So, today is the first day of summer. It’s the kind of day that makes me wonder why I live here. I remember, before I left Nova Scotia to return here a few years ago, it was near the end of a streak of 40 straight days of sunshine and temps in the thirties—that’s EVERY day beginning in early June. And it was still sunny and warm when I left. Even the winters were warmer and sunnier. And we haven’t seen the sunshine in nearly a week now. A couple of weekends were really nice—just the way summer should be—but you can never take that kind of weather for granted here.
I mean, I do appreciate where we live. Whenever I grouse about the crappy rain, drizzle, fog, and cold some optimistic soul always points out that it could be worse—we could be getting the massive hurricanes, tornadoes, earthquakes, smog alerts, and brush fires like they get in those places with warm weather. Yes, they’re right, although sometimes I’m not so sure that we won’t be getting those things in the next decade or so. But for now, I concede that our weather isn’t that extreme, and that’s something I truly am grateful for.
My wife and I lived in British Columbia about nine years or so ago, though not for very long. We were enticed out there by well-meaning relatives who kept telling us how mild the winters were. Well, on the fifteenth of November that year, we were moving to a new apartment…and it snowed, and snowed, and snowed. 100 centimetres! And I didn’t own snow boots or wool socks. Most snow they’d seen in decades apparently. Then a week later: another 100 centimetres, and twice more around Christmas time their were massive snow storms. They had to close roads and call in the army to get the highways and byways cleared. It took weeks.
I recall one day in late February waking up one morning and seeing the sun shining in through the kitchen window and realizing: it’s the first time I’ve seen the sun since mid-October of the previous year! That’s a mighty long time without even a glimpse of the sun. It had rained continuously whenever it wasn’t snowing, with only a few cloudy, rainless days in between.
The best weather in B.C., besides the hot, muggy weather of August and September (which I absolutely love and wish we could import) was the lightning storms. They were just spectacular. We lived in the Fraser Valley, in a third-floor apartment, so you could not only hear the thunder roaring and rolling from mountain to mountain, but you could also watch the chain lightning get caught in this bowl of rock, just zinging back and forth, lighting up the sky and everything beneath it. I recall standing out on the balcony, overlooking the downtown, the rain pouring down in sheets, and the thunder and lightning like nothing I’d ever seen before. Just incredible. Almost as great as the total lunar eclipse on the night of the full moon in October. Almost as spectacular as the Fundy tides of Nova Scotia that roll in so fast it can take your breath away or the harvest moon setting over the apple orchards in the Annapolis Valley, the sky painted orange, black, and red, like something out of an Old Testament movie.
I guess, when I think of it, it’s the sameness of the weather here that I love and hate at the same time. I like difference, have never been fond of stagnation. But we have entire weeks of RDF. Granted, I wasn’t fond of the constant threat of earthquakes in B.C., and in Ontario, there was the occasional tornado (one took off the top of a church) and drive-by shootings a few miles away (which, in a strange way, is weather-related because most of the real wackos like warm weather).
Weather like this—on the first official day of summer—always makes me wonder if we should be on the move again, to somewhere warmer. But then I think of all the times when we were living elsewhere, and I would have given anything for a whiff of salt air or a glance of Cabot Tower or the Atlantic Ocean. That’s usually enough to make me appreciate being back here. I think of all the people who wish they could be here, but have little choice but to go away to find work. Then I think, a little cold weather is not so bad, even in June.
And pretty soon, it really will be summer. Any day now. Yup. Any day now.
GC
Thursday, June 21, 2007
Tuesday, June 5, 2007
The Sound of Singing!
It’s the anniversary of the day I was born, a.k.a my birthday. I’m not overly fond of this day, for some reason. I was going to go on a long diatribe about the (in) significance of birthdays, but instead I wanted to talk about music. (Oh, and it's not that I hate birthdays or celebrating or aging or any of that. I guess I just don't like the expectations that go along with being the centre of attention in that way. Also born on this day: Mark Wahlberg, Cam Neely, Bjorn Borg, and Joe Clarke. What a strange collection of Geminis). For the record, on this day in 2007, I am aghast at the state of the world: Paris is in jail, Lindsay and Britney are in rehab, Anna Nicole is dead, and Canada is nixing on its Kyoto commitments. New Orleans is sinking, and the dollar is rising through the roof. Seven signs that the apocalypse is nigh?)
Anyway, one of my many hobbies, pastimes, interests, wastes of time, ways of fooling around, or whatever you want to call it is downloading music from iTunes. I don’t pirate music (except when someone generously gives me a CD mix or something like that) because, as a writer, artist, and former musician myself—who knows other writers, artists, and musicians—I understand what it means to value the work that someone does. Sometimes, the best way to show that you value someone’s music (or book or whatever) is to pay for it. I know—not very utopian of me. I always thought I was a socialist at heart, but I don’t think that everything should be free. I just think that stealing is wrong, period.
Anyway, enough preaching (I’m just not in the mood today)—just thought I’d throw a few of my latest favorite downloads at you, just for fun:
1. “Working Class Hero”—Green Day. It’s a remake of a John Lennon song from the seventies, but I love what they do to it. Billie Jo Armstrong’s voice is perfect for this song. It gives me chills every time I hear it. He’s so righteous and angry in a way that you rarely heard in such a melodic, poetic way. Most of the anger and self-righteousness you hear on radio these days lacks melody and/or poetry. Hip-hop bores me to death. Metal has no melody. Mostly just primal screaming, which is therapeutic for some, I suppose. Just not me. I like my songs to sound like songs and singing to sound like singing.
2 . Lucy Kaplansky. Who???? Am I the only person who’s never heard of this person. I was at Starbucks one day and they were playing this version of Dylan’s “It Ain’t Me, Babe” (also once covered by Johnny Cash), and the voice is just this beautiful, haunting, expressive female. I went home and searched iTunes for who’s done a cover of that song recently and came up with Lucy Kaplansky. Turned out to be the same one. I liked it so much a downloaded a couple more of her songs. She’s richly talented. I might buy more. (FOLKIE WARNING: I am a huge fan of the female voice, as opposed to the male voice. Especially just a girl and a guitar. Or a piano. Or a banjo. Okay, just kidding about the banjo.) (Oh, unless it’s those Dixie Chicks—love ‘em.)
3. “Top of the World” by the Dixie Chicks and “Not Ready to Make Nice” by the Chicks. They play their own instruments extremely well, and they write articulate, poignant, catchy songs. What’s not to love? Oh, and they hate George W. Bush! I mean, how perfect is that? "Top of the World" is one of my favorite songs of the past three years, just as Lucy Kaplansky is my new favorite singer for the next three weeks.
4. “Space Oddity” by David Bowie. One of my favorite songs of all time. It’s just downright spooky…to me, anyway. How did I get by without having this song in my collection all these years? That’s what iTunes is for.
5. “Tom Sawyer” by Rush. Deadly song. Fantastic lyrics. Possibly their best melody. I was never what you call a huge Rush fan, but when I was writing my short story “Exit the Warrior,” the main character turns on the radio and this song was on. So I had to go listen to the song, and that’s where the title of the story comes from. This is a great song for running, working out, or just listening to. It's just pure rock, with a bit of a roll.
That’s only four out of the two or three hundred songs I’ve got on my mp3 player at the moment. I plan to download a few more over the weekend, and I’ll let you know what I come up with.
Oh, and they’re not necessarily recommendations. It depends on what you like. But it might give you some idea where my head is at. Scary thought.
Have a great day even if you didn’t have a birthday.
GC
Anyway, one of my many hobbies, pastimes, interests, wastes of time, ways of fooling around, or whatever you want to call it is downloading music from iTunes. I don’t pirate music (except when someone generously gives me a CD mix or something like that) because, as a writer, artist, and former musician myself—who knows other writers, artists, and musicians—I understand what it means to value the work that someone does. Sometimes, the best way to show that you value someone’s music (or book or whatever) is to pay for it. I know—not very utopian of me. I always thought I was a socialist at heart, but I don’t think that everything should be free. I just think that stealing is wrong, period.
Anyway, enough preaching (I’m just not in the mood today)—just thought I’d throw a few of my latest favorite downloads at you, just for fun:
1. “Working Class Hero”—Green Day. It’s a remake of a John Lennon song from the seventies, but I love what they do to it. Billie Jo Armstrong’s voice is perfect for this song. It gives me chills every time I hear it. He’s so righteous and angry in a way that you rarely heard in such a melodic, poetic way. Most of the anger and self-righteousness you hear on radio these days lacks melody and/or poetry. Hip-hop bores me to death. Metal has no melody. Mostly just primal screaming, which is therapeutic for some, I suppose. Just not me. I like my songs to sound like songs and singing to sound like singing.
2 . Lucy Kaplansky. Who???? Am I the only person who’s never heard of this person. I was at Starbucks one day and they were playing this version of Dylan’s “It Ain’t Me, Babe” (also once covered by Johnny Cash), and the voice is just this beautiful, haunting, expressive female. I went home and searched iTunes for who’s done a cover of that song recently and came up with Lucy Kaplansky. Turned out to be the same one. I liked it so much a downloaded a couple more of her songs. She’s richly talented. I might buy more. (FOLKIE WARNING: I am a huge fan of the female voice, as opposed to the male voice. Especially just a girl and a guitar. Or a piano. Or a banjo. Okay, just kidding about the banjo.) (Oh, unless it’s those Dixie Chicks—love ‘em.)
3. “Top of the World” by the Dixie Chicks and “Not Ready to Make Nice” by the Chicks. They play their own instruments extremely well, and they write articulate, poignant, catchy songs. What’s not to love? Oh, and they hate George W. Bush! I mean, how perfect is that? "Top of the World" is one of my favorite songs of the past three years, just as Lucy Kaplansky is my new favorite singer for the next three weeks.
4. “Space Oddity” by David Bowie. One of my favorite songs of all time. It’s just downright spooky…to me, anyway. How did I get by without having this song in my collection all these years? That’s what iTunes is for.
5. “Tom Sawyer” by Rush. Deadly song. Fantastic lyrics. Possibly their best melody. I was never what you call a huge Rush fan, but when I was writing my short story “Exit the Warrior,” the main character turns on the radio and this song was on. So I had to go listen to the song, and that’s where the title of the story comes from. This is a great song for running, working out, or just listening to. It's just pure rock, with a bit of a roll.
That’s only four out of the two or three hundred songs I’ve got on my mp3 player at the moment. I plan to download a few more over the weekend, and I’ll let you know what I come up with.
Oh, and they’re not necessarily recommendations. It depends on what you like. But it might give you some idea where my head is at. Scary thought.
Have a great day even if you didn’t have a birthday.
GC
Tuesday, May 29, 2007
Awards and all that Jazz
I’m not going to pretend that awards don’t mean anything. I''mpretty sure that they do. But I think it’s worth looking into what they really mean.
Saturday night, I picked up a literary award at the 55th annual provincial arts and letters awards gala in the short fiction category, for my short story, “Exit the Warrior”(excerpt at http://www.tcr.gov.nl.ca/artsandletters/winning_entries.htm). Every year, I make it a point to enter this competition for several reasons. One is that it’s probably the most prestigious literary award in the province. Without exception, every major author from Newfoundland has won several of these awards for fiction and/or poetry: Kenneth Harvey, Lisa Moore, Wayne Johnston, Michael Crummey, Tom Dawe, Kevin Major…and the list goes on and on. It seems that if you want to be taken seriously—better yet if want to take YOURSELF seriously—as a writer in this province, you’ve got to prove you can make it in the arts and letters competition first. It’s a real proving ground, it seems.
And it’s true. The competition is fierce, simply because the prize money is incredibly good ($1,000) and therefore all of the best writers in the province, or most of them at least, enter the fray. I’m sure that some of them don’t (not every year anyway), but sooner or later they all do if they still live here. So you get a chance to judge yourself alongside some of these heavyweight authors. I’ve won four of these in the past seven years, including the big award, the Percy Janes First Novel Award (for an unpublished manuscript) and every time I try and put it in perspective: what does it really mean? Does it do anything for you to win awards like this?
They are prestigious, without doubt. They can make you feel good, definitely. It’s nice to be seen and nice to win some money, and nice to prove to yourself that you’ve got what it takes. As I said, I test myself every year: in January or early February, I challenge myself to write a new short story. That’s it. That’s the challenge. Just knowing that I have a deadline to meet and that what I write has to be good or it won’t make the cut gives me the incentive to just write something. That, as I’ve said before, is most of the battle won when it comes to successful writing.
When a story actually wins, though, that’s a whole different story, so to speak. Each of these new stories, especially the ones that have won awards, are part of the ongoing short story collection I’m writing, and just the fact that they’ve done so well already gives me confidence that they’re good. You need that if you’re going to approach a publisher with a proposal.
Anyway, my favorite part of the awards gala, believe it or not, is NOT picking up the award and shaking hands with the minister of tourism and culture (although he seems to be a nice guy). No, my favorite part has to do with the other people involved, especially the young ones. As soon as I learned two weeks ago that I was invited to the awards ceremony (which means you’ve won an award), my second thought—right after, COOL! I won—was that I was going to be in the privileged position of sitting in on one of the best nights of entertainment around. In the junior category, there are young people from all over the province, including as far away as St. Anthony and Labrador, who came all the way to St. John’s for this night. And many of them read from their winning entries or played winning musical compositions. And their talent is staggering. With many of the writers, I found myself thinking that there is no way that I could write that well at the age of thirteen. Forget it. And the musical performers were amazing. I was just enthralled for the entire two hours. As I said to my wife, who was with me, when you look around at all the talent, you can’t help but feel that you’re in the presence of greatness, in the sense that there is so much ability and it is so special and makes you feel so good about the people you’re with and the place you come from. As far as I know, this competition is unique in Canadian arts, and it’s one of the few things that J.R. Smallwood did right.
It was a great evening also to get the chance to see and talk to some people in the arts community that I either know or don’t know and rarely get a chance to see. It can really make you feel, as a writer, that you belong. And that’s all a part of actually belonging.
There’s other news about my writing, but I’ll share that next time. I’m tired of talking about myself—a topic I grow weary of pretty quickly.
Oh, and what do awards mean? It means you’re doing something right. Now it’s time to go back to work. That’s what it means. Because, in the end, it’s still about the work itself—the writing and the privilege of being able to do that and, occasionally, if you’re lucky, you get told that what you’re doing is worth something.
G
Saturday night, I picked up a literary award at the 55th annual provincial arts and letters awards gala in the short fiction category, for my short story, “Exit the Warrior”(excerpt at http://www.tcr.gov.nl.ca/artsandletters/winning_entries.htm). Every year, I make it a point to enter this competition for several reasons. One is that it’s probably the most prestigious literary award in the province. Without exception, every major author from Newfoundland has won several of these awards for fiction and/or poetry: Kenneth Harvey, Lisa Moore, Wayne Johnston, Michael Crummey, Tom Dawe, Kevin Major…and the list goes on and on. It seems that if you want to be taken seriously—better yet if want to take YOURSELF seriously—as a writer in this province, you’ve got to prove you can make it in the arts and letters competition first. It’s a real proving ground, it seems.
And it’s true. The competition is fierce, simply because the prize money is incredibly good ($1,000) and therefore all of the best writers in the province, or most of them at least, enter the fray. I’m sure that some of them don’t (not every year anyway), but sooner or later they all do if they still live here. So you get a chance to judge yourself alongside some of these heavyweight authors. I’ve won four of these in the past seven years, including the big award, the Percy Janes First Novel Award (for an unpublished manuscript) and every time I try and put it in perspective: what does it really mean? Does it do anything for you to win awards like this?
They are prestigious, without doubt. They can make you feel good, definitely. It’s nice to be seen and nice to win some money, and nice to prove to yourself that you’ve got what it takes. As I said, I test myself every year: in January or early February, I challenge myself to write a new short story. That’s it. That’s the challenge. Just knowing that I have a deadline to meet and that what I write has to be good or it won’t make the cut gives me the incentive to just write something. That, as I’ve said before, is most of the battle won when it comes to successful writing.
When a story actually wins, though, that’s a whole different story, so to speak. Each of these new stories, especially the ones that have won awards, are part of the ongoing short story collection I’m writing, and just the fact that they’ve done so well already gives me confidence that they’re good. You need that if you’re going to approach a publisher with a proposal.
Anyway, my favorite part of the awards gala, believe it or not, is NOT picking up the award and shaking hands with the minister of tourism and culture (although he seems to be a nice guy). No, my favorite part has to do with the other people involved, especially the young ones. As soon as I learned two weeks ago that I was invited to the awards ceremony (which means you’ve won an award), my second thought—right after, COOL! I won—was that I was going to be in the privileged position of sitting in on one of the best nights of entertainment around. In the junior category, there are young people from all over the province, including as far away as St. Anthony and Labrador, who came all the way to St. John’s for this night. And many of them read from their winning entries or played winning musical compositions. And their talent is staggering. With many of the writers, I found myself thinking that there is no way that I could write that well at the age of thirteen. Forget it. And the musical performers were amazing. I was just enthralled for the entire two hours. As I said to my wife, who was with me, when you look around at all the talent, you can’t help but feel that you’re in the presence of greatness, in the sense that there is so much ability and it is so special and makes you feel so good about the people you’re with and the place you come from. As far as I know, this competition is unique in Canadian arts, and it’s one of the few things that J.R. Smallwood did right.
It was a great evening also to get the chance to see and talk to some people in the arts community that I either know or don’t know and rarely get a chance to see. It can really make you feel, as a writer, that you belong. And that’s all a part of actually belonging.
There’s other news about my writing, but I’ll share that next time. I’m tired of talking about myself—a topic I grow weary of pretty quickly.
Oh, and what do awards mean? It means you’re doing something right. Now it’s time to go back to work. That’s what it means. Because, in the end, it’s still about the work itself—the writing and the privilege of being able to do that and, occasionally, if you’re lucky, you get told that what you’re doing is worth something.
G
Monday, May 21, 2007
Summer?!
It's finally here! What a glorious few days we've had. The sun is shining, the birds are singing, and I've got a song in my heart, metaphorically speaking of course. I've even managed to get out jogging these past couple of days. I'm not one of those cold-weather joggers that you see all bundled up, with their steel-belted running shoes, toques, and snow suits, trekking along Elizabeth Avenue in the freezing wind and below-zero temps. Forget it.
I love running. I always have, really. Since my late teens, I've loved stepping into my shorts, a t-shirt, and running shoes and hitting the pavement...although in recent years, I prefer the soft ground. It's just easier on the joints. Not as much chance of shin splints. I even met my wife at the end of a long jog up the afore-mentioned Elizabeth Avenue. It was a sunny, warm evening in early September, a lot of years ago, and I got a call from my best friend, asking what I was up to. A friend of his was in town, and since I was getting ready to go running, I ran the six miles or so to his place and met this beautiful young girl of eighteen who stole my heart. I was nineteen at the time, so it was legit. We spent the whole night talking and four years later, we were were married.
There's something about running that I've always loved. It's the fast movement. Pushing the body to go for as long and (sometimes) as fast as it will go. But it's more than the exercise. I've never been crazy about exercise for it's own sake. But I find that running is meditative. It's almost like a trance. Nowadays, I carry my mp3 player and listen to my special "Running Man" folder, with all kinds of cool songs on it. But when I reach a stretch of the path that runs alongside a pond and is sheltered in trees, with hardly a breath of wind, I switch of the music and listen to the sounds of nature. It seems sacrilegious to do otherwise. I meet a lot of the same people on my journey, so it's become somewhat of a community--lots of friendly faces, smiling and waving. But there's lots of entertaining stuff to see too. Occasionally, I get a squirrel crossing my path. Lots of bright colored birds swoop down right in front of me. Yesterday I saw two beautiful, speeding finches. They tend to fly ahead just a bit and stop, wait for me to catch up (or so it seems) and then they fly off again. One time last year, there was this great big monarch butterfly that stopped in the path in front of me. When I stopped and bent down, holding out my hand, the butterfly flew right into my palm and stayed there for a couple of minutes. Those kinds of things are part of what I love my about jogging. It's the outdoors, the adrenaline rush, the exercise of course, the people, and the staying in shape after a horribly long winter.
As I said, I can't run in cold weather. I won't. So I've been waiting...and waiting. I've gotten out a few times this spring, but there's nothing like that first time I can shed the track pants and sweat shirt and just go in shorts and t-shirt. It's like a rush of freedom.
So I went out yesterday and today, and just loved it. In between working on my novel, of course. The end isn't in sight yet, but it's getting there. The running actually helps clear my brain. Sometimes, I think up plot points and ideas for characters while I'm out there.
Any other runners out there? I'd love to hear from you!
Gerard
Over the years
I love running. I always have, really. Since my late teens, I've loved stepping into my shorts, a t-shirt, and running shoes and hitting the pavement...although in recent years, I prefer the soft ground. It's just easier on the joints. Not as much chance of shin splints. I even met my wife at the end of a long jog up the afore-mentioned Elizabeth Avenue. It was a sunny, warm evening in early September, a lot of years ago, and I got a call from my best friend, asking what I was up to. A friend of his was in town, and since I was getting ready to go running, I ran the six miles or so to his place and met this beautiful young girl of eighteen who stole my heart. I was nineteen at the time, so it was legit. We spent the whole night talking and four years later, we were were married.
There's something about running that I've always loved. It's the fast movement. Pushing the body to go for as long and (sometimes) as fast as it will go. But it's more than the exercise. I've never been crazy about exercise for it's own sake. But I find that running is meditative. It's almost like a trance. Nowadays, I carry my mp3 player and listen to my special "Running Man" folder, with all kinds of cool songs on it. But when I reach a stretch of the path that runs alongside a pond and is sheltered in trees, with hardly a breath of wind, I switch of the music and listen to the sounds of nature. It seems sacrilegious to do otherwise. I meet a lot of the same people on my journey, so it's become somewhat of a community--lots of friendly faces, smiling and waving. But there's lots of entertaining stuff to see too. Occasionally, I get a squirrel crossing my path. Lots of bright colored birds swoop down right in front of me. Yesterday I saw two beautiful, speeding finches. They tend to fly ahead just a bit and stop, wait for me to catch up (or so it seems) and then they fly off again. One time last year, there was this great big monarch butterfly that stopped in the path in front of me. When I stopped and bent down, holding out my hand, the butterfly flew right into my palm and stayed there for a couple of minutes. Those kinds of things are part of what I love my about jogging. It's the outdoors, the adrenaline rush, the exercise of course, the people, and the staying in shape after a horribly long winter.
As I said, I can't run in cold weather. I won't. So I've been waiting...and waiting. I've gotten out a few times this spring, but there's nothing like that first time I can shed the track pants and sweat shirt and just go in shorts and t-shirt. It's like a rush of freedom.
So I went out yesterday and today, and just loved it. In between working on my novel, of course. The end isn't in sight yet, but it's getting there. The running actually helps clear my brain. Sometimes, I think up plot points and ideas for characters while I'm out there.
Any other runners out there? I'd love to hear from you!
Gerard
Over the years
Wednesday, May 9, 2007
Spiders, Apes, and Me
I saw Spidey 3 over the weekend and mostly I enjoyed it. The usual stuff was there: Tobey and Kirsten, lots of leaping and swinging (all good, clean fun), thrills, chills, and spills. The special FX are awesome, as usual, though I’ve heard some hard-to-please critics say that there’s nothing new—which is a real problem for me, I have to say. Why must there always be something new? I mean, sure, it would be nice, but it doesn’t seem like a valid criticism to me to say that this movie pushes boundaries, visually, that other movies don’t even dare attempt, but it doesn’t outdo itself. It’s like saying Wayne Gretzky scored 80 goals one year, but, like, he didn’t score any on his back or while flying through the air and knitting an afghan. Good is good. If you feel like you’ve seen it before then, well, geez, buddy: it’s Spiderman THREE! Did you not read the movie poster? It’s a sequel. Read: more of the same.
Anyway, was the movie any good? I’d give it a 77 (those of you who know my grading system will appreciate what that means—it’s not good enough for an A, but it’s still really enjoyable). It is a bit long. There were several fight scenes that just seemed repetitive and pointless and could have been shaved by a minute or so each. I liked all of the characters, but there were just too many conflicts going on at once. If they had removed the one with the Sand Dude, then the movie would have been tidier and probably gotten better reviews. They just went for too much, possibly for fear that there wouldn’t be a fourth movie. There could be another Spiderman movie, and I would definitely go to it. But given the cool reception from critics on this one, it’s unlikely Sam Raimi will want to climb back up on that particular horse for a while, if ever. I’d definitely recommend seeing this one, though, if you’re near a theater. Big screen is always better for any almost any kind of movie. You know what they say: go big or go home. The do say that, don’t they? Whoever “they is”.
Speaking of monkeys (I’m sure someone was), I read on the weekend that Austrian activists are seeking human rights for chimpanzees. That’s hilarious. First of all, they must already have the right to vote. Otherwise, how would George Dubya Bush be elected president? TWICE! Or what hope would Stephen Harper have for a majority government in the next election. Giving monkeys the right to vote is the obvious way to go if you’re a right-wing politician. It’s guaranteed votes. That is, until the monkeys are given the right to an education, which only makes sense. What good are rights unless you’re educated on what those rights are and how they should be used. Once monkeys learn to read and think for themselves, the Republicans and Conservatives might find themselves out of luck once again.
How much time do these activists have on their hands anyway? Not only in Austria, but in Brazil, and several other countries are considering this as well. I understand that they don’t want to elevate chimps to the status of people (at least not most people). They say that they just want to make sure the apes are free from torture and killing, or whatever else science does with them.
I mean, realistically, when you look at them, don’t they look like little people? Those big eyes that look like they’ve seen too much, like they could be your best friend if only you’d give them a chance. Of course, they can’t talk and, as far as we know, they can’t read or think or figure out a Rubik’s Cube. Granted, I have days when I can’t do any of those things either. I’m sure we all do.
While we’re at it, I think we should grant monkeys the right to legal abortion. We should also give them fishing licenses and the right to bear arms. They have the right to defend themselves too. In fact, if this goes through, it might eventually come down to human rights versus chimpanzee rights: if a person hurts a chimp, how will the person be punished? A fight to death, maybe. Or a bake-off. Or maybe a challenge to a banana-eating contest.
But wait a minute: don’t we already have animal rights? Can’t people already be prosecuted for animal cruelty? I don’t know for sure, but it seems to me that the Western World already protects critters as much as possible.
Giving them rights under the law just seems to be taking things a bit far. But that’s just my opinion. I’m sure Amnesty International will shift its focus accordingly. Leave people to fend for themselves: we’ve got chimps who are misunderstood, seals who barely have a say, and mosquitoes who are facing genocide at an alarming rate in many so-called civilized countries. Who speaks for the humble mosquito?
It’s not that I condone cruelty to animals. I don’t. I love animals, especially furry ones that don’t look at you as if you were food. And I do think we need laws to protect them. But to extend “human rights” to that which is clearly not human seems nonsensical. We are the only species which has the ability to effectively legislate itself right out of existence. Why? Because we are the only species with the ability to understand the difference. If you change a monkey’s rights, it doesn’t know and doesn’t care. If you change the definition of a human, then we all know and feel it. It would seriously damage our sense of identity and distinction. Are the animals progressing at our expense? Are we progressing so that we embrace all as one? Or are we too smart for our own good?
It’s enough to make you feel like an endangered species some days.
Gerard
Anyway, was the movie any good? I’d give it a 77 (those of you who know my grading system will appreciate what that means—it’s not good enough for an A, but it’s still really enjoyable). It is a bit long. There were several fight scenes that just seemed repetitive and pointless and could have been shaved by a minute or so each. I liked all of the characters, but there were just too many conflicts going on at once. If they had removed the one with the Sand Dude, then the movie would have been tidier and probably gotten better reviews. They just went for too much, possibly for fear that there wouldn’t be a fourth movie. There could be another Spiderman movie, and I would definitely go to it. But given the cool reception from critics on this one, it’s unlikely Sam Raimi will want to climb back up on that particular horse for a while, if ever. I’d definitely recommend seeing this one, though, if you’re near a theater. Big screen is always better for any almost any kind of movie. You know what they say: go big or go home. The do say that, don’t they? Whoever “they is”.
Speaking of monkeys (I’m sure someone was), I read on the weekend that Austrian activists are seeking human rights for chimpanzees. That’s hilarious. First of all, they must already have the right to vote. Otherwise, how would George Dubya Bush be elected president? TWICE! Or what hope would Stephen Harper have for a majority government in the next election. Giving monkeys the right to vote is the obvious way to go if you’re a right-wing politician. It’s guaranteed votes. That is, until the monkeys are given the right to an education, which only makes sense. What good are rights unless you’re educated on what those rights are and how they should be used. Once monkeys learn to read and think for themselves, the Republicans and Conservatives might find themselves out of luck once again.
How much time do these activists have on their hands anyway? Not only in Austria, but in Brazil, and several other countries are considering this as well. I understand that they don’t want to elevate chimps to the status of people (at least not most people). They say that they just want to make sure the apes are free from torture and killing, or whatever else science does with them.
I mean, realistically, when you look at them, don’t they look like little people? Those big eyes that look like they’ve seen too much, like they could be your best friend if only you’d give them a chance. Of course, they can’t talk and, as far as we know, they can’t read or think or figure out a Rubik’s Cube. Granted, I have days when I can’t do any of those things either. I’m sure we all do.
While we’re at it, I think we should grant monkeys the right to legal abortion. We should also give them fishing licenses and the right to bear arms. They have the right to defend themselves too. In fact, if this goes through, it might eventually come down to human rights versus chimpanzee rights: if a person hurts a chimp, how will the person be punished? A fight to death, maybe. Or a bake-off. Or maybe a challenge to a banana-eating contest.
But wait a minute: don’t we already have animal rights? Can’t people already be prosecuted for animal cruelty? I don’t know for sure, but it seems to me that the Western World already protects critters as much as possible.
Giving them rights under the law just seems to be taking things a bit far. But that’s just my opinion. I’m sure Amnesty International will shift its focus accordingly. Leave people to fend for themselves: we’ve got chimps who are misunderstood, seals who barely have a say, and mosquitoes who are facing genocide at an alarming rate in many so-called civilized countries. Who speaks for the humble mosquito?
It’s not that I condone cruelty to animals. I don’t. I love animals, especially furry ones that don’t look at you as if you were food. And I do think we need laws to protect them. But to extend “human rights” to that which is clearly not human seems nonsensical. We are the only species which has the ability to effectively legislate itself right out of existence. Why? Because we are the only species with the ability to understand the difference. If you change a monkey’s rights, it doesn’t know and doesn’t care. If you change the definition of a human, then we all know and feel it. It would seriously damage our sense of identity and distinction. Are the animals progressing at our expense? Are we progressing so that we embrace all as one? Or are we too smart for our own good?
It’s enough to make you feel like an endangered species some days.
Gerard
Thursday, May 3, 2007
Spiderman, Spiderman...
Does whatever a hmm-hmm can. I can't use any more of the lyrics than that without the expressed written permission of the songwriter or his/her agency.
But I'm going to see the movie tomorrow and I'm completely stoked for it. I've watched the first two in the series again lately in preparation. Not that I'm a complete spidey-geek or anything. I've never owned the spidey leotards or tried to climb walls (lately). I haven't worked for a newspaper (more than once) and I don't go around quoting lines from the movie (mostly because there aren't any memorable ones).
I just love a good popcorn movie, that's all, and I'm a huge fan of both Tobey Maguire and Kirsten Dunst. Plus, it's the first big blockbuster movie of the summer season, and that helps me daydream about warm weather and lazy days. I'm also looking forward to Shrek The Third and Pirates III, as I think most people are. Shrek is just funny as hell, and even though Pirates II was a bit of a mess, I still enjoyed watching Johnny Depp be Captain Jack Sparrow and watching Keira Knightley just be, well, Keira Knightley. She does it so well, and she's a fine actress too.
But there's more than that to look forward to (or maybe I just love the movies way too much). There's The Bourne Ultimatum, which I'm sure I'll have to rent again in December just so I'm not left confused forever about the plot. Ocean's Thirteen (yawn). No Julia Roberts or Catherine Zeta-Jones. But I'll go anyway because Clooney and Pitt crack me up. Die Hard IV (there might be terrorists! Ya think?). I'd also like to see that quirkey "Waitress" movie with the actress from Felicity. Can't remember her name. But it looks interesting. I'm just lookin' to be entertained. Nothing too deep for the summer months. My brain's on vacation.
I admit I'm a sucker for the big Hollywood motion picture, more so than the smaller, edgier independent films. I'm not sure why that is. Maybe I'm just shallow. Or maybe I just like a story with a beginning, middle, and (preferably a good) ending. Criticizing Hollywood is fashionable, of course, and it's certainly not politically correct to admit that you actually enjoy anything that comes out of there. But for every dreckish movie that comes out of that process, there's the occasional gem. You've just got to take the bad with the good, that's all. Or at least, that's what I choose to do.
So my seat is reserved for the summer, and I'll let you know what I think (without giving spoilers though--I hate those), for what it's worth.
Great, now I've got that song going through my head. Brain worm.
Gerard
But I'm going to see the movie tomorrow and I'm completely stoked for it. I've watched the first two in the series again lately in preparation. Not that I'm a complete spidey-geek or anything. I've never owned the spidey leotards or tried to climb walls (lately). I haven't worked for a newspaper (more than once) and I don't go around quoting lines from the movie (mostly because there aren't any memorable ones).
I just love a good popcorn movie, that's all, and I'm a huge fan of both Tobey Maguire and Kirsten Dunst. Plus, it's the first big blockbuster movie of the summer season, and that helps me daydream about warm weather and lazy days. I'm also looking forward to Shrek The Third and Pirates III, as I think most people are. Shrek is just funny as hell, and even though Pirates II was a bit of a mess, I still enjoyed watching Johnny Depp be Captain Jack Sparrow and watching Keira Knightley just be, well, Keira Knightley. She does it so well, and she's a fine actress too.
But there's more than that to look forward to (or maybe I just love the movies way too much). There's The Bourne Ultimatum, which I'm sure I'll have to rent again in December just so I'm not left confused forever about the plot. Ocean's Thirteen (yawn). No Julia Roberts or Catherine Zeta-Jones. But I'll go anyway because Clooney and Pitt crack me up. Die Hard IV (there might be terrorists! Ya think?). I'd also like to see that quirkey "Waitress" movie with the actress from Felicity. Can't remember her name. But it looks interesting. I'm just lookin' to be entertained. Nothing too deep for the summer months. My brain's on vacation.
I admit I'm a sucker for the big Hollywood motion picture, more so than the smaller, edgier independent films. I'm not sure why that is. Maybe I'm just shallow. Or maybe I just like a story with a beginning, middle, and (preferably a good) ending. Criticizing Hollywood is fashionable, of course, and it's certainly not politically correct to admit that you actually enjoy anything that comes out of there. But for every dreckish movie that comes out of that process, there's the occasional gem. You've just got to take the bad with the good, that's all. Or at least, that's what I choose to do.
So my seat is reserved for the summer, and I'll let you know what I think (without giving spoilers though--I hate those), for what it's worth.
Great, now I've got that song going through my head. Brain worm.
Gerard
Wednesday, May 2, 2007
Blue Moon
It's been a week of steady writing and the occasional foray out into the world, but really not much else to report lately. My novel, Darwin Day, is coming along nicely. It's at 138 pages now, or something like that. Once a novel gets past the 100-page mark, then I feel like it's finally, definitely going to get finished. The characters finally feel real to me now, as if they were real people, just waiting to tell me their story as it happened. I don't like to manipulate my characters by making them do things that I would like them to do. The story will feel more organic and less contrived if I just let them do the talking and the thinking while I just do the typing. Any time I've done it the other way around, it just ends badly. I've tried that with short stories and with some novels I've never finished, and those stories never quite seem genuine or successful to me. They never publish either, not surprisingly.
But I do have a good feeling about Darwin Day. It's about a young man who returns to his hometown for a summer weekend festival and winds up dead. Mostly, it's the story of his girlfriend, Bridget, and his friend and mentor, an old man named Francis Minnow--both of them have seen his ghost, but aren't sure what to do about it, especially since the town is filled with possible suspects, including both the dead boy's father and best friend. Death makes for strange bedfellows, you might say, because nothing will bring people closer together than the death of someone they both loved. But nothing will drive a small town apart more than a suspicious death.
Anyway, that's the gist of it. It'll be fun and funny, but serious and poignant at various times. You'll laugh, you'll cry, you'll hurl.
But first I have to finish it, which is why I haven't been blogging much lately. I'll try to do better in that regard in the coming days, though.
At least the weather's getting warmer. I think it was seven degrees today. Wind chill factor of minus four.
I love summer in Newfoundland. Oh, and not only is there a full moon tonight, but another one at the end of the month, making that later one a blue moon. So if you're going to do something special that you rarely get the chance to do, that would be the day to do it, just so you can say to someone, "Geez, I only do this once in a blue moon." Or not.
Gerard
But I do have a good feeling about Darwin Day. It's about a young man who returns to his hometown for a summer weekend festival and winds up dead. Mostly, it's the story of his girlfriend, Bridget, and his friend and mentor, an old man named Francis Minnow--both of them have seen his ghost, but aren't sure what to do about it, especially since the town is filled with possible suspects, including both the dead boy's father and best friend. Death makes for strange bedfellows, you might say, because nothing will bring people closer together than the death of someone they both loved. But nothing will drive a small town apart more than a suspicious death.
Anyway, that's the gist of it. It'll be fun and funny, but serious and poignant at various times. You'll laugh, you'll cry, you'll hurl.
But first I have to finish it, which is why I haven't been blogging much lately. I'll try to do better in that regard in the coming days, though.
At least the weather's getting warmer. I think it was seven degrees today. Wind chill factor of minus four.
I love summer in Newfoundland. Oh, and not only is there a full moon tonight, but another one at the end of the month, making that later one a blue moon. So if you're going to do something special that you rarely get the chance to do, that would be the day to do it, just so you can say to someone, "Geez, I only do this once in a blue moon." Or not.
Gerard
Wednesday, April 25, 2007
Putting the “Mental” Back in “Environmental”
I hope she was kidding. But it’s really hard to tell. So if it’s a joke, it’s not really funny because we can’t tell whether she’s kidding or just demented. Like most people, I’d like to think Sheryl Crow is pulling our collective legs when she says we should reduce toilet paper use down to one square per visit to the [insert euphemism here].
One square? Talk about minimalism. Even the folks on “Lost” probably use more than that on their deserted island. Granted, that’s fiction. I mean big Hurley hasn’t lost any weight yet either and they’ve been on that island for months. On the other hand, if island living made you thinner I wouldn’t have to go jogging tomorrow and I’d probably eat every food that was bad for me for every meal.
When I was growing up (as I’ve said before, I’m a Recovering Catholic), we gave up certain things for Lent. You know, things we really enjoyed, like television, candy, chocolate bars, teasing our younger sister, or giving the babysitter a hard time. Besides, it hardly ever lasted anyway. And rightfully so. Giving things up is an exercise in self-control that might be put to better use by just trying to be a better person or volunteering in the community or something like that.
Still, maybe self-denial is good for the soul. But Sheryl Crow isn’t talking about any forty days and nights in the desert here. She’s saying cut your toilet paper usage back gradually until eventually you are using the very bare minimum…forever. I assume she means for “one” to be the bare minimum, because I don’t think that most of us are ready to live in a world without toilet paper. It would be Communist Russia all over again, where the lineups for toilet paper were longer than those at Motor Vehicle Registration in Mount Pearl (which reminds me: why is the DMV in Mount Pearl and not in St. John’s? Shouldn’t there be one in both cities? And if CBS, Gander, Corner Brook, and Lab City don’t have one, they should be there as well). But I digress.
Sheryl says it’s “a good thing just that we’re all talking” about this issue. By “this issue,” I assume she means the environment and not just toilet paper.
It’s her way to get us thinking about the things we use every day without thinking about how we are destroying the environment, leaving a legacy of devastation behind us for our children, so to speak. Something to think about next time you use the toilet.
I also heard this week that the frequency from cell phones is destroying the ability of honeybees to produce honey, which is not only creating a shortage of honey (no more Honeycombs! Oh, the humanity!) but driving up prices of the honey that’s been made. First oil and gasoline, and now honey. What’s next?
I know, I know: toilet paper. I’m willing to bet there’s going to be a toilet paper tax eventually just like there is on cigarettes—and the more you use, the more you pay. I’m not kidding. So if you’ve got a bad addiction to Cottonelle or that luxurious White Swan stuff, you’re really in for a tough time of it in the Brave New World. I mean, it’s worse than crack (pardon the pun)—you can’t just give up the soft stuff overnight and start buying that cheap budget t.p. that can be used to sand down the walls before plastering. It’s going to take serious time and effort to wean yourself off your current habit.
It just seems to me that we’re being asked to give up everything or cut back on everything. It’s like those medieval monks who were into self-flagellation and self-denial—no sex, no wine, no speaking, nothing pleasurable at all until all you’re left with is the bare minimum.
But I’ll bet they never gave up toilet paper. (Or whatever they used to vanquish their holy crap.)
I’m all for helping out the environment in any way I can. But if this is what it comes to, I’ll voice my opinion in the next election, and if this becomes a political (t)issue, I know exactly what I’ll do.
I’ll vote the bums out.
Gerard
One square? Talk about minimalism. Even the folks on “Lost” probably use more than that on their deserted island. Granted, that’s fiction. I mean big Hurley hasn’t lost any weight yet either and they’ve been on that island for months. On the other hand, if island living made you thinner I wouldn’t have to go jogging tomorrow and I’d probably eat every food that was bad for me for every meal.
When I was growing up (as I’ve said before, I’m a Recovering Catholic), we gave up certain things for Lent. You know, things we really enjoyed, like television, candy, chocolate bars, teasing our younger sister, or giving the babysitter a hard time. Besides, it hardly ever lasted anyway. And rightfully so. Giving things up is an exercise in self-control that might be put to better use by just trying to be a better person or volunteering in the community or something like that.
Still, maybe self-denial is good for the soul. But Sheryl Crow isn’t talking about any forty days and nights in the desert here. She’s saying cut your toilet paper usage back gradually until eventually you are using the very bare minimum…forever. I assume she means for “one” to be the bare minimum, because I don’t think that most of us are ready to live in a world without toilet paper. It would be Communist Russia all over again, where the lineups for toilet paper were longer than those at Motor Vehicle Registration in Mount Pearl (which reminds me: why is the DMV in Mount Pearl and not in St. John’s? Shouldn’t there be one in both cities? And if CBS, Gander, Corner Brook, and Lab City don’t have one, they should be there as well). But I digress.
Sheryl says it’s “a good thing just that we’re all talking” about this issue. By “this issue,” I assume she means the environment and not just toilet paper.
It’s her way to get us thinking about the things we use every day without thinking about how we are destroying the environment, leaving a legacy of devastation behind us for our children, so to speak. Something to think about next time you use the toilet.
I also heard this week that the frequency from cell phones is destroying the ability of honeybees to produce honey, which is not only creating a shortage of honey (no more Honeycombs! Oh, the humanity!) but driving up prices of the honey that’s been made. First oil and gasoline, and now honey. What’s next?
I know, I know: toilet paper. I’m willing to bet there’s going to be a toilet paper tax eventually just like there is on cigarettes—and the more you use, the more you pay. I’m not kidding. So if you’ve got a bad addiction to Cottonelle or that luxurious White Swan stuff, you’re really in for a tough time of it in the Brave New World. I mean, it’s worse than crack (pardon the pun)—you can’t just give up the soft stuff overnight and start buying that cheap budget t.p. that can be used to sand down the walls before plastering. It’s going to take serious time and effort to wean yourself off your current habit.
It just seems to me that we’re being asked to give up everything or cut back on everything. It’s like those medieval monks who were into self-flagellation and self-denial—no sex, no wine, no speaking, nothing pleasurable at all until all you’re left with is the bare minimum.
But I’ll bet they never gave up toilet paper. (Or whatever they used to vanquish their holy crap.)
I’m all for helping out the environment in any way I can. But if this is what it comes to, I’ll voice my opinion in the next election, and if this becomes a political (t)issue, I know exactly what I’ll do.
I’ll vote the bums out.
Gerard
Monday, April 23, 2007
Making the Grade
Good luck to all of you receiving your final grades this afternoon. I hope you get what you deserve, not only in English, but in all courses.
These in-between days are weird. No snow in sight (yet), and I woke this morning to see a blast of sunshine on my bedroom wall around 6:30 a.m.. Then it disappeared and now it looks and feels very much like a gray, dull kind of day is developing.
I have a theory that these are the days when you find out what you’re made of. Anybody can leap out of bed, ready to take on the world on a spectacular, sunny day in July. But it takes true heart to slog through the gray days of April and still feel like you accomplished something worthwhile.
My wife and I watched Spiderman yesterday afternoon because, with the new movie coming out in early May, we thought it would be fun to re-visit and remember what the first instalment in the series was all about. And it was just as good as I remembered, if not better. Spiderman is one of those rare comic-book movies that gives the characters a decidedly dark edge, making the protagonist all-too-human, meaning that he is vulnerable, makes mistakes of judgement and action and even suffers the consequences for it. Spidey hurts the ones he loves even more than he hurts those loathes. Oh, and I couldn’t help but notice the dual personality of The Green Goblin a la Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde—the mad scientist who creates a secondary, evil creature that he soon finds he is unable to control. Of course, isn’t that what Spiderman is all about?
Funny how all heroes need to wear masks. Most of them anyway. I mean, sure there’s Superman who takes off his glasses, shows off his blue tights, and tousles his hair in a slightly different mode (I can’t tell the difference; can you? Only his hair dresser knows for sure). The wearing of a mask would only take away from his natural good looks, and that’s partly what his character is about. There are others, I guess, who don’t wear masks, but the majority of them do. Batman is a gazillionaire by day, who couldn’t dare to let the world know that he is the caped crusader in tights, a cowl, and a codpiece. I guess I wouldn’t be too eager to share that information either.
And they all have their reasons for being secretive. Partly, it has to do with the necessity of keeping the world at bay so that the superheroes are free to save it in their own way. It would be pretty hard to save the world if the bad guys knew where you lived and all the rest of it.
But I think it also has to do with the idea of the secret lifestyle—the idea that we all have a hidden side of ourselves that’s just waiting to come to the surface. Sometimes that hidden side is better than our “real” selves (the one we present in public); but most times it’s a side that is darker than the face we present to the world. Comic book heroes struggle with such broad, seemingly disparate concepts as “good” and “evil” as if there were no shades of gray. Fair enough. It’s only entertainment, after all.
But most of us in the so-called real world don’t have that luxury of recognizing good or evil in stark, unwavering, clearly identifiable terms. Sure, we know that school shootings, rape, and genocide are acts of evil (though more and more, the g.d. media presents us with the voice and manifesto of the monster and thereby creates literal sympathy for the devil among certain people who are probably bent that way anyway). But it can all get so confusing—you might find yourself recognizing humanity (a cry for understanding, a plea that “society drove me to it”) in the monster’s voice and, even though you know he/she is still a scourge upon society, there is that twinge of doubt in your mind—that part of you that wonders: did I have any part in this? Did the things that I believe in, that society believes in, our intolerance of difference, our pursuit of personal wealth and happiness, and all the rest of it, play some role in the creation of this monster?
The questions are worthwhile, but potentially damaging. They can blind us to formerly stable concepts such as truth, justice, and (cough, cough) the American way. We’re more and more becoming a society that is incapable of meting out justice because we are handcuffed by our own moral quandaries, while the “bad guys” feel free to mete out their own justice without fear of consequence. Sometimes alienation, death, and martyrdom are exactly what they want more than anything; it is often what they are.
Spiderman has similar dilemmas. But he at least tries and is rarely handcuffed, though, like most of us, occasionally finds himself entrapped in a web of his own making.
Days like these (by which I mean every day), we each have the potential to be heroes in our own lives. (I distinguish heroes from superheroes in the same way that I distinguish models from supermodels, sizes from super-sizes, and dupers from super-dupers: the “super” version has powers that are way off the charts and immeasurable in their potential for both good and bad.) I mean, you can wake up in the morning (or whenever you wake up) and you can decide: will I take out the garbage today or let it pile up in the corner until the town officials break down my door and declare me a nuisance to society? Will I be nice to the cashier at Wal-mart who’s just having a hard day or will I be a part of the problem by being nasty right back at her/him?
There are lots of ways to be a hero. And most of us choose that route without even knowing it. I’m always impressed with people who constantly do the right thing, who make themselves get up and go to work every morning and usually manage to keep a genuine smile on their face. There’s a very ordinary kind of heroism involved there. It only takes a school shooting or a daylight robbery, or some idiot setting fire to a warehouse or scribbling grafitti on someone else’s storefront to make us realize that normal isn’t as bland as it appears to be. Normal sometimes takes a lot of courage, especially when we are constantly bombarded with examples of extraordinary evil or just evil in its many shades.
Sometimes, I believe, the most heroic thing you can do is just choosing to be a good person who does your job well and performs your function as a decent human being, friend, and family member to the best of your ability—regardless of the other, myriad possibilities for your life.
Anyway, whatever grade you get today in your various courses, I do truly hope you are able to reconcile yourself with its implications about whether or not you “showed up” and did the work. But only for yourself and not for anyone else. True heroism, I believe, is shown when you are tested and there are no real, obvious consequences for doing good or bad. When you look in the mirror, how do you grade your own performance? That’s more important than any official grade from anyone else.
Regardless, I don't believe the axiom that you're only as good as your last grade. Life carries your average forward. It's an accumulative grade, earned every minute of every day. Academia, however, is not so different. The grade is made, not just at the big, showy final exam (metaphoricaly speaking, as well) or research paper; it's also made on that snowy Friday in early February when you chose whether to show up or not, having read the book or not, with something to say or not. You decided that, and I'm not saying it's either good or bad, no matter what you chose. It's beyond good and evil. It is what it is.
Gerard
These in-between days are weird. No snow in sight (yet), and I woke this morning to see a blast of sunshine on my bedroom wall around 6:30 a.m.. Then it disappeared and now it looks and feels very much like a gray, dull kind of day is developing.
I have a theory that these are the days when you find out what you’re made of. Anybody can leap out of bed, ready to take on the world on a spectacular, sunny day in July. But it takes true heart to slog through the gray days of April and still feel like you accomplished something worthwhile.
My wife and I watched Spiderman yesterday afternoon because, with the new movie coming out in early May, we thought it would be fun to re-visit and remember what the first instalment in the series was all about. And it was just as good as I remembered, if not better. Spiderman is one of those rare comic-book movies that gives the characters a decidedly dark edge, making the protagonist all-too-human, meaning that he is vulnerable, makes mistakes of judgement and action and even suffers the consequences for it. Spidey hurts the ones he loves even more than he hurts those loathes. Oh, and I couldn’t help but notice the dual personality of The Green Goblin a la Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde—the mad scientist who creates a secondary, evil creature that he soon finds he is unable to control. Of course, isn’t that what Spiderman is all about?
Funny how all heroes need to wear masks. Most of them anyway. I mean, sure there’s Superman who takes off his glasses, shows off his blue tights, and tousles his hair in a slightly different mode (I can’t tell the difference; can you? Only his hair dresser knows for sure). The wearing of a mask would only take away from his natural good looks, and that’s partly what his character is about. There are others, I guess, who don’t wear masks, but the majority of them do. Batman is a gazillionaire by day, who couldn’t dare to let the world know that he is the caped crusader in tights, a cowl, and a codpiece. I guess I wouldn’t be too eager to share that information either.
And they all have their reasons for being secretive. Partly, it has to do with the necessity of keeping the world at bay so that the superheroes are free to save it in their own way. It would be pretty hard to save the world if the bad guys knew where you lived and all the rest of it.
But I think it also has to do with the idea of the secret lifestyle—the idea that we all have a hidden side of ourselves that’s just waiting to come to the surface. Sometimes that hidden side is better than our “real” selves (the one we present in public); but most times it’s a side that is darker than the face we present to the world. Comic book heroes struggle with such broad, seemingly disparate concepts as “good” and “evil” as if there were no shades of gray. Fair enough. It’s only entertainment, after all.
But most of us in the so-called real world don’t have that luxury of recognizing good or evil in stark, unwavering, clearly identifiable terms. Sure, we know that school shootings, rape, and genocide are acts of evil (though more and more, the g.d. media presents us with the voice and manifesto of the monster and thereby creates literal sympathy for the devil among certain people who are probably bent that way anyway). But it can all get so confusing—you might find yourself recognizing humanity (a cry for understanding, a plea that “society drove me to it”) in the monster’s voice and, even though you know he/she is still a scourge upon society, there is that twinge of doubt in your mind—that part of you that wonders: did I have any part in this? Did the things that I believe in, that society believes in, our intolerance of difference, our pursuit of personal wealth and happiness, and all the rest of it, play some role in the creation of this monster?
The questions are worthwhile, but potentially damaging. They can blind us to formerly stable concepts such as truth, justice, and (cough, cough) the American way. We’re more and more becoming a society that is incapable of meting out justice because we are handcuffed by our own moral quandaries, while the “bad guys” feel free to mete out their own justice without fear of consequence. Sometimes alienation, death, and martyrdom are exactly what they want more than anything; it is often what they are.
Spiderman has similar dilemmas. But he at least tries and is rarely handcuffed, though, like most of us, occasionally finds himself entrapped in a web of his own making.
Days like these (by which I mean every day), we each have the potential to be heroes in our own lives. (I distinguish heroes from superheroes in the same way that I distinguish models from supermodels, sizes from super-sizes, and dupers from super-dupers: the “super” version has powers that are way off the charts and immeasurable in their potential for both good and bad.) I mean, you can wake up in the morning (or whenever you wake up) and you can decide: will I take out the garbage today or let it pile up in the corner until the town officials break down my door and declare me a nuisance to society? Will I be nice to the cashier at Wal-mart who’s just having a hard day or will I be a part of the problem by being nasty right back at her/him?
There are lots of ways to be a hero. And most of us choose that route without even knowing it. I’m always impressed with people who constantly do the right thing, who make themselves get up and go to work every morning and usually manage to keep a genuine smile on their face. There’s a very ordinary kind of heroism involved there. It only takes a school shooting or a daylight robbery, or some idiot setting fire to a warehouse or scribbling grafitti on someone else’s storefront to make us realize that normal isn’t as bland as it appears to be. Normal sometimes takes a lot of courage, especially when we are constantly bombarded with examples of extraordinary evil or just evil in its many shades.
Sometimes, I believe, the most heroic thing you can do is just choosing to be a good person who does your job well and performs your function as a decent human being, friend, and family member to the best of your ability—regardless of the other, myriad possibilities for your life.
Anyway, whatever grade you get today in your various courses, I do truly hope you are able to reconcile yourself with its implications about whether or not you “showed up” and did the work. But only for yourself and not for anyone else. True heroism, I believe, is shown when you are tested and there are no real, obvious consequences for doing good or bad. When you look in the mirror, how do you grade your own performance? That’s more important than any official grade from anyone else.
Regardless, I don't believe the axiom that you're only as good as your last grade. Life carries your average forward. It's an accumulative grade, earned every minute of every day. Academia, however, is not so different. The grade is made, not just at the big, showy final exam (metaphoricaly speaking, as well) or research paper; it's also made on that snowy Friday in early February when you chose whether to show up or not, having read the book or not, with something to say or not. You decided that, and I'm not saying it's either good or bad, no matter what you chose. It's beyond good and evil. It is what it is.
Gerard
Friday, April 20, 2007
Summertime, Summertime, Summertime, Summertime, Summertime, Summertime!
What is UP with this fog, cold, wind, and downright crappy weather. It’s like the sun has left and is never going to come back.
I admit that it’s been affecting my mood this week. Too many gray days in a row can just suck the energy right out of me. I’ve been pecking away at the keyboard every day—just showing up—and am managing to make progress in my novel. It hasn’t been the great week that I had hoped for, but I’ve gotten about 25 new pages or so done so far, and I know I’ll do more tonight and tomorrow. It’s all progress and that’s something to be grateful for. I had to backtrack in my writing this morning because I had a (supposedly) brilliant idea last night as to what I SHOULD write, as opposed to what I DID write. But if I’d never written the first draft, I would never have thought of how to write it differently.
This is not something I normally do. Usually, I like to just keep going until the novel is finished. But this was something that would affect the rest of the story and really highlight one of the big themes that, so far, the novel had been lacking. So now when I start writing again later this morning, I’ll be on the straight and narrow. It’s really beginning to feel like it’s coming together. I can see exactly where it’s going now and how it has to end. More importantly, I’ve written enough fresh material that I now know who the characters are. I’ve had to get re-acquainted with them because it’s been a few months since I spent any time with them.
This is pretty much how my summer will go, I’m sure. I’m still aiming to finish this novel (Darwin Day) by the end of May. Then I’ll revise and finish my other one (Finton Moon, which won the Percy Janes First Novel Award a few years ago), and all will be right with the world. Then they both get sent out to editors and/or agents, hopefully before the end of summer. We’ll see about that, I guess. (I’m hoping that “summer” is one of those words like “Candyman”—if you repeat it enough times, it’ll appear.)
One of these days, maybe I’ll post an excerpt or something, in case anyone’s interested. I’m not usually much for sharing my work before it’s done, but maybe I should do that, since I’ve been talking about it so much.
I’m thinking that exams are pretty much over now. I’m not sure of the exact last date, but I guess the summer break starts for a lot of you this weekend. Granted, summer is not exactly bursting out all over. But there are signs. The snow is mostly gone, all except for a few mountains of it here and there throughout the city. There’s garbage everywhere you look. Most of my favorite t.v. shows are in re-runs, preparing for the last few shows of the season to run in early May. Soon, there’ll be no more NCIS, Lost, or Jericho. And the hockey playoffs are in full swing. Wish they were over. It’s no fun for me to watch unless the Bruins (my team) or Leafs (my wife’s team) are in it, and they just aren’t. But I’m not bitter…
American Idol is almost done, thankfully. The talent just isn’t there this year. There’s nobody with any star power like in past years. I’m quietly rooting for that young Jordin chick because she’s got the whole package (for retail purposes). But at least Mr. Smiley-face Sanjaya is gone. Maybe I’ll watch it every week now until it’s over. He just irked me. When he smiled, it was like his teeth took over his whole face and he looked like one of those those big Yahoo! smiley faces.
It’s not that I care about American Idol, any more than I care about any particular t.v. show. It’s just entertainment. If we lost cable tomorrow, I don’t think I’d be lost© or anything. I’d just find something better to do. Like watching the Blue Jays. And I don’t mean the birds that have returned from down south only to wonder why. Damn instincts. There’s got to be a better way.
Gerard
I admit that it’s been affecting my mood this week. Too many gray days in a row can just suck the energy right out of me. I’ve been pecking away at the keyboard every day—just showing up—and am managing to make progress in my novel. It hasn’t been the great week that I had hoped for, but I’ve gotten about 25 new pages or so done so far, and I know I’ll do more tonight and tomorrow. It’s all progress and that’s something to be grateful for. I had to backtrack in my writing this morning because I had a (supposedly) brilliant idea last night as to what I SHOULD write, as opposed to what I DID write. But if I’d never written the first draft, I would never have thought of how to write it differently.
This is not something I normally do. Usually, I like to just keep going until the novel is finished. But this was something that would affect the rest of the story and really highlight one of the big themes that, so far, the novel had been lacking. So now when I start writing again later this morning, I’ll be on the straight and narrow. It’s really beginning to feel like it’s coming together. I can see exactly where it’s going now and how it has to end. More importantly, I’ve written enough fresh material that I now know who the characters are. I’ve had to get re-acquainted with them because it’s been a few months since I spent any time with them.
This is pretty much how my summer will go, I’m sure. I’m still aiming to finish this novel (Darwin Day) by the end of May. Then I’ll revise and finish my other one (Finton Moon, which won the Percy Janes First Novel Award a few years ago), and all will be right with the world. Then they both get sent out to editors and/or agents, hopefully before the end of summer. We’ll see about that, I guess. (I’m hoping that “summer” is one of those words like “Candyman”—if you repeat it enough times, it’ll appear.)
One of these days, maybe I’ll post an excerpt or something, in case anyone’s interested. I’m not usually much for sharing my work before it’s done, but maybe I should do that, since I’ve been talking about it so much.
I’m thinking that exams are pretty much over now. I’m not sure of the exact last date, but I guess the summer break starts for a lot of you this weekend. Granted, summer is not exactly bursting out all over. But there are signs. The snow is mostly gone, all except for a few mountains of it here and there throughout the city. There’s garbage everywhere you look. Most of my favorite t.v. shows are in re-runs, preparing for the last few shows of the season to run in early May. Soon, there’ll be no more NCIS, Lost, or Jericho. And the hockey playoffs are in full swing. Wish they were over. It’s no fun for me to watch unless the Bruins (my team) or Leafs (my wife’s team) are in it, and they just aren’t. But I’m not bitter…
American Idol is almost done, thankfully. The talent just isn’t there this year. There’s nobody with any star power like in past years. I’m quietly rooting for that young Jordin chick because she’s got the whole package (for retail purposes). But at least Mr. Smiley-face Sanjaya is gone. Maybe I’ll watch it every week now until it’s over. He just irked me. When he smiled, it was like his teeth took over his whole face and he looked like one of those those big Yahoo! smiley faces.
It’s not that I care about American Idol, any more than I care about any particular t.v. show. It’s just entertainment. If we lost cable tomorrow, I don’t think I’d be lost© or anything. I’d just find something better to do. Like watching the Blue Jays. And I don’t mean the birds that have returned from down south only to wonder why. Damn instincts. There’s got to be a better way.
Gerard
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