Progy - what?

My Rhetoric course this year is focused on the Progymnasmata. Aside from being an unpronounceable word, you may ask, what is that? The progymnasmata is a series of twelve exercises, mental gymnastics, if you will, which were taught to Greek and Roman school children.

I’m entranced. I love the idea of learning something so ancient, which is why I took Rhetoric in the first place. I am, however, confused. These are all bits and pieces which may be used in the construction of a full-length rhetorical argument. So why is this not the first year course? My Rhetoric course last year was comprised of three rhetorical papers, each one of which I practically bled my brain out to complete. If we had the prepping of the Progymnasmata, like the Greek and Roman kids, wouldn’t it have been infinitely easier?

Just a thought. I’ve been thinking. I do that on occasion.

And, on that note, it’s about time I give you something to read. In the spirit of this post, it will be my first Progymnasmata exercise: a fable.

The Story of Sunny and Hades

There once was a little bird named Sunny. She had golden feathers that gleamed in the sun, and was loved by all the other birds. There was, though, one bird who did not like her. His name was Hades, and he had black feathers. One day, Hades decided he was tired of everyone admiring Sunny, and no one ever looking at him. During the night he flew to Sunny's tree and plucked one of her golden feathers. Sunny screamed, but he quickly flew away.

The next day, Hades flew around showing off his new feather. It shone in contrast to the black, bright in the sun. All the other birds stared at him; they Oooh-ed and Aaah-ed. Hades felt beautiful.

As Hades was flying past the home of the old owl, he felt a sudden pain. The owl had ripped out three of Hades’ feathers.

"That is a terrible thing to do!” Hades said.

"But did you not do the same to Sunny?" the owl said.

"Yes, but look at how beautiful I am!”

"And have you caught any prey today? Or did that shiny feather warn the mice that you were coming?"

Hades thought about this. The owl was right. All of his prey had seen him coming, when before the golden feather he had been able to hide in the shadows. Hades flew to Sunny's tree, and returned her feather.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I guess I’m just not meant for golden feathers.”

Violent Posting

Good morning/afternoon/evening/night everyone. Yes, it's been a while; exam-induced hiatus spread into Christmas-fueled languor. But, no small talk. That's far too awkward. Straight on to today's topic: a sharp Slap Upside The Head.

Perhaps I'm a bit abusive. More likely, I'm referring to one of my all-time-favourite blogs. It's full of news that centers on anything and everything related to homophobia and gay rights. The author, Mark, is also an artist, so amusing cartoons accompany each post. In his most recent entry he shared some exciting information:

Great news coming out of Mexico City, just in time for Christmas!

City legislators have approved a gay marriage bill, granting equal marriage rights to all residents! The bill, which also gives gay couples the right to adopt children, was passed with a wide margin of 39 to 20 against. Mayor Marcelo Ebrard is expected to sign the bill into law quickly.

Slap Upside the Head is funny, well-written, and relevant. If you have any interest in gay rights, I highly suggest you take a look. Do it even if you don't have any interest - you might learn some surprising things. As the tag line states, the author is "combating bigotry the gayest way [he] know[s] how." The cartoons are satirical, getting straight to the point of the issue, and even more so if you read the alt-text. Overall, it's a good read and ever-important to our society.


Note: Regular posting will resume now that I'm back in school. Promise. I won't be one of those bloggers who has nine posts, then fades away into the deep recesses of the internet, never to be fathomed again. Until next time, stay classy San- uh, Edmonton.

I Can See Your Thoughts

"Reality is merely an illusion, albeit a very persistent one." - Albert Einstein

Do you ever wonder... what is real?

Whether the things you touch, you see, every day - whether they are in fact actual objects, or if, perhaps, you're not even here at all? Maybe we live in a virtual world, created and fed into our brains via machines. Maybe we're not even people and our "consciousness" is merely a computer program. (If so, I call dibs on being called chip #69.) Maybe we're all psychiatric patients, hallucinating each other and everything we do.

Who knows?

In actuality, it is difficult to imagine any of these possibilities as being truthful. It goes against all sensory perception, everything we seem to experience, all logical thought. It is interesting to consider, though. These are late-night thoughts, the kind of things that float through your brain as you're drifting off to sleep. Well, my brain, at least. Perhaps you think about lemmings, or sausage. Not me. (Though lemmings are adorable; just saying.)

I hope there is another level of consciousness. Many world religions subscribe to this - that there is something more out there, a higher plane of existence, somewhere we have a greater degree of Knowing. Omniscience? Count me in, baby.

It would be enlightening, to discover something past this world. I get the feeling I would look back on this section of my life, this dumb, uninformed stage, as we look on animals now. Conscious, but not intelligent.

These are all just ramblings and musings, things to consider. I like Einstein's quote, but I don't have any solid opinions on what it could mean. Just theories and random thoughts. If it does turn out I'm nothing more than a podperson, being fed a videogame-life into my brain, well, I suppose there's really not much I can do about it.

In other news - my wordcount for NaNo is at 100,022. This is the most I've ever written, and it culminated with a mad dash against my friend Ryan to hit the 100k mark. So much fun, even if my shoulders (and my massage therapist) hate me. Overall, my best November by far. I've met some amazing people this year, ones I hope I keep in my life for a good long time.

Backseat Endeavours? Naw.

I got pulled over by a police officer on Monday. Well, not pulled over, exactly, seeing as the car wasn’t running. And I suppose it wasn’t actually my car either, I was the passenger. But you get the point.

I was out by Leduc, sitting on the side of a gravel road beside a gigantic, empty field. The car was boiling, but I was cuddled under a blanket regardless. It was cozy. It was also around 2:15 in the morning.

We saw headlights making their way down the road towards us. I joked that it must be a cop thinking we were two highschool kids getting it on in the backseat. Then, it got closer, and my friend said “What’s that third light on top?” That was it, we dissolved into hysterical laughter. (The laughter may have also been due to the ensuing conversation when we first spotted the vehicle; details of which I probably should not share on the internet.)

Sure enough, he pulled up directly behind her car, turned on the red and blue, and came over to the window.

“Evening, ladies. May I ask what you’re up to out here so late?”

“Watching a meteor shower,” my friend said with a smile. The look on the cop’s face was priceless. Not two horny 16-year-olds, not some stoner blinking in the light of his flashlight, not an abandoned car (perhaps with a dead body, slightly decomposed). No, he got 2 young women (tidy and sober, I might add) out looking at the goddamn stars.

Have you ever been pleasantly surprised?

It’s a wonderful feeling. It can enliven a person’s day, and make just that little bit of difference that tips the scales from Blah to Yeah (!). (Yes, cheesy. In a good way.)

I don’t let myself get my hopes up – that way, things are always better than I expect them to be. It’s nice, going to work dreading the rush and the inadequate employees, then having the night go smoothly. Or nervously anticipating my big exam, despite all my studying, and then finishing in half an hour because I was so well prepared.

I’m not suggesting you should keep low standards. (Particularly not in the arena of Significant Others. That tends to end badly – plus, personal hygiene is important.) I’m not even suggesting you should adhere to my method of achieving little happy moments (Pleased as Punch by Paige™). Scoff at me, if you like. Bite your thumb, while you’re at it. I’m just saying – it works for me.

Happy surprises are superb. We all need more of them in our office-grey, 9-5, things-keep-falling-on-me lives. Here’s to hoping you have one today.

Don't Wet Yourself, Now.

Important Pre-Post Announcement: November 13th is To Write Love On Her Arms Day. TWLOHA is a non-profit group dedicated to helping people dealing with self-harm, suicide and addiction. The point of today is to write the word Love on your arm, and if people ask you about it (which they will, lots of them) then explain that you are raising awareness about these issues and showing support for people dealing with them. This cause strikes pretty deep in my heart. I'll have LOVE on my arm today; you should think about doing the same. Here's the website.

Tonight, I bring you... laughter! Everyone likes to laugh, and not just at people running into things (though that is hilarious). I wrote this a few weeks ago for my Creative Writing course, and the responses have been good. Enjoy! :)

Wildlife

Welcome to another exciting episode of Animal Planet. Today we will be travelling to North America, and studying the behaviour of a most fascinating creature: the unmarried male human being, more commonly known as a Bachelor. This animal is typically between five feet, seven inches, and six feet, two inches. Hair colour differs among many shades – black to brown to red. Skin colour is, as well, a variable factor within the species. Bachelors live up to 100 years.

This creature’s habitat is of a peculiar nature. While the unattached female human will maintain a cleanly, if not tidy, living environment, the male seems to enjoy basking in filth. It is not unlike the swine, which bathes in mud. Here we have the sleeping area of one particularly disgusting specimen. Observe the soiled and discarded bodily coverings strewn about. The animal sleeps over here, on a cushioney structure on the floor. The only comforts for sleeping are one small “pillow” and one thin “blanket”. While Bachelors possess considerably more body hair than the rest of the human race, they still require added warmth for sleeping.

Let’s look now to the recreational area of his dwelling. Large electronic devices dominate the scene, though their exact purpose (that is to say, why precisely they are so large) has never been discerned. The primary resting location is in the form of a “couch.” Observe the well-worn cushions, the tears in the fabric, and the proliferation of food stains.

Speaking of food – the Bachelor’s diet is simple, but its implications convoluted. To this day, anthropologists and behavioural analysts specializing in the species do not know how a Bachelor obtains the necessary nourishment to continue survive.

Bachelors are not hunters. They remain at home, on this “couch,” and send for their prey by way of a telecommunication device. Coins or bills are traded with the delivery person upon his or her arrival. It should be noted that said delivery person often expresses signs of amusement or disgust when the dwelling is opened to them. The food they deliver is one of two varieties: greasy noodles and meat in small boxes, or round, flat bread baked with meat and cheese on it, in a square, relatively flat box.

The Bachelor devours his food with a ferocity normally seen only in large, predatory felines. With little to no regard for the cleanliness of either himself or his surroundings, the Bachelor consumes his dinner as quickly as possible. It is usually accompanied by three to ten aluminium cans filled with a brewed grain beverage. This produces a foul stench, as its carbonation causes the Bachelor to emit gaseous fumes from his mouth. He emits similar, yet more toxic, fumes from other areas of his body, as well. A Bachelor bathes rarely, and so often causes breathing difficulties for those around him. He seems not to care. It has been speculated that the sensory capacities of a Bachelor are somehow diminished.

Once, sometimes twice, a week, the Bachelor participates in a mating ritual of a frighteningly fruitless nature. First, he dons clean clothing, often a pair of denim pants and a cotton shirt. Then, with no regard to his nasal passages, drenches himself with fragrant liquid from a small bottle. He seems to forget that this smell will, later on, bring tears to the eyes of anyone within a five foot radius. Then, he leaves his dwelling, and enters a communal hall in which the sole activity is performing the pre-mating ritual. He purchases glass bottles of the same grain beverage, and leans against a wall, observing the other Bachelors and females before him. Often he is joined by others of his kind, and crude laughter ensues, growing louder as they consume more of the beverage.

Sometimes, two Bachelors will have a disagreement. Bachelors are easily angered, and feel the need to ascertain their masculinity by aggressively attacking each other. They use their fists, arms and feet to gain an advantage, usually drawing a great crowd of other Bachelors who wish to know the outcome of the fight.

When the Bachelor spots a female to which he is attracted, he springs. Approaching her quickly, he places himself between her and the closest exit. A female will often appear disgusted or mildly frightened at this point. He speaks to her, and makes overt and casual references to both her appearance and copulation. The vast majority of the time, the female will turn, and leave. On the off chance that she remains, the male will appear ecstatic. He will accompany her to the central area of the hall, where they will commence the pre-mating dance, consisting of much gyrating and rudimentary movement echoing the actual mating act. For those viewing the spectacle for the first time, nausea may occur. If you are squeamish, please avert your eyes. It is rare for their interaction to proceed past this point. If it does, the female will accompany the male to his dwelling, where they will copulate. The human species, contrary to their behaviour on these evenings out, seems to have a severe aversion to conceiving. Precautions are often taken to prevent this from happening. Again, anthropologists have yet to determine what purpose this serves.

As you have seen, the Bachelor is a confusing and, sometimes, horrific creature. Should you ever encounter one in the wild, walk slowly and calmly away. This is not a creature with which you want to entangle yourself.

Crikey!

Mistress Music Has a Whip

Music is my favorite mistress. -CSS

I confess. I'm an addict. A hopeless worm who will never escape this lifestyle.

I am... a melomaniac.

Melomania, n. "Excessive or abnormal attraction to music."

But then again, who isn't? Every other person on the street has an iPod plugged into their head, everyone in the computer lab has iTunes open, every person in their car has some kind of bass thumping (or banjo twanging, whatever). The 'Notes' section of my cellphone is full of band names and songs. Every time I hear a snippet of lyrics I like, I write them down. Every time a friend mentions new music, that too. I could easily fill my harddrive with mp3s.

My tastes are a crazy jambalaya mix. Shiny Toy Guns is currently playing; a NIN song just finished; Sarah McLachlan is up next. Overall, I have a fairly pronounced lean towards Electronica and Industrial, but basically every genre is represented somewhere in my collection. Coheed and Cambria to Bon Jovi, Rasputina to Darren Styles, E Nomine to MSI. I may make sarcastic comments about other peoples' tastes, but deep down I do respect them.

What is it about music that affects us so strongly? Is it music's ability to transcend time and space? (Doc Brown, eat your heart out.) Is it something more intrinsic in our brain chemistry? All I know is that every culture on this darling planet of ours has music in it somewhere. Music goes back forever; who knows, maybe the dinosaurs disco-ed it up when they weren't chowing down on eachother.

I'm always taken aback by how drastically a song can change my mood. No matter how down I'm feeling, there is a small group of songs that can always cheer me up. And not just to the point of maybe smiling a bit, but to the point where everything inside me rushes around and I want to laugh and dance. On the same token, though, there are also songs which can make me sad even on the sunniest of days. It is music's emotional qualities that make it so dear to us, I think.

New melodies will always be invented to string us along. New lyrics will always be written to move our lips in sync. New beats will always emerge to stomp our feet. I can't imagine my life without music, and I know I'm not alone. There is much more I could say on this topic, but I'll leave you to your own thoughts and conclusions. (That and I have to go to work.)

P.S. My apologies for the four-day-late post. To say it's been a long week would be like calling Katrina a spring shower.

Please Doctor, Shoot Me (With a Gun)

The topic of the week (and month, and year…) has been H1N1. I walk through the halls at school, hear it from a hundred lips; go to work, talking about it there too; commercials on TV tell me how to wash my hands; ads in the newspaper tell me not to breathe; posters on the walls tell me I will die; and so on. The U.S. has declared a National Emergency.

Does anyone else think they’re making far too big a deal of all this? Perhaps I feel so because it’s a strain of influenza. “The flu” doesn’t exactly strike fear into my heart. Fever, vomiting, yeah, yeah, yeah. Stay home a couple of days, you’re good to go. It just seems like all this hullabaloo is over something simple and petty.

Despite all the REALLY BIG headlines and panic, I can’t seem to find any statistics that validate the absurdity. There have been a total of 89 deaths in Canada from H1N1. 77% of these people had underlying medical conditions. (Found those numbers here and here.) How many cases have there been, though? Hundreds? Thousands? Certainly enough that the number of deaths compared to the number of infected people has to be minuscule.

They began vaccinating people two days ago. There are (I believe) five clinics in the whole city. The line-ups stretched out of the clinics and around the corner. This is insane. I’m amazed this many people are so concerned that they’re going for the vaccine.

I’m not getting it. No one I’ve told this to has appeared shocked. I’m in a high risk group for the virus, I work with the public on a daily basis, and I spend hours in a crowded school. Yet, I’m not worried. Am I naïve, or stupid? I don’t think so. I think this is fear-mongering, and things being blown out of proportion, and that I will be just fine without it. (On top of that, I hate injections. IV in my wrist? Totally cool. Needle in my shoulder? Not a chance.)

Enough of that. More exciting news (with no vomiting involved): NaNo in three days! My excitement has reached unprecedented levels. We have an LRT-riding-novel-writing event on Sunday, so I’m going on an LRT-adventure with a friend tomorrow in the hopes of calming my terrible public-transport fears. Yes, you read that correctly. Some people have spiders; I have ETS.

This event will be the single time this year that I’ll be using my U-Pass. All students are required to pay 90-some dollars for it as part of our tuition . I drive; therefore, no bus. There is no opt-out. Bitter? Not at all.

Barring any influenza-like-symptoms (gag me, please) I will hopefully survive the week.

P.S. Go listen to Collapsing at Your Doorstep by Air France. It’s incredible.