A Most Hallowed Eve

The University of Alberta's Library is an interesting place.
I get stuff done here: I'll actually read the books I find on the shelf instead of the daily newspapers. There's a real sense of accomplishment when you dive into the PR section on the 4th floor and come out the other side with an armload of books.

The sense of accomplishment quickly dwindles to a sense of despair when none of these books have anything to do with what you're looking for information on, in spite of their useful-sounding names. (You'd think an article with "Milton" in the title would actually talk about something related to the man or his writing...)
Now I'm sitting here trying to get the electronic resources system to let me read a book, and it will only show me the first page of every section. What a waste of time.
To make things worse, I can't even access youtube or Google videos from this terminal, so there's no video this week.

*sigh*

In all things give thanks--thank you Lord that EBSCO has full-text PDF versions of so many articles. Thank you Father for JSTOR also.

Monday Poll: Snow

Faithful readers, I know that you've come to expect a less than serious question to appear in this space each and every week. I understand that you read this page for the kind levity which will allay the grave portentiousness of our least-favourite day, the Monday.
In a cosmological sense, Mondays are days of the moon. Lunacy abounds on this first day of the week, and lunacy isn't all fun and games.
Today's poll with broach a very serious subject: The relationship between Snow and Daylight Savings Time.

I'll begin with a disclaimer: I am not a licenced meteorologist. My views are very controversial, (Environment Canada might shut down this site at any moment) but the truth is more important than sleeping without fear of government enforcers.

I'll explain the current meteorological situation for those of my readers who don't live on this continent: This weekend brought a whole bunch of snow, seemingly out of nowhere. Friday was a light dusting, Saturday was a gentle snowfall, but Sunday was disastrous. I heard reports of an eighty-car pileup on Calgary Trail.(Indeed, it seems there were problems across North America.) Sunday morning, at 1:00:00, we "gained an hour" and reset our world to "standard time." Our clocks changed suddenly 0:00:00; old-fashioned clocks not attached to an accurate network might not have changed, but if you asked anyone what the right time is, you’ll know that your kitchen clock is wrong and you’ll have to change it to match what’s going on in reality.
Are these events really only coincidental?
I'll choose my words very carefully: no, they aren't merely coincidental.

Where does that hour come from? What's it made up of? We all know that you can't make something out of nothing; that's physics. Time is, in a roundabout sort of way, a form of energy.
According to most experts I’ve asked, on Sunday morning we pulled an hour out of thin air. Ladies and gentlemen, we are now reaping the consequences of our tampering with space and time.

Let’s look at the statistics: each and every year, we add an hour in the fall and remove it again in the spring. If we understand time as energy, then we’re actually inducing a massive cooling effect by pulling all that atmospheric energy into time--this triggers the onset of winter. In the spring, we will see a reversal of this effect: all the energy stored in that extra hour is returned to the atmosphere, and we get to “spring ahead.”
I shudder at the thought of what might happen if everyone in the world disregarded Fleming’s time-zone safety system and decided to add or remove all that energy at the same time. Massive climate change, ladies and gentlemen; global disaster on a scale we cannot fathom.

This week's poll:

Was the extra hour of sleep on Sunday morning worth the risk?
	Yes!
	No! You fools! We're all going to die!
	You're insane.
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WikiMapia: silly name, useful app.

This is where I go to School!
This is where I go to church! (You have to turn "upcoming places" on, as I just added this location and it needs votes to become permenant.)

I'd show you where I live, but that's not a very smart thing to do on a public 'blog.

Greenpeace is dumb.

I will never take Greenpeace seriously. What kind of organization sneaks into a tradeshow, harasses attendees, and then complains for being kicked out?
Greenpeace, that's who.
The campaign looks slick, but if you're disturbing the peace you tend to get kicked out of places.

Genuine Social Change© will never happen through counter-cultural revolution.

The Origin of Sin

Sin came into the world because God put the venae cavae on the right (dexter) side instead of the left (sinister.) The Right side gets warmer, which is better. (This is why women are sinister-they're grown on the left side of the womb, so they aren't as warm. As Dr. Everest would say, "they don't get cooked all the way." Medieval (classical) physiology is weird stuff.)

According to Milton, sin came out of the left side of Satan's forehead. Satan recognized sin as a product of himself, desired and loved sin, and thus begot death. (II.746-809.)
I haven't got to the garden and Eve's decision, but I think the location of Adam's missing rib might be important.
(An aside: how many of you grew up believing that men are missing one rib? Until five minutes ago, I was quite certain it was true.)

St. Paul and St. James both seem to agree with Milton's interpretation. Or something.

This is the most inter-disciplinary research essay I've ever written. It's probably the most portentous, too: I've always wanted to know where sin came from.

This guy is onto something, but his research doesn't go deep enough. The connection to "adroit" is interesting, as I've already been thinking about that word in a different context...

Thursday: More Psychobabble

Here's a really nifty test: can you discern a fake smile from a real one?

Better question: can you tell why the British dentistry/orthodontics industry is sometimes mocked? Is the irony of a British smile test deliberate?
Also, the lens they're using on the camera is indeed distorting the size of those foreheads. That's the only possible explanation... (The expression "*", as used by C. Schultz and Japanese comic artists, is the only response to these two observations I can come up with.)

Another question: if a socially adroit guy like me spent some time studying, could I become a really good lie detector? If so, what would be considered ethical or unethical use of that skill?

I think I just got a response. The church e-mail this week has links to a psychometric "spiritual giftings" test.
I'm a "helper/prophet/exhorter(/teacher/shepherd/etc.)"
I think that means I should use my social engineering skills to blend into the background of church life (hello sound booth!) and give timely, effective spiritual counsel when people ask for it, but I'm not entirely sure.
I "scored" almost as high in teaching as in exhortation, what does that mean?


These tests are dangerous for an introspective feeler/thinker like me. I might end up defining myself based on some arbitrary theoretical assumption about my soul.

Wednesday Psychometrics

We took the Jackson (no relation) Personality Indicator test in PSYCHO390 this week, and the results are interesting.

The JPI uses a battery of true/false questions to interpret your personality along 16 categories of response. After you tally your responses, you get to compare yourself with the statistical norm.
I placed myself very low in "social involvement." Yes, I'm okay with not being around people for a fairly long period of time. No, I don't look forward to each and every telephone call I'll get to make this week. People question my attitudes toward social situations sometimes. Tell me something I didn't already know...

Surprisingly, I placed very high in "social adroitness." (Better known as "people skills", social engineering, hustling, manipulation...) I know that I can be a bit manipulative at times, that I'll sometimes finesse my answer depending on what I think you want, but I didn't think it would show up as an unusual personality trait.

Last year's class (mostly female) showed a very high negative correlation between breadth of interest and value orthodoxy (i.e. they all had approximately Christian ethical positions and very little interest in trying new things.) My "personality indication" was much different, in that I was very high in both categories. Is this because I'm a Conservative Christian in a Liberal Arts University? That can't be it-those good blond Calvinist girls last year went to the same school. Is it because I like spicy food? Would a Conservative from India who was trying to adjust to Canadian food show the same sorts of results? Is it because I'm an ENGL and they were mostly PSYCHOs?

Dr. Peet has been hammering all week on the "hidden ambiguities" of psychometrics, and he's right about the dangerous way bureaucracy feeds on this stuff. Psychology has produced more statistical analysis for government and industry than any other discipline; that's kind of scary.
On the other hand, where's the problem? Psychometrics doesn't claim to explain the deep, repressed, over-determined motivations for all your compulsions, and I don't think anyone is asking it to. So long as we understand that psychometrics relies on theory just as much as "projective" tests like the Rorschach ink blot, and we understand that theory and keep a critical eye on what we're using it for, there shouldn't be a problem.

Right?
Umm...
Yeah. No problems here.
No misplaced assumptions. Right.

Tuesday Video: "Good Monsters"

First, I didn't eat the egg. (If you don't know what I'm talking about, go vote in the poll.) If anyone wants the egg, let me know and I'll figure out how to get it to you. If not, I'll save it until next year and decide what to do then...

Last night's concert was an unqualified success , given the general unconsciousness of the student body at this time of year. (The time of year being exam/essay time, the student body including myself, and unconsciousness best exemplified in my assumption that Dana Jorgensen was a she...)
We had close to 30 students show up for the concert. I think the S.A. lost money. I doubt that Dana sold many CDs.
On the plus side, I've now worked with one more professional musician and learned a little bit more about vocal effects in a small cafe. (The other Dan was right, the chorus+reverb setting really is best.)
What's more, one of the performers (whose name shall be withheld for fear of the wrath of the Nashville community at large...) made me a copy of the newest Jars of Clay album, Good Monsters. Since then I've been listening to said album instead of writing the bibliography that I've already got an extention on (or researching grad schools, or reading Paradise Lost, or my PSYCHO390 text, etc...)
At any rate, this gives me a good subject for today's video: the music video for the first track on the album, "Work."

I think this is a great way to start an album: energy, despair, fear, questions. The video is great, though I think the Youtube servers are swamped. (there's another one here.) I like the inherent parody of music videos: MTV has been around for so long that we've become totally numb to the effect of A) watching a musician perform for us or B) watching the director's half-baked visual interpretation of the lyrics. I love Jars of Clay on CD, but I can't stand watching Haseltine sing. (His eyes in the "Good Monsters" video are especially creepy.) Watching him submerged and in immanent peril of bodily harm is kind of satisfying, and not entirely out of tune with the intent of the lyrics.

What I like most about Jars is that they'll never stop at asking questions; they always go further. This is really a Christian album, no apologies. From the almost psalmic fear in this first track, the band moves to diagnosis and prescription in "Dead Man"("Carry Me, I'm just a dead man lying on the carpet can't find a heart beat...") and from there to hope ("When I go don't cry for me, in my Father's arms I'll be...") and beyond. At this point they switch into the second person for comforting songs ("Even Angels Cry" and the profoundly hymnic "There is a River") and... well, I'll stop short of a complete structural analysis. I have other essays to write.
What I was saying is that Jars is not satisfied to be just a worship band: Delirious? writes some amazing songs, and some of them are incredibly deep, but they seem to switch on to worship and off to ballads about their wives. There's not so much in between. Switchfoot, on the other hand, never really moves beyond the questions. "Only Hope" was a great worship song, but that was back when they were signed with a Christian Label.
Jars has some of the most well-rounded albums I've ever heard. They can do a lot musically, and there's as much playfulness as there is depth in the lyrics.
Put simply, any band who can make me appreciate the banjo is a band worth listening to. I don't like bluegrass, but I like bluegrass the way Jars does it.


Lyrics here.
Another decent review, and another.
The website has a preview of a few tracks, but if you want to hear the best track ("Oh My God") you'll have to download it somewhere. There's supposed to be a free preview on AOL music, but that requires realplayer, and as a faithful Christian I could never allow myself to become such a stumbling block that I would suggest you download realplayer. If you look at one of the review sites I've linked (look up, look waaay up...) you might find a free (as in speech) download that will allow you to avoid the snares of the enemy.
[Avoiding the snares of the enemy involved both the freedom to download music and the subsequent support of the artists responsible for songs you like: Don't just be a pirate, be a Christian pirate. A "Good Monster."]

Monday Poll: Chocolate!

Let's make this one simple:

Which Chocolate is the most special to you?
	White (a.k.a. fake and yucky...)
	Milk
	Dark
	Cocoa Beans fresh off the tree
	Habanero
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Think about the best chocolate you've ever had. Which of these is it closest to?
If you're feeling especially participatory, you can even leave a quick comment about that chocolate.
Me? I was looking through the multifarious items in the corner of the cabin, and I found some chocolate.

A Cadbury Creme Egg, to be specific.

I don't really like Cream Eggs.
Liquid sugar inside mediocre chocolate... with just a tinge of aluminium foil... hmmm...
To make things even more interesting, this egg was purchased on Easter weekend at the latest. That's the only time I've ever purchased these things. (Just because I don't like them doesn't mean I won't use them for bribery...)
I just finished another concert here at King's, and I'm hungry. I put this egg in my bookbag when I found it, intending to find something to do with it. Now that I'm here...
hmmmm...
[to be continued]

October Revolution

This has been a week for revolutions.
Tuesday afternoon was set aside for a civic proclamation of "make poverty history day." Trixie with our school's "Micah Action Awareness Society" got a plaque, and I got paid to run a short Bill Bourne concert. Folk music is funny. Bill's hat is funny. Poverty isn't funny, but the anti-establishment types who tell us how to get rid of it are kind of funny.

In both classes that have assigned mid-terms, I've had a summary apology (in lecture format) for the inherent stupidity of the university "machine." Dr. -- used an entire class period to explain his frustration: It seems that he's never liked exams, and he knows that we hate exams, and he wants to educate using truth instead of standardized statistical assessment of arbitrary knowledge. The whole lecture climaxed with the most eloquent and exasperated statement of Psychological fact I've ever learned: "and I hate exams too, because this [pointing to "truth" on the blackboard] is what we all want! And this [pointing to a representation of the "system"] is [expletive removed for the sake of decency]!

Dr. --'s apology was less colourful than Dr. --'s, but I made the suggestion after class that the two of them should read Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance and start their own university.

Then, on Thursday evening I helped a rental group with their technical needs-the group (who refused before the meeting to tell us specifically what they were doing) turns out to be Robert A Menard, underground anti-nanny-state darling of the moment. (search for "bursting bubbles" on google videos if you want to see what he's about. I'm not gonna link that here...) "Love compassion, and truth" are Rob's weapons of subversion, and cheesy music is all over his crippled flash-based website.
Basically, Robert says that we have been acting like children and the nanny state has been playing along. Apparently, it'd be much better if we all get rid of our S.I.N.s and stop paying traffic tickets (which are not based on laws, but statutes which are only applicable within a declared society.) Robert wants to set up a drop-in shelter/liquor and dope store in downtown Vancouver so that those who think like he does can live unharassed by the bullies.
Yikes.
He had some nice camera equipment, though, and he paid me extra to run it for him. I can't turn down that kind of opportunity... What can I say, I'm weak.

I've also been listening to CJSR this week. I don't know why, exactly. I stumbled across the "leftmost position on the FM dial!" late at night a few weeks ago, when they were doing their fund drive and playing King's Crimson from the 70s. Then, on Friday, I heard the "Raging Grannies" on the "Adamant Eve" show. Geriatric femi-commies, yikes. This afternoon whilst driving to the library I head an 80s pop song promoting opposition to animal testing...

What's the moral of this story?
I'm not cut out for this whole urban culture thing. Take me back to the suburbs, I'm frightened.

Elemental Metaphysical Prosaic-Poetical

Further reflections on Pastor Rick's Sunday Sermon:

If the spirit is a wind, a fire, a rain, then who is the soil which grows the seed?
I used to think I was the soil, the mire of sticky clay and squishy peat;
I used to think that the spirit would wash the salt into my soil, fertilizing, making my life into a fecund and virile plot of land fit for growing a soul, a spirit, a wonder tribute to the maker;
I used to think that my soul, my will, my self was the seed that Christ planted in me.
What if the soil is more than just me?
What if the soil is my people?
What if the seed is more than just me; what if it's a kingdom that grows precariously in the midst of my home, my church, my school, my hamlet, my province, my nation?
What if the air, the wind, is the medium of all that is outside the soil; the Spirit's realm, the realm of our spirits, where he moves us and refreshes us and burns us; the realm that our seed is growing into?
What if the fire, the Spirit's heat and light, will provide the energy that I can use to make my words and deeds, that we can use to make our words and deeds, into that glorious tribute?
What if I'm the one washed into the spongy slick of that community by the rain of the spirit?
What if I'm the salt of my people, the nitrogen that feeds and fills and infuses the cells with richness?

What am I doing, then, writing this here?

High Heels and the Tuesday Video

Reflection for the day:
High heels and overhead projectors do not mix.
Tripping on a power cord is much easier in high heels than in a nice pair of [whatever those flat-bottomed shoes are called--"pumps" or something.]
Let it be known, university professors of the female sex, that your footwear choices are not without consequence.
Not that I'm saying they shouldn't wear high-heels...
Okay, moving along...

To keep with this week's theme, and to introduce an old friend, I give you,
The Tick!

Monday poll: Hair!

The celibate lifestyle gives so many opportunities.
For example, I've stopped shaving the chin hair. Nobody has told me to stop.
Amazing. Freedom at last.
But where do I go from here?

(In order of difficulty)

Søren Kierkegaard? (A reversion to the clean-shaven state, but it is dapper and likeable...)

Gendo Ikari? (Abe Lincoln without the bushyness.)

Friedrich Nietzsche? (the “protruding upper jaw” look is characteristic of de übermensch. That, or the moustache is a physiological manifestation of whatever drives him to use all those hyphens.)

Charles Dickens? (refined, with a Victorian sensibility.)

Faithful readers, what is your verdict?

Which beard/hairstyle is best suited to the proto-agonist?
	"Danish Existential" (Søren Kierkegaard)
	"Maniacal Otaku" / "Militaristic Abe Lincoln" (Gendo Ikari)
	"überstache" (Friedrich Nietzsche)
	"I get paid by the word, so I can do whatever I want with this hair!" (Charles John Huffam Dickens)
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On that note, it seems strange to me that so many of our politicians have been clean-shaven.

Canadian Prime Ministers are all smoothies, except for Mackenzie's crazy chin-beard and Borden's moustache.

American Presidents have an edge because there are more of them, but the whiskers are still rare, except around the late 19th/early 20th century when they had 7 in a row. They've also got Chester A. Arthur.

Editorial note: Don't worry folks, I'm not crazy enough to try this.
Then again, if I did get to the U of T, I would need something to segregate myself from all of those Toronto people...

Sunday reflection: Stumbling Block

stumbling block—offence—scandal

Lord, you offend me.
You make me stumble, when I walking with my chin so high, or with my eyes too low.
You trip me up. You're scandalous. I'm ashamed of you.
You're not fit to be spoken of in polite company.

I can talk about the residual Freudian psychic images in our cultural unconscious;
I can laugh at the silly pretentiousness of gender-studies and patriarchal defensiveness;
I can project introspective fallacies onto literary figures any time I feel like it;

If you gave me a chance to talk to someone about how much you mean to me, what would I do?

I stumble.

More Thankfulness for Friday

I'm thankful for North American border security.
There's nothing like miles of unkempt wilderness and "primeval forest" to foster a sense of unity between our nations. (It also means that, should relations break down in some future political era, I'll be able to smuggle bibles across the border by dragging a 150lb backpack through the muskeg. Ahhh, muskeg...)
Favourite quote from the article:

"You have to have this corridor clear if you are going to detect movement across it. If you are taking pictures of trees, you are not really protecting the boundary."
--Dennis Schornack, U.S. commissioner for the boundary agency.

When I was at the BC/Idaho border, I took this picture.

That's a pretty well-kept border if I've ever seen one.
("Wait, there's one sneaking across! Fire at will!
Don't you see him? By that tree! No the other tree!")

Wednesday Thankfulness

Tonight I'm thankful that class was let out early.
In the middle of a discussion about Alice Walker's "The Child Who Favoured Daughter", our Russian evening security heavy-metal rock dude, Anton, knocked on the door to inform Professor Philip Mingay that his wife is desperately trying to reach him to tell him that she is having her baby.
(Mobile phone reception is nonexistent inside our buildings here. I'd get better reception in a steel-reinforced concrete bunker out in the badlands, fifty feet underground where the dinosaurs are buried.)

By the way, don't read the Walker story. Sure, it's short, and it's relevant to issues of female and racial oppression, but it's not worth the mental scarring. Just don't.

Anton says it took him ten minutes to find our classroom. The person on the phone didn't have a clue where "Dr. Phil" (hehehe) was teaching. I hope the kid comes out okay.
Godspeed, Dr. Phil.

Tuesday Video: Drummers! Swiss Drummers!

Switzerland Top Secret Drum Corp - video powered by Metacafe
Yowzers!

The Feast of Tabernacles [or "booths"] And Tuesday Question

Pastor Rick reminded me on Sunday that this year's thanksgiving coincides with the feast of Tabernacles.
What is the feast of Tabernacles?
Like thanksgiving, it takes place after the harvest.
Like thanksgiving, it is preceded by the the day of atonement, a time of affliction and fasting in penitence and humility.
Just like thanksgiving, people go out and make little booths to live in for a week.

Wait, we don't really observe that last one.
Though I am glad that I'm not sleeping in the same house as everyone else, now that they despise me... (Long story short: "But she's such a nice girl! You two should get married someday! Lots of people get married when they're still finishing university!")

Anyway... The weekly question for Thanksgiving 2006 is:

What should our insipid anti-hero do this week to celebrate the Feast of Tabernacles [or "booths"]?
	More penitence and fasting! Work your way back to 50 pushups and run 2 km in the brisk autumnal air every morning!
	Build a lean-to [or "booth"] out of spruce boughs, and sleep in it the rest of the week!
	Glean the bits of knowledge that have slipped through your sieve by re-reading the chapters on Freud, Jung and Adler.
	Write another 'blog entry about what you're thankful for!
	Realize how dangerous these polls are and quit while you're ahead...
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Sometimes WYSIWYG editors are a real pain. For the life of me, I can't figure out why Firefox/Explorer are displaying that huge break.

AAARGH!
I tried to put up a comic strip that was appropriate for the week, and I added an image to the footer, and now my blog won't display properly.
Maybe it's just the library computer. Not that that makes the situation any better...
I should go home and read my Psychology textbook. Or the comics that are sitting beside me...

That's the trouble with libraries. You're already there when you return the stuff, so you might as well go inside and look at more stuff. Then you get even more stuff than you did last week.
The biggest problem is the DVDs. "Oooh, Great Expectations! We've studied that in class a few weeks ago, so it's technically studying if I watch this DVD. Oooh, The Importance of Being Earnest! That's Victorian, and it's literary, so it's valuable to my research. Oh, Jane Austen too... Yes, it would be a good use of my time to watch this BBC miniseries of Persuasion..."

More evil

Baby names are important. The name will follow your child for the rest of his or her life.
It's okay to pick a name that has cute diminutive forms: Johnny and Suzy can still be normal, well-adjusted people when the mature into John and Susan.
Nicknames are fine, too. We all have nicknames.
Please, please, please do not make your favourite nickname into a legal given name. That's a form of child abuse, and will no doubt unlock one of the seven seals of the apocalypse.

(Obligatory link to the list.)

I sense a great disturbance in the force...

I was going to post something profound and intellectual today, but my soul has been deflated by the evils of corporate exploitation...

Seriously, who thought this would be a good idea? Who? Show yourselves, cowards!

There's really only one way to express my feelings on this issue.

Pain and Suffering

Jalapeño and Cheddar kettle-cooked potato chips are very tasty, and once in a while I'll throw caution to the wind and buy a bag; yesterday I discovered a new reason to cut them out of my diet.
The Jalapeño seasoning seems to make me sneeze, and when you sneeze with traces of Jalapeño seasoning in your mouth it burns like Kuwait.
Popcorn is a much safer snack.

I'm not sure if I mentioned this in my post-conference 'blog, but the recordings I made of the plenary sessions at the IS conference went missing. The spindle of CDRs was on a table in the Gym with some of our in-house gear when I left with the rental equipment and gone when I got back. Nobody knew what happened. Finally, the administrative powers sent out a campus-wide email asking for the return of the CDs (no questions asked.)
It turns out that "someone" saw the speaker's name on the CDs and politely "returned them" to him.
All's well that ends well, and my recordings (which need to be cleaned up and duplicated for the students writing their essays on the conference) are (hopefully) on the way back from their little trip to Grand Rapids.
Here's a tree, I don't know why.

Monday Question: Outer Limits Edition

(When you look at this picture, imagine a Vertigo-style "contra-zoom" effect where the peripheral world seems to rush toward you as you look down the path.)

Sunday was a nice, relaxing day. I brought Rus the grande americano he forgot and “helped” him in the sound booth (i.e. I got to read the equipment manuals whenever I lost interest in the sermon… is that bad?)

Andrea and Kim were over for lunch, which was brought to a dénouement by some Pumpkin Pie with Grandma’s specially modified vanilla ice cream.

This is where things get a little bit tense:

Kim hates Pumpkin Pie, but Andrea (who is from Romania) had never even tried it before. She liked it, so equilibrium is close to being restored. (My other friend from the GVA, Ryan, doesn’t like any form of pie, so I’m not sure that we’ll ever find real harmony in this world.)

Here’s a picture of my sister Naomi, Andrea, and Kim, and another with Andrea, Naomi and Blessing.

The afternoon passes quietly, though it seemed that none of the girls were especially interested in being in any of the photographs I was taking. I really wanted to finish the roll so that I can get those pics of Mr. Owl, so I persisted. (Plus, it’s been a while since I’ve used the SLR and I’m falling in love with the telephoto lens again.)

[Now’s the part where the soundtrack starts to sound more mysterious.]

I stopped into Safeway after dropping Kim off. I was craving sweet, dairy-infused coffee, so I needed to buy a can of whipped cream. (Thanks a lot, Rus. Tea never did this to me.)

I walked disheartened from the soft-drink aisle; they were out of ginger beer, and it was on sale, too.

I skipped the meats, having consumed my monthly ration of bacon last week.

Then, as I drew near to the sound of industrial freezers and the bright white light of the dairy section, I caught a glimpse of a familiar face out of the corner of my eye.

There was Eggnog in the dairy case.

Milk of Chicken!

Nog!

Egg 'n grog!!!

Noggy nog nog nog,nogger noggin noggie!

I grabbed the freshest 1l ‘nog and the last can of real whipped cream, hastily making my way past the cheese aisle (my arms already loaded with saturated milk fat…) and heading for the checkout.

[Cue ominous music]

Cashier: how has your day been… [as she swipes the club card] Mr. Jackson?

Me: Actually, it’s a little bit strange finding this eggnog, seeing that it’s only just October.

Cashier: I guess that is a little bit strange. Sort of the wrong time of year, isn’t it?

Me: Don’t get me wrong: It’s weird, but I’m happier than a bowl of noodles! I’ll take eggnog any time I can get it! [said with big, dumb, happy-man grin.]

Cashier: Well, I’ve never tried eggnog so I’ll take your word for it.

Me: …? Never???

Cashier: Nope, haven’t had eggnog or Pumpkin Pie. [Emphasis mine.]

Me: [look of shock and awe] That’s horrible! You’ve been withheld the crowning achievements of Western civilization! [Pushing buttons on debit machine] Then again, you’re the second person I’ve talked to today who hadn’t had Pumpkin Pie. But she was from Romania…

Cashier: Actually, I’m from Romania too.

Me: [double take] Really? [Checking her nametag as I take the receipts, it says "Oana," which I've confirmed as a Romanian name.] Well… have a good night!
Cashier/Oana: Have a good evening Mr. Jackson.

Thus, the question for this week is:

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How does the episode end?

(Culinary Macedonian Call.) (Who needs a Latte?) (Heart attack in a carton!)

(Culinary Macedonian Call.) You should give up on English Lit. and become a missionary to Romania, bringing them (especially their young women) the Gospel of Jesus Christ, Eggnog, and Pumpkin Pie. (In that order.)

(Who needs a Latte?) That whipped cream will go nicely with the eggnog, you know. You should go to the fridge when you get home and sneak some leftover pie to go with it!

(Heart attack in a carton!) Liquid eggs with cream, fake bourbon, and nutmeg? Eyech! You should run away in disgust.

What does your decision say about you?

(Culinary Macedonian Call)
You are a mystical sort of person, seeing the hidden meaning in the strange events of your life. Relationships are sometimes stretched because "you're on another planet!", but people enjoy listening to your stories and following you down rabbit-holes.

(Who needs a Latte?)
You are pragmatic and efficient, always thinking with your stomach. Your loved ones will often complain that you seem emotionally disconnected, but will stick around because you are dedicated and trustworthy.

(Heart attack in a carton!)
You don't like Eggnog? What's wrong with you!?
On the plus side, your heart will be in much better shape than mine.

Saturday, after a productive morning of reading and conversation, I went to the public Library.

This was a mistake on at least two counts: I did absolutely no studying whilst in the library, and I left with five DVDs.

I also encountered a sign on the community bulletin board, which inspired this demotivational poster:

(I'm not sure if this was a beneficial or harmful outcome of my visit.)

After my visit to the DVD rack and the computer terminals, I wandered over to the newspapers. Ahh, the wonder of newsprint. I encountered the Sunday Times, that institution of English life, and noticed a familiar face on the cover: Mr. Jeremy Clarkson. My favourite British television personality was there accompanied by an ominous headline mentioning my second-favourite British Television personality, the “Hamster,” Richard Hammond.

Is seems Hamster had a bit of trouble with a front-right tyre on the jet-car he was testing, and he came very close to becoming the first man to die at 300+MPH in the service of the BBC.

This brought to mind my own aunt, Roxy, who is undergoing some fairly serious surgeries in the coming week.

Please keep both of them in your prayers.

If you have the time, it would be good of you to send a letter to the BBC as well, telling them not to cancel Top Gear. Clarkson is right, it really is the best show on television, not the least because of the amazing ladies and gentlemen who put it together for us.

September is leaving

The colours really make a long driveway worth the extra fuel and time.
The driveway also provides an good place to observe Mr Great Horned Owl at his best: catching those little varmints you see in the picture above.Owl at dusk with my cheap digicam. Hopefully the shot with the 35mm "comes out."
[Why do we say that about film? Whether or not it's a good picture depends entirely on what you've already done; whatever the photo lab does with the negative will usually have a minimal impact.]