Needle (in the hay?)

I got a flu shot this weekend. I strongly dislike shots. Every time it goes something like this. I am sitting in a chair, with my shirt off and someone dabbing my arm. I'm thinking about how irrational it is to dislike needles, and that they really arn't that bad. Next, injection starts. I start thinking "I can barely feel this, why do I dislike this so much". Then I start daydreaming or something. Next thing I know someone sounds really panicked. Then I feel a lot of tugging on my arm. I open my eyes, and somehow I'm lying sideways on the ground, with someone asking "can you hear me? are you alright?" over and over again. I am about to answer when they ask again, and so I think "that's rude, why don't they let me answer first? very impolite of them". Then it starts to dawn on me that something is wrong about the whole scenario. Why am I on my side? Wasn't I in a chair? Yes I was, I was getting a shot. Then why am I on the ground? And why is someone (usually my dad since he is a doctor) shaking me? And then I realize: "damn it, I blacked out". And then I realize that my whole body is completely rigged and that I havnt' answered yet, and that they are waiting for an answer from me. And then I relax my body and say something. And after about 5 minutes I can crawl into bed, and after 15 more minutes I'm back to normal.

So, that is why I dislike shots. Every time I black out and have a near seizure. It's not that I'm afraid of them. They are just a little needle. I dislike them, but I normally forget why. The thing is, I normally don't get a feeling like "i'm getting dizzy, maybe i'll pass out". It's just me thinking "this isn't so bad" then realizing I'm on the floor. Apparently it has something to do with being a tall guy with low blood pressure. Although not all tall guys get it, so I guess I have a special ability in this regard.

What is most interesting about the whole procedure is thay when you come out of it you are thinking very very slowly. Someone says something to you, but it takes 15 seconds before you can actually mouth a reply, even though you realize that it is important and that you should reply right away. And also, it's very refreshing in a way. It clears out any stress you had and you feel like you are coming out of a very restful sleep. That is not to say it's pleasant. Because it's not. Anyhow, that is why I dislike needles.

Freedom and blue skies and so forth

I officially finished my essays at just past 11 this morning, giving me an entire hour of spare time before class. And lo, the clouds parted and the sun came out shining and there was rejoicing, for I was now free from the oppressive tyranny of papers. It is odd how you can be so utterly tired when you have work to do, but the moment it is done you get a new spring in your step. At least I do. Or rather I get a new dance in my step, because dancing around when you are bad at dancing and singing along with rock songs when you are bad at singing is a lot of fun. I have a full 9 days before my next paper is due. In the meantime the only significant events on my calendar are "B-day" and "Celebrities". Before you get excited, it is neither my birthday, nor do I know any celebrities. The important point here is free time.

Also, apparently Mont Saint Michel is, or was, in danger of low tide levels. Now, as a kid there are few places as awsome as Mont Saint Michel. It is basically a castle built far enough from the sea so that it is not immedately apparent that it is on an island. And at high tide water rushes in around it. So, at one point there is land in every direction, and a few hours later you are in the middle of the ocean. In short, as a child I thought that this was about the coolest place that actually exists in the world. I even bought a sword there. Anyhow, apparently the causeway funneling tourists in is causing the seabed to rise, and thus the water is less exciting. So they have decided to spend lots of money to restore it and try to raise the water level around the island. Somewhat ironic considering the danger that rising water levels present most places. Then again this is a castle. It needs danger.

Sometimes school stresses me out

Like when I have to write two essays for monday and I havn't even finished the readings for them. And it is not really my fault, since I've been studying incessantly for about a week now. Not sure I really have the energy left to write another two papers. Especially in such a short amount of time. So wish me luck.
Also, tommorow is remembrance day. So there is a good chance I will end up wearing a suit. I do not, however, have a poppy, and that is very disheartening. What is it with the poppy shortage this year? I've made sure to pass by all the prominent places on campus as much as possible the entire week and not once did I see someone selling poppies. So, I'm not quite sure what to do about that. All the same, I think some Wilfred Owen is in order:

Greater Love

Red lips are not so red
As the stained stones kissed by the English dead.
Kindness of wooed and wooer
Seems shame to their love pure.
O Love, your eyes lose lure
When I behold eyes blinded in my stead!

Your slender attitude
Trembles not exquisite like limbs knife-skewed,
Rolling and rolling there
Where God seems not to care:
Till the fierce love they bear
Cramps them in death’s extreme decrepitude.

Your voice sings not so soft,—
Though even as wind murmuring through raftered loft,—
Your dear voice is not dear,
Gentle, and evening clear,
As theirs whom none now hear,
Now earth has stopped their piteous mouths that coughed.

Heart, you were never hot
Nor large, nor full like hearts made great with shot;
And though your hand be pale,
Paler are all which trail
Your cross through flame and hail:
Weep, you may weep, for you may touch them not.

Wilfred Owen

R is for Rehan (maybe)

Once in a while, when I don't know what I want to listen to, I look through my itunes list to see if any long ignored bands catch my attention. This weekend that band turned out to be Megadeth, who I havn't listened to since last winter. They are fairly similar to Metallica, but better (I'm not a big Metallica fan). The only really salient feature of Megadeth for me is that it reminds me of the guy who lived across the hall from me during the first term of last year. Now, I'm not sure how common this is, but I instantly recalled what he looked like, our interesting conversations, ect, but I couldn't remember his name, except that it begins with an R. Not only that, but I felt like his name was on the tip of my tongue all day. It drove me nuts. I even asked some of my floormates from last year, but all they could remember was the R too. In fact one got really frustrated with the tip of the tongue thing too. So, his name is one of those names that is really close to a common name, but at the same time different. My current guess is Rehan, and I will now call him Rehan, but something about that name doesn't sit quite right.

Rehan is one of those people I doubt that I will ever forget. Not because we were close, or spent much time together (we didn't), but because I doubt I will meet anyone quite like him again. Let us start with the basics. Rehan was in his mid twenties, and was in his first year of studies at ubc (in engineering). He is from Pakistan, and is rediculously wealthy. And that is probably the most important thing to remember about him. He claimed that prior to coming to Vancouver he had never cooked himself a meal, had never cleaned dishes, had never done laundry. He had never even used a toaster before. Why? Because he had a massive housestaff. He had a guy who, in the winter, would go out and warm the car for him when he wanted to drive somewhere. Now, here in north america, house staff is basically unheard of. I mean, you can have a chef, a maid, a gardener...that's like three tops. More than that seems a bit silly. But not so at Rehan's place (or should I say places?). His father was a general in the Pakistani army, but had retired and was now more of a wealthy buisnessman. Now, the first thing that comes to my mind when I think of the rich son of a military figure in the Pakistani army is that he'll probably be pretty strict or dogmatic about things. But, what always struck me about him is that he about the most laid back person I have ever met. And he loved it here. He actually liked doing his laundry. It was a genuinely novel experience for him, and it hadn't acquired the negative "chore" stereotype it has for children most places. He had the most amazing stories. He had been stationed (as an officer in the army) in Kashmir. And perhaps the most astonishing thing about it was that he was kicked out of the army because he protested the conflict by going right to the border and playing chess with an Indian officer doing the same on the other side. To me, the prospect of being an officer in Kashmir and protesting by playing chess with the opposing army is...well, admirable. And frankly, I thought you'd probably get executed for that type of thing. But I guess that is where having a father in high places has its benefits. And you may ask...why do I believe such a story? Well, I think almost anyone who had met him would. He was incredibly sincere, and it fit with everything else he said, even when very drunk. I mean, we would sit on my floor listening to nine inch nails or led zepplin (he was very into hard music, and introduced me to megadeth) and drink beer and vodka. And we would drink a lot. But through it all his story never changed...so he would have to have been an incredible liar.
When I think about it, I think his laid back attitude can largely be attributed to the fact that he, more or less, had nothing to worry about. He was living in residence, going to school at UBC, even though he had a personal fortune and a place in Dubai. Not his family home, but his personal "pad" complete with fancy cars and housestaff. Just sitting there unoccupied. It was refreshing to meet a rich person who cared so little about money. Very refreshing. And we had very interesting conversation about the way life differed here from Pakistan. One thing that amazed him here was women. He didn't understand them at all. You have to picture him in Pakistan, rolling around in a fancy car, and picking up any girl he wanted. In Pakistan, so he said, he could have almost any girl he wanted, all he had to do was, more or less, buy them with a nice dinner, or an expensive trinket. But here, girls didn't work that way. Some girls would refuse his advances no matter how rich he appeared. And almost everytime we ran into each other (generally when i was getting up for class and he was getting back from a night out on the town), he would smile at me and say "canadian girls". No matter how many times it happened he just didn't understand girls that were more interested in personality than money. And the great part about it was that he loved it, the challenge of it. It was a world in which, for once, he could not get whatever he wanted. And so, Rehan, wherever you are, and whatever your real name may be, I hope life is treating you well.

The title of this blog

When I was young I was, for the most part, completely indifferent to music. It wasn't until I was in grade 10 that I took any interest in it at all. Sure, music would often be playing when I was around, and if you asked me if I like it I'd reply with a mild affrimative, almost irregardless of what was playing. Sure, i might know the difference between britney spears and the beatles, and then there was piano music (as I thought of classical music). My knowledge of the subject was basically limited to whatever band names I overheard in conversations. It just didn't speak to me. A few printed words could say so much more than all these noises. Sure, they can be pleasant, I guess, but what more? When i got my first cd player, as part of a radio, tape, cd combo box for christmas, I felt the need to play a cd. Not because of the music you see, but because it fascinated me that these little disc things would start spinning and make a bunch of different noises. It so happens that the cd which I chose for this endeavor, from those which had appeared, unwanted, during the christmas holiday, was a "Best of james bond" soundtrack type deal. And actually, some of the music on it isn't bad. So for a while that was the extent of my music collection. So, here is where we actually get to grade 10. I was over at Dan's house, one of my closest friends at the time, and he put some Matthew Good Band on. Beautiful Midnight to be exact. One thing worth noting about Dan's house is that he has a pool table. So, we were playing pool on this occasion. And a thing about pool is that it gives you a lot of time to let your mind wander, in this case my mind wandered to the music being played. Because, there was something different about this music. The song wasn't about yellow submarines, or all my love, or (even worse) about whatever pop songs were about at the time. This music really spoke to me, as a lonely teenager questioning life and society. And so, after listening to this several times at Dan's I added it to my birthday list (or christmas? a gift giving event of some sort). And eventually it arrived. I think those that knew me in my last few years at high school would be inclined to agree that as far as music was concerned, I was a matt good addict. When I first got Beautiful Midnight I'd play in for hours night after night...I reached a point at which I could recite the lyrics to any song on that cd such that I could leave the room and return at any point and still be reciting (I hesitate to say singing) at exactly the right moment. Now, that may not neccesarily sound that impressive, but for me that was a feat I've never come anywhere near acheiving again. Indeed, I doubt there is any song right now I could actually write out the lyrics to. After a while I diversified my music tastes slightly, to bands such as matchbox 20, our lady peace, live, goo goo dolls and bands of that nature. As of now I have 2765 songs in my itunes. And I don't listen to much matt good anymore. I don't like his new stuff much. Not that I dislike his old stuff now, but I have just heard it so much, and it doesn't speak to who I am as much anymore. And if you were not aware, the title of this blog, "Dancing Invisible", is an early matt good song.

The fishing lodge

I talked to my cousin Rob today. A couple times a year one of us takes the initiative and actually sends the other a message on msn. Just to check up. The conversation today started with "so we're not comin out for christmas anymore". I'm not even sure when the last time they came out was (they being him, my cousin steve and my aunt). I'd guess 3 years ago. Seems about right. Last year my uncle and aunt divorced right before christmas, so they didn't come out. It got a bit ugly really. As far as I can tell my uncle left without telling rob or steve (until a while later) so that hurt them quite a lot I think. Not sure what to think about my uncle anymore really. Anyhow, me and Rob are very different. He's more of the physical labour small city Albertan type. And really, if he wasn't my cousin I'm not sure we'd got along very well. But I feel that I could count on him if I needed, indeed I nearly ran off to live with him during my depression. And I'd say a lot of it has to do with getting along fairly well as kids. He wasn't a big reader, but reading was what I did in my alone time. I think more than anything, the thing we had in common was a love for fishing. I had forgotten how much I used to love fishing. The peacefulness of sitting out on a lake at dawn. There is no need to talk when fishing. There can be a few of you in the boat, but it was never social in the normal way. You all just happened to be witnessing the same beautiful moment. I love the water. And as much as I hated getting up at dawn, I was always glad I did afterwards. And you can just sit in the boat, and reflect on life. There is nothing to distract you, just the fishing itself to keep you busy and excited from time to time when the fish are actually biting. But really, fishing isnt about the fish, as I figure most dedicated fisherman would say. It's more of a frame of mind, as cliche as that sounds.

And so in our discussion today, Rob, out of the blue, said "i was thinking about the fishing lodge the other day". And wow, did that ever bring the memories flooding back. You see, for a few years really, what me and Rob wanted to do when we grew up was run a fishing lodge. That seemed like paradise at the time. Work a little bit in the lodge, go out fishing, read and write in the evening. Not a care in the world. That was the plan at least. And you know, when I think about it again, that doesn't sound too bad at all. Write philosophy at a cozy little lodge in the BC wilderness. Unfortunately, the type of acres you'd need to have a fishing lodge arn't cheap. And alas, the aspiritions of youth fell by the wayside.

And would you believe I havn't gone fishing in years? It is kind of sad really. But at the same time, fishing doesn't really appeal to me as much anymore. I just don't think I could achieve that same Zen anymore. It is one of those things I miss but that I cannot get back. Is it too early in life to be nostalgic? Because I am from time to time. There is so much you don't appreciate when you are a child, simply because it is the type of thing you can't appreciate until it is gone. And you know, there is so much I wish I'd have done differently. So many things that I wish I had known. But I can't complain really. I've had some bad times, but I have been so lucky in my life so far. And really, I appreciate the bad times. Nothing has helped me become who I am more than the trials I have gone through. If everything goes your way you don't appreciate what you have. So why do we always want everything to go our way? C'est la vie.

All you need to know about blogging

The fine folks at Penny Arcade have endeavored to offer us some poignant commentary about blogging, which can be found here.
In other news, my school scheduele from now until the 14th has become incredibly busy with the addition of yet another paper. So if I offer up disgruntled posts about "the institution" or how I am "at a breaking point" then that is why. I am already approaching the limit of the amount of school work I can stand, so hopefully I will get through this without a mental breakdown. I have had a real desire to take off recently, and I think that I will spend next summer travelling and eating up my savings. Last summer I took a course and worked fairly solidly. The summer before that I worked and took a full summer course load to make up for all the classes I had been forced to drop in first year. So it has been a while since I have had a good break (last christmas I guess). I don't think christmas break will be enough this year though, because it is not so much a rest I need, but rather I want to do something else for a bit. High on my list is doing some humanitarian work. Going to africa perhaps. Living somewhere where I don't have a computer to sit on. There is something about Africa that is so appealing, and I must admit that if I went to go do humanitarian work it would be primarily for selfish reasons. For a change of paradigm. And beyond Africa, to go travelling wherever I happen to end up. Wandering around until I can't afford to anymore. Try new things. In a sense, I think I want to make sure that academics is the right thing for me. I am not proposing to give up philosophy...but one can be a writer, or a philosopher without a PhD.

A very unusual piece of wood

"Pinochio?" you might ask. No, and no again. It is spelt Pinocchio. So I was walking back to my place with groceries when all of a sudden it started raining. And I really mean "all of a sudden", like in those movies where the sky is clear then all of a sudden it is pouring. Now, I don't know if there are places where this is how rain normally works, but here in Vancouver it generally starts with a little drip drip...then drizzles a bit...then a few minutes later you have rain. You get a few drops on your head and you know that you only have a couple of minutes before the rain comes. But there is this warning system. Drip drip. But that was not the case on this particular occasion. And my first thought was "wow, it's like i'm in a movie" (more specifically I pictured myself in Kurosawa's Rashomon). And then it occured to me, it is quite possible that Pinocchio is the most powerful theoretical tool in existence. Now, we all know that Pinocchio's nose gets longer when he lies. But here is where it gets tricky. Does he have to be aware that he is lying for his nose to get longer? What if he expresses an untrue proposition against his knowledge? Of course, the correct answer to this is that yes, he does have to be conciously lying. But then I would have nothing to write about, so let us just suppose for the remainder of this entry that Pinocchio's nose gets longer whenever he expresses an untrue proposition (I say "expresses an untrue proposition" instead of lying, because the word lying seems to imply a mesure of concious awareness). Now, it seems that Pinocchio's nose calculates the truth value of any proposition in about the same amount of time in every circumstance. That is to say, the complexity of a computation does not effect the time in which the nose completes that calculation. In essence, Pinocchio's nose can, for any input determine a truth value, expressed either in the lengthening of the nose or in an absence of lengthening (we are here assuming the law of excluded middle). Given the absolutely horrible and unconvincing argument layed out above, Pinocchio can, in effect, solve any decision problem (in the logical sense). For example, the halting problem is solvable by the nose, since any calculation takes the same amount of time, the nose can determine whether or not halting will occur (the nose computes the infinite steps of the neverending case in a finite amount of time). Thus, anyone who has control over Pinocchio can ask him to recite any proposition, and accordingly if his nose does not grow it is an irrefutable proof that the proposition is valid. So, in essence, who needs science when we have Pinocchio? And i'll tell you. It's the scientists. Without science they would be flipping burgers for a living much like us philosophy majors. The last fact I want to point out here is that the death of Pinocchio is a mystery. In the movie he lives (all that rubbish about becoming a real boy is...well, it's rubbish). But it is clear that Pinocchio is not alive today. So how did he die? May I propose the following: Pinocchio was murdered by scientists!* Yes, I not only may propose it, but have proposed it in this very entry.

*Please don't feed or abuse the scientists.

Gomery and Krispy Kreme

So, the Gomerry report (initial release version) came out today. Momentous day? It doesn't really seem like it. Sure, political bickering will go up, but somehow I don't think the liberals will get overthrown. Basically the report didn't say anything that wasn't known last summer, and it exonerated Paul Martin. And really, I think most people are too tired of the affair to get their tempers up again, unless of course something new had come up. Ideally we could get rid of the liberals for a bit to "punish" them, but when you look at the alternatives...a conservative government is so very much worse. And, those liberal party members that were involved in the sponsorship scandal have either retired of have now been sacked. And personally, the way I see it, it seems like the liberals might now be one of the least corrupt parties because they just got purged. Anyhow, enough politics.
Oh right, and the second half of my title. Donuts. Tasty? Yes. Unhealthy? Yes. Evidence of a massive government conspiracy? Maybe. All of that is irrelevant though. The real question is: will donuts save lives? Yes. Or so charitable organizations will have you believe. Recently there has been a booth at the SUB selling donuts, with proceeds going to the victims of the Kashmir earthquake. This way they trick people into saving lives by appealing to their poor dietary decisions. Buy a few donuts? Hah! Now someone in Kashmir is that much closer to not dying in the next few days. Anyhow, the other day I went and purchased a donut, and was feeling unusually charitable, so I gave them 20$ for a donut. And they didn't seem to understand. They tried giving my change, and when I explained that I was just donating the rest they told me that for 20$ I could get more donuts. So, I explained again that I wanted to put my change in one of their little donation boxes. And they sort of looked at me in an odd way. So, my point is...was what I did all that odd? Are the type of people who buy donuts completely distinct from the type of people who would donate money to charity? Did little devil horns pop out of my head and startle them? Although, I was in a hoodie. There is something about hoodies. Tall white guy in a black hoodie? He's up to no good it seems. People seem genuinely surprised when I am polite, or purchase merchandise without shifty eyes. But now is not the time for an essay on the hoodie. Now is a time to discuss donuts. Tasty, original glazed, donuts. mmm.... donuts...