Jeanism: A Small but Worthy Sect of Weinism

Before we begin, please note: Most religions fear and loathe dissension. They think any opposition to their established beliefs will lead to their downfall. In Weinism, this is not so. The basic rules are simple, and as long as they're adopted, you can do pretty much whatever you like. That means you can be part of another church, pray to whomever you like, and abandon then return to Weinism as many times in one lifetime, year, month, day, hour as you feel necessary. With a thorough understanding of this fact, my second in command has established her own version of my already near-perfect religion. And so, I give you, a glance into the world of Jean...

Jeanism is rather strange; and while I'm sure I've had some impact on the rules that have come out of its development, I don't quite know where to begin with this one. Surely there must be something about fire hydrants...? Well, that's been done. Second Cup is pivotal to Jeanism...just like Weinism, and it has been done. So, I have decided to just relay the story of my twentieth birthday party, since I owe most of what happened to #2 anyway. But you know how I love my lists:

• Crabby Cakes: Thank Wein you didn't bring those out at the bar. I would have been mortified. But for anyone who doesn't know, crab cakes are cupcake tops, covered with red icing, with licorice legs and hot lips claws. They were delicious. Except the one that i knocked on the floor. It was a little hairy.
• Killer Koolaid: I remember Dennis screaming, "Oh God no! Not tequila." And I remember thinking it was a good plan to see who could drink the KK the fastest. After that I remember very little.
• The rules: framed and on fancy paper. You confused the whole world with it. It is on my book shelf in London. I look at it every time I get lonely for you.
• The hat: how could anyone ever forget it was my birthday? Do you have any pictures? There is only one way to relay this point properly, and that is definitely with a picture. At least Tobin gave me points for wearing it the whole night.
• Sippy cup: the bartender wanted to give me one because I kept spilling my drinks. She gave me a free shot instead though...it seems counterintuitive.
• The DD: all my love to Dave because there would have been no party without his cooperation. There would be no Dave if there was no you, Jean. So you get props for the DD bit too.
• Way to make me cry: I went almost four straight months without a weepy drinking night. You show up and I start crying like the world is caving beneath my feet. Actually, I seem to remember vaguely believing that it was. The end was near. I could feel it.

I don't know, Jean. This one doesn't seem to do adequate justice to you and your ways, but I don't know what else to say. Every day of the summer was the same. I called you, you got up. We went to Second Cup. I had to have you home by a certain time so that you could see your lover and so that I wouldn't be late for work. Now I don't see you anymore. I just sit alone in my bedroom in London, listening to PUSA and thinking about the good old days. And I genuinely believe that everyone wants to be just like me....I'm naked and famous.

Singing Rory's Praises

An ode to all things wonderful in my favourite Ford friend...(Think that's gonna cause controversy? I doubt anyone will notice.)

What can be said about Rory Burns? Only good things of course. And that must mean something because I very rarely have anything remotely positive to say; let alone nothing but good things. So, Rory, this post is for you.

My first memory of you is from the week you were training. Dennis and I were talking and you came up and asked Dennis if there was a y in penny. I was heart broken that you didn't ask me. But now, do you know what one of my favourite things about you is? You ask for my help and advice with things like grammar and vocab...no one else ever wants to listen to me when I start talking about that stuff. You are the only person I've ever met that has patiently sat through my CVC lecture [Sidebar: For those of you who don't know, the CVC rule is the consonant-vowel-consonant rule. It pertains to whether or not you have to double the consonant when adding a suffix. For more on this, consult Rory because he is such an excellent pupil.] Better than that, we spent like an hour one night discussing how to use big words in sentences properly to sound old fashioned. AND you remembered that we did that and made me teach you more last night. You're fantastic!

On top of all that, you're convinced that I know everything there is to know about every book that was ever written. You tell me what you're reading with beaming pride that is unmatched anywhere in the world. You have so much faith in my literary expertise I could never possibly live up to your expectations, but you never seem to be disappointed by my ineptitude. You're wonderful!

But it gets better. Not only do you speak to the English student in me, you're also the only person at Ford that readily agreed to come to my wedding. In fact, you were excited about getting the invitation and even more excited when I said you could bring a guest. Everyone else either told me not to get married or said they'd only come if the reception was open bar. You're the epitome of dedication!

And there's still more...you give me advice and I take it. That almost never happens. Advice from anyone else seems harsh and unrealistic. You could tell me that it's a good idea to dance naked on the roof during an ice storm and I would probably do it because you've never steered me wrong in the past. Plus, your advice doesn't come out as advice; it's more like...opinion. You just state the facts in a way that can't be contradicted. Have you considered a career in law? People who can persuade people to do things without sounding persuasive make the best and most loved lawyers....You would be an awesome lawyer!

Do you know when you really won my heart though? It was the cinnabon day. You said that your brother got free cinnabons from work, and promised to save the first two for me. Your follow through was incredible. To make it all the better, you made me promise to heat it up before I ate it because it wouldn't be as good otherwise. We spent at least two weeks discussing nothing but the wonder of cinnabons. That is two weeks of my life I will never get back--nor do I want to. Your buns were delicious!

And finally, the number one reason why you are my favourite Ford friend, is because on the hostilest of Wednesdays (ie yesterday), you were the only person who made me smile. You're the antithesis of everything I claim to believe in, and I love you all the more for it. And as with Jean, this post was all your idea. God bless you for your modesty.

Coping Strategies

What to do when you don't want to do anything...

In accordance with Jenn's advice, this is indeed the second post in two days. I hope you enjoy it, my dear, since you're the only person who ever reads this nonsense.

It seems to me that much of the world is in need of a few pointers on getting through life. I know full well that I'm not the only person who has miserable Tuesdays, and the popularity of Hostile Wednesdays is booming in a way I never thought it could. So I've compiled several suggestions that I believe will help get everybody through this grand ordeal with at least a few less injuries.

First and foremost, give up on the idea that you will ever be content for more than a few moments at a time. The sources of happiness for most people are so few and far between that they do not deserve any type of devotion whatsoever. That includes lovers and friends because the world is constantly trying to right itself, and that usually involves separating happy couples and forcing together people who would rather die than enter into a friendly exchange. As for school, even if you get an excellent mark it won't make you happy. You will always find a way to ruin it for yourself. Moreover, if you get perfect you still won't be satisfied because you will tell yourself that it was "so easy," thereby devalueing the best possible mark you can get. Case and point: I almost cried when I got 107% on a grammar test last year because there was a bonus question that I missed.

Take a healthy dose of spite when you wake up each morning. Find an innocent object (not person) to kick or yell at just because of the way it looks or something that is inherent. [Sidebar: this morning I got mad because my shower was so wet. This is a perfect example.] This way, you won't relinquish your wrath on every passerby--just a few of them.

Get a really boring hobby, then let your creative outlet be finding ways to make that boring hobby interesting or relevant to other aspects of your life. If the hobby isn't that boring, you can still be creative and come up with excuses for doing it. When you get really good at it, you can tell because people will groan when you start talking about it, knowing full well that you are preparing to launch into a speech about how video games increase reflexes. An excellent case of this happened just last week: I explained to Brenda that Dynomite was helping me study for geology because the combos were named based on time periods. Now if that's not innovative I don't know what is.

Send random and retarded essay topic proposals to your professors. You'll get used to getting shot down, and once you've worn them out your actual topic will be like a breath of fresh air to them. They will be so glad that you gave up on a "political" reading of Peanuts in relation to nihilism that they won't be able to refuse your somewhat more conservative approach to the course material.

Learn a new language. Start with the profanities. Learn to say these foreign obscenties in the sweetest voice you can muster, and greet everyone you meet with them. This trick works extra well if you can do it convincingly enough that no body thinks you speak English. NB: Gibberish is a great language to break yourself in with. Practise my lapsing into gibberish whenever your emotions are unexpectantly heightened.

Tell every person you see that they are your new best friend. Tell them something incredibly private. Like always, don't let the truth get in the way of your happiness.

Do a formalist reading of the Presidents of the United States of America's song "Feather Pluckn", "Lump", "Naked and Famous", or "Stranger." Try to figure out what they're really saying. Reason your way into an epiphany about life, death, sex, or chocolate.

Resist everything, especially your most basic urges. (That one was just for you, Jenn.)

Earnestly claim that you don't like the smell of it. Then take your clothes off in a restaurant for the helluvit. Or tell someone that you live in seclusion. Make it clear that reality and sobriety are your only delusions.

Every time you feel like you're on the verge of tears or any other kind of utter emotional collapse, do the chicken dance. You won't be able to take yourself too seriously if you are doing the chicken dance. If you are afraid to do this in a public place because you think it's embarassing I have only this to say to you: swollen eyes and runny make-up; real men don't cry.

See, the most important lesson to learn is that life is just one big joke. No matter what you do, it's probably wrong in someone's eyes. If you try to please only yourself you will be all alone in the world, and if you try to please everyone you'll be a miserable failure. Positivity wein-style. You know nothing if you expected anything different. Tomorrow I have a special entry planned...for the only person who was capable of making me smile on my Hostile Wednesday. Who could it be? Oooh, a cliff-hanger. Til then...

A Miserable Day

A Tale of Agony and Defeat in Three Parts

Part One: In which the heroine finds herself utterly alone in the world and tries to console herself by clinging to a desparate hope for "Better Days" as promised once in a song.
Today was a dreary day. Clouds loomed, but not even rain came to visit. It was one of those days from the second the alarm sent me flailing off my bed, tangled in covers, until this very second, that nothing was right. That is not to say, of course, that everything was wrong (because then it would be all right). No, it was more hopeless than that. It was a "crying over spilled milk" and "sobbing over the way the cookie crumbled" mixed with a bit of "choking on the regrets" kind of day. Try as I might, I couldn't get a grip.

So, I did the usual. I listened to happy music to make me happy--it made me angry. I listened to angry music to help me get over my mood--it made me sad. I listened to sad music to set the mood for my sulk party--and all hope disappeared from the world. We can't have none of this I says to myself (for my interior monologues are always riddled with poor grammar), and I plowed on through my day. I listened intently to the presentation of The Recruiting Officer. I read Brecht while I ate my lunch. I brought Brecht with me to the Job Search Clinic and laughed outloud in frustration when it didn't make sense to me. I went religiously to my Modern Drama class. I perked myself up with some caffeine and chocolate at break. And then I quit.

Part Two: In which the heroine realizes her shortcomings and attempts to quit everything. Failing miserably to even quit, and the miserable day continues, as all days must.
Screw Earth Science, I decided, I'm going home. And here I have been ever since. I thought writing a blog would make me feel better--the computer crashed. Clearly, there is something screwy about my logic because everything I did to make things better ended in bitter failure. Story of my life; except that I'm morally opposed to failure. I'm also opposed to being denied the things I want, like the right to write an essay on the topic I choose. My Emersonian reading of anti-Americanism in Fury would have been beautiful and poignant. But when the world collapses because it's been robbed of that gem of academia, I will delightedly point you in the direction of that prof.

In the mean time, I'll be distastefully sweet and kind. Hostile Wednesday will have a strange bite to it. But that's life, my dears, and we will keep on keeping on whether we like it or not.

Part Three: In which the heroine provides yet another list for her devoted followers, providing renewed hope for bitter but not miserable days in the future.
Now, feeling completely useless, I'd like to share another part of my day that I glossed over. I was waiting for class to start, and a fellow classmate who I am doing a presentation with next week spotted me. We talked over the presentation and our availability. Then she asked me what I was going to do with my degree. It's endless. Everybody always asks me that. I gave her some excellent advice, and pointed her towards my favourite book on careers. She was just curious about her options, not skeptical about the likelihood of available options.

Of course that got me thinking about the first post I put on here and how well it portrayed each and every one of my grievances without the hassle of names and dates--you know, facts. And as a result, I have compiled my third list of possible career avenues. This list focuses exclusively on jobs for the anti-social underachiever. Here they are:

• Fortune Teller: This job lost some points because it requires interaction with people, but there is a certain sinister aspect to fortune telling that really draws me to it. The fact is, no one expects a fortune teller to tell the truth or even the future, so you get to fuck with people's lives however you see fit. And if they are dumb enough to believe you and pay to be manipulated like that... all the better.
• Food Critic: The words "I can't talk, I'm eating" are indispensable for the anti-social underachiever. And no body needs to practise eating. So this job gets bonus points for the lazy factor. On top of all that, food critics get to hide their identity...how much more anti-social can you get?
• Movie Critic: There are only two places a movie critic needs to be: watching a movie (in the dark where no one is supposed to be talking) or writing the article (in the privacy of one's own home). Move this one to the top of the list if you have a lock on your door. It ranks above food critic because movies don't make you fat.
• Parts Picker: Now hear me out! Anti-social: the supervisors love you more when you don't talk to anybody. Lazy: brainwise--your brain will probably just melt or die from lack of use. I know mine did.
• Bus Driver: No body can tell me that bus drivers are expected to be nice or intelligent. They are mean and they really like trying to run me over.
• Librarian: I'm sorry, but this job sounds sweet. My favourite part is definitely the shushing. I don't get to shush people often enough. Maybe I should start.
• Postal Worker: Oh, the person that delivers the mail...how much can be said? The job is getting easier by the day because people are walking further and further to get their mail themselves. In the interest of keeping our mail secure, we've agreed to walk down several flights of stairs or to the end of the street. Postal workers don't even have to deliver to houses with aggressive dogs or their bastard children any more. What is the world coming to?
• Distance Studies Teacher: Now, I thought it was a sweet deal to get to read lectures online in my bedroom. But just think of the prof that gets to recycle lectures year after year and doesn't even have to say them outloud, just post them on the internet. Moreover, tons of these profs have grad students for assistants, and the grad student does the grunt work. It's perfect. You don't even have to know anything.

Holy mack, if you're not tired of reading that's too damn bad--I am tired of writing. I hope I've inspired some something...or at least helped you convince yourself that your life is relatively wonderful when you hold mine up as an alternative. And Jennifer: this is a perfect example of weinist resistance because it is resisting even itself. More on that next time. Sleep sweet. I was not the answer so forget you ever thought it was me--or convert.

Still Breathing

As if I had a choice in any matters presently before me

Let's start with something a little more positive than normal. It's Thursday, so Hostile Wednesday has come and gone. Moreover, it's Thursday post-Modra, so I can tell you all about my acting accomplishments. Our interpretative staging of Cherry Orchard by Chekhov went off as hitchless as imaginable under all the circumstance. My butt is thoroughly frozen from sitting on the cold concrete for upwards of half an hour. I sure hope it's not true that you get hemmroids that way: that would be quite upsetting. Hopefully that presentation is a positive starting point for the endeavours to come: my Rocks test (20%) and my developmental psych mid-term (25%). I can't say I'm too concerned about either, but that's mostly because I have no choice but to trust in my own abilities at this point: rocks starts in under 30 minutes. Psych still requires a bit more studying, but my attention seems to be continuously diverted by numerous things--roommate, computer, other readings, etc.

However, I'm content that I'm not quite a hopeless case. Psych isn't until Saturday after all, and if my worse offense is that I take some time to eat meals and keep up to date with my other classes then I don't think my condemnation is written in stone--at least not yet. The fact of the matter is, I haven't compulsively cleaned anything or taken to hiding under my sheets, so I'm probably in pretty good shape all things considered.

It got cold today. Bitter cold. There wasn't a wind, but Jack Frost was like a ravenous dog nipping at every exposed limb. So whose idea was it to perform in the courtyard? Did you ever have one of those moments when you hear your own voice, and feel your lips moving but you can't agree with what's being said? "Oh, ya! It would be perfect to do it out here"--was one of those moments.

I'm bound and bent on not reviewing rocks anymore, so I'm just going to keep on typing. I'll tell you more about the excitement of my life. Tomorrow I get to arise bright and early to trek to the school for a workshop I'll present on Resume and Cover Letters. The workshop runs from 10:30 to 12:30, but we usually finish quite early. I will be absolutely furious if no one shows up. I'm not supposed to be on campus on Fridays, let alone before noon.

Next week is going to be hectic. Monday, brighter and earlier than ever before (this year), I will come to campus, get on a yellow school bus and proceed to Ingersoll, where Amanda and I will lead a class of grade 11 students through what is cheerfully known as "The Violence Prevention Program: A Love that Kills." And once isn't enough--oh no. I will be re-presenting the program to yet another class of grade eleven students on Thursday the 27th, this time in Stratheroy. Exciting, I know. My last presentation for the VPP is the following Thursday at Beal--London's largest high school. Anything I can do to help! Did that sound wrong to you too?

In addition to my Career Assistant-esque engagements, I will start working at the Western Day Care Centre within the next couple of weeks as their fundraising assistant. For those of you who don't know, the interview for this position was the one that led to the delirious walk down Wharncliffe on minimal sleep. I wonder how often I'm going to relive that experience.

I'm just about out of things to say...like that ever happens. I'll leave you with just a couple thoughts on how to cope with self-imposed mania:

• Embrace it. You're gonna need something to hold onto once your mind goes.
• Don't forget to breathe. Or at least recognize that you don't have a lot of choice in certain matters, like inhaling and exhaling, and your heart's insistence to keep beating. This way, you can relish in the things that you do have a choice about.
• Go crazy now and then. Throw something. Yell. Tell all your secrets to the person you trust least in the world so quickly that all that they hear is an odd and voracious burp.
• Dance like no body's watching. Or like they are if you're attention-deprived.
• Sing like you're tone deaf. This one's so easy for me. I've totally mastered it.
  
• Don't forget the important things in life. Whatever they are.
• It'll all be over soon. Soon is never soon enough. Rid yourself of the belief that it'll be over in due time. Due time has nothing to do with soon.
  

Wish me luck! I need it.

Top Ten Riesens to Live

Alternatively: What to Make Yourself Believe When October feels Desparately like November

It has been said, on a tv commercial no less, that all you really need is one good Riesen. Now, I just had a riesen, and it was alright, but it hasn't done much to actually get me through this atrocious week. So, on a most hostile of Wednesdays, I'm here, writing my top ten reasons to live, rather than dealing with the relationship between social standing and economics in one of the first four plays I encountered in Modra. Here they are for your benefit:

1. Chocolate. The list could not possibly start with anything else. A Riesen is chocolate and caramel as you should know by now, and it is delicious.
2. The Daily Show. There is no other program on tv like it. It is the truest form of critical realist news on Earth. The scientists may think there is only one conclusion to be drawn, but we know better don't we?
3. Kahlua. Please take note of the fact that I didn't generalize and just say "alcohol" that would be idiotic. Alcohol is a means of escape, not a means of coping. Kahlua is just lovely by its inherent nature. Oh, Kahlua...
4. Ice cream. Don't forget that the items on this list aren't exclusive. Just think: Kahlua topped ice cream with chocolate chips while watching the Daily Show. You heard me right--it's a time saver and it's the best plan ever.
5. O'Rocky's. Get this: they take the waffle they would usually make into a waffle cone and roll it up and then dip it in caramel, roll it in pecans, and then dip it in chocolate! I just don't know what more can be said about it without causing me to burst into tears of longing.
6. Dying would probably hurt. No one has ever really been able to support or refute this point for me: I don't listen to ghosts because they don't know anything.
7. Gwynne Dyer. Even though I have hours upon hours of reading to do every week, I still managed to read Future: Tense in the wee hours of the morning to become utterly and unconsollably depressed by the way the world is going. Having a reason to be depressed about the awfulness of the world is key though, and Dyer is really good at delivering on that front.
8. Sleep. Don't it only seem to go that you don't know what you got til its gone? Well, sorta...Sleep is beautiful and the less you get the more wonderful it becomes. Nothing else in the world is really truly like that. Mostly because we are horrible people who are overindulgent in every way imaginable.
9. Public Transit. Every real issue in the world can be argued through a thorough debate on the public transit system. Seriously. Let me show you: Treatment of the Elderly and Disabled. On buses there are specific seats designated for the elderly and handicapped, but young able bodied people sit in them all the time. Is this blatant disregard for authority or just practicality at work? You tell me. If you really want to get me going you should see how I link public transit to war or something broader. There was no time for that now.
10. You have my blog to keep you company. Oh, that's a reason alright. And a damned good one at that. Just admit it and the list will at least be over.

There you have it. And now at least you have found the hope that maybe we'll find better days, as Mr. Rzeznik might say.

Thoroughly Passive Thursday

As it turns out, I'm actually much less hostile and bitter when the world is actually out to get me. Case and point: I got less than two hours of sleep last night, and walked from Commissioner's Rd to campus today (it took about an hour and a half) and so far I haven't said a harsh word to anyone or even cursed the spitefulness of the world. The true test of this was my reaction when the fifth bus passed me while I waddled along Western Rd.--absolute ambivalence. It's really quite odd...as if the meanness has been beaten clean out of me and I'm left without enough energy to even give it a second thought.

In fact, my sleep deprivation proves to be a real pool of inspiration. It might be a cesspool of idiocy as well, but that's the duality of life that makes the world such a fascinating place. This morning Amanda came in and was talking about the weather. "The guys on the radio said there was a lot of fog and they were talking about bus delays," she states. I look away from the computer screen long enough to check and see if she's serious. Then, to avoid making a scene, I choose not to get her to explain what a "bustelay" is and assume that she's just crazy.

And then there was the interview this morning...the root of all the evil that pervades my existence today. It was fine. The ladies were nice enough. I smiled a lot and did my best to convince them that I would be well suited to the job, even though I hadn't decided yet if I really wanted to take two buses to the seedy part of town to input data for an average of five hours a week (which always means way more than that). They were very positive about everything I said, then told me that had yet to speak with a couple of other candidates and would let me know their decision by the end of next week. I would have been hurt that they didn't hire me on the spot, but there was no hiring to be done...just an unpaid position to fill.

So here I am. I should go to Rest Lit, but there is a part of me that would rather eat rat poison than listen to Zeitz talk about Britons and the stock market. Those people are horribly boring. And if you think they are bad now, you should read what they were writing about in the eighteenth century. It's enough to make a sane person go crazy. I don't know what it does to the crazy people yet though; the stats haven't come in on the effects of boredom on the already terminally insane. Check in with me in about 6 months and you'll be able to come to your own qualitative conclusions on that front.

All in all I'd best be off. Have a happy turkey day. Remember to be thankful and not gluttonous. I don't want to hear any whining about post-Thanksgiving weight gain. All my love (and never anyone else's). Convert.

Hostile Tuesday

So, today was one of those days when if the sun wasn't out you'd hear me cursing because that was "just my luck" and if it was shining beautifully you'd hear disgruntled mumbles along the lines of "pure fuckin spite..." And do you know what the sun is doing? You should check the weather network's report... we're in for more "Clear Haze". What a bunch of oxymorons.
Why the hostility? Why the distasteful hatred toward the sun? What could the sun have possibly done to deserve this treatment? I'll tell you: It came up. Pathetic, hmm? But it couldn't just stay put, it had to rise, and here we are.
But, Erin, it's Tuesday. Isn't your hostility a day early? It sure is ladies and gents, but you can count on a hostile Wednesday as scheduled, this one just got a bit of a head start. Moreover, there might be more bitterness on Hostile Tuesdays than their later in the week counterpart. I gotta tell you, this one feels extra extra hostile. But, since it is Tuesday, and that means I'm supposed to be holding this in, let's discuss this matter of "bottling up your emotions." Sounds like fun don't it. Pros and cons? I think that will work.

Pro: People are nicer to nice people. This is fully testable, go outside with a smile and say hello to every person you see. Even if they don't want to talk to you, people generally smile back and are very polite.
Con: Who wants to talk to people anyway? People are idiots.

Pro: By being nice, you will make others feel better about themselves. A kind word does a world of good and all that junk.
Con: Other people shouldn't be able to feel better about themselves if you are feeling so miserable about yourself--it's just rude.

Pro: Maybe if you can make other people believe you're happy then you really will be...someday.
Con: Probably not. If there's something bugging you, you're going to have to face up to it.

Pro: Ignorance is bliss. Everybody will be happier if they remain in the dark about your peccadilloes and insecurities.
Con: You will spend many of your days thinking about how no one really knows the real you...sigh.

Pro: Feeling hurts. Pretending doesn't hurt as much.
Con: That tumour you developed from the stress of keeping everything inside. You know that scene on Family Guy where Lois represses something retarded about Peter, and she says, what harm can smiling do? (Or something to that effect). Well, the harm is a singing tumour.

So the debate continues--shock of a lifetime. I'm going to do a truly selfless good deed: I'm going to sit in the job search clinic for an hour and teach people how to get good jobs. Sometimes no one shows up though. The JSC is notorious for throwing those kinds of curve balls at us. If no one is there I'm going to go over my budget because the thing about working for the SDC that you can always count on is the "unpaid" part.