Tagged with mom

still existing when the covers are shut

I spent the day packing up all my books in preparation for moving out of my condo. Which I sold. I may not have mentioned that on the blog proper, just on Twitter. Yeah. I sold my condo. Hoofuckingray! And now I’ve got 33 boxes full of books that’ll be following me around the country to wherever I end up going to school. Unless I go to China. I am not taking 33 boxes of books to China.

I suppose it’s natural to think “man, I’ve got too much stuff” when you’re in the middle of packing it up and moving/storing it places. But that doesn’t change the sentiment. In general I feel sort of non-materialistic in my perspective on life or whatever, but that perspective is kind of easy to poke holes in when I have 33 boxes of books alone in my living room.

I kind of feel like I should pare it down, but when I told my mom about that yesterday she seemed shocked. “But your books? That’s you!” Now part of that concern is because she’s purchased a lot of expensive and wonderful books for me over the years and she doesn’t want to see that investment get wasted. But the important and meaningful books aren’t the ones I’d be getting rid of. I have two boxes full of old theology books from my late grandfather. Grandpa was a minister and I rescued a pile of his books so Grandma wouldn’t have to get rid of them. But seriously, my library will work just fine with five theology books instead of two boxes of them. Same thing with my university books. There are some that are great, that even if I’m not using them regularly I want them in my library. The first year intro books are not those ones. I have roleplaying games I’ll never play, paperbacks I’m half-ashamed to own and all these orphaned books from the middles of series I never read any of the other volumes to.

But. If I get rid of any of these things I’m going to miss them. I’m not going to miss the shitty Jysk chair I bought for the cat to sit on, or my glass-brick shelves. Books are the things I’ll miss. Even though I hate the idea of me being so tied to these objects I’ve got sitting in these boxes. I think I’d still be me if I couldn’t reach out and grab a Murakami book to read from. I think so, but I don’t quite know. I’d be different though. At least a little bit.

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maybe i should have some content up

So I got something fun in the mail today. The latest issue of Broken Pencil, the magazine of zine culture and the independent arts. The reason this is extra fun is that I have a story in it. It’s near the back, is very short and is not a real pretty story. It’s called Texas Bound. Mom, you won’t like it. (I like it though.)

I just kind of panicked when it came in the mail because my bio/blurb after the story mentions this here website and I realized I haven’t written anything besides book reviews on here in quite some time. So, if you’re here from Broken Pencil and aren’t really keen on reading all my half-assed book reviews, check out my China posts. They’re probably the best stuff on here since the unpleasantness I’m not supposed to talk about. And I just noticed most of the links are broken on the Journalism page. That’s too bad. But I’ve got a Flickr account and Vagabondscrawl is my linkblog if you care what I’m reading.

Anyway. I had a good day. I have a couple of book reviews that need writing, but I’ll get them up tomorrow. Tonight I have Lego robots to build. On Friday I’ve got the day off and I am totally getting my shit together to take some decent pictures of them.

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book review: 2666

I received Roberto Bolano’s posthumous novel 2666 from my mom for Xmas (she would have exploded into a fine mist if she hadn’t bought me anything). And I just finished it this week. It was very good but very dense. I needed to keep on taking breaks to let things seep. Happily, the organization of the book lent itself well to that. There are five parts, each of which could stand alone (though in my opinion each would suffer for it), but which all circle the same area. So, my review.

The Part About The Critics. This section feels like an Umberto Eco novel in some ways. Mostly because it’s about European literary academics who are all specialists on this obscure German writer, Archimboldi. There are four of them, three men and a woman, and it charts how they came to their field and became acquaintances allies and lovers, because of this writer. They decide they have to find him and head to Santa Teresa, Mexico where there are rumours he might be. They go and visit with academics there, do some lectures, but really they’re looking for Archimboldi. In Santa Teresa there have been many murders of women, spoken of like a curse. Supposedly a very tall gringo (Archimboldi was very tall) had been arrested for the crimes. Stuff happens and the story ends with resolution on some fronts but none at all on others. This part was 160ish pages.

The Part About Amalfitano. Now, Amalfitano is an academic who lives in Santa Teresa, and he was the guide for the academics in the first part of the book. This part tells the story of him, his daughter, his wife who abandoned them and a geometry book which he has no recollection of obtaining. The academics don’t show up here, but the whispers of all the murders surround the story. This is a story about sadness, and has a different texture than the part about the academics. While you kind of felt the narrator was treating the academics lightly, as slightly silly people in a world they didn’t really take too seriously, Amalfitano’s part is heavy. Despondent almost. It’s only about 70 pages long, and was my least favourite part of the book.

The Part About Fate. Bolano was clever, because going into this after experiencing the two different approaches of the first two parts, I expected something very abstract about fate and free will. But, Fate is the name of an American reporter who gets assigned to go to Santa Teresa to cover a prizefight between an American and a Mexican. He’s not a sports journalist. He writes stories for a low-circulation black newspaper. The first part of the story is about him going to a church to hear a motivational speaker give his talk about what life is all about. Then he goes to Mexico and tries to learn about the fight. He hangs out with Mexican journalists and cringes at the Americans. It’s interesting because he notes on the race of everyone. He’s the only black reporter covering the fight. There’s a black sparring partner for the Mexican boxer. This section feels Hemingway-ish. Maybe that’s because of the manly subject matter and the journalistic short-sentence style. When he’s in Santa Teresa he hears about the murders and he tries to pitch doing a story on the murders to his editor back in New York, but they don’t care about that. The fight itself lasts three sentences, this tiny little point the rest of the (120 page) section balances on. It was perfect.

The Part About The Crimes. And now we hit the part of the book that made me go wow. This part is 280 pages long (so just short of the length of the three previous parts put together), and it is relentless. There are police officers and narcos and gangsters and crime after crime after crime. Over a four year stretch there are dozens of women who are killed. Most of them are raped. Most of the bodies are found in the desert. There’s also a man pissing in churhces and he has an enormous bladder, but he’s a sideshow. The thing is that these crimes are described in little police-report-esque things. It’s very clinical. Stuff like: “She was found by the side of the road fully dressed. A fractured hyoid bone suggested strangulation but she was also stabbed five times. Swabs showed that she’d been raped vaginally and anally.” And it happens again and again. And again. At first I got sick of reading these paragraphs with all their sordid little details and couldn’t wait to get back to a “story” bit with one of the cops or the reporters who’d been trying to find out what was going on, but as I got further in I realized just how horrible this sheer number of crimes was. Not all of them are connected, but every woman whose murder in Santa Teresa might have been over these years, has their death reported. The relentlessness of the crimes (and the dispassionate recounting) and the inability to put a reason or a person behind them is terrifying. Was there a serial killer? They capture a German-American man and put him in jail, saying he was behind it all, but the crimes keep happening. Things go on and on. In the previous part Fate had met up with a Mexican journalist and they’d gone to the prison where the German-American man was being held to interview him. This was the hardest part of the book to read, the part I was happiest to get through, but also the part that makes the whole thing hang together.

The Part About Archimboldi. The last (260 page) part of the book deals with the life of the German writer those critics from the first part had dedicated their careers to. It’s a story of art and war. Archimboldi had a different name as a young German man, and fought in World War 2 on the German side. This part of the story keeps on digressing into other people’s stories. The story of the Russian science-fiction writer who didn’t write the books that got him purged. The story of Archimboldi’s younger sister. The story of the German who mistakenly received a traincar full of Jews and was told no train would come pick them up so he was to deal with them himself. There are echoes of all the parts of the stories we’ve already heard through the book. The killing of the Jews and the murders of the women and the raping of the Indians by the Spanish all become sort of one in your experience of the book. Archimboldi vanishes from his own story after he starts publishing his books, and we follow his younger sister and her life. In the end, stuff happens, and the whole thing was quite an excellent experience.

So yes, this is a positive review. I approve of it winning awards (even though that doesn’t mean anyone who reads this’ll like it).

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on effability

Last night I went to see PZ Myers speak on “The War between Religion and Science.” His side is that creationism is bad because religion is bad. The highlight of the night came in the Q&A afterwards, in an exchange with what appeared to be a 13-year-old girl. She asked, in her wavering nervous voice, what he thought about purity rings that some of the kids today wear to symbolize that they aren’t going to have sex. He said that studies show that those wearers tend to be more active in terms of oral and anal sex so they don’t seem too effective. She responded from her microphone, “Well, actually, I think the rings are only about vaginal intercourse. Not oral or anal.” And there was general laughter, so I missed a bit before Myers (also laughing) said, “Yeah, purity rings signify you’re into anal.”

There was only one person in the Q&A asking questions from a creationist perspective, a Mr. Toews. Sean and I were kind of hoping there’d be more. As Myers said in response to another precocious kid, “A room full of atheists with one Christian can be just as smug as a room full of Christians with one atheist. It’s just a function of group dynamics.” It was a pretty smug room.

But the interesting part of the evening for me (aside from learning about Darrelle Revis) was afterwards when the three of us, Dave, Sean and I, were walking back to the van and Dave asked, “So, did he convert you?” It threw me off. Convert me? I would have thought I’d be seen as firmly on the side of science when it comes to creation vs evolution. And more skeptical/scientific leaning than religious in general. But the fact that Dave, my lifelong friend, could think otherwise, well, it gave me pause.

Now, Myers was talking about how stupid religion is because it depends on things that can’t be verified by evidence. Christianity is only an appeal to the authority of a book of bronze age legends (and assorted accretions from throughout the centuries). Just saying “It’s in the Bible” doesn’t make it so. I agree that that’s a bad way to think.

For most people, I’d argue, science is the same way. Sure, if you are actually a scientist you’re talking about piles of experiments and data that’s been collected and has proven reliable, and you are theoretically open to the possibility of the next discovery being made that could set the whole thing on its ear. But for many people all they hear is “It’s been scientifically proven that…” Regular non-scientist people don’t go searching through the journals to assess the methods used. They gloss over when scientists start talking about actual details.

A while back I was trying to explain to my mom how the proto-humans in Olduvai Gorge were determined to be as old as they are. I learned this stuff in university, and could explain how radioactive dating worked in general, but Mom asked, “But how do they know it works?” And I said things fit with the evidence so far. “What’s the other evidence? How do they know?” And I had to throw up my hands and say, “Look mom, they’re specialists! I trust them to know what they’re doing!” Because I don’t know what they’re doing exactly. I don’t think this is uncommon. People hand over the responsibility of thinking about science to the authorities, the same way people hand over thinking about morality to the clergy (or to their chosen traditional book of legends). It’s not like the age of some African fossils actually makes much of a difference to my life, so I’m not going to become an expert. This is why we get so much pseudo-science around, just like we get so much dangerous religion (and exploitative “spiritual” bullshit), because people aren’t interested in being responsible for what they think.

And yes you can blame bad basic science education for that. That’s certainly what PZ Myers is doing. But the fact of the matter is that not everyone in the world is going to be a scientist. He wants people who aren’t scientists to trust science, because it’s based on evidence. But when religion is based on experience you’ve got a problem. Science asks you to believe your senses. Well, not your senses exactly, the senses of these specialists who know what they’re doing. When the report from someone else’s senses comes into conflict with a person’s direct experience of whatever transcendence or peace or good feelings a person gets from religion that’s the issue. If my grandma is happy believing that she’s going to sit around on fluffy clouds praising Jesus with my dead grandpa for all eternity when she dies, me explaining how that’s just chemicals coursing through her brain on well worn neural pathways isn’t going to help her have a better life. Her experience of religion has far more weight with her than the words of some authority.

At the lecture last night there was mention of the humanistic philosophy being one that we are the creators of everything we find meaningful. And it’s investing something with meaning that’s one of the most important things we can do. Yes that something may be a collection of moral rules so our bunch of primates don’t rape each other constantly, but it’s also where our art or anything else we find meaningful comes in. A person asked a question about what hope the atheist community can offer to compete with what religion does. Myers said “Hope based on a lie is not hope.” Bullshit. All we’ve got are the lies we choose to believe in. That’s it.

I do think that the scientific method is the best way people have of understanding how the universe works. Right now. But. We made up the scientific method just like we made up all those myths we don’t believe anymore. Maybe it’s my Lovecraft showing, but I think there are important things we don’t know, that are ineffable (and possibly squamous). And that’s why we have created all these cultural phenomena like religion and science. Like stories and metaphor. We try to make things make sense, even though they won’t. I think a purely materialistic view of existence is wrong, especially for the individual, because it’s just as blinkered as dogmatic woowoobeliving. I think there are plenty of important unverifiable things. People are still small, fragile and stupid, and it seems the height of arrogance to think we can know everything, be it from ancient scriptures or analyzing fossils. Things are more complex than we want them to be. “The way that can be explained is not the eternal way.”

(I also believe in most of this.)

So yeah. That was my evening. And this post’s length is why I didn’t have a real good answer for Dave on the ride home. Sorry dude.

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y’know, like the hiphopopotomaus if he was a librarian

I’m poking around looking for good library blogs, as I’ve applied to library school for September, and it seems like a good idea to get in the heads of people in the profession. This looks like the group I was born to be a part of: The Society for Librarians* Who Say Motherfucker. Someday. For now I’ll content myself with being a regular dude who says motherfucker. To my mom’s chagrin.

Unrelated to motherfuckers, I got Excel to do something fun today. A person had a list of 12,000 numbers and was looking for the ones that only occurred on the list once. He was going through the list by hand deselecting everything that recurred, and it made me sad. So I said, “I will help you. Let me muck about in Excel and figure out a way to get that shit sorted, yo.” And I completely did. It wasn’t perfect (I had to check the first and last entry on the list by hand) and it wasn’t elegant (it took like four separate columns in the spreadsheet) but I made Excel do the shit I wanted and it saved a person from (and was faster than) deselecting 10,000 things from a list. Go me.

Also, we had a condo corporation meeting I was dreading all day. But it happened and now I don’t have to think about it for a while. Tomorrow I am going to sleep in and get some real things accomplished. Yes.

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seasonal reasoning

This is my fourth day off work in a row, which has been great. In order not to spoil it I’ve been ignoring condo corporation emails, though from the snippets that are visible in my inbox it appears there’s a bunch of sniping going on at our property manager. I have no desire to get in there at all. I’m enjoying the end of my weekend. Tomorrow.

Friday I watched Battlestar Galactica in the morning and then went to get tattooed in the afternoon. I didn’t know I was going to get tattooed. I was fully planning to go down, make an appointment and then wander in the village a little while. But the kid behind the counter asked if I was free, and I was, and so was an artist, and now I’ve got twice as much ink on my arms as I did before. (Still a very small quantity of ink, all told.)

Friday night was a party at Michael’s. I showed up late but had some really interesting conversation. A big conversation about the Mental Healthcare system went on, which isn’t something I know very much about at all. I stayed on the sidelines, acting a bit as an audience, but that’s a role I’m good at filling so yeah.

Saturday was Unrau family Xmas and I saw my cousins and played video games with my once-removed cousins. Oh, they had a karaoke Xbox game, so after people had been mumbling through Christmas carols (and I’d been hiding in the kitchen) for a while, Austin and I closed the singing off with U Can’t Touch This. Done really quite poorly. But it was fun.

The Danny Michel concert on Saturday was super. Danny Michel has actually spoiled me for basically every other live show ever. I want everyone else to be as funny and not taking himself super seriously but also sincere and not stagey as he does his inbetween song bits. The fact that he builds these great soundscapes with his loop pedals and shit is icing. They were recording the show (along with the Friday night edition) for a live CD so he paused to redo lines sometimes. In Tennessee Tobacco he explained that everyone clapping along was probably going to be a problem, recording wise, because he doesn’t actually play in time. I loved the songs where he sat at the piano. My favourite of the evening was his piano version of Valley of Doom, which was sad and dark and a lot creepier without any guitars.

Then off to Sean’s, where we ate burnt ochre velvet cupcakes and stacked chairs and generally had a good time drinking whisky. I may have been the only one drinking whisky. But I didn’t tell anyone off so it counts as a win.

Sunday Kate was in town before heading off to Europe in a couple of weeks and we went for lunch to a Portuguese restaurant, and set up her blog, and then off to my Mom’s for dinner, where Kate was a very good conversationalist. There was a big thing on why/how people make judgments about people, which was a sort of voluble discussion about race. Mom tried to head it off (in an “Agh! Don’t get angry!” kind of way) but the academics kept charging forward, and actually agreeing with each other more than you’d think from the volume. Good times.

And now here I am. I’ve got a book review to write, and Traveller to play this evening. This weekend was pretty much the part of Xmas I was most looking forward to, so I’m glad it met expectations. Go me.

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expansion complete

The wedding went fine and people had fun. Hooray and congratulations. Pictures are up on flickr. And yes they’re a little grainier than I might have preferred, but I accidentally bumped my ISO up to 200 which my camera’s little sensor doesn’t like too much. I was very busy (and wasn’t the official photographer anyway) so I didn’t take any really neat pictures. Sorry. (I do like this one of Sri though.)

It seems that all the work of carefully picking songs was fairly pointless for that crowd. Note for the future: all Mom’s family ever wants to hear is Johnny Cash or something you can two-step to. Ever. Seriously, future self, why are you even thinking about playing anygoddamnedthing else? You are truly a fool. Ahem. So I’m glad I did end up bringing the laptop instead of just running off iPods as it was much easier to change things on the fly. People danced, which made my mom happy. (Although when I started picking music weeks ago she specifically said “Oh no, it’s not a dance; it’s a house party!” so what I had was mostly along those lines.)

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first saturday off in months

My mom is getting married today. I will look snazzy.

Last night I played D&D (4th Edition) and it was more fun than the previous time, but man, D&D is not the game for me. I read what some people say about how much fun 4E is, but I just don’t see it. Our combat went four rounds and took around an hour (it’s not finished). I can’t remember how long the combats in our Traveller game have been, but it feels like a lot more stuff happens. And the stuff that happens is less “Okay, I do something that knocks down a bunch of things some amount of hit points” and more “I close the distance and jam my shotgun into his face” which to me seems more evocative. I don’t know.

Maybe it’s just the players. The D&D group doesn’t describe a lot of stuff or go in for a lot of in character comments. There’s no way the Tea Party incident could happen in that game. It’s not bad, just a very different kind of group and game than I’m used to. I’m glad it’s not my only gaming I’ve got happening these days.

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now i eat ice cream

Today was a payday so I engaged in my traditional circuit of going out to check the used bookshops and Imagine and the comic shop, though today because of my Amazon adventure I didn’t need to buy any books. Instead I stopped off at the U of W and gave CKUW some money for their Fundrive. Which felt nice and altruistic. I do like to give money to the people I procure cultural ephemera from when I can.

But to get there I walked down Ellice and spotted a great horde (3) of people clad in red getting on bicycles outside the Black Sheep Diner. It slowed me down; I thought they might be some sort of Festival du Voyageur group out for a delicious breakfast. I’d slowed down my walking though, and as the door to the Black Sheep opened I recognized a face inside. The decision to stop for breakfast then instead of getting lunch an hour or two later was made in two slowed steps and in I walked to find a table full of people I knew. Most had already eaten but the conversation was still going, so that was nice. I had a good omelette with goat cheese too. (The red clad cyclists had been in giving a singing telegram Valentine to the Diner as I understand it.)

So yeah, it felt community-ish (as I Tweeted when I got home) to walk into a place and find people I knew, and then to go and give money to community radio. One might think I was coming to terms with being a Winnipegger.

Then this afternoon I cut my hair. I’m not sure if you know this, but my mom is getting married next week and I figured I’ll look nicer if I look the way I do in my mind’s eye than the uncombed and bearded mess I’ve been over the winter. I’ll still be uncombed, but with a shave of the head and face it becomes difficult to tell.

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life with my mom

Sri is in India visiting family and such, so I’ve been hanging out with my mom a bit more this month. We’ve got four episodes left in the first season of The Wire, which I love because my mother has to concentrate to get what’s going on. Which means she can’t be putzing about in the kitchen or feeding the dogs or whatever else when we’ve got a disc in; she has to give it her full attention. Which is what I feel good television/film deserves on a first viewing. So that’s cool.

On Monday I met mom at work and we took the bus to her house together. Her bus experience is so different from mine. Not just because her buses tend not to have the automated voice telling you which stop is coming up, nor because her bus doesn’t cruise by abandoned warehouses and railroad tracks, but because she talks to people. I consider myself quite verbose for saying “Hi” and “Thank you” to the bus driver. She has bus friends. When she moves over for a standing young lady to sit down, a conversation ensues and it turns out she went to high school with the girl’s parents. The Mennonite game stuff becomes so interesting the girl deliberately stays on past her stop so they can hash out all the fun things they know about Domain and Glenlea and all these other towns MCI kids came from. So strange.

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