June 18th, 2004


ads and postcards

I'm going to stop doing Photo Series for my website. They're stupid, and they take too long to do (think two complete days of computer-William-zombietude). What I should be doing is small, easy-to-manage updates like this, based on photos I took yesterday evening:

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Of course, I'm putting all these updates here becuase willmatheson.com has been frightening me lately. I don't want to touch it. It's like some leftover casserole you tossed in a plastic dish and put in the fridge and forgot about. Last Fall.

Also last evening, I overheard a radio ad from Saint Mary's, telling employers to "Hire the best!" I note with some dismay that neither Dalhousie nor Oxford feel the need to make similar ads. ("Hire the best! Hire Harvard!") I was reminded again of the ad while I was reading the backs of the local postcards in the SuperStore - all trumpeting how Halifax is a modern metropolis with all the amenities one would expect from a big city of its ilk. The panicky over-persuasion (pleading, I should even say) in both cases tends to cast shadows on the brilliant white dresses of the arguments. Photographers wishing to emphasize our "modern, bustling skyline" have to capture the same dozen high-rises over and over.

Still, it's enough to fool the Islanders (both PEI and Cape Breton), right? It wasn't that long ago when I felt that Halifax was, like - WOW! Halifax! OMG Halifax. It was a magical word. This magic caused me to leave behind all my friends and relatives in exchange for a not-quite-suburbia life where I was most certainly not loved and accepted and definitely more than gently teased. But did I make a mistake? I couldn't have lived with Dad and Melaney. I could now, but I couldn't then. I mean, they grounded me for a week just for failing to give adequate notice of my ferry's arrival time. And later she accused me of ruining her wedding because I listened to my Aunt and Uncle and came to the photo shoot against their instructions. (Originally they were just going to send me back to Nova Scotia to miss the wedding altogether, but I'm told same Aunt and Uncle and associated Grandmother put the ka-bosh on that idea by threatening not to go themselves.)

How did I get so philosophical over a couple of postcards? The lesson should be that I need to chase after prosperity. Is Toronto calling? But then I'd feel guilty for neglecting Montréal, let alone Halifax, let alone Albion Cross. I resist change.
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