This morning was one of those super foggy moments that are all too rare in Alberta. I love misty days. While mist does very strange things to my hair, and my sensitive eyes are somewhat irritated by the moist air, there’s something quite magnificent about everything around you being out of focus. It encourages introspection, and reminds me that God is all around me, just like the hazy vapour is. Good conversations with Him are almost certain on foggy days. One of my favourite composers is the film composer Thomas Newman, who’s done loads of beautifully soundtracked movies, and his music is the best supplement to the delicate cloud that hangs in the air on a day like today. His songs have these daintily fragile flourishes that make hair blowing in the wind and blurred figures in the distance appear as if they’re dancing to the music on my iPod. Songs like “Plastic Bag Theme” and “Possibility” make me want to dance, cry, and shout at the same time; only profoundly good music can do that. Jess and I sometimes sit in the living room in dim lighting and listen to some of his soundtracks, intermittently exclaiming how much we love dear Thomas, and feeling true contentment. Music is, at times, zealously enjoyed in my family. Back to my love of mistiness, I suspect that I also have a particular penchant for fog because it hearkens back to annual family vacations spent in the ever-so humid Vancouver and Vancouver Island. We used to hike to the lighthouse in Lighthouse Park every year, and the best walks were always the ones when the air was permeated in water vapour, and Jess and I could imagine how important we would be as lighthouse keepers, keeping the boats safe on even the murkiest of days. It’s partly in the mystery of everything being behind a permeable veil, too. You never know what exactly is behind that cloud in front of you, and it’s easy to ignore the ugliness of city surroundings when everything is shrouded by mist. One of the loveliest scene’s in Joe Wright’s version of Pride and Prejudice takes place in amidst billows of fog, and it not only makes for a dreamlike quality, but also represents how Lizzie and Mr. Darcy never quite recognized the potential loveliness that lay beneath the hazy ambiguity that characterized their relationship. Basically, fog is just really cool.
I have decided that perhaps sociology isn’t quite so bad as I perceive it to be at times, although it remains in my mind as the least scientific academic field that masquerades as a science; I’m pretty sure that sociology is as scientific in its approach to learning about the social world as astrology is. It may sound nice to write about how society is purely two divided groups clashing with each other, or that society is a collection of groups that each serve their own complementary roles, but human behaviour is complex, messy, and at times seemingly inexplicable. There are very few overarching human tendencies, and to sit in an armchair and theorize about the workings of social interactions strikes me as slightly ludicrous. But sociology does serve a very important role in our society. Measuring cultural norms and trends within society is vital to our understanding of it, and while sociologists seem to exaggerate the significance of their seemingly obvious impressions of society, it is valuable to catalogue their findings. No matter how evident it is that children of divorced parents see their parents relatively less, or that more immigrants speak French in Québec than in Alberta, someone has to ensure that blatantly obvious social assumptions are, in fact, true. Still, the reasoning behind some of the theories to explain societal phenomena make me want to laugh and shake my head at the same time. However, as aforementioned, sociology redeemed itself slightly today. While I find psychology (in my completely unbiased opinion) to be far more scientific, precise, and pioneering, it is true that far more feminist rants can be indulged in when taking sociology courses. Today, I wrote 17 pages of what basically amounts to feminist vitriol, but because sociology profs have an innate appreciation of feminism, my exam actually made for some good Friday morning fun . Only English profs reward discussion of feminist thought just as much as my Dr. Kwame will.
Fortunately, the days of exam writing are very nearly finished with, and soon I will be inundated with birthday and Christmas presents. The highlights of my wish-list this year consist of a 30 GB iPod (I wanted the 60 GB, but it’s been deemed unnecessary by my parents), a tripod for my cameras, a functional Polaroid camera (mine seems to be pretty much useless at this point), records to spin on my oh-so-cool turntable, and a longboard for summer purposes. I’m pretty sure I’ll be getting at least one of the items on that list, and I’m rather certain that it’s the most exciting one featured in said list. I can’t wait to be free of studying. Although tonight is Friday, the day of freedom for watching movies, going out for dinner, and being wholly silly, I must confine myself to Starbucks armed with my Psych 381 textbook and a notebook. Really, studying on Friday is practically a criminal act, but school deems such a great sacrifice to be compulsory at times. Tomorrow will consist of a morning at the café, birthday celebration #1, studying, singing at the Christmas pageant, a Christmas fete at the girls’ house, and some more quality time spent with the writings of egotistical behavioural psychologists. Not bad, but I wish that I had time to waste this week. Tuesday really can’t come soon enough; I can make dopey videos with Jess, do Christmas shopping, bake, go tobogganing and skating, walk around in the snowy river valley, gear up for skiing trip 2007, write my Christmas cards, read for long periods of time, have movie marathons at home, and spend time with dear friends and family. I’m especially looking forward to Cranium; people outside of my family seem to have a limited appreciation of this game, so having relatives at hand to recount useless trivia and mimic Marlon Brando with is quite splendid.
On an extremely exciting note, awards season is just around the bend, and I’m pretty thrilled. I really will have to write the Brokeback/Crash blog over Christmas before the Oscar nominations come out, and I hope to see most of the likely nominees over the holidays. I’m especially excited to see Fast Food Nation; Filmspotting had nothing but praise for it, although the New Yorker review didn’t have quite the same reaction to it. Also, I had been completely unaware until now that Richard Simmons had vinyl records. I am so going to find a copy of one in a thrift store before winter term begins; I’m not sure how I’ve gone all my life without Richard Simmons vinyl. Plus, I need to do some back to school shopping at Goodwill and Value Village before a new set of classes are upon me. Next term, Andrew and I are also looking forward to starting up a newsletter (we’re negotiating templates for it when I’m back from skiing), and it should be a good outlet for the many fine writers and thinkers we have in the group. If any of you guys would like to write something up, feel free to tell me so, and we’d be happy to put your piece in the January issue. We’re currently brainstorming for titles, and we should have the first issue published before the winter retreat. There are plenty more things to update, but I’m a particularly lovely point in my book right now, and have spent far too much time in front of the computer screen. I’ll have to write something of actual significance in the next little while! Studying seems to make all other thoughts relatively shallow and lackluster, although I suppose I could blog about peak shift and fault lines if I were desperate for material. I hope your Christmas seasons thus far have been merry, despite involving far more studying and lack of sleep than is likely healthy!
4 comments:
I think getting kicked in the Space Phallus would injure you even more.
While I appreciate this very helpful tidbit of information, I'm sure that utterance of the phrase "Space Ph@!!u$" is far more injurious than any kick to the Space Ph@!!u$. I must admit, though, that as a gingerbread "house" judge, I was quite partial to the Space Ph@!!u$, and was key to its victory last night. Not only did it get full marks for creativity on my ballot, but I was so kind as to ignore its slightly disturbing name. The "J-Train," on the other hand, had quite a few points deducted on its score due to the ludicrousness of its name.
Plus, as Jeremy so observantly noticed last night while reacting to Jill's excellently aimed chocolate orange, females don't actually have crotches. Evidently, getting kicked in the Space Ph@!!u$ is not possible for someone of my gender. If the Space Ph@!!u$ itself were kicked though, I would feel badly I suppose. It would be more of a mental injury than one of a physical nature. I hope that you aren't scared of me, "A Scared Man." I rarely use projectile chocolate oranges as weapons, and am quite neutral when it comes to gender. I can say with certainty, though, that the guys' victory over the girls last night is no indication of their superiority.
P.S. Boys are funny. I like them.
happy christmas cait
have a great time
Jill: I typically am the girl who doesn't quite fit the stereotype of a female, but I must say that Jess and I are quite fond of TV chefs, and certainly know of Rachel Ray. And I'm rather ignorant when it comes to Super Dave Osbourne; I now know that sometimes he gives a "thumbs up" and is seemingly better known by males than by females. Hurrah for not being a stereotype, Jill!
In my defence, I really know very few cultural figures that people my own age know. I didn't watch much TV as a child, and always enjoyed older, stranger icons who my parents were equally fond of. Thus, I can compete with older folk in trivia of times gone by, but struggle when it comes to games like the one we played on Saturday. Really though, games are hardly a measure of gender quality, so I remain confident in the competence and excellence of women.
Moog: Thank you for the Christmas wishes! MERRY CHRISTMAS TO YOU TOO, BRITISH CHRIS! I kind of wish I were in England for Christmas, I must say. We've already received several Christmas letters from our English friends, and their cards are always the most fun to read. Ahhh, the British. You really are a very fine bunch!
Post a Comment