Magic at Midnight

On Wednesday night, exactly twenty-three seconds before the midnight deadline, I sent off the final assignment of my undergraduate career.

Too bad that, within seconds, my article bounced back.

“Subject: Delivery Status Notification (Failure)‏…This is an automatically generated Delivery Status Notification…”

Clearly, an over-caffinated, over-anxious, over-stressed student on the brink of completion would not take such an event lightly. I felt panicked, delirious, and even a little bit angry. This was supposed to be my moment! The reverse-Cinderella-magic at midnight!

Of course, my internet connection decided to slow to a crawl. As I typed and re-typed the email address–which I was sure was correct–I had to wait several agonizing seconds (what? we live in hyper-speed, you know) only to find it was still bouncing back.

Without a second thought, I grabbed my cell phone and punched in Paul’s telephone number. Andrew tried to stop me but before he could…

“Hello?” said a scratchy voice on the other end.
“Paul? Fabiola. I sent in my article before the deadline at 11:59:37 but it bounced back and I made sure it was the right email address and I even tried…”
“I know,” he interrupted.
“You know!?” I squeaked, “Well, what can I do? I mean do you have another email address?” My heart felt like it was going to explode.

As I tried to make out Paul’s half-asleep, half-annoyed words, I learned that I hadn’t been his only caller. The virtual echo chamber brought back the voices of other classmates desperate to cross that figurative finish line. All the  stress and uncertainty of the strike that was supposed to culminate smoothly in this one moment was instead intensifying. 

Paul gave me an alternate email address (that he had to repeat three times because I don’t speak murmur) and went back to bed. I sent it off and waited.

It didn’t bounce back. But instead of doing cartwheels, dancing, and jumping on my bed, I took a deep breath, closed my eyes and shut down my computer. I felt a fantastic (though fragile) sense of relief.

Sign here and you can go.

What's a great class without a little show and tell?

Yesterday, at approximately 6:13 pm, I hovered above a list of names and student numbers, hesitating. Below me was the last little box I would ever have to initial to state that, yes, I completed my exam and, yes, I would like to go have a pint now.

Well, the last one at York University anyway.

I always thought that I would hand in my final exam with a little more panache–you know, I’d set it down like a tiara and waltz out of the classroom…maybe even kiss the  unsuspecting cheek of someone still scribbling their madness.

Instead, I gave the invigilator a polite nod, adjusted my backpack and quietly saw myself out.

As I emerged from the Stedman Lecture Halls, I walked in a sort of half-daze toward the previously agreed-upon pub. It wasn’t until I took a hearty sip of my pint that it sort of hit me: I will never again write another exam as an undergraduate student.

I was actually a little sad–particularly because Jerry, our professor, wouldn’t (couldn’t) join us yesterday. Jerry is undergoing cancer treatment and has had to tele-conference with us for the better part of the year. Although the novelty of pressing a button on a mic to speak was, well, pretty awesome…I can’t say that I didn’t miss the physical presence of our storytelling prof.

As we raised our glasses and dedicated a little toast to him, I really did wonder what he was up to. We sent him a card with the exams (featuring the image above) so hopefully it will make him chuckle.

I guess the point is that I thought I would be gloating at the finish line. Instead, I’m pretty damn grateful.

—-

Jerome “Jerry” Durlak passed away on May 21st, 2010. He was an incredible man with a brilliant mind and a big heart. He will be sorely missed.

Read more about Jerry here

The Talented Young Beatrice

Portrait of the artist as a young girl

At the tender age of thirteen, Bebe (my little sister) is uploading some pretty incredible stuff. Her Flickr photostream is a phantasmagoria of friendship, innocence, and discovery. As I look through these images, I have to remind myself that she is only in Elementary school.

Bebe’s still pretty shy about her talent. She blushes and insists that it’s just a hobby–but I’ve seen her browsing through catalouges of professional cameras and spending hours on photo-editing websites. She spends a lot of time alone in the backyard, taking and re-taking a shot until she is satisfied with her capture.

In case it isn’t apparent, I am a very proud older sister.

(Well, it’s not hard to be encouraging when she puts up flattering photos of me as well, haha.) I have to mention that she’s completely self-taught but I want to encourage my dad to put her in some workshops when she’s a little older.

Bebe uses a regular 7.2 megapixel Fuji camera (FinePix Fuji z10) with modest 3x optical zoom. She does her editing on a free online website (Picnic, I believe). I’m going to continue encouraging her to hone her skill but, in the meantime, some kind words from non-relatives may nudge her along.

Please feel free to comment if you like what you see!

Web-footed Friends

Oliver & Daisy, just two lucky duckies in love

Perhaps I am imposing a romantic narrative onto these oblivious little ducks, but I’ve become quite familiar with and fond of them over the years. There are only ever two of them and they are always–and I mean always–together. Their first arrival of the year is a good indicator that the ruthless winter is finally over–so, as both a symbol of springtime and companionship, I’ve really come to appreciate their visits.

Oliver and Daisy Mallard–as I’m sure they’re actually named–have been floating and feeding around my backyard since we moved into the house several years ago. Having come from the heart of downtown, we weren’t used to such guests (unless you count the pigeons that occasionally crapped on our balcony). At first my dad tried to scare the Mallards away, like we always did the pigeons, but we’d always wake up the next day to find them lounging again (perhaps stubbornly asserting their seniority). Even when we got our dog, Pepino, the couple would calmly leave when he was outside and faithfully return when he was inside.

Now even Pepino and our cat, Grisito, have made a kind of peace with the floating friends. The furry ones just stare at the feathery ones, as if intrigued by their collar-less necks and lack of domesticity.

Waring’s Warning

Economics has got it down really tight,so that if you’re not talking their language, you’re not talking in their jargon, you’re not part of the argument.–M. Waring (3:43 in clip 3/3)

Marilyn Waring, a feminist economist, is unapologetic when speaking about the undervaluation of women’s work in the global economy. She raises several important questions about patriarchal and oppressive economic policies that, unfortunately, continue to be relevant nearly two decades later.

I am in the process of writing an essay that heavily draws upon Waring’s historically and internationally significant research, and I really feel that we would all do well to revisit and actually consider her arguments within the context of the current economic climate.

Here is a woman who calls our much venerated GDP a “uni-dimensional economic fabrication” and challenges us to disentangle cash-generating capacity from genuine value.

If you’re tempted to call her radical, know that Waring would approve. After all, she says with a smile, the word “radical” originates in the latin for “the root of things.”

So, this is Earth Day. And what have we done?

I, for one, am trying not to get upset. You know, I really could discuss any number of issues–the water shortage, the e-waste we dump into other countries, the food crisis, the desecration of fundamental ecosystems, the threat to honey bees, the disgusting amount of food we simply throw away each and every day–but you’ve heard it all before.

Today would be a good day to actually think about it. But, hey, if you don’t want to…that’s fine. You will definitely have to sometime.

I don’t want to be a cynic, but I don’t have anything overly hopeful to say today. Earth day isn’t even trending on twitter. We go insane on Christmas, Halloween and Valentines day. Even St. Patricks day (which most people just see as an excuse to get loaded on green beer) gets more attention that the one measley day on which we’re supposed to think about the living system that supports and endures us.

Since I don’t know quite know how to express what I’m feeling, I suppose I will just post some quotations by others who have said it better. Feel free to leave some of your favourites in the comments section.

Happy Earth Day, Earthlings.

POINTS TO PONDER ON EARTH DAY

We do not inherit the earth from our ancestors, we borrow it from our children. ~Native American Proverb

Economic advance is not the same thing as human progress. ~John Clapham, A Concise Economic History of Britain, 1957

I would feel more optimistic about a bright future for man if he spent less time proving that he can outwit Nature and more time tasting her sweetness and respecting her seniority. ~Elwyn Brooks White, Essays of E.B. White, 1977

In America today you can murder land for private profit. You can leave the corpse for all to see, and nobody calls the cops. ~Paul Brooks, The Pursuit of Wilderness, 1971

I have no doubt that we will be successful in harnessing the sun’s energy…. If sunbeams were weapons of war, we would have had solar energy centuries ago. ~Sir George Porter, quoted in The Observer, 26 August 1973

The packaging for a microwavable “microwave” dinner is programmed for a shelf life of maybe six months, a cook time of two minutes and a landfill dead-time of centuries. ~David Wann, Buzzworm, November 1990

The insufferable arrogance of human beings to think that Nature was made solely for their benefit, as if it was conceivable that the sun had been set afire merely to ripen men’s apples and head their cabbages. ~Savinien de Cyrano de Bergerac, États et empires de la lune, 1656

Only when the last tree has died and the last river been poisoned and the last fish been caught will we realise we cannot eat money. ~Cree Indian Proverb

It is not necessary to change.  Survival is not mandatory.  ~W. Edwards Deming

All By Myself

Lisa, another katima-sister, contemplates Canada's natural beauty

I should really be working on my imminently-due assignment, but instead I’m thinking about British Columbia again. More specifically, I’m thinking about what it’s going to be like to live on my own.

I mean, seriously, my house is an unlicensed circus. I can’t really fathom going from: my dad playing his trombone or singing improvised opera; my brother strumming his guitar or blowing zombies apart in a video game; my sister yapping on the phone and listening to the latest pop sensation (which she will hate in a month); my drunk uncle stumbling in from his isolated room and going on about not taking shit from the man; my mom on one of her frequent visits, poking her head in my room and saying “Fabi! Ju wanna coffee?”; my dog howling at the mailman, his personal arch-nemesis; my cat with the broken purr (he actually sounds like a smoker); our oldest tenant, Dave, who lives downstairs and laughs in full booms when watching sit-coms; and the new tenants–a young Mexican couple with a baby who screams like a banshee on a bad night…

…to just me.

As crazy as it is, and as non-conducive to studying as it gets, I’ll miss this chaotic excuse for a living space.
I’ll miss it an awful lot.

Not for the close-minded

There are two kinds of egotists: Those who admit it, and the rest of us. ~Laurence J. Peter

Although the video above is a case against those who accept the supernatural on faith, I don’t think any of us should walk away from it feeling smug. To our peril, I don’t think we are generally encouraged to self-interrogate, nor are we taught the value of open-minded communication.

Westward Bound

Julie, fellow traveller, takes a moment to reflect. This photo reminds me of the wonderful months that I lived out West.

Many moons ago, I ran away to Alberta. I remember being a terrified 18-year-old, alternately folding t-shirts and wiping tears. My little sister Beatrice, 8-years-old at the time, sat at the foot of my bed staring at me with big wet eyes. She didn’t want me to go. But I had to go.

A few months prior, I had found my acceptance letter to the Katimavik program in a dark, dirty crevice. Someone had probably tossed it on top of the fridge–a bad habit in this family–and it must have fallen onto the floor. Luckily, my father had forced me to clean behind the fridge just in time to see the letter and to embrace my fate.

I couldn’t believe I was about to spend nine months travelling Canada, volunteering in small communities, and living with ten peers and a project leader. I had never been away from my family for so long. Nine months seemed like an eternity to me.

But I had to prove myself. I had just broken up with my high school sweetheart, Dave–a frequent occurrence in our four year whirlwind of pubescent purgatory–and I was determined to be something more than someone’s girlfriend. I was restless and desperate to run out toward new horizons. To find the meaning of Fabiola.

“But Alberta is so far away!” cried Bebe, unfolding one of my t-shirts. She was still a little girl then, with baby fat and pink barrettes.

Death of a F*cking Salesman

Williamson keeps cool while Shelly “The Machine” Levene spouts off about the glory days

[FAB RECOMMENDATION]

Soulpepper’s rendition of Glengarry Glen Ross is fierce and fascinating.

Check your political correctness at the door and get ready for the narrative-driven minefield that won David Mamet a Pulitzer.

The play features a cast of struggling salesmen that rant, manipulate, and steal in the hopes of becoming the ultimate “closer.” Although the play is set in Reagan-era America, the ravenous hunger for the sell is as still relevant today. The play is provocative and crass, but the vulgarity creates a dynamism that is absent from more polite offerings.

This is the second play I’ve seen this year at The Young Centre for the Performing Arts — a Victorian-era industrial-building turned theatre — and I’m already spewing accolades. This is actually my second time purchasing a 7-play package with Soulpepper, so I can say with confidence that the cast are as versatile as they are talented.

For students, the package results in $13 tickets (instead of the usual $36-68) and it grants you access to premium seats and special features like post-show talk-backs. Students can also get $28 single tickets or $5-$20 rush tickets.

I warn you though, after watching this play, you may replace the sailor and start swearing like a salesman.