Valentine's Day. Not a big fan of it.
Sure, I mean, there can never be too much love in the world. So I would never say that a "holiday" designed to celebrate love is a bad thing.
But it's the design itself that the problem. The way we "celebrate" something that pretty much takes care of itself is the problem.
If you love someone, then you don't need a specific day designated by Hallmark or any other commercial entity to tell you, "Come on, show her how you feel." She already knows.
And I do mean "she". The whole day is meant to lay a guilt trip on men, predominantly, so that they will spend their way out of hell or purgatory or whatever their relationship has become.
I'm lucky enough to be married to a beautiful woman who has always felt the same way about this holiday as I do. Our celebration isn't confined to one day, and if there's no card or flowers or chocolate that day, then there might be on any other given day of the year. And it's not a one-sided thing--we watch each other's back every day of the year and have done so for a couple of decades now. We're the happiest couple I know, and we somehow manage to do it without Valentine's Day deciding whether or not we're worthy of each other.
Oh, I've had my years when I've bought chocolate. This year, I even bought flowers. But that's only because I figured it would be surprise, since we never do that. And it was.
Valentine's Day is for the young, or really I should say, those couples who haven't been together more than a few years. It's also for those whose relationship needs an annual reminder to pay some attention to the one you're with. Other than that, I wish Valentine's Day as a so-called celebration--at least the way we celebrate it currently--would just die off. "Keep it in your own way and I'll keep it in mine," as Scrooge says about Christmas.
I like the celebratory, loving, caring, gentle part of Valentine's. I just could do without the "buy, buy, buy, guilt, guilt, guilt" part of it. It's not necessary.
And, as Forrest Gump would say, that's all I have to say about that. Oh, and Happy Valentine's Day. :-)
Thursday, February 14, 2008
Monday, February 4, 2008
Super Size Me
Tomorrow's "Super Tuesday" in the States, which has me wondering why America the Beautiful is so obsessed with size. Nothing can be just what it is--it's got to be "SUPER" Tuesday, or Super Bowl Sunday, or Super-size french fries, or Superman, Super Girl, Super Dog, or just plain "Super-duper."
Nuttin' wrong with that, I suppose. It makes life seem more exciting somehow. Sounds better than "Primary Tuesday," which is pretty bland, I admit. Who's gonna show up to vote for that? I mean, besides the people who care who the next leader of the free world is. By the "free world," I mean all those lands where people are able to vote without fear of repercussions, where people can speak their minds even if the State, the media, and the creepy old busybody next door don't agree with what you're saying.
I've been a bit obsessed by American politics lately. Granted, I've never paid much attention to it in the past, but this time seems different because there's so much at stake. Sure, I always knew who the president was, and I got particularly interested in it during the Clinton years. Those were actually pretty good years--a veritable "Camelot" compared to the Bush years (both Senior and Junior editions). Sure, Bill Clinton was no John F. Kennedy, but by all accounts, neither was John F. Kennedy. Like everything else, the American people (by which I mean the media) tends to make Supermen out of mere mortals. People (by which I mean the media, as well as the average Joe, not to be confused with Super Joe, Sloppy Joe, or G.I. Joe) often forget that JFK had some heavy-duty baggage to carry, especially in his alleged affairs with other women, notably Marilyn Monroe, and the little affair with Nikita Kruschev in which the American president brought the world to the very brink of nuclear self-annihilation. Camelot, indeed. Clinton's eight years weren't exactly peaceful, thanks to the overblown (pardon the pun) affair in the oval office with Monica Lewinsky. Other than that distraction, for which he was nearly impeached by the megalomaniacal, Puritanical Republicans who couldn't stand to see a Clinton in the White House, things weren't so bad--at least in comparison to today. The Blue Meanies took their hatred for him out on the entire country, refusing to let America enjoy its moment in the sun when the economy was going great guns (after those dreadful eight years of Reaganomics), and terrorism most often happened "over there". People still hated America, but it just didn't seem to personal, real and up-close in those days. Or maybe we (meaning North Americans) were just oblivious. Sometimes, igorance truly is bliss.
With George W. Bush in the White House, I'm sure there hasn't been much sex in the oval office. Pretty sure, anyway. He came to power on a morality ticket--promising to clean up American politics and make America respectable again on the world stage. Beware of any politician who comes to power on such a campaign. The morality ticket is one that gets played way too often and usually comes with a booby prize (aka Stephen Harper, who promised to gut Canadian politics of its corrupt Liberals). Almost single-handedly (unless you count the puppeteer Dick Cheney and Iago-like Karl Rove), Bush Jr. managed to make the United States the most reviled place on the world and its people the most hated in the so-called free world. It was a world that was a lot freer before wire-tapping, e-mail scans, and eternal damnation in Guantanomo Bay became well-known realities. Not so well-known were the unofficial policies of torturing prisoners suspected of plotting terrorist attacks (reminds me of Orwell's nightmare world in 1984) and sanctioning humiliation of p.o.w.'s in Afghanistan and Iraq. His father promised a "kinder, gentler" America, and both father and son delivered a more brutal, more insane America.
I miss the old days. I grew up on stories of cowboys riding the range and roping cattle, of opening up the West, of Daniel Boone and Davey Crockett, King of the Wild Frontier. Of the Wonderful World of Disney, where dreams came true. Of Highway 66 and going to San Francisco to wear sunflowers in your hair. I read the great novels of storytellers like Ernest Hemingway, Mark Twain, and even the benign horrors of Edgar Allan Poe and Stephen King. All the best music came from the U.S.A--jazz, blues, pop, and rocks. Sure, we knew about the serial killers like Son of Sam, Gary Gilmour, and the Boston Strangler. But those wacky American storytellers could make anyone sound like a Sunshine Superman, and these guys seemed like isolated nutcases, larger than life, and almost like folk heroes because of the way people wrote and talked about them in the media. Nobody emulated them, but they did seem like anomalies on a landscape full of normal, good folks.
America was built on certain ideals of the pursuit of happiness, freedom, truth, and justice. It's been a long time since anyone could say that that's what really came out of the war for Independence or the Civil War, Korean War, Vietnam War, or the World War II fire-bombing of Dresden or the holy shit moments and aftermath of Hiroshima and Nagasaki. But, strange as it sounds, at least you usually felt like you were on the side of right, of justice, and truth. Even when JFK double-dared Kruschev to just go ahead and pull the trigger on nuclear warfare, people largely felt that at least the guy in the white hat, metaphorically speaking, was on our side. Even though Bill Clinton embarassed himself and his wife and family, as well as his party and country in the eyes of the world, you felt like he was still a good man and a good president--someone capable of making things right somehow, if only by the eloquence of his language, the brilliance of his brain, and the good intentions of his heart (even when he was lying; but the thing is, if you're gonna cheat, what's the sense in 'fessing up to it without at least trying to squirm out it?).
Long story short, America used to be something to believe in. I had this argument with my brother-in-law a few days ago. He's a fair bit younger than me and, far as I can tell, he only remembers the Bush years. He doesn't remember "America the Good" (and I don't mean the one that Ginsberg told to "go fuck yourself with your atom bomb"--that's a different America, which co-exists with the other America). He knows only that America is messed up and continues to go around the world, sticking its nose into other people's business and creating chaos and dismemberment everywhere it looks.
Come to think of it, I'm not sure I remember that "America the Good" either. I only remember believing in it as a POSSIBILITY because, somewhere along the line, the people who founded the country used to believe in it too. America is a concept--and that's why people get so upset with evil-doing presidents, with terrorist attacks on American soil, with threats on the Statue of Liberty, with the falling of the twin towers in New York, and with people like Donald Imus and the Jenus Six. It's not that we're all (by which I mean people in the Western World) any better or holier than thou. It's just that, sometimes we're reminded of how good we used to want it to be and that somehow we fucked it up.
And yet...and YET...we think we can make it better. It's never too late to turn the ship around and make it right.
And every election year, there's an opportunity to become the America that the people of that country, and of the rest of the world, think it's possible to be. I don't know who's going to win. I like Obama and Hillary Clinton alike. I think he's youthful and idealist, and he's saying all the right things and truly believes in them. I think she's intelligent, well-intentioned, but a bit more realistic because she's "been there and done that," to use her own words. I think they'll do just fine with either of those candidates as president, and preferably a Democratic ticket that includes both.
But let's hope the American electorate get it right this time. They almost elected Al Gore, but he wasn't bright and shiny enough for them, not enough of a celebrity just yet. Plus, they really did give him the most votes, but the courts decided to over-rule the American public and crown King George II. It only matters to me because the world's in an awful mess because the United States is in an awful mess. I also figure that once one right-wing ultra-Christian, control freak is gone from power, it's only a matter of time before that same wicked witch loses its grip on our own little fifedom to the north.
Mostly, though, I just want to return some sanity to the world again. Just a little. Whoever wins the American election is going to have his or her hands full, and it'll take years to clean up the farm after such an enormous, long-lasting twister has hit it full on. In some ways, it's like that big whole in the ground in New York City that still hasn't been re-built. It's a monumental clean-up job, but you've got to at least have the right person with their hand on the broom.
Still, I don't think they need a Superman (or Superwoman) for the job. They just need someone who thinks it's possible to stand for truth and justice, while making "the American way" something other than the punchline of a joke.
Up, up, and away!
Nuttin' wrong with that, I suppose. It makes life seem more exciting somehow. Sounds better than "Primary Tuesday," which is pretty bland, I admit. Who's gonna show up to vote for that? I mean, besides the people who care who the next leader of the free world is. By the "free world," I mean all those lands where people are able to vote without fear of repercussions, where people can speak their minds even if the State, the media, and the creepy old busybody next door don't agree with what you're saying.
I've been a bit obsessed by American politics lately. Granted, I've never paid much attention to it in the past, but this time seems different because there's so much at stake. Sure, I always knew who the president was, and I got particularly interested in it during the Clinton years. Those were actually pretty good years--a veritable "Camelot" compared to the Bush years (both Senior and Junior editions). Sure, Bill Clinton was no John F. Kennedy, but by all accounts, neither was John F. Kennedy. Like everything else, the American people (by which I mean the media) tends to make Supermen out of mere mortals. People (by which I mean the media, as well as the average Joe, not to be confused with Super Joe, Sloppy Joe, or G.I. Joe) often forget that JFK had some heavy-duty baggage to carry, especially in his alleged affairs with other women, notably Marilyn Monroe, and the little affair with Nikita Kruschev in which the American president brought the world to the very brink of nuclear self-annihilation. Camelot, indeed. Clinton's eight years weren't exactly peaceful, thanks to the overblown (pardon the pun) affair in the oval office with Monica Lewinsky. Other than that distraction, for which he was nearly impeached by the megalomaniacal, Puritanical Republicans who couldn't stand to see a Clinton in the White House, things weren't so bad--at least in comparison to today. The Blue Meanies took their hatred for him out on the entire country, refusing to let America enjoy its moment in the sun when the economy was going great guns (after those dreadful eight years of Reaganomics), and terrorism most often happened "over there". People still hated America, but it just didn't seem to personal, real and up-close in those days. Or maybe we (meaning North Americans) were just oblivious. Sometimes, igorance truly is bliss.
With George W. Bush in the White House, I'm sure there hasn't been much sex in the oval office. Pretty sure, anyway. He came to power on a morality ticket--promising to clean up American politics and make America respectable again on the world stage. Beware of any politician who comes to power on such a campaign. The morality ticket is one that gets played way too often and usually comes with a booby prize (aka Stephen Harper, who promised to gut Canadian politics of its corrupt Liberals). Almost single-handedly (unless you count the puppeteer Dick Cheney and Iago-like Karl Rove), Bush Jr. managed to make the United States the most reviled place on the world and its people the most hated in the so-called free world. It was a world that was a lot freer before wire-tapping, e-mail scans, and eternal damnation in Guantanomo Bay became well-known realities. Not so well-known were the unofficial policies of torturing prisoners suspected of plotting terrorist attacks (reminds me of Orwell's nightmare world in 1984) and sanctioning humiliation of p.o.w.'s in Afghanistan and Iraq. His father promised a "kinder, gentler" America, and both father and son delivered a more brutal, more insane America.
I miss the old days. I grew up on stories of cowboys riding the range and roping cattle, of opening up the West, of Daniel Boone and Davey Crockett, King of the Wild Frontier. Of the Wonderful World of Disney, where dreams came true. Of Highway 66 and going to San Francisco to wear sunflowers in your hair. I read the great novels of storytellers like Ernest Hemingway, Mark Twain, and even the benign horrors of Edgar Allan Poe and Stephen King. All the best music came from the U.S.A--jazz, blues, pop, and rocks. Sure, we knew about the serial killers like Son of Sam, Gary Gilmour, and the Boston Strangler. But those wacky American storytellers could make anyone sound like a Sunshine Superman, and these guys seemed like isolated nutcases, larger than life, and almost like folk heroes because of the way people wrote and talked about them in the media. Nobody emulated them, but they did seem like anomalies on a landscape full of normal, good folks.
America was built on certain ideals of the pursuit of happiness, freedom, truth, and justice. It's been a long time since anyone could say that that's what really came out of the war for Independence or the Civil War, Korean War, Vietnam War, or the World War II fire-bombing of Dresden or the holy shit moments and aftermath of Hiroshima and Nagasaki. But, strange as it sounds, at least you usually felt like you were on the side of right, of justice, and truth. Even when JFK double-dared Kruschev to just go ahead and pull the trigger on nuclear warfare, people largely felt that at least the guy in the white hat, metaphorically speaking, was on our side. Even though Bill Clinton embarassed himself and his wife and family, as well as his party and country in the eyes of the world, you felt like he was still a good man and a good president--someone capable of making things right somehow, if only by the eloquence of his language, the brilliance of his brain, and the good intentions of his heart (even when he was lying; but the thing is, if you're gonna cheat, what's the sense in 'fessing up to it without at least trying to squirm out it?).
Long story short, America used to be something to believe in. I had this argument with my brother-in-law a few days ago. He's a fair bit younger than me and, far as I can tell, he only remembers the Bush years. He doesn't remember "America the Good" (and I don't mean the one that Ginsberg told to "go fuck yourself with your atom bomb"--that's a different America, which co-exists with the other America). He knows only that America is messed up and continues to go around the world, sticking its nose into other people's business and creating chaos and dismemberment everywhere it looks.
Come to think of it, I'm not sure I remember that "America the Good" either. I only remember believing in it as a POSSIBILITY because, somewhere along the line, the people who founded the country used to believe in it too. America is a concept--and that's why people get so upset with evil-doing presidents, with terrorist attacks on American soil, with threats on the Statue of Liberty, with the falling of the twin towers in New York, and with people like Donald Imus and the Jenus Six. It's not that we're all (by which I mean people in the Western World) any better or holier than thou. It's just that, sometimes we're reminded of how good we used to want it to be and that somehow we fucked it up.
And yet...and YET...we think we can make it better. It's never too late to turn the ship around and make it right.
And every election year, there's an opportunity to become the America that the people of that country, and of the rest of the world, think it's possible to be. I don't know who's going to win. I like Obama and Hillary Clinton alike. I think he's youthful and idealist, and he's saying all the right things and truly believes in them. I think she's intelligent, well-intentioned, but a bit more realistic because she's "been there and done that," to use her own words. I think they'll do just fine with either of those candidates as president, and preferably a Democratic ticket that includes both.
But let's hope the American electorate get it right this time. They almost elected Al Gore, but he wasn't bright and shiny enough for them, not enough of a celebrity just yet. Plus, they really did give him the most votes, but the courts decided to over-rule the American public and crown King George II. It only matters to me because the world's in an awful mess because the United States is in an awful mess. I also figure that once one right-wing ultra-Christian, control freak is gone from power, it's only a matter of time before that same wicked witch loses its grip on our own little fifedom to the north.
Mostly, though, I just want to return some sanity to the world again. Just a little. Whoever wins the American election is going to have his or her hands full, and it'll take years to clean up the farm after such an enormous, long-lasting twister has hit it full on. In some ways, it's like that big whole in the ground in New York City that still hasn't been re-built. It's a monumental clean-up job, but you've got to at least have the right person with their hand on the broom.
Still, I don't think they need a Superman (or Superwoman) for the job. They just need someone who thinks it's possible to stand for truth and justice, while making "the American way" something other than the punchline of a joke.
Up, up, and away!
Wednesday, January 30, 2008
In the Cold Mid-Winter
Can't believe it's been a month since I wrote last. The month of January just kind of got away from me. I'd like to say I've spent all that time being productive, but the first half of the month was a bust. I got a headache on New Year's for no apparent reason and it didn't leave my head alone until the twentieth of January. I went to a doctor, but he says to live with it. I figure that's better than the alternative.
Meanwhile--I don't know if you've ever had a headache that lasts for twenty-one days or not, but--I wasn't able to do much of anything. No writing, no reading, no exercise (good thing I didn't make any resolutions, well, not really), and very little but lying around waiting for my life to start.
But it's gone now, and life is slowly getting back to normal. I started work on another novel, which means I'm now working on three novels at once. I have one called "Finton Moon" that won the Percy Janes award a few years ago and it got rejected by two publishers (that's really not very many) and three agents (still not very many). But all of them were extremely ethusiastic about the premise of the novel and the quality of the writing. They'd read the first forty pages and go "wow! send me the rest immediately!" It happened like that each time. But then a funny thing happened. They read the whole novel and, though they kind of liked it, they didn't "love" it. Anyway, I knew what I needed to do with it, but never really had the time to do it before. And before I go back to teaching next fall, this is the number one project I'd like to have done. So I'm working on that now, while the other two take my attention once in a while as well. "Finton Moon" is one of those novels that have the potential to really make a splash in the literary world, whereas my other works are just "smaller"--not so much potential for anything big, though I hope they're decent reads.
Besides writing novels, I have to start work on my play for "Break, Break, Break" soon. It ought to be done before spring, I would think. Funny, but when I first agreed to do it it seemed like I had all the time in the world. But suddenly it's 2008, and the play will probably be happening on stage exactly a year from now. That's really not that much time, considering all the work that has to be done with production and acting, etc. between now and then.
I'm also working on a couple of new short stories, hoping to get them done soon. Beyond that, I'm back playing badminton a couple of times a week. Most people think of badminton as a sort of backyard, leisurely game like croquet, with people standing around with drinks and parasols, casually batting the birdie over the net in a genteel fashion. But for me, badminton is an all-out, no holds barred bloodsport. I don't care about winning so much as just trying my absolute best on every shot. Kind of like life, I suppose. Nothing's really THAT important, when you think about it, but it is what you make of it. I choose to make every shot count. Then I go running around Field House track for a couple of miles before calling it quits. I find it helps me think better if I feel better physically, plus I just love to move as fast as possible and work up a sweat.
Then when I come home, my writing tends to go even better.
Speaking of which, I must get back to work. Time's a wastin'.
Meanwhile--I don't know if you've ever had a headache that lasts for twenty-one days or not, but--I wasn't able to do much of anything. No writing, no reading, no exercise (good thing I didn't make any resolutions, well, not really), and very little but lying around waiting for my life to start.
But it's gone now, and life is slowly getting back to normal. I started work on another novel, which means I'm now working on three novels at once. I have one called "Finton Moon" that won the Percy Janes award a few years ago and it got rejected by two publishers (that's really not very many) and three agents (still not very many). But all of them were extremely ethusiastic about the premise of the novel and the quality of the writing. They'd read the first forty pages and go "wow! send me the rest immediately!" It happened like that each time. But then a funny thing happened. They read the whole novel and, though they kind of liked it, they didn't "love" it. Anyway, I knew what I needed to do with it, but never really had the time to do it before. And before I go back to teaching next fall, this is the number one project I'd like to have done. So I'm working on that now, while the other two take my attention once in a while as well. "Finton Moon" is one of those novels that have the potential to really make a splash in the literary world, whereas my other works are just "smaller"--not so much potential for anything big, though I hope they're decent reads.
Besides writing novels, I have to start work on my play for "Break, Break, Break" soon. It ought to be done before spring, I would think. Funny, but when I first agreed to do it it seemed like I had all the time in the world. But suddenly it's 2008, and the play will probably be happening on stage exactly a year from now. That's really not that much time, considering all the work that has to be done with production and acting, etc. between now and then.
I'm also working on a couple of new short stories, hoping to get them done soon. Beyond that, I'm back playing badminton a couple of times a week. Most people think of badminton as a sort of backyard, leisurely game like croquet, with people standing around with drinks and parasols, casually batting the birdie over the net in a genteel fashion. But for me, badminton is an all-out, no holds barred bloodsport. I don't care about winning so much as just trying my absolute best on every shot. Kind of like life, I suppose. Nothing's really THAT important, when you think about it, but it is what you make of it. I choose to make every shot count. Then I go running around Field House track for a couple of miles before calling it quits. I find it helps me think better if I feel better physically, plus I just love to move as fast as possible and work up a sweat.
Then when I come home, my writing tends to go even better.
Speaking of which, I must get back to work. Time's a wastin'.
Monday, December 24, 2007
All Is Calm, All Is Bright.
It's Christmas Eve, 2007, and I just wanted to wish everyone who reads this blog a merry Christmas. My wife and I always spend it here in the city. We see a movie in the afternoon (today it was National Treasure: Book of Secrets, which was an okay little movie for the season). We had people over after that to talk, laugh, drink, and be merry, and there'll be more company tonight and more of the same, I'm sure. Its probably my favorite night of the year. As Bill Murray says in "Scrooged" (love that movie), it's the one night of the year we all act a little nicer and treat each other a little better. Maybe that's a generalization, but as generalizations go, I like that one.
From my home office window, I can see the lights shimmering in windows of other people's homes, a few lonely cars stream by, and the melting snow glistens like frosting on a cake. The whole world seems to be slowing down and it will stay that way for a few hours. For a few hours, the world will be perfect. Hopefully, somewhere, the violence will stop, the burglaries will pause, and the singing will rise to a heartfelt anthem in some far-off countryside church. I wish it were so more often.
Merry Christmas to you all, whatever your situation, whatever your beliefs. I hope this night finds you with someone you love, having everything you need to be happy. If your situation is otherwise, then I hope you can find some peace and comfort not just now, but for most days to come because Christmas doesn't change your life; it illuminates it for what it is.
For now, though, the weary world rejoices. Merry Christmas.
From my home office window, I can see the lights shimmering in windows of other people's homes, a few lonely cars stream by, and the melting snow glistens like frosting on a cake. The whole world seems to be slowing down and it will stay that way for a few hours. For a few hours, the world will be perfect. Hopefully, somewhere, the violence will stop, the burglaries will pause, and the singing will rise to a heartfelt anthem in some far-off countryside church. I wish it were so more often.
Merry Christmas to you all, whatever your situation, whatever your beliefs. I hope this night finds you with someone you love, having everything you need to be happy. If your situation is otherwise, then I hope you can find some peace and comfort not just now, but for most days to come because Christmas doesn't change your life; it illuminates it for what it is.
For now, though, the weary world rejoices. Merry Christmas.
Wednesday, December 19, 2007
And So This is Christmas, And What Have You Done?
For the first time in many years, I've been able to witness the coming of the winter season, December, and Christmas as if in slow motion, enjoying every moment as it comes, lingers briefly, then passes. It's so strange not to be grading papers and working on a Ph.D. thesis or a paper of some kind. But I think life was meant to be this way--not the other way. I often think of that line in A Christmas Carol when the Ghost of Jacob Marley says to Scrooge, "Mankind is your business."
In fact, I have more time to think than usual this year, as well. I've been walking in snowstorms, I've stood in front of a window and marveled at the large flakes of snow that were falling, and I've heard the wind bellowing beneath the eaves, threatening to blow away the rooftop. I've taken my time Christmas shopping and am nearly done. I always leave something to do for the last week before the big day, and I certainly will be out there on Christmas Eve, just taking it all in, sipping on a hot tea while I watch the crowds bustle around. I guess it makes me feel more connected to people through their harriedness in some way. I feel like I'm just sitting there thinking "I'm glad I'm not you" at the same time that I'm thinking, "You poor soul, don't take it all so serious. You'll get it done and you'll be all right."
Of course, by not teaching this year I do feel a little more disconnected from humanity than usual. I've rarely seen any of my teaching colleagues except occasionally when I'm at MUN playing badminton or running the track just to keep atrophy at bay. They must think I'm strange and wondering what I'm doing when I'm not teaching. A few know that I'm writing and that I'm just a bit burnt out after the years of constant working. The majority don't really think about it, I'm sure. Mankind, after all, is not necessarily their business.
I've missed the students most of all, I must say. During exam week, I could sense the usual tension that they feel as exams draw close and the end draws near. For me, it's always that feeling of being proud of the ones who have not only made it to the end, but made something of it--having tried and, hopefully, been rewarded. I always look for that sense of closure, that the semester is done, that my course is done, that these students will go on to live their lives, and most of them I will never see again. A lot of them, I will see over and over again, of course, as some lives seem destined to intersect. This year, however, there was no "next wave" of students, no exam anxiety, no end of semester, and no whispered "Have a good Christmas" as they passed me their exams. All of that is part of why I love teaching, and I'm really looking forward to getting back it next fall. It's that connection that matters to me. The feeling of perhaps having made a difference, however small, if only for a few weeks, but hopefully for much longer.
My two favorite Christmas movies are "Scrooge" and "It's A Wonderful Life". Both are a celebration of life, an acknowledgement of life's difficulties, a lament for the past, and yet a declaration that the future need not be judged by the past. The future can be bright no matter how dim the past has been. The goodness in people can overcome the dark, the evil, and the apathetic (which might be the greatest evil of all). If it is true that most men live lives of quiet desperation (Thoreau), then both these films suggest that it is never too late too shake of the cloak of self-oppression and begin to live anew as if every day counted, as if every human being mattered. That's a lesson that I think gets lost in the daily grind of working and studying, sometimes even playing. Every soul matters. Every moment is precious. Profound, disturbing, magnificent thoughts.
For if your life matters, who is to say that there are others whose lives don't? If you have a right to be warm, fed, clothed, befriended, and loved, who is to say that there are other people who do not deserve these things? And yet there are those who don't have them, who suffer even as I write this, without adequate clothing or shelter, without any friends or family. Even in between the highs and the lows, there are people who have places to live, who work their jobs and/or go to school, and maybe even have families who love them or not (as the case may be). And yet they feel great sadness, especially at this time of year when "want is most keenly felt".
Dickens was right, of course. Want is most keenly felt this time of year. But so is luxury. So are happiness and contentment. Christmas is like anything else--it doesn't change what you are or how you feel about life, but it does emphasize what you already have and already are. If you were lonely before Christmas, then the carol singing and lack of friends or presents will only underline that loneliness and increase it. If you were content, appreciative of your life and choices you've made, then you will be extra content, extra appreciative during the sesaon.
I'm beginning to babble, as I am sometime wont to do, but as usual there is so much I want to say about this time of year. It makes me a bit melancholy because I'm just that kind of person anyway. But I'm happy as well because I'm generally a happy person who sees the good in other people even when the world we live in kind of scares me a bit. But, as always, that's a topic for another day.
I think here in Newfoundland we are standing on the precipice of a great height (a "sad height," perhaps, as Dylan Thomas might have called it). It's a time to think on where we've come from and how we got here. Things are changing rapidly because of the impending changes in economic fortune. Some of it good, some of it bad. It's the time of year for putting those things in perspective and deciding which direction our own personal lives will follow in the coming year. I know where I'm headed and where I'd like to be this time next year. It might very well be, for many of us, though, that we're already there and just need to put some time and thought into recognizing that fact.
Life is good and getting better.
And to all a good night.
In fact, I have more time to think than usual this year, as well. I've been walking in snowstorms, I've stood in front of a window and marveled at the large flakes of snow that were falling, and I've heard the wind bellowing beneath the eaves, threatening to blow away the rooftop. I've taken my time Christmas shopping and am nearly done. I always leave something to do for the last week before the big day, and I certainly will be out there on Christmas Eve, just taking it all in, sipping on a hot tea while I watch the crowds bustle around. I guess it makes me feel more connected to people through their harriedness in some way. I feel like I'm just sitting there thinking "I'm glad I'm not you" at the same time that I'm thinking, "You poor soul, don't take it all so serious. You'll get it done and you'll be all right."
Of course, by not teaching this year I do feel a little more disconnected from humanity than usual. I've rarely seen any of my teaching colleagues except occasionally when I'm at MUN playing badminton or running the track just to keep atrophy at bay. They must think I'm strange and wondering what I'm doing when I'm not teaching. A few know that I'm writing and that I'm just a bit burnt out after the years of constant working. The majority don't really think about it, I'm sure. Mankind, after all, is not necessarily their business.
I've missed the students most of all, I must say. During exam week, I could sense the usual tension that they feel as exams draw close and the end draws near. For me, it's always that feeling of being proud of the ones who have not only made it to the end, but made something of it--having tried and, hopefully, been rewarded. I always look for that sense of closure, that the semester is done, that my course is done, that these students will go on to live their lives, and most of them I will never see again. A lot of them, I will see over and over again, of course, as some lives seem destined to intersect. This year, however, there was no "next wave" of students, no exam anxiety, no end of semester, and no whispered "Have a good Christmas" as they passed me their exams. All of that is part of why I love teaching, and I'm really looking forward to getting back it next fall. It's that connection that matters to me. The feeling of perhaps having made a difference, however small, if only for a few weeks, but hopefully for much longer.
My two favorite Christmas movies are "Scrooge" and "It's A Wonderful Life". Both are a celebration of life, an acknowledgement of life's difficulties, a lament for the past, and yet a declaration that the future need not be judged by the past. The future can be bright no matter how dim the past has been. The goodness in people can overcome the dark, the evil, and the apathetic (which might be the greatest evil of all). If it is true that most men live lives of quiet desperation (Thoreau), then both these films suggest that it is never too late too shake of the cloak of self-oppression and begin to live anew as if every day counted, as if every human being mattered. That's a lesson that I think gets lost in the daily grind of working and studying, sometimes even playing. Every soul matters. Every moment is precious. Profound, disturbing, magnificent thoughts.
For if your life matters, who is to say that there are others whose lives don't? If you have a right to be warm, fed, clothed, befriended, and loved, who is to say that there are other people who do not deserve these things? And yet there are those who don't have them, who suffer even as I write this, without adequate clothing or shelter, without any friends or family. Even in between the highs and the lows, there are people who have places to live, who work their jobs and/or go to school, and maybe even have families who love them or not (as the case may be). And yet they feel great sadness, especially at this time of year when "want is most keenly felt".
Dickens was right, of course. Want is most keenly felt this time of year. But so is luxury. So are happiness and contentment. Christmas is like anything else--it doesn't change what you are or how you feel about life, but it does emphasize what you already have and already are. If you were lonely before Christmas, then the carol singing and lack of friends or presents will only underline that loneliness and increase it. If you were content, appreciative of your life and choices you've made, then you will be extra content, extra appreciative during the sesaon.
I'm beginning to babble, as I am sometime wont to do, but as usual there is so much I want to say about this time of year. It makes me a bit melancholy because I'm just that kind of person anyway. But I'm happy as well because I'm generally a happy person who sees the good in other people even when the world we live in kind of scares me a bit. But, as always, that's a topic for another day.
I think here in Newfoundland we are standing on the precipice of a great height (a "sad height," perhaps, as Dylan Thomas might have called it). It's a time to think on where we've come from and how we got here. Things are changing rapidly because of the impending changes in economic fortune. Some of it good, some of it bad. It's the time of year for putting those things in perspective and deciding which direction our own personal lives will follow in the coming year. I know where I'm headed and where I'd like to be this time next year. It might very well be, for many of us, though, that we're already there and just need to put some time and thought into recognizing that fact.
Life is good and getting better.
And to all a good night.
Tuesday, December 4, 2007
Walking in a snowstorm
Just got back from a walk in the wintery white of old St. John's. It's our second storm in a couple of days, and, amazingly, I'm not sick of it yet--even though the power went out for a few hours Sunday night. Not so bad really, as I remember some of the worst power outages this province has ever seen. Even then, it was fun. Cold, but fun. Strange how it always seems to happen around exam time for MUN students that the power goes out for anywhere from a few hours to a few days, depending on the severity of it.
It's been a day of writing. I'm working on a new gothic novel called Emily Dickinson's Ghost, which is taking on some pretty serious and sinister undertones and overtones. But I decided also to dust off a work I've had in progress for a couple of years now, a holiday-themed novel called Keeping Christmas. It's about halfways done and I just re-read it this morning. It's probably about the funniest thing I've ever written (of course, with some of the usual dark humour), so I think I should just keep working on it. I've already had a publisher interested in it, so I guess those are the ones I should finish. So now I'm working on two novels at once--one in the daytime and one in the night time. Very Jekyll and Hyde of me, I suppose.
As for my previous novel, Darwin Day, it's now in the hands of an editor, so we'll see. I've had a couple of passes from literary agents on this one, but that's not surprising. It's not what I would call a "big" novel; it's not the one that's going to make anyone's career, but it's a story I wanted to tell, so it had to be done. But it's definitely worth publishing, so I'm taking a different tact by approaching publishers instead of agents. But I'm doing it one at a time for now because that's what they prefer. It's a slow process, but I pass the time by working on something new.
Speaking of which, I don't think I've mentioned on here that my short story, "Break, Break, Break" is going to be published in an upcoming anthology of dark fiction by Hard Ticket Press. The story takes place on February 13, 1982--a horrible day in our province's history in the fictional town of Darwin, where a lot of my stories take place, and concerns a teenaged girl who breaks up with her boyfriend on Valentine's, the night before the Ocean Ranger sinks. I never thought I'd write anything about the Ranger, but I got inspired one night last summer when the editor, Mike Heffernan, asked if I'd ever considered writing about it. My immediate reaction was to say no. But that night I tossed and turned all night while I kept (swear to God that this is how it works sometimes) hearing these two voices in my head--a mother and a daughter, and they were saying these things to each other that frightened me, but I felt like I was eavesdropping. It was stormy, in my dreams, and I knew it was because I'd been thinking about Mike's suggestion. Anyway, I didn't sleep at all that night, and when I got up the next morning, I sat at the computer right away and emerged from my den about two and a half hours later with a completed story, some of which came straight from my dream. I wish it happened like that more often. I sent it off to the editor and he accepted it almost immediately, with some revisions of course, though not too many, which is always nice.
I'm thrilled to be a part of that anthology because there are lots of other really good authors in there, including Michael Crummey, Michelle Butler-Hallett, JoAnne Soper-Cook, and Bev Vincent. I've also agreed to write a stage play based on "Break, Break, Break," to be produced (possibly at the LSPU Hall) next February, as part of a six-part series of one-act plays all dealing with the Ocean Ranger. That's another reason I'm proud of that story--because it's about a very important subject that humanizes the tragedy a little, underscoring the devestating effects that it had on certain people. I can't say that I know for sure what that felt like for those people, to have lost someone so quickly like that. But I've known tragedy in my life that I was able to draw on. And the Ranger tragedy affects us all, even today, even younger generations, even if they weren't born when the rig went down off our coast.
Anyway, that's where I'm at right now. It kind of puts things in perspective. I've been out for a walk on a stormy day and I was able to enjoy it completely. I love that I'm still able to feel exhilirated by little things like that and maybe even put those feelings to words when I feel driven to do so. It's part of what being a writer is all about, but it's also what being human and reveling in life's little pleasures is all about. Reminds me a bit of that old chestnut, "Stopping By Woods on a Snowy Evening" by Robert Frost. I still love that poem and that's why I teach it in my first-year English classes whenever I can--to show that there is complexity sometimes in the apparent simplicity. That there can be clarity in the midst of chaos.
That sometimes you've just got to stop and take a breath when you can least afford to do so, on the "darkest evening of the year".
Anyway, got work to do. Hope you're enjoying whatever you're doing, even if that's writing exams or meeting deadlines. We only pass this way once, and it's the in-between times that really are the best times. Nobody sick, nobody dying. All's right with my world.
It's been a day of writing. I'm working on a new gothic novel called Emily Dickinson's Ghost, which is taking on some pretty serious and sinister undertones and overtones. But I decided also to dust off a work I've had in progress for a couple of years now, a holiday-themed novel called Keeping Christmas. It's about halfways done and I just re-read it this morning. It's probably about the funniest thing I've ever written (of course, with some of the usual dark humour), so I think I should just keep working on it. I've already had a publisher interested in it, so I guess those are the ones I should finish. So now I'm working on two novels at once--one in the daytime and one in the night time. Very Jekyll and Hyde of me, I suppose.
As for my previous novel, Darwin Day, it's now in the hands of an editor, so we'll see. I've had a couple of passes from literary agents on this one, but that's not surprising. It's not what I would call a "big" novel; it's not the one that's going to make anyone's career, but it's a story I wanted to tell, so it had to be done. But it's definitely worth publishing, so I'm taking a different tact by approaching publishers instead of agents. But I'm doing it one at a time for now because that's what they prefer. It's a slow process, but I pass the time by working on something new.
Speaking of which, I don't think I've mentioned on here that my short story, "Break, Break, Break" is going to be published in an upcoming anthology of dark fiction by Hard Ticket Press. The story takes place on February 13, 1982--a horrible day in our province's history in the fictional town of Darwin, where a lot of my stories take place, and concerns a teenaged girl who breaks up with her boyfriend on Valentine's, the night before the Ocean Ranger sinks. I never thought I'd write anything about the Ranger, but I got inspired one night last summer when the editor, Mike Heffernan, asked if I'd ever considered writing about it. My immediate reaction was to say no. But that night I tossed and turned all night while I kept (swear to God that this is how it works sometimes) hearing these two voices in my head--a mother and a daughter, and they were saying these things to each other that frightened me, but I felt like I was eavesdropping. It was stormy, in my dreams, and I knew it was because I'd been thinking about Mike's suggestion. Anyway, I didn't sleep at all that night, and when I got up the next morning, I sat at the computer right away and emerged from my den about two and a half hours later with a completed story, some of which came straight from my dream. I wish it happened like that more often. I sent it off to the editor and he accepted it almost immediately, with some revisions of course, though not too many, which is always nice.
I'm thrilled to be a part of that anthology because there are lots of other really good authors in there, including Michael Crummey, Michelle Butler-Hallett, JoAnne Soper-Cook, and Bev Vincent. I've also agreed to write a stage play based on "Break, Break, Break," to be produced (possibly at the LSPU Hall) next February, as part of a six-part series of one-act plays all dealing with the Ocean Ranger. That's another reason I'm proud of that story--because it's about a very important subject that humanizes the tragedy a little, underscoring the devestating effects that it had on certain people. I can't say that I know for sure what that felt like for those people, to have lost someone so quickly like that. But I've known tragedy in my life that I was able to draw on. And the Ranger tragedy affects us all, even today, even younger generations, even if they weren't born when the rig went down off our coast.
Anyway, that's where I'm at right now. It kind of puts things in perspective. I've been out for a walk on a stormy day and I was able to enjoy it completely. I love that I'm still able to feel exhilirated by little things like that and maybe even put those feelings to words when I feel driven to do so. It's part of what being a writer is all about, but it's also what being human and reveling in life's little pleasures is all about. Reminds me a bit of that old chestnut, "Stopping By Woods on a Snowy Evening" by Robert Frost. I still love that poem and that's why I teach it in my first-year English classes whenever I can--to show that there is complexity sometimes in the apparent simplicity. That there can be clarity in the midst of chaos.
That sometimes you've just got to stop and take a breath when you can least afford to do so, on the "darkest evening of the year".
Anyway, got work to do. Hope you're enjoying whatever you're doing, even if that's writing exams or meeting deadlines. We only pass this way once, and it's the in-between times that really are the best times. Nobody sick, nobody dying. All's right with my world.
Wednesday, November 7, 2007
Face To Face
The problem is that there’s so much to write about. I see subjects for discussion and speculation everywhere—Christmas in November, daylight savings time in November(!), man’s inhumanity to dogs, paparazzi on the “Britwatch,” my first bout with writer’s block or whatever you want to call it, the Facebook saga, and on and on the list goes. I’ve started writing and then stopped, almost overwhelmed by the combination of how much there is to say and the nagging thought that no one is really listening anyway. Now there’s the REAL writer’s dilemma. It will always be that way. In fact, it’s that way for any artist, whether writer, painter, sculptor, or musician: I always have too much to say, too little time in which to cram it all in, and when all is said and done, who is really paying attention?
I wonder that about the world a lot. I mean who is REALLY paying attention? I’ve been haunted and stymied lately by the barrage of information, and not necessarily useful information, about people’s insensitivity to the people around them, to the planet, and to their own basic needs. Sometimes I fear that we’re all just going to obliterate ourselves. But then, I guess it is what it is, if that happens. More likely, we’ll just evolve into something else, having destroyed something precious about ourselves and our species at the same time.
Take Facebook, for example. I love it and hate it at the same time. I’ve always been the sort of person that, if I like you or want to get to know you, I’ll spend time with you and talk to you face-to-face. I’ve never been a big fan of the telephone, which is why I don’t own a cellphone. I’m not saying I’ll never buy one, but for now I get by just fine without people knowing where I am and being able to contact me 24 hours a day, 7 days a week. I know they have their uses, which makes them somewhat attractive. And I know some people who swear they could never get by without theirs (which is a lie to oneself, really), but it’s my choice to save some of me for me. I like having downtime, some time when the world doesn’t know where I am, what I’m doing, or how I’m feeling.
Facebook has been a gift, in the sense that it allows me some control over the kind of information I put out there. There is still a certain amount of anonymity because people will judge you by what you say, for the most part, at “face” value. I’m sure people will also speculate about what you’re not saying (I know I do)—in fact, I find that I worry more about people these days than I used to. I’ve always wished I could stay in contact with some students long after they’ve done my course and even graduated from MUN—some students manage to do this. I’ve known some people for nearly ten years now, who did a course from me in first year university in the late 90s. That, to me, is what it’s all about. I like knowing how people are doing and not just in a surface kind of way. But that’s my burden to bear.
Facebook allows people to put stuff out there and then I’m left wondering—“should I respond to this?” I mean, not just as a human being, but as a prof who’s concerned about his former students, do I even have the right to say, “You know, I’m paying attention and I hope you’re doing okay”? Maybe, maybe not.
I think it’s this whole “friends” idea that gets me. I can honestly say that I like all of the people who have signed on to be my friends. It’s a nice feeling. But whether they actually want me paying that much attention to their lives or not…well, somehow, for most of them, I doubt it. I think I’m supposed to ignore when people are hurting or sad or missing someone or need a surgery or are just in a great mood and want the world to know it. It’s enough for me to just see this and move on with my life. I think that’s what you’re supposed to do.
But I’ve always been empathic. Or empathetic. Not sure which is the right word, actually. But I’ve always cared a little more about people and been able to understand them and read between the lines a bit more than the average person. That’s partly what makes me a writer—not because I can string words together better than anyone else, but because I think I understand a bit about the human condition and I have a need to express it.
Technology is an ambiguous invention that leaves me feeling ambivalent. On the one hand, it brings you closer to people you ordinarily wouldn’t have much contact with. On the other hand, it gives people a reason to stay apart—to never HAVE to see each other face to face. More and more, we’re becoming a society that is intent on keep people apart. That’s what the Blackberry is all about—so that people can be in your company or attending a lecture or movie or whatever and can bury themselves in their Blackberries, iPods, or text-messaging apparatus.
Do we really need all this information at our fingertips? I’ve already got more than I know what to do with—and I’ve got a ton of really great books on my bookshelf that I should have read. I should be going out for walks, enjoying the fresh air. I should be spending time with my wife. I should be writing. I should be spending time with family and friends, hanging out, having lunch and coffee together, playing some sports. All of that, and more. And that’s exactly what I’ve been doing.
My writing hasn’t been going so well lately, but that’s a topic for another day. There are probably lots of factors, but it does bother me that for the first time in my life, I’m having a mild spell of what some people call “writer’s block”. I think that’s worth exploring. Maybe it’ll give me some empathy towards people who do claim to have writer’s block. Before, I’ve always said that all you have to do is sit yourself down and write, that there’s no such thing as writer’s block. I’m still not sure there is, but that is for next time, maybe. Or maybe I'll have something else on my mind by then.
Thanks for being patient with me. I think I got buried there for a while, but I’m probably back now. My promise to myself is to become more regular at writing these blog entries over the next few weeks. Even if there’s one person reading it, that’s plenty for me. (And for the one “anonymous” person who wrote to remind that I have a “patient” audience waiting, thank you for reminding me. Really.) It’s like a time capsule in a way. It doesn’t matter who’s reading now because this page can be discovered years from now by someone who might find it interesting.
Isn’t technology wonderful?
I wonder that about the world a lot. I mean who is REALLY paying attention? I’ve been haunted and stymied lately by the barrage of information, and not necessarily useful information, about people’s insensitivity to the people around them, to the planet, and to their own basic needs. Sometimes I fear that we’re all just going to obliterate ourselves. But then, I guess it is what it is, if that happens. More likely, we’ll just evolve into something else, having destroyed something precious about ourselves and our species at the same time.
Take Facebook, for example. I love it and hate it at the same time. I’ve always been the sort of person that, if I like you or want to get to know you, I’ll spend time with you and talk to you face-to-face. I’ve never been a big fan of the telephone, which is why I don’t own a cellphone. I’m not saying I’ll never buy one, but for now I get by just fine without people knowing where I am and being able to contact me 24 hours a day, 7 days a week. I know they have their uses, which makes them somewhat attractive. And I know some people who swear they could never get by without theirs (which is a lie to oneself, really), but it’s my choice to save some of me for me. I like having downtime, some time when the world doesn’t know where I am, what I’m doing, or how I’m feeling.
Facebook has been a gift, in the sense that it allows me some control over the kind of information I put out there. There is still a certain amount of anonymity because people will judge you by what you say, for the most part, at “face” value. I’m sure people will also speculate about what you’re not saying (I know I do)—in fact, I find that I worry more about people these days than I used to. I’ve always wished I could stay in contact with some students long after they’ve done my course and even graduated from MUN—some students manage to do this. I’ve known some people for nearly ten years now, who did a course from me in first year university in the late 90s. That, to me, is what it’s all about. I like knowing how people are doing and not just in a surface kind of way. But that’s my burden to bear.
Facebook allows people to put stuff out there and then I’m left wondering—“should I respond to this?” I mean, not just as a human being, but as a prof who’s concerned about his former students, do I even have the right to say, “You know, I’m paying attention and I hope you’re doing okay”? Maybe, maybe not.
I think it’s this whole “friends” idea that gets me. I can honestly say that I like all of the people who have signed on to be my friends. It’s a nice feeling. But whether they actually want me paying that much attention to their lives or not…well, somehow, for most of them, I doubt it. I think I’m supposed to ignore when people are hurting or sad or missing someone or need a surgery or are just in a great mood and want the world to know it. It’s enough for me to just see this and move on with my life. I think that’s what you’re supposed to do.
But I’ve always been empathic. Or empathetic. Not sure which is the right word, actually. But I’ve always cared a little more about people and been able to understand them and read between the lines a bit more than the average person. That’s partly what makes me a writer—not because I can string words together better than anyone else, but because I think I understand a bit about the human condition and I have a need to express it.
Technology is an ambiguous invention that leaves me feeling ambivalent. On the one hand, it brings you closer to people you ordinarily wouldn’t have much contact with. On the other hand, it gives people a reason to stay apart—to never HAVE to see each other face to face. More and more, we’re becoming a society that is intent on keep people apart. That’s what the Blackberry is all about—so that people can be in your company or attending a lecture or movie or whatever and can bury themselves in their Blackberries, iPods, or text-messaging apparatus.
Do we really need all this information at our fingertips? I’ve already got more than I know what to do with—and I’ve got a ton of really great books on my bookshelf that I should have read. I should be going out for walks, enjoying the fresh air. I should be spending time with my wife. I should be writing. I should be spending time with family and friends, hanging out, having lunch and coffee together, playing some sports. All of that, and more. And that’s exactly what I’ve been doing.
My writing hasn’t been going so well lately, but that’s a topic for another day. There are probably lots of factors, but it does bother me that for the first time in my life, I’m having a mild spell of what some people call “writer’s block”. I think that’s worth exploring. Maybe it’ll give me some empathy towards people who do claim to have writer’s block. Before, I’ve always said that all you have to do is sit yourself down and write, that there’s no such thing as writer’s block. I’m still not sure there is, but that is for next time, maybe. Or maybe I'll have something else on my mind by then.
Thanks for being patient with me. I think I got buried there for a while, but I’m probably back now. My promise to myself is to become more regular at writing these blog entries over the next few weeks. Even if there’s one person reading it, that’s plenty for me. (And for the one “anonymous” person who wrote to remind that I have a “patient” audience waiting, thank you for reminding me. Really.) It’s like a time capsule in a way. It doesn’t matter who’s reading now because this page can be discovered years from now by someone who might find it interesting.
Isn’t technology wonderful?
Wednesday, September 26, 2007
That's debatable.
Watched the provincial election debate last night and surprised myself by actually enjoying some of it.
Forget Gerry Reid. I know the man is doing a job that nobody else wanted and he at least had the cajones (or self-delusion) to step up and be at the front of the room for his caucus. But I absolutely despise everything the man stands for. He criticizes the government simply for the sake of criticism itself. Williams is right--he's just a negative person who, left to his own devices, would certainly drag Newfoundland thirty or forty years into the past. He doesn't seem to get it at all that in order to get anywhere, we all have to row this big ol' boat together. Nothing wrong with asking the captain if he's sure we're headed in the right direction or telling him when the boat is leaky or we need a couple of new oars, or there's a definite storm on the horizon. But Fletcher Christian was a bit deluded too and Captain Bligh (taskmaster though he was) at least knew how to navigate rough seas.
I thought Lorraine Michael, NDP leader, was the surprise of the night. I didn't really expect much from her. She seems like a smart lady, very nice, and all that. But I never saw her as someone who was capable of being leader of the opposition before. Well, now I do. She not only spoke extremely well--more articulate in her vision and very specific in her examples of what needed to be done better--than either of the other two party leaders. I'm still not sure I'd want her leading the government (which won't happen anyway), but I like that she showed she coudl stand up to Danny Williams without being disrespectful or ignorant. I was really impressed with her and if you judge "winning" a debate by how many minds you are able to convert from the original position, then I think she won, easily.
Danny Williams was himself, plain-spoken, straightforward, and sensible. There were some questions he didn't answer directly and now and then he makes me a bit squeamish with his methods of getting things done. He was a bit confrontational about things that really didn't require confrontation, such as when Michaels said that she'd gotten phone calls from disgruntled voters late at night. Williams said it bothers him that she would say that because that just makes him look bad. Well, fair enough. But she says it happened and I believe her. Maybe it was only once or twice, but the fact is, she can't take it back just because it implies someone isn't doing their job properly. It was a small point that Williams made bigger by attacking the messenger.
Still, Williams didn't hurt himself at all in the debate. He's still the people's choice and will remain so until, or unless, he slips up badly soon or in the coming years.
Michaels will gain a lot more support after last night, maybe even enough to gain a couple more seats. It won't take more than a handful to become the official opposition. We'd all be better off if that happened.
As for Gerry Reid, well, hopefully those poor old souls who have always voted liberal because their fathers and grandfathers voted Liberal will finally give up the ghost and vote for progress and positivism instead of negativity and fear-mongering. If he lost his Twillingate seat tomorrow, it wouldn't be too soon, as far as I'm concerned.
Scores on the debate:
Williams- B+
Michaels- A-
Reid- D
Forget Gerry Reid. I know the man is doing a job that nobody else wanted and he at least had the cajones (or self-delusion) to step up and be at the front of the room for his caucus. But I absolutely despise everything the man stands for. He criticizes the government simply for the sake of criticism itself. Williams is right--he's just a negative person who, left to his own devices, would certainly drag Newfoundland thirty or forty years into the past. He doesn't seem to get it at all that in order to get anywhere, we all have to row this big ol' boat together. Nothing wrong with asking the captain if he's sure we're headed in the right direction or telling him when the boat is leaky or we need a couple of new oars, or there's a definite storm on the horizon. But Fletcher Christian was a bit deluded too and Captain Bligh (taskmaster though he was) at least knew how to navigate rough seas.
I thought Lorraine Michael, NDP leader, was the surprise of the night. I didn't really expect much from her. She seems like a smart lady, very nice, and all that. But I never saw her as someone who was capable of being leader of the opposition before. Well, now I do. She not only spoke extremely well--more articulate in her vision and very specific in her examples of what needed to be done better--than either of the other two party leaders. I'm still not sure I'd want her leading the government (which won't happen anyway), but I like that she showed she coudl stand up to Danny Williams without being disrespectful or ignorant. I was really impressed with her and if you judge "winning" a debate by how many minds you are able to convert from the original position, then I think she won, easily.
Danny Williams was himself, plain-spoken, straightforward, and sensible. There were some questions he didn't answer directly and now and then he makes me a bit squeamish with his methods of getting things done. He was a bit confrontational about things that really didn't require confrontation, such as when Michaels said that she'd gotten phone calls from disgruntled voters late at night. Williams said it bothers him that she would say that because that just makes him look bad. Well, fair enough. But she says it happened and I believe her. Maybe it was only once or twice, but the fact is, she can't take it back just because it implies someone isn't doing their job properly. It was a small point that Williams made bigger by attacking the messenger.
Still, Williams didn't hurt himself at all in the debate. He's still the people's choice and will remain so until, or unless, he slips up badly soon or in the coming years.
Michaels will gain a lot more support after last night, maybe even enough to gain a couple more seats. It won't take more than a handful to become the official opposition. We'd all be better off if that happened.
As for Gerry Reid, well, hopefully those poor old souls who have always voted liberal because their fathers and grandfathers voted Liberal will finally give up the ghost and vote for progress and positivism instead of negativity and fear-mongering. If he lost his Twillingate seat tomorrow, it wouldn't be too soon, as far as I'm concerned.
Scores on the debate:
Williams- B+
Michaels- A-
Reid- D
Sunday, September 2, 2007
Dreams in Fall
What a shocker it was this morning to wake up to September. The north wind is cold and blustery, not a hint of sun in the sky. Change, literally, is in the air.
Everywhere I turn, there’s something changing for someone. The students are arriving back in the city in dribs and drabs. Some are excited to be here after a summer away, while lots more are disgusted and weary at the thought of another semester of writing essays and attending classes, always being tired and stressed with deadline after deadline. But it’s another year closer to finishing school for good, which, for some people, can be scary in itself because who knows what comes next?
People are back from vacations, heading back to work, half asleep behind the wheel, dejected that summer is over before it had barely begun. I’ve already seen the geese flying in V-formation across Mundy Pond, dipping their wings in the water before taking flight across the tall thrushes that circle the pond’s edge. The stores are selling Halloween decorations and candy, trying to get the jump on the competition.
I think that’s what people who don’t like this time of year feel most uncomfortable with. September is like the end of a dream in which warm weather is the norm, you can wear what you want, be what you want, go where you desire. September brings rules and business, reminders that the world is competitive, which is why summer can’t last. We have to get up early, go to school, go to work, spend our day being busy, either making money or preparing to make money. Because it’s commerce that makes the world go around. That’s what it’s all for—the studying, the working, the courses, the years of slaving away: getting a job and making a living in order to make a mark on the world, maybe raise a family so that your children can follow in your money-earning, mark-making footsteps. In the summer, we try to forget all of that stuff. But in September, we are reminded, if only subconsciously, that any bohemian dreams can’t last, that eventually reality has to set in and we have to wake up.
Strangely, I’m not all that cynical. The need to make money is a reality, so there’s no point in chafing against it. The idea, I think, is to make sure you’re doing something you enjoy or, at least, do something that will hopefully lead to something you’ll enjoy.
Which is why I’m taking this semester (at least) off from teaching to work on my writing. While I love teaching more than a reasonable person ought to (or so I’ve been told), I have always dreamed of being a writer. I put it off for a while in order to make a living, or to do the courses and programs that would allow me to make a living. That’s the business of life. But now it’s time to follow a dream. I’m at an age now when most people I know have put their dreams aside, setting both feet firmly into the land of raising families and earning a living, effectively putting their hopes on the shoulders of the next generation. Our parents do that sometimes—by their actions, they often tell us that it’s okay to give up on what you wanted out of life so that someone else can do it instead.
Sometimes, though, I think it’s only right to finish what you started—to show that you don’t have to give up on your dreams after thirty-five. Too often, in schools and universities (and sometimes at home), we tell children that your most important task is to get an education that will get you a good job. But what comes after that? It’s important, as far as I’m concerned, to hold onto your dreams—the things that you want more than anything, that will make you happy—no matter what. Because that’s what we’re living for, isn’t it? If we’re not making ourselves happy, we can hardly expect to make anyone else happy. I know far too many people who finish school, get the job, even get the family they wanted, then walk around in a state of quiet desperation.
Having said that, I’m trying to make the transition from teacher to writer, at least for the coming year. In summer, it was easier because classes were out, mostly, and my brain kept telling me that, come the fall, I’ll be back in the class room.
I already miss it. For every September since I can remember, I’ve always been in a classroom somewhere—either as a student or as a teacher. It’s in my blood, and I’m sure I’ll wander to campus every now and then just to take in all the usual sights and sounds of my favourite time of year.
But, ultimately, it’s me and my keyboard, sitting in my office at home or in a downtown coffee shop, hacking out the next short story, play, or novel that—while not necessarily bringing either fame or fortune—will make me feel more comfortable in my own skin because it’s what I wanted to do more than anything else, like drawing the sword from the stone. I’m not trying to make the world a better place; I’m just trying to make my world a better place.
And that amounts to the same thing.
Everywhere I turn, there’s something changing for someone. The students are arriving back in the city in dribs and drabs. Some are excited to be here after a summer away, while lots more are disgusted and weary at the thought of another semester of writing essays and attending classes, always being tired and stressed with deadline after deadline. But it’s another year closer to finishing school for good, which, for some people, can be scary in itself because who knows what comes next?
People are back from vacations, heading back to work, half asleep behind the wheel, dejected that summer is over before it had barely begun. I’ve already seen the geese flying in V-formation across Mundy Pond, dipping their wings in the water before taking flight across the tall thrushes that circle the pond’s edge. The stores are selling Halloween decorations and candy, trying to get the jump on the competition.
I think that’s what people who don’t like this time of year feel most uncomfortable with. September is like the end of a dream in which warm weather is the norm, you can wear what you want, be what you want, go where you desire. September brings rules and business, reminders that the world is competitive, which is why summer can’t last. We have to get up early, go to school, go to work, spend our day being busy, either making money or preparing to make money. Because it’s commerce that makes the world go around. That’s what it’s all for—the studying, the working, the courses, the years of slaving away: getting a job and making a living in order to make a mark on the world, maybe raise a family so that your children can follow in your money-earning, mark-making footsteps. In the summer, we try to forget all of that stuff. But in September, we are reminded, if only subconsciously, that any bohemian dreams can’t last, that eventually reality has to set in and we have to wake up.
Strangely, I’m not all that cynical. The need to make money is a reality, so there’s no point in chafing against it. The idea, I think, is to make sure you’re doing something you enjoy or, at least, do something that will hopefully lead to something you’ll enjoy.
Which is why I’m taking this semester (at least) off from teaching to work on my writing. While I love teaching more than a reasonable person ought to (or so I’ve been told), I have always dreamed of being a writer. I put it off for a while in order to make a living, or to do the courses and programs that would allow me to make a living. That’s the business of life. But now it’s time to follow a dream. I’m at an age now when most people I know have put their dreams aside, setting both feet firmly into the land of raising families and earning a living, effectively putting their hopes on the shoulders of the next generation. Our parents do that sometimes—by their actions, they often tell us that it’s okay to give up on what you wanted out of life so that someone else can do it instead.
Sometimes, though, I think it’s only right to finish what you started—to show that you don’t have to give up on your dreams after thirty-five. Too often, in schools and universities (and sometimes at home), we tell children that your most important task is to get an education that will get you a good job. But what comes after that? It’s important, as far as I’m concerned, to hold onto your dreams—the things that you want more than anything, that will make you happy—no matter what. Because that’s what we’re living for, isn’t it? If we’re not making ourselves happy, we can hardly expect to make anyone else happy. I know far too many people who finish school, get the job, even get the family they wanted, then walk around in a state of quiet desperation.
Having said that, I’m trying to make the transition from teacher to writer, at least for the coming year. In summer, it was easier because classes were out, mostly, and my brain kept telling me that, come the fall, I’ll be back in the class room.
I already miss it. For every September since I can remember, I’ve always been in a classroom somewhere—either as a student or as a teacher. It’s in my blood, and I’m sure I’ll wander to campus every now and then just to take in all the usual sights and sounds of my favourite time of year.
But, ultimately, it’s me and my keyboard, sitting in my office at home or in a downtown coffee shop, hacking out the next short story, play, or novel that—while not necessarily bringing either fame or fortune—will make me feel more comfortable in my own skin because it’s what I wanted to do more than anything else, like drawing the sword from the stone. I’m not trying to make the world a better place; I’m just trying to make my world a better place.
And that amounts to the same thing.
Wednesday, August 15, 2007
Busted!
I've been neglecting my blog, and I fear that it will soon be taken away from me by some gov't agency that's responsible for blog protections services or something like that.
There's just so much going on, and it's been summer time, and I've just let it go for a little while. I've got tons to say, and I'm going to start saying it again soon. Thanks for being patient with me. I've been bad. But soon I'll be good again.
Must go watch the last half of the ballgame. Talk to you again real soon! Promise.
G
There's just so much going on, and it's been summer time, and I've just let it go for a little while. I've got tons to say, and I'm going to start saying it again soon. Thanks for being patient with me. I've been bad. But soon I'll be good again.
Must go watch the last half of the ballgame. Talk to you again real soon! Promise.
G
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