Sore

I had an amazing weekend, spending most of Saturday on top of the world on Grotto Mountain. Despite my expectation of a relatively easy scramble, this turned out to be a fairly challenging summit - I was hiking for around 7 hours in total (although it didn't help that I got lost a third of the way up the mountain and then had to turn back to start over). The ascent had a tough gradient, which was of course worse on the way down (my legs are in such bad shape from it that I don't think I can even go running today.) But the hardest part, as it always is for me, was the top. On this mountain, my vertigo was particularly encumbering, as the summit hike involved a 45-minute tramp along a knife-edge ridge. Beautiful, to be sure, but scary as hell.

First rejection

Well, I guess it had to happen sometime, but it doesn't make me feel any less like shit. I got the first rejection (ever) of my job search efforts today. A boutique I-bank I had interviewed with in New York just before I came back to Calgary called me this morning to let me know that they didn't want me. Graciously, I suppose, they attempted to cushion the blow by describing to me how competitive the process was etc. blah blah blah. They even got the French guy I had 'bonded' with during one 20-minute session to be the messenger. How charming.

Fuck.

I really did not need this right now. After waiting for news from the mutliple options that I have on the burner right now, this hurts, and does little to improve my state of mind or to enhance my self confidence at this juncture. This is simply going to make me fret even more about the other jobs I am waiting to hear back from, and will probably lead me to chew my fingernails to a pulp before the summer is out.

I need society to show me that I am worth a damn.

I contributed

My office has the most horrible decoration of any cubicle colony I have ever seen. Now that really is saying something. But honestly, the sparse, wooden interior is punctuated only by an (impressively) extensive collection of those standard business motivation posters. You know the ones I'm talking about. They have these wonderfully bizarre, meaningless, and frequently out-of-place photographs that pretend to represent beautiful business buzz words: 'Cooperation', 'Leadership', 'Success'. To be frank, it really pisses me off that a poster company would be pretentious enough to believe it could motivate me to be cooperative with a picture of a crew team rowing together. All it makes me want to do is to escape the office and join crew. Fuck them.

However, despite the distractive thoughts that these posters may incite, today I actually accomplished one of the messages portrayed on the wall just around the corner from my office: 'Contribute'. I contributed today by teaching myself MS Access, and then by coming up with a plan to implement data bases in the storage of the vast swathe of information we are receiving for this particular project. My boss seemed please. I made sense. It rocked. Why? Because there is only one thing worse than a miserable summer as a corporate rat: a miserable summer as a worthless corporate rat.

Heroic mythology

Greatness is a transitory experience. It is never consistent. It depends in part upon the myth-making imagination of humankind. The person who experiences greatness must have a feeling for the myth he is in. He must reflect what is projected upon him. And he must have a strong sense of the sardonic. This is what uncouples him from belief in his own pretensions. The sardonic is all that permits him to move within himself. Without this quality, even occasional greatness will destroy a man.

- Frank Herbert, "Dune".

As I delve deeper into the herbertian universe of Dune, I am increasingly impressed by the depth of the story that Herbert has woven; the interlocking layers of political intrigue, the heroic construction, and, ultimately, the formulation and expression of a myth. From my own experiences in fantasy worlds (reading, gaming, imagining) I have subscribed to the belief that the core of any mythological system is its heroes. Heroes, in their superhumanity, paradoxically center the myth on humanity, thus providing an automatic medium through which a bizarre universe can plug itself meaningfully into the human experience.

Productivity shot

I am trying to be a good little corporate rat. I really am. I came into this summer job afraid for my future, repentant for my past, and with the hope that impressive performance could lead to a permanent position if I need it.

How on Earth am I to perform impressively if I can't do anything? Admittedly, I have only been in the office for a total of 2.5 days, and experience has shown that administrative barriers usually take at least a week to surmount. That does not change the fact, however, that I am sitting on my ass waiting for the corporate administrative motor to grind into action, the creaking clogs of the sleeping machine-beast struggling to respond. Frustrating, to say the least.

Even account auditing excites me more than hours of internet browsing. One can only visit Ebaum's world so many times in a day.

Extension

My buddies followed me back home after graduation, which meant that this long weekend, rather than serving as an opportunity to recover from the ravages of Senior Week, was devoted to an extended 4-day session of drinking and debauchery. I hope I will be able to work out when I try at lunch time. Reid, Whan, I love you guys, but I think I needed sleep more than beer.

Apart from saying goodbye to my mates, this weekend also featured my first viewing of Star Wars III. I would have to concur with Matt's opinion: if the movie has its moments, they are ruined by the inability of the plot to make Anakin Skywalker's transition to Darth Vader convincing. Sad, as this is the crux of the entire six-episode saga. Amazingly, Star Wars fanatics seem to be as excited as ever:

Star Wars idiots.

I, for one, however, do not intend to light myself on fire. Hell, we all know how dangerous even stick lightsaber imitations can be (thanks Ghyslain).

Made it

Thank God. Every single time I need to pack up my life and move it somewhere else, I have to get through a 24-hr period of intense stress and anxiety, which usually leaves me physically, mentally, and emotionally drained for a week afterwards. That's where I am right now. What I have gone through is best understood through snapshots:

I cried for the first time I can remember as I saw Angelica walk away.

I cried again after catching her, kissing her again, and then letting her walk away once more.

I did not sleep my entire last night in Philadelphia.

I drank. So, so much. Even in the morning as I left, my friends insisted I take a goodbye shot with them. My parents joined in.

I graduated. Shit. Now what do I do?

I lugged 2 70lb suitcases across the continent, sleeping intermittently.

I am sick. Every time I swallow, it feels like my throat is about to erupt. Matt gave me some fisherman's friends, which help, but which ultimately only mitigate the further damage I have done to my body with drinking since I got back.

I need sleep. I have been struggling to get into work on time because I am so sick and tired. Sadly, sleep is not on the foreseeable horizon, as my friends from Philadelphia are coming up today and we are, of course, going to get incredibly plastered.

I'll be ok.

Preapproved for Life

It appears as though I have graduated - well, in the least, I have passed all my classes and obtained a sufficient GPA within my majors to be able to graduate in the future. So apparently Penn and, by extension, society, have branded my ass with the painful (4 years of working-incredibly-hard-painful) mark of a degree. Well two of them, actually, which is probably part of the reason it was so painful.

It's a bit shit that bachelor degrees are as common nowadays as branded cattle - sadly, I kind of just feel like a lost member of the part of the herd that was stupid enough to siphon itself into the corral, while some of the other guys are still out there, eating greener grass, and avoiding having their asses burned. Will I feel different after walking across the stage? Will I feel different after working? Why will getting a masters degree be any different?

I hope to hell it starts to feel better. For the immediate future, I am going to dull the lingering sting of the branding iron with alcohol.

Insanity

I-bankers are insane. Superdays are even more insane. Timothy Leary is the most insane of all:

"I declare that the Beatles are mutants. Prototypes of evolutionary agents sent by God, endowed with a mysterious power to create a new human species, a young race of laughing freemen."

Too bad the Beatle mutant aliens failed. Then maybe i-bankers would have a better sense of humour.