Blog Is Back

So this is just a quick note, or a preamble to a blog from Saturday night that wasn’t put up on Saturday night due to the fact I was unable to post it due to Blogger troubles. I’ve added pictures from Sunday, albeit mainly ones that Jess took of me on a walk since she has become vain and only permits me to photograph her when wearing a sombrero and receiving moral support from Steve. Since Saturday, I’ve eaten two delicious burritos, done some extraordinarily dreary studying, come close to a Bertuzzi-style act of aggression over the Oilers’ embarrassing loss to the horrible Canucks, and watched my first non-DVD episode of “Family Guy.” Not a highly eventful week so far, but school tends to limit the number of events in my life, and it will continue to do so for another month. But summer is fast approaching! Never fear, my friends, soon we will be experiencing the fabulous joys of April showers, tulips, and all other hackneyed spring enchantments.

An Evening of the Three Rs

Despite being hugely exasperated by the erroneousity (I enjoy how “erroneousity” has a nice ring to it, and am consequently making use of it despite its lack of existence as an actual word) of the aphorism referenced in this entry’s heading, it is rather fitting for my late night thus far. It is currently 4:37, and I’ve yet to get a wink of sleep, and highly doubt that I shall anytime before midnight tonight; I’m assuming that it’s safe to call it Sunday at this point, of course. Anyhow, I digress; the descriptor of the three rs is especially fitting for the past while since I returned from the Worship Café tonight with C&C at a ridiculously early hour (yes, the curfew struck again!) because it has been chock-a-block with reading, writing, and rocking out (and I did ponder some calculus as I pondered a certain situation in my book, so perhaps arithmetic could have been included among the rs as well). After several hours of reading to some Azure Ray, Donnie Darko soundtrack, and Rogue Wave, I’ve resolved to rest my eyes a little, though not by wasteful sleeping, and instead will blog until some other pursuit becomes alluring. I was planning on spinning something off for the blog pre-weekend because there’s rarely time between Friday and Sunday to do so, but cooking, coffee outings, and shopping intervened.

Up until this point, the weekend has treated me quite well. Friday and Saturday were wholly enjoyable days, full of Irish and foolish delights. After a morning of profs cracking fairly lame jokes about St. Patrick and the colour green, I worked Friday afternoon with the lone guy barista in the café who was in an excellently juvenile mood, and discussed sugar daddies and hugging modus operandi with me for four lovely hours. I then made my way home, ignoring the previous disorganized plans from earlier in the day, and met up with some fine folks at my house (and Crystal was only 30 minutes late I believe!). Eventually, we (Crystal, Mike, Rob, Dusty, Karla, and yours truly) made it over to Swiss Chalet where I proceeded spray my jeans with ketchup, eat a combination of this jean-harming ketchup with coleslaw and whipped butter and the supposedly “special” sauce, likely offend our black waiter and any black patrons of the restaurant within listening radius, and make use of a foul-sounding ketchup bottle (ketchup clearly figured prominently in my Swiss Chalet experience). We also amused ourselves with hangman, Dusty’s astoundingly correct spelling in hangman, throwing things at each other (I’ll admit that was the primary perpetrator of the pen-flinging, but not the only one), delectable waffles with highly caloric toppings, Rob’s admission of his real motivations for going into the not-as-cool-as-science-psychology engineering, gleaning purse-shopping wisdom from Karla, discussion of how we all share a love for taxes and abhorrence for the word hate (I was surprised too, but this is what they told me!), Crystal’s incredibly amazing navigator who gave her alternately excessive and deficient directions, the near-demise of Brock’s fuzzy dice from someone’s car window, challenging efforts to ascertain precisely what street Swiss Chalet resides on, nefarious Shillelagh assaults and retaliation with bags, incomprehensible gestures from presumably intoxicated car passengers, Mike’s pansy-like and elderly reaction to real winter, and an assortment of other bizarre episodes while driving, eating, and fiddling around in Dusty’s kitchen.

While at Dusty’s, we additionally viewed a few episodes of “Family Guy” which I was rather impressed with. Not only was it generally hilarious, it was nearly as (and at times more, I would venture to say) acute in its commentary of (North) American society. Of course, as I had previously gathered from the many among my friends who love “Family Guy,” it crosses the line at times, and there were certainly moments that I cringed at, but the laughs did not fail to make the at times distasteful or odious moments worth the watch. Reminiscence of predatory fire trucks, pyramid schemes run by an infant and his pet dog, and new usages for the term “little people” provided Colleen and me with a great deal of laughs at work on Saturday. I suspect that it may even receive my viewership tonight, though I typically avoid watching TV on weekends. After a morning of feigned-sympathizing with snow weary customers, working through bizarrely problematic cash outs, green tea latté madness, and “Family Guy” references, I worked through some homework before semi-attempting (and failing) to pay homage to Steve, in a way which I’m not sure that I’m at liberty to share despite its complete lack of fruition, with Dusty, Rob, and Mike. Instead, there was much lazing around, discovery of Dusty’s zeal for magic art cubes, eating of undercooked pizza, and polite listening by Rob and Mike to my dad’s ramblings about Apple’s supreme brilliance.

As one would expect, the highlight of Saturday was the Worship Café (or Worship Cage as some amusing organizers of the event subconsciously prefer to call it). It was an awesome time of corporate worship, fellowship, teachings, and contemplation. I loved the fact that it was just the group of C&Cers, and the fact that it was in the Lighthouse (a small building where I went to daycare a bit down from the main church building) reminded me of worship at my old church. I really miss the intimacy and vulnerability of the prayer nights at Zion, when my mom would lead worship with just one of our guitarists and my dad softly drumming. Partially because my old church was so small, there was such freedom in corporate worship, and we all knew and loved each other so much that there was never trepidation of what those around you thought of you. Whether sitting or standing, belting out a verse or silently praying, still reflection or unrestrained dancing, and weeping or grinning a huge grin, it was so natural to feel Spirit-led in times during services at Zion. If someone felt led to share something, they could come to the front and speak their heart, and our time of community prayer allowed any desire to appear strong and self-sufficient to fade away. I’ve gained so much from the services at McKernan, but they are markedly different from what I’m accustomed to, and it simply take time to become completely accustomed to a different worship setting. I’m quite certain that most of the aspects of worship that I miss from my old church are simply the ones that I’m not experiencing to the very fullest at McKernan because I’m overly quixotic about how everything was at Zion. In Lyle’s sermon this past Sunday, he made the argument that deluding ourselves into believing that some aspect of our spiritual lives will never be quite up to par with what it was is very dangerous to our spiritual passion. While I do feel pretty joyful and spiritually passionate most of the time, I’m sure that I could get still more out of church when I had faith that I would experience worship in church even more fully than ever.

Perhaps the most productive aspect of the weekend was my accomplishment of interdicting Crystal’s undue use of the word “hate” for the next month (following my successful consumption of the aforementioned Swiss Chalet concoction). Though she hasn’t really curbed her habit of proclaiming her hatred of certain things, I can now freely give her stern looks whenever the word pops out of her mouth, notwithstanding my evident inability to stop myself from uttering it when discussing Ralph Klein (that was an honest mistake!). Not that I’m ever genuinely affronted when one of my reviled words (hate, stupid, fathead, loser, Communist used as some form of insult, Arts student used as some form of insult, retarded, adjectives used as adverbs, generally severe profanity), I just love language and think some words are not as cool as others when used in certain ways, like those just listed. Thus, most of my reaction to the sounding of these words is for fun, and I just attempt to limit my personal use of them. However, my friends seem to delight in using them in a sadistic fashion, so I tend to habituate to them and even use some of them at times, especially hate and loser, (not too frequently, mind you, but enough that it annoys me) which I’m attempting to put an end to. My friends’ propensity for impinging on my vocabulary is very unjust indeed. Yet there are some first-rate words that I have absorbed from my odd collection of comrades, including mollycoddle, mollydooker, Worship Cage (I’m still giggling at that), fantastiche, prolificacy, stoked (though the jury’s still out on that one), gels, Shillelagh, Roblog (despite the fact that I think I coined that one; or did I?), equiaxed, and idempotence. Perhaps I shall simply refer to things that I might accidentally say I hate as mollycoddles and threaten my pseudo-foul-mouthed friends with Shillelaghs when they do not adhere to my strict lexical guidelines. Or I could just throw things at them, I suppose, which is always the best course of action.

I do believe that it’s important for those of us who are Christians to be intentional about what we say, and while this doesn’t mean censoring the silly words that annoy me out of our vocabulary, it does mean that we should be striving to be loving, sincere, blunt, and constructive in conversation with others. Sometimes it seems that churches are far too willing to be polite and tolerant with Christians, and can be fairly brusque with non-Christians. Not that I think we should be having fire and brimstone sermons, or be supporting abortion or whatever the religious issue of the day is, but I think that sometimes we could be more judicious in how we dole out the love and scolding. While it’s difficult for Christians to be intentionally loving towards a group of people who we strongly disagree with and may find offensive, Jesus calls us to do this, even if that group of people is (or is perceived as) our enemy. It’s equally difficult to be candid with our fellow Christians when they’re our brothers and sisters in Christ, but along with a role in encouragement, a church community certainly has a function in holding its members accountable. At times it’s difficult to be intentional about everything that comes out of our mouths, or everything that we do for that matter, but I think it’s certainly something we’re called to do. My non-Christian friends often fail to understand why I don’t drink to the point at which I can’t think logically or prudently, but it’s awfully challenging to be deliberate when my mind is clouded.

Although it’s fundamental to rely on our “hearts,” consciences, God’s word, and prayer when going through life, there is an intellectual aspect to spirituality that I suspect is sometimes neglected. There are many Christian traditions that I think we unthinkingly act out, whether it’s Christmas, Communion, Lent, or traditional styles of evangelism, when we could be considering the implications of, alternatives of (not that we would act out these alternatives, but establish why we’re doing what we are instead of something else), and purposes for these practices. In Mere Christianity, C. S. Lewis suggests that Christians have a responsibility to think through, rather than just feel through, our spiritual lives, and at times we tend to neglect this because thinking critically about spiritual issues is often associated with doubt, cynicism, and the world of scientific atheism. Questioning what has become conventional in Christian circles is often frowned upon, and I’ve seen black sheep who come with different, yet still God-dependent (hopefully!), perspectives in Christian communities often end up alienated from those communities. An element of the beauty of community, however, is the beauty of each individual’s excellently unique angle on God, living out our faiths, and the world around us. When that unique angle comes from contemplation and investigation, I think it can become more certain, less defensive, clearer, and easier to incorporate into our lives. A brief examination of this issue from a psych viewpoint would have to include a comment on identity formation. When an identity, in this case as a follower of Jesus, is formed without personal inquiry (foreclosure), people become close-minded, extremist, and reactive in their interactions with people who differ from them. The ideal identity achievement is attained through consideration of opposing views, the consequences of assuming a particular identity, and the reasons for choosing that identity. Only when we recognize precisely why we believe and live as we do can we go out into the world and totally love and relate to people who don’t yet know the truth and share with them that truth. After all, God is truth, and when we search for the truth and meditatively question the things going on around and within our lives, we’ll ultimately find Him. I’m certain that I could drone on about spiritual issues and the various things that I’ve been contemplating recently, but I think I shall move on to some other, more passive activity in this night of not sleeping. I hope that all of your sleeps are going fabulously well, and that I don’t make too many grammatical errors when depriving myself completely (more than the usual partial deprivation) of slumber.

Music I’m Loving
- Royksopp
- Brian Eno
- Bauhaus
- Cat Power (terrible first name, but I love her to pieces)
- CocoRosie
- The Constantines
- Gemma Hayes
- Goldfrapp
- Brokeback Mountain Soundtrack
- Joanna Newsome
- José González
- The Magic Numbers
- Mendoza Line
- the Tangiers
- Minus the Bear
- OK Computer
- The Mohawk Lodge
- The Most Serene Republic (sorry all you MSR-dislikers)
- Of Montréal
- Rosie Thomas (yay for Jill’s blog!)
- The Like
- Ron Sexsmith
- Low
- Adam Green
- Stereolab
- The Arctic Monkeys (still obsessed)
- Be Your Own Pet
- PJ Harvey
- broadcasts from SXSW 2006

Films I Must See
- Little Miss Sunshine
- L’Enfant
- Winter Passing
- Marie Antoinette
- Squid & the Whale
- Shopgirl
- Talladega Nights
- Crash (you’re right Jeremy, I do have to see it to be fair)
- Everything is Illuminated
- Chumscrubber
- Thumbsucker
- Trust the Man
- Why We Fight
- Transamerica
- Lonesome Jim
- Tristram Shandy – A Cock and Bull Story
- Syriana
- Water
- A Scanner Darkly (yay Philip K Dick!)






















Fabulous Things that I’ve Enjoyed Of Late
- SUB’s Mac lab
- “Family Guy” (sorry Andrew!)
- the excess of whip cream atop Java Jive hot chocolates
- Azure Ray, Rogue Wave, and American Analog Set
- George Orwell
- Niccolà Machiavelli
- sparkly t-shirts
- walking through snowbanks on my way to school
- discussion of the Canucks’ upcoming loss to my Oilers
- balcony bunny’s recent departure
- not sleeping (nothing new, I know, but key to my weekend’s excellence)
- cinnamon toast
- Jess, particularly when she performs odd accents
- new clothing, even if I can’t remove certain jackets on my own
- Chris Buck
- Steve O’Malley and his penchant for paraffin blush
- Dick the Gnome’s absent stare and awe-inspiring music
- throwing apples around
- snow, snow, snow
- not having to drive through snow because I walk everywhere
- misconstructions with friends and strangers alike
- the dozens of customers who come into the café with fogged up glasses
- Paul McCartney’s intense love of seals

Things I’d Like to Discuss If I Wasn’t Bored with Typing
- my parents’ rationale for my curfew
- how I’ve misplaced my Bible and notebook
- how I don’t like using my old Bible as much as my current one
- Rex Murphy
- how nature totally reflects God’s character (but these notes are in my notebook, which has disappeared)
- the inevitability of hardship in our lives due to our sin
- optimism
- clothing purchases and giving money to NGOs
- God’s use of the good, bad, and the ugly in teaching us
- the fact that some of the most celebrated Christians have come from extremely rich and blessed backgrounds or extremely harsh and testing backgrounds
- evangelism and an intelligent and Spirit-led approach to it
- my sappiness for all things sentimental, romantic, and adorable
- Alberta under NDP governance (Sir Thomas Moore’s Utopia realized?)
- Ralph Klein
- gnomes and all of their beauty and unique insight
- cults, and avoiding becoming a cult (not actually a joke!)
- prayer

Astute Words of Annie Proulx (Because I'm Unastute)

Even the inner workings of my own body fail to fascinate me at times; I am toiling through my anatomy notes and finding it increasingly difficult to care whether the diencephalon lies above or below the mesencephaon. I should of course be concerned about such issues because my knowledge of them relates to my GPA, but even anxiety over marks is not succeeding in getting the studying-adrenaline going. However, I shall type for only a bit longer since I may be able to eek out a few more hours of reading before I collapse in complete despair. Because my paragraph on the Oscars was rather pithy yesterday, I am including a commentary by the genius writer Annie Proulx, whose short story Brokeback Mountain was based on, dealing with her take on the ceremonies. It was quite fabulous to find her forthright article in my favourite British newspaper, The Guardian, and I was rather thrilled that she echoed my sentiments exactly. While she didn’t seem to enjoy the awards anywhere near as much as I did, I feel that she is dead on in her assessment of the Academy’s mediocrity and who it handed out awards to.

If only everyone could see things from the logical perspective of New Yorker writers; alas, only certain segments of the population analyse things rationally and are perceptive enough to recognize the crime of Crash taking away Best Picture. Proulx even acknowledges the fact that this column is written partially out of the bitterness of loss, but her acrimony is largely justified by her arguments, and it’s only fair that she have a reply to the shocking choice of the Academy. After a first-rate conversation about the morality of Brokeback Mountain on MSN today, I may have to blog about the film and my perspective on viewing it as a Christian later tomorrow. There truly are a plethora of rationales for watching the movie, though it’s certainly vital for me to be open to dialogue about it with my fellow Christians and non-Christians. Thoughts and comments are always welcome, though I may address some more entries in a future blog anyways. Regardless of my musings on the film, here are the lovely words of Annie Proulx and her view of the film industry’s big night.

On the sidewalk stood hordes of the righteous, some leaning forward like wind-bent grasses, the better to deliver their imprecations against gays and fags to the open windows of the limos - the windows open by order of the security people - creeping toward the Kodak Theater for the 78th Academy Awards. Others held up sturdy, professionally crafted signs expressing the same hatred.

The red carpet in front of the theatre was larger than the Red Sea. Inside, we climbed grand staircases designed for showing off dresses. The circular levels filled with men in black, the women mostly in pale, frothy gowns. Sequins, diamonds, glass beads, trade beads sparkled like the interior of a salt mine. More exquisite dresses appeared every moment, some made from six yards of taffeta, and many with sweeping trains that demanded vigilance from strolling attendees lest they step on a mermaid's tail. There was one man in a kilt - there is always one at award ceremonies - perhaps a professional roving Scot hired to give colour to the otherwise monotone showing of clustered males. Larry McMurtry defied the dress code by wearing his usual jeans and cowboy boots.

The people connected with Brokeback Mountain, including me, hoped that, having been nominated for eight Academy awards, it would get Best Picture as it had at the funny, lively Independent Spirit awards the day before. (If you are looking for smart judging based on merit, skip the Academy Awards next year and pay attention to the Independent Spirit choices.) We should have known conservative heffalump academy voters would have rather different ideas of what was stirring contemporary culture. Roughly 6,000 film industry voters, most in the Los Angeles area, many living cloistered lives behind wrought-iron gates or in deluxe rest-homes, out of touch not only with the shifting larger culture and the yeasty ferment that is America these days, but also out of touch with their own segregated city, decide which films are good. And rumour has it that Lions Gate inundated the academy voters with DVD copies of Trash - excuse me - Crash a few weeks before the ballot deadline. Next year we can look to the awards for controversial themes on the punishment of adulterers with a branding iron in the shape of the letter A, runaway slaves, and the debate over free silver.

After a good deal of standing around admiring dresses and sucking up champagne, people obeyed the stentorian countdown commands to get in their seats as "the show" was about to begin. There were orders to clap and the audience obediently clapped. From the first there was an atmosphere of insufferable self-importance emanating from "the show" which, as the audience was reminded several times, was televised and being watched by billions of people all over the world. Those lucky watchers could get up any time they wished and do something worthwhile, like go to the bathroom. As in everything related to public extravaganzas, a certain soda pop figured prominently. There were montages, artfully meshed clips of films of yesteryear, live acts by Famous Talent, smart-ass jokes by Jon Stewart who was witty and quick, too witty, too quick, too eastern perhaps for the somewhat dim LA crowd. Both beautiful and household-name movie stars announced various prizes. None of the acting awards came Brokeback's way, you betcha. The prize, as expected, went to Philip Seymour Hoff-man for his brilliant portrayal of Capote, but in the months preceding the awards thing, there has been little discussion of acting styles and various approaches to character development by this year's nominees. Hollywood loves mimicry, the conversion of a film actor into the spittin' image of a once-living celeb. But which takes more skill, acting a person who strolled the boulevard a few decades ago and who left behind tapes, film, photographs, voice recordings and friends with strong memories, or the construction of characters from imagination and a few cold words on the page? I don't know. The subject never comes up. Cheers to David Strathairn, Joaquin Phoenix and Hoffman, but what about actors who start in the dark?

Everyone thanked their dear old mums, scout troop leaders, kids and consorts. More commercials, more quick wit, more clapping, beads of sweat, Stewart maybe wondering what evil star had lighted his way to this labour. Despite the technical expertise and flawlessly sleek set evocative of 1930s musicals, despite Dolly Parton whooping it up and Itzhak Perlman blending all the theme music into a single performance (he represented "culchah"), there was a kind of provincial flavour to the proceedings reminiscent of a small-town talent-show night. Clapping wildly for bad stuff enhances this. There came an atrocious act from Hustle and Flow, Three 6 Mafia's violent rendition of "It's Hard Out Here for a Pimp", a favourite with the audience who knew what it knew and liked. This was a big winner, a bushel of the magic gold-coated gelded godlings going to the rap group.

The hours sped by on wings of boiler plate. Brokeback's first award was to Argentinean Gustavo Santaolalla for the film's plangent and evocative score. Later came the expected award for screenplay adaptation to Diana Ossana and Larry McMurtry, and only a short time later the director's award to Ang Lee. And that was it, three awards, putting it on equal footing with King Kong. When Jack Nicholson said best picture went to Crash, there was a gasp of shock, and then applause from many - the choice was a hit with the home team since the film is set in Los Angeles. It was a safe pick of "controversial film" for the heffalumps.

After three-and-a-half hours of butt-numbing sitting we stumbled away, down the magnificent staircases, and across the red carpet. In the distance men were shouting out limousine numbers, "406 . . . 27 . . . 921 . . . 62" and it seemed someone should yell "Bingo!" It was now dark, or as dark as it gets in the City of Angels. As we waited for our number to be called we could see the enormous lighted marquee across the street announcing that the "2006 Academy Award for Best Picture had gone to Crash". The red carpet now had taken on a different hue, a purple tinge.

The source of the colour was not far away. Down the street, spreading its baleful light everywhere, hung a gigantic, vertical, electric-blue neon sign spelling out S C I E N T O L O G Y.

"Seven oh six," bawled the limo announcer's voice. Bingo.

For those who call this little piece a Sour Grapes Rant, play it as it lays.

Unimportant Thoughts In the Middle of Studying

It’s that time of the year when I’m rather restless for the inevitably tremendous summer to come, and homework looks even less enticing than it usually does (enticing homework is an oxymoron in my books, unless the homework involves essay-writing or poster-making), so I‘ve decided to fritter away my designated study break by blogging rather than reading my rather dismal novel or watching home videos with Jess. I have found that perusing Spin articles about the latest Axl Rose vs. previous band mates from Guns and Roses skirmish or BBC stories about impending epidemic of avian influenza can be relatively enthralling. However, one can only take so much of Smash’s arrogance and spine-chilling images of baleful chickens with their illnesses and beady eyes. Thus, I shall write indulgently about my most recent thoughts and fixations. Sadly, the weekend is not near enough, and I shall be sitting to lectures and confined to Rutherford for studying for days to come. But for now, I plan on dismissing thoughts of textbook skimming and midterms, and instead plan to share my most recent contemplations and fixations, not that they are remotely interesting or insightful amidst all of the weekend busyness that clouds my mind. Seriously, I’m feeling extraordinarily obtuse today, so nothing thoughtful can be expected today!

Of course, some of you will have noticed that I refrained from composing my greatly awaited (that was sarcasm, folks) Oscar or blog-birthday entries, largely because I was so distraught over the unfathomable loss of Brokeback Mountain to Crash. My darling film podcast was appalled that Ang Lee’s tour de force could be so injudiciously overlooked, and spent an entire segment on Thursday on the outrage of selecting a well-done yet innocuous film over the other four truly creative contenders for Best Picture. However, the Oscars were still marvelously entertaining with the group that showed up at my house, albeit a relatively small Oscar party turnout; midterms and family events tend to be scheduled for the worst times. At least Brokeback cleaned up with Oscars for direction, adapted screenplay, and soundtrack (yay Gustavo! I’m listening to “The Wings” as I type), in addition to the fact that Larry McMurty and Ang Lee were as adorable as ever; McMurty even wore jeans to the ceremonies. I found Jon Stuart absolutely side-splitting, despite some supercilious criticism of the lack of laughs from the self-important crowd in the Kodak Theatre. He even merged the hilarity of Dick Cheney’s shooting incident with the ludicrousness of Bjork’s swan dress in, I believe, the best joke of the evening. While it may be difficult to rival the awesomeness of Billy Crystal’s hosting abilities, Stewart certainly topped Chris Rock’s predictable jokes from last year. And just for Ben, even though he won’t read this, Crash’s win is still not a certainty, as the recount process is still ongoing, and California Recount 2006 resembles Florida Recount 2000 more and more every day. Jeb Bush is alleged to have been involved in impropriety yet again, this year not in support of his brother but in support of less-edgy films, and it appears that yet again Bush’s cousin John Prescott Ellis at Fox News announced Crash’s win too early. Nepotism and cronyism must not be awarded, Academy; give Brokeback Mountain its greatly deserved Best Picture Oscar!

















On a completely unrelated digression from the previous subject, I trimmed my hair yesterday morning and am savouring how light my head feels now, and how odd brushing my hair still feels. Blow drying and shampooing feel quite different, and it’s oddly relieving to have ten less millimetres of hair. Converse to the vile experience of disappointment, relief is certainly one of my favourite emotions, not only because of the joy that comes with a welcome respite or unanticipated delight, but also because it gives one hope that similar joy will come in the future. Whenever I’m freezing my butt off with Jess on one of our night walks, or about to collapse near the end of a jog, there’s always the hope of the warm indoors and hot chocolate or a chair to rest in and big glass of iced tea that I’ve experienced before. Sometimes I think that we actually put ourselves through mild grief just to feel the reprieve afterwards. When Jess and I drive home from our grandparents’ Sunday dinner in the warmer months, we always stick our heads out the window with our mouths open as wide as possible, thus causing our mouths to dry out. This is not an especially pleasant experience besides our hair blowing around strangely, but the relief that accompanies the return of moisture to our mouths after a drink of water is something not to be missed. People love to frighten themselves with horror films, scorch their taste buds with piquant foods, and go for polar bear swims, and I suspect that at least a portion of the gratification that can be obtained from these activities is from the reprieve from pain or fear when they are concluded. I suppose that this reprieve parallels the ultimate acquittal that we’re all offered, and it’s definitely wonderful to know that even the enjoyment of milk after eating excessive amounts of salsa or a warm towel after an early morning swim in a lake can’t top heaven.

As many of you likely are aware, I am quasi-obsessed with making lists, whether they are an enumeration of all I have to do, things I love, things about people I love, plans for the future, stuff God has been teaching me, stuff requiring prayer, or pros and cons related to decisions I’m in the midst of making. As well as being highly cathartic, lists provide me with an opportunity to order the chaos that pervades my brain, and allow me to place appropriate importance on the various things in my life. Plus, I don’t have to write in the usual verbose, long-winded style that I typically use, which saves a great deal of time and energy. I’ve discovered many things through times of list-making, including the sometimes skewedness of my priorities, why I really love my family and friends, what exactly is causing my annoyances at my many concerns, what is so staggering about God’s creation, and what requires adjustment in my life. Therefore, I’ve decided to type the rest of my thoughts in list-form, because I’m facing fatigue right now and don’t think that sentences are a very practicable form of writing at this point in time. However, these points really do have deeper thoughts behind them, and I may require elaboration in future blogging endeavours, depending on my state of lethargy when writing future entries. Finally, I must advise you not to read these because they are rather meaningless inventories of some of my recent musings, and more like skeletons of things that truly do carry weight and significance. My nonsomnia has just been failing me as of late, and accordingly there is limited time to go into further detail when I'm not out of the house, studying, or reading.

Things to Be Purchased
- tickets for all of the crazy good concerts coming up
- purple Chuck Taylors
- tapered jeans (they're really cool, despite what disparaging remarks certain others make)
- outrageously breathtaking flats from Urban Outfitters
- a book on Korsakoff's syndrome for Caitlin
- a case of Jones sodas
- all of the CDs and vinyls from my list of to-buy music
- a new rubber chicken (apparently mine makes odd noises)
- a new book to replace George Orwell's desolate, yet still great, A Clergyman's Daughter
- Gala apples for snacking on before midterms
- kitschy St. Patty's Day accessories
- a British dictionary for people who almost compulsively spell like Americans
- a skating DVD for Crystal
- spring jackets, because it's almost time (yay!)
- dresses from Nokomis
- White Stripes albums for Colleen, who will learn to love them

















Entertaining Activities with Jess from this Weekend
- walking with iPods at night in the cold
- watching wonderfully indie or romantic movies
- playing card games without actually cheating
- discussing our days in my bedroom
- praising her hair's beauty
- talking about God and friend stuff
- skipping until we nearly faint
- comparing clothes wants
- watching home videos for hours on end
- commenting on how cute we are in the home vidoes for hours on end
- stirring cheese into pasta (quite fun actually!)
- kicking snow as high as possible
- convincing her that stolen taco chips are delicious

Recently Discovered Pleasures from the Weekend
- Olive Garden breadsticks
- sparking myself by listening to Philomena Guinea while she gets charged amongst all the satin lining of my purse
- having ice wars at work
- Jen's ability to stick her fist in her mouth
- not being afraid of Flight Plan, despite suspecting that I would be, and liking it regardless of the slightly lame ending
- writing notes in the snow
- reading odd e-mails written late at night
- experiencing suspense over whether or not I'll make it back by my curfew
- enjoying the Rob-pointed-out harmonica virtuoso at church
- sleeping more than I think I'd like to because of curfews
- Nicole's e-mails about NYC trip 2006
- Machiavellian tactics
- Rupert Everett's rediscovered genius as Sherlock Holmes
- rereading my Sherlock Holmes novels from elementary
- guessing how late Crystal will be (I love you Crystal!)
- skipping Sunday sleeping in and meeting friends for coffee
- Ben's reaction to hearing that I vote NDP
- resisting others' violent ways and engaging in my brand of pseudo-violence
- driving around with a toboggan on my head and navigating with a mistrusting driver

Women I Admire for Various Reasons
- Jenny Lewis
- Olivia Chow
- Shirley Douglas
- Eleanor Friedberger
- Maggie Gyllenhaal
- Emily Murphy
- Audrey Hepburn
- Joni Mitchell
- Emily Carr
- Meryl Streep
- Aphra Behn
- Helen Keller
- Annie Lennox
- Sylvia Browne
- Julia Child
- my grandmas
- my mom

Things to Achieve this Summer
- learn to skateboard more effectively
- watch more films than is healthy
- read a book a week
- organize and have a blast on the NYC trip
- camp more than the Lobe-typic once a year
- stay up late outside every night
- write more essays
- take lots and lots of photos
- spend entire afternoons at the art gallery
- start our genius left-wing and crazy non-left-wing friends Bible study
- make it out to every decent concert there is
- love Ricky Ray more than Jason Maas
- teach others how to adore Sean Flamingo
- have more theme parties than ever
- attend every festival except for country-related ones
- do not get severe sunburn at the Champ car races
- continue to go for IGA runs every night
- see as many parades as possible
- discover whether or not I enjoy scrapbooking
- build up my strength in ways other than tennis, biking, and running
- have more picnics in Hawrelak with Jess and friends
- learn the Napoleon Dynamite dance
- relearn swing dancing with Jess
- find a balcony chair that doesn't give me back pains
- convince Jess to read on the lawn with me more frequently so I don't have to be gawked at by pedestrians on my own
- be creative in coming up with completely mad silliness with friends

So Much to Say, So Little Coherence

I’m currently holed up in my bedroom with my sister loafing on my bed, basking in the wonderful pleasures of cocoa, Jess’ empathy and acumen, the exquisiteness of my Thievery Corporation playlist, the comfort provided by PJs and quilts, and a reprieve from reading about conditioning, observational learning, and species-specific behaviours. I must warn you that I’m feeling awfully descriptive tonight, and thus this evening’s entry promises to be wordy, convoluted, and rambling; I shall award you a gold star if you make it to the end of this one! Most of all right now, I’m feeling quite confident that the surfeit of flurries that accompany our Canadian winters nears the top of my list of lovely perks of living in this fine nation. While the skies have taken a breather from sprinkling the Edmonton landscape with snow, it’s still good to be reminded of what I actually love about this time of year (when global warming does not limit the snow levels to a light shroud for the majority of the “winter” months). Though I can’t say I’m remorseful about being able to wear ballet flats, spring jackets, and no balaclavas post-Christmas.

If I place more trust in Environment Canada meteorologist Dale Marciski than I do Wiarton Willie (I’m not sure who to have faith in sometimes), we should be enjoying the splendid range of snow endeavours for some weeks to come. Among the greatest aspects of the pseudo-blizzard that Edmonton just underwent were (and continue to be) the fact that my eyelashes get so coated in snow that they freeze within minutes of being outside, I can throw snowballs at my sister when she’s leaving for school, and that I don’t care if I ram into my fellow pedestrians when I’m staring up at the sky watching snowflakes come into focus from the pale expanse above. I love how the sometimes-unsightly grass is now covered in several centimetres of white fluff, and watching the sluggishly adorable snowploughs push it all around the roads of Edmonton pleases me to no end. Walking home from campus through the fields in front of Corbett Hall becomes quite the escapade, and a rather pleasant one especially with the lack of distressingly scantily-clad sunbathers that can be found there in warmer times of the year. Of course, the snowfall has also necessitated some ever-agreeable tobogganing, snow angels, makeshift snowmen, and snow message writing (the traditional Lobe signature on the front lawn is a must with every flurry deluge).

















Perhaps the most thrilling aspect of snow delight from the past couple of days was my appearance on le téléjournal on Radio-Canada Télévision hier soir, likely my favourite news program aside from the obvious ones (National, Canada Now, CBC News: Morning). As I was making my way out the door yesterday, there was an exceptionally Québéçois reporter with an oversized microphone, which at first resembled an umbrella, and bundled-up cameraman standing on my sidewalk. She chatted with me for a while about my excellent choice of footwear (the cameraman even captured a few great shots of my red Chuck Taylors traveling through the drifts) and wished me good luck on my exam when I finally explained that I needed to get to class at some point before the midterms were handed out, though it would have been quite tremendous to spend an entire morning with Francophone darlings. Needless to say, I was overjoyed to see myself on Edmonton’s only French channel, aside from the odd ones that are available with cable, for the first time. Fortunately, I was quite graceful in my walking skills while on camera, because I tripped in the snow a couple of times too many yesterday when walking around off-camera. However, the klutziness can be easily blamed on the icy walkways, the distraction provided by snow-laden trees and house roofs, and my snow-induced inability to distinguish the snow on the road lining the sidewalk from the sidewalk itself.

Although I fully recognize the fact I am blessed to receive my education, and that it will afford me with great opportunities in the future, it is difficult to appreciate the monotony of classes, reading, and homework after an absurdly fabulous week off from the comparative tedium on campus. While my preposterously terrific friends, numerous obsessions, family, and various amusements keep me almost constantly entertained, there’s nothing quite like being completely relaxed and elated at the same time for a period of 7.5 days. Of course, a huge chunk of the incredible joy that I experienced during reading week came from Whistler Road Trip 2006, so forgive me while I indulge in some protracted reminiscence (and more nostalgia may be found at this site). It was a grand Bilbo Baggins-style adventure full of (bear with me; this list is rather disjointed): injurious activities, using Alicia’s vast nursing student knowledge to deal with my injuries from these aforementioned activities, frightening Crystal with gnomes, learning things about cars (such as how to pump gas, what precisely a Hemi is, and how to replenish windshield washing fluid), a great array of occupations on the potentially life-threatening ice in front of Mike’s cabin, star-gazing, seeing how sympathetic (though perhaps inwardly annoyed!) friends will be when I lose my wallet (twice, that is, and not the only thing I lost last week), enjoying Rob and Mike’s serene guitar playing, enjoying Crystals not-so-serene bongo-playing, feeling entirely comfortable to proclaim my love for Jack Layton to the mostly right-wing posse (that is nonetheless brilliant, mirthful, and candid: Rob even admits to being a redneck, albeit a largely open-minded, tolerant one), hiking through some totally gorgeous areas around Whistler, eating double-digit numbers of bacon strips for breakfast, finding numerous gems (as always) in a second hand shop, admiring the graffiti and beauty of the remnants of a train wreck, taking in the sounds and sights of still-running trains across the ice, girl talk, feminist talk, driving chatter/rants and sing-alongs, car games and profligate eating while playing car games, benefiting from the entertainment value and sobriety of non-morning people in the morning, eating Ben & Jerry’s while experiencing the novelty and hilarity Office Space (though Crystal and I called it quits after a rather nasty scene and a few episodes of almost nodding off), having just as much of a blast in the Kids Only Market on Granville Island as I would have in the actual market (despite knowing very little, at least relative to my Thomas-loving amigos, about Thomas the Tank Engine), gleaning info on others’ ranking of a range of cultural figures in Marry Date or Dump, hanging out in the sauna (even after cold water was poured on me by a couple of merciless guys), playing Scrabble with five serious (and two non-serious) other players (and Mike and I were so close to winning! I blame Dusty and Karla’s perpetual appropriation of our word spots), sleeping on a rather chilly hotel floor, enjoying other peoples’ cooking, getting literally car sick for the first time, checking out the ever-dramatic and gripping Olympic action in the cabin and on a giant-screen in Whistler, and of course the super-stellar snowsuits worn by the guys (other than Dustin; he kept his dignity, though may not have had as ludicrous a time as Rob, Mike, and Dusty did).

















Clearly, some great times were had, and I’m still omitting a ton of the outlandish shenanigans we got up to. It was fabulous to spend time with a fantastic group of people, pictured below, and get to know them better in the midst of all the merriment. I think that I can describe them without getting protests from them since Crystal’s the only one of them who I think skims this blog, meaning that I can be obsequious. So the road trip squad was comprised of, from left to right, Dusty (super hilarious, totally comfortable in his own skin and lack of thumbs, knows infinitely more than I do about vehicle-related stuff), Rob (witty and silly simultaneously, excellent taste in almost everything, antithesis of a morning person), Alicia (vivacious and fun, fountain of knowledge on health-related stuff, great cook), Dustin (dutiful chauffeur/considerate wallet-searcher, excellent at singing and dancing to music on Alicia’s laptop, really principled), Karla (great to discuss life stuff with in long car rides, thoughtful, always being kind in ways like cleaning up the cabin while we skated), Crystal (intentional about her faith, insightful and perceptive, so much fun to be harebrained with), and Mike who was taking the picture (a true Vancouver Islander, brilliantly left-of-centre, great to chat about big issues with). It’s so encouraging to know individuals from McKernan who are outside the circle of my school/neighbourhood friends, Zion, or my family who totally know Christ, are an absolute joy to be around, and are genuinely sharp people.

It’s a total blessing to have people in my life with which I can have a great tête-à-tête over coffee at Starbucks, or hesitantly explore the world of cocktails while savouring their gourmande-style dinner of couscous, perfectly marinated bison, roasted peppers, and staggeringly tasty soufflé. There’s no better way to connect with a friend than some serious play viewing, trip planning, chatter about guys (typically with female friends), Whyte perusing, dialogue over books, theological/political conversation (whether debate or concurrence), or simply openness and accountability about God and life concerns. Friendship is certainly a balance of extreme fun and sharing (of burdens, gratitude, joys, confusion, wisdom), and it’s this dichotomy of the serious and the silly that enriches life inestimably. Hopefully these relationships mirror those that Jesus built with those around Him, and my relationship with Him. Though it’s vital for me to have honest and deep discourse with God in my devotional, prayer, and worship times, it’s equally essential for me to just giggle at the sometimes-absurdity of and humour in His creation and do happy dances to Tim Hughes songs. For those of you who know me well, you’re quite aware of the fact that I’m easily enthused, but only He can get me to my maximally ecstatic self, that point where you can’t do anything but lift your hands, sing, and praise Him for His undeserved goodness to me. However, I don’t want to say that life is easier when one has received salvation as many Christians misconceive, because that’s such a mistaken assessment of the Christian life; rather we can take solace from God when our struggles and uncertainty are particularly testing. We are totally blessed that Jesus allows us to give Him our burdens, but this is still a fallen world, and we continue to encounter disappointment, heartache, temptation, and weariness. My small group was examining the significance of joy in our walks with God, and we were challenged by Scripture’s clear command to rejoice in the good things in our lives, be they our favourite foods or people in our lives who we love. Yet I was disturbed by one author’s statement that it is a sin not to take joy in life, mainly since I’ve grown up knowing many Christians who faced depression and knowing how much of a hardship it was for them to delight in their lives. But perhaps joy is something that does not require happiness, and is instead about purely recognizing the hope we have and just praising God for the gifts of life and a communion with Him.

As of late, I’ve been particularly struck by the hedonism that is so prevalent in our society, even amongst Christians, and have been trying to come to terms with what exactly God’s intent for the spectrum of emotions was. My more obscure choices in films, music, artwork, and plays have often perplexed my friends who fail to understand why I would want to watch/study/listen to things seemingly designed to produce feelings of sadness, frustration, or remorse. I do feel strongly that God uses these sentiments in our lives though, whether to offer us an opportunity to love or empathize with another person, realize of our sin’s consequences, create a desire in us for personal change, cause us to take action on something that disturbs us, or recognize our dependence on Him for ultimate contentment. There’s something beautiful about crying at the end of a tragic film, feeling strongly about the strong message of a painting, or shedding a few tears at some heartrending lyrics in a gorgeous song. And I think it’s truly unwise to expose oneself to constant despair, but usually once a week I’ll indulge in an hour or two of contemplative emotionality, be it through a movie, book, stroll through the art gallery, or walk outside with the iPod and some particularly emo tracks. At least in my life, these experiences allow me to feel whole and sincere as an emotional being. It’s so important to not get caught up in the stress, antagonism, and despondency of the world, but it’s equally important to sometimes feel the pain of this lost world as Jesus did. Unless we address the reality of others’ lives and the sometimes-sorry state of humanity, I don’t believe that we can’t affect real change.

Outside of my silly artsy-diversions, I typically find myself emotionally struck most powerfully by observing others. Despite largely finding immense glee in people’ diversity, individual perspectives, and insight into life, I’ve found that sometimes I’m strongly influenced by negative observations of others. Opportunities to observe human egocentricity, greed, intolerance, ignorance abounded this summer when I would close the café on Wednesday nights, and walking home down Whyte listening to Sigur Ros or Nick Drake allowed me to consider hideousness of sin and our selfishness. Those 3:00-11:00 shifts provided me with ample occasion to encounter rude inebriated customers, a fight going on across the street, the creepy advances of complete strangers, theft from our tip jar, massive amounts of garbage that had been thoughtlessly littered, and people who would continue to sit in the café after we closed despite our polite requests for them to head out. While the vast majority of our customers are sweet, appreciative folks, it would only take a few disturbing ones later in the evening to sadden me. It was tempting at times to become angry at these said disturbing few, but I don’t think that anger is very constructive when it’s directed towards people I’ve never met, so I would try to limit myself to grief for their lack of reliance on God. I suppose that I struggle in general with when to let myself feel anger, because I truly don’t want emotions of acrimony and aggravation to fester into hatred or complete insolence.

Today I felt anger as I pondered the misfortune of landmine victims who Amnesty encourages people to remember today, but outside of general, diffuse anger and my pseudo-anger in political/feminist rants about Harper and Bush (both of whom I really do strive to love!) I try to steer clear of rage. It’s enormously cathartic and stimulating to have passionate debate on big issues, and engage in anti-school banter with friends, but true anger turns me off a bit. Anyone who’s ever seen me truly cross knows that when something’s incensed me, I avoid saying anything at all and try listening to music to suppress my feelings. While we discussed the fallacy of the hydraulic theory (that suggests that one must vent periodically to avoid going ballistic) in Social Psych, I’m not sure that it’s entirely healthy for me to be a continually passive pushover. My parents love to nag me about my inability to say no to requests and inconvenience others for assistance, but as my barista buddy Andrew tells me, I’m overly wary of confrontation. Instead of addressing something at work, in a friendship, or at school, I often take an excessively Pollyana-inspired approach, determining that the situation is not grave enough to require candor. Despite the fact that optimism is unquestionably one of my favourite things in life, I suppose that I sometimes take it to an extreme where I neglect to deal candidly with others. Jesus definitely allowed himself to experience and express fury, with of course the most obvious example being His reaction to the temple being used as a marketplace. Thus, it’s not as if I can be moralistic in my restrained ire. After all, some of the greatest movements in recent history have been driven by anger, including abolitionism, feminism, the French Revolution, and women’s suffrage. As the Monty Python song “Always Look On the Bright Side of Life” suggests, sanguinity can be taken too far (because it’s just not natural to look on the bright side of drawing your terminal breath).



















In my introspection recently, I’ve also been pondering my potentially hypocritical feelings on gender issues. I am very keen on considering gender issues in conversation with my dad and friends, but am beginning to see the difficulty that guys have in being honest and politically correct at the same time. I really take pleasure in asserting my love for guys’ Chuck Taylors, strange hair, tight/ripped pants, vintage attire, and excellent noses. However, if a guy friend ever started going on about his love for girls in tight pants, I might feel somewhat uncomfortable, and would likely go so far as to scold him for objectifying the opposite gender. This is the new problem with gender; women are now very free to dress like men, pursue typically male hobbies, and live out their ambitions in the workforce. Conversely, men are socially constrained and would find it difficult, without at least some level of scorn, to wear even a bag (man purse?), watch figure skating, or let his wife be the bread-winner. While there is still a great deal of progress to be made for women’s rights even in Canada, I feel that I should be more aware of areas that we have reached equity in. The glass-ceiling may still remain, along with the fragile woman stereotype, but at least I can blather on about the wonders of guys’ fashion without fear of a Cait-style assail. Of course, if I’d been born a guy, I hope that I’d be one to face those barriers (though I’m not sure that most guys necessarily care about these concerns, but it still strikes me as unjust). I’m sure I’d embody everything that is the exact opposite of machismo, and would cry just as easily at sentimental or poignant things as I do now. Baking would still be a superb amusement in my life, clothes would be just as charming, good conversations would thrill me, and acute danger would cause me mild perturbance. I could even form my own movement and christen it “masculinism.”

Sadly, even though I’ve only exhausted the first few points on my page-long list of things to blog about, I must get to the Learning and Behaviour textbook that is beckoning me to hang out for the evening. I will certainly have to hit a few more matters when I have another hour to type with some good tunes and Jess’ moral support, perhaps this weekend between all of the craziness. In fact, a pre-Oscar blog is surely required as there will be rumours, excitement, and predictions to discuss. And of course, I will have to commemorate the one-year anniversary of my dear blog on Monday along with some reaction to the academy’s decisions, and the prettiness of dresses and tuxes. Finally, if you have made it to the end of tonight’s horribly tortuous and lengthy entry, congratulations! But please comment; my dear British Chris is so loyal in his commenting, and many of you have left him to enter me pleasant messages on his own. I know that some of you scallywags have never even commented at all, therefore, I must thank Jess, Kirsty, Jeremy, Michael, Jay, Sarah, Christian, and especially Chris. Hope you have a lovely third day of the third month tomorrow! I’m positive that I’ll be up at three in the morning to celebrate it with all of the studying that’s in store for me right now.

Arrivederci!