Things are getting hectic, and updating keeps slipping my mind. But classes are DONE. I'm three papers and a bibliography away from my Master's degree. Which is still a hell of a lot. But it will all be over with in three weeks.

The last of the Avant-Garde conference went down today, and actually went over in time, making me 20 minutes late for Race and Cinema. But we had our last class at Bar Mercurio, so things were a bit looser than usual. We sat around bashing the film Crash for a couple of hours before filling out course evaluations. Now THAT was an interesting task to perform after a pint. It felt unnatural.

I had some McDonald's on the way home. I'll probably just chill out for the rest of the night. Last night I slept for a long time and had some really weird dreams about Steph and being in an air crash. Which is not a great dream to have before you get on a plane. But I'm sure it doesn't literally indicate that my plane will crash. It's probably just quite metaphoric for what became of mine and Steph's friendship.

I woke up at 7 this morning, which is kind of neat, though I'll probably need a nap sooner than later. I'm hitting Canadian Tire for a new mattress today, and I'm also picking up a digital recorder to use for my Biography interviews. I'm going to ask Linda Hutcheon for one, as well as perhaps a prof at Carleton who has put Coupland on his syllabus in the past. I've heard from Coupland a couple of times since the first email and we're trying to hammer out the specifics of time and place for the interview.

I've been getting some good marks lately, which of course makes my opinion about the future feel like a yo-yo upswing. I really need to get to work on the papers and presentations I have to do, especially considering that I may be heading to Vancouver for one of the few remaining weekends I have.

Yesterday I sent a cheque to Ash for the room I'm subletting over the summer in Ottawa. Everything seems pretty official at this point. Less than two months to go.

I'm going to try to get a bit ahead in my readings and such while I have time. Today I'm heading to campus to watch the necessary films for Race and Cinema, the readings for which I finished up yesterday. Then I might wade through future Avant-Garde stuff just to get it out of the way. I want the playing field cleared for the insane amount of Tragedy work I have to do when I get back from London.

Yesterday I want to see There Will Be Blood, which was quite good and has one of the more intense final scenes in any film of recent memory. I'd like to watch that scene on its own just to see how it's constructed. The movie has a lot to do with individualistic ideals vs. communal/family ideals and how the clash of the two can breed misanthropy. It also brings business mentality up against capitalist evangelist mentality to showcase how similar they are. It's a very American movie. Day-Lewis should get the Oscar.

I need a vacation.

The work is DONE, though I didn't finish Sullivan's book. I just have to print out my annotations. After Wednesday I won't have classes for almost two weeks.

I'll try and update with something a little more interesting soon.

I'm really hoping Wednesday isn't going to turn into a day on which I comment on the deaths of talented young actors. Heath Ledger was found dead in his home yesterday, and toxicology reports have yet to be processed to determine whether or not it was due to a drug overdose. That guy was destined to become one of the biggest actors on the planet. He's still to star as the Joker in The Dark Knight this summer, which is going to be completely disturbing to watch. I've been obsessed with the trailer for that film and looking forward to it intently, mostly due to Ledger's performance. If you haven't seen it, check it out:



Sigh.

I've got a seminar presentation to make in Race and Cinema today. I need to catch up with the other readings beforehand. I'm really enjoying the Tragedy course so far despite the enormous work load. Marks are starting to come in, but only in the two courses I knew about: A- grades in both Opera and African-Canadian Lit. And I might be interviewing Coupland in a few days depending on Professor Sullivan's interactions with his agent.

Yesterday I watched D. W. Griffith's Broken Blossoms, which was meant as a response to the criticisms that Birth of a Nation was racist in its portrayal of African-Americans. It flirts with a love story between a Chinese shopkeeper and a destitute, abused white girl but can't bring them together in convention. At least he tries, I suppose.

Brad Renfro died, which really is too bad. I'm most familiar with his role in Ghost World, in which he plays an angsty convenience store clerk named Josh who's at the constant mercy of Enid and Rebecca's whims and demands. He was only 25 but had been through pretty rough experiences with drugs and alcohol by the sounds of it.

I had a good day at school yesterday. I spoke up lots in class and involved myself in the material. I also brought up Coupland in my biography class and volunteered to go to Vancouver at some point during the semester if I could secure an interview with him. That would definitely be something.

Amusingly enough, my friend Marco is looking at Atom Egoyan for the course, and I spotted Egoyan on Bloor Street a couple of hours before class. I had to resist the urge to turn around and tackle him, shouting at him for contact information, insisting it wasn't for me personally.

Marks are starting to come in, but I have yet to pick up any papers. I'm nervous. If I didn't do well it might cast a pallor over this semester. Marks won't officially be posted online until a week from today because the people at U of T are sadists.

Essay done. Let's get at that new semester:

Tuesday

11:00 a.m. – 1:00 p.m.
THE DIALOGICAL IMAGINATION: TRAGEDY IN AFRICAN AND AMERICAN LITERATURE

1:00 – 3:00 p.m.
THE AVANT-GARDE: THEORY AND PRACTICE

6:00 – 8:00 p.m.
THE PRAGMATICS OF WRITING BIOGRAPHY

Wednesday

6:00 – 8:00 p.m.
RACE AND CINEMA

Tuesdays seem to have the potential to feel pretty crushing. However, classes are an hour shorter than they are at Carleton. I do recall having one 9-hour day in second year undergrad, though I also recall opting to watch the last three-hour block on TV.

I watched Reality Bites last night, a pretty crazy film in the sense that it features a group of very talented actors screaming and crying about shit that really isn't that important. My early twenties wasn't that long ago. I suppose I was kind of cuckoo in a similar way, and I'm sure if I could go back and watch myself I'd have to suppress the urge to give my younger self a slap. The script is kind of brainless in certain areas but there's something about the movie I have an affection for. I have a memory of watching it on cable really late one night and getting caught up in how it glamourizes slackerhood.

I never really felt a part of Generation X, though I was born at the tail end of its supposed wave. Gen X'ers were always people I kind of looked up to. Now they're all entering or soon to be entering their mid-life crises. I started reading Coupland's latest novel, and it features a character who has definitely reached the point where he realizes that life isn't suddenly going to end at 32. Of course, he's in his early 40's when he makes this discovery. Strange generation.

Speaking of Coupland, I ran into Professor Hutcheon on campus yesterday. She's still open to reading my research proposal. I'll have to use one of these five-day weekends to pull it up and remind myself of what, exactly, I proposed.

To class. I hope I get to read some novels this term.

On the last day of classes for the fall semester of my Master's degree program, having stayed up all night working on a paper and presentation for subjects in which I never thought I'd find myself involved, something in me switched on.

Over the course of the semester I've been growing more and more apprehensive about my decision to enroll in grad school. I spent half of the time wondering why I bothered with classes at all. It's not that I didn't feel engaged on a certain level with the material. I liked my classes, but consistently felt puzzled as to why I was spending so much time analyzing how a book was made 200 years ago, how tonal combinations indicate an opera character's motivations, what a young boy's experiences in Communist Ethiopia had to do with Canadian identity, and the syntagmatic paradigms of filmic narrative language.

This wasn't what I was expecting. Last fall I sat down in my apartment on O'Connor Street in Ottawa and wrote to organizations and universities about why they should accept me and pay me money to keep studying. I wouldn't set foot in a library for months to come, but I was able to articulate my ambitions based on lingering ideas left over from theses I wrote, arguments that were born from things I felt passionate about in everyday life. Literature. Canadian writing. Film. Multidisciplinary approaches to art and instruction.

Since my first year of University I had my heart and mind set on becoming a professor. It was my plan over the entirety of my undergraduate career, and it was derailed in the year I spent apart from a classroom. I lost the feeling in being away from it. I began to see the potential in other opportunities and even as I accepted U of T's offer and moved to Toronto to continue my education there was a part of me that doubted the direction I had established for myself. Most of the time I engaged only superficially with the material, rarely speaking in class, sharing only brief pleasantries with the people I began seeing on a regular basis because I knew that in a few months time I'd be back in Ottawa, working, doing something else unrelated to the realm of education. In the meantime I would repeatedly stress over what I was actually going to be able to accomplish once I'd achieved my degree and no longer had to think about it. I hadn't fully discounted the idea of going for my PhD, but with my interest in all things academia flagging I didn't see it as something I'd likely pursue in the near future.

This line of thinking led to a disappointment in myself that I didn't immediately recognize - I had decided on some level to abandon what I'd been working so hard at accomplishing for the past few years. My experiences at U of T existed as nothing more than formalities. More than that, they led to a doubt I began to foster in myself about my own abilities, thinking that everyone around me was far more brilliant, more self-assured, and more prepared to see their education through. Without realizing it, I lost faith in myself, and though I've been completing my assignments I haven't been expecting them to garner results that are of any importance to me.

Recently I made the decision to sit down and talk with two people about this problem while I still had the time and my status as one of their students. Last week I talked with George Elliott Clarke about all things CanLit, an opportunity I haven't taken with anyone since I started back at school. Today I sat down with Linda Hutcheon and told her that the Master's program really wasn't what I had been expecting. I told her that I had been a Canadianist and took her course because of the importance of her work in the field. For the first time all semester I was able to hear her talk about CanLit. I asked her about the ramifications of becoming a professor, and whether she had ever experienced doubts. She told me that she'd had doubts right up until she'd actually started the job, and that the job market for professors is going to be very lucrative over the next few years for those who are willing to go where the work takes them.

She assured me that I would get to make the most of my interests at the PhD level. I told her about the declaration of interest and thesis proposal I'd written to get funding for the program, and she told me to bring it in with me after the break so that we could talk about it, outside of the context of a classroom.

Now, I had a feeling she'd say these things. Professor Hutcheon has routinely been a nice woman and great teacher (and I hope this will translate to the pity she takes on the paper I polished off at 6:30 AM). But after I left the office, I had felt that things were different, that I was starting to make my experience at University something personal again. I had started reaffirming my faith in myself. For the first time in months I held the honest opinion that there are real, attainable possibilities in front of me rather than a smattering of vague interests I won't ultimately pursue. I still haven't decided about continuing grad school, but I'm now under the impression that if I ultimately do it won't be out of the desire to retreat to some old pattern of thinking from which I've been disconnected. I'll do it because I've rediscovered that I really want to.

Time will tell. Right now I feel as though I can do anything I set my mind to. I can go anywhere and do anything. It's going to make my next semester so much more rewarding. And when my time in Toronto comes to a close I know I'll have picked my next step carefully and correctly.

As I mentioned, today was the last day of classes. Paul and I knocked our editorial presentation out of the park during a four-hour Bibliography seminar. I spoke up at length in Opera class after a semester of relative silence. My group ended up with a split grade of A/A+ on our presentation. After the meeting with Professor Hutcheon, I returned some books and walked home from Keele station deep in thought.

Updated To-Do List:

Friday, December 14th: Final project - Touch of Evil
Friday, December 21st: Critical reflection paper - Bibliography
Monday, January 7th: Final research paper (max. 14 pages) - African-Canadian Lit

Christmas is only TWO WEEKS away. I need to get to a shopping mall.

Nothing like a little Facebook profile trolling to pass the time. I'm trying to grab the rest of Ken Andrews' solo album off the net, as well as some Of Montreal. My computer is still running a little slow and stuttering despite defragging it a couple of times and running virus scanners to knock out malware. Hopefully it will stay the course well enough to get me through my presentation in Touch of Evil next week.

I had that class today. The title of my presentation is going to be "Memo-rizing Touch of Evil: The Execution and Effect of Orson Welles' Intentions." I signed a book of Walter Murch (who was responsible for the re-edit) and Michael Ondaatje (who just pulled off yet another GG win for the amazing Divisadero) interviews out from the Innis library, which bring the total number of libraries to which I owe books to three. Innis isn't really much of a library, though. It's two floor of stacks along a single wall. Really, it barely warrants the staircase leading to its "computer lab" of two terminals. Innis is a strange building.

After class I went for sushi with Eileen and Tony and talked a bit about grad school. I'm starting to think that I should talk with some of my professors about continuing my studies. I think my slipping confidence in academia is influenced by the fact that I'm not really studying anything that echoes the grad proposal I was submitting to universities and organizations a year ago. I thought I'd be knee-deep in positioning Coupland in a natinal canon by now; instead, the closest I'm coming to a Canadian text all year is the story of a young man's role in a Communist war in Ethiopia. Don't get me wrong, I'm enjoying African-Canadian Literature, but it's only a small fraction of where my research interests lie. The ironic thing is I've got two people who are incredibly renowned for their work in the field of Canadian studies, and one of them is teaching me about European Opera and speaking a language of music that I can't comprehend.

The other, of course, is George Elliott Clarke, who presented on his own work today and read some of the poetry in Execution Poems, which was great to see. Clarke is a great poet, there's no doubt about it. I'm not sure if he's a great professor. I don't feel as though the ideas I brought to the table, when I felt brave enough to bring them, were given the kind of feedback I receive in other classes. Clarke is a great man, a nice guy, and a passionate speaker. I learned a lot from the texts, but I felt that there was so much more to get at in the course. I still don't feel as if I can tie Africadian studies into a more general, overarching Canadian context as effectively as I may have wanted to. I wanted to learn as much about Canada as I did about African-Canadians, and I felt that the course didn't achieve that. But the blame for that rests equally on my shoulders. I've always found that courses are in large part what you make them, and I hung on for the ride too often.

I have the class evaluations sitting on my bed because the drop-off office was closed when I went by. I'll drop them off before I meet with the Opera folks for the table-read tomorrow. After I got home I watched episode four of The War, which detailed the events of D-Day, the Allied invasion of France and coverage of the brutal battles with the Japanese on the Mariana Islands which contained some of the most violent footage in the series so far. Hearing the veterans talk about the war is a really emotional experience that fully enriches the documentary. Keith David also does a great job narrating.

I woke up this morning to a package from Amazon sitting on the counter. In my sleepy daze I'd forgotten what I ordered, but it was a gift from Andrea: copies of Paris, je t'aime and Flight of the Conchords Season One. Incredibly generous of her, since I know she can't afford it, and sweet of her because they're a film and show we watched together. I love her.

I brought my camera to campus, but the battery is dead. I was still using the batteries that came with it, so I'll have to find a nice rechargeable or something stronger, especially before I leave for Europe. Class was interesting in that we sat around for most of it talking about the PhD program.

I realized something, sitting there, listening to everyone's questions and comments - I'm not in the headspace I was in while I was doing my undergrad. For those four years I was intent on seeing my education straight through to my doctorate and then going on to teach at the University level. Then I took a year off and forgot what school was like, always thinking that the passion I'd felt for it would return once I went back. I still enjoy school, but my passion to teach isn't what it used to be. Professor Robins gave this advice: do it because you love it. If you don't love it, don't do it, because you'll be spending years doing it.

The thing is, I'm not sure if I love it. I still enjoy going to school, learning, hitting the books. But I've fallen under the impression that I have to admit something crucial to myself - I don't want to play the game of academia. If I wanted to make a success at being a professor, I would have to leave myself completely open to travel anywhere, to start a frequency of publications, to make contacts on conferencing circuits... and I can't guarantee that I'll want to do any of that in five years. The only reason I want to remain in the academic system is to keep learning. And if I really want to do that, if it's really that important to me, I'll do it on my own time. I'm just someone who really craves structure, I suppose. I like being assigned work, completing it, and being told that I did a good job. I'm a total nerd that way. A browner, as the kids in elementary school used to say.

Plus, it keeps me out of the real world. It's not that bad having an organization throw a bunch of money at you to go away to school and study without worrying about work. I'd like to do my PhD eventually, but at my own leisure. I'll be 30 soon. I want more of a prolonged taste of a career than I've had thus far, to find a job that keeps me living pretty well, that will allow me to pay off my loans and save a bit while providing a structure that won't drive me nuts.

Work has always been something I've felt coming at me like a charging weapon out of the darkness. If I prepare myself enough for the blow, I might be able to grab it and use it to my advantage; if I don't, it will kill me. I want to work and enjoy my life. I'm not really a bohemian character in the least. Give me some convention and I'll defend its attacks on my soul in other ways.

After class I went to the walk-in clinic by my apartment to have my cough checked out, but I was told the doctor wasn't in. I filled out a form and went back at around 4, which is apparently when everyone else was told to come back, because I ended up waiting for a good hour. I hadn't seen a doctor in years. He was a nice guy, took my blood pressure, checked my ears and throat, listened to my back and chest with a stethoscope and told me I had acute bronchitis. He prescribed me azithromycin and told me to come back if it isn't gone in five days. Here's to hoping, because I'm forgetting what it's like to breathe normally.

I watched a lot of Seinfeld and Mission Hill, plus episode three of The War. Andrea signed on and between her drunkenness and my anxiety, bronchitis and WWII atrocity headspace we had a stupid exchange of words. Time to sleep in search of tomorrow.

I skipped yet another Opera class to finish my Oni presentation, which I did and sent out to the masses in hard copy form just before 4 PM. As of 6 PM tomorrow I won't have to worry about it... until I have to reference back to it for my essay.

Andrea and I talked online for a bit today, and she was in a rambunctious mood that made me cheery. I watched some Seinfeld and another episode of The War during which I fell asleep (not for lack of its continued excellence). I managed to polish off half of tomorrow's film class readings, which constitute the last batch of the semester.

I'm starting to tune back into the feeling of relief that comes from finishing work. Oh yeah. That's the stuff.

I watched a bit of a sermon on television this morning given by Joel Osten, who my dad is apparently into nowadays. Televangelists have always interested me in a perverse way, ever since I researched some for an essay I wrote on Chaucer's Pardoner. This pastor Osten's church is an old arena in Houston that draws over 40,000 people a week. Barbara Walters called him one of the ten most interesting people of last year, between Jolie/Pitt and Jay-Z. I read a couple of news articles on him, and apparently his deal is that he doesn't talk about sin or the afterlife really at all. He describes himself as more of a motivational speaker, and though he does quote the Bible and such during his sermons, it's to illustrate the point that God wants us to be happy on earth. A lot of other preachers deride Osten, calling his sermons "Christian Lite" because he doesn't mention eternal life in Christ and the possibility of damnation.

I like that positivity vibe, but TV preachers make me uneasy. It's obvious this guy is rich and out to sell books and what have you. The whole idea of God equalling financial abundance reeks of Christian capitalist propaganda. Whether or not Osten really believes what he's saying is up to anyone. It does make me wonder about the thinness of that line between living positively and living religiously. There might be a lot of people out there who have adopted regimens to give them the mental, emotional and spritual strength to get through each day. Is that really any different from a recognized faith?

I think a lot of folks just want to be told that everything's going to be okay. If you're fortunate enough, your parents are there to reassure you for those first few years. After that some of us have to pay for that reassurance.

I watched some of the Ottawa Remembrance Day footage on CBC and it made me homesick. I also watched The Sound of Music (MAN I love that flick) and had dinner before getting on a bus for Toronto. I despise taking the bus. Nothing makes me testier than waiting with a crowd to board a bus, city or otherwise. I give the glare of death to people who cut in line or shift to get closer to the curb. In Peterborough it's even worse because the lineups are never clear and the terminal never makes announcements about where and when to board. Honestly, it's one of the very few things that gets me really pissed off - the lack of order and courtesy in a bus queue. I really should be driving a car.

On my return I did a few readings and sent in some presentation info to Professor Columpar for the class blog. Tomorrow I have Opera class, in which I've lost a lot of interest in general. I have a feeling I'll be logging a lot of hours in the library over the next little while.

I wasn't feeling quite like myself today. I skipped my African-Canadian Literature class in order to regroup a little bit. I feel like it's time to make a few resolutions.

I'm going to start working a bit harder at school. I'm going to involve myself more with the readings and prepare myself with talking points for classes. Tomorrow I'm going to spend a few hours in the library to work on some readings and assignments.

I also want to start eating better. I feel like my diet is making me lazy, lumpy and tired. I made Tomato Eggplant Mozarella Stacks for dinner tonight (wild).

Finally, I need to pick up my writing. I did about 800 words today. That makes a few thousand since I moved here. A promising start, but I'd like to add many more. If I'm going to sit around, I'm going to sit around doing something.

I thought I was being slick in getting three Touch of Evil readings out of the way over the weekend, but I get back to Toronto and discover there are still 90 pages to go. Jeez. I need to start getting these readings out of the way a lot earlier. It would be a different situation if the class were later in the day, but I can't keep staying up until 2 AM reading if I have to leave the house at just after 9.

Okay, my mini-vacation is over. I have a bibliography assignment due this week, and another opera to attend on Friday.

I will not order more movies from Amazon. I will not order more movies from Amazon. I will not order more movies from Amazon. I will not order more movies from Amazon. I will not order more movies from Amazon. I will not order more movies from Amazon. I will not order more movies from Amazon.

I showed up for my Opera class today, and there was no one there. What's happening? I don't understand. Why do I keep missing classes? This never happened at Carleton. I've missed three classes so far and I'm only a week in. Granted I slept through one, but come on. I emailed my prof asking what the deal was, but I haven't as of yet heard back.

I called Donna at Arts Court before I left, but she wasn't there. I called Sam later on and found out that she'd gone home sick. Sam couldn't really answer my questions regarding the grant, and told me that I should try Donna again tomorrow. I'm thinking of just applying as an individual now, rather than on behalf of an organization, because it seems like too much crap to deal with. I'll call Donna again tomorrow, though. I've learned from organizing these shows that sometimes you don't get anywhere unless you bug people to death.

So without school nipping at my heels, I settled in and watched Saving Private Ryan, which believe it or not I'd never seen. It's a brutally violent film that rattled me. The cinematography is breathtaking, and although the script is choppy in parts it's hard not to call it a triumph (though I probably liked Platoon better). And everything I'd heard about the first half hour is true.

I also watched Touch of Evil again in preparation for tomorrow's lecture, for which I am determined to be awake. I wish I could get out of bed in the morning like a firecracker. As it is I'm the type who will set my alarm for 8 and get out of bed at 10:30. I'm definitely not a morning person.

I wrote the Artist Statement for my grant, using a rant about the Ottawa art scene I posted on my Livejournal a couple of months ago as a basis. I took out the stuff that sounded too much like griping, took out the slang and made it sound more professional. So that's out of the way.

Jay turned me onto this British comedy called The IT Crowd. It's a show about three people who work in the IT department of a corporation and get into misadventures. Pretty funny. You can check out the entire first episode on You Tube here.

Tomorrow is my first day of graduate studies. I'm a little nervous, but it will be nice to have day one finally under my belt after all this time. I've had my sights set on a Master's degree for a few years now, dating back to a period during second or third year when I would browse different university requirements at great length well into the night. I've always been a bit of a worrier.

I talked with Andrea tonight on the phone for an hour or so. In two days she'll be on the other side of the world. In her place I have a gift she left me (not to be opened until she's overseas), a picture of her guardian angel, and a stuffed Eeyore I sleep with every night.

I took the 9 AM bus back to Toronto today, picked up some school supplies, and finished Generica (I thought that despite its ingratiating syntax in parts, which was probably done on purpose given that it's a story about an editor, it was a sharp and humorous look at the publishing industry and the nature of desire). I also trimmed my beard, but not before watching the how-to video. The first thing I noticed is my error in purchasing a hair CUTTING kit instead of a shaving kit. Though I was able to successfully wing it with the electric clippers in the kit, none of the examples on the DVD provided instruction on how to shave. I do, however, now know exactly how to remove a rattail, should I grow one like this poor bastard kid:

And I also know how the ultimate tapered cut and shaven visage should appear:

Handsome man.

And that, my friends, is the end of summer 2007, once and for all. I said a lot of goodbyes this year. Lots of farewell parties, dancing, hugs and morning-after headaches. And it all led up to this, my first graduate year at the University of Toronto. Nothing ahead but 20-page papers and in-depth presentations. I'm going to need that guardian angel.

Today I wrote a poem about my mother.

I went through some of the boxes I had stowed away in my parents' basement. They were already well on their way to being impossible to get to amid the stuff my dad is clearing out of the garage; forty years of history adds up. I did rescue a few choice texts. More than I had anticipated, in fact, so I'll have to pack them in a separate suitcase for the return trip. It was hard to narrow down under the orders echoing through my head. "You should have a copy of The Canterbury Tales, just in case." Right. Well, whatever helps me sleep better (the inflatable mattress is barely covering it).

My brother-in-law Mike celebrated his birthday with a party at my sister's place. It was good to see Sarah again. She's stressed about her job as an education assistant looking after up to 15 kids a day during her week. My other sister Holly, the one who just got engaged, works as a receptionist in a methadone clinic, so both of my sisters are experiencing pretty high stress environments. Sarah is having panic attacks and she's just started back after the summer. One of the kids she looks after even made her a card telling her she hoped everything would be under "controll" for her. "It's pretty bad when even the kids can pick up on it," my sister says. They won't give her an assistant unless she's looking after at least 16 kids. Needless to say she's fighting just to get to the weekend. The party was fine, but I need to be more folksy with the people in Mike's family (I'm shy).

I picked up a Conair shaving kit so that I can keep my facial hair under "controll." It has 30 pieces to it including a how-to DVD. I can't WAIT to see that. Imagine being asked to compose the music for the Conair shaving kit how-to DVD. Imagine being asked to ACT in it. You'd be feeling as if you had the most perfect beard on the planet afterward. The best example of appropriately-shaven Conair can find. I'm going to screencap it and post it later.

The night wrapped up with watching The Man Who Never Was with my parents, a great flick about Operation Mincemeat from WWII. Gloria Grahame from It's A Wonderful Life co-starred in the melodramatic bits, and the thriller elements were crisply directed, exciting without too much bravado.

Today I went with Holly and Steve to Wendy's, and promptly left when Holly noticed someone in the restaurant she didn't want to talk to. It's a shame when your appetite is spoiled like that.