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The first real snowfall of the year. A thin glaze of white is starting to cover the cars, and the snow is just floating down ever so beautifully.
Just put on Walking In The Air from The Snowman and pulled the curtains wide open.
*sighs*
If only the world could always be as simple and as beautiful as this moment is right now.
I finally received my copy of Loyalty and Leadership In An Early Islamic Society today in my mailbox, despite having ordered it a week ago Express, and needing it for an assignment due... well, right bloody now. Canada Post is the most ineffective branch of our government ever. Well, that's not strictly true, but certainly the most costly and prominently felt inefficiency to the general Canadian populace.
It's good, I suppose, that we still have it, given the decline of "the lover's letter", which was until the widespread usage of high-speed internet all that it was good for, besides junk mail and bills. Business was already increasingly done by fax... I remember the fax machine we had at home in my youth... a loud and annoying thing, but marvelous... it seemed like magic that we were able to send such messages in such short spans of time... even if the calling back and forth to ensure proper receipt was rather annoying.
But the lover's letter remained sacred. Fax machines were annoying, loud, boisterous, prone to losing the intricacies of handwriting. But now e-mail is so easy and elegantly simple, and so fitting to a lover's impatience that the love letter has almost completely gone out of fashion.
I can't decide whether not it's tragic. It probably is... but I cannot deny that the instant communication seems such a better substitute for agonizing wait.
I recently discovered that the post office drops in twice to my building. Once in the early morning to deliver proper mail, such as I received today, and once before noon to deliver all the adverts, political slips describing platforms and how wonderful a candidate is... and the second visit always takes far longer. I observed this phenomenon in the course of the day (having left downstairs at an unusually early hour and returned just in time to catch the second visit)... it is extremely maddening to know that so much useless garbage comes through. How much paper is that daily?
I have been collecting my adverts of late, creating strips of paper, and making origami stars. There are piles of junkmail that I can't even cope with at speed and have to recycle. I shall eventually give these stars to someone, or just dump them in the recycling. Imagine being the one at the sorting plant to find that.
We waste such exorbitant amounts of paper daily. For what? To tell me that I can buy a ham at a little cheaper this week? Or to go on about how part of your political platform is to save the environment while you contribute to a pandemic disease of waste? "Oh, but it's printed on recycled paper!"... we should be so lucky. As if the recycling process does not produce any waste, as if glossy paper was so easily created from it just to be reused for your completely retarded purposes.
Coupon clippers most of us are not.
If I ever achieve power, mail advertising shall be banned permanently. Enforced by forcing the offender to wear a tie tightly, and putting it through a paper shredder with person still attached until the machine stalled from the strain. Then perhaps community service at a recycling plant. For life.
But I digress.
I shall chew through the book within a few hours, I am certain. But to review an academic work with only a day's time to work (to incur the minimum penalty)? I don't know if I can do that well enough.
I started, sometime last night after midnight while hoping fervently that this book would arrive today and unable to go to bed, the first of Stephen Fry's books (which I had also picked up in that fit of binge book-buying) entitled The Liar. It was a masterpiece. I finished it sometime around 5AM and promptly, having tired my eyes out, fell asleep with only the slight encouragement of a double of Dalwhinnie, only to wake up five hours later, chugging a Red Bull and dashing downstairs to check if this new book had yet arrived.
I just noticed that last I wrote on books I reverted back to the schoolboy standard of underlining they teach you for MLA rather than italicizing, which seems to be the current trend in most journalistic publications, simply because underlining is hideous.
I had a sad and disturbing thought that I may never find a calling suitable for my pursuits. I want to disappear, to travel, to learn at least ten new languages. Not in a classroom where the knowledge fades, but from regular use and practice.
I want to be able to fluent enough to read Hegel, or Al-Farabi, or Dostoevsky in the originals.
I think I shall also learn to sail at some point. I have always loved the ocean...
I have such dreams, but to chase them and leave everyone behind... I cannot bring myself to hurt any more people consciously than I have already by accident.
I know photography has been a deep calling for me some time, and I will always love it and pursue it, but this I can do anywhere. Better yet, I wish to do it everywhere. And I will continue pursuing the perfect photo to the ends of the world.
But it's not intellectually stimulating, is it? It's pleasing to my creative side, which no longer retains the faculties to make wonderful music or draw better than anyone else in grade-school. There are far better people for that than I, and I don't have the same passion for those endeavors. But I love photography, and always will... but it is not, as I have said, intellectually stimulating.
And I might add a quick quip, neither is undergraduate work, for the most part.
I have resolved, in addition to course work, to read a book a day from now on when I am not far too busy. It may be a costly habit, as I have developed a marked dislike for the way people treat library books, and the way I might treat them. I destroy books from continuous use... if I own them I have no compunctions against doing so, as I can repair them simply with tape, so long as the words are still there it is of worth to me, I care not for the condition of the book so long as the words are there. After all, there is no worth to a book more valuable than the words contained inside. The worth is not in the bindings or the quality of paper used.
But a library's purpose is th storage of words and knowledge. To destroy the books is criminal, to hamper their ability to last generations.
It may be costly but in the last four years... I cannot say that University has not given me new insight into life. Maybe not so much in my course material, most of which I enjoy researching on my own so much (though even the smallest new insights are worth the money, I suppose)... but I do define costly in a new way, as to value, anyway. Time and money, really. I used to think myself a socialist but I wonder how much of that is still true? Either way, money and time spent are both relative to what they are purchasing. Books are a goodness, and they are worth the money. Vices, in moderation, are well spent too, keeping the mind sane and prepared to meet each new thing. Prof. Rajaee, for all his personal anecdotes (which is unsurprising, given that he heads Humanities) hit it on the nail as I was thinking about it in class with an analogy on McDonalds and its worth. He posited to the class that it was the most expensive food on earth.
I think that's true. But only relative in that generally I don't have a McDonald's craving all the time. Despite its worth as utter crap, sometimes satisfying that craving, with money and with time, serves to further productivity in other areas. And that, I think occasionally justifies the expense.
Loathe am I to compare any food to tobacco or drink, but as it is McDonald's... it is like cigarettes or alcohol. The creative juices of some of the greatest minds in history needed lubrication and often much needed relief from constant thought and creating, to enable more genius to pour forth. In that sense, the vices were worth the cost. But vices used destructively, not for creation nor for self-discovery or any noble enterprise, is worthless. McDonald's is such a vice.
Hmm, I shall propose this thought to Prof. Rajaee. He may like it, or he may not, but since he brought it up in class he may be willing to discuss it.
A new thought, based on the previous: Dionysian excesses I've had at Mike's Place, conversations with professors and other students there, take on a different tone now. While I do believe I can speak with professors outside of such situations these excesses take away any awkwardness on my part (and perhaps theirs, I like to think) and allow for common ground, aside from the fact that despite the tremendous catalogue in their memories of information, they too are still learning. These conversations themselves have quite possibly taught me more than anything I have learned in my own course of research and profuse reading.
So like in the McDonald's example then, if something normally with little worth serves a good, is it still then ignoble? I understand the other bit of the worth analogy, that fine dining or simply healthier food is preferable to McDonalds, and I may have drifted a bit from the original analogy but the question still stands. And I think the case above exemplifies it.
For that alone, despite the fact that I am not a model student (a genius that doesn't apply themselves at school is no genius at all, at least not on paper) and will probably be here at Carleton years yet, has made the years and money worth it. In fact, despite the overwhelming desire to get out of here and further my learning by travelling and working around the world... it gives me some solace that I will be here for some time yet. I've never felt that before. I still intend to do my side research, and learn to read in every language imaginable by way of living them. But until then... I do believe I am at peace with being here and learning what I can of life's lessons here.
Time for me to bury myself in Prof. Mottahedeh's insights into Islamic society and to ingratiate myself in a letter later to Prof. Rajaee for the relative lateness of my assignment. I will have to be brilliant in this paper.
A girl I met at Minglewoods the other day tracked me down and had some questions. Generally about whether not I'd taken her virginity, veiled accusations of impropriety... an altogether unpleasant affair, when I was nothing but the very model of sainthood. Well, sainthood as applied to a philanderer, but sainthood nonetheless.
I wrote her a response that I will share now simply because I think it's good advice for anyone who hasn't yet learned self control, and hope that no one I'll actually pick up in the future reads it. =)
To maintain privacy and prevent potential public embarrassment to someone I think is probably otherwise a sweet girl, I shall not address the issue again, nor will I brook any questions on the subject. If you saw it happen or know about it, you would be wise to stick your nose someplace it belongs. I post this to inform, not to engender gossip.
I am giving her the benefit of the doubt, but I would be lying if I said I wasn't mildly displeased. Not only were her questions incredibly naive (and ridiculous), but to drape accusations of impropriety in a letter that included short placating quips, such as compliments on my work? As if I need some girl I met at a club to tell me I'm a good photographer while she's slipping insults behind them. God am I ever so easily stalkable, apparently.
Relax, you were at Minglewoods... these things happen. As to taking your virginity, I don't know how you'd expect or even think I could've done so in a crowded bar. Nor would I have, being that you were extremely intoxicated. We made out on the dance floor and danced, but that was it, besides the fact that you gave me a ridiculous hickie on my neck, forcing me to wear turtlenecks for the next while.I hate to point it out, but if you're upset at me then you're being extremely irrational. I've had plenty of people upset at me, and usually for very, very good reasons. This isn't one. I didn't take advantage of you whatsoever, and you might recall that you made the first move. All I wanted was one of your friend's cigarettes, and the "I was drunk" theory doesn't fly when you were far more sober when you made the first move. I left you with your friends after it was apparent that you were plastered, and I assume they took care of you. They are your friends, after all.
I should be the one offended. Despite being a socialite, I have never even come close to the implication that I had remotely taken advantage of someone. I bought you drinks... that's what people tend to do at clubs. The implication otherwise is extremely offensive to me, and an attack on my personality and reputation. I may be philanderous, but I do not, ever, take advantage of someone. Any rumours you hear to the contrary are fictions invented in large part by over-dramatic journalism students intent on manufacturing gossip. I don't begrudge you this time simply because you are, as they say, inexperienced, a first-year, and don't yet know your own limits.
I may venture to give you some advice, however. I have seen a lot of people come into University never before having drank, had sex, done drugs, and throw themselves into it with far too much abandon. While vices make us human, it is unwise to test the waters without moderation. Alcohol is an inhibition reducer, but as far as I could tell you were well within your limits in terms of self-control for a majority of the time. What I find with alcohol is that it brings your desires to the surface, things you would otherwise not act upon, you do. From your body language and the way you leapt (literally, several times) onto me I would posit that, if you are serious about maintaining your virginity, the seriously examine your inner urges, because it certainly seems as though part of you doesn't. And, I would suggest, you need to learn to drink without completely losing control of yourself.
It is very possible to maintain relative control while drinking. Dionysus may be a fickle god, and his devices may make you wish to lose your mind, but he only inflicts it upon people who do not acknowledge their own motives and don't approach their vices in moderation.
As to being embarrassed, don't be. I'm not one to judge people so harshly for being drunk or kissing me. If you're getting flak from your friends or anyone else for what happened, tell them to grow up. Welcome to University. Everyone who lived sheltered before goes through this same initial period of a lack of self-control. It happens all the time. You were fortunate that I am not the usual Minglewoods patron and didn't take advantage of you, and you're fortunate that I am in a relatively good mood today and do not take the veiled insinuation as to otherwise as an offense.
You'll catch on to the important lessons soon enough. None of it is really to be found in school.
Feel free to keep in touch, especially if you have any more questions.
Take care,
Johann
Really. I surprise myself sometimes. When am I ever this reasonable?
I spent an exorbitant amount of money yesterday on books. One, particularly, drew me in, and how appropriate it was.
Stephen Fry's The Stars' Tennis Balls is unerringly brilliant. Like it predecessor, The Count of Monte Cristo, I simply could not put it down, reading it over dinner, as I played a staggering game of chess... putting it down only to indulge in a night of vices.
I, an admirer of Dumas' ethos of divine vengeance, have long been unfulfilled by its overwhelming sanity.
Now satisfied, I think now I shall go insane.
I'd like to note that in-flight magazines are dangerous. All sorts of wonderful restaurants and hotels I'd love to spend money at...
And I have, lately, had an overwhelming urge to marry Ivanka Trump.
We all have a desire to be a little bad. To push boundaries.
Strangers once filled that hole for me... they don't any longer. Perhaps its the acknowledgement that it's not really bad at all...
In the last year I've pushed other boundaries. Some friendships have taken a different tone. Soft touches where they shouldn't be, little musings... they're bound to end horribly. But I persist.
All because I like being... a little bad.
I just want to say "I love you" to someone again.
It's been so long. So many people inbetween.
Is that so wrong?
*laughs*
Apparently I am a hero to some people. Men, usually.
Let me tell you something, guys. You don't want my life. Yeah, I've had fun with it, done some wonderful things and people, but at what cost?
If you don't think it costs you anything, you'd be wrong. I'm not talking about integrity, or any stupid concept that has no bearing on reality... I'm talking... friendship, trust. Those things can be measured... and those things can be lost.
*laughs* I have very few regrets, really. But those few are still rather unpleasant. And they do hurt.
I pride myself in being able to take hot foods well... but I think even I am afraid of my latest hot sauce purchase. I found it at Herb & Spice a while back and picked it up. The first time I used it, I made the mistake of not reading the label and using a large glob of the stuff. Still ate the food but it was exhilarating agony the entire time. Puts me at mind of the insanity peppers from the Simpson's episode I saw last night.
If I had read the label, I would've noticed this:
"A great cooking ingredient for sauces, soups and stews. Also, strips waxed floors and removes driveway grease stains. Enjoy!"
Apparently it's the only sauce to ever have been banned for being "too hot" from the Fiery Foods and Barbeque Show, according to its Wikipedia article. I now currently use it by dipping a chopstick into it and stirring or wiping what gets stuck to the chopstick on the food I'm making. Tasty.
You can order it here.
Photos from Utah!
Moab: Album 1
