If you can't meet 'em, greet 'em...

Well, it's been about a month since I've been working out here, and I think it's going fairly well so far. There hasn't been too much that I haven't seen before, although I do learn something new at least twice a day...but it's finally starting to sink in. That is, the reality that I am here for at least the near future in more or less some state of permanence...and I think I can live with that. It is very busy more often than not, but it beats semi-permanent idleness any day. It's nice to feel useful and needed, and it felt so welcoming at the new faculty/staff meet and greet this afternoon. At any rate, the school year will soon be in full swing in the next few days, so I'm sure we'll not lack for things to do...

Day One

Today is my first day as the new CUC library technician...yay for me!!! Here's to the first step in a long and hopefully fruitful career...

And I'm off...

My last few hours in Ontario for the next foreseeable while...Alberta, here I come (again)...don't forget your passport! A storm from the east descends upon you now, and none shall be unchanged in his wake.

Go west, young man...

Well, I'm perhaps not so young as I used to be although I am not exactly old, but I do find myself going west again. The last time I did that I followed my heart as far as the great western ocean, all the way to the mare pacifica, and while it was great while it lasted, ultimately that didn't really turn out as well as I had hoped. This is a new beginning for me, one that couldn't have come at a more auspicious time. I'm really looking forward to this new job in an old and familiar place, and I just hope I can give something positive back. And maybe, just maybe I might save myself in the process. A change of scenery doesn't guarantee redemption, but it's a start. So here's to this new chapter of my life...may it be all I wish for and more. I've lost the friends I needed losing, and lately it seems like these deep emotional scars will never truly heal. They say time makes all memories good ones in the end, and I hope that's true. But what I can do is throw myself into the work and try and help as many people as I can with this wonderful opportunity that has come my way.

Happy birthday Canada...

Happy Canada Day...140 years young.

Insomnia

My job has a very odd shift. I work at two-thirty in the afternoon. This would seem to be awesome on paper, as me sleeping in is a gross abuse of the term. I mean, who can't make it in to work in the afternoon? It's not like I have any kind of grounds for an excuse if I'm somehow late for two freakin' thirty in the afternoon! "Uhh, I um... slept in." That just wouldn't wash...Unfortunately, it's really thrown my sleep schedule out of whack. I'm really not tired late at night or in the early morning anymore when I should be sleeping. I mean, theoretically, if I wanted eight hours of sleep (which is overly generous) and still wanted some wiggle room, I could sleep at four a.m. and wake up by noon. And so, I find myself doing a lot of thinking late at night, looking at my life, looking at myself, and whiling away the time with various entertainments (of which I have a lot, trust me) My backlog of amusements is so bad I forget what I have sometimes and never get around to watching this DVD or playing that game. I waste more time debating what to do than actually doing it some nights. Presently, I'm munching my way through a box of Girl Guide cookies. I wasn't paying attention in the mall and got cornered, and how can you say no to a little kid in a uniform? Vile pixies blink their puppy dog eyes and the next thing you know you're walking away with six boxes. Brilliant marketing strategy if ever there was one..do you want to refuse them in public? Suddenly mothers are pelting you with rotten vegetables and little old ladies are whacking the heartless man's shins with their canes. I think I avoid sleep as much as possible because when it does come, it's rarely ever restful. The dreams come, and they fade away so quickly upon waking, but the vaguely unsettling feeling in my gut tells me they weren't about fields of cotton candy and rivers of spice. At least I don't have an ulcer yet, so far as I know (knock on wood).

Oh Brother...

Tomorrow is my brother's birthday. He is twenty-seven, and that makes my thirty seem all the wearier...it's a cliche but the time certainly does fly. It seems like just the other day he was a little baby robbing my three-and-a-1/2 year old self of precious attention. To reward himself, this morning he went to his first outdoor paint-ball excursion, though it's definitely not his first time to dance by any means, they've just all been indoors up to this point. Apparently, it's a very different experience. He spent quite a lot of time preparing his gear "for deployment", as he says. Over the past month and a half or so, he's become quite the paint-ball ubersonderkommando. For this special occasion, he bought a crapload of gun upgrades intended to increase his lethality (at least on paper). From his account, it appears that he got his ass pwned big time. I don't imagine running around the green and brown woods in midnight black fatigues had anything to do with it. Needless to say, he will be investing in some decent camo gear very soon. But he had a lot of fun, and the weather cooperated with a really beautiful day, so at least he got the fun and the exercise. Later that evening, we went to Montana's for dinner but I didn't have that much of an appetite. It looks like beef rib leftovers for work tomorrow...Anyway, his present obsession has gone so far as to purchase an official Tony Hawk helmet cam to tape his games. As soon as I get my hands on it, I can think of all sorts of fun and practical applications. For example, I could tape it to my head and record my typical day in a very documentary, cinema verite tone. Or I could mount it on my dashboard and record a drive somewhere, oh, like work or the mall. Then I could post these undoubtedly boring videos on YouTube and be ever so famous...hmm, if only I could fasten it to a very large bird and let it go, only I suppose there'd be the issue of retrieving the camera. The large family of Canada geese at work would do. I hate it when they decide to march their family across the only access road in a very long, drawn-out single file line. I mean, I'm not so heartless as to run them over, you know. But they're sooo slow, just ambling across with all the time in the world. They're not even afraid of you in your car. Ah, those wacky antics of theirs...

Happy Victoria Day

It's supposed to be the 24 weekend, as the kids say these days, but Victoria Day is one of those strange holidays that falls on a particular day rather than a date, which is odd when you consider that it's supposed to be commemorating Queen Victoria's birthday. Accordingly, you would imagine that she knew very well the definite date that her birthday fell on; but no, Victoria Day is like the third Monday of May, go figure. Yes, in other words it's actually gone and past as of last Monday the 21st. It is not unlike Labour Day in that regard, but at least they're both an excuse to blow some sh#t up, by which I mean fireworks. The fireworks magically appear from the extradimensional warehouse they've been sitting in all year, then come Tuesday they're all illegal again and poof! they're gone to the same place Christmas CDs go until next year. So I had a really long weekend, which for me is really saying something. As in, a four day weekend as opposed to three...at some point, that will become the week rather than the weekend...four days is more than half the week, after all. I didn't do too much, mostly relaxed (maybe a little too much, such a waste of time sleeping) and while on the one hand it's a nice break, it's also time I am not working and therefore not making money. That is not so good. Ah well, c'est la vie...

May your arrows always fly true and strike their mark...

You can't see my arrow in this photo, but trust me, nothing but bullseye...actually, it split another arrow that was already there...yeah, okay no it didn't. It did hit the target though, I swear. Actually, accuracy wasn't as important in a massed formation of longbowmen as sheer volume of fire was. There really wasn't anywhere to run from a mass volley of bodkin arrows raining down from the sky, "blotting out the sun" as it were. Actually, for ease of access you'd just stick your spare arrows into the ground at your feet. Now the soil of the average medieval European field is probably not the most hygienic of substances, seeing as how they fertilized with manure, but while you were waiting you'd probably need to pee. Where better to do so than right at your feet? So if you were unfortunate enough to be struck by an arrow, you were probably looking at some septicemia at the very least. That's just insult to injury, getting shot with an arrow soaked in pee and excrement...yum. Also, a real longbow is taller than I am so yeah I'm really just pretending with this target bow here. I don't think I could even draw a real bow properly, much less fire it with any degree of skill or accuracy. This is why we invented these newfangled compound bows. The nifty pulleys help shoulder some of the burden of a two hundred pound pull.

It's no webline, but it'll do...

Well, after this experience I think I have some small approximation of what Spider-Man must feel like every day swinging around Manhattan. With great power must come great responsibility, after all...although I'm more of the "crush your enemies, drive them before you, and hear the lamentations of their women" school of thought these days...although I must admit the world does look awful pretty from up there. How deceiving that is...

Michael Bay, eat your heart out...

Here I am going all tactical, fast-roping out of an ominously hovering Blackhawk, tightly gripping my Heckler & Koch MP5A3, filthy brown tangos centred in my reflex sights...gotta teach 'em freedom isn't free (cue thrashing guitar riff)...

Customer service...

Today, I received a rather unusual reference request. This particular girl was looking for a couple of textbooks (which is a whole other story, trust me) which she needed right away and here were the titles (which turned out to be nothing like the actual titles, not even close) etc. yadda yadda yadda. That in and of itself is nothing new. Ah, but here's the kicker: could I possibly mail them to her house...well, alright honey, I'll get right on that just as soon as I've detailed your car, shampooed your carpets, alphabetized your wardrobe and pleasured you orally. Because, you know, that's the level of dedicated customer service I'm committed to giving after all...sheesh, some people. Based on our exchange, I'm going to give her the benefit of the doubt and assume some sort of language/communication barrier, but I'm fairly sure no society on earth (with the possible exception of private libraries for extremely rich and/or powerful people) has libraries that do any of that. There is still some measure of resolve on your part to roll off your couch and at least come in to pick your stuff up. Well, actually I guess the Queen of England could possibly have her library books hand delivered to Buckingham or Windsor, she's got people for that.

An object lesson in assumptions...

The other day at work I innocently assumed that we were keeping the exact same hours as we had during exam week. Now, had it occurred to me to actually check and verify the schedule, this would not have been such an issue. However, my assumptions were incorrect. We had in fact gone back to normal banker's hours, so to speak. Any change of this sort affects me a great deal as I close up in the evenings or afternoons, as the case may be. My contractual stipulations dictate a very tight leash on those hours, so when I come in and when I leave is more or less predetermined, I'm not getting any more than I am for showing up early. And this is indeed what my assumptions led me to do. I showed up two hours early to a lot of blank stares and puzzled looks. It was like one of those dreams where you show up to work or class naked. All the furrowed brows immediately tipped off my razor sharp mind that something (ominous music cue) was amiss!!! So yes folks, what your mother told you about assumptions is true. I felt like more than enough of an ass for you and me combined, especially since it was not that hard to check. Hmm, come to think of it, I should do so again this morning just to be sure...much as I love napping in the lounge, I'd probably be better served doing some more or less productive things, such as making blog entries. I think enough of interest does go on every day that I could have some thoughts on a daily basis. It's just a question of mustering up the will and the motivation. If nothing else, it will pass the time adequately, not that I don't have enough to handily occupy myself with for months, notwithstanding human contact at all. One of the worst developments of recent times is television on DVD. Now I can view an entire season of whatever comes to mind as an unbroken, seamless narrative. In most cases, that's a LOT of TV. But I feel compelled to go on for some reason...

The bullseye

Yesterday was one of our periodic team building days at work. What that pretty much entails is closing down the library for the entirety of the morning and running out back to the day camp to roast marshmallows, climb trees, etc. This year we came to the rather interesting group consensus of the group swing and archery. I must admit that upon first seeing the group swing I was a little unnerved as it is high...around 35 feet high at it maximum apex. See, it requires other people to hoist you up to whatever height you desire (to that maximum of course) at which point you take a deep breath, nervously eye the carabiners and ropes and trust in their reputed strength (a couple of school buses I am told), and then pull the catch and release yourself (as the final insult in case you do die, I suppose). What happens next is a very interactive physics lesson as you swing around like a horrified pendulum and the earth rushes towards you. Centripetal force takes over at some point and you start spinning in a circle with the rhythm of the earth, and it's actually quite soothing. I suppose I liked it, although I don't think it's something I feel the need to repeat on, say, a daily basis. At least I threw my hat in the ring, as not everyone actually tried this experience.
Next came some archery. Now, I would like to take a moment to express my respect for various famous archers of the past, both real and fictitious: William Tell, Robin Hood, Green Arrow, Hawkeye, all English/Welsh longbowmen circa Hundred Years' War period, and every single one of the Khan's (Genghis, Kublai, Ogadai, it's all good) Mongol horse archers. I have a deep and newfound respect for what they all do (or did) naturally on a daily basis as effortlessly as breathing. I am, alas, not as skilled as they are/were. This is understandable as a properly trained archer practiced daily for hours...from a very young age...with progressively larger bows as they matured. On the occasion that we happen to unearth their remains their skeletons have markedly more developed bones in their drawing arms, that is the measure of their resolve. They worked that side out to the extent that one arm was noticeably larger than the other. Think about that. Now that having been said, I am nowhere near that good, obviously. But I never missed or overshot the target, fortunately, although I didn't pop any balloons...oh well. I cannot fathom the amount of dedication required to hit such targets whilst moving, much less on rapidly galloping horseback. So I salute them.

Be vewy, vewy quiet, it's a library...

This week is finals week at my workplace, with all the chaos, wailing, and gnashing of teeth that implies. Here's a news flash, kiddo: unless you have the power to dilate time, you ain't squeezing everything you should know by now into eight hours at the library. It just ain't happening, son, I'm sorry. I've seen people trying to squeeze a whole semester's worth of videos into two class periods, and I can do little else but laugh. Openly. I've seen the exact moment of realization dawn on some poor fool's face when it finally clicks: "Hmm...maybe I'm not cut out to be a nurse/social worker/commercial landscaper/fill in your choice of vocation here." You can actually see their soul shrivel up and die as they next realize how much time and money they've been wasting. Then they get all contemplative, and you just know it would only take a little nudge to push them over the edge. My oh my, kids these days. The tutoring service is jumping like it never has all year, and while they are very good at what they do, sadly they're not miracle workers. They can only work with what they have, and sometimes it isn't that much, you know? How about we work on basic grammar or cutting and pasting documents, and leave surgical nursing for another day, whaddya say? But I suppose it's like a child's fingerpaintings in that it's rude to openly point out the deficiencies in public. The really amusing part is that all of a sudden we're trying to maintain a quiet study environment. All throughout the year so far: food and drink, cellphones, interpretative poetry jam sessions, orgies of destruction, anything goes. Now? Shh, not a sound. It must be really jarring for them, I think. What really gets me is that we ourselves are responsible for the loose tolerances. We can't very well tell someone not to eat in the library when we ourselves are chugging back the Tim Horton's and what have you in their faces. So, for the sake of some people's caffeine slavery, we have to be fair and consistent in our application of policy, only it's in the other direction of the lowest common denominator. This is why I have to straighten up at the end of every day like it's grade two, lack of boundaries. Some people just can't seem to afford public space the same respect they would their homes. Or if they do, then I shudder to think of their homes. Oh well, that's okay, I get to watch your souls shrivel up and die. Rethink that law career, genius, I think they still have some openings for pack mules and stevedores if you hurry.

Je suis là, le flâneur dans la rue...

One more cheesy photo for today and we're done for the time being. Why, who is that darkly handsome flâneur on the corner? How continental he is, that winsome devil with his jacket tied so jauntily about his neck. Feel that joie de vivre, that certain je ne sais quoi...oh brother.

Happier times of days long past

You know, I can't believe what a goof I was. The CD-ROM with that Vimy photo on it has a whole bunch of these also; cheesy photos of me thinking "...well...when am I going to be here again?" and hamming it up for the camera. Oh, what a silly, silly boy I was. I have less hair now, my vision is steadily going by the day, and I have known both the touch and the betrayal of a woman, so this goof here almost seems like a complete stranger. Apart from the jacket, I can't even think of where these clothes are now...ah, good times.

The 90th anniversary of Vimy Ridge

Today, April 9 is the 90th anniversary of the Battle of Vimy Ridge, a defining moment in Canada's history and national identity. I have been to Vimy Ridge twice, in 2001 and 2002 so I thought I'd post this up here. This is my brother and I in front of the memorial at Vimy designed by Walter Allward. This is actually one of the nicer photos as the memorial had been cleaned since the first time I went. It's actually been under renovations recently, set to reopen today for the anniversary, so I'm actually a little curious as to any changes. Vimy was the first time all four divisions of the Canadian Corps fought together, and it was a resounding success as the Canadians achieved most of their objectives in hours; objectives that had stymied many others for years prior. However, thanks to some very innovative tactics and a good dose of Canadian ingenuity, we carried the day. This area is, in fact, part of Canada, donated in perpetuity by the grateful French people. It's really a very solemn place; I may be biased being Canadian and a lover of history, but I think you can really feel the weight of memory in places like this. To this day, just behind us around the memorial here large areas of the surrounding countryside are not open to the public due to unexploded munitions, a grim testament to the sheer scale of carnage and destruction nearly a century past now.

The following takes place between 2 and 3 pm...

Well, this has been a quiet long weekend so far, but I'm not complaining as it's certainly relaxing if nothing else. It's nice to mix it up some, break the comfortable rut of my job up a bit. I was actually the only one around last Thursday, as everyone else either took off early or came down with convenient illnesses like longweekenditis, I suppose. I just realized that I cut it pretty close on the drive in every day. It's an awesome feat of precision timing when you stop and think about it. If someone were to trip me, for example, that would just throw the whole day off and poof! I'd be late. It's like on 24, if Jack Bauer stops to use the bathroom or tie his shoe, oh snap! there goes Los Angeles.

A trip, a trip...but to where...?

Wow, it's been almost a month since I posted anything new...not that it really matters since it's not as if I have throngs of adoring readers waiting with baited breath in eager anticipation of the latest pearls of wisdom to drip from my lips...but as to the why of it, I guess you could chalk it up to me being busy with various things, mostly insignificant but necessary busywork. The day-to-day minutiae of what I do adds up, and it's not difficult per se, but it's certainly not the most mentally stimulating stuff. I see the best and the worst of human nature in a never-ending cavalcade of absurdity. I guess it all depends upon your perspective, but the pessimist in me sees far more of the latter than the former. There is very little that this exalted student body could do to surprise me these days. It definitely confirms my decision to not become a teacher. If this is the calibre of collegiate people these days, I shudder to think of their secondary age contemporaries...sorry, it's getting a bit old being cooped up indoors. I'm getting as jaded and cynical as some of the older people I work with, although that was never too much of a stretch by any means. Spring fever has bitten me, methinks, and this nicer weather makes me want to take a trip. I'm really not sure where I'd go, but I know what I'd do: wander the earth like Kwai Chang Caine or the Littlest Hobo, righting wrongs and dispensing justice. It doesn't help that the travel commercials are starting to gear up for summer asking you to "experience this" or "discover that". I've been something of a homebody for a few years now, and I feel that old wanderlust stirring. Alas, I'm a bit tied down to my job at the moment, at least for the foreseeable future. But I will make it a point to get out somewhere just as soon as I possibly can.

The rhythm of the seasons

Anyone who knows me knows I spent a LOT of time in school. The long and short of it is I got sidetracked a few times for various reasons, as one distraction or another reared its insidious head. Some of these distractions were more pleasant than others (at least at the time), but that is neither here nor there. I DID eventually manage to matriculate more than once, and now I've got a neat little pile of credentials and a couple of degrees out of the deal. I might go back at some point, but I'm definitely all schooled out for the time being. Anyway, it recently occurred to me how easily your life can slip into a comfortable rhythm. Anyone who's still in college or university knows what I'm talking about. There's the big drive or flight out in September, whirlwinds of stress and activity until the next thing you know it's midterms with Thanksgiving in there somewhere, then Christmas vacation and New Year's with possibly another drive and/or flight (like, say...oh, to California for argument's sake). Then you come back and try to get back into the groove in time for spring break, and all of a sudden it's finals and summer when you start worrying about a job or other gainful activity to tide you over until it's time to start over again (let's say...herding goats or heck, keeping bees). Rinse and repeat, hopefully not longer than four years. Now that I'm on the other side of the desk as part of the faculty/staff, it's funny how these once-familiar rhythms are no longer meaningful to me. We stay open during breaks, such as the reading week we just had last week, so the sameness of days is striking to me. I mean, there's days with less people and days with more people, but regardless I'm there as a constant fixture like the furniture or potted plants. We also have summer school, so I'm kind of stuck there too. The hours we keep may change, but I'm still kind of tied down. I've tried to look ahead into the immediate future, and I can't imagine when I'll get to take a proper vacation again. On the plus side, I have a solid three day weekend every week. As soon as I get off work on Thursday evenings, I could disappear off the face of the earth until the next Monday afternoon. That's not so bad, I guess.

Old man winter

We've had some really crappy weather lately, although I guess it would all depend upon your perspective. Let's say, instead, that we've had our weekly dose of winter. Last Thursday they actually shut down our school, naturally only an hour after I had arrived...but we still got paid for the day, so that's always a plus. When the weather acts up to that degree, I usually forgo driving and let the bus do all the heavy lifting precisely so that I can avoid ending my life prematurely in a frozen ditch. But even the bus was skidding and sliding around like Brian Boitano, only less gracefully and to a much lesser degree of skill. Visibility was way down as well, maybe ten feet between the sheets of snow. So there were a few dodgy moments there, and admittedly I was not able to nap as peacefully as I would have liked to, which is another perk of the bus. Besides, with this alleged refinery fire taking all the gas off of the market, the less driving we can do the better. Station after station is closed and sealed off in an ever-increasing radius, and it's a little unnerving. Deserted gas stations make me feel all post-apocalyptic, I'm just waiting for the dune buggies loaded with leather bondage fetishists to come storming over the horizon because they want my gas and/or water. Bring it on, I say. I'm prepared for the gas wars. Car tires make decent armour (proof against blunt trauma and low-calibre rounds, you know), and I can jury-rig some spears and rudimentary firearms, although I suspect it will ultimately come down to a question of decent melee weapons.

On the resolutions of conflict...

I am extremely tired as I write this, as I've had a couple of really long days lately. We've had this mandatory conflict resolution training at work, so I've had to go to that in the mornings and still go to work later on. On top of that, the training was at the main campus quite a ways from our cozy little satellite campus, so it's been a commute and a half. (Only to endure a two hour staff meeting, but thankfully we keep it pretty informal...I love those people) I found that it was mostly common sense stuff that we all know, but of course in the heat of the moment under pressure it all goes out the window. So I suppose it's good to review that stuff. We also got some really nice official-looking diploma certificates for "graduating", so that's always a plus. That, and I can always de-escalate anxious behaviour with my supportive, nonjudgmental stance, among other things. Just another weapon in the arsenal, baby...

Day seven, somewhere in the jungle

Day seven (I think)...food and water running low...I can hear them out there, closing in...I can still hear Bobby's screams in the night...ok, I'm really just sitting in one of Longwood Gardens' greenhouses amongst some exotic flora, but the jungle story sounded more compelling.

The Hershiest place on earth

On the way back from Pennsylvania, we ran out of money and were forced to take entry level jobs on the Hershey product line to earn our keep home. Actually, not really, but this is an interesting part of the Hershey factory tour. The entire town of Hershey lives, breathes, and (I would imagine) eats chocolate. There's even a Hershey theme park, where this little section of the Hershey's Kisses assembly line is. It's actually kind of hard to pack those Kisses with any degree of accuracy and efficiency, so I can't imagine how you'd do this on a daily basis. The Kisses just keep coming, and you've got to be on your toes to keep up. But you do get to keep what you pack, so that's always a plus.

Remembering the fallen

Civil wars are one of the worst kinds of war (not that any degree of war is good per se) but when brother turns against brother families, homes, entire states can be torn right down the middle. Those kinds of scars can takes years, even decades, to heal if at all. You can see this kind of representation all over the grounds of Gettysburg National Military Park. Each state involved has erected various memorials to their respective fallen sons, although there are also plenty of collective monuments as well. This particular one is courtesy of Ohio, I believe.

Pomp and circumstance

Sadly, this is the one of the better photos that survive my grad. The rest are all muddled crowd shots with far too many people in them or blurry, indistinct images. At any rate, my time at this fine institution took me through some of the best and the worst times of my life. I am rightfully proud of the many achievements I accomplished while there, even if many of them were in fields not directly related to what I am actually doing now. I am also glad that I met so many wonderful people while I was there, even if we do not keep in touch so much now. This is something that I should rectify. The circles in which we travel are not so large as one might think, and life's roads can lead to strange convergence.

Four score and seven years ago...

This photo doesn't have the best composition, but what's important is the sign and the information it conveys, not me. I know that history lies all around us and so much of it lies forgotten when no one is left who cares to remember, but there is definitely an air of gravitas around the places that we do choose to remember. There is a palpable aura of memory around these places, and I felt it at Gettysburg. I've also felt it in Europe, and I don't usually sense it so much in North America. I did feel it here on this day.

One last hurrah

I stayed home my last semester at university because I was just putting some finishing touches on the last few courses, but I did go back to march for convocation. It was definitely a bittersweet return for a variety of reasons, since I spent a sizable chunk of my life at this place. I have a lot of memories here, not all of which are pleasant. Well, some of the most pleasant ones used to be and aren't anymore, more's the pity. At any rate, I like this photo. I think it sums up all the melancholy and introspection of moments wasted, of roads not taken, and bittersweet regrets all in one neat little pictorial package.

March towards the thunder of the guns

The inner historian in me has a particular passion for military history, although I pay homage to all facets of history in general. In that vein, I like to visit famous battlefields when I can. I'm slowly checking off a "greatest hits list", if you will. While I was down in Pennsylvania, I finally managed to cross Gettysburg off of my list. Joseph Stalin once referred to artillery as the god of war, and he wasn't wrong. No other arm of service can deliver the sheer amount of firepower to a given location in as short a period of time as artillery can. Granted, we've come a long way since the earliest black powder bombards and crude arquebuses, and here I'm standing by a few prime Civil War-era examples. I want to say 12-pounder Napoleons, but I could be wrong. Anyway, this is a pretty typical battery (there's a few more guns behind us). They're positioned around the battlefield as they were on the days of the battle.

Underneath the baobab tree

One summer my inner humanitarian led me to help my parents cook at a health camp in Pennsylvania (in the vicinity of Philadelphia) for a couple of weeks. It was an interesting road trip, and I got to visit some places that I'd been meaning to for a while (I promised the inner historian in me, you see). They took day trips with the campers on the weekends, and one of them was to Longwood Gardens,one of the premier botanical gardens in the United States. The grounds were absolutely beautiful, with all sorts of exotic and interesting plants both indoors in these great neoclassical buildings and outside, such as this one. This funny little tree's canopy is so thick it's like night inside, although it's high noon outside. It also took some doing to get in here, let me tell you. I didn't quite catch the species on the sign, but until someone tells me otherwise I'm calling it a baobab tree. It's just my prerogative.

Snowcave

Most of my pastimes are solitary ones like reading, and most of them are sedentary at best, not athletic ones by any stretch of the imagination. But every once in a while I do get out. One winter at university I helped dig a snowcave with a couple of college buddies whose business is actually to do things like this. This thing took days to build, but it was cool. It had a large central chamber with several radial wings extending in various directions. And it was surprisingly warm in there, to tell the truth. I believe that's me on the left.

Ronald

This is Ronald, a close personal friend of mine. It's such a small world that we bumped into each other halfway around the world in the Philippines. Oh, Ronald, we have history. I don't know how much of your strangely addictive mutant chicken I've consumed over the years, but it's a lot. Just one thing, though: bring back those old greasy McNuggets! Probably not as good for you, but you gotta live a little...hmm, now I have the strongest craving for In-N-Out burgers.

Riviera

This is the French Riviera; I believe that is part of Monaco in the distance. You can just feel the joie de vivre in the air, that certain je ne sais quoi. Monaco was pretty in a postcard kind of way, especially the famous casino where any number of James Bonds have gone all in for the highest stakes in the free world. I went in there just to say that I'd peed in their bathroom. Hmm, urinal tour of Europe, wonder if that'd catch on...

Goat wrangler

I used to be something of a dilettante, and I've dabbled in any number of professions and hobbies; you name it, I've tried my hand at it. When I wandered the earth like Kwai Chang Caine, I tried my hand at goat ranching, among other things. I had a small flock in Baguio, Philippines that wound up turning a nice profit but goats being goats, well they needed herding. So here is me keeping an ever vigilant eye out for varmints on my goat ranch in Baguio.

Juno Beach

Here's me in that bunker again, although I think it's technically a pillbox. It's a beach fortification of some sort on Juno Beach in Normandy, at any rate. It's all quiet on the western front, though...for now. Come to think of it, I don't think we were even allowed to be inside this thing.

Mont-Saint-Michel

This is me in Mont-Saint-Michel. I just like the composition and the contrast in this one. This one feels all brooding and pensive, like Batman. I believe there may be a permanent bridge out to this monastery now, but when I was there the causeway was underwater at high tide. If you weren't back on the mainland in time, you were staying. That kind of natural security is exactly why this place never fell to an enemy while it was defended. Hey, I worked Batman and Mont-Saint-Michel into the same paragraph. I rock.

Montmartre

Ah, this one is one of my favourites. I actually think I look kind of good in this one. This was taken a lifetime ago in happier days on the Montmartre in Paris. The Moulin Rouge is somewhere close by in this same neighbourhood, but as you can see it's very hilly, hence the name. "Mont" means "mount", and your calves will certainly confirm that after any time spent in this area. This area used to be a separate little village on the outskirts of Paris proper, and it was very bohemian to say the least. Rich fancypants types would come down to slum with the immigrants and poor people, and to a certain extent some of that hasn't really changed. They're still pretty edgy up on that butte, but I can't really show you those pictures. Heh. A butte is an isolated hill with steep sides and a small flat top, smaller than mesas and plateaus. Butte, as in Butte County. How ironic.

Louvre

This is the Pyramid entrance to the Louvre in Paris, designed by I.M. Pei. It has always been somewhat controversial; you either love it or you hate it. You may have seen it in the Da Vinci Code. I checked underneath, and there's nothing there, sorry. Or is there?

Such a happy bee...

This is the mascot for Jollibee, some local Filipino fast food franchise. On a local or even national level, I'd say they manage to hold their own against McDonald's and their ilk, and a large part of that has got to be this snazzy mascot. I mean, he just looks so happy to be giving you food, plus he's just presenting the wealth of options available with a little flourish. Real classy, that bee is. On that note, did I mention that I once spent a good part of one summer helping keep bees in northern California? Yep, the biblical patriarch Jacob herded livestock (camels, sheep and such); I kept bees. That worked out a little better for him than it did for me though, unfortunately. That's a sly allusion there, isn't it?

The motherland

During the course of my wanderings over the past few years, I went halfway across the world trying to forget someone and wound up in the motherland. It didn't work (I didn't forget that is), and it seems the motherland is as foreign to me as India, Europe, or Africa are. For what it's worth, I suppose that I would be Canadian to my mind, whatever that means in this day and age. Notwithstanding, the Philippines does have its charms, like this pharmacy. No, I have not altered this image in any way and yes, it says "Holy House of Drugs".

Geneva

This is me in Geneva, Switzerland. Not much to say about this one, I'm just passing the time by myself. Actually, I guess that's not entirely true since someone else is obviously taking the picture. For the life of me, I can't remember who it was.

Dieppe

This is me in Dieppe, France. This place has (or should have) special meaning for you if you happen to be Canadian. Operation Jubilee was an Allied raid on Dieppe on August 19, 1942. In hindsight, it was something of a rehearsal for D-Day in 1944, a dry run if you will. Unfortunately, it wound up teaching them what not to do in an amphibious invasion. More unfortunately, the majority of the troops taking part were Commonwealth soldiers, specifically Canadian. And most unfortunately, many of them died or were captured for little gain on the Allied side. That day was one of the worst disasters in the Allied conduct of the war. My words can pay but poor tribute to the valour of those men.

Paris

Ah yes, Paris. City of Lights and worth all the hyperbole that has been heaped upon it over the years. This is an old college buddy of mine and I having a manly man moment on the Champ de Mars near the Eiffel Tower, fitting since Mars (or Ares) is the god of war. This field once housed fortifications for the defense of the city, hence the name. These days, it sees less martial pursuits, although I believe it is still a drill and parade ground for military cadets.

Normandy

I once did a little stint in the Wehrmacht, and I was assigned to a nice bunker on the Atlantic Wall, keeping a watchful eye on the English Channel for that inevitable Allied assault. Okay, no I didn't, but this is me in Normandy, Juno Beach to be exact, and I am rushing hell for leather out of a German pillbox to stem the Allied tide on the beach.

Bordeaux

This was supposed to be artsy, but upon further reflection it does skirt the tenuous edge of fruity. I don't think it really crosses that line, but it's definitely dancing on the edge. Anyway, this is me in Bordeaux. It's very early in the morning, we're coming off of a very boring two day layover in this sleepy provincial town, and thus you have this. I rise majestically from the foaming waters of the Gironde like Neptune himself. Or not.

Avignon

All of these foreign travel pictures are a little older, but I still like them. They remind me of happier days when it seemed as if the whole world was at my feet and the much lighter heart I had then would cause me to do goofy stuff like this. For example, this goof is me in Avignon, France. Before you ask: yes, that bridge from the children's song is there. "Sur le pont d'Avignon, l'on y danse" indeed. It's actually the pont St-Bénezet if you want to be accurate, but I guess that didn't rhyme anywhere near as well.

More images

As you can see, we also have the awesome responsibility to rotate through the tedious but necessary job of circulation. At its heart, circulation is all about charging and discharging; making sure we know who has what books, where those books are at any given moment, and more importantly when they should be back. It's a fast-paced, dynamic environment where split-second decisions can mean the difference between life and death.
Okay, so it's not quite as glamourous as all that, but it is one of those things that needs to get done on a daily basis. Thankfully, I don't do too much of this, as this is by far where the lion's share of complaints come from. Everyone needs to remember that you CANNOT GRADUATE with outstanding fees and/or fines. So if you owe me, you ain't marching anywhere except straight to the nearest unemployment office. IN OTHER WORDS, I am the final arbiter of your academic future (and thus by extension of your future in general). So be nice to me, okay? I don't bite.

Images in the sand

You know, the other day I realized with a start that I do not have any recent pictures of myself. I could drop off of the face of the earth tomorrow and my loved ones would be hard pressed to find a recent image for the search parties and scent dogs to use. Well, I guess the scent dogs wouldn't really find a picture all that useful after all, but you know what I mean. I was trying to find some nice ones to post on my various blogs and found a large void running through about 2003 where it's as if I don't exist anymore, at least in a pictorial form. That's understandable as it's a safe bet that I wasn't alone in most of those pictures and for various reasons they contained memories best left buried and forgotten. Quite literally, as I'm fairly sure they're Michigan landfill by now.
Anyway, here's me recently on a typical day at work, making the world a better place for reference. You see, that's what I am, the night reference technician. I answer all sorts of compelling questions running the gamut from simple directional (bathroom's down the hall on your right, or left depending on your personal plumbing) to high-order, third-tier reference that require a LOT of deep analysis and interpretation. "I need books." Oookay. Where to proceed from here? By the way, that's a serious question I get almost every day. I say it like I'm kidding, but there are a lot of people who just don't have the first clue where to begin with the resources available to them. The effective reference interview is as much art as it is science, because digging what they REALLY want (vs. what they told you) out of their skull is like pulling teeth sometimes. I have a whole lot more patience for this than some of my colleagues, but I suppose I haven't been doing this long enough. It does get tedious sometimes, especially with people that don't really want to do the work and would rather have you spoonfeed them and hold their hand the whole way. But so far I'm still naive enough to believe that's it worth it.

Matters of housekeeping...bookend one

I, like many millions of others, keep a MySpace profile kicking around for farts and giggles, among other reasons. I was keeping a blog there as well, so in the interests of continuity and ensuring that my very potent vitriol reaches as wide an audience as possible, to say nothing of my scintillating wit and powerful intellect (yeah right), I am going to repost that archive here as well. The dates may not make any sense, and the content may confound, but I hope there's some palatable bits in this verbal fruit salad I'm about to serve up. That would be everything prior to "A grand experiment", for those interested in such minutiae.

A grand experiment

Recently, the library in which I work has decided to take advantage of my fresh, young, eager junior status to pile on the special projects deep and thick, hopefully before I get all jaded and indifferent like the old-timers. I can't say that I really mind, as: a) it does keep me busy on quiet evenings and b) it helps to pad out my semi-monthly activity reports so that it looks like I'm useful, nay, indispensable come salary negotiation time (ahem). In that vein, I am currently under standing orders to examine the fine art of blogging in all its many wondrous facets. They are thinking of publishing a campus wide organ of the state through which to disseminate that which needs to be disseminated, chastise that which needs to be chastised, kudos where kudos is due, etc. Their schemes and visions are indeed wondrous to behold, no?

As part of this initiative, I have decided to start one of my own as merely one of many phases in the grand experiment of my life. For various reasons which should become clear, I have spent the last few years as a shell of a person. I have existed, in that life has gone on and I have gone through its motions, but I have not lived in the true sense of the word. The human mind has some funny (and merciful, I guess) ways of coping with extreme trauma, and oddly enough I think I've blacked out most of the year 2004. I tell you all this honestly so that you, gentle reader (and I hope there are some of you out there), might understand where I am coming from in order to understand where I am and, hopefully, where I am going. I've found it somewhat therapeutic to write all this sort of thing down lately, to leave this baggage here on the printed (virtual) page rather than harbour it in my soul. At any rate, there's no names or salient details to incriminate anyone so no harm done, although I suppose you could piece it all together if you knew me and knew what I was talking about. And that's fine with me; those who know, know, and those who don't can still learn a thing or two. And the kings and shadows continue to wheel in the night sky...

6, 576, 358, 816 and counting.

6, 576, 358, 816 and counting. That was the current estimated world population as of today. That's quite a lot of people, and over a given lifetime I suppose you would interact with a mere handful of those in the grand scheme of things. Of those, each one would be a unique and distinct individual, and for better or worse your life would be changed (to varying degrees) for having met them. So out of all those six and half billion or so people, why does only one of them exert such power over me? Why does that one person haunt me so? What poisonous compulsion is this that causes me to dwell upon equal parts melancholy and bittersweet, of times that seemed happy but are now so far away? I can feel the first twinges of self-pity tugging at the back of my heart and mind, threatening to pull me back into the murk I wallowed in for so many years, and I don't want to go there. I can hear the dark shadows and grim angels of my baser nature whispering of the sweet oblivion of despair, and I try to shut them out for the waste of time that they are. Think on brighter and better things, then. All this will pass, and tomorrow is another day.

V for V-Day

Well, it's just about that time of year again: V-Day. It's one of the hardest days to get through for me, not that any of the others have been particularly easy, but sometimes it's tough. I know far worse things are happening on a far greater scale all around the world and that I do not have a monopoly on anguish and despair by any means, but it's tough to watch all the shiny, happy people float around in their supposed conjugal bliss with whatever form of relationship they happen to be in at the moment. It's tough because I used to count myself among their ranks at one time, flying along on a blind high not really caring about what was next, content in the fact that someone once repeatedly told me she loved me and convinced me that she meant it (even if, retroactively, apparently she never did at all). Maybe it wouldn't be so tough if I didn't know any better, if I didn't know what I was potentially missing; as whoever said it's better to have loved and lost...was very wrong. In this case, ignorance might indeed have been bliss. The ease with which some of us can conveniently edit out inconvenient parts of our history as a fleeting annoyance or minor irritant is a little surprising, although I suppose it's not that hard if said experience never meant anything to you at all in the first place. But no matter what kind of retroactive spin she might choose to put on it now, it did mean something to me, and I have to hope that there was some part that was good, any kind of positive aspect at all to that time in our lives, the tiniest little bit of redeeming value to what we had. I'd hate to think I was totally wasting all that time. I know previous entries in my blog have said "moving on", and I know happiness is a choice I have to make. It's not like the whole tortured poet-samurai of self-pity deal has been doing a whole lot for me lately. But it's something I think I'll always struggle with, especially on the sort of day the world at large chooses to focus on that sort of thing. So yeah, it's tough. Being this lonely isn't all that fun. V-Day...not really a fan.

Quality glasses in about one hou...um, ten days...fine, two weeks

Some time ago I ordered new glasses from that magical purveyor of "quality glasses...in about an hour." Apparently, that guarantee doesn't apply to the legally blind and the coke bottle kids amongst us, as my prescription proved to be a bit much to handle. Now, more than two weeks later, they finally came in from whatever classified top secret optics lab they were forged in. Don't get me wrong, they're perfectly wonderful glasses. They do exactly what they were designed to do; that is, enhance my vision. So in that regard, a remarkably bravura performance all around, and I commend them for it. It's just a little amusing that they took so long. I could have just as easily cloned a new set of vat grown eyes from my private stock of stem cells in the same amount of time. I just have to wonder what they were doing. I mean, they're perfectly competent spectacles, but it's not as if the lenses are carved out of pure Swarovski crystal with a twenty four karat gold-filigreed frame of refined mithril, after all. They don't even have any special powers or extra features. I can't see in any other bands of the visible spectrum, and alas...I cannot peer through the well of time. I can simply see, and that's good enough for me.

Um, you're going to stick that in which end now?

So, amusing work anecdote time. It's been very busy of late, what with some major assignments coming due for these people. Unfortunately, some of them don't really want to do the work required and would like nothing better than for you to do it all for them. I, of course, am wise to their wiles and try to avoid this trap whenever possible. So one person (who thankfully for their sake shall remain unidentified) is sitting there trying to do some research for a nursing project, which mainly consisted of chatting on their cell phone and holding loud conversations across the library. But I digress.
They did look genuinely lost, and I dutifully fulfilled my mandate to provide service in such event. To set the scene, there's two bright, glowing hyperlinks on the screen to the effect of Elimination(Bowels) and Elimination(Bladder). Aren't these nursing projects fun? So this person says they're at a loss here, don't know where to go, they need some material on the urinary tract. Now, admittedly, I'm just a layman in this subject area, but I say well, the urinary tract just maybe might have something to do with the bladder, yes? The light dawned in their face like this was the greatest revelation, you'd think I'd just deciphered the Da Vinci Code for them. Well, I never knew that, says someone whose ambitions are to possibly nurse me when I'm old. So where were you planning on sticking that now? Bladder? Bowels? IT'S A VERY IMPORTANT DISTINCTION!!! Chilling, I know...

Snap, it's cold...

Now, I know it is part of the cold (no pun intended) reality of life that we face here every winter in Canada, but it is BLOODY COLD!!! The mucus in your nose is not supposed to freeze solid once you step outside. The other day, I forgot my gloves and as I was driving home, I could feel my body panicking and drawing back all my blood from my extremities like it was saying "Screw this! You limbs are on your own, the torso takes priority!" It was actually physically painful on several different levels just to be outside. It almost makes you want to hibernate, or move somewhere warmer. Almost. I've done those warmer climes, and while they have their charms, such pretty poison can lurk beneath a warm exterior...

The other shoe drops...

You know, sometimes you wake up and some little bit of serendipity just tosses you a bone, and you're all right with the world. But then five minutes later, the other shoe drops and it all balances out. Case in point: on the one hand, I apparently have awesome credit, so much so that I need only wave a finger and I could have a twenty thousand dollar credit limit for the asking. They don't even hold my checks to clear, money just magically shows up on the appointed day ready for immediate (mis)use. On the other hand, how do I have cataracts at thirty? At thirty, I ask you? Short answer: funky contra-indicated drug interactions from my youth. Then again, thankfully I do not have glaucoma so that's always a plus.

Mexico...

My parents left this morning for Mexico on a mission trip for a week or so. I know media depictions of any given place are never as bad as they seem and indeed may be downright distorted, but I saw the last couple of episodes of E-Ring, and I played through Tom Clancy's Ghost Recon Advanced Warfighter, and I can't help feeling it's a bit of a dodgy place. It's a pity, really; I'm sure Zocalo Plaza and the Centro Historico in Mexico City are actually very nice places along with some nice colonial architecture in Chapultepec, but try telling that to Captain Scott Mitchell. I do hope they promote that poor guy at some point in the near future, talk about a real trooper. Six or seven games and counting, and still that man soldiers on. I salute you, Scott, a true watcher on the walls of freedom.

Every king needs a castle...

You know, the college where I work is quite an unusual place. It's a branch campus that is a bit out of the way, to put it mildly. Not exactly the middle of nowhere, but close enough that you might start to wonder. For example, when you drive up there, it's just as you start to get that nagging twitch in the back of your mind telling you that you must have missed the turn that boom! there it'll be on your left. Anyway, it seems to have attracted a number of the more eclectic programs for whatever reason. There's a farm setup where the vet techs get to practice their trade. There's a big dive tank where the underwater skills people can bob around and hopefully avoid the bends as they weld hull breaches or whatever it is they do down there. There's even a mock crime scene and mock courtroom for the police foundations and investigations people. I know, I know, that sounds cool, but I'm sure it is ABSOLUTELY NOTHING like CSI in any way, shape, or form. I'm even told they used to bury cadavers out in the fields for forensics people to find in some macabre final exam. What, I wonder, happens if you find some body they DIDN'T put there? As I say, some interesting vocations...it's just too bad access to most of these places is strictly controlled for various really important reasons. After all, I might like to try a stint of forensic anthropology; just imagine how that would sound at dinner. "What do you do?" "Baby...CSI...C...S...I!!!" Well, around here I think it's CSU actually, but I'm splitting hairs.

Moving on...finally

A few weeks ago I finally divested myself of all the associated detritus (physical, emotional and otherwise) of a previous relationship that, needless to say, ended painfully on some very sour notes. You know the stuff: the cards, the gifts, the letters, etc. Now, it's not that I wistfully pored over this stuff every day with brimming eye and quivering lip (it was all just gathering dust in the back of my closet), but admittedly that stuff was still there. The physical part was not so hard, although it's surprising how what seemed like a lifetime of memories fit into such a relatively small physical space as a couple of bags of undying declarations of "forever" and all the assorted bric-a-brac of months of affection.

The compartments of the mind, however, are another story altogether. Unfortunately, until they invent a way to selectively gouge out the memories from your skull, I'm afraid you're stuck with them. You might be able to shelve them in the back or box them up in the attic, so to speak, but they're still there.

In such a situation, some of us might try to selectively edit out those portions of our past that we'd like to forget, as if our sum totality were not made up of its individual parts, but I think the persistence of memory survives, as long as there is someone to speak for us. However, for better or for worse, the aforementioned detritus is gone, for the most part. It is surprising to any impartial observer that I could have held on to such things for so long, especially given the ultimate futility of such toxic millstones.

The secret is that all of that stuff was not, in fact, part of the world you and I are familiar with. Rather, it was all part of this surreal alternate reality I've been inhabiting for far too long now. That world was not unlike our own; the sky was still blue most days, people lived and laughed and loved and died just as they do here. The difference was that that world contained the faint but ever-present hope that what happened to me was all some kind of feverish dream or horrible misunderstanding, along with the futile hopes of some kind of reconciliation. You go through the days wondering when you'll wake up and why you haven't yet. It's a world dominated by the frontal lobes of the brain, where obsessive thinking, worry, and inflexible behaviour rule. And it's not the prettiest place.

Had I seen that world with a more pragmatic eye long before now, I would have seen it for the ephemeral puff of fantasy that it always was. The truth is that she does not love me and in fact never did. Cold and harsh, perhaps, since if this is true then I was subject to some acting of the very highest caliber over an impressive period of time. Nonetheless, it is a very necessary stark reality that I've been unable to see before now. It is just sad that it took me this long to realize that, and that I have agonized unnecessarily over such a non-issue, wasting the years away along with the rivers of salt and regret.

After all, in her mind it was all long done with, a curious irrelevancy, a quaint historical footnote. What used to bother me the most is that not once in all the intervening time did I ever hear one word of compassion or simple friendship, not a single tear of regret (even a crocodile one). Sigh of relief? Perhaps, but certainly no remorse. Now, love me or love me not; that is one thing. But I think you do have some kind of responsibility towards the lives you impact, towards the people you take into your own life (not to mention into your heart, into your bed, etc.), and it is wrong on so many levels to simply toss them aside and pretend that nothing happened, hoping it will all just go away when it becomes inconvenient or uncomfortable to deal with. Dress it up and spin it any way you like, but that is what happened. Were not the slightest bit of those feelings real at all?

So why do I keep mentioning this now, after all this time? No names or salient details are necessary or appropriate; all parties concerned know what they did and what happened, perhaps even better than I. This isn't about being vindictive or seeking vengeance or continuing to wallow in self-pity, all things I might have done in that other world of the frontal lobe. There will be justice someday and all wrongs will be redressed, but that time is not for us here to decide. There is a time and a place for everything under the sun, or so Ecclesiastes would have me believe, and that will do for now.

What this is about is the persistence of memory. It is about somebody somewhere speaking on my behalf and marking what others might find convenient to forget. I remember a wrong, not in hatred or anger anymore but simply for what it is: the essential truth of some very traumatic events that did happen. Their impact on my life will henceforth define how I approach the life to come ahead of me. In the absence of anyone to speak in my defense, this will serve to bear witness. Further, it is a cautionary tale to remind and to warn myself against the dangers of investing an excess of myself in someone who ultimately is not worth it if it's not completely mutual. I gave my heart too quickly to someone who couldn't give me hers in return. We do all deserve to be loved by somebody as much as we love them; in that she is correct. If it's not all there, then there really isn't any point. Now, that it hurt people I do still care about in order to learn that is indeed unfortunate, but that's how it is.

So I can forgive, and forget to a degree. Thousands of miles of distance helps to a certain extent, although it's unfortunate that I wasn't closer, since then my continued presence would have been an illustration of the consequences of this entire ill-advised scenario, one that would had to have to have been dealt with in one way or another. She walked away when I was not even there, and not having to deal with that, to not have to do me the courtesy of telling me why to my face seems like an easy out, a cheap cop-out on some level. I was callously dismissed out of hand as if I was nothing and always was nothing. It's quite a bit easier, I think, to cast someone aside when you're reasonably assured that you'll not likely ever see them again and have to deal with the very real, living consequences of your decision.

But no matter: the point is that finally letting go affords me a certain degree of closure, that frankly I could have had years ago, had I eyes to see. I'm writing this all down because it's therapeutic in some ways, but what's important is that I move on now and not waste any more time in useless self-pity and remorse. I am too valuable for that, and I thank her for showing me that. I am a man of letters with enough pride and dignity left to imagine that what I have to offer might one day be worth as much to someone else as I once thought it meant to another. Chalk it up to a learning experience and things to avoid next time (should there be one).

One of the most unfortunate bits of fallout from this particular episode in my life is that I focused on her to such a degree that all my other human relationships essentially atrophied. I need to get back in touch with humanity in general (not just the fairer half), to start making some new and better memories to replace the ones I have. In that vein, I am now taking applications, as it appears that I have several openings in my new barcada. Contact me if you wish to join.