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.

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.

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.

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.

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.