(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。