Ewe and Me

2012-01-24T15:54:00.001+01:00

Freebie Jeebies

2012-01-19T19:18:00.000+01:00

This is a time of turmoil, kittens. SOPA, should it pass through the US legal system, threatens to gut, skin and smoke the internet and all it stands for which, as everyone will agree, is a pretty bad thing. The local political arena is also in a state of complete disarray - report cards have been brandished and the usual parade of finger-pointing, mud-slinging and sandwich-making (that one's just me - call it comfort eating) that precedes an election is just about to start. Despite my cantankerous attack on the morons who live under the Times of Malta bridge, there is still no end to the trolling. Times are tough, people are broke and I cannot for the life of me find my camera charger. Desperate times call for desperate measures. And you know what that means, don't you?

WE ARE GIVING STUFF AWAY!

And by 'stuff' I mean 'an awesome, fun and also useful gift that will make you the coolest cat in the crowd!'. By 'we' I mean me and the ... well just me really but it's nice to imagine having staff.

Since you asked, here's what one must do. One must leave a comment below. If one does not sign in or have a username already, one must leave their name and email address* in the comment box. Next, one must mention one's favourite Game of Thrones character and/or the funniest joke one has heard in 2012 so far. And then (come on kids, nothing's free in life) one must publish a link to this here post on any social platform of one's choice; Facebook, Twitter, one's blog, the men's room at Ryan's, wherever. And finally, one must forgive my irritatingly liberal use of the word 'one' in the previous paragraph.

And what do you win? I'll tell you what you win. $25 from Threadless.com to spend on whatever you like though I suggest a t-shirt or a hoodie because the last time I checked, they were out of lava lamps and training bras.

So there we go. Spread the word and you could totally win shit. I'm not gonna attempt to tug at the heartstrings or appeal to your higher consciousnesses. Chances are you're sitting in your undies somewhere, eating Cheetos and writing fan fiction about Xena the Warrior Princess. So yeah. Tell folks about my blog and, should random.org deem it true, you might win yourself some swag. Hop to it, little pirates!

Oh and this little publicity stunt closes in one week - Thursday 26th January, at 7:00pm

*I promise on my honour as a member of the Galactic Patrol Girl Scouts that no spam shall come of this. To make doubly sure, encode your email address in a spambot-proof format such as: nibblenugget[a.t]gmail.[com]. Or any similar sort of format.

2012 (Anti-) Resolutions

2012-01-11T08:44:00.000+01:00

Everyone and their sister's cousin's dog, twice removed, is making (or has made; I've been asleep most of the last week so this stuff is fuzzy for me) New Year's resolutions. Promises they intend to keep throughout the year in pursuit of fame, happiness, God or a Size 10 butt. Of course many people have little faith in these promises - they know that it's only a matter of time until the gym membership card gets 'lost', a carefully prepared study plan slowly but surely disappears under the heap of notes that have not been read and the Swear Jar becomes a dusty relic to a, retrospectively, pretty f*cking useless idea in the first place. The wise make small resolutions that are easy to keep such as 'do not run over small children'. Others simply do not make them at all, in an effort to avoid the guilt altogether.

Me? I've decided to make some promises this year. I generally don't, mostly out of sheer apathy. But in my usual contrary nature (I can be such a woman sometimes), these are not resolutions to do things, oh no. That would just be too easy. These are promises I have made, not to do things. It'll make sense in a minute.

This year, I resolve not to . . .

- take myself too seriously. I spend way too long attempting to make everyone else do that, might as well take a break on the home front.

- keep The Feelings to myself. In an effort to combat what can only be called a case of Genetic Passive-Aggression, I would like to make a habit of telling it like it is, as it is.

- give up on books. There are too many forlorn tomes lying despondently on my shelves. This madness has to stop.

- give up on The Plan.

- forget to fully formulate The Plan.

- lose my patience. This happens rarely but it is not pretty when it does happen.

- collect stuff. On my return to my room in Malta, I nearly had an anxiety attack. There was so much stuff. Trinkets and knickknacks and clothes I didn't wear and notes I didn't need. I had been living, quite comfortably, out of one large suitcase for four months. I do not need this much stuff in my life! A lot has been thrown out, donated or simply returned to its original owner and I'm much happier in my own space.

- sleep too much. This one will be difficult, to be sure, but I've found that in the realm of errands, classes and dog walks, daylight is much more conducive to success. So I will relegate all my sleep to the dark hours.

- forget who matters. In my dogged pursuit of world domination and the Ultimate Sandwich, I admit that I sometimes forget who made it possible for me to be doing these fascinating (albeit useless) things. Family, friends, even the readers of this blog. The people who buy my cereal and the people who buy my work. Thanks kittens! There will be a treat for you in the coming weeks!

- let my camera gather dust. I know the snow and the squirrels are gone but there's still stuff worth looking at.

The Final Chapter

2012-01-05T15:42:00.001+01:00

This it the last instalment in our bile-fuelled raging here at Ewe and Me. Tomorrow will bring less angry things, promise. These past three posts have been incredibly cathartic.

- Romantic comedies. There is nothing more cruel, more conniving, than giving people false hope. And this, my friends, is how this genre works. Everyone gets the boy/girl of their dreams in the end. There's someone out there for everyone, no matter how damaged you are. Everyone is beautiful in their own way. Rainbows and ponies are every little girl's birthright. Oh please, pull the other one why don't you. No, not everyone will meet the person of their dreams. Statistically, meeting your 'one' is not exactly assured. Some people are too damaged to form healthy relationships, either through self-destructive behaviour or through abuse that is not in any way their fault. There is only so much therapy can do for some people. Some people are not physically attractive and not everyone can put aside physical appearance when it comes to choosing a lover. These are the truths that everyone seems to fear and that's not entirely the film industry's fault. The 'alone' are automatically painted as 'lonely'; people who long for company, for love and for whom it is pathetically, eternally out of reach. Being alone is feared almost as much as illness. At some point, society decided that the only way to be happy is to have a lover and/or kids and/or the house with the white picket fence. So when faced with the problem of box office statistics, film makers present the paying audience with what they think will make them most happy, thus perpetuating the myth that those who are single are somehow incomplete, lacking in some magic quality that makes them worthy as potential mates and inherently miserable. Way to go Hollywood! Completely ignoring thousands of fulfilled, satisfied single folks who are making their way in the world just fine and just making it that much harder for people to find that fulfillment when they do find themselves single.

- Blatantly useless Facebook groups. Whether the cause is finding a cure for breast cancer or bringing La Vallette's pilfered sword back to Malta, do these idiots really think they're going to make a difference? Facebook makes millions in advertising but it does not, contrary to popular belief, actually do anything other than keep you in touch with your obnoxious ex-boyfriend, with or without your consent. What boggles the mind is that thousands and thousands of people join these sorts of groups, in turn harassing the rest of us by inviting us to join them. Raising awareness? I'm pretty sure the internet itself has that pretty much covered. Influencing the authorities? Certainly the top dogs take notice when people are out in force over an issue but never has it been recorded that a law has been passed or changed because 'lots of people on Facebook wanted it'. Get a grip, kids. If you want to do something useful, donate to a charity of your choice. Go to a shelter and walk a couple of dogs. Organize events. Sadly, all these options take actual effort. A lot more effort than say, clicking 'Join' on one stupid group after another in an effort to allay your guilt without upsetting your apathy.

Episode 2: The Bile Chronicles

2012-01-04T00:01:00.002+01:00

As promised, the next juicy instalment of gripes and groans! Enjoy, kittens xoxo

- Random Facebook messages asking you to vote for a picture. I don't generally accept Friend Requests from people I do not know. Unless I have some ulterior motive [i.e. my stalking skills need work], I usually delete requests from people I have never met. Several lovely looking gentlemen in Saudi Arabia have felt the sting of my rejection. This system ensures that my newsfeed is not crowded with the updates of people I am not particularly interested in following and that I can, to some extent, control how far my private information goes. My Friends list is thus made up of friends, family and a few acquaintances I've made, either through work or through other friends, who seem like interesting people or ones who could be useful in future. What can I say, I need interviewees every so often, so sue me. This makes it especially infuriating when suddenly, completely out of the blue, a little red flag appears at the bottom of my screen, letting me know that one of my contacts wants to talk to me. When said contact is one I either have a) never spoken to [but know way too much about anyway] or b) have not spoken to in a long time, I am immediately wary. Clicking open that chat box confirms my worst fears. 'Please 'Like' this page *insert link to commercial page* and then 'Like' my picture *link to picture* so I can win *insert stupid/unlikely/inane gift here*'. Excuse me? We haven't spoken in months/ever and you send me this crap? No, I don't care that you really really want that food processor. You, sir, have just won yourself a prize! Oh yes, I'm very generous. Your prize will be delivered right now! Your removal from my Friends list is permanent and immediate. Don't ever contact me again.

- American vocabulary. Here's a question - what happens to your skin when you hang out in the sun for a while? In my case, the answer would be 'excruciating sunburn' but for most of my Mediterranean kinsmen, the answer would be 'it gets tanned'. Correct! Skin gets tanned because of something scientific to do with the sun and melanin and you can Wiki it if you're really interested. It gets tanned. A person, who is experiencing this condition, is said to be tanned. For some odd reason [although the usual 'because they're American' could potentially suffice], the Yanks have mauled this particular word in a rather strange way. No, not the drawl, I mean the actual word. If you had to ask an American teenager the aforementioned question - what happens to your skin when you hang out in the sun for a while?- their answer would be 'it gets tan'. Wait, what? One becomes... tan? As in, the colour tan? No, no they actually mean that as an adjective. Oh my god Britney you're so tan! I'm soooo jealous! I never get tan like that! Cue grammar-related stroke.

- Calling them 'Arriva'. Qbadt l-Arriva! Tghidx kemm damet istja! These are indeed common phrases, to this day. While I haven't gotten on one since I've returned, word on the street is that there has been some improvement in the new bus system but the Maltese are dealing with that with their characteristic dismissal, disbelief and suspicion that it's all a conspiracy designed to fleece them. The complaining and the bitching I'm used to. What really gets my goat? The use of 'Arriva' instead of the word 'bus'. Is there some other bus company that you might use, thus requiring you to make a distinction between that which you use and that which you don't? It's as if the venom first associated with a botched bus system reform is embedded in the company name and the things which move you around are no longer worthy of their original title, being identified by the hated title of their employers? I'm not sure why it's happening but I'm pretty sure that it would be weird if people went around saying 'Oh crap my Renault Scenic broke down. I have to take my Renault Scenic to the mechanic. What am I going to do without my Renault Scenic, I have so many errands to run!'. I know this is my grammar/word weirdness shining through like a beacon of neuroses but you're still reading so I must be doing something right.

Episode 1 - The Hate Files

2012-01-02T02:19:00.001+01:00

With the holidays done and dusted and a little period of calm in my immediate future, I figured it was time to get back to my little blogling and you, my dearest readers. I hope you have slid your knees under many a heavily laden dinner table, entertained countless cats with sheaves of discarded wrapping paper and ribbon and rolled your eyes in silence several times as you try to explain to Grandma how her new mobile phone works. I myself have had a mostly uneventful holiday season. Maybe it's my age that's getting to me but I've no complaints with how quietly things turned out.

Moving on. You guys know I'm a nice person right? I save kittens from trees, give children kidneys and hand out beer to the homeless. I'ma little prone to lying but everyone's got their flaws. The point is, I'm not as terribly acidic as my blog sometimes leads people to believe. A recluse, maybe. I have hibernated in my room for days on end, only to emerge, hissing and steaming, into the sunlight when my thirst for quality Ribena and the souls of the innocent cannot be ignored any longer. Slightly obsessive-compulsive - not an entirely inaccurate description. I like my files organized and my CD collection just so. But I'm not generally a b*tch [assuming of course that we are interacting a) at a reasonable time of the day and b) not behind the wheel in our respective cars]. There are things I strongly believe in - freedom, logic, tolerance. I do my best to voice my opinions without attempting to denigrate those of others. I recycle. I will listen, patiently and with a level head, to what you have to say.

So here I am about to completely shatter the illusion. Reveal the man behind the curtain. Dispel the myth and dissolve the mist of the mirage. Because some shit just pisses me off and I'm not going to keep it to myself any longer because the internet has provided me with this wonderful (and wonderfully free) way of presenting these gripes to several (almost tens of you guys now!) people at once, as brief as that opportunity may be. Now I realize that other stuff has gotten on my tits before - see this post for proof. But the world has been kind enough to throw oodles and oodles of blog-worthy material my way. Thanks universe! You're a pal!

More stuff that ticks me off

- Airport noobs. Now I understand that everyone has a first time at pretty much everything. Sex, driving, considerate toilet use. I get it; some people are new to things. But at the airport, my patience wanes to nothing. Maybe it's the anxiety of flying; a subtle feeling of nausea that starts in that first instance when I think I've lost my passport [about 5 minutes after my arrival at the airport] which lingers and then intensifies as my brain sees through the distractions I attempt to occupy it with, like music and books, and realizes that I'm about to spend several hours in a tin can with wings, in the company of what seem like hundreds of shifty-looking strangers. I digress. Picture it, if you will. Bags have been checked in, the line for the security check begins to form. There are people in front of you and behind you. You stare into space as your turn approaches. You somehow seem to completely ignore what the folks ahead of you are doing. You do not notice as they throw out their water bottles, bag their 100ml-or-less liquids and remove their laptops from their bags. It seems to totally escape your consciousness that each and every one of them is taking their jacket off, putting their small change in those little trays and removing their belts and watches. It comes as a total surprise to you, an outrage even, when the security guard asks you to do all these strange things like take your jacket off or throw away your bottle of Evian. There might be indignant words traded, grumpy noises made as you comply with their utterly ridiculous requests. At this point in your monologic tirade, you may notice something odd from the corner of your eye. Jaws clench slightly, almost imperceptibly. Frowns begin to form lines across foreheads. Frequent flyers are obviously trying very hard not to kill you and you're lucky because the only reason they don't is that it would only delay their flight further and after the long, cantankerous wait you've put them through, that's the only source of alcohol they can see on the horizon.

- Super happy fun blogs!! I never use punctuation lightly; it is a serious business. But those two exclamation points are totally necessary. You guys don't need me and my astute, articulate and highly entertaining observations to tell you that the world is a mean mean place. Bad stuff happens to good people and the rest seem to get away scott free. Often times, we look to others for the inspiration to carry on. There is hope and strength in knowing that others have suffered as you have and lived to tell the tale. Good news is always welcome and giving others a reason to believe that everything is going to be fine is a skill that few possess and even fewer choose to share. But by the power of Aphrodite's training bra, if I see one more blog spouting homemade, candy cane, sweetness-and-light I will quite literally pop a vein. I know life is shit and you're trying to spread joy and peace and love or some shit but the rest of us, the ones who live in the real world and, I hazard to guess, those who actually face real hardship like hunger, poverty, unemployment, abuse, neglect and discrimination, know that your constant, unrealistic expectations are simply that - unrealistic. They almost come across as condescending to those who are not, in fact, happy, hopeful, joyous and/or as circumstantially lucky as you are. Really? You dare to be unhappy with your lot? But there is soooo much to appreciate and make us happy in this world! Look, a daisy! Does it not make you forget your stupid stupid growling stomach? And does this kitten not make your selfish moping about being unemployed for six months seem a tad unreasonable? There is nothing wrong with being happy and there certainly is nothing wrong with writing a blog you want to write. But there is no shame in saying that things aren't always great either. This need to find something, anything to be happy about screams of a desperation, a fear that in fact, no such thing exists.

- The Times of Malta comments. There is nothing more demoralizing than hanging around the ToM website, specifically around the pages reporting 'Breaking News', and waiting for the comments to start pouring in. While I generally have little patience with trolls, on this website they seem to be the only trace of intelligent life. The ignorance, bigotry and sheer stupidity that pours forth from these comments is overwhelming. Long diatribes or brief little nuggets of 'wisdom', it doesn't matter. Every single one of those misspelt, often indelicately translated chunks of text makes me want to cry, strangle someone and bang my head against a wall simultaneously. In the ensuing delirium, I begin to wonder whether there is some carefully concealed plot driving all this. Whether there are recruiters, hanging around the main streets of the island, finding morons, handing them a keyboard and offering them money to type out their thoughts. And then the cruel, gruesome reality becomes clear. No, this is not set up. Yes these are real people and yes these are their opinions. There is, in fact, no hope for this sinking ship.

This blog was initially several pages (and several gastric hernias) long. So I've decided to break it up into three delightful installments! Stay tuned for more sweetness and joy!

Souvenirs to Share

2011-12-28T09:30:00.000+01:00

Several of my friends have moved abroad, some to pursue their careers but most of them are where they are because of their education. Whether as undergrads or as postgrads, living abroad to study abroad is an experience you can't really appreciate unless you've been there. And I know I've been gushing about this country as though I'm being paid but don't worry, I'm not. Not even a little bit. I came to Canada because I've already been here and I liked it. But I believe that living in a place long-term(ish) is a far cry from the 2-week holidays one has taken in the past. So here are my

8 Good Reasons that Studying Abroad is Grand

- It's a chance to really test yourself. When you study abroad, there's the 'studying' part which is usually handled within the walls of a university, a safe zone where you are a paying customer with a right to demand certain privileges. Then there's the 'abroad' part, where you are... well, basically an Average Joe. Immigration, housing (including hydro, electric, heating, insurance, food and rent to deal with), banking, licensing and a million and one other government and private institutions you need to call up, meet up with and quite often, pay. Didn't think you could fill out a tax form? Well there you have it. Never had to balance a budget? Here's your chance. New skills tend to be a lot more intimidating when you think you don't have them. When you find out that you do, they're quite a motivation in themselves.

Airports - Halls of Anxiety, Institutions of Stress

- Learn your limits. Trek across town for free food? I think so. Tolerate the Neighbour's off-key rendition of Gloria Estefan's pop hit 'Anything for You' for the 17th time? THIS IS WHERE I DRAW THE LINE. Some might call them principles or boundaries. I just call it 'The point when I start twitching uncontrollably'. Except this time it isn't coming from family members you can verbally abuse through a closed door or sneakily get back at by dyeing their fish tank blue. These are relative strangers who are your age. When things get hairy, people get inventive. See Exhibit A for a multitude of examples.

The above at about 5000 decibels at 3am

- Experience a new culture. Yes I know it sounds cliche but did you know that 'bathrooms' are called 'washrooms' here and the national anthem is sung while facing a portrait of the Queen of England? No me neither. And I've been here before. I'll bet there's tonnes more to discover if I hung around longer.

Despite my initial unease, poutine are pretty much my
favourite thing in world now

- Even far from home, you are not alone. I'm a little, as everyone is so fond of saying these days, awkward. I trip over my words and fidget and blush when I'm talking to people I do not know. So you can imagine the slight concern I had when I finally stopped bouncing around the room when I first got accepted at Trent. Was I mad? Leaving the group of people who had been so patient as to look past the pathetic social skills for long enough to figure out that I'm not as neurotic and unapproachable as I first look? Could I survive for four months without talking to anyone? Well I needn't have worried because I figured out something very important. You know how I felt all alone in a new place? The rest of the first years were in exactly the same boat. And, like rats in the aforementioned and purely metaphorical boat, we stuck together. We became friends and allies in the battle against boredom, hunger and finding a place to stay over Reading Week. Things worked out great, even for a nutter like me. You'll be just fine.

- You learn to deal with the drawbacks. I occasionally have to contend with depressive episodes, which usually last a day or so, about once every two months. Before I got here, I always had the company of people who knew me, what I was going through and what I needed to get me through those unpleasant times. Being away from home meant I had to face them alone. And I learnt how to deal with those episodes better, even without the support of friends and family. Whether it's panic attacks or coming down with a cold, when you're living alone (anywhere), these little setbacks can be difficult to deal with at first. When you're abroad, things might seem even more daunting but think about it this way. Unless you're studying in the Antarctic, chances are the people around you have come down with illnesses before and survived. So it stands to reason that they have the people, pharmacies and chicken soup to help them get over it. The same goes for any psychological, emotional, metaphysical and gastrointestinal ailments, conditions or issues known in the Western world. But I think that even if yours was a case for a witch doctor with a steady supply of chicken entrails, you're only one internet search away from finding someone who can help in your area and at a reasonable price.

The doctor will see you now

- You're away from home. In my case, this is a rock inhabited by a disappointing majority of narrow-minded, stuck-in-their-ways idiots and a tiny segment of the population who are champing at the bit, dying to leave. 4 months in a country far away? Why yes, I think I shall. For others who may not harbour such resentment to their homeland, being away from home is an exercise in independence. Living expenses, chores, a social life, academics, keeping the squirrels out - all up to you. Something goes wrong? You fix it. You do something stupid? You also fix it. Nothing makes you a resourceful, well-rounded, patient and self-sufficient like having to wash your own undies and write your own passive-aggressive notes when the neighbours are too loud.

- It's crazy fun. No curfew, no disgruntled parents snapping at you because your dirty socks are growing legs of their own and thinking about forming a union, no half a teaspoon of milk left in the carton to avoid having to throw it out. You are the boss. You can go as far and stay for as long as your budget can take you. No one to steal the remote and no one to claim the toy in the cereal box. Bliss.

Nothing says 'value for money' like men squishing
each other against impact-resistant plastic

- Secretly become an adult. You know all those things you've fixed and learnt and found out? Those things tend to make you better equipped to deal with new obstacles and to overcome them and to realize that there is little in the 'real world' that is as terrifying as the contents of the fridge a week after you went on holiday and forgot to throw out the milk. With functioning in society now coming naturally to you, there is little that is standing in your way. Except, you know, money and time but when are those not a problem? You, my friend, have grown up. But if you don't tell anyone, you might still get away with those all-night Skyrim marathons without getting flak for living in the same sweats for 36hours.

SAY IT AIN'T SO!

Season's Sweet Things

2011-12-23T03:36:00.001+01:00

Hello my festive fuzz nuggets! I hope the holidays haven't quite worn on you yet and/or the bodies haven't been found. A little radio silence from my end as I get to bed before getting up before getting on a bus to get on a plane and then another plane and then a car until I'm back on the rock. So enjoy the cuteness and remember - leaving the shovel, rope, duct tape and lime in the back of the car is a dead give away. Have you guys never watched CSI?

Here we are

2011-12-19T16:12:00.003+01:00

So I'm sitting in my room here at Trent, watching squirrels chase each other across tree branches, for one of the last times. It's fiercely windy outside and the river is frothing as if in disapproval. In an attempt to give myself a break from some late essay writing yesterday, I pulled out my suitcases and flung as much stuff as possible into them to see whether everything would fit. Disappointingly, everything does.

I look down onto the quad from my fourth floor window, at people smoking outside, wrapped in jackets and woollens. The mood is sombre; it is exam time after all. And despite being almost done on that front, I am so jealous of those shivering addicts out in the cold. They get to come back here after Christmas break. They get to see the Champlain cafeteria ladies again, who are without a doubt the kindest people I have ever met. They get to watch snow coat everything for days on end and they get to complain how cold crossing the bridge is. They get to meet their friends, which they made in the near-overwhelming chaos of the first week, for movies, walks up the hill or to spend an hour playing fetch with the Residence Coordinator's dogs. They get to feel like their education is important, not just to them but to those who so passionately wish to educate them. They get to come back.

Now I know my waxing poetic is probably getting a little old. I've been at it for years already. And I know there is plenty of good, positive stuff awaiting me across the ocean which is where, incidentally, I left my heart with a collection of oddball friends, a pair of crazy canines and one special person in particular. I know I have benefitted immensely from this experience [a blog post is in the works, detailing exactly how] and I know that my flight on Friday night will not mark the end to my ongoing love affair with this country.

But it's my blog and I'll mope if I want to.

The One Where I Apologise (But Not Really)

2011-12-07T04:31:00.001+01:00

Everybody's got those crappy days. Terrible grades, lover leaving town, no milk for your already-poured cereal. You're not human if you have never been sad. Naturally, the way we deal with this sadness is also something profoundly personal. Some people write poetry, others go for walks in the rain and probably edit photos with Helvetica captions later on. Me? I buy stuff. Whether it's a too-expensive-but-damn-it's-good donut or a new pair of socks or a gadget I could totally live without, somehow spending money (the kind I generally do not actually have) makes me feel better.

So it comes as no surprise that when faced with such a sadness a few weeks back*, the first thing I did was walk into an !ndigo outlet. Before you shake your head in a knowing (and let's face it, loving) sort of way, I must stop you. I did not, in fact, buy a book. I didn't even buy several books. I didn't buy a handy reading light or some whimsical stationery. No, I didn't steal anything either. Gosh, you guys have no faith in me.

No. I bought....

An E-Reader. A Kobo to be exact, which I'll admit is a brand I'd never heard of before I have walked past the outlet and spotted a giant poster declaring a store-wide sale on E-Readers. Kindle? Old news. Nook? Heard of it. But the Kobo? Let's just say I hadn't really done any research prior to the purchase which is practically unheard of when it comes to anything I'm shopping for.

But this blog isn't about the nice Asian fellow who talked me (damn near effortlessly; I was, after all, on a mission) into buying a shiny, brand new Kobo Touch. It's not even about just how much swag I (felt I) had as I walked to the counter and demanded a unit in white, please. Oh? Yes, yes silver will be fine.

Like this but with much more coolness
and a lot less Austen

It's not even about how I set the thing up in about 10 minutes flat while waiting for my train. Nor is it about how awesome I felt after parting with my money in exchange for something completely selfish, totally unjustifiable and delightfully techy.

This is about how I owe you, my (3.75) readers, an apology. For months, I had disdainfully shunned the E-Reader user, calling them turncoats, infidels and silly silly mongooses. I had placed the book - words and paper and binding and price tag - above the electronic document, sneering down what I imagine to be an aquiline nose from behind half-moon glasses. I've extolled the virtues of the paperback, sang praises to the printed word from my self-made soapbox. For being a stinking hypocrite, I apologize. I prostrate myself before you, oh discerning readers of this blog. I look to the heavens and beat my chest, mea culpas ringing out before I have to stop to prevent bruising.

But guys, I'm a convert. Relatively cheap, light, simple enough to use easily but technologically decked out enough so I feel super cool, this thing is awesome. E-books are cheaper than the real deal and frankly, I'm fine with reading text off a screen if it means avoiding paying for a book I'm only likely to read once. While my dog-eared copy of 'The Hobbit' is irreplaceable, I can frankly do without shelling out the typical book price (which incidentally, is growing further and further out of budget) for a one-off, might-not-even-like-it-that-much read. Also, mine has a delightful blue suede cover that makes me feel terrible dignified, even if I am sneakily reading something of little to no literary value.

And the freebies are great. I, like most of my generation, can find an online freebie like a bloodhound on steroids. If it's free, we shall find it and probably share it. So finding reading material just got... well, free. From classics to more recent publications, nothing is out of reach for the discerning web surfer, sailing the torrents of information, finding the buried treasure of long-forgotten data and generally over-extending this metaphor in an attempt to make it sound philosophical. I tried to fit in 'sea mammals of convenience' in there but it's late and there's an episode of Friends I still need to watch.

Dammit. Now I want a milkshake.

So there you have it folks. I own an E-Reader. And the cool part? Ok ok, one of the several cool parts? I'm reading more. I like using the thing so much, I'm actually perusing of more literature. Which is, ultimately, a good thing. I mean really, this could be considered an investment in my intellectual development. There are worse things I could have spent my pseudo money on. It's not like I went and bought a Russian air craft carrier or got something delicate pierced. That would just be irresponsible. I mean where would you park it?

Getting this thing into the Floriana Park-and-Ride
is a job and a half, I'll tell you that

*Don't worry about me, kids! I'm perfectly fine now. Poorer, true. But fine.

In The Spirit of Winter

2011-11-29T02:30:00.001+01:00

Just like my favourite stripy rodents, I've gone into hibernation, gathering about me the notes, books and panic attacks that will help me survive till the end of the semester. Posting will be sporadic but I'm willing to bet that you knew that was gonna happen. Hang tight for a little while - I promise I haven't been eaten by a moose. Although that would make a pretty good story.

Gagging the Spider

2011-11-15T22:25:00.001+01:00

Word on the street is that the US will be voting on the freedom of the internet. Ok so it's less word on the street, more highly publicized outrage. See here. What's wrong with this picture? Well, how much time do you have?

The Web, as a shapeless but omnipresent creature, is relatively young when it comes to legislation. Compare it to things like education or what constitutes theft and it looks like a wee baby, looking up at the spotty adolescents, listening to their emo rock and sporting dubious fashion statements. There are few rules and a plethora of ongoing debate about when and how breaking those rules is dealt with. It went from free-for-all to a slightly more structured, somewhat against payment, loose coalition of content, content providers and those who use it. Its position is precarious. In a way, that's what makes it such a fascinating place to be. Sure, the purists might not condone the piracy and might bring up the presence of pornography as enough of a reason to pass this bill. But if there's one thing I've learned about this virtual world is that it is inhabited by the resilient, the ingenious and those with plenty of free time. Throw anything at them and their loyalty to the freedom of information and access to it will kick into high gear and things might be hairy as rules are circumvented, by fair means or foul. If this bill passes, the administration might become witness to that wee baby learning how to walk and wreak havoc pretty fast.

Of course I disagree with this bill not solely for what it will cause. In essence, it will aim to steal something from the web and its users. Creativity is everywhere - doodles on school notebooks, brief but inspired riffs inside stoners' heads. Creativity is damn near unlimited. What the creative talent often lacks is an audience, a chance to reach people and make a difference. If the web offers nothing else, it offers that. It offers people a chance to be seen and heard, even though in some cases, many would wish it didn't. Part of this creativity does rest on imitation and this is a circular relationship. The web provides inspiration and exposure to talent, other people develop their own talent by learning from it and these people then go on to inspire and in turn be imitated by others. Copyright has absolutely no say here. If you took even the most popular, visionary writer or artist, you will see the influence of those who came before them. A pebble thrown in a pond will always spread ripples, no matter how weak and distant they may be. If imitation is seen as theft, then a good 3/4 of the books on library shelves should be burned immediately. You cannot place limits on collective human knowledge and it is even more futile to attempt to bridle creative interpretation of that knowledge. It simply cannot be done.

Before you ask, no my motives are not entirely pure. I know or at some point in the past have known people who lift music from websites, download movies via torrents or otherwise not pay for the content they share. I myself read and think about many blogs and the writing style of their authors and on occasion, I myself can clearly see their influence in my own writing. There have been points in the past when I have come into contact with pirated software. If this bill passes, these facts would make me a criminal. While I see the ethical issues with the above activities, I also know that to some extent, they have been happening since the birth of this wonderful world. Musicians have not been rendered penniless by people not paying for their music. Production studios have not gone bankrupt because movies and episodes are streamed live. Books and E-books are still sold worldwide, despite a small fraction of readers using stolen copies. The world has not come crashing down because someone downloaded a cracked copy of a video game. The recent Occupy Wall Street movement [as well as supporting occupations all over the US] have thrown the American obsession with accumulating money into sharp relief. This bill too speaks of a a nation whose behaviour brings to mind that of a petulant child, wanting all the toys in the playground for itself, including the single marble a smaller kid is quite happily playing with. I'd quote Pink Floyd, telling them to leave those kids alone, but I might get arrested.

A Plea

2011-11-14T03:03:00.001+01:00

It was Veterans' Day two days ago. I'm always unsure of what to feel around this time because my opinion that war is pointless seems to be shared by many but not by enough. I thought I would then share something I wrote the other day, on this same topic. Apologies in advance that this post will be void of the side-splitting, bowel-moving, thought-provoking commentary it usually is. But change is good.

Please. Stay home and become old men. Watch your kids graduate. Watch the chrysanthemums, the ones you tended, watch them bloom. Watch the seasons change. Feel your grandchildren's adoration as you tell them stories. Love your wives until you walk into the light. Keep your bones, your skin, your faces, your legs, your sight. Think of yourself instead of them. Let your government fight for itself. Let peace become your protest. Refuse to pick up arms. Not because you do not love your country but because you do. Because you cannot bear to watch blood so needlessly flood distant fields. Because you want these boys to stay home and become old men. Because your family, your way of life, your legacy can be protected better when you are there to nurture it. Take control. Sit down. Become real men. Fathers, brothers, lovers who would put their families first. Before an idea. Before a government who insulates itself with the warm bodies of men like you. Let them fight. Let them fight in board rooms, over biscuits and coffee. Let them argue with one another till they are blue in the face and someone storms out. Refuse to be their ammunition. Refuse to take the chance of old age from other men. This is no more your war than it is their right to declare it. We have spoken for so many years. Written poetry to make the heart believe again. Made music sweet enough to draw the sun into the sky. We have used words to scold, to teach, to love, to fear, to be feared. Why can we not use words? Why can they not talk, instead of robbing you of graduations, christenings, seasons? Are yours worth less than theirs?

Refuse to be wreaths. Refuse to be poppies and folded flags and Taps. Refuse to be a victim. Fight for your country by realizing that by loving your country, you have more in common with the enemy boys than you do with the Big Dogs, the Fat Cats sitting in offices, making decisions that steal old age from their men. So seize it. Cling to the hope of old age, whole and real. Look forward to bad report cards and scraped knees. Get excited for that call in the wee hours, telling you in breathless wonder that both mother and newborn are just fine. Take trips. Get lost. Find yourself. Read your favourite books again and watch your record collection grow. Claim your right to grow old. Demand that you should not be sent to die in some far-flung land but that your end should be in the place you love, a nation that nurtured you and to whom you need not prove your allegiance to by becoming another name on a plaque, another note in a mournful song.

A rock and a cold place

2011-11-06T18:07:00.000+01:00

One of my favourite books is 'Tuesdays with Morrie' by Mitch Albom. The writing is pretty good but the best bit (at least the most poignant to me) was the concept the protagonist calls the Tension of Opposites.

‘‘Have I told you about the tensions of opposites?’’ I wondered. The tension of opposites? He continues: ‘‘Life is a series of pulls — back and forth. You want to do one thing, but are bound to do something else. Something hurts you and yet you know it shouldn’t. You take certain things for granted, even when you know you should never take anything for granted. A tension of opposites, like a pull on a rubber band. And most of us live somewhere in the middle.’’

Since (re)reading the book, I've often applied that idea to every day situations and it lends itself quite well to most of them. How else could I explain the daily struggle to get out of bed, despite having classes I enjoy attending? Everything exists in a dynamic state, a seesaw of things we should do and things we actually do, along with all the meaning, intention and emotion we attach to such transactions.

So knowing my penchant for connecting things to other things, I took a look at my current situation. I'm over 5000 miles away from home, subsisting on noodles and cafeteria food. Plenty of assignments, tutorials and other miscellaneous course work takes up a lot of my time. Budget dictates that I stay put while other kids go on weekend trips pretty much everywhere. On our dear little rock, I left family, friends, loved ones and pets, my own car, the full price quoted on items in shops and that thing which so many take for granted, the feeling of knowing the place you live. But that's not all. I also left a dodgy transport system, an administration that leans towards the unprofessional and laissez faire attitude that incites frustration and rude words and the kinds of roads that could conceivably stress a car's suspension system less than your average lunar landing.

Little known fact - this vehicle's engine comes from a second-hand VW Polo
ta' Malta

I've come to a town where everyone is helpful, where a sense of community and understanding is reflected on every notice board covered in posters, every email digest detailing fund-raising events. A university that sets high expectations for its students but also offers an unparalleled level of individual help and advice, should one seek it. A country with a sense of humour and a sense of national pride that matches ours in intensity but outstrips it by miles in understated self-control. A country with natural beauty at every turn and the room to accommodate the sacrosanct (at least to me) capacity to be completely and utterly cut off from the civilized world.

Note how organized they are

So this is where my tension of opposites comes in. I miss home but I do love it here. Sometimes I want to murder the neighbours but I'm going to have a hard time readjusting to a shared living situation. I'm addicted to poutine but would kill for a crunchy piece of Maltese bread. It makes a nice change to be surrounded by wildlife but I do miss my dogs terribly.

*drool*

There really is only one thing I will sorely miss when I leave. I've never felt this way about my education. The list of classes alone inspires. Lecturers are helpful, knowledgable and passionate about their topics, open to ideas and opinions. And most importantly, can set up the overhead projector in about 30 seconds flat. Eat your heart out, UoM.

Lesson Learned

2011-11-02T17:35:00.002+01:00

Predictably, I spend lots of time on Skype these days. I get to talk to friends and loved ones and, most importantly, I get to catch blurry, speeding glimpses of my pets.

I do love this photo

The other day I caught up with a friend who regularly whips out a skull and quotes Hamlet during my English classes back at UoM. She'd been talking to a dubiously hipsteresque friend of hers and posed an interesting question. Maybe it's my love of a good, if hypothetical and completely unsubstantiated, discussion or maybe it's just my opinionated nature but I couldn't resist this somewhat pointless exercise in making totally unrelated things connect. She asked me what I thought of the idea that Andy Warhol and his work can be said to have had a direct and significant impact on modern celebrity culture.

My mind sort of short-circuited, what with all this talk of cultural influence, the debatable reality of a unified face of social awareness, the interrelation between art, economy, lifestyle and fame. I mused on the nature of celebrity, coming to the conclusion that celebrities are celebrities because they get what everyone always wants - recognition for doing their job, for taking care of their bodies, for being human - and because of this, we know and in some cases, adore them. Social changes, particularly the formation of a middle class and the increased presence of art and design in daily life, have a lot to answer for when it comes to accessibility, interpretation and the purely arbitrary divisions it causes within groups and society at large. There were comparisons (in terms of style and technique) with Dali, one of my favourite artists ever. Trains of thought were boarded enthusiastically, despite the near certainty that they would go nowhere. There was frustration as the half-baked idea cookies sat on the counter next to the soggy, overcooked pasta of tired argument, making for a rather tasteless meal in critical thinking.

Eventually, one conclusion was reached. Anyone who has had this sort of conversation before knows exactly how rare that is. Anyone who has had this sort of conversation with me before knows exactly how often that never happens .And I kicked myself for not coming to it sooner. As it happens, it was staring the both of us right in the face, the most obvious thing in the world.

The answer, it turns out, is to not to listen to hipsters.

Friday's Child

2011-10-28T18:39:00.001+02:00

Greetings, Earthlings! It's been a slow week interspersed with exciting bits. Museums, mostly. I do love me a good museum. War, Nature, Aviation, Civilization - this week has been a geekgasm, those times we actually managed to leave the house. It kind of reminded me of those stories of soldiers returning home on leave from the front. Nothing as drastic mind, but there is a distinct gratitude and appreciation when you sit down to eat a decent meal, at a clean table with real, honest to God cutlery after almost two months of cafeteria food. There are only so many pitas one can eat without wanting something a little more substantial.

Things are going well on the academic front - pretty good grades all round and you can stop rolling your eyes and muttering 'Nerd' under your breath. There's something incredibly satisfying about doing well in a project or essay or assignment that you are honestly interested in. The penny took its time to drop but I think I've finally found something I enjoy studying.

Living here has gotten easier. I know where things are in town and I know how to pronounce certain words so that I don't get odd looks from the locals and need to repeat myself. Feel free to glare at me if I come home with residual traces of a Canadian accent. I can't help it! It's all I listen to! But you know, some stereotypes are glaringly accurate. They are immensely polite. They do say 'eh' though granted, not as often as popular culture would have you believe. And mostly, they are fiercely patriotic, though they do have some funny ways of showing it sometimes.

Out of Town

2011-10-23T01:26:00.000+02:00

Reading Week at Trent and I've moved up north to Ottawa, to spend a week at a friend's house. We went into Byward Market today and came across a 300-strong crowd, in varying degrees of costume, taking part in a zombie walk across town.

And after that we tried a typical Canadian snack

Delayed Reaction

2011-10-12T04:44:00.003+02:00

[I could have sworn I hit 'Publish' on this post when I wrote it on Sunday night]

Greetings all! I'm currently sitting in my room, savouring the quiet. See, it's Thanksgiving weekend here so the Canadian students go home to their families and there are obviously no classes so nobody comes in from Peterborough either. I was told that I'm one of only 18 students who are still in residence (the usual count is somewhere between 150 and 200). I've taken this long weekend as an opportunity to catch up on some work. At least, that's what I did yesterday. It's currently 1.30pm here and the situation all day is illustrated below, minus the Pikachu and plus local wildlife

But I did actually do some thinking about how I'm doing over here and what I've learnt so far about living alone in a country far from home, both geographically and culturally. And I've also realized that I may have too much time on my hands when I watched a turf war between Red Baron on the north side of the quad and Dark Knight, ruler of the south side roost. It was gripping. It was intense and loud and emotional. It was a moment of chilling clarity when I'd realized I had just named a pair of squirrels Red Baron and Dark Knight. Still, the wildlife has kept me entertained. I've never noticed how ridiculous most seagulls look on the ground. They have this rather stern appearance, strutting about importantly, until someone breaks their concentration and they fly off in a huff. Anyone who is a friend on Facebook will notice the steady trickle of squirrel and chipmunk pictures I post, testament to my extending the hand (or cookie or almond) of friendship to the other tenants in the building. But moving on.

The Red Baron risks his life (and reputation) to cross
the quad and lick peanut butter off my window

When I first got here, I was terribly terribly worried about money. In the summer before I arrived, I had worked a delightful, enriching and fulfilling job in order to raise the funds needed for my stay here. My Visa was paid off, so I had no debts and some credit just in case something happened and I needed a flight somewhere or an amputation or a pair of snow shoes. Still, I was really concerned that I wouldn't survive and would have to ask my parents for money. Which is something I am loathe to do and also something I feel is a little unfair of me to ask, seeing how much they're supported me so far. But really, all has been well on that front. My bank account isn't wetting itself in fear, I haven't touched my credit card and I am not starving (not that I couldn't use missing a few meals; I blame the Reese's Pieces). I've learnt a few very valuable tricks in keeping expenses down. I shall list them here because apparently people like lists.

1) Look out for the free stuff. At the beginning of term, campus was plastered with posters of organizations begging to feed you, in return for your email address and/or your (free) membership to their club/group/orgy. It doesn't matter that you might be out of place; everyone is in the same boat at the start and are equally interested in the free BBQ as they are in making new friends. This tactic helped me meet new people, save on buying dinner for several nights and cement my reputation as a freeloading (but charming) individual.

2) Pick your battles. I'm not sure if I've explained this before but the rent of my room in residence also includes a sort of debit card which has an amount of money loaded into it for use in the campus eateries. There's one in every residence and one in the library. All have a variety of food from the usual fast food stuff to soups, 'home favourite' type meals and snacks. Some also offer a one price, all-you-can eat buffet. Then there's also No Frills and Walmart. Keeping in mind that I only have a kettle to make do with, I've learnt to eat maybe one meal a day at the campus food joints and have breakfast and lunch in my room. How? Packet soups, noodles, powdered hot chocolate and in-bulk cereal bars. Crackers, tuna, tea and family packs of cookies. This way it's easy to snack on the cheap stuff and still get something a filling on a regular basis.

3) Do you need it? I mean do you really need a new pair of shoes? Can you get another 2 weeks out of them? Ok, so I'm no great shopper but I too have moments of weakness, particularly in the electronics section of department stores. But I've also learned to think about money in terms of food/travel expenses/other needs. For the cost of that jumper, I could eat maybe 3 times or put a little away towards a weekend in Toronto. It's all really about cost-benefit analysis and I just realized that I sound really pretentious. Still, it's worked thus far!

After a while, these tricks became almost second nature when faced with a price tag or a growling stomach. And I've relaxed. I know that should I continue with this pattern or spending, I'm pretty safe from both starvation and embarrassment. It's nice to feel in control, not harassed by the 'maybe's and 'what if's of financial responsibilities. In all, I think my motto stands - worry about stuff only when it happens. Stressing in advance earns you frown lines and stomach ulcers. And now if you'll excuse me, I have to feed my squirrel.

Job and A Half

2011-10-10T01:45:00.001+02:00

There's something comforting about the predictability of the media nowadays. What starts out as a relatively cut-and-dried news piece often turns into a near-grotesque display of backseat psychoanalysis (not to be confused with backdoor psychoanalysis), an 'astounding' revelation and then the usual degeneration of the argument (at what point exactly it becomes an argument at all is debatable) into highly polarized, highly repeatable and highly boring rhetoric. Exhibit A.

Girl is tired of getting places late. Girl uses rough (I refuse to call it 'obscene' - for real obscenity, get stuck in a Maltese traffic jam and listen carefully) language in the presence of transport minister. He ignores it politely.

Cue internet explosion!! (Yes, TWO exclamation points!) The newspapers and their aunt have their say. People lose their jobs, students are up in arms and everyone else is having a profound philosophical argument about whether she had a point or she was just pulling some kind of 15-minutes-of-fame stunt. There is deep division! There is anger! There is self-righteousness! There is an outpouring of comments on every social medium that'll stay still long enough for people to find the 'Update Status' bar and write their opinions! There is talk of the overconfidence of youth. There is talk of the aspiring actress's desire for screen time. There is talk of boycotting the Times of Malta in light of their somewhat quick reaction.

For the record, I have absolutely no opinion about the matter. Someone was pissed and threw a couple of prickly words about. When it's an 'Occupy Wall Street' affair, we'll talk again. On to Exhibit B.

The recent death of Steve Jobs. First, there was a wave of sadness that crossed oceans because let's face it, Apple products have become either a staple in people's lives or objects of lust for those who cannot afford them. I myself have recently pledged my undying allegiance to the Mac fraternity because I enjoy having a computer that actually works and does not require coaxing to do the most simple of tasks. IPods, iPhones, iPads and every other Apple gadget on the market comes with smart design and terrifyingly efficient marketing.

Now, a few days after Jobs moved on to the great turtleneck store in the sky, people are coming forward suggesting that he was a truly awful individual. That his employees* were afraid of him and that *gasp!* Apple is involved with child labour in Asia and somewhat Draconian anti-leak measures. Judging by the rate these articles show up on my Facebook news feed (with a frequency matching that of the news of Jobs' death in the first place and often by the same people) I'm assuming that people are horrified. Horrified that a man has a personality outside the global theatre of a powerful corporation. That a man can be both a visionary (their words not mine) and a jackass. Horrified that a multi-million dollar company will use any means necessary to protect their designs, their intellectual property and indeed, their future. Horrified that (get this!) employees are not entirely, 100% trusted by their employer.

So what? I cannot believe that people honestly think, this far into human evolution, cultural progress and the world of Twitter, that what we can clearly see of others is really all there is to them. People are complicated and the media does nothing to clarify this complexity and you would think that people would have realized this. I get the feeling, from reading these articles, that their authors and sources want to change the world's mind about Steve Jobs. To paint him as *gasp once again!* a flawed individual who was a shitty boss. Sadly, I have not seen people rushing to the river to fling their iStuff into the water in disdain, in sheer horror that they've been had! Because really, they haven't. And the so-called 'Worldwide Loyalty Team' ? Frankly I'd be very surprised if they didn't come down pretty hard on people foolish or unscrupulous enough to attempt to sell out their employers**. You think that maybe a diamond company wouldn't get a tiny bit pissed if one of their workers took stuff home and then left it lying about for everyone to steal? The argument now becomes whether or not Steve Jobs is worthy of the positive attention he was and still is receiving.

People loved Steve Jobs because his creations (or more accurately, those of the company he represented) made an impact. People carry entire libraries of music around in their pockets. People can create and edit whole projects on a device less than 2kg in weight. People can Wiki the name of an actor ten seconds after the film credits roll. Steve Jobs was awesome (again, their words not mine) because of what he made/marketed. He wasn't selling his personality, he was selling goods which many people now consider absolutely crucial to their lives. If he was a newborn-devouring, bible burning Nazi in his spare time, I don't think Apple would have experienced too much of a dip in sales just because their products have the advantage in design, an enticing sales pitch and what is now a trusted brand behind them. Methinks the public need to get over their giant, throbbing crush over anyone in the news and realize that the media-shaped lens through which life is projected at them is hardly clean or undistorted and there is no need to get all worked up about it.

Of course not everyone's opinion U-turned. And neither did their insanity.

*This was in no way a universal sentiment. See here for more.

**Also not without precedent - remember the leaking of the iPhone 4 because some idiot left it in a bar?

30 Days

2011-10-03T00:43:00.000+02:00

Can hardly believe it but there you have it. I've been here (i.e. away from home, closer to the chipmunks, at a new university; take your pick) for 30 days*. And naturally, the best way to celebrate this milestone is by coming down with a cold. First, let me clarify. No, not dying. Yes, stocked up on Cold'n'Flu. No, haven't been to a doctor. Yes, I know for sure it's a cold and not some obscure disease which will kill me in hours and leave a nasty surprise for the next tenant. No, I'm not going outside. Alright Mum?

Upper respiratory infections aside, this has been one kerazy month. The beginning was all about settling in, stocking up on supplies, getting timetables in order and hoping that the dears at UoM wouldn't be overwhelmed by how quickly things were being done. Then came the slight sadness that accompanied the realization that I'd be away from friends, family, dogs and loved ones till December. That still occasionally flits back but I've thrown myself into course work and hanging out with new friends and cultural visits to Walmart. Oh and buying a kettle. Seriously, that appliance has changed my life. No longer will I have to endure the harrowing journey down stairs and across the quad to get my morning hot chocolate. No more will the desire for GMO-laced noodles at 2am go unheeded.

At the moment there's a storm blowing in, so I'm not too gutted at quarantining myself in my room. Not like I'm alone anyway. A chipmunk and (more recently) an enormous squirrel have been visiting my window ledge, tempted by the walnuts and almonds I leave out for them. Nutty (hurr hurr) as it sounds, it's comforting to me to be close to animals of some description. I feel like I haven't hung out with any in a long time, as evidenced by my rather embarrassing descent into a squealing, giggling mess whenever I meet a friendly dog on the street.

Weekends can be a little trying though. Campus is generally very quiet on Saturday and virtually a ghost town on Sunday. So I'm excused form becoming a hermit over the weekend and spending my day with Angry Birds, a movie and the occasional spot of homework. Today I actually emerged from my room in search of food at the cafeteria. After crossing the bridge (aka Satan's Freezing Walkway) that is. The temperature is hovering at a biting 7 degrees and over the bridge, the wind from the moving river below is enough to make your eyes water and your nuggets fall off. But I survived the journeys to and from the dining hall and now, sated with pizza and iced tea and the feeling of cholesterol lining my arteries, I feel ready to take on the rest of the evening and the challenges it brings. Choosing a movie is no mean feat and definitely not a decision to be taken lightly.

*A little longer now. You didn't think blogposts happen in one go did you?

Dead Famous

2011-09-27T21:26:00.000+02:00

Ah the magic of the internet. Everyone's connected to everything and everyone else. News travels, people take a (mostly ineffectual but it's the thought that counts right?) stand about things they care or would appear to care about and I can occasionally catch a glimpse of my dogs, thousands of miles away, when the webcam is on back at home. Wonderful stuff. Then there's the other side of the large, interconnected coin. The internet, aside from delivering cute pictures of ferrets and Apple's new releases, lets people from across the globe irritate the crap out of me, in the comfort of my own room. This is going to be a very cranky post so if you'd like to avoid the venom, click here and leave your day untarnished, dusted with unicorn dandruff and the joyful tears of kittens.

Alright. Moving on.

So I'm pretty sure, despite my regular sacrifice of small children and dislike of all things delightful, that you and I could agree that suicide is bad. Permanent solution to a temporary problem etc. I don't pretend to know what it is like to get to that point and I cannot imagine how terrible it must be to feel that the chosen course of action is in fact the only viable decision. Another cause close to my heart is the growing trend of teen suicides related to bullying, specifically that related to sexuality. So when this story broke and I read the headline, I was prepared to feel nothing but anger toward the responsible and solidarity with the innocent. Bullying happens (I've talked about this before) and I'd argue that there is no way to fully eliminate it but for it to end in death is way beyond the natural-state-of-things.

But then I came across this article, reporting on the same events but with several other, highly sensationalized details added in. I'll concede that The Daily Mail is hardly gospel in the world of journalism but the article's sources are relatively sound. And the whole thing reeks of the stereotypically American, nauseatingly desperate pursuit of fame, from the despicable attempt at reputation damage control right down to the behaviour of the boy himself. Let's take this apart shall we?

Fellow students drove past the church with trucks and buses covered with signs showing messages of tolerance.

This statement was followed by a picture of the aforementioned carcades of outpouring emotion. Really? Awwh so sweet! Showing everyone what good, loving people surrounded the boy at school, the implication obviously being that the whole student body should not be held responsible for the behaviour of a few 'bad apples'. At this point it was difficult for me not to spit my hot chocolate all over my keyboard. There is only so much blatant hypocrisy an unsuspecting blogger can take at 8am.

His mother Tracy Rodemeyer , told Buffalo News: 'He touched so many hearts, so many people. I didn't realize how many people he touched.

Shame you didn't figure out his PR potential before he was in the ground. Bile aside, the article goes on to mention how the kid often complained to his parents about his being bullied at school. How does a parent ignore that? His mother goes on to say how soon before his death, the boy seemed to be less troubled by the situation. A few years back, his parents may have been forgiven for not spotting the signs; not much was known about bullying, child psychology and so on. But now? After a series of LGBT suicides including one at his school? After the boy had revealed that he was figuring out his sexuality AND that he was being bullied at school? There is no excuse for a child not getting the help he or she needs but it is even less acceptable for parents to play the 'we didn't know' card when they had so much evidence to indicate that their son was suffering and at real risk.

And now the somewhat unsavoury opinion that my blog posts sometimes cleverly disguise as philosophical observation.

The 14-year-old was a big fan of the singer and sent her a message on Twitter saying 'Bye mother monster, thank you for all you have done, paws up forever,' before he killed himself.
...
On September 9, Jamey wrote on his Tumblr site: 'I always say how bullied I am, but no one listens. What do I have to do so people will listen to me?'

This is solely my uneducated opinion but does anybody else feel like that post to Lady Gaga was more publicity stunt than carefully considered suicide note? Ok sure, the kid was 14 years old. Hardly the age at which anything at all is carefully considered. But I think in a society and cultural climate which includes 'Teen Mom', 'X-Factor' and a whole myriad of reality shows that are based on the concept of being watched while pretending you aren't, the pursuit of fame really has become a legitimate motivator. This kid, before ending his life and adding himself to a depressing set of statistics, didn't write a note to his parents. He didn't make a final plea for help. He posted on the internet. He typed out a tweet, that would otherwise have been buried under the thousands of mentions that a celebrity like Gaga undoubtedly gets on a daily basis, and then got that tiny bit of communication recognized by very drastic means. What I'm trying to say, in more politically correct and morally evasive terms, is that while bullying may have driven this boy to the edge, a taste for fame may very well have been a relevant factor in the way he, to some extent, predicted the effect his death would have on the attention his suicide would draw to his internet contributions and made them as dramatic as he possibly could. At this point I'll put down the riot shield and the run-on sentences and step away from the subject.

The best thing about the internet? You can sign out. You can leave all the nasty comments, the derogatory remarks and the emails from Viagra merchants behind. While you may not be able to outrun a football team intent on dumping you in a trash can, I don't believe 'online bullying' is an inescapable, life-altering, traumatic event. Turn your computer off - problem solved. If it escalates or persists, the internet has this really really useful habit of saving everything you've ever visited, seen or were sent. In the hands of someone with moderate computer knowledge, most everything can be salvaged. If someone physically threatens you or you're just tired of the harassment, take it to the Fuzz. They've finally caught on to internet crime and can actually do something about it.

Similarly, cries of help posted online are not exactly a) visible to the right people b) going to help your cause when your aggressors obviously know your web whereabouts and c) proactive attempts at actually getting professional, empathic counselling services. It seemed like this kid turned to the Net when he should have turned to real people. While it is a shame that somewhere, a kid was convinced that taking his own life was the answer to his problems, I can't help but think that at least part of his suicide was in fact a stunt, one he himself created in order to make himself famous.

Tune in next week for another unpopular opinion.

T.I.D.K.A.C.W.I.R.D.

2011-09-22T03:48:00.002+02:00

Or 'Things I Didn't Know About Canada Which I Recently Discovered'.

1) The Canadians LOVE acronyms. So much so that the university website has a page dedicated solely to the deciphering of acronyms so that students aren't perpetually lost when their times tables read 'DNA B233' or 'OCS 105'.

2) Canadian Geese are loud. Like, really loud. My Skype conversations are often punctuated with the slightly irate squawking that accompanies a flock as they take flight, as they cruise along and as they land. They are noisy beasts. But they are very beautiful, when you're far enough not to hear them but close enough to see the perfect V-formations they assume when travelling in groups. FKNK, eat your heart out.

Keep it down, bird brain!

3) Canadians have a love/hate relationship with Walmart. At first, I was confused at how the name of the superstore chain was either whispered conspiratorially or spat out with evident revulsion. Could it be they dislike American imports? This problem vexed me for a while until I asked a local. Turns out that the reason behind the venom is.... social justice? It hasn't gone unnoticed that once Walmart comes to town, little businesses shut up shop, jobs are lost only to be replaced by poorly paid employment within the superstore itself. So really, you gotta give them points for caring. I still like wandering round the aisles though and display none of the latent consumer guilt as I revel in cheap, store-brand cereal bars and warm, fuzzy hoodies.

Yep, there's a button for that

4) Recycling is a religion. Woe betide he who accidentally puts paper in the 'Waste' bin. Dirty glances from onlookers are sure to follow. This is why I get rid of my garbage bags in the dead of night, just in case I put them in the wrong skip and I become shunned in the university community.

Close enough

5) Canadians are kind of obsessed with coffee. The much-loved Tim Hortons has, at least in my books, earned itself my loyalty through its iced cappuccinos, delightful donuts, surprisingly satisfying soups and excellent hot chocolate. Being somewhat averse to coffee myself, I cannot comment on the quality of the Java but there is strong evidence to suggest a kind of cult following of the caffeine. People bring huge travel mugs of the stuff into morning lectures. Kids drink it on bus stops, in the library (which allows beverages as long as they are 'lidded'; seems to me like the person behind that rule was a coffee addict themselves) and pretty much everywhere else. Maybe, just maybe, I'll develop a liking to it simply by being the company of the junkies for so long.

Trent cannot actually function without its caffeine. True story.

6) Living in residence has its perks. Perks which, at every available opportunity, students will take advantage of. Now, I'm no purist when it comes to fashion. As long as it's clean, I'll wear almost anything. But showing up to class in furry Uggs, the sweat pants you so obviously slept in, a tiger print bandana keeping your unwashed hair in some semblance of order and a hoodie with chocolate and coffee stains is a little too casual for me. Lecturers never comment - this is obviously the order of the day and has been for a considerable amount of time - but I still kind of cringe when someone walks in in their pyjamas and smells vaguely like sleep, Cheetos and 3 days away from a shower.

Picture of real classmates. (Not really)

Oh it is going DOWN

2011-09-17T03:17:00.000+02:00

Yes folks. It hit 0° early this morning (about 7am) and hovered around the 10-15° mark for the rest of the day. Now (9.30pm) the temperature is a brisk 6°. I hear you're sweating on the rock?

Home Alone

2011-09-11T03:12:00.001+02:00

What happens when you take a twenty-something, somewhat socially awkward geek, transport her an ocean and several times zones away, give her a room and a computer and leave her to her own devices?

Looked a little like this when I got here.

I'm doing well thanks. I've been here a little over a week now and I think I've taken to the news digs quite well. The uni back home should seriously take some notes on the way this place is run. Did you know that the telephone can actually be used... between departments?! I know! Madness right? No running back and forth on campus with a stack of application forms with vague instructions, no camping outside departmental offices because no hours are posted. One call and all was sorted. I almost felt disappointed. I was totally counting on a race across the river to fulfill my daily exercise quota.

Speaking of exercise - I'm getting a lot of that in at the moment. Getting used to the bus system means a lot of missed stops. I live on the fourth floor so every trip to and fro home base is a work out. My calves are still stinging but not as much as in the first few days. Eventually, it will look like my knees swallowed a watermelon. Just you wait.

The food is ... well let's just say I'm dying for a decent plate of pasta. These guys live on fast food and I find myself (yes, me, the self-confessed Turkish, Burger King and pastizzi fan) craving something that isn't processed to within an inch of its life. Healthy eating is ridiculously expensive so the average student tends to pick cheaper over less greasy so I've eaten more burgers in the past week than I'd care to admit. Something else which helps the pocket but not the arteries are the opportunities for free food. Because it's the start of the year, many organizations are throwing 'Welcome Back'-type parties, most of which include free food. For the strapped-for-cash, these are a godsend and you'll find an odd assortment of freeloaders at any given event. Like the white chick at the Afro-Caribbean Students Association barbecue. A little awkward but the food was pretty good.

The 'living alone' part of the deal is totally sweet. Not that I don't appreciate family life at home (parents, I know you're reading this) but the freedom that comes with independent living is something I have been dying to experience for a while. Sure, sometimes things get lonely. Sometimes I really just want a hug or to share a private joke or to just sit and watch a movie in my pjs. Sometimes it does get too much and I miss the special folks even more. Not anything I hadn't anticipated, mind. At first (and it has only been a week and a little bit), things will be difficult. Living alone isn't just about leaving your underwear on the floor as long as you like. Living alone means you are responsible for you. Your entertainment, your meals, your budget, your time. I've made a personal pact to really work hard at the academics this semester. The lectures (I have had one so far) seem promising, the staff helpful, understanding and fair. There are no loopholes; the syllabus contains everything from the recommended texts to the due dates for assignments. Nothing is left out so the student is given everything they need to know from Day One. I think I'll like it here.

Wordless (Nearly) Wednesday

2011-09-06T23:51:00.001+02:00