No lottery winnings this morning; we have not joined the League of Millionaires. This should not be surprising, but it always is. When I buy lottery tickets, I expect to win.
A couple of days ago I went to the Employment Insurance Seminar presented by Services Canada. I didn't just go to this because it occurred to me that it might be a good idea (because that wouldn't have occurred to me) but because I was instructed to do so, and to appear in a room with 14 other hapless souls who find themselves unemployed at a specific time "otherwise we would not be admitted and we would have to explain very carefully exactly why we missed the seminar". In other words, it would be like truancy and without your hall pass you were not going to be excused.
The seminar was much more benign that I thought it would be, which is good because I have an insanely overactive imagination. Rather than the fire-breathing dragon that I envisioned at the front of the room, it was just a nice woman who read from sheets of paper while she pushed the button on the laptop to get the powerpoint presentation to move along. After she finished that, and finished telling us all where to go to find a job because 80% of jobs just aren't advertised and don't think you will find a job by sitting at home looking at a computer screen, we each had to meet with her. There were 14 or 15 people there, and I knew that three people arrived after I did, so that meant that if I'd arrived 15 minutes earlier, I would have been able to leave 20 minutes earlier than I did.
Most of the participants wanted to get out quickly, and since the interviews were conducted in the same room as we were all sitting, I amused myself by reading the lips of the people being interviewed and finding out their stories. Most people were talking quietly enough so the rest of us couldn't hear -- I think. If you had more hearing maybe you'd have heard more than me; it's not like I was asking anyone, "Hey, did you catch that last phrase? Did he say he'd been looking for work at Banana Republic, or that his aunt had finally gone public?"
Most of the people, including the facilitator, just wanted to move along and get out of there, but you know that there has to be one person, the new-agey 45+ woman, on the verge of menopause but not quite there and who talks to you very seriously while looking you straight in the eye, and while pulling her Bali shawl around her shoulders, bracelets clinking and earrings swinging, you know that this one is going to sit there and tell her life story. She'll do it in very hushed tones, because this type can save energy by not speaking too loudly and thus keep it going for a long time, seemingly without breath. Amazing to watch, mesmerizing in fact, until you realize that three people could have gone in the amount of time she's taking. What on earth could possibly be so important, or need so much explanation? I waited for her to burn some incense to rid the room of banal spirits (they were legion, you could feel them coiling around your ankles) but no, she didn't get to do that. After 10 minutes I tried my best Stare of Indignation, hoping for some good ol' spontaneous combustion, but she was impervious. When she stood up, several people gasped with anticipation, but I knew it was a ruse. (I used to be involved in tai chi, and it was a place where the woowoo nutbars gathered to spread their joyless Search for Meaning in Life. They could talk your head off, nodding, smiling, never letting you get a word in edgewise...and they would do this thing, the standing up so you know I know that you want me to leave, but really, I just have to tell you 10 more things about How to Find God...) I knew she had another five or 10 minutes of Her Story to finish.....before she would finally gather her things and swing out of the room. When I left she was speaking earnestly with one of the Women Behind the Counter; she looked like she had another good hour of soul-sucking conversation ahead of her.
The Women Behind the Counter by the way, are very powerful. If ever you find yourself at a Service Canada office, make sure that the Woman Behind the Counter takes a shine to you. Be very nice to them, and they will make your life easy. Piss them off and pay dearly.
Thursday, June 14, 2007
Monday, June 11, 2007
I Enjoy Being a Geek....
Two posts in one day, as opposed to no posts in two weeks.
I was walking downtown this morning, and waiting at a light, I looked down to see on the sidewalk, a card that read: Attack Weapon: Quantum Particle Beam. On the other side of the card, in bold caps: BATTLE CARD/ATTACK WEAPON.
I get that this is a gamers card. So is the quantum particle beam generated from a flashlight? Because while we might think of quantum particle beams as being generated from very very expensive particle accelerators, any light is purportedly made up of both particles and waves; it's got that whole dual nature thing going on after all.
You could hit your enemies over the head with a flashlight, but lugging around a particle accelerator might mean that you'd need another couple of cards: superhuman strength and unlimited monetary resources.
I was walking downtown this morning, and waiting at a light, I looked down to see on the sidewalk, a card that read: Attack Weapon: Quantum Particle Beam. On the other side of the card, in bold caps: BATTLE CARD/ATTACK WEAPON.
I get that this is a gamers card. So is the quantum particle beam generated from a flashlight? Because while we might think of quantum particle beams as being generated from very very expensive particle accelerators, any light is purportedly made up of both particles and waves; it's got that whole dual nature thing going on after all.
You could hit your enemies over the head with a flashlight, but lugging around a particle accelerator might mean that you'd need another couple of cards: superhuman strength and unlimited monetary resources.
More Nonwork Angst
Yes, I could post more often, but no, I haven't felt like it. The weather has been too good, or too violent, or there haven't been enough things happening or there's been too much happening, or other excuses...make some up for me, they'll probably be accurate.
Tomorrow I go to an EI seminar where they're going to nag me about getting a job. Don't get me wrong, getting a job is high on my priority list, but I don't need help with getting a job, and I don't need the condescending attitude of people who are trained civil servant and are trying to get rid of all their "charges" so that the unemployment statistics go down and the gov't thumps everyone on the back. I realize that when I read, "This session starts at 9:00 a.m. sharp, anyone who arrives after that time will not be admitted," that this has been written for people who maybe aren't so good in the morning or who can't be bothered to be in a specific place at a specific time, or maybe for people who are, you know, truant for a living. That it's not written for the professional-type (or someone who can actually tell time) or someone with an analytical mind or someone who can read or someone who loved school, but for people who are working the system. Maybe. It didn't occur to me that being at a conference would preclude me from working, or make me unavailable for work, in fact, just the opposite, but I'll have to explain that because I didn't realize that there was provision for being absent on the claim form.
That probably sounds stupid on my part, and I'll admit that it is. If one is not sitting by the phone waiting for The Manager from SmartSet to call, how then is one available for work? You cannot be available if you're in another city, whooping it up at the Bruker Mixer, except for when you're chatting it up with the President of Bruker and having to admit that no, travelling 80% of the time cannot fit into my lifestyle.
Clearly, I am working myself up into a frenzy over this, which is likely nothing. I have been applying for jobs, but not more than one a week because if there were that many jobs available in my field I'd be doing backflips all the way to work. I am to some extent, not particularly employable in the general working world; I could go back to industry if there was something that caught my fancy, but my industrial experience is many years old and prospective employers aren't necessarily interested in it. My academic experience is somewhat esoteric, and not widely applicable, although I am capable of thinking and moving beyond my direct experience and applying my ability to problem-solve to another area. Thing is, how to prove that? It would turn out that my particular scientific talents are more useful to an engineering environment rather than, say, a pharmaceutical one (I wouldn't even bother applying for a job at a pharmaceutical company. I am not an organic chemist, and I have no interest in anything they do. Oh, and I think that about 60% of the industry is morally reprehensible, and I'm probably being really really conservative in that estimate.) but I'm not an engineer and I don't have the "papers".
My bigger problem with industry isn't the job-finding because I'm sure that at some point I could become employed. My problem, and yes, this is only going to prove that I am a total intellectual snob, is the stupidity. I cannot work with stupid people. I don't mean the "guys (gender non-specific guys) in the plant/on the floor/wherever they are" because these people generally know their jobs, know their machines, know exactly what can and can't go wrong, and know it better than any techhie or management type. I have total respect for the guys in the plant, just as I have total respect for administrative assistants (formerly secretaries) because they facilitate my professional career by doing the things that I have no time or capacity to do. I write a report, they make the report readable, and I bow before their particular skills and pay homage to their ability to turn my convoluted explanations into "excellent written communication" (which I always say I have by the way, whether it's true or not.)
No, it's the marketing people. The sales people. Management. It's the people with their heads so far up their asses they're actually inside-out. They lie to customers and then expect the people in the back room to be able to comply with their lies. "So Hilary, you know that AX401 lubricant formulation that we've been working on? Well, the customer had a problem with the odour when the product was heated up to 4000 degrees. Apparently there was a bit of smoking too, does that always happen? They've decided they want to use it with nylon, not polyethylene, that might make a difference. I said you could take care of all of this by Wednesday next week, and write up a full report. You can do that, right? Because I'm going on holidays and I said you could do it. I'll give you the contact information too. And Manager W says that she's sure you can handle this, it's just a few minor changes." naturally this is a voice-mail message, and an email. No direct contact has been made with me because Salesperson knows full well that they've just dumped a year of work on my desk, and that I am the one who has to go back and tell Manager W and the customer that they're on crack and this isn't happening any time soon and what the hell is anyone thinking here and as it is that formulation took two years to perfect and yes, nylon, polyethylene, it makes a bloody great difference ......... well, you get the idea.
Maybe by now the idea that you get is that I'm easily worked into a frenzy over small things, rather than getting the idea that I'm right. In my opinion both are correct. Without too many things to do, I do turn into a freak show about the smallstuff. And I am right about how things work in industry, where someone ignorant of a particular situation and yet who's in charge of that situation, makes promises that cannot possibly be kept. It's not just industry of course, that's just my experience. Hell, I've made academic promises that can't possibly be kept, just to get people to quit bloody bugging me. The difference there is that I'm saying that I can do something that I have no intention of doing, not that someone else will do what I know to be impossible.
So you see? Writing about all of this is a bit of a waste of space and air and your time, but this is what's going on. I will be very interested to see what happens in the little seminar tomorrow, and to discuss my case with an employment facilitator or whatever they call themselves (enabler perhaps). If I go in as the Objective Observer to study the behaviours of the people in the room, then maybe I won't break down and cry in frustration when they try to patiently explain to me that I should very much be waiting for that special call from The Manager rather than tripping off to high-tech and highly specialized conferences.
The only manager I want a call from right now is The Manager at Holt Renfrew, saying that I've been randomly chosen from a list of highly-qualified and underemployed and absolutely fabulous people (and how long a list do you think that is, really?) for a $20K shopping spree in their new flagship store in Vancouver, all expenses paid and you can stay for a week and never mind those pesky EI people, it's all worked out.
Tomorrow I go to an EI seminar where they're going to nag me about getting a job. Don't get me wrong, getting a job is high on my priority list, but I don't need help with getting a job, and I don't need the condescending attitude of people who are trained civil servant and are trying to get rid of all their "charges" so that the unemployment statistics go down and the gov't thumps everyone on the back. I realize that when I read, "This session starts at 9:00 a.m. sharp, anyone who arrives after that time will not be admitted," that this has been written for people who maybe aren't so good in the morning or who can't be bothered to be in a specific place at a specific time, or maybe for people who are, you know, truant for a living. That it's not written for the professional-type (or someone who can actually tell time) or someone with an analytical mind or someone who can read or someone who loved school, but for people who are working the system. Maybe. It didn't occur to me that being at a conference would preclude me from working, or make me unavailable for work, in fact, just the opposite, but I'll have to explain that because I didn't realize that there was provision for being absent on the claim form.
That probably sounds stupid on my part, and I'll admit that it is. If one is not sitting by the phone waiting for The Manager from SmartSet to call, how then is one available for work? You cannot be available if you're in another city, whooping it up at the Bruker Mixer, except for when you're chatting it up with the President of Bruker and having to admit that no, travelling 80% of the time cannot fit into my lifestyle.
Clearly, I am working myself up into a frenzy over this, which is likely nothing. I have been applying for jobs, but not more than one a week because if there were that many jobs available in my field I'd be doing backflips all the way to work. I am to some extent, not particularly employable in the general working world; I could go back to industry if there was something that caught my fancy, but my industrial experience is many years old and prospective employers aren't necessarily interested in it. My academic experience is somewhat esoteric, and not widely applicable, although I am capable of thinking and moving beyond my direct experience and applying my ability to problem-solve to another area. Thing is, how to prove that? It would turn out that my particular scientific talents are more useful to an engineering environment rather than, say, a pharmaceutical one (I wouldn't even bother applying for a job at a pharmaceutical company. I am not an organic chemist, and I have no interest in anything they do. Oh, and I think that about 60% of the industry is morally reprehensible, and I'm probably being really really conservative in that estimate.) but I'm not an engineer and I don't have the "papers".
My bigger problem with industry isn't the job-finding because I'm sure that at some point I could become employed. My problem, and yes, this is only going to prove that I am a total intellectual snob, is the stupidity. I cannot work with stupid people. I don't mean the "guys (gender non-specific guys) in the plant/on the floor/wherever they are" because these people generally know their jobs, know their machines, know exactly what can and can't go wrong, and know it better than any techhie or management type. I have total respect for the guys in the plant, just as I have total respect for administrative assistants (formerly secretaries) because they facilitate my professional career by doing the things that I have no time or capacity to do. I write a report, they make the report readable, and I bow before their particular skills and pay homage to their ability to turn my convoluted explanations into "excellent written communication" (which I always say I have by the way, whether it's true or not.)
No, it's the marketing people. The sales people. Management. It's the people with their heads so far up their asses they're actually inside-out. They lie to customers and then expect the people in the back room to be able to comply with their lies. "So Hilary, you know that AX401 lubricant formulation that we've been working on? Well, the customer had a problem with the odour when the product was heated up to 4000 degrees. Apparently there was a bit of smoking too, does that always happen? They've decided they want to use it with nylon, not polyethylene, that might make a difference. I said you could take care of all of this by Wednesday next week, and write up a full report. You can do that, right? Because I'm going on holidays and I said you could do it. I'll give you the contact information too. And Manager W says that she's sure you can handle this, it's just a few minor changes." naturally this is a voice-mail message, and an email. No direct contact has been made with me because Salesperson knows full well that they've just dumped a year of work on my desk, and that I am the one who has to go back and tell Manager W and the customer that they're on crack and this isn't happening any time soon and what the hell is anyone thinking here and as it is that formulation took two years to perfect and yes, nylon, polyethylene, it makes a bloody great difference ......... well, you get the idea.
Maybe by now the idea that you get is that I'm easily worked into a frenzy over small things, rather than getting the idea that I'm right. In my opinion both are correct. Without too many things to do, I do turn into a freak show about the smallstuff. And I am right about how things work in industry, where someone ignorant of a particular situation and yet who's in charge of that situation, makes promises that cannot possibly be kept. It's not just industry of course, that's just my experience. Hell, I've made academic promises that can't possibly be kept, just to get people to quit bloody bugging me. The difference there is that I'm saying that I can do something that I have no intention of doing, not that someone else will do what I know to be impossible.
So you see? Writing about all of this is a bit of a waste of space and air and your time, but this is what's going on. I will be very interested to see what happens in the little seminar tomorrow, and to discuss my case with an employment facilitator or whatever they call themselves (enabler perhaps). If I go in as the Objective Observer to study the behaviours of the people in the room, then maybe I won't break down and cry in frustration when they try to patiently explain to me that I should very much be waiting for that special call from The Manager rather than tripping off to high-tech and highly specialized conferences.
The only manager I want a call from right now is The Manager at Holt Renfrew, saying that I've been randomly chosen from a list of highly-qualified and underemployed and absolutely fabulous people (and how long a list do you think that is, really?) for a $20K shopping spree in their new flagship store in Vancouver, all expenses paid and you can stay for a week and never mind those pesky EI people, it's all worked out.
Tuesday, June 5, 2007
Conference Mixer
Put 1000 chemists in a room (yeah, I know, your head is spinning already) and give them beer and drinks and a little bit of food.
If you get a good view of the food table you will be able to watch The Grad Student Feeding Frenzy. A much-hailed event with surreptitious betting alongside, the blood sport that is Free Food is not to be missed.
Over in a corner you will see the Big Brains, hashing out their latest plan to take over the world. Or they might just be quietly sipping their one free beer before they push a knife between the ribs of the weakest link and slip away unnoticed. The Big Brains are not to be trusted.
The Middle Years are all jostling near the bar, trying to touch a Big Brain or get him/her to notice them, and trying to order their free beer. After the one free one is gone, it's off to the ticket line for multiple tickets for various combinations of hard liquor, wine or beer.
Immediately upon arrival, you search for someone who might know Who Got the Job. Luckily it's a grad student who knows, so getting the information out of him is a Piece of Cake, which you've scored by knowing one of the food servers and slipping him a fiver. Finding out about The Job doesn't settle you though, because it's not someone you know and it's not someone who makes logical sense, given the competition. This is singularly annoying information, so you latch onto Former Supervisor who will purchase your drinks for you for the rest of the night. At one point you might suggest buying a round, and then back out of this suggestion because by the time this happens you're drunk. It doesn't help that Former Supervisor keeps saying, "We heard that Hilary didn't get the job, but then when we heard that A didn't get the job, well then we were floored. Of all the people who should have gotten the job, it was A. After all, he's amazing, he won't be unemployed for long. I just couldn't believe he didn't get it." (Former Supervisor got a punch in the arm at this point, and I indicated that okay, could we maybe not drive the point home quite so much, seeing as I'm standing right there and while I'm sure that A is as fabulous as you say, I am also fabulous. Now go and get me another G&T.)
I fall into the Middle Years category, but I am not impressed with the Big Brains, most of whom I know quite well, including Former Supervisor. I probably should assume more reverence than I do, but I just can't. I'm not the reverent type, when it comes to colleagues. Most of them don't impress me all that much, especially after I get to know them; this goes for humans in general actually.
It was the regular Conference Mixer First Night Drunk Fest. Chemists drink a lot, and they don't get out much but you might not realize this because out in the wild they look just like regular people, not likely to bring up charge density calculations or thin film manufacture or the orientations of molecules on a gold surface, or the turnover rate of a particular reaction or any of the other things they discuss (and the things are myriad). But in that room, the thousand or so assembled are likely to discuss any of these things and more, and thus set themselves apart from the general populace.
That's how I spent last Saturday night. Drinking gin & tonic that my PhD supervisor bought for me, chatting about the latest gossip, finding myself to still be relatively popular in the big chemistry picture. It was actually good to be there, but now that I'm back I'm finding myself a bit depressed, missing my work and thinking about how I can possibly get the next job in the lineup, which is at a university 20 minutes up the road and which I stand a relatively good chance of getting. Then again, I stood a relatively good chance of getting the other job and that one didn't pan out, so best not to get my hopes up too much.
If you get a good view of the food table you will be able to watch The Grad Student Feeding Frenzy. A much-hailed event with surreptitious betting alongside, the blood sport that is Free Food is not to be missed.
Over in a corner you will see the Big Brains, hashing out their latest plan to take over the world. Or they might just be quietly sipping their one free beer before they push a knife between the ribs of the weakest link and slip away unnoticed. The Big Brains are not to be trusted.
The Middle Years are all jostling near the bar, trying to touch a Big Brain or get him/her to notice them, and trying to order their free beer. After the one free one is gone, it's off to the ticket line for multiple tickets for various combinations of hard liquor, wine or beer.
Immediately upon arrival, you search for someone who might know Who Got the Job. Luckily it's a grad student who knows, so getting the information out of him is a Piece of Cake, which you've scored by knowing one of the food servers and slipping him a fiver. Finding out about The Job doesn't settle you though, because it's not someone you know and it's not someone who makes logical sense, given the competition. This is singularly annoying information, so you latch onto Former Supervisor who will purchase your drinks for you for the rest of the night. At one point you might suggest buying a round, and then back out of this suggestion because by the time this happens you're drunk. It doesn't help that Former Supervisor keeps saying, "We heard that Hilary didn't get the job, but then when we heard that A didn't get the job, well then we were floored. Of all the people who should have gotten the job, it was A. After all, he's amazing, he won't be unemployed for long. I just couldn't believe he didn't get it." (Former Supervisor got a punch in the arm at this point, and I indicated that okay, could we maybe not drive the point home quite so much, seeing as I'm standing right there and while I'm sure that A is as fabulous as you say, I am also fabulous. Now go and get me another G&T.)
I fall into the Middle Years category, but I am not impressed with the Big Brains, most of whom I know quite well, including Former Supervisor. I probably should assume more reverence than I do, but I just can't. I'm not the reverent type, when it comes to colleagues. Most of them don't impress me all that much, especially after I get to know them; this goes for humans in general actually.
It was the regular Conference Mixer First Night Drunk Fest. Chemists drink a lot, and they don't get out much but you might not realize this because out in the wild they look just like regular people, not likely to bring up charge density calculations or thin film manufacture or the orientations of molecules on a gold surface, or the turnover rate of a particular reaction or any of the other things they discuss (and the things are myriad). But in that room, the thousand or so assembled are likely to discuss any of these things and more, and thus set themselves apart from the general populace.
That's how I spent last Saturday night. Drinking gin & tonic that my PhD supervisor bought for me, chatting about the latest gossip, finding myself to still be relatively popular in the big chemistry picture. It was actually good to be there, but now that I'm back I'm finding myself a bit depressed, missing my work and thinking about how I can possibly get the next job in the lineup, which is at a university 20 minutes up the road and which I stand a relatively good chance of getting. Then again, I stood a relatively good chance of getting the other job and that one didn't pan out, so best not to get my hopes up too much.
Monday, June 4, 2007
Architectural Dyslexia
No matter how many times I look something up to make sure I get it right, I get it backwards.
So Frank Gehry did the AGO recently. (and the Bilbao, and I don't know why on earth I said that Daniel Libeskind did it. Oh right, the dyslexia.)
Daniel Libeskind did the ROM. (the Michael Lee Chin Crystal).
Both works were slagged, both were loved.
Tomorrow I'll mix up my children or lose my way to the grocery store. In my head, it all gets jumbled.
So Frank Gehry did the AGO recently. (and the Bilbao, and I don't know why on earth I said that Daniel Libeskind did it. Oh right, the dyslexia.)
Daniel Libeskind did the ROM. (the Michael Lee Chin Crystal).
Both works were slagged, both were loved.
Tomorrow I'll mix up my children or lose my way to the grocery store. In my head, it all gets jumbled.
Saturday, June 2, 2007
Random Saturday Musings
There is a space in between being one place and another. When you are away from your regular life, you live as yourself with no encumbrances until you have to reconnect with that life. You can be who you want, and most of the time, if you are happy, you will be yourself. Being oneself without anyone else is an interesting phenomenon; I remember when I first left home and hearth to find out that I didn't know who I was and thus, that I didn't know how to behave in the most simple situations. I don't feel that way any more.
When I return home I always need a decompression time, to reacclimatize myself to my surroundings. Suddenly people need me and are so happy to see me, and yet I don't feel the same thrill to see them. I don't want them near me and I have nothing to give them. It takes a few hours, and then I remember who I am and my responsibilities toward them, but for a while it's like I've landed in a new country where everyone knows the language except me. Eventually I learn it and settle back into routines. I ignore the mess, the dog hair, the overgrown garden, the perceived neediness. I appreciate the little card and the smile and the hugs.
But when I first return, I don't. I want to push them all away until I'm ready. I don't want to talk about my trip or where I've been or who I've talked to or about what.
What is this space in between? I don't know if everyone feels this, although I know that when he first gets home from work, Hub doesn't want to talk and needs some space. Is it simply needing space....? but for what? You need space to find out who you are again. You've been defining yourself by yourself, and you need to find out again where you belong amid the chaos.
I remember being away once and commenting to someone, "I could get on this plane home and keep going, not go back, you know? It would be so easy." He didn't know what I meant, he had no desire except to go home to his wife and family, and I made the mistake of thinking that a man would understand how I felt. I should have realized that only another woman would understand this need to flee....to keep going away from being needed or being necessary or being everything to other people. To reinvent and never think of what has been left behind.
Of course you can't just leave it forever, you would never leave it behind. You just think that you could keep wandering away from where you were needed, to find yourself needed somewhere else.
******
I mentioned to a couple of people this past week that I attend mass. Partly I do this for the reaction, because as BF1 said, "It really puts people off, doesn't it?" and it does, especially scientists. They do not take this news well. I remember my PhD supervisor's wife saying, "It's just someone telling you how to live. You can figure out how to live, what's right and wrong, all by yourself." I don't agree with this for every person. Many people absolutely need to be told what to do and what is right and wrong and how to live. The 10 Commandments are a pretty good place to start, quite frankly (if you're of a Christian persuasion) because they tell you not to kill things or people, not to steal stuff and not to be a pain in the ass. What's so wrong with that? Learning about spirituality and that which is beyond us? not bad. You don't have to believe it, but maybe you feel something in yourself that is not concrete, that goes beyond the table you can rap with your knuckles.
Let me assure you, it has nothing to do with god (the main Christian deity or otherwise), for me. It's all about the development of other senses, of meditating and considering my life and where I'd like it to go.
****
The Globe & Mail is all over The Crystal at the ROM, and quite frankly, I think they need to go outside and have another look and shut the fuck up. Yes, it interrupts the senses and yes, it's over budget and over time (uh, excuse me, but what reno isn't?) and yes it's not just another storefront along Bloor Street....but why the hell should it be? And why the hell should the architect (Lee? I can't remember his damn name and I should really know it...ah! I'll clarify it below) have stuck to the original building? Have you the outside of the old ROM? Boring. Have you seen the crystal from Bloor? Arresting. Enough said. It's not beautiful, but so little architecture is. It stops the eye, it is an interruption to an otherwise relentless vista of shopping and condos. I don't see the crime.
(edited on Monday: I added the link to today's article, and one of the primary sources of funding is a guy named Lee-Chin, who's now a Torontonian, born in Jamaica. The architect is Daniel Libeskind, he of Bilbao fame.)
When I return home I always need a decompression time, to reacclimatize myself to my surroundings. Suddenly people need me and are so happy to see me, and yet I don't feel the same thrill to see them. I don't want them near me and I have nothing to give them. It takes a few hours, and then I remember who I am and my responsibilities toward them, but for a while it's like I've landed in a new country where everyone knows the language except me. Eventually I learn it and settle back into routines. I ignore the mess, the dog hair, the overgrown garden, the perceived neediness. I appreciate the little card and the smile and the hugs.
But when I first return, I don't. I want to push them all away until I'm ready. I don't want to talk about my trip or where I've been or who I've talked to or about what.
What is this space in between? I don't know if everyone feels this, although I know that when he first gets home from work, Hub doesn't want to talk and needs some space. Is it simply needing space....? but for what? You need space to find out who you are again. You've been defining yourself by yourself, and you need to find out again where you belong amid the chaos.
I remember being away once and commenting to someone, "I could get on this plane home and keep going, not go back, you know? It would be so easy." He didn't know what I meant, he had no desire except to go home to his wife and family, and I made the mistake of thinking that a man would understand how I felt. I should have realized that only another woman would understand this need to flee....to keep going away from being needed or being necessary or being everything to other people. To reinvent and never think of what has been left behind.
Of course you can't just leave it forever, you would never leave it behind. You just think that you could keep wandering away from where you were needed, to find yourself needed somewhere else.
******
I mentioned to a couple of people this past week that I attend mass. Partly I do this for the reaction, because as BF1 said, "It really puts people off, doesn't it?" and it does, especially scientists. They do not take this news well. I remember my PhD supervisor's wife saying, "It's just someone telling you how to live. You can figure out how to live, what's right and wrong, all by yourself." I don't agree with this for every person. Many people absolutely need to be told what to do and what is right and wrong and how to live. The 10 Commandments are a pretty good place to start, quite frankly (if you're of a Christian persuasion) because they tell you not to kill things or people, not to steal stuff and not to be a pain in the ass. What's so wrong with that? Learning about spirituality and that which is beyond us? not bad. You don't have to believe it, but maybe you feel something in yourself that is not concrete, that goes beyond the table you can rap with your knuckles.
Let me assure you, it has nothing to do with god (the main Christian deity or otherwise), for me. It's all about the development of other senses, of meditating and considering my life and where I'd like it to go.
****
The Globe & Mail is all over The Crystal at the ROM, and quite frankly, I think they need to go outside and have another look and shut the fuck up. Yes, it interrupts the senses and yes, it's over budget and over time (uh, excuse me, but what reno isn't?) and yes it's not just another storefront along Bloor Street....but why the hell should it be? And why the hell should the architect (Lee? I can't remember his damn name and I should really know it...ah! I'll clarify it below) have stuck to the original building? Have you the outside of the old ROM? Boring. Have you seen the crystal from Bloor? Arresting. Enough said. It's not beautiful, but so little architecture is. It stops the eye, it is an interruption to an otherwise relentless vista of shopping and condos. I don't see the crime.
(edited on Monday: I added the link to today's article, and one of the primary sources of funding is a guy named Lee-Chin, who's now a Torontonian, born in Jamaica. The architect is Daniel Libeskind, he of Bilbao fame.)
Friday, June 1, 2007
Green Green Grass of Home
In the prairies, when it's raining, everything is bright bright green. The plants figure they've got to grow now, while there's water, before the drought hits. Everything is a different shade of green, and it's amazing, it goes on and on along the highway, through the city, everywhere.
When we were at the Bruker Mixer up in the revolving restaurant, someone I know from a former job said to me, "It's really flat here." This guy is a brilliant scientist, and also clearly a master of the obvious. "Yes it is!" I yelled, because it was loud and I was drunk, "and the best thing about that is that the sky is your own private planetarium. On a summer night, you go and lie in a field and you can see stars forever. It's amazing." It is amazing, but man, it is fucking flat. I drove out of the city one day and was again shocked by the openness, the going on foreveredness.
I will write more about the trip later. The conference was mostly gossip and drinking, although I did go to some good talks. I was not a pariah at all, in fact I was still The Most Popular Girl in the Class. The family visits were good. Everything was good. BF1 and T finally met each other, and that went well.
BF2 is moving to Chicago at the end of the month, leaving me and BF1 nowhere to stay when we go to London some day. Apparently Chicago has some good shopping. Actually, I know that it does, and I know that it has a decent art gallery and many good restaurants and Wrigley Field (and Kamiski Park, which I've been to several times but not Wrigley) and other things. It's not London but it is sort of halfway between where we are. (1100km for her, 750 for me).
That's about it, although there were many things that happened this past week. I honestly can't believe how fantastic everything was.
When we were at the Bruker Mixer up in the revolving restaurant, someone I know from a former job said to me, "It's really flat here." This guy is a brilliant scientist, and also clearly a master of the obvious. "Yes it is!" I yelled, because it was loud and I was drunk, "and the best thing about that is that the sky is your own private planetarium. On a summer night, you go and lie in a field and you can see stars forever. It's amazing." It is amazing, but man, it is fucking flat. I drove out of the city one day and was again shocked by the openness, the going on foreveredness.
I will write more about the trip later. The conference was mostly gossip and drinking, although I did go to some good talks. I was not a pariah at all, in fact I was still The Most Popular Girl in the Class. The family visits were good. Everything was good. BF1 and T finally met each other, and that went well.
BF2 is moving to Chicago at the end of the month, leaving me and BF1 nowhere to stay when we go to London some day. Apparently Chicago has some good shopping. Actually, I know that it does, and I know that it has a decent art gallery and many good restaurants and Wrigley Field (and Kamiski Park, which I've been to several times but not Wrigley) and other things. It's not London but it is sort of halfway between where we are. (1100km for her, 750 for me).
That's about it, although there were many things that happened this past week. I honestly can't believe how fantastic everything was.
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