Well folks, it's that time -- paper season again. In class essay on Thursday on the writings of a bunch of fascinating but dead white guys, two due next week, one on the ethics of immigration (YAY!!! my favorite topic, and no, I'm such a nerd I'm not even being sarcastic) and one on some sort of William Blake/abolitionist poetry (Britain1790ish, not nearly so yay).

On the other hand, I had an AMAZING trip to Victoria this past weekend, I'm actually caught up on all my reading, today was beautiful and sunny and I wore a really cute skirt with my nice boots and didn't even freeze my ass off. Plus, my statistics prof is so amazing (not to mention how amazing it is to finally have a good looking prof again) that I'm actually beginning to understand means and modes and standard deviations,m and all that nasty crap that I expected to kick my ass all term.

Do something fun! (Then tell me all about it).

I have, so I've been told, just committed a grievous sin against my fellow students. I dared to open a book whilst eating my lunch, and was within moments approached by one of the uniformly surly and inexplicably power-hungry food services employee who informed me that "We do not allow studying between the hours of 12 and 2."

"But" I dared to object, "I'm just sitting here eating my lunch, which I bought here and paid for..." I was cut off. "No UBC Food Services outlet" (aka any place you can simultaneously eat and sit on campus, a pairing both my digestive system and common sense view as vital) "permits studying between 12 and 2 so that people can sit and eat their lunches." But I thought that's what I was doing... I was eating by myself, so I thought rather than loudly debating some shoe or reality TV related nonsense while completely ignoring my food, as my fellow patrons were doing virtually without exception, I'd review an article I was assigned to read. This, apparently, was capital W-wrong.

According to the lovely (or see other adjectives mentioned above) food services employee, makes people eat more slowly thus preventing other patrons from having their lunches. I wasn't planning on having this prolong my dining duration, since I had a class to get to anyways. "But," I objected again, "there are still other tables empty." I didn't even get an answer. I was told to put my book away or relocate. I wonder, would I have been evicted for merely eating slowly too? What if I'd been reading a book for pleasure rather than for scholastic reasons? And more importantly, can you really ban studying on campus? Even when the perpetrator is still shelling out way too much money for crappy food while doing so?

And the food really was disgusting.

thanks for that Richard Cavell. Good old capital-W Western capital-C Culture. And he's right, that does make the WC. Western Cuture and its inextricable relationship to the crapper. But then again, those who prefer their culture with a capital C have probably been full of shit no matter where they're from.

I know I've sent you here before, and hopefully you've already seen this, but if not, it's really good. Really, really good. Best election coverage I've seen in ages.

I know you know how excited I am to be wracking up countless (okay, maybe countable, I'm just not willing to try) thousands of dollars in student debt so I can go and perform a public service, but it's really tough to stay excited when we're expected to spend the first month of school wihtout any money at all. I know you said 3-7 business days, and that in governemnt-ese that really means at least two weeks, but really, what are we supposed to do about books until then? We could do what I've done, and wrack up some lovely credit card debt in order to avoid starting the year a month behind, but then there's the little problem of that credit being unavaliable for things I'm really fond of like being fed (for 3-7 "government business days"). Not that I'm complaining or anything, it's just that if a bank or any other sort of organization offered to extend me a loan to go to school that wouldn't come through until a month after classes start, I'd take my business/debt elsewhere. Ahh Canadian government, helping the poor stay just a few steps behind since 1867...

And I admit, I'm not in danger of starving, but it's kind of the principle of the thing...

- Vaclav Havel

He might just be my new god. Former president of the Czech Republic (who stepped down last year when he reached his term limit after governing for 13 years) and the force behind the Velvet Revolution, he has been nominated yet again for the Nobel Peace Prize. I've just finished reading his "Politics, Morality, and Civility" (a great article!) in which he's prone to saying things such as "Those who find themselves in politics... bear a heightened responsibility for the moral state of society" and "Genuine politics -- politics worthy of the name, and the only politics I am willing to devote myself to -- is simply a matter of serving those around us: serving the community, and serving those who will come after us." And these words from a seasoned politician. It restores my faith in, well, almost everything.

If I ever do go into politics, it will be so that I too, in the tradition of Havel, "can try to create around me, in the world of so-called high politics, a positive climate, a climate of generosity, tolerance, openness, broadmindedness, and a kind of elementary companionship and mutual trust." He goes on to say that "In this sphere I am far from being the decisive factor. But I can have a psychological influence." And really, that's all I ask.

And in further keep-the-faith type proof that there are good people out there, read about this woman in Venice raging against evil (link gleefully stolen from Russ).

I don't think well, or do anything well, for that matter, when I'm cold. And I've been cold all week. It's just plain nasty out, and it makes me want to curl up in bed and not emerge until spring. Then again, being sick doesn't help. I have an ugly cold courtesy of my roommate who brought it home from Saskatchewan and gave it to both Cam and I, and thus we sound like frogs. Or people imitating frogs. Or frogs imitating people. Either way, it feels like nap time.

On another unrelated note, while I am generally fond of Blake, the Book of Urizen is really not impressing me. Or maybe I just need less dark poetry to go with this uberdark weather.

In the spirit of back to school, and shamelessly posting self-indulgent quizes on one's blog, I bring you this gem. Hey, at least answering it will besure to help you procrastinate on some other less-desirable task! Following my sister's example, I have not included numbers four and five, because they'd be lame even if we were still in eighth grade.

1. Who are you?
2. Are we friends?
3. When and how did we meet?
6. Give me a nickname and explain why you picked it.
7. Describe me in one word.
8. What was your first impression?
9. Do you still think that way about me now?
10. What reminds you of me?
11. If you could give me anything what would it be?
12. How well do you know me?
13. When's the last time you saw me?
14. Ever wanted to tell me something but couldn't?
15. Are you going to put this on your blog and see what I say about you?

Proudly Pilfered from Antiopa

Where does time go? I think this has been the shortest summer of my life! (Though being in class till the end of July probably didn't help...) And as a result, I find myself doing the last thing one should do at the end of summer holidays:

The List of Things I Never Got Around to This Summer

• seeing the Warhol and Vancouver to Baja exhibits at the VAG
• having a giant lakeside agents' convention
• going to see my little sister in England
• organizing my closet
• putting together that damned photo album
• visiting my Grandpa down in Birch Bay (where he was housesitting a place with a pool and tennis court, not that I play...)
• writing nearly anything
• getting together with about a dozen or so people, all of whom I really wanted to see

See? I need at least a year-long sumemr next year. Oh yeah, and

• assasinating Bush
• establishing world peace

A month clearly won't cut it.