Andrea arrives back in Canada today, and I'll get to see her briefly when I meet her at the airport and escort her to a shuttle that's taking her home to London. She sent me a Facebook message indicating that she's been setting off alarms at airports, so all that hinges on what security decides to do with her. Regardless, I can't wait to see her.

Yesterday I went to campus and had my best intentions cut in half by the U of T bookstore, which is still out of a book I need, and by forgetting a voided cheque for my OSAP installment. I did manage to read Shakespeare's Coriolanus and Aristotle's Poetics before heading home. As if an entire play and a book of philosophy weren't enough for one class, I still have to read a critical essay and Aeschylus's Prometheus Bound and write a response paper. Today I'm focusing on the Avant-Garde material. I'm starting to realize how lucky I am to have five free days to work on assignments.

I walked home from Keele Station and made some vegetarian chili for dinner before breaking into season three of The X-Files. After writing up some bibliographic annotations for Shakespeare and Aristotle, I watched Star Wars Episode II: Attack of the Clones, which unlike my recent reviewing of Episode I was NOT such a pleasing experience. The movie was worse than I remember. It doesn't feel as organic as the first film because it's so entirely digitized. You can practically see the actors moving around on the sound stage, talking to themselves. I don't care that the film is overly political. The romantic scenes are painful to sit through due to the lacklustre dialogue, and Anakin and Padme's relationship feels completely forced. More politics, please.

The biggest news to come out of yesterday is that I redecorated my room on a whim. I couldn't take it any longer. I had no space to move around. Every time I would open my door it would whack my computer chair. I always had to struggle to free my laundry basket from the corner as it was wedged between my desk and Jason's dresser. The dresser's bottom two drawers were blocked by boxes. Plus, the entire room was filthy and cluttered. Now, my desk is nestled neatly into the closet, my bed is turned at a 90 degree angle while the dresser sits across from the door. I have about five square feet of floor space as opposed to a ten by two rectangular strip. This should appease the feng shui dragon.

New semester, new room. It's almost as though I were making myself uncomfortable on purpose.

I picked up some additional course materials at Indigo and the Bob Miller Book Room, and since I was in the neighborhood I brought what was left of my euros back to Calforex. For some reason they wouldn't take change smaller than one euro and couldn't recommend a place that would. Okay. I suppose I can chalk them up to souvenirs.

WHAT I'M IN FOR (PART TWO)

Race and Cinema is taught by Professor Alice Maurice in the room I had for Touch of Evil Project last semester. A few of the folks from my African-Canadian Lit class are taking it along with a few Masters Film students. It's interesting to see the faceoff between those two groups. It's a good time to be an MA student in Film because the program is brand new. Thus, every MA student has a TA position and a license to gloat over foreknowledge of the course material. Don't get me wrong - I'm envious. But I also like to think I know my way around a film syllabus. I'm presenting on Cecil B. DeMille's The Cheat in a couple of weeks. There's a 3-5 page report tied to the presentation, a 2-4 page analysis, plus a 15-20 page paper.

I'm off to return some library books, pick up my OSAP and hopefully start tearing chunks out of my readings for next week.

Since I returned from Europe I've been waking up under my own power at 7 AM, including today, though I chose to sleep in until 9. I have the feeling I won't be able to sustain this pattern.

WHAT I'M IN FOR (PART ONE)

Day one back at U of T is in the can. My first class on Tragedy in African and American Literature under Professor Quayson has a pretty intimidating workload: 2-4 page responses due every week, a presentation, a thesis proposal, a paper, plus a 40-item annotated bibliography. He also made it clear that he can't stand lateness or laziness. I should probably just live at the library like I was originally planning.

The Avant-Garde: Theory and Practice with Professor (call me Tim) Yu sounds amazing. I can already tell his lecture style is comprehensive and that the material is going to be thought-provoking (with even some Canadian content thrown in - Steve McCaffrey's Seven Pages Missing). Five 250-word response papers, presentation, paper, a 5-7 item annotated bibliography, plus a participation mark.

The Pragmatics of Writing Bibliography is helmed by Professor Sullivan, who knows many famous people and their relatives. She's also written biographies for Margaret Atwood, Elizabeth Smart and Gwendolyn MacEwen. It's my smallest course by way of population (eight people) and according to Sullivan will be run like a workshop. Fine by me. Because I was late in registering for the course, I missed the email instructing the students to have a subject picked for a research project to work on. I'd really like to do Coupland in preparation for my PhD but it might be tricky given that we're ideally supposed to choose a subject whose records are kept in Toronto. I'll think on it. The course has a short reading list (four texts) and further requires a project bibliography, a paper and a presentation of research.

In between classes I went to the Varsity and saw Atonement, which blew me away with its technique of telling a story visually before gradually setting it to words. It brought to mind the atmospheric elements of Picnic at Hanging Rock and the brutal scope of Cold Mountain.

Tonight from 6-8 I have my final course in Race and Cinema. After that I'll pack a tent and make my way for Robarts.

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.

I ended up writing a page before I went to Robarts. The journal I was looking for wasn't there, only a book shaped hole where it should have been. After bumming around the library for a bit I went to see The Savages, which was absolutely amazing.

I went home and pretty much went straight to bed. My trip to Europe has been playing tricks on my internal clock. I woke up at 8 AM with little trouble and set to work on the last three pages of my paper. I'm currently a conclusion away from finishing it. Then I can start a NEW semester.

I used a portion of my time in the library to work out my schedule. I have three classes on Tuesday and one on Wednesday. I kind of like that arrangement, although I'm sure it will be hell for my procrastinating nature.

I sat down and hand-wrote some prose yesterday. First time in forever I've done that.

Okay. Going to finish that paper today. Yep. I need four more pages of written material on Afua Cooper. A cinch. I've written three times that in one day. I'll write three pages and then leave the house to grab a couple of refenreces from Robarts and see The Savages at the Cumberland at 7 PM. Then I'll come home and finish it off. It's due at 5 PM tomorrow.

No problem.

Yesterday I quite obviously did nothing. I woke up early, showered and settled into some Undergrads, 30 Rock and Star Wars Episode I: The Phantom Menace. I hadn't see Episode I in full since theatres and it was better than I remembered. I even found Jar-Jar Binks somewhat tolerable and the plot easier to follow. The movie is great enough for the pod race scene and the lightsaber duel between Qui-Gon Jin, Obi-Wan Kenobi and Darth Maul alone.

Happy New Year. Some notes on Europe (pictures and videos are on my Facebook profile):

I love Andrea. A lot. I missed her immeasurably. Being with her again felt so terrific and so comfortable, like the hand and arm I was holding though the streets of foreign cities were appendages I'd had reattached.

The trip was stressful, which is to be expected if you're traveling pretty constantly with a group of people set on doing different things. And aside for a couple of days spent with Nick before he and his girlfriend went their own way, I traveled with 5-6 women over the course of the trip. Now, I love women and have endless respect for them. But such a long period of time without a little testosterone to draw from externally can drive a guy nuts. There were a few moments when I wished that Andrea and I were completely alone. But hey, I'm sure most of the others felt the same way. These things have to be put into perspective.

I will never look at Canadian streets and drivers the same way again. Streets are completely chaotic over there, especially in Amsterdam - if you aren't dodging cars, you're throwing yourself out of the way of trams and the thousands of bicycles and scooters as they fight for spaces much narrower than what we're used to. I can't figure out why anyone would subject themselves to motorized traveling there.

You can still feel the war in Berlin. I only spent a few days there, so I can't relate to Andrea's ability to overcome the culture shock, but there's still a violence hanging in the air. Graffiti graces many available surfaces and every square inch of public transit windows. The entire city smells like meat. Firecrackers periodically explode in the street bringing to mind the ghosts of old gunshots. Buildings still sit unrestored after bombing and firearm attacks, and memorials for victims of fascism sprawl for blocks. That said, there is a lot of beauty in the city's architecture and sculpture. We climbed to the top of the Berliner Dom, saw fish (and octopi) at the Aqua Dom, toured Checkpoint Charlie and of course went nuts in the streets on New Year's Eve. The Filmmuseum was incredible and featured an amazing exhibit on Dietrich that I'd been looking forward to seeing for months - her costumes, letter, home movies, pictures, props, film clips... unbelievable stuff. I was unable to comprehend the mechanics of drinking cheap liquor as freely and out in the open as Berlin citizens do. You can drink beer on the subway after buying it at a McDonald's in the station. The streets looked like an apocalypse had occurred after dawn approached on New Year's Day.

I've never enjoyed an overnight stay more than I did at A Taste of Belgium, a bed and breakfast operated by a family in the north of Brussels, brief though it was. Comfort all the way and run by really nice people. We didn't have a whole lot of time to explore, but our night was interesting nonetheless as we searched out the statues of pissing mannequins, ate Thai food, drank beer and ate chocolate before attempting to find our way home after boarding the last tram of the night.

Amsterdam is everything they say it is. Lots of sex, lots of drugs, lots of stories. After checking in at the Bulldog hostel, we went on a walking tour that gave a history of the city's different ages. It fascinates me how closely intertwined religion and sexuality are in the city. Houses of women of faith are a few steps from a coffeeshop where you can get fucked up. Mostly nude women seduce people from windows a block away from a church erected to ease the consciences of sailors. It was getting cold, so we went back to the hostel to settle in before seeking out cannabis sold in the form of food. We found it at Coffeeshop de Tweede Kamer. Space Cakes for five euros. We scarfed them down, ate dinner at a pancake house, and went back to the Bulldog to trip off our asses. It was like watching a kaleidoscope of a bunch of Smurfs cartoons playing simultaneously. Animations bleeding into one another at an incredible rate. I'd never experience anything like it. We slept for half a day before we could get it together enough to check out. On our last day, we shopped a bit and went to the Andy Warhol multimedia exhibit at the Stedelijk museum. We didn't have much time, but I didn't want to pass up the opportunity of seeing his work firsthand. It was worth it.

Lots of seat-hopping on the Eurail over the course of the trip as we'd often sit in reserved seats by accident. I watched the sun set and rise again over the Belgian countryside.

I'd forgotten what flying was like. Being above the clouds on a grey day and realizing that it's actually sunny if you head high enough. Seeing the lights on the British Isles for the first time blew me away. They looked like orange spiderwebs separated by great gulfs of shadow, the moon casting momentary reflections off the silken material of the water. The nervousness of being airborne had utterly disappeared by the time I touched back down in Toronto.

I had a strange feeling getting back to the city. It felt more like home than it ever has. I felt as if I recognized the streets and no longer felt like an outsider. I don't feel as intimidated by things as I did before I left.

I also feel as if the entirety of last semester has been a dream. I'm sure the essay I have yet to finish will snap me back to reality very soon.