Go to Frosh week.

Commuter or res student, the basis for your social network for the next four years will be built in those few days. No week of your university experience will be as important (or as fun).

And yes, I know it looks terrifying right now. And I know you don’t believe me when I say that. The thoughts that kept running through my head in the days before Frosh week were How could anyone want to be friends with me? I’m such a… nerd… It’s not like what everyone else is afraid of.  Trust me. It is. You’ll do fine, you’ll make friends, you’ll remember it fondly for years to come.

School isn’t everything.

Despite what people tell you, school /is/ the real world. You will always have deadlines, stress, friends, enemies, good and bad decisions. Learn to balance them, learn to live a life that makes you happy. Make choices about what is important – which courses matter and which don’t, when your schooling is starting to interfere with your life, and when your life is starting to interfere with your schooling. Adjust when you have to.

Get to know your professors.

There are the standard reasons to get to know your professors: they can help you do better in class, they can write you references, help you network etc., etc. But those are not the important reasons. Your professors are incredible, brilliant people, and it’s their job to share their wisdom with you. The conversations you have with them will change everything.

And yes, they do care. For the most part. If you’re in a class of 50+ people, there is no way, no matter how well intentioned s/he is, for your prof to get to know you. However, I promise, they really do want to know their students. Talk to them after class or during office hours: they will not let you leave until they know your name, program, and interests. At least not the ones worth their salt.

Plan early.

First year? make a short list of what you want to do when you graduate, and pick a few options. Then get a head start on what you need to get there. Want to go to grad school? Look up what your dream grad school looks for (yes, /now/, in first year). Make sure that when you pick courses and summer jobs you choose opportunities that will help you get there. I found my dream grad school in the summer before first year, and made sure all the classes I took in undergrad fit their mandate. I’ll be starting my masters there next year.

Considering a non-academic career? Look up internships, part-time jobs, and extracurriculars that give you the experience employers look for; a friend of mine is currently buildling a career in the Toronto theatre scene, based on her experience in college theatre productions. This is also a good time to visit your career centre – they can help you chart a path, and give you the resources and contacts you need to get started.

None of this is binding of course – you will change your mind about what you want to do 2498739852934 times before you graduate, and if the path you stick with is the one you choose right before you don your cap and gown – or right after it, or 5 years down the road, that’s no biggie. Planning early will simply give you an upper edge to make it easier to get where you think want to go. Having said that, don’t be afraid to do the unexpected.

Be Fearless.

Take difficult classes, join groups you’re terrified of, try things you never thought you’d be able to do. Going to university, and growing up, is about challenging yourself – don’t cheat yourself of the incredible experience you could be having. Worst comes to worst, it doesn’t work out; the chance of having an incredible experience, of taking yourself in a direction you never dreamed of, is worth it. And trust me, your GPA and your pride grow back.

Make Your Own Experience.

When my grade 12 class was taking the standard tour of U of T campus, one of my classmates had the foresight to ask our guide for the one most improtant piece of advice she had to share with new undergrads. She said “make your own opportunities.” Don’t got with what’s advertised or what the university suggests. Make your own opportunities, and follow your interests. Want to work with a particular professor? Email him/her, and ask them for a job or supervision. Want to learn about something your department doesn’t offer? Take an independent study course. Want to join a course that’s meant for a higher year, or that you don’t have the prerequisites for? Talk to the professor, to your registrar, and the department’s undergraduate co-ordinator.

Universities are terrible at advertising, which means that they’re rife with opportuinities that no one takes. If you’re willing to take the initiative, you can do almost anything you want to with your time at university.

This also goes for life outside the classroom. University can be as huge or as tiny as you make it. Take the initiative to get to know people, make friends, and reach outside of the networks the university sets up for you. There are, believe it or not, human beings outside the walls of your residence, college, and department.

If there is anything you should take away from this, it’s that what you get out of university is completely and entirely up to you.

I have this thing for endings in a series…There is something about them that just give me a feeling like no other book can. In some respects, it’s the idea of catharsis, closure.

Funnily enough, for me it’s always been the opposite. I love beginnings. I love meeting characters for the first time, seeing them meet each other for the first time. Seeing their first impressions, and knowing how far they were from the truth. I love the scene in Lord of the Rings when the hobbits meet Strider for the first time, I love knowing why Strider tries to seem so threatening and how great a man he is, unbeknownst to his pint-sized companions. I love the moment in P & P when Elizabeth meets Mr. Darcy for the first time and hates him. I love the feeling of possibility you get at beginnings, and I love knowing which possibility turns out to be the reality.

This is also what makes me, unlike the blogger I mentioned earlier, a compulsive re-reader. When I finish a book I can’t resist going back and reading the beginning again in light of my newfound knowledge. Of course, once I do that, I can’t resist watching the end unfold.

Endings, on the other hand, are infinitely frustrating. Stoppard’s Actor was right when he said that every exit is an entrance somewhere else; the problem is, book endings don’t let you see what lies behind the curtain. They hint at a whole new realm of eventualities, but refuse to tell you what they are.

Then again, when I’m the one writing I hate both beginnings and endings. Middles I can handle, if somewhat grudgingly. Beginnings and endings are only conquered through tons of coffee, the fear of impending deadlines, and sheer exhaustion. If only Frost’s words of wisdom applied to writing: “Ends, and beginnings – there are no such things. There are only middles”

Let me start by saying this: I think closing libraries is a terrible thing to do. We must ensure that people have easy access to books in their own communities. I am not putting this under debate.

Privatizing libraries is a whole other matter. Knee-jerk fears of capitalism aside, what exactly is wrong with privatizing them? Privatization generally means more money available, more efficient administration, and more accountability to the customers, i.e. those paying the fees. The Toronto Star says that:

A recent contract offer to San Joaquin County in California promised up to 47 per cent longer hours, 21 to 34 per cent lower costs, and $800,000 more spending on books and materials.

And that “Circulation, library visits, and library programs all continue to increase,” in Riverside, California. Both the Star and the Globe and Mail (notably, papers on two very different ends of the political and quality spectrum) both report that Riverside made a profit of $80,000 from privatizing the libraries, and both generally present privatization as a positive influence.

The only objection that I’ve seen that has made sense to me is that privatizing libraries would mean limiting access to books. This is a valid concern, but there must be ways around it. Paid memberships are not necessarily a given – the library could make money through advertisement, or by raising late fees. If they are a necessity, then there are ways to open access up, like making payment necessary only for taking books out, not reading in-library. The important thing here is how, not whether we privatize.

Another good objection is that libraries are community hubs. But this does not necessarily need to change in a privatized situation. Indigo runs more, and better organized and advertised, author readings, and many of the places that do end up being community hubs are actually private: think local coffee shops (lets not forget that indie coffee shops are still for-profit, and unlike your beloved hipster coffee place, libraries could still potentially be free places to gather). People in communities with privatized libraries seem to agree, according to the Globe and Mail:

Priscilla Donovan was hired by LSSI in Leander, Texas, to run the town’s library four years ago.

“As far as I know everybody’s really happy – most people have no idea [that it’s privately run]. It’s still a library. We don’t wear LSSI uniforms or anything like that,” she says.

On the other hand, libraries which are somewhat privately run, such as University libraries, are in my experience better managed, have much larger collections, and shorter waits for highly demanded books.

So, besides being the Big Bad Capitalist Wolf, is privatization really a bad thing?

…and then I promptly forgot what it was called. I heard it again at another blues dance. I thought, surely, I would remember it. But no such luck. It slipped through my proverbial fingers, again. I could remember a snippet of the chorus: “like a millionaire doooo…” I tried google search after google search, but those aren’t the kind of words that bring up many useful hits (unless, of course, you’re looking for a get rich quick scheme).

The other day I heard it yet again, and, knowing what would happen, I seized the opportunity and quickly asked my partner what the song was called. Luckily, I happened to be dancing with one of the organizers of the dances, and one of the guys responsible for this song being played over and over again. He told me it’s called “Weed Smoker’s Dream”.

I googled it when I got home. I got two renditions, one a grainy, unrestored recording from the 30s or 40s by the Harlem Hamfats:

The rest were really odd versions by people who clearly liked the weed more than the blues. None were the gorgeous version I’d danced to. I tried wikipedia next, and found out that the song was written by the Harlem Hamfats and as I heard put eloquently the other night, “It was not about drugs. And it was not about prostitution. It was about drugs and prostitution.”

The song became popular again a few decades later, in a sanitized version called “Why Don’t You Do Right?” by Benny Goodman and Peggy Lee:

I love her voice, but that’s not the way the song is supposed to sound, at least not to me; her version is much too spunky. It’s next spike of popularity was in the 80s, when the song was used in “Who Framed Roger Rabbit,” sung by Jessica Rabbit:

In between, there were plenty of covers, by famous performers like Ella Fitzgerald,

Or Sinead O’Connor,

and equally amazing versions by less famous acts like the Carolina Chocolate Drops

(I still can’t find the version I heard. I guess I’ll have to ask.)

It’s incredible to see the differences between the original “Weed Smoker’s Dream,” with its its “why don’t you do now/like some millionaires do,” and the completely different “Why Don’t You Do Right,” asking “why don’t you do right/like some other men do.” So close, yet so, so far away.

It’s also amazing to hear the different versions. I like Ella, Sinead O’Connor, and the Carolina Chocolate Drops’ versions best, probably because they’re closest to the original version I heard. I can’t help but think that Peggy Lee and, of course, Ms. Rabbit, completely miss the point.

Ella’s version is bugging me. It’s plaintive and bluesy, but there’s something that doesn’t quite fit, something closer to Peggy Lee’s than the Harlem Hamfats: something too controlled, too exalting. I have this issue with her versions of most of the songs I like. It sounds like she’s enjoying playing with the sounds of the song more than actually teasing out the song itself. She plays with the sounds incredibly – but I’m not sure she’s actually singing the song.

It’s amazing to see the song change like that, to see the way a pause here or a lift there can completely change the feel of the song.

Later on the same night that I finally found out the song’s title, the clarinet player finished off another song with a a few trilling notes. The moment when he finished playing, everyone in the room laughed. The song was supposed to end in an unsatisfying way, and he ended in the middle of phrase, catching all the dancers literally off balance. I, for one, had never heard the song before (and I’m sure I wasn’t alone in this), but we all knew, instinctively, that the phrase was incomplete.

What I’m trying to say with these loosely related anecdotes is that there’s something to really listening to music, rather than just hearing it. That’s the great thing about jazz – it’s so fluid and complex that it forces you to pay attention. And it’s the great thing about dance, especially blues dance. To convert sound into movement you have to, on some level, try to understand it.

[Update: One of the DJ's pointed me to the verison I was looking for: White Gost Shivers, Weed Smoker's Dream:

]

The building is called Fred and Ginger. I don’t think I need to say anything more. I got the image from Jim Rossignol’s blog via google images. I have to say, I love his blog title/tag line: “Jim Rossignol…is a device for turning tea into literature.” Awesome.

Anyway, a couple haphazard searches on Google Images didn’t turn up any other dance-inspired buildings. Does anyone else know of any?

I’ve been thinking a lot about images lately (no kidding) and architecture never ceases to amaze me. There are so many things you can do with the visual, you can create such incredible shapes and still keep it functional. It’s incredible how architects can capture something so fluid and alive in materials that are so rigid and functional.

One of my favourite architects (ok, a confession: I know about as much about architecture as I do about photography. Which means that I’m fascinated by it, but know absolutely nothing about it. So when I say one of my favourite architects, I mean he’s the only architect whose buildings I’ve loved enough to actually remember the architect’s name) is Antoni Gaudi. I don’t actually like the Sagrada Familia so much; it’s too… scaly (?) for my liking. A building I do love is this one, based on the story of St. George defeating the dragon:

I love the way he mimics the dragon’s bones and scales, and the way he plays with glass, tile, and stone. And, again, the way he treats the buildings as a medium for expressing something entirely different.

I went to hear a talk given by a war correspondent today, and he spoke with regret and spite about the fact that we’re moving away from a literate society to an image-based one. He meant that people have stopped reading, that they expect to be fed information entertainment through the TV – probably a fair accusation to make. Still, I think we need to point out that images, when done right, can say as much as words, the way the first building speaks about movement and mutation and stepping beyond the physical (in more way than one), and the second about at once the strength and delicacy of the dragon.

That’s not at all what the correspondent meant, and I’m sure that Gaudi’s brand of intellectualism would more than suit his need for intelligentsia, but I think sometimes we underestimate the power of the image to communicate. An image can create a dialogue that is as nuanced and as multi-layered as a well-written essay or a poem (then again, poetry – at least modern poetry – really is just a cascade of images written with words, so that doesn’t quite count).

Getting back to architecture, I don’t think there’s anything quite as grand and understated, as weighty and airy, as dark and brilliant, as a gothic cathedral (yes, I know, my medievalist is showing). The first cathedrals I went to were in Spain, and I remember being a little disappointed by the over-embellished baroque decoration. Golden cherubs and painted ceilings just take away from the grandeur of the space. Gothic cathedrals are completely different. I remember going into Salisbury. It was our first stop, after Stonehenge, on our big, whirl-wind tour of the UK & Ireland (I know. I’m kind of ashamed). We wandered through the town, and oohed and aahed at a big, beautiful gothic church, across the street and a little ways down from the school that William Golding taught at. We kept walking down the street, and then in a cinematographically-perfect moment (I’m allowed some creative license, ok?!), a clearing opened up in front of us, and in it was the most incredible, beautiful, and overwhelming cathedral I could imagine. And it was huge. It was the kind of size that words and images can’t possibly relate; I took pictures of it – it wouldn’t actually fit into one frame, no matter how far away I stood – but now that I look at them they don’t really translate its size. It’s how an ant must feel next to a house. I’d attach a picture, but then you would never understand how big it really was.

We went in through the cloister

And then into a stunning sanctuary

(no, these are not my pictures. Remember the bit about me and photography?)

It’s hard to believe how light and airy gothic cathedrals are, even though they’re made of such heavy materials (and considering the associations that the word “gothic” evokes). Baroque cathedrals are so much heavier and darker, even though they rely on wood so much more.

The only thing that was even half as exciting that day was when we finally wandered out of the sanctuary, and into a room that displayed Chaucer’s translation of Boethius. I think there may have been a copy of the Magna Charta as well, but Chaucer was more exciting.

The first two buildings were built to be playful, to experiment, to push boundaries. The second was also an experiment and also pushed boundaries, but this time to make a lasting testament to a civilization and its faith. Either way, the buildings become so much more than spaces, and so much more than the people who build them or use them.

I’ll leave you with more moving stone, a carving of Pride falling off his horse from Chartres:

The address is: thesongshesang.wordpress.com

I’m announcing it here because well, I’m a chicken, and can’t bring myself to put it on Facebook. :p. Tell me what you think!

My name is Julia. And I’m afraid of essays.

Salman Rushdie said that “writing is a constant struggle against one’s own inadequacy.” Truer words were never spoken (and I must say, knowing that the likes of Mr. Rushdie suffer from the problem makes it a little easier to deal with. In theory.). For me, essay writing is a mix of frustration, fear, and, well, Facebook.

Part of the problem is that I hate outlining. I’ve never been comfortable with it – I remember how much harder stories were to write in grade nine, when our teachers forced us to hand in outlines. Outlines are stifling, and getting from point to point in paragraph form is excruciating. The problem is, how do you write a 10, 20, 30, 40 page paper, involving a huge amount of sources, without an outline? Writing the first draft feels like swimming against a current.

And, somewhere in there, the fear sets in. Sometimes it’s that my ideas aren’t good enough. Sometimes it’s that my essay won’t be long enough. Sometimes it’s that I’m not writing what I want to say. Most of the time, I have no idea what I’m afraid of, I just am. And so I stop writing. I go on Facebook, I check twitter, I email, I check Facebook again, I tweet about checking Facebook. I write blog posts at 20 to midnight on the day the paper is due, instead of actually finishing the damn thing. I have no idea how to deal with this. No matter how much I plan my essays, how much I remember that this is the curve every single time, the process never changes.

The really weird thing is, I love it. Not the outlines, fear, and procrastination, but writing itself. Even though I’m at the fear stage of the cycle right now (hence the blog post), I can’t imagine anything I’d rather be doing (in the long term, that is. It’s late. I’d much rather be sleeping.). I love researching and building my essays, and I get a thrill form the last, final, round of edits, when it finally becomes moulded into something I can put my name to. I love getting to create something new.

I just wish it were a little bit easier. Right now it’s bad enough, but I can only imagine the problems this is going to cause when i’m writing 50-100 page theses… this year? a year after that?

[Update: I just came across this blog post at Write To Done. Some interesting advice.]

Lay your sleeping head, my love,
Human on my faithless arm;
Time and fevers burn away
Individual beauty from
Thoughtful children, and the grave
Proves the child ephemeral:
But in my arms till break of day
Let the living creature lie,
Mortal, guilty, but to me
The entirely beautiful.
- W.H. Auden, “Lullaby”

I don’t particularly love this poem, but this stanza, especially the first two lines tend to drift into my head now and then. They have a tenderness that is unique to Auden. “Time and fevers burn away/individual beauty from/Thoughtful children, and the grave/Proves the child ephemeral” makes me think of Becket’s “They give birth astride of a grave, the light gleams an instant, then it’s night once more,” as does this quote from Macbeth:

Life’s but a walking shadow, a poor player,
That struts and frets his hour upon the stage,
And then is heard no more. It is a tale
Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury,
Signifying nothing.
- William Shakespeare, Macbeth

I don’t really agree with this, but the language and imagery is stunning. The last three lines remind me of a few lines of a Russian bard song, called “зеленое небо,” (“Green Sky”). The chorus is, loosely translated,

Green sky, red clouds
For the fool had no more paints.

You’ll just have to trust me that it sounds poetic in Russian. Unlike the line from Macbeth this is life-affirming, but the imagery is… complimentary? A subject rhyme? Almost?

I feel like I should explain bard music. It was movement that took off in the 60s (I think) in Russia and was banned by the government which, of course, made it wildly popular amongst intellectuals. The concept is basically poetry put to music. It was a very grassroots movement, with people gathering in huge groups to play music. It was therefore very simple, usually just voice and guitar; the music is secondary to the poetry, and the singers do not necessary have great voices. The folk music movements of the 60s and 70s in the States were probably closest to it in spirit, but Leonard Cohen’s music is closest to the style. It’s a pretty cool movement, and some great music and poetry came out of it, but unfortunately its reliance on poetry means it’s completely inaccessible for a non-Russian-speaking audience.

Putting poetry to music is, of course, something Auden did quite often which, along with his enexhaustable and subtle sense of humour, is what gives his poems such a jazzy feel:

As I walked out one evening,
Walking down Bristol Street,
The crowds upon the pavement
Were fields of harvest wheat.

And down by the brimming river
I heard a lover sing
Under an arch of the railway:
‘Love has no ending.

‘I’ll love you, dear, I’ll love you
Till China and Africa meet,
And the river jumps over the mountain
And the salmon sing in the street,

‘I’ll love you till the ocean
Is folded and hung up to dry
And the seven stars go squawking
Like geese about the sky.

‘The years shall run like rabbits,
For in my arms I hold
The Flower of the Ages,
And the first love of the world.’

But all the clocks in the city
Began to whirr and chime:
‘O let not Time deceive you,
You cannot conquer Time.

‘In the burrows of the Nightmare
Where Justice naked is,
Time watches from the shadow
And coughs when you would kiss…
- W.H. Auden, “As I Walked Out One Evening”

The poem goes on, and you can read the whole thing here. Unfortunately, most of Auden’s poetry is heavily copyrighted, and you can only find a few of his poems online. Along with the two I’ve posted here, I strongly recommend Musee des Beaux Arts, based on the paintings of Pieter Bruegel (the elder), especially his Fall of Icarus (above).

The weird thing is, its… not actually Engrish. I have no clue what the Chinese says (or whether it’s Mandarin, Cantonese, or something else entirely… so I’ll just call it Chinese for now. My apologies), but the English, though awkward and somewhat outdated, actually makes sense. The basic idea is “this is an honour system, do what’s right and clean up after yourself”, but it seems like they’re trying to make a joke: if public spaces are where we test virtue, then we’re expecting a high score… aka clean up after yourself.  It’s actually kind of witty, if you ignore the overly British and outdated “invigilators”. So is this a case of someone trying to make a joke in a language they’re uncomfortable with, and making it sound awkward? Can anyone enlighten me on what the Chinese (I know, I know, sorry) says? Is it the same joke? And, for bonus points, if they had said “oversight” or “teachers” instead of “invigilators”, or if they had left out that part of the phrase entirely, would this have seemed less awkward? would it seem less awkward to a British audience?

Okie, that was the thought of the day. Now back to working. Actually working this time. I promise. *checks facebook…*

1. Fast food is bad for you.

2. If you dump a whole bunch of it into one place, like a tarp or a dumpster, it will look disgusting.

3. If people watch step #2, they will realize the truth of #1, that is, how disgusting fast food is.

4. People will eat healthier. Yay!

Watch the video (scroll to about 1:35):

The problem is with step #2. If you took a caesar salad, some braised lamb, and a pita and humus, gathered it in huge quantities, and threw it on a tarp, it would look disgusting! It doesn’t look disgusting because it’s unhealthy, but because it’s food, and that’s what food does if you don’t arrange it properly.

So Jamie goes from step 1, which is undoubtedly true, to step 4, which is undoubtedly good, via step 2 and 3, which are undoubtedly BS.

I can’t decide if I’m impressed, amused, or offended.

…and another note before I finish with Jamie Oliver. At one point in the same episode he was completely appalled that American children aren’t given knives with their food. Apparently, in Britain even kindergarteners are given knives. It makes me happy to know there’s a place in the world where children are taught to eat with a fork and knife :).