Stalking about campus with a Rifle...

I am not about to do it. I have far too much restraint and self control to go all Marc LePine on you guys. But here's an insight as to why that shit happens:

Administration / Bureaucracy

Now this is a rant, so if you've had a bad enough day and only want positive influi, then stop reading now. Months and months ago I applied for the Autumn convocation. At the time I asked "is there anything else I should know or do to make sure there are no snags?" The reassuring reply: "No, no. They would contact you to let you know if there is anything." So far so hoopy.

A couple months pass, I hear nothing. Being both shady and suspicious myself, I decide to make double sure. "Any problems at all?" I ask. "It's all good," the reassuring response. I felt better. Now, any reasonable person would leave it at that, comfortable in knowing everything is just so. I, as I stated earlier in different words, am hardly so reasonable. This is a condition instilled in large part by the fact that I have worked intimately with the bureaucracy of Laurentian University, viewing firsthand the inefficiency, ineptness, and general devil may care attitudes that have become so entrenched. The upshot: I went back twice more to check everything is going well and there are no blips on the radar. O faithful reader, you can likely guess that I was told "there are no blips on the radar at all." If you do the math, you will see that I had Four separate, individual assurances.

In the meantime, my poor immigrant parents, who got off the boat in search of a better life in the new lands are dying to see their son graduate, for this symbolizes the aspirations attainable in the land of promise and plenty. Mither writes often to find out any news about it. The poor dear.

Today, Sept. 27, Y.T. gets a letter from L.U. from which I quote:
"The Senate Committee on Academic Regulations and Award has reviewed your application for the Fall 2006 Convocation. According to our records, you will not be eligible to graduate as you will not have completed all of the program requirements."

I was fulminating! For the sake of you proper ladies and gentlemen readers, I will except the stream of invective that flowed from my mouth for the next half hour. Into L.U.'s admin I go, approaching critical mass. It seems I have a fail mark in RLST 3196 and I don't have the course COST 3006. Two problems right? - Wrong!

For three years I have pointed out the faults of the school in cross-referencing courses, in their lack of courses (the reason I am not in a Master's Program right now!), in their inability to give proper information on any of these topics. Have they ever once listened? Apparently not! You see. RLST 3196 ACTUALLY IS COST 3006! They Are the Same Freakin' Course! Not that administration can comprehend this, though it is their creation to begin with. Eventually this becomes understood and to give credit where due, Colette Rainville at the Registrar's Office took care of that lickety split. Like, on the spot as I watched, as fast as ever any problem was solved in that office. Thank you, Colette, you are wonderful!

Now the problem of a "Fail" still stood out. Here's the story on that. I took the course RLST 3196, and I kicked it's ass. For the most part, I kicked it's ass. You see, I failed to hand in one essay. I believe it was worth 25%. I had calculated my marks though and without the essay, I still had a definite pass (in fact a B if I remember correctly). A "B," without the essay! Instead of simply giving my lower mark, the prof decided to give me an incomplete. This dragged out for a while, in fact all last year. The incomplete cocooned on my transcript and eventually emerged as a beautiful jewel-winged "Fail." I spoke to the prof. She said "just gimme an essay." I thought "just gimme a lower damned grade."

Whatever! I gave a shortened essay early in the summer this year. I still have a Fail. I cannot reach the prof. She is not available. There are no office hours for her posted. The secretary has no clue when the prof is around. I can say from experience that the prof does not spend much time at the University outside of her classes. Classes, I might add, that were fun, interesting and stimulating. I would recommend them if not for the bullshit I am wading through right now. -Don't let it happen to you!

So I ask the secretary "when is her next class?"
Secretary: "Well, she doesn't have anything tomorrow..."
"..."
"..."
"..."
etc. for fully a minute and a half, when I finally realize she is not going to say anything else. "I Suppose the next day is Friday then," I impose on her, "Does she teach anything Friday?.."
"Oh, let's see..."
(fucking obstinate dullard).
So there it is, I go in Friday morning and I will either come out graduating or with somebody's face in my hands, to be fashioned into a grisly mask later on.

I suppose that if I weren't letting my emotions out so strongly, one might pity me. You all should have the good sense to fear this happening to you, as you likely know about this administration first hand. I Almost have an Aristotelian tragedy on my hands. (^_^).

Friday. If I'm smiling, say hallo. If my jaw muscles appear tensed and my eyes dart around a lot, stay the hell away from me!

Overlap

Or more precisely connections. My life, as many of you have been told, is a web of coincidence - or synchronicity.

They told me that I would enjoy Dr. Orr's class. They were right. Granted, Plato is something of a pain in the arse sometimes. This is a subjective stance, which I support because Plato and I have differing views of how things need to get done. It's not that I think I am smarter than he was, after all I have two millennia of hindsight don't I? That said, let me simply add: Read Plato. I might not agree with him, but his work is important and in fact quite engaging.

Aristotle, on the other hand, is more my style. Tedious at times, but much more defensible and soundly constructed. It is in discussion of Aristotle that my Film and Genre class begins to connect with Dr. Orr's class. Aristotle would appear to be the beginning of Generic Types in Western thought - that is to say, the beginning of genre. In one day, we have seen the comparison with Semantic and Syntactic theories of critique. One fellow even brought us to the beginning of Ideological critique, though I doubt it was his intent. In fact, I doubt he realized what he was leaning towards.

Nonetheless, there is a sort of joyous feeling when I see the congruence between different classes. It makes me feel like things are running right. It enforces and bolsters my world view.

thanks to anonymous user:

Someone came by here and read this blog, one who is not a regular visitor. They corrected some mistakes in the V for Vendetta entry. Thanks, anonymous. It was late and I was not thinking too clear. Thanks also for reading, hope you come by again...

Ah me!...

Did I drop the lyrics in here yet? Even if I did, here they are again. This is one of my Happy songs and I've been listening to it a lot lately. Today I had an excellent reason to do so again. Share with me, sing along if you know the tune:


Climbing up on Solsbury Hill
I could see the city light
Wind was blowing, time stood still
Eagle flew out of the night
He was something to observe
Came in close, I heard a voice
Standing stretching every nerve
Had to listen had no choice
I did not believe the information
(I) just had to trust imagination
My heart going boom boom boom
"Son," he said "Grab your things,
I've come to take you home."

To keep in silence I resigned
My friends would think I was a nut
Turning water into wine
Open doors would soon be shut
So I went from day to day
Tho' my life was in a rut
"Till I thought of what I'd say
Which connection I should cut
I was feeling part of the scenery
I walked right out of the machinery
My heart going boom boom boom
"Hey" he said "Grab your things
I've come to take you home."
(Back home.)

When illusion spin her net
I'm never where I want to be
And liberty she pirouette
When I think that I am free
Watched by empty silhouettes
Who close their eyes but still can see
No one taught them etiquette
I will show another me
Today I don't need a replacement
I'll tell them what the smile on my face meant
My heart going boom boom boom
"Hey" I said "You can keep my things,
they've come to take me home."

(^_^)

I happened to find in the bowling alley a copy of the newspaper the Granma. It is a Cuban paper. I felt ten or fifteen years younger looking at it and thinking of my more political years. I was an idealist then. Apparently some Cubans tipped off the U.S. Gov't. about a bomb and a plane and subsequently Nothing exploded and Nobody was hurt. Naturally, the U.S., being appreciative, put the poor bastards in Jail! Lesson? Never trust the imperialist running dog lackeys, they will fuck you over for practice. The families of the incarcerated are apparently here in Canada trying to gain support for the victims. Fucking U.S.

Right! I was allowed a one page response (line breaks inserted randomly because I've no inclination to re-format just for xanga):

ENGL 4105EL 02: Theory and Criticism 13 Sept., 2006

For M. Orr, by Jason Simac, 172478

In consideration of excerpts from Plato’s Republic:

Keywords: "Good," "Truth," "Knowledge," "Reason," "Represent: (~ation), (~er)" - also "image,"

Further Keywords: "Yes," "Lackeys,"* "Underlying Assumptions"*

The main speaker, Socrates, under the notion of founding a new community, explores several guiding principles upon which his community should be built. These amount to codes of conduct, including a serious and extensive measure of artistic censorship and related emotional content. This, of course, is for the greater good of the community and therefore the individual, by dint of the fact that it holds with certain "truths" that the speaker holds up.

By trying to establish a notion of forms, the speaker wants us to believe that for any given set of things (e.g. beds), there is what equates to a divine version, called the Form. Taking as given the existance of both God and the gods (which he switches between as fits his argument), he seeks to establish that only their Forms are realities. To be clear, God or possibly the gods, conceived of the Bed, which is in all ways the perfect bed. The beds you and I sleep on are only copies. Furthertheless, any representation of a bed is merely a copy of the copy. The divinely inspired concept is Truth - the Truth of beds, one might say. What we sleep on is removed by some degree from Truth. An image of a bed is quite removed from Truth. His argument rather naively, but completely misses the idea that form follows function, a rather glaring omission, which might undermine his entire discourse were it included.

Since truth (Truth) is a cornerstone of building his better community, it must be preserved. Poets, especially Homer (and poor old Hesiod hot on his heels) are suggested to be completely unacquainted with truth in any of its guises. As such they are direct targets for censorship. The speaker does very graciously (if not convincingly) supply for the continuance of Homer’s work if it can be proved true overall - which it cannot if one accepts the speaker’s argument. Such are the direct ideas central to this writing.

On a higher level, one might infer that the speaker was rather downtrodden, seeking for life to be ordered, easier and "nice." He shrinks from emotion, indulgence and the possiblility of expression. To be fair, the kind of state or community he begins to seek has in various degrees been realized. Such states invariably fail to be the utopia the speaker seems to think he will create.

The word "lackey" is listed as key because it describes the other two characters in these passages. They speak considerably less, but must be acknowledged as just as important. This is so because it is they who continuously assert the veracity of the main speaker, whom supplies the argument. This scheme makes Plato seem as though he were too timid to just say what was on his mind. It is an irony that he uses a source twice removed from the contained concept of Truth to backup what is presented. The non-central characters, (there are two so that nobody can call them the very Form of the yes-man) are so encompassing in their approval, in their lack of exploring any alternative possibilities, that one must wonder if the author believed something very different and sought to prove it by arguing the other side very poorly. Not too charitable, perhaps, but there you go.

The writing is quite engaging, light and even fun because of the informality of it. Nothing is forced on the reader, instead the central character repeats himself "you make up your mind." The unerring capitulation of the secondary characters makes one feel that we are all on the same page, understand each other and isn’t it nice that we’ve solved all that? It has the same feeling of easygoing agreement that one experiences when talking to a politician who is trying to establish that he’s just an average Joe like the rest of us. The imagery tends to be quite common (beds, tables, horses), or at least not fancy or rich (caves). Again, this puts the reader at ease. The assertion of the central speaker’s "logic" and its understandability makes the reader feel as though they themselves are perhaps smarter than they realized. That feels good, doesn’t it?

The problem is that there are serious faults all the way through the main speaker’s reasoning (see Keywords and below). The central character imposes that those who don’t know what they are talking about have no business discussing it. Whether on purpose or not, the writer builds in certain clues that the central speaker is not really qualified in the areas he propounds on, thus ruining any credibility he might have with the power of his own argument. In this sense the central speaker comes off as a little poncy, and a little annoying, and it might do him well to follow Diomedes suggestion to "Sit down, shut up and listen..." Overall, the desire for life to be "nice" stands out as quite significant in the greater scheme of things. Here is an early example of the mentality that likely led to the rise of monotheistic religion over polytheistic religion. This transition was a huge influence on how the West viewed art, Truth, meaning and several other concepts touched on in Republic. Not much else seems particularly significant currently.

Notable fallacies: Straw Man, Ad Hominem, Non-Sequiturs abound

*Not appearing in the actual text, but definitely important.

No title blues

Well my baby loves me truly
but she just can't come round no more
she can't come round no more

can't think of no title for this blog
but I swear this has never happened before
baby, swear it's never happened before

Man ain't nothin' if he can't write - Can I write?
follow me now, see what's in store.
said just read on, who knows what's in store...-

School

Thank God! Praise Allah! Cthulhu Phthang!

When I was young and they called me grasshopper, all I wanted was the eternal summer. Never let it end, I would pray to any God or Goddess within earshot (which is most of them). I had brown skin and blonde hair and my feet were tougher than a bear's hide from running across sizzling pitch laden asphalt.

Somewhere along the way I didn't care so much. It must have been when I worked and there was no vacation.

These days I play a different tune. Of course I love summer, the vivacious season bringing adventure and opportunity, but... I want to be back in school

I have missed being in school since the first month away. I have just registered, with departmental permission, for the course Visual Rhetoric. You can see a good argument for that, eh?

Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh Can't wait.

mm. more soon. take care.

langue time

I studied the french language from first grade until twelfth grade, (when I became a high school dropout). It's not that I'm an idiot; I like to blame faults and shortcomings in the educational system for the fact that I can hardly make a relevant sentence in this gorgeous language. I will get back to studying it on my own terms soon.

In grades ten and eleven, part of twelve and for a year at Laurentian, I studied German. I love German. People think it is harsh and ugly sounding, but I insist that it is beautiful. I especially like their terms of endearment. (Compare with French; would you rather be someone's cabbage or their treasure?) - Treasure.

I Should have a decent handle of Spanish by now, though I don't. No offense, Mither, but you were the major influence in my lack of knowledge here. By far, Spanish has the best terms of endearment: mi ciel, mi vida, mi cafe amargo... (^_^) Poetic beyond my abilities! So romantic that even My heart of ice begins to thaw.

I am about to embark on a journey in Russian. My father understands Russian. He also understands White Russian, some Ukrainian, Serbian, Croatian and slowly spoken, enunciated Polish amongst others. I am rather green about his linguistic skill sets. I do speak a smattering of Serbo-Croatian, but it amounts to tourist level or less these days.

My mother is fluent in Finnish and I am downright envious. This is a language I have loved all my life. I can't begin to state why, but perhaps that's for the next entry. I reckon if a young lady were to proposition me in Finnish I'd Have to take it seriously.

I can swear like a sailor in Greek. I also know the names of several foods. Thanks to Stella, Maria, Jimmy, Jimmi and Jimmy at the restaurant for those relevant skills.

As a curiosity, there was a time in my life when I could tell someone to "take an aspirin every three hours" in nearly fifteen different languages. And it came in handy... ;)Though I profess I don't remember most of them.

Language is a thing that I suspect most people don't really choose. It chooses them. Your parents taught you Italian, or Finnish, or Greek, because it's what they spoke before they came here. Yes, they are keeping culture alive, but they are also keeping alive a different way of expressing the world. And that changes the world you will live in.

I once met a guy in Cuba who studied from youth and was fully fluent in no fewer than five languages. That is to say he did work as a translator for his government from time to time. He was learning two extras at the time we met. There are few men I admire as much as Michael Douglas in this world, but Hilario was one of them.

I often wonder how people come to choose what their second language will be. For that matter, what criteria makes a person choose their third language? Fourth? Etc...

French was not a choice for me. I love the language, but I am not sure I would have chosen it. I rather would have preferred Finnish. Nonetheless, I have some basic knowledge and wish to pursue it further. I think of those I chose, the biggest influence may be the cold war. Doesn't that sound stupid? German and Russian. Both have beautiful areas, magnificent and fascinating histories and a special sort of mentality that distinguishes itself. They were both the bad guys in the cold war, well one and a half of them were.

It helps, of course, that they are spoken in geographically diverse areas, by very large numbers of people. On this premise I would like to study Japanese, Chinese (probably Mandarin), Yiddish or Hebrew (likely the latter for academic purposes), Spanish or Portuguese and one of the Dravian languages.

As a reader you must think: "You'll never learn them all, Jay..." and you would be right.

*sigh*

I lost the actual point of this post, so I am replacing it with a request. If you know another language, tell me about it. Speak non-english to me. This works very well if you are using idioms that are region or dialect specific. I will be your best friend if you do...