Damnit.

SPIKE TV has decided not to renew Blade: The Series for another season. This might sound silly, but Blade was, at times, quite a good show, completely different from what I expected, and the only thing I looked forward to on TV all this year (with the exception of The Colbert Report and certain Charlie Rose interviews, of course). Even though the series had reasonable numbers for something on a specialty channel (1 million+ viewers), and received far more favourable reviews than any of the Blade movies (!), it attracted too many females and too few males than what SPIKE's marketing team needed to sell the male-oriented advertising the network is geared for. In any case, New Line Cinema is apparently still behind the show "100%", and Blade may find a home on another network soon enough. If you watched, and liked, do send an email to the chaps in charge, buy the DVD when it comes out, and keep your fingers crossed.

Six Criticisms of Stephen Harper's Conservatives

If you've been following the plight of Canada's Liberal Party as it tries to assemble a reasonable opposition and rebuild its ability to win government, you'll know that the current Liberal line entails accusing the Conservative minority government of (among other clichés) 'being in bed' with George W. Bush, the American neo-conservative movement, and U.S. Republican Party on the whole. While in some cases these villifications may not be in complete opposition with the truth -- the U.S. and Canada shared similar positions on the Israeli-Lebanon conflict, for example, and the Conservatives have a similar, if placid, social agenda to the Bushites -- an award-winning election strategy Bushwhacking does not make. We need only look at the triumphant defeat of the Democratic Johns for evidence of this.

Yes, the 2006 Liberal Leadership Campaign looks like a boring version of a student union election, complete with tow-the-line pre-Law types, poli sci geeks, and crazy protest-loving leftists. Yes, Joe Volpe is a bridge troll. Yes, Bob Rae, one of the frontrunners, was Ontario's most ill-fated premier, and an NDP one at that. Yes, Stephane Dion, another frontrunner, wrote the most mind-numbingly vague piece of legislation in recent Canadian history, and later named it the "Clarity Act" in what must surely be the most tongue-in-cheek choice of words to ever appear at the top of a Parliament bill. And yes, Michael Ignatieff, another frontrunner, hasn't really lived in Canada since Trudeau was Prime Minister, and likes to call accidentally killed Lebanese civilians "diminishing returns."

It's all true. It's a shit show. And I'm normally fairly non-partisan, finding strengths in all three-or-perhaps-four of Canada's political parties. But the centralist, federalist, Trudeauist in me thinks we must have hope.

Hard-hitting, easy-to-understand election slogans are, generally speaking, a good species of language to use amidst the dull sea of policy rhetoric that is usually the hallmark of a Canadian election campaign. But trumpeting slogans (and the more detailed, wordy rhetoric that follows) such as "Harper is Bush," "The Canadian Blue is the American Red," or "Once a Neo-Con, Always a Neo-Con" will not work for the Liberals. The twin legacies of the Adscam Sponsorship Scandal and Paul Martin's complete and utter uselessness as a minority PM will require more than simple finger-pointing, moniker-applying, and an election strategy constructed entirely out of what appears to be negative space, in order to be overcome. The Liberals will need actual policies, actual vision, and, low and behold, an electable leader. Such may be the case by January 2007.

Aside from these positives, though, it seems to me the that Libs have missed a number of opportunities to get Harper where it hurts -- attack him on real grounds where he can't respond, and where the previous Liberal record may not reveal a conspiratory Martin or Chretien government. That is to say that few Liberals have mounted a well-researched attacks on the Conservatives that do NOT entail comparing them to the Cheney-Perle-Wolfowitz-Rumsfeld brand of neo-conservatism.

In the spirit of political bloodsport and rubbing-things-in, here are a few the Libs may want to try between now and December (and maybe afterwards, too!):

1. Reinvestment. Canada has produced surpluses for more than a decade, the most recent being in excess of $13 billion ... and, in light of this, the Conservatives have decided to cut $1 billion-worth of programs on the basis that they don't serve the needs of Canadians. Interesting tactic. Of course, the Conservative idea of what a "Canadian" is seems to be a middle-class working person who has an education, belongs to a family, drives a car, and pays taxes... rather than, say, a "Canadian" who visits museums, attends adult literacy classes, or seeks youth employment. But let's not be too harsh. As has been pointed out elsewhere, these cuts were coming. And some of the cuts make sense. Look at the money the Conservatives released simply by downsizing the huge Liberal cabinet. Paying down the debt, likewise, should be a priority for any government with a surplus on its hands.

But the expected cuts are just that -- little bits of fiscal predictability from a government that shows no indication of wanting to reinvest in those "non-essential" parts of Canada that don't involve taxes, jobs, or some combination of the two. Funding the arts does not necessarily provide you with a monetary return. Instead, it provides with a point for living aside from paychecks and raises. The government should be looking at reinvesting in programs they cut high and dry in 1995 -- PSE, anyone? -- instead of trimming more "fat." And at this point we're talking thin layers of fat overlapping the bones of a near-skeleton. Let's not forget the Conservative abrogation of Kyoto -- for what? An environmental stall? Post-Secondary Education, Health Care, the Federal-Provincial Fiscal Imbalance, you name it, the Acronym needs it. And the Conservatives have done shit.

2. Foreign Policy. The Asia-Pacific, now emerging as the world's most important region, is becoming peripheral in Ottawa as the Federal Government's field of vision becomes narrower. Aside from the ridiculous mid-Lebanon plane stunt, and his government's irrational and unconditional support of Israel, Stephen Harper's foreign policy has been a few shades better than the Liberals (this is a point especially well made when people like the Honourable Denis Coderre march in support Hezbollah).

But a major element in Canada's foreign policy, Canada-China relations, have slowly been going the way of Trudeau's mid-1970s "Third Option" push to increase Canada-ECC trade. That is, they are going nowhere. This report is hardly surprising. Increased trade with China represents the first real opportunity Canada may have to expand its export portfolio beyond the U.S. by a significant margin. Anyone up on Chinese foreign policy, domestic policy, or Canada-China relations realizes this. China is interested in our oil, our water, our markets, and our ability to supply just about all of the resources China will start needing if it plans to continue to develop its xiaokang and flying geese development strategies. Which it does. And the international demand from Chinese markets will be overwhelming. There is no lack of evidence that China-U.S. relations are tenuous at best, especially on the economic front. This relationship will necessarily affect Canada as Sino-American competition over our water, precious metals, and oil continues to mount. China has major feelers in the tar sand operations already; it's time to start planning, on a political level, so that Canada can ease into a large, robust trading relationship with China without damaging its relationship with the United States. And it's also time to start encouraging increasing China-Canada trade, more cultural exchanges, and political interaction. East Asia is a powderkeg with no neutral parties, including the U.S. By increasing Canada's profile in Chinese affairs, we are better positioned to broker future agreements and disagreements over BMD, militarization, regional disputes, and U.S.-China impasses. And we will gain a bigger, better chair at the human rights table in China.

3. Image. The Conservative Leader is one of the least charismatic leaders in the world, and may even be so within his party. Harper looks like your Average Joe, yes, but he is no "man of the people" insofar as diplomacy and statesmanship are concerned. Harper's hermitic nature does not score him points with international organizations, leaders, or persons expecting someone of Trudeau's, Chretien's, Mulroney's, or (at worst) Pearson's diplomatic stature. MacKay, maybe; Harper, no. Take the whole International AIDS Conference fiasco. Some people became very angry when Harper didn't show up to an international conference about the world's most high-profile killer. Others say his decision to send two ministers was enough, given that other PMs didn't go in the past.

But if you're the smartest man in the room, why not take the middle-ground? Why not send two Ministers (or one Minister) and a pre-taped message that explains the decision? Surely someone in Harper's handling team knew the AIDS conference organizers would be disappointed, particularly since Paul Martin promised he would attend if elected. Surely someone in Harper's handling team knew that issues like AIDS are not just African problems, and that millions of Canadians live with the disease each day. Surely someone in Harper's handling team knew that even a token gesture at the conference would have been better than complete ignorance, especially in the eyes of Quebec voters, whom Harper will need to win a majority. In electoral politics, image is almost everything. Provided someone worth a damn wins the Liberal leadership race (*cough*), image may not be the Liberals' worst liability.

4. Stockwell Day.

5. Social reform. The Conservatives are, to be frank, conservative. Liberal voters who "went blue" in the last election need to remember that. Harper has not moved on changing the definition of marriage so that it limits such a union to a man and a woman (doing so would be unconstitutional and require either a constitutional amendment and/or the use of the notwithstanding clause). But the Conservatives have said they will prevent marijuana from being decriminalized, and their latest round of cuts hardly point out their undying support for women's groups or the arts. A full discussion of why marijuana should be decriminalized in Canada is beyond the scope of my little number/point here, but essentially entails: 1. less kids in jail or with records that have ruined their lives; 2. the limitation of an underground economy that supports other types of drug trade; 3. more taxes for government; 4. a cleaner, more regulated product; 5. more jobs for skilled workers; and 6. less petty work for police so they can better focus on more destructive substance abuses and crimes.

Canadians should expect more of this if the Conservatives win a majority government. Or, rather, Canadians should expect the Liberals to point out an undeniable probability: that a Conservative minority means no movement on marijuana, possible movement on same-sex, and future revisions of Canada's progressive social agenda.... that is, if the Liberals could mount a campaign worth a damn.

6. Defence. The Conservatives have done an awful job explaining their defence decisions. I support the mission in Afghanistan. I semi-support BMD, although I have my reservations about a system that will give China, Japan, Iran, North Korea and possibly Taiwan further excuses to militarize. But the Conservatives haven't explained what our troops are doing in Afghanistan, and they haven't moved anywhere in regards to the yes/no ambiguity of the Liberals' decision on Canada's participation in BMD. Worse, the international community seems to be in the woods regarding the extent of our commitments. In Afghanistan, contrary to popular belief, Canadians are not involved in a purely combat role. Our troops are building schools, protecting residential areas and attempting to limit major Taliban presence to a small area in Afghanistan's south. And despite what Paul Martin says, this is exactly what was entailed in our mission when the Liberals signed on post-9/11. Violence in Kabul has been limited to the occasional suicide bomb and/or assissination. These are troubling events, yes, but this is far different reality from when we went in, or before we went in, when it was illegal for Afghans to listen to music, watch movies, and women were brutally oppressed.

The Liberals have a case, if slim, to call the Conservative government out on its own record -- and not its alleged ties to Bushism, neo-conservatism, or any "what may or may not be true" speculation about the "craftiness" and "creepiness" of Harper's secret agenda. Painting the enemy black is a good idea, but it should be done with some substance. Imagine carrying the Bush-Harper line for three hours in a nationally-devised debate; easy, perhaps. Election-winning, no. If the Libs are smart, and I hope they are, they should take heed and turn this slim case into a fighting one.

Thoughts of a Midnight Rambler

People often ask me what it's like to have lived in the same place for so long; I've effectively lived in the same room, rather consistently, for two decades.

Well, I'll tell you: it's not as comfortable as it seems. There's nothing sheltering, easing, or innocent about staying in one place whilst everyone else moves around you, past you, and elsewhere, including just about anyone you ever cared about. It's hermitic -- it's absolutely isolating.

Sometimes.

Sometimes it can be a blast, knowing the contour of the sidewalk, the history of a building, the feeling and memories of some late-night escapade seeping upward from a moist streetscape. You laugh, you see smiles, and you smile back. You listen to a record and you know ever word, every vocal nuance, every missed beat, every record crackle. You look into an old shoebox full of memories you wrote down and forgot about -- but didn't, really. You're home.

Other times, home is downright lonely.

New smiles remind you of other smiles you never see, like you're that one cop, that one solider who's still posted to some outpost somewhere where everyone dies, transfers, or simply disappears into the great, dark nature beyond. You're that last officer on duty; you're locking up premises, meeting the morning shift as the sun comes up and you walk home tired. You meet newcomers, remember your old friends, and then remember the newcomers as they become old and wrinkle into questions: "what's that building? Is this a good bar? Where's that? What are your plans in life?"

Living in one place for a time when none of your peers do the same is eerie. It's an uncanny valley of familiarity, ease, and extraterrestriality. Your sense of self-perception becomes very adult. You, crystal clear, sober as a stick, remain in focus and in place. But everything else is as if trapped behind a badly-made lens; you're stuck in a turnstile door, going round and round, while a filmmaker captures you in regular speed and everyone else in fast-forward. You can't put a name to a place or a place to name because the place is the same and the faces are many; a dozen rainfalls won't wash them away, but all the chiseling in the world won't make them any clearer, either.

The Spring Garden curb, the Barrington bench, the church wall by Pizza Corner, the drive over Magazine Hill; the stones, the blocks, the bars, and the sewers begin to tell you that you're the only stagehand in the production, and the cast has since turned to dust, ghosts, phantoms and apparition, remembered in photographs tacked up on the box office wall.

It's time to move on, stagehand.

But where?

"Place" isn't just form and structure; it is people. And the parade can be disorienting, sobering, and isolating even as it marches in and out of the harbour, out and to the airport, waiting in terminals, staring at arrival times, sipping coffee and sitting on badly upholstered benches. You don't need to remain in one place to understand what an alienating, bizarre, flukey society we live in. Social connections, the lifeblood of human interaction, are sacrificed in the face of professional ones. We trudge off to jobs and bills but do not think of humans. How many friendships out there have been squandered? How many loves lost? I am no alien. Materially, I am in one place. But in spirit and in body I am not. I can leave, walk into the harbour, step onto an airplane, and find someone else's mid-insect, mid-ruler, mid-transit treadmill. And I can keep running.

But would it be any different?

Sometimes, I feel like a nomad who has never left his home. Where is here? And what is this place other than the people who do not live here, or won't tomorrow?

Other times, I perfectly comfortable. I wouldn't give up this life for the world.

Most times I feel both at once.

One thing in life, it seems, can't be expressed by the formulas — and that's the basic dichotomy of it all, the absurdity, the sadness, the hypocrisy and the madness, and the confluence of all that (and more) into a taste and feeling and rhythm and time that makes one feel older, wiser, younger, and more vulnerable all at the same time. It's 2+2 = 5. It's a tired, jubilant sunrise. It's new memories and old memories stacked in shelves. And I suppose it's wonderful nonsense, so long there turns out to be an finish line for the treadmill somewhere over the horizon, and bit of luck for me to get there.

(pre-)Autumn in Paris (er, Halifax...), The Genius of Gustav Holst, and the Eternal Question that Tends to Bother Me once a day at 9:47 p.m.

Fall is almost upon us. The Fall season, for me, has been a major catalyst of change. It was back in grade 11 that I rid myself of my first and only cast (rods included, although my left arm is permanently damaged); it was in 2000 that I started university (and proceeded to get both horrible grades and a great foos game); it was in 2003 that I was hired as The Dalhousie Gazette's news editor, an event that completely changed my life path (unequivocally for the better, unless you talk to my liver); it was in 2005 that, among other things, I began my one-year barnburner of a stint as Editor-in-Chief at The Dalhousie Gazette; and it is now, in 2006, that I find myself saying goodbye to a dear friend, sayonara to the classrooms I once called home, and hello the great big unknown beyond.

(It's true: aside from a course I am auditing at St. Mary's, I am no longer a student of any kind. This hasn't been true since I was 4 years old. Gasp! Ack!)

And so I am confronted with memories and realities that are both bittersweet and exciting; of departing friends, of new beginnings, of fall fashion (no, I am not 'metro'), of a new Parliament (no, I am not as big a poli geek as some other people I know... like 2 or 3), of the sharp, welcome prang of Fall air (yes, 'prang' is a word, and dictionaries are wrong), of a newly-endowed Li Dong (Mr. Dong has been hitting the gym — it shows — and the bastard won 97,000 USD in a single poker game last month), and of the recently departed, the planet Pluto (on that: look, if the beauty of Gustav Holst's "The Planets" needs no Pluto, neither do we).

* * *

I am also confronted with several new links on the right, and a new wisdom of the month, care of Reid Southwick. Mr. Southwick will now be mentioned in every post of mine for a week, as the contest deal stipulates. Reid's entry was certainly not the best, and I thank all of you who submitted. Unfortunately, Reid managed to out-pester all of you, at one point threatening to physically harm me if I didn't post his submission soon. The lesson in all this: I respond well to physical threats.

The new links are, in no order (of course!): my friend Aimee's blog, which appears to be about her glorious life gallivanting around downtown Halifax, having fun while the rest of us become depressed and hermitic; my friend Laura's blog, which chronicles her time in Ghana, making the rest of us wish we were overseas and immunized against all sorts of diseases; and my friend Paul Yeoman's blog, who used to run the University of Western Ontario with his left hand while blogging with his right ("blogging," of course, is up to your interpretation). Please do check them out.

* * *

Finally, all this talk about Fall and life-altering catalyst-type events often makes we wonder: what is the meaning of life? Is there meaning? Is there a point in searching for it? Why must I ask so many questions and learn so many tricks when a newborn turtle is already capable of walking, swimming, and hiding in its shell? And where is my shell? Did someone steal it?

I suppose, after the noise calms down, the question marks relent, and the turtles become teenaged, that there can only be a single conclusion. That the meaning of life is just that — to wonder about the meaning of life.

I also suppose that this wondering provides life with a sense of restlessness; a journey of sorts in which our minds expand while our bodies slowly give way to the withering effects of time, temptation, and all that good stuff that so occupied the minds of Aristotle, Newton, Einstein, Holmes, Deep Thought, and, perhaps, the creators of CSI.

(Aristotle, I must say, was a smart chap. The jury is still out on CSI.)

And so, I also suppose, we're likely to die before we find an answer, or, perhaps, even before we figure out how to ask the question. But we die perhaps knowing that the answer was in fact nothing more than the question, and that, perhaps, it was the question, not the answer, that needed answering. The asking, the wondering, and the searching, then, was all put out there to get us going on this journey of ours, this circular process of asking questions, knowing answers, and succumbing to the withering effects of time.

(With some room for blogging in the interim, of course!)

Expressed mathematically, this might appear as follows.

Meaning of life/answer (x) = wondering (y) + asking (w)
Journey/withering (z) = wondering (y) + asking (w) + time (t)
THUS
x = y + w; and
z = y + w + t
THEREFORE
z - t = y + w; and because
x = y + w; then
x = z - t;
AKA
The meaning of life (x) = journey/withering (z) - time (t);
which means that
x = z - t;
and because z = 57 varieties, and t = +/- 15 billion years
the meaning of life = 42

(Hmmm...)

* * *

A last supposition, then, is that the above paragraphs will result in my arrest, trial, conviction, and execution, all of it done in no short order, on grounds of excessive silliness, circular logic, and the prodigious, profuse, unabashed use of sap for undesirable effect. I hope, then, that my departure (hello Pluto!) will save me from having to ask questions that I do not know, seek answers that I already possess, or wear inadequate footwear while on a silly journey in which I must wither, succumb, and watch CSI.

(Although, I will admit, CSI makes great use of camera lens filters, and is no stranger to my favourite band, The Who.)

Alas, if only the meaning of life were so kind!

Zaht is Ahl,
再见。

Done and done and time to Roll(ing Stone).

No political rants today, although I tend to save those for comments on other people's blogs (for my opinions on Neo-Conservatism and Iraq, see this; for my response to the accusation that Canadian media is "trash," which IMHO it is unequivocally not, go here).

In other news:

I've finally submitted all six copies of my thesis (that is, 193 pages x 6) to the Faculty of Graduate Studies. On that note, I'd like to apologize to trees everywhere, and congratulate paper companies on making a mint off of my troubles (in total, I've printed about 20 copies, a few dozen copies on my introduction, plus hundreds of replacement pages for typos I noticed after-the-fact... Thanks to The Gazette for helping out... I would also like to thank Louise Carbert and the rest of the Department for putting up with my defence being moved to a rather awkward time, the morning of the 6th, when we had to substitute a chair, among other things, and for dealing with FGS when I couldn't get a third signature on my signatures sheet -- thanks!).

Despite the delays, FGS is sneaking me in for this October's graduation. I know this first-hand because FGS has kindly added $120 to my university account bill, thus disabling me from requesting the transcripts I need. Fan^&*%ingtastick!

Given this, I'm going to celebrate (a bit) on Friday. Party starts at the Gradhouse. Give me a shout. I may continue the festivities the next day by picking up a ticket to the Stones, (hopefully shamelessly from day-of ticket dumping) and getting my ear drums hammered in by a group of lost-past-their-due waifish ghouls with a bunch of guitars and a drummer.

On that:
Let's be honest. The Stones have almost never been a good live band, which generally requires either a tight, competent, but nervous ensemble, or a bunch of virtuosos who can take chaos and turn it into art without thinking about. The Stones, who capitalize on looseness, sit in an uncomfortable middle. They are anything but nervous. And they are not virtuosos. At their height, Mick Taylor handled the post-Brian Jones virtuoso factor well. But he quit. Charlie Watts is certainly competent, Mick Jagger is certainly unique, and Keith Richards is certainly a genius. But virtuosos or nervous players they are not.

(I know almost nothing about Ronnie Wood, Taylor's virtual "replacement," other than he appears to be semi-competent, skinny enough to fit in with the other waifish ghouls, and was probably better off with Rod Stewart in Jeff Beck's proto-heavy metal group of the late 1960s than on a stage with Keify.)

The Stones' various elements make for a great studio band, but, over the years, have left the Stones' live shows fairly spotty — especially in comparison to their main hard rock competitors, The Beatles, who always played clear and clean, safe but fun; Cream, who specialized in jazzy wanking bookmarked by crunchy blues riffs; The Who, who are probably the best live band in history, being simultaneous masters of chaos, noise, power chords, storytelling, humour, and art; and later, Led Zeppelin, who reached beyond anything that had been done in rock and roll before 1968, performing massive 3-hour shows with only one set, twenty-minute drum solos, and a prodiguous use of lighting effects, theatrics, and violin bows.

Still, the Stones could light up a stage on occasion, combining just the right amount of choas with lots of feel and improvisation (see the 1970 live album "Get Yer Ya-Yas Out!"). In Mick and Keith's old age, however, the once teetering-on-chaos Stones show has now become a bit of a bizarre affair in which the band seems to play a lot of inspired (but unorganized) nonsense over top of an extremely professional band. The effect is kind of like putting a new hybrid engine into an old 1950s hot rod. It's an interesting idea, and it "works," if only because the hotrod would not move without and engine, and an engine on its own is basically just a machine of function that sits on the ground needing to either be put into a car or sold to someone who will.

"Works," of course, is a word that can be read in many different ways, especially in music. For example, INXS picking a new lead singer they like "works." Is it art? Maybe. Is it great art? Probably not. In fact, great art usually comes out of something that doesn't "work," or at least not by the standards previously set for things that do "work." The Stones is just that: a band that doesn't work according to any previously arranged rules or classification of what makes or does not make good music. Like most of the great innovators in the rock genre, the Stones' music is cacophonous, but beautiful. The band is disorganized, but "in the pocket," never missing a beat, never ruining a groove. The Stones' backing band may be a pacemaker of sorts, a new plastic wrap put over the band to keep its contents from spilling all over the place -- but the contents are still there, the heart is still good, and, of course, the songs are still timeless, as they should be, being "timeless" and all. Mick and Keith may be the musical equivalent of a wine from 1795 that was really only drinkable until a few decades ago, but hey, when was the last time your tried a wine from 1795? And when was the last time you saw a rusty hotrod with a hybrid engine singing "I Can't Get No Satisfaction"?

Well, I'm going to check it out, anyway!

Zaht is Ahl,
再见。

我的论文是很大！

The thesis has been successfully defended, and I am now burried in the machinations of proofing the damned thing for the Faculty of Graduate Studies and getting it out the door. In fact, I got a small extension last week:

Good day Mr. LaRoche,

You have offered many and varied reasons in support of an extension. Unfortunately the vast majority of them are evidence of bad planning, more than genuinely extenuating circumstances. Having said this, if you can provide a clean thesis by the end of the working day on Monday, September 11, we will accept it.

Sometimes the truth hurts. Sometimes it can also get you a weekend's worth of time. Sometimes, when your extension is up, it turns out that you were never registered in your programme properly in the first place, so FGS can't even look at your thesis. This gives you a second extension, and a bill of $2,199 CAD when it is fixed.

* * *

Some of you have been asking, what's next? Well, I have been interviewed by the Library of Parliament in Ottawa for a defence policy analyst position, and I am waiting to hear back. The position sounds great (odd hours, lots of writing), and right up my alley policy-wise -- but we'll see. The competition out there is stiff as a salted cod, and I've been out of the defence world for a few months now because of the giant 200-page word document on my desktop.

In the meantime, I'm working one/two research jobs for John MacIntyre and Frank Harvey, the former of Figuratively Speaking fame (syndicated column that gets printed 10 million + times; I did the sixth stat down in the linked column, for example), the latter of Smoke and Mirrors fame. They're fun gigs, and I am enjoying slumming around Halifax with no money and little future.

(I am also taking a second-year Chinese class at St. Mary's to keep my mind nubile and work on my 中文／普通话, and perhaps get a future... translating Chinese or something... who knows).

This week I've been charged with writing the front-page editorial in the Dalhousie Gazette. It's nice to return to my old digs, though I've imposed strict standards on myself regarding word length this time, mostly because I no longer run the paper, so I can't write 1,500 words and get away with it. Or, at least, I can't do that without looking especially narcissistic. So we'll go with a flat 1,000 and see what comes up ;)

Finally, there is some word that my thesis may be published by the Centre for Foreign Policy Studies here in Halifax. I've got nothing other than that, but I'll keep y'all updated. Given that it's 180 pages + frontmatter @ 1.5 linespacing, though, I'm probably going to have to do one hell of an editing job on it first.

Zaht is Ahl.
再见。

Oh, how you've been neglected

It has been a long ten days. But don't worry, the long days are growing shorter in number.

Also, apparently "uninspected" is not a word, either.

But it's definitely going in.

Those little things that occupy me constantly and eventually consume my soul

Yes to Antagonism. Why not Protagonism?

Things pan out. Why can't they skillet out, too?

Cases are open and shut, but no word on my briefcase, nutcase, or caselogic™ container.

'Unfuelled' is a lot more elegant than 'without fuel.'

And surely there must be some room in the canon of English meanings for 'professionality.' 'Professionalism' simply doesn't always do.

Ugh.

A Quick One

Time I received the call: 3:00 P.M., August 30
Request: An interview at 1:00 P.M the next day.
Catch: ...in Ottawa.
Number of hours it took me to organize flights and thesis deadline extensions: 2
Check-in time on departure: 6:30 A.M. EST
Arrival time: 8:30 A.M. EST
Number of hours spent wandering the Hill: 2
Number of hours spent in the Bridgehead coffee shop: 2
Interview time: 1:00 P.M. EST
Check-in time on return: 5:00 P.M. EST
Arrival time: 9:00 P.M. AST
Comment: Rideau St./Centre Starbucks = great people watching.