there from enjoying it, and it looks like it’s a huge chain for that reason. And… augh, one of my doughnuts had the purple fermented soybean-paste in it! I had bought one because its wrapper said it was “Hokkaido” something, and I like things that come from the north, so of course I bought it, but then it turned out to be bean paste. Augh. Oh well, at least it was edible, but the saddest part is that I can’t say too much more for the other doughnuts. They tasted like decorated bread.

After doughnuts, we went home, where everyone got caught up doing their own things (I think largely involving naps) and we never did get together to do the bean-scattering. So after a rather unproductive afternoon, I sat down and ate my twenty-six beans (one for each of my years), then I went into the kitchen and hurled some of the rest against the outside door. I realize now I forgot to say things like “Out, demons!” and “Bad luck perish! Good luck come in!” but I was really doing this just for fun anyway, so I’m not going to sweat it. (And I just read that I was supposed to scatter the beans first, and then eat the ones for my age.) In any case, thanks to L. for getting us all together and involved for this – it was fun, and well worth the time spent.

I’m going to probably start decreasing the frequency of these updates – the day-to-day news has become pretty routine, and besides that a lot of things are starting to pile up on my to-do list.

This coming weekend is a long weekend, and I hope to go up to Osaka. There will definitely be updates after that. But until then, this has been…

Your Pal,
~ Will

Current Mood: tired

03:02 am - party in Lawrencetown + program in Church Point

Last weekend, Adam had this rockin’ party out in Lawrencetown, to celebrate his going away to Texas with Kurtis and Peter to, in Kurtis’ words, “sell pesticides to those stupid Americans.” (Kurtis assures me he is kidding. It had become a running joke that I didn’t understand he was kidding.)

Adam’s party was off the hook. SMUDS-wise, it was pretty quiet – although Shawn phoned in from Miramichi, for a while it was just Sam, Rayleen, Brittany, and me – we met at the Dairy Queen in the rain, grabbed a 14, and only an hour later we were at the Colby Village Superstore waiting for Adam’s brother Aaron and Adam’s girlfriend Megan to pick us up. (Adam’s house is a good 45-minute walk off the nearest bus route. Getting picked up made things 1000x easier.)

We had a fine time (Facebook photos: Sam’s (very good!), mine (fewer, and mostly from later on in the night)), and even after Alex left with the SMUDS girls I was able to maintain the momentum and make a few new and very cool friends.

There was an incident with Megan’s ice cream cake that ultimately required the cleaning of the garage, and I must take some responsibility for that because it was around 1:30am or so during a card / drinking game that I made mention to her about the cake, because I was hungry and curious for a piece. Depending on your point of view, it was either extremely amusing or extremely horrible. Tip: Drunk people and soft-serve ice cream cake don’t mix. It seemed like a good idea at the time, but in the end poor Megan didn’t even get to have a piece after all the shenanigans and subsequent consumption.

Some of the guys slept on the bed of their pick-up (equipped with a tent), and Adam got me well set up indoors. Adam’s parents even fed us in the morning, and they drove me to Highfield Terminal in time to catch the 87 to Sackville. Great times, great friends, great hospitality. Thanks again!

But I told you that story to tell you this one:

During the party, Britt and Abbey were chatting about Explore, a federally-funded second-language program for youth that they had both participated in. This hit me like a ton of bricks, as I had foolishly passed on a chance to apply – although, to be fair to myself, I was in a situation where I had to pick either the summer camp videographer job or Explore, and like we often do when we’re confronted with two paths, I chose neither.

So it took me a few minutes to regain my composure and not commit the serious error of falling into a funk during a party (I’ll tell you from experience that it’s nowheresville). And once I did, it was clear sailing.

Fast-forward to yesterday. Since I had nothing to lose, I picked up the idea of calling the provincial Explore coordinator and asking if there were any openings, even though the deadline for applying was February 28th.

I guess it never hurts to ask, because early this afternoon I got a phone call – Kathleen tells me that yes, there are a few places left at Université Saint-Anne! But time is of the essence. The program begins May 13th, and could I have the application papers in by today? Sure. I get rolling, step quickly down to the bus stop, and go into town and get my paperwork done – in my tear through the library I saw Victoria but didn’t really have a chance to chat with her (sorry, Victoria! =( and then I tore across town, made it to the office 15 minutes before it closed, and everything’s in order, and she fires everything off to Sainte-Anne, and that’s that.

It does seem like a small thing, but it was something that I would have regretted for years if I’d missed out on it, and it was a huge satisfaction to nip it in the bud. (Of course, the actual work of learning to converse in French is still to come, and I’ve got to make the very most of this opportunity.) I asked Mom this afternoon if putting me in French immersion had ever been an option, and she said it was – but I didn’t want it! She imitated me whining before Grade 7 (when late-start immersion would have been an option), “But I don’t waaaannt to learn French!” with alarming tonal accuracy. I guess my memory concerning this and other educational decisions of my childhood is somewhat selective. =) I was only interested in playing and not interested at all in any actual work or effort. I didn’t know back then that I’d be paying dearly for it now.

Walking with a skip in my step, I found and took the 80 back to Bedford and on the way I saw Josh, and we had a great chat! I should have went to the library first (I need to pick up some French learning materials so that I won’t be a total n00b when I go up to Church Point), and I should have taken the 33 or 86 home (it would have been faster), but the 80 allowed me to treat myself to a bag of Nibs before walking home.

OH! The Wings score with 33 seconds left! ROCK!! I’m not sure who to root for in this series (San Jose is pretty awesome, too), but everyone loves overtime. Tip: If you’re in the opposing zone in an empty-net situation, take the puck deep and kill time, don’t go for the “easy” goal unless you’re clear of opponents.

At any rate, this opportunity gives me a lot of things to think about. How will it go? Je ne sais pas*. Will I learn any French? J'espère. (Thanks, Josh!) Will I make any friends? Probablement. Non, certainement! It’s vital that I throw myself into this experience completely, as I will never again have the opportunity to learn French so cheaply yet effectively. (I wanted to do this program last year, but a condition of the funding is that you are enrolled full-time in a high school, university, or public college during the preceding academic year.) In order to get the most out of it, there are some logistical issues that will need to be addressed, and I’ll be detailing those in a later post.

* - I have a feeling that this will be a “go-to” phrase… something like that handy “Я не розумию.”

And… for icing on the cake, there’s even a – Oh boy, Detroit just won… good, Anaheim will have lots of time to rest after they finish whomping Vancouver**… =) – there’s a special branch of Young Canada Works for offering job placements to graduating Explore participants. Of course, I might not be deemed eligible for a lot of things since I’ll be leaving here in September (even if I don’t get accepted to UBC for Education), but you never know!

** - I hope it will be otherwise, but man, did they ever blow it last night, or what?

It really feels good to have one – wait, two! fewer things to worry about. Yes, there are six other things one the list that are mostly unaddressed, excepting some brief experiences in my childhood. But one has to start somewhere.

The List:
- Improve in French and stick to it
- Learn Gaelic and stick to it
- Take up an instrument and stick to it
- Learn to sing properly and stick to it
- Study mathematics at the university level and stick to it
- Learn an object-oriented programming language and stick to it
- Write (not just blog) and stick to it
- Get my Honours degree

Compared to these objectives, everything else seems like a means to an end. Oh, sure, there are other objectives like “house, car, girlfriend, family, see Easter Island” but they go without saying! =) If I’m going to be a “man of many hats,” as my cousin’s husband once put it, I’ve got my work cut out for me. Wish me luck.

Your Pal,
~ Will

PS: Kathleen wants me to tell friends that there are still one or two spots left at Sainte-Anne. Leave her a message if you're interested: go to this page, hit the coordinator link, and call the number for Nova Scotia. Don’t just act now, act yesterday. But if you’re in between things, went to school this year, and are a Canadian citizen or permanent resident, and you’re interested in French, it could be just the thing for you!

Current Mood: awake

07:03 pm - A Tale of Two Parties + Lynne Truss

This weekend marked the passage of two of the most interesting parties I’ve ever been to.

Our friend Colin Br. had been trying to get people together for 4/20 for quite a while, and I had the date marked on my calendar for some time myself. Friday turned out beautiful, and I walked down to Mill Cove, caught the 82, then phoned Colin again at Sunnyside.

“Yeah, just walk up the railway tracks towards CPA, we’ll meet you halfway.”

So I do this. I also had the opportunity to shoot some graffiti from underneath the Bedford By-Pass. I call again, they say they’re on the power line trail. So I get up there, start walking on the trail, join Colin and Quinn, and we continue towards Halifax. In fact, we eventually came over a rise where you’re basically looking down upon Halifax, and the cars gleaming in the bright sun as they crossed the harbour bridges, superimposed upon the towers of the waterfront, made for a futuristic sight not soon to be forgotten.

And then we’re deciding how we’ll get back to Colin’s house. “OK, we’ll go back to Rocky Lake Drive, and…”

Woah, woah, woah! What have we been walking for 25 minutes in the opposite direction for? Climbing rocky bluffs and jumping over puddles, no less?

So, we decided to cross the highway. There’s a reason why people shouldn’t cross 4-lane freeways with jersey barriers. I know someone who was hit and lost a leg on a Halifax urban freeway. Traffic was light, and we made it across “safely” – about as safe as an intrinsically dangerous and stupid activity can be, but somewhat “safe” nonetheless. But it was either this, or walk for an extra 50-60 minutes, or explore the possibility of crawling through a culvert. (Eww. And what if you get stuck? It’s a wide, wide, highway.)

So we’re all at Colin’s, and Mr. Br. asks me when I got back from Ukraine. He made the point that Ukraine is, to some extent, getting its culture back from Ukrainian Diaspora (especially Ukrainian Canadians). That's funny, because while, yes, their culture is authentically “Ukrainian” (preserved through the normal process of colonial conservatism, both social and linguistic – see how I say “towards Halifax,” for instance?), but yet it is 1) only the culture(s) of small portions of Ukraine (regions were greatly varied then, especially in dialect) and 2) retained in this expatriate copy of the culture is whatever made them want to / have to split from the main culture in the first place. So what is really Ukraine is well, well, buried, and as hard to unearth as it was for that owner of that Ternopil restaurant who went all across Ukraine in search of agricultural implements, tools, and other artifacts from pre-Soviet times.

I realize that it’s not as simple as all this, and most Ukrainians (and many Scots, for that matter) were compelled to leave for a variety of reasons. Still, the point I’m getting at is that the mother culture tends to continue to evolve while the dispersed cultural offshoots retain relic features from the culture that become extinct in the mother – so these new sociolinguistic communities can be little cultural time capsules. But there’s a gotcha - it’s still retaining whatever it was that caused (or resulted from) the split in the first place!

From Colin’s, we head to the grocery store, where we pick up some BBQ fixings. Then we’re off to Chris By.’s place, on Shore Drive.

Little wrinkle: Neither Chris nor his roommates knew that there was going to be a party there, so we found out later.

However, it turned out as good as it could have. The unwitting hosts were generous and willing to share mustard, ketchup, and even some beer. We had a pretty good time, playing Mario Kart 64 (on a real N64!), making new friends, and thinking ahead. Afterwards, Joe C. and I found a shortcut back to Mill Cove, and from there we split. An excellent evening!

I didn’t make or intend to seek out plans for Saturday, as I was told by good authority that I would be spending this day organizing my upstairs. =) Fair enough. So I spend the day on that, but when I open up the lid of my computer at 11:00 to see if my e-mail is working yet (it is as of this morning, thank goodness)…

[23:06] Alisha: COME TO OUR PARTY WILL
[23:06] Alisha: I need to meet you, and Joe, who is here, knows you

LOLlerskates! I initially balk, of course – I’m in Bedford, and the last bus was going by Sunnyside at 11:25! However, the invitation was too unique to refuse. I convinced Mom to drive me down to Mill Cove, and we caught the bus just in time, and I was on my way! At the same time, I was also thinking Halifax was just a little bit too small for comfort. You see, I had met Alisha on a site that I will only refer to as YESpinkcherubwithabowandarrow. To find that she knew people I knew was far out.

At the party itself, I made a ton of new friends – I couldn’t believe how easy it was to just sit down and start talking to people! I met some pretty cool people there, and of course I got to meet Alisha, who’s pretty darn cool herself (I love her hair!). I also got to really converse with Joe, and I haven’t had that opportunity in a long, long time. I’m also pretty sure it’s the first time I’ve seen him on consecutive days since we shot The Artifact. (Note: The Artifact is unbelievably bad, and should only be watched with extreme trepidation (and, ideally, intoxication.)

(I was going to write a long, long paragraph here, but I hope the people of the party will forgive me for applying a label in the spirit of economization: Partying with Anarchist Hippies = Cool.)

Around 4, we figured on going to The Ardmore Tea Room, as they open early for the benefit of cab drivers and shift workers. Alisha had… breaded mushrooms (GAG!), but they looked tasty – I had a feta-and-ham omelette, and it was delicious. It simultaneously violated Islamic, Jewish, and Seventh-day Adventist dietary laws, which gave me an odd feeling, but it was delicious nonetheless. I also had a strawberry milkshake, just because it was said that they have the best milkshakes. And they do! However, that will be the last time I order a milkshake at breakfast, especially in the vicinity of 5am where your body temperature is at its lowest already. (Brrr!)

The charming Ardmore placemats also proclaim, “After an electrical fire in 1979, the Ardmore became a seven-day-a-week operation, no longer closing on Sundays.” It makes you picture this horrific blaze, with the owner standing outside, saying, “When we rebuild, this will be a seven-day-a-week operation, no longer closing on Sundays!” You must go eat there.

Back at the house, the hosts settled in for the rest of the morning while Joe and I kept watch in the kitchen, waiting for the first 80 to Bedford that would be going just after 7:00am. I happened to be perusing a book from the bookshelves of Alisha’s book collective: Talk to the Hand: The Utter Bloody Rudeness of the World Today, or Six Good Reasons to Stay Home and Bolt the Door by Lynne Truss. Probably due to the generation gap, I disagreed with Lynne on many particulars, but I forgave it instantly in light of its being so analytical yet funny. I haven’t had so much pure fun reading a book since Dave Barry’s Only Travel Guide You’ll Ever Need.

One thing in Truss that I particularly keyed in on is her exploration of the concept of “social autism.” She is especially critical of the idea of “socializing” online, as she rightly points out that it’s an activity that doesn’t involve our persons. We’re basically sitting somewhere surrounded by (in my case) school books and CD organizers, and selectively sharing intimacies with others, many of whom we have no idea of the person of. (That is to say, “we’ve never met,” but the definition of “met” these days is so watered-down that a more particular description is needed to convey an older, more profound idea of “we’ve never met.”)

It was funny to read this, as I was only reading it because I had indulged in this sharing of intimacies (I don’t necessarily mean secrets – even saying “I love photography” is a kind of intimacy), and yet it was critical of the idea of intimacies before persons. Many writers of the generation before us are saying the same thing. In fact, it’s actually a deafening roar, and it’s not just coming from the writers. I think we could use the experience of taking a moment to listen to their words before we go back to making fun of them. (Just kidding, old folks!)

Truss’ major idea is that internet socializing isn’t really socializing, and it imparts no useful skills for real-life socializing. (Of course, Truss would not say “real-life socializing,” because that would be admitting that socializing happens anywhere else.) I agree with her to a great extent. The only exception I would make is that I’ve garnered a lot of my social skills from reading material found online, although it must be admitted that at the moment of learning I was not engaged in socializing. I could have learned the same information if the Internet had stopped at e-mail and AltaVista search.

Here’s why internet ‘socializing’ is completely backwards: In real-life, you come to know persons first. You get a bead on a person, upon which all later information is superimposed. Intimacies come later, and usually only between people who are friends or who are doomed to become friends. The Internet works exactly the opposite: you come to intimacies first. Oh, and a photograph is not a true representation of a person - a picture alone might communicate maybe 25% of physical person (and attractiveness), but a person cannot be communicated in a photograph - only that small slice of physical nature, itself but a slice of person.

And then you meet the person. Now you see the person, in person (pardon my artlessness) and only then do you really start to learn about them. In many cases, the impressions are favourable, and a real friendship can kick in from there. But – and I’m not referring at all to tonight; I’m actually thinking of an experience I had in Cape Breton a long time ago – sometimes the person you’re confronted with behaves in a completely different way than what you expected. (And maybe you are different from what they expected!) And if you’re meeting in a quasi-romantic context? Oh, the humanity! What was once a promising meeting of the minds (“We have so much in common!”) spirals into total disaster, ‘simply’ because of the inability of the geospatial, living person to live up to outrageous or outrageously specific expectations. Admit it, though - we know the kinds of people we want to be around. In real-life, we tend to sort them out from the chaff with ease, and we don’t get into these kinds of situations.

So really, socializing on the Internet is a contradiction in terms. We're not learning how to interact, because our persons aren't involved. We're acting in a disembodied way. This has some benefits to be sure - it's feasible for a disembodied netizen to interact with many disparate friends almost at once (although we need to note that this gaggle of friends is in no way a "group" of friends, excepting that they are grouped together on our subject's computer), where this would be impossible for a bodied citizen. And let’s not forget that the Internet is also a boon for the acquisition and distribution of knowledge, and - here's the kicker - knowledge that includes how to socialize in the flesh. In fact, were it not for online and printed social learning material, I would be hopelessly lost. But we should probably take a time out and figure out just what it is we’re doing here.

And, for that matter, why do we blog? Joe stopped blogging because he didn’t want to write himself into a corner. That’s a valid concern, because any writer with a sense of grandeur will always make internal references back to what they wrote when experiencing y, in addition to what they actually experienced. Tonight, I’ve come up with another concern: Here I am broadcasting intimacies to people I don’t know in person. It’s backwards. But it’s also the reality of publishing, isn’t it? The only difference here is that the communication is two-way many-to-many, not the one-way, one-to-many of paper publishing. When Paul Lutus wrote Confessions of a Long-Distance Sailor, it wasn’t initially on the web and yet it shared some very real intimacies about his life and his experiences on his journey. So here is where the analogy is flawed: the web isn’t the only method of communicating intimacies without knowing persons. However, the web makes this a heck of a lot easier.

I don’t mean to suggest that I’ll stop blogging, as the benefits so far seem to outweigh the concerns (as they did with the telephone, cars, airplanes, etc..). However, if you do notice a prolonged period of silence from me, know that I’m simply keeping my thoughts internal, as thoughts were traditionally supposed to be kept. Be seeing you!

Current Mood: mellow

08:14 pm - SMUDS awards + "camping" party + idea!

It used to be that you’d have a party, and all you had to worry about the next day was a hangover or fatigue (or both). These days, you also have to spend half a day clearing up the digital detritus. Photos have to be transferred, organized, red-eye-reduced (especially with my camera!), uploaded, captioned, tagged… augh! Whoever can find a way to truly simplify this will be a rich person indeed. I’ll bet the ultimate solution involves Bluetooth-enabled cameras and face-recognition technology. =)

All that being said, it’s a labour I enjoy, or I wouldn’t do it.

First, the SMUDS Awards Banquet. It was a lot of fun, although “SMUDS Awards, with Snacks for the Earlybirds” would have been a more accurate name. We drew a large crowd and had all kinds of fun. It was also a great opportunity to meet the SMUDS members who weren’t involved in Twelfth Night. Yes, there is a SMUDS outside of the annual production!

(Photos: 2006-2007 SMUDS Awards Banquet)

After the banquet, we had a great little party out at Britt’s, complete with homemade pizza from her “mama” (grandmother) and a copy of Mr. Goora’s Twelfth Night DVD.

(Photos: "Camping" Excursion at Britt's)

When it came time for poor Kevin to leave, he couldn’t find his keys. At length, his keys were found, but then he couldn’t find his shoes. Because of one other critical aspect of the situation, it would make a great drinking song:

Kevin can’t find his keys
Kevin can’t find his keys
Kevin can’t find his keys!

Kevin can’t find his shoes
Kevin can’t find his shoes!
And Kevin can’t find his keys!

Kevin can’t find his coat
Kevin can’t find his coat
Kevin can’t find his shoes!
And Kevin can’t find his keys!

Kevin can’t find his pants…

It goes on like this. It’s an excellent drinking song! There’s another set of verses, too – they go something like this:

Marie hid Kevin’s keys…
Then she hid Kevin’s shoes…

I propose we etch this song into the SMUDS canon. Mike can give us a good tune to set it to.

We also played some fun games which I am sworn to secrecy about, but let’s just say you had to be there. After that wound down, Brittany made sure everyone was comfortable, and as they all settled down for a snooze Dayna, Kate, and I bummed a ride home from Mike and Alli. Thanks, guys!

Oh, and I don’t want to spread this hither and yon, but one of my friends came up with an idea for a road trip, and I think it’s the coolest idea I’ve ever heard – if we pull it off, I’ll be much less sad about not having a car than I used to be, because taking this kind of a trip would be the primary “fun” use for a car, in my opinion. Gee, the ferry’s probably going to be opening up soon, too! Catherine and I went up on a rainy weekend in June and we had a blast - if the other invitees reading this want to get an idea of the spirit of the thing (I would imagine the activities, being spontaneous, would turn out in their own unique way), check out those pictures.

Current Mood: hopeful

03:44 am - April Snowstorms Bring May Showers Bring June Flowers

April Snowstorms Bring May Showers Bring June Flowers
Part of a set.

Current Mood: tired