4 papers to write.
3 papers to write.
2 papers to write.

3 exams to go.
2 exams to go.
1 exam to go.

I realized this morning that I've reached that point. You know, where you're so close you can that you can taste it.

4 papers to write.
3 papers to write.
2 papers to write.

3 exams to go.
2 exams to go.

Just because I needed the break...

I open the door, stretching tall as I emerge, leaving a half-finished paper and silence in the room. I work through the cricks in my neck. I am greeted by Dumb Cat, and by the sound of Boy #1’s music. Across the living room and through a second door, if you listen carefully, you can pick up the faint sound of Boy #2 talking to himself, muttering away and repeating formulas, over and over. I’ve noticed that it gets louder as he gets closer to memorization. Tells you how much time we’ve all spent trapped inside this apartment together. Boy #1 notices me as I wander over to the coffee machine and he immediately turns down his music. What a gentleman.

Devious Cat threads herself in a figure eight through my legs, through my legs. She quickly loses interest and starts chasing Dumb Cat up and through the obstacle course of the living room. The music coming from Boy #1 is joined by the sound of talons clinging to leather. Dumb Cat skids across the tiles in the kitchen and lands at my feet as I prepare to convince myself that caffeine is the perfect alternative to sleep. Boy # 1 makes some sort of whimper in my general direction, his eyes never leaving the computer screen. I take the hint and prepare espresso for two.

I glide as best I can through the minefield where Boy #1 is trapped among a stack of books, plates, cans, and various bits. I hand off the steaming beverage. This grunt is one of gratitude, and we share a moment of eye contact during which each of us understands the other’s misery.

“Adenosine triphosphate. Adenosine triphosphate. Adenosine triphosphate.” Boy #2 says aloud from the other side of the wall.

Back in my silent world of King Arthur and post-positivist international relations theory—don’t ask—I rub my eyes and notice a new blister on my index finger; it’s from my computer’s trackpad, if you can believe it. My musing is interrupted by a door closing, and The Girl pops her head wearily into the room, followed closely by Devious Cat and Dumb cat, the former of whom proceeds to claw at The Girl’s leg affectionately. Devious Cat is rewarded by a gentle, half-serious kick, as both myself and The Girl once again enter the living room.

The Girl picks up a biology textbook. Boy #2 emerges and we all gather and flop down around Boy #1. Four on a couch, and my eyes are closed. I think the TV is on, and Dumb Cat assumes his position. I rub his tiny belly and his purrs are overpowering the TV.

This is how we study.

Musique du Jour

It's a mish mash of genres, and I think there's even one song that is password protected, with another that cuts off at the end. Today, though, this feels like the perfect playlist for writing, played on shuffle, to allow for the occasional dance break.

Enjoy!

Oh! I forgot to mention, if you too decide to take dance breaks in your home or office, you should download the electric sheep screensaver and then make it play on your desktop. John did up a program that will make it do that, and it's the top.

4 papers to write.
3 papers to write.

3 exams to go.
2 exams to go.

A penny for your thoughts...

We need to keep alive the possibility that the world that exists is not necessarily the one that will always exist. We should aim for something better than what we have right now.

John Stackhouse has some interesting--and I think valid--things to say about Virginia Tech.

The Final Countdown

4 papers to write.
3 papers to write.

3 exams to go.

The Final Countdown

4 papers to write.

3 exams to go.

Never Again is Again

Some pics from Never Agan is Again:

The Plaza


People gathering before the screening


Watching the film





Signing the petition



Thanks to Tim Tanguay for taking these pics! [All stuff © Tim Tanguay 2007]

Eff You, Political Correctness

I've had two panic attacks so far today. I never get panic attacks... I'm just really, really struggling with a few assignments and can't get it into my head that they really aren't worth that much in the long run. One of these attacks got to the point where I was lying there chanting "I've got it good, I've got it good I've got it good. Breathe. Breathe. Breathe" and asking God to help me breathe. Which he did by the way. I mention this because I think they were brought on indirectly and in a roundabout way by my constant desire to remain politically correct. To avoid stepping on toes for fear of offending, or simply because I love the person, or don't feel like dealing with a situation that would arise if I chose to speak freely. I've been put into positions where my boundaries have been crossed and I haven't stood up for myself or what I believed to be the (morally?) correct course of action. In large part for the sake of political correctness. Pardon me if I sound like a martyr there; believe me that's not the intent, although I could be even worse :p

All of this to say that I've been bothered by something the last couple of days and I haven't really said anything because I don't want people to think I'm heartless or... politically incorrect. But for today, or at least the next few minutes, I say f*** political correctness.

I'm sure you've all heard about the tragedy at Virgina Tech. 33 people dead. 33 innocent (or at least 32 inncocent and 1 very distressed) people killed in their prime. 33 twentysomethiings who had friends and family and aspirations, and souls and who were so excited to know that the semester would soon be over. They were like you and me, and at the same time they weren't, because they were THEMSELVES. Beautiful human beings with individual personalities and characters and hearts that pumped blood through their bodies and dreams to their heads. I mourn with everyone else at this loss of precious, precious life.

But.

I hate the word "but". I think that as soon as you say the word "but" or one of its synonyms, you tend to cancel out what you've just said, and your audience is much more likely to remember what comes after the but. Ironically, this is usually the negative, or critical half. See my above comment on political correctness... ok, moving on.

But. For the sake of argument, let's multiply that number by 10 (just to be on the safe side). Let's assume that half of them are children. Let's assume that before they were mercilessly killed, the women were raped, and that they had their ears, noses, and lips cut off. This has been happening for decades in Northern Uganda. And the numbers are way, way higher than 330, by the way.

For the sake of argument, let's assume that rather than being killed by gunshot, they were slowly starved, so that their bodies thinned, their vital organs shut down, and they eventually succumbed to hunger. Sudan. Chad. Somalia. Oh hell, it's most of Sub-Saharan Africa. South East Asia. Inda. The Downtown Eastside of Vancouver.

Of course there is more to the story. The reason why the governor of Virginia is flying home from Japan early is because he feels a commitment to HIS people. Because he was probably a student at a university so he can identify. He thinks to himself, "imagine how I would feel right now if I were in that situation". He is probably from an upper-middle-class background, and so it is easier for him to relate. That's not his fault, and it's not wrong. But what we're being told is that this is a tragedy because these students did not deserve to die, and because people should not have to live in fear when going about their daily routine. At its most basic, primitive level, we're told that this is a tragedy and that this is wrong because human life is valuable. After all, 33 precious human lives were ended prematurely and for no reason.

But don't we have a commitment to following this argument through? If human life is valuable and precious, then human life is valuable and precious. There shouldn't--no, there CAN'T--be an escape clause in there. It's not "human life is valuable and precious if they live close enough to me that I've met them, or if I can identify with their religion, or if they are a cashier, or if they are a white man, or if they are a Black medical student at NYU."

I happen to think that Jessica has it right when she chooses to go to Indonesia and provide counseling for Tsunami victims because she believes that the psychological well being of her fellow human beings is valuable. I think David has it right when he chooses to particpate in Third World development because he belives that his fellow human beings have a right to make their own livelihood--and sometimes that requires drinking water, or a business plan. I think Trevor has it right that his fellow human beings should be able to tell their story of tragedy and survival and hope so that people can learn from it. I think Shannon has it right that she grew up asking not for birthday presents but for donations to the Crisis Pregnancy Centre, not because she thought she would one day get a mention in Sara's blog, but because it never ocurred to her that these young women didn't deserve to be treated with the same respect as everyone else, or didn't deserve to have their needs met. And I know it's politically incorrect for me to praise myself, but in keeping with the already-established theme, I think I have it right when I say that the people of Darfur should NOT be living in a world where each day there is a good and real chance that they will be murdered. And not just 33 of them. Hundreds of thousands of them. HUNDREDS OF THOUSANDS AND MILLIONS AND MILLIONS of beautiful, laughing, vital, precious, unique, dreaming, crying, laughing, praying, dancing, human beings. I think that some of us have it right. And, quite simply, others need a wakeup call.

If human life is valuable, then it is valuable. And if it's worth protecting, then we need to protect it, and act in support of its protection.

According the Make Poverty History campaign, every three seconds a child dies due to poverty-related illness. I've spent about 10 minutes writing this. 10 minutes is 600 seconds. That means that in the time it took me to write this, 200 children have died due to poverty-related illness. Let's mourn for them. Let's put them on the front page of all of our newspapers and have Nancy Grace do a special and hold vigils and start Facebook groups and make ribbons. Why not? Don't the same standards of humanity apply to them?

I fucking hate double standards, and I hate hypocricy, and at the end of the day I know that I'm guilty of both.

I make a damn good latte...

A personal quad grande sugar-free vanilla non-fat latte, to be exact. My freezer room is pretty much a tiny Starbucks. I just whipped up a nice javajava for moi-meme, thus bidding adieu the promise of sleep this fine night.

Can you guess why?

Ooh, SNAP! Got it in one try: I have PAPERS due tomorrow. Yes, plural. Three. One is very near completion, the other two, well... I don't want to talk about it.

What I DO want to talk about is this HUGE, HUGE HUGE HUGE HUGE blessing I received today. I gave away a lot of shifts and booked off a lot of time from Sbux to do this benefit/fundraiser thingy. Don't regret it for a second (and yes I realize I have yet to write about it in ye olde blogge, but since most of those who read this were THERE, I'm not in a super-dee-duper rush), but it has left me a bit strapped for cash, and wondering how I'm going to pull it together to pay for Uganda.

Anyhoo. Went to my Uganda meeting today (Squee! TWO MONTHS!!!), and Scott was handing out slips with our "balances". That is, if people have donated money towards us, personally, he was letting us know who, so we could write thank you notes. He also said that if it was contributed anonymously, we could pass on our thank-yous through him. I was sitting there, twiddling my thumbs and chatting with Jessie--I only started handing out my support letters today, at a happening shindig to celebrate my Great-Tante-Ilse's 80th birthday--when all of a sudden he handed me a pretty pink slip. It read:

Anonymous - $600.

!!!!!

Someone anonymously contributed SIX HUNDRED DOLLARS towards my trip.... I can't even freaking believe it. That's a lot of money. I almost cried. Well, I teared up a little bit, and my jaw hung open for a good minute or two. I have no idea who it was, or why, or how.... but I feel SO honoured that someone would be willing to invest in me like this.... wow.

OK, seriously, is EVERYONE on facebook? I read somewhere that 85% of North American college/university students have one... and I believe it. Not to mention the fact that non-students are now hopping on the bandwagon. How cultish.

Sqwee.

Well, today is the the day.















...

Umm, also, please look at this.

Awww!

Roxy and I are lying on the floor doing homework together. I'm wearing my thinking cap, but she is relying on her looks to get through life.

She's so cute... I'm kind of like a proud parent. A sick, proud parent with a tiny, hairy, four-legged, black-nosed little baby. With a tail.

Meh, I guess it could be worse.

OTTERS HOLDING HANDS!!!!!!

Go HERE (Click! Click! Click! Click! Click! Click! Click! Click! ) and plan to come out to the event.

And then watch this! (watch it 'til the end...)

I've added some new stuff to this swazztastic doohickey. More coming soon, so keep checking (woot.)!

:)

"*destroys mars* it appears mars has been destroyed." - S. Graves. No, that's too obvious. We'll cal her... Sally G.

PLEASE COME

Tickets are NOT available at the door. Please let me know if you're interested and I'll do my best to hand-deliver a ticket to you!