A handsome piece of deformity.

“Ladies and gentlemen, good evening and welcome. It’s my privilege and pleasure to present to you those Grade 9 students of yesteryear whom, in their four core subjects, achieved an average of 80% or above. Would the following students please rise and join my fellow presenters and I at the front…”

Having just recently returned from work — yes, at this ungodly hour — I do so not only with a stiff back, sore feet, and baggy eyes, but also a smile that is, hyperbole be damned, a mile wide. This evening was Awards Night for my place of employ, my school, at which students of varying skills and abilities are honoured for their accomplishments, be they in the humanities, arts, sciences, or whatever else you care to think of.

As I’m sure you are able to ascertain from the opening quotation-cum-paragraph, I was chosen to present at the ceremony. Specifically, I was selected to serve as introducer of Grade 9 Honours, and was the penultimate speaker at the event. Having never addressed a crowd prior to this evening, I was scared shitless.

I did fine.

Taking the mic, I was greeted with roaring applause from those students in attendance. This, in addition to the several — perhaps as many as ten — hugs I’d received from former Grade 9s prior to the commencement of the ceremony did wonders for me. It’s great being faced with a reminder of why I teach, when so often I forget, by pupils past.

Not for personal appreciation do I instruct but, rather, for the appreciation I can instill in the hands that hold tomorrow; appreciation for themselves, for others, and for the world around them. If, when acting in the capacity of instructor, I can gain the respect and admiration of those few I’m able to truly reach in a year, then god damn it, you bet your ass I’m going to suck it up like a desert would water.

What a great night!

Spent some time today at work (likely more than I should have, oops) piecing together and photocopying the supplemental reading package for Watchmen. Having had a few hours to reflect on it, there were things I could have done better — much better, actually — but, overall, I’m fairly proud of it given what little time I was able to invest. The pieces provided should serve as thematic links-cum-springboards to discussion. Still connecting my dots thoughts concerning specific topics of debate in preparation for the 23rd, and have started a small list in my mind regarding things of import. Am likely to begin typing things up — chalking up my thoughts in Word, such I don’t forget anything, eh — shortly, though we shall see both how bountiful time and inspiration prove to be.

Should it not be blatantly apparent, I’m very animated about this. Watchmen is a novel I adore with utter adulation, and I’m thrilled to be sharing it in an intellectual climate. Hell, when Amy pointed out that it’s presently being taught at a 600-level English class at the University of Alberta, I flipped out; I mean, I’ve always heard about Watchmen being taught at universities around the world, but this is the first time — that I’m aware of — it’s been taught within arms-length of me. Praying it isn’t the last, I’m going to get ahold of the professor such that, should it be offered again next semester as an evening class, my enrolment is guaranteed. Modern Narrative Techniques, indeed.

Had the opportunity to visit — albeit briefly — with Char and Chris and Mel this evening. Swung into the city and, like Santa Claus, descended upon the shared home of C & C bearing (and baring, I suppose) gifts of a literary quality. Those reading who requested copies of Watchmen? Copies can now be found at the abode of C & C along with enough duplicates of the supplementary reading to wallpaper a bathroom. Colour me optimistic — and not the least bit altruistic — but I’m hoping that more than the seven present at the book club’s first meeting will be present at the second!

Scored a copy of the new Interpol compact disc tonight. It doesn’t seem, on first listen, to be quite as infectious as their first disc, but damn… foot-tapping and head-nodding seems plentiful enough. Lyrical hooks have snagged my cheek and, sure as ducks shit in rivers, I’m bound to be singing along to it in no time at all. Only point of contention seems to be the overall disc length, clocking in at a mere 41:35. I mean, hey, I’ll happily take quality over quantity anyday, but… musicians? Could you delay the release of your CDs for, oh, six months and record another handful of tracks? Please?

Oh, and for those reading who have no real idea why I’ve been going ga-ga over DOOM3, I urge you to check out this website. It shall answer all of your questions. Or, if you’re really bloody lazy and can’t be bothered, you can just click here, here, here, and here to get an idea of what you’re missing. Yes, those are all screenshots from the game itself, and yes, the game plays as well as it looks.

Insanity reigned supreme for a while there but, thankfully, I’ve managed to regain control of my life. Between work at the office, work at home, a handful of meetings, Meet-the-Creature night, a wedding, a fancy dinner and a book club gathering, Monday’s finally arrived and, believe it or not, I’m relieved. With Monday being here, I can finally pause and take a breather.

Sad, isn’t it?

To celebrate the fact that both her and I were freed from the fetters of stress, Amy and I took in Sky Captain and the World of Tomorrow tonight with a few friends. Great stuff. Found myself very moved, almost to the point of tears, in utter awe and wonder during the initial flight sequence in the city. The movie is drop-dead gorgeous, and the geek in me thrilled at every little technological marvel revealed (and there are plenty) and movie tributes, ranging from Star Wars to The Wizard of Oz to The Matrix to Flash Gordon, etc. ‘Tis a recommended watch, though be warned; by the time the movie ends, you still won’t give a damn about any of the characters or have felt any discernible sense of danger.

The inaugural book club meeting on Sunday went quite well. Char’s pick, Huxley’s Brave New World, prompted good discussion and a grand time was had by all in attendance. For me, it was a treat to talk freely in the company of friends, bandying around ideas, drawing comparisons to twentieth century history and to other narratives — and all the while feeling comfortable and encouraged to do so. Wonderful stuff; hats off to the hosts!

Having control of the sophomore selection for the fledgling fellowship, I opted for Moore’s Watchmen, which I hope will evoke some solid discussion when we next meet on October 23. In preparation for the date, I’ve started compiling a handful of stories and poems — Bradbury, Poe, and Shelley — to act as supplemental reading to the main text. I’ll be photocopying the necessities at work tomorrow and dropping off a half-dozen packages at the humble home of Char and Chris in the near future… likely at the same time as the requested copies of the core text. I’ve also begun drafting a list of discussion questions and topics, which I hope will prove, well, provocative.

On the topic of October 23, does anyone have any preferences regarding food or drink? Any allergies that I should be aware of? Anyone? Bueller? Bueller?

Bloody hell, do I ever despise Staples.

Every time I visit the store — every time and without fail — the product I’m searching for is either

• something they don’t carry and therefore impossible to find in-store

;

• out of stock and therefore impossible to purchase at that point in time

, or;

• in stock and bleeds all over my jacket (this point being, thankfully, a one-time experience).

I mean, honestly, is it so hard for a store which is said to specialize in office supplies and stationery to actual carry — and keep in stock — what the consumer wants to purchase?

This evening, for instance, I went there in the pursuit of a set of sketch pencils, such that I may employ my imagination and the sketch pad purchased as a birthday gift for me by my future mother-in-law. Of the numerous brands and sets that Staples allegedly carries, not a single type was to be found on the shelf nor anywhere else in the store.

Now, normally, this wouldn’t be enough to put me in a foul mood. Items not being on the shelf or being sold out or not being carried is an all too common occurance when frequenting any business you care to name. However, this isn’t the first time nor is it likely to be the last; with Staples, this has gone beyond common and entered the realm of routine.

Amy, as promised, dropped the giftbomb on me and, as predicted, I was in fact left jumping up and down in a spastic fit of glee.

Found and subsequently purchased today at the university bookstore was a copy of Stoessinger’s Why Nations go to War, delivered to me tonight by m’love. To say I was thrilled would be a gross understatement. This is a text that I have been searching for for four years, having been rebuffed time and again by booksellers everywhere, being told it was either not available or out of print, and disappointed at finding only very early editions online.

Especially cool is the fact that the copyright date on this edition, the 9th, is 2005. As if she’s not amazing enough already, Amy has apparently travelled forward through time to obtain this book for me. Rock on! Thanks, love!

Aye, ’tis true. Turned twenty-six today — I’m now playing with half a deck — and, in response to the age-old question of “do you feel any older?” I was, for the first time in all my years, able to answer in the affirmative. You see, I’ve been limping and hobbling about for the past thirty hours, finding myself in significant discomfort.

This discomfort, along with an accompanying sense of both deep satisfaction and pride, was gained through my adventures paintballing yesterday. Spent a handful of hours in the morning and afternoon in the company of friends and acquaintances, alternately shooting at them in smaller games, and with them in larger games when matched against another group on-site. A grand time was had by all (well, except maybe the poor suckers I snuck close enough to to touch and, subsequently, humiliated with point-blank mercy-kills), though my favourite moment of the day came on the way home from the field while driving.

Listening to m’love recount her tales and strategies, and reflecting with her on the day and understanding events from her perspective, was a phenomenal way to cap off an already wonderful day. Swapping “war stories” with the love of my life was a real treat and had me beaming with pride as, in her talking, I heard reflected my own ideas and coolheaded temperament and strategiesm, albeit from a different point of view and with an enthusiasm I’ve lost in games gone by. I can only hope that my actions on the field proved educational; I did my best to illustrate through action some of the strategies her and I discussed prior to the day beginning and between games. Fun, fun, fun…!

Alas, I just wish I had had the foresight to have stretched before I had commenced killing. Hobbling around, wincing, and saying “ouch” everytime I go up and down stairs will grow old very, very quickly… much as I seem to be. Ye gods, has it really been twenty-six years already?

“You don’t count as a person, Mr. D! You count as a teacher.”

Prompted by a comment made by my luscious Lashingtail, I’ve opted to spend the better part of the past hour (re-)listening to the new Skinny Puppy disc, The Greater Wrong of the Right, rather than venture into the unexplored territory of some of my more recent arrivals. While the disc itself stands, in my humble estimation, as nothing remarkable, something about it — and only tangentially related, at that — is: it samples, on the track entitled EmpTe, the movie Event Horizon.

Puppy included, I can think of three separate musicians — right now, off the top of my head — who’ve sampled the movie and, what’s more, all sampled the exact same segment. Now, if I can understand the appeal of the sampled portion — choir of the damned, indeed — then, surely, the three bands in question, all of whom draw upon a similar splattercore-horror-cyberpunk aesthetic, can too. What’s more, despite the same sound being used by three separate musicians — three separate musicians who are, arguably, somewhat sonically similar and have a fair number of fans in common — it’s used to a different and enjoyable effect each time.

This is, of course, why rulings like this worry me. It begs the question, as initially outlined by me here: where does it end? How far will this decision reach? What’s next? And, most importantly, what impact shall it have on the creation, and perhaps even evolution, of, not just music, but the entirety of art?

Feh. Colour me scatterbrained. I need to start my marking load for evening. Rest assured, however, that this is something I’m going to be following very closely.

I would rather delight in priapic tendency than be mired in papyrus.

That said, sifting through and organizing papers doesn’t have to be that tedious. Done to a suitable soundtrack, coffee cup in hand, it needn’t be too terrible at all. Still, there are other activities I’d rather be busying myself with…

For now, I shall have to console myself with the promise of portions of Twin Peaks: Season Two tonight, a healthy helping of music courtesy of Cold Meat Industry, and a concoction of M&Ms and Reese Pieces.

I’ve always wanted to call someone hagioscope. Not a hagioscope, mind you, just… hagioscope.

Ok, so that’s not entirely true. I only just discovered and learned the word tonight. Still, it’s now stuck in my head like Tiffany’s I Think We’re Alone Now, going round and round like a three-legged dog tethered to a parking meter, burning like the vanity of a model afflicted with spontaneous alopecia, dying to be used like a cheap wh…

Er. Where was I? Oh, right. Happy birthday to me mate Simon, the free-falling mackin’ maniac.

In an act of spontaneous generosity, m’love turned my entire evening around. Thank you, dear, for your adamant insistence and your kind heart. Always appreciated, always loved. You make mine eyes twinkle.

Happy New Year, everyone!