Apartment Hunt

It's Paris all over again. Except this time, I don't have Kyle doing all the work for me, and I am not even in the city I am trying to find an apartment in. Every day I madly respond with my copied-and-pasted standard introduction message to tens of Cragslist postings, in the hopes that someone will think of me as a cool potential roomate.

That process is in of itself frustrating enough, but I also have to try to put together some kind of reasonable schedule for visiting these places all over DC for the day-and-a-half that I am spending in the city before I see Angelica. Right now, it is looking as though I am going to be homeless when I start my job in September. But I'm lucky.

Excited

I am very excited to see my girlfriend later this week - it feels as though it has been forever and a day since we parted, and it's going to be wonderful to spend a week with her before she leaves for Egypt. Plus, the medieval festival that we are going to with her family (Pennsic) sounds as though it will be a blast. Unfortunately, I don't have enough training to be able to join in the battles and jousting tournaments, but I should at least be able to employ my palate at the beer-tasting.

Consequently, these last three days at the office before my break are likely to pass painstakingly slowly, but there is little I can do about it but try to accomplish as much as possible towards my summer project before I leave.

The other subject occupying my mind right now is that of housing in DC - I need to find a place to live in 2 days that I am spending in the city before I head to central PA with Angelica, and I don't think it's going to be easy. I have been relentlessly perusing Craigslist for shared apartment/housing opportunities, with the hope that I can arrange numerous house visits during my short stay in DC and, ultimately, sign a lease. I think I will have at least a few possibilities lined up, but it is by no means going to be easy.

Thankfully, there should be some time for fun in DC with some of the frat boys who will be in the area, which should help to de-stress me should my apartment search become unbearingly frustrating.

There was a lot of news this weekend, so I should probably do a quick recap of the more significant items: Matt left for BC, and though I am happy for him in his new editorial venture, I'll miss having him around for beer and philosophy - hopefully we'll be able to arrange a holiday together in the near future; my Auntie Jean and her family visited last week - it was fantastic to see relatives that I have not seen since my evacuation from Indonesia, and my two younger cousins are incredibly cute :) ; my Dad, the most generous and giving person I know, gave me a business-class upgrade for my flight to the US, gave me access to the business-class lounge for my airport layovers, and said 'not to worry' about my debts to him - he wants me to be unburdened for starting my new life in DC, and also wants me to invest all of my savings on the stock market (which I'll do once I have them).

I owe my Dad (and Mom) so much, I don't even know how to begin repaying my debt to them, which is much more than the money they 'loaned' me for university. I am going to make it back to them eventually, in spite of their unbridled generosity.

If Matt is reading this, he is probably going to bitch.

It's a rough life

Sometimes I really feel as though I am more blessed than I deserve. Then again, sometimes I feel as though I am cursed, but I suppose that life is ultimately the juxtaposition of extreme feelings, with some moderation in between, depending on how bi-polar you are. But I digress. Today is one of those days where I really do feel more blessed than I deserve.

I am generally feeling very positive as I am going to get to see Angelica very soon (yay!) and I miss her greatly. I am looking forward to starting a new career with the World Bank and am having (some) luck with my apartment search in DC. But let's invoke Buddhist philosophy and focus on the present moment, shall we? Why am I feeling remarkably positive today?

Because, God bless the corporate world, my day of work is going to consist of chilling out under the sun, partaking of the sweet scents of the forest and field, and whacking a miniscule white ball into 18 holes. Oh, hey Steve, how's it going? Why yes, I do think I will be joining you at the beer cart every third hole. What's that? Steak for dinner, eh? We should be able to wash that down quite nicely with the clubhouse brew.

All I have to do now is avoid embarrassing myself in front of my boss with my abysmal golf game.

Poker

Poker is an incredible game. Every time I play, no matter the outcome, I find myself being drawn deeper into a bona fide poker addiction. Perhaps worryingly, it is also starting to occupy much of the background noise that my mind generates during the day.

And that, I believe, is the crux of poker's attraction; there is as much fun to be had in the postgame analysis as there is in the game itself; even if I am knocked out early in tournament-style Texas Hold'em, I remain fixated on the game and its remaining players, automatically evaluating hands, betting moves, and considering just what the hell I would have done with that flop.

My growing love for the game is fueled by the fact that I have been quite successful thus far; I have managed to make money on every game I have played but one - definitely an incentive to continue. Hopefully, whatever my living situation next year, I will be able to get some guys together for a regular game.

Dentists

Ever see the movie marathon man? There is this fantastically disturbing torture scene in which a Nazi concentration camp dentist uses his tools to sadistically torture a 'patient'.

I feel like the victim every time I sit on the chair.

In fact, my hatred, fear and loathing of dentists is so extreme that I am certain it is impossible to capture the intensity of my emotions in a blog entry. Unfortunately, it seems as though every summer I have to undergo some type of serious procedure...last summer, it was the wisdom teeth, and yesterday it was three fillings - brutal.

I really just want to bitch here to let out some of my frustration. My jaw is killing me from having to hold it open for over an hour and a half yesterday; my teeth are uneven so it feels weird whenever I chew or clamp my mouth (I get to have that adjusted tomorrow morning - oh joy!); one of my teeth is super-sensitive because, apparently, the dentist did not give me enough 'filling'; and I am still in a horrendous mood from the anesthetic, which always has a remarkably negative effect on me.

I have vowed to try everything possible to avoid having to get a filling ever again.

Nightmares

I am not sure if I have been blessed with a single night's good sleep since I came back to Calgary, and I have no idea why. A big part of it is that I am simply uncomfortable in my Calgary bed all by myself after having been used to Angelica right next to me. Another factor could be the summer temperature without a/c. But in Canada, you say? I know, maddening but true.

I think the worst part is probably the disturbingly graphic and vivid nightmares that are haunting my subconscious every night. It's crazy - I don't think I've ever had dreams as bad as this in my life, let alone in nightly sequences that don't seem to let up. Take last night for example - a series of countless decapitations, interspersed with images of some woman who in reality I don't know, who in the dreamworld was supposed to be my friend, but who was actually changing into some kind of demonic minion before - you guessed it - more decapitations.

Maybe it's stress related.

The Life of Living Dangerously

Petrol riots in Sanaa, Yemen. My Dad works there. Scary.

Rave

I have realized that I did not post on the very interesting experience I had over the weekend, so I had better say something now.

I was enthusiastic, before and afterwards, about the opportunity to experience something that Matt has held so close to his heart and beliefs. What was it? A gigantic rave, in the middle of a valley in Northern Alberta (1 hour West of Edmonton, to be exact) - basically a huge party.

We arrived relatively late, but managed to find a vacant space on the grass for our small tent, relatively close to the main trance stage and directly opposite "Fort Jagermeister". Matt felt that this would be the redeeming part of the weekend for me, as I am hardly a druggie raver, but definitely a frat boy, and FJ definitely did seem to have some of the frat boy mentality (read: alcohol).

Interestingly, the initially endearing FJ became a incessant source of annoyance for us over the course of the weekend, with an English idiot camping himself atop one of the towers for most of the time screaming "Oi!" and shooting people with water guns. Fine when we were not around; not fine when we were trying to sleep during the only parts of the day when trance music was not pumping through the valley (9am - 2pm).

I had more fun dancing, meeting people, simply witnessing the bizarre microcosmic cultures that permeated the event, and, of course, diminishing entirely the stock of 72 beers that Matt and I had brought for the weekend. We also met some very cool people, with whom I know at least Matt will keep in touch. I was impressed with myself for dancing past dawn on the last night of the party - everyone else was doing it, and I did not want to admit to having less stamina.

But, of course, the ride home was brutal. We packed up at around noon, said goodbye to the people we had met, and then began the long drive back to Calgary. There have not been many times in my life when I have been as tired. After one hour we pulled over on the outskirts of Edmonton and slept in the car, in a parking lot. The we stumbled into Tim Horton's, ate, drank lots of coffee, and kept ourselves awake for the next three hours by conversationally exploring the nature of religion, morality, and sin.

Good times.

Complicated

Life can get so, so complicated. I really am not sure how I am going to sort out the next month or so. I have to visit Angelica during the first half of August before she flies half-way around the world, and hopefully go to a medieval festival with her that she usually goes to every summer. Timing is awkward, though.

Her sister is getting married on the first weekend of August, which means either I miss the wedding and meet her sometime afterwards, or go to the wedding but have to make my own way from wherever I fly into. Additionally, my Dad has planned a family backpacking trip during the first week of August, that I cannot miss (last chance family bonding), but which is also right before the arrival of my aunt who is visiting us from Vancouver.

Timing is not the only issue though. I need to take enough time off during my trip down to try and do some apartment searching in DC - under the presumption that I will, eventually, sign a contract with the IFC. It does not help that, despite having formally given me my offer, they cannot give me an official start date until I get my G-4 visa...which will take "4 to 6 weeks". So I will probably be signing a contract on an apartment for the beginning of September despite not knowing when my start date is. And this lack of knowledge, of course, makes planning my eventual 'move' to DC rather difficult.

Finally, there is the cost. I'll be buying a return flight to DC to visit Angelica, spending on lodging in DC while I search for an apartment, and foregoing potential $ by taking time off work. Then I will be flying back to DC at the end of the summer, for which, by the way, I am unable to give my current boss advance warning on my contract termination since I don't have an official start date.

Yes, complicated. I'll just have to go with the flow. Angelica gave me some peppermint tea which should help to destress me.

Stampede!

I have been unabashedly delinquent in my updating duties to this blog, and largely because of the wonderful phenomenon of Stampede. Many of the people reading this blog are not local Calgarian cowpokes, so perhaps a bit of an explanation is in order.

Stampede is the greatest outdoor show on Earth. For 12 cahootin' days, the entire city of Calgary becomes a gigantic beer garden with the world's largest rodeo at its center. The corporate workforce of the oil industry is expected (you are frowned upon if you don't) to come into work wearing their finest cowboy hats and boots, and anything more formal than jeans is considered bad taste.

I say come into work. But you don't really work. Work serves as a meeting point for everyone at the beginning of the day so that they can plan out how, where, and with which company's money they are going to party. It's fantastic. The plethora of country music that is playing all over the city becomes tolerable even to me as I give in to the cowboy spirit. Free meat-and-pancake breakfasts abound in the downtown area, and it becomes possible to avoid having to pay for food for a week. And you can wash down those AAA Alberta stakes with, of course, copious amounts of alcohol.

Last night I had a fantastic time at Nashville North (a gigantic beer garden cum dance tent) with some of my coworkers. It was the first opportunity I have had this summer to really get to know them outside of the corporate context, and they are great people. Turns out one of them was even a Brown graduate with whom I could reminisce over frat-boy experiences.

It was almost a perfect night, but for three things. 1) My far-away girlfriend, who I think would look gorgeous in a cowgirl outfit and who could laugh at me trying to quickstep to country music (I miss you Angelica!); 2) my far-away college friends, who I could see quickly becoming the rowdiest cowboys around, and 3) the morning after, which was, of course, a brutal hangover recovery period.

I'm almost completely recovered.

Sweetness

I have not posted on here for a while, because I have been emotionally reeling after having heard that the World Bank is "going to give me an offer", which should hopefully be received by telephone call tomorrow. I have also been lazier, which may be a direct consequence of the increased beer consumption that immediately followed this news.

It has made me very, very happy to hear that my future may not be as empty an directionless as I once suspected, and that my risky investment in an ivy league education has hopefully paid off. I still felt bizarre, however, announcing my good fortune to others because the offer itself has not "been made" yet. Hopefully after tomorrow that will have changed. Despite the confidence I have in the 'warning' of an offer I was given, I won't be entirely satisfied until I have the contractual paper in my hands, signed in ink. Until then, I still feel as though nothing is certain.

Which is, perhaps, inescapable in life.

Baby Boomers go Bust

America's current account deficit has reached inexplicably high levels (6.4% of GDP for the first quarter of 2005) and has brazenly defied the predictions of economists who claim that a dramatic correction is necessary and inevitable. Despite the economic curiosity of this long-term economic imbalance, the most unusual element in the mix is demographic: the Baby Boomers are nearing retirement, so why the hell are they still spending and not saving? America's household saving rate has always been paltry, but the miracle baby boomer generation still has to eat in retirement, right? Apparently they are not as concerned about having financial security in their old age as one might think.

One possible explanation for the everlasting baby boomer spending spree is the insecurity associated with global financial markets. There is a sickness in the world, and it is the inability of developing countries to convince OECD investors that it's OK to give them money, 1998 won't happen again (we promise). The converse is true; capital owners in third world nations are certain that their money is better off in America, despite ridiculously low interest rates and ample opportunity for investment in the home market. This, or course, pushes interest rates down ever lower, until the old-fashioned putting money in the bank is no longer a viable option for investment savvy 50 year-olds.

The solution? Serious fiscal reform that will convince investors that emerging markets are once again fair game. The South African government's sacking of Jacob Zuma was a step in the right direction sending the clear message that corruption will be dealt with and not simply ignored or systematized. On the other hand, Iran's election over the weekend of Mahmoud Ahmadinejad as President, a fundamentalist and conservative who will no doubt support the nationalization policies of the current government, will do little to encourage foreign capital flows into the country. It probably won't help that he incessantly derides America (you know, the country with all the money) as "The Great Satan".

Sixth Sense?

I was just contacted this morning about a theft from the Men's Locker Room at the Nexen Gym on the evening of June 16th. Someone in security wrote me the following:

Hi Shane. We've received a report of a theft from the men's change room between
6:00pm and 6:30pm on Thursday, June 16th. I'm doing some rotuine checking with
the staff that accessed the exercise area around the time of the theft -
in the event they saw anything suspicious. A check of the card readers indicated
you entered the exercise room at 5:40pm. Can you advise the following:
What
time did you leave the change room? Were there any males in the change room or
exercise area when you left? Did you see anything suspicious?
Thanks for
your time - appreciate it!
Perry

Bizarrely enough, I recalled this evening clearly and immediately. I wrote him back the following:

Hi Perry,

Actually, I think I clearly recall the evening you are
talking about. I had come in late to work out after work, and there were very
few people in the exercise room – just one man and one woman I believe. When I
went into the changing room, there was another man in there. As I was changing
to go running, I remember feeling odd about the way he was behaving…he had his
shirt off, but did not seem to be getting ready to work out or to shower. I felt
suspicious enough to not leave my bag in an open locker as I usually do – I
actually took it with me into the exercise room and kept it beside my treadmill.
Apparently this was a good decision!
If I entered at 5:40, I would have
left the changing room by approximately 5:50, and then would have left the gym
altogether by around 6:30. I did not go back into the change room after my
workout.
Let me know if you have any more
questions.
Regards,
Shane

The impulse to take my backpack into the workout room with me was entirely instinctual and based solely on a gut feeling I had in the presence of that man. Either I was subconsciously identifying elements in his behavior that marked him as a criminal, or my mind was picking up something outside of normal sensory perception.

The long, long wait

After talking to Reid last night about what on Earth could possibly be taking the World Bank so long to make their hiring decision, I resolved to call them today. 3 phone calls over the course of the day were attempted, with 3 answering machine responses. I didn't leave any messages. The amount of courage and will the simple act of telephoning them required was unbelievable...I was left shaking and physically depleted afterwards, despite having spoken to no one nor having heard any news that changed my increasingly frustrated outlook.

Frustration is an understatement. It is becoming the only thing I think about. I am no longer biting my nails, but relentlessly chewing my fingers off in anxiety. I have even started working seriously in order to distract myself from the constant stream of questions flowing through my head.

I'll call them again tomorrow.

Effective Economics Expression

The Economist has a succinct and attractive guide on the style of the journal and the approach that its journalists are meant to adopt when writing articles. This is not only a useful guide for the columnists and reporters employed by the magazine (then why make it public?) but can also help aspiring journalists and economics writers to perfect their own styles. Personally, I am a fan of The Economist's prose, and therefore appreciate their generosity in providing this reference.

But this still does not settle the issue of motive; why provide this guide to the public? I suspect their reasons may be two-fold. Firstly, if readers have an enhanced understanding of the approach taken to every article by the journalists writing them, they will probably be able to better understand the article in the sense that the writer intended, thus enhancing the communicative power of the magazine. Secondly, respondents to the magazine's articles will be able to more closely emulate the style of the original if given such information, which improves continuity between the original articles and readers' responses, thus improving the capacity of the The Economist to serve as a public forum for discussion and debate.

Corporate Dictionary

I recently had an idea for a new blog/website, and hopefully some day I'll work up the will to actually produce something for it. I think a website defining the true meanings (true in a sarcastic, tongue-in-cheek way) could be quite amusing, and if anything could help office rats like myself to wile away the time in a somewhat amusing manner. I recently created the blogger website for it, but have not put anything there, so no link (yet).

McGill Rejection

Not exactly the thrilling climax to all those months of waiting that I was expecting. More of a brutal let-down, which is making me increasingly angrier and frustrated as the truth of it seeps in. The most unfortunate part is the emotional and mental investment I had gambled on getting an acceptance...I was checking that bloody Minerva system almost every day for the last few months, and my heart beat would accelerate every time the page loaded to display the message "Ready For Review". I had become so habitualized to the perpetual waiting room that it was quite a shock just to see the "Refused" message on the screen, let alone to fully comprehend the reality behind the pixels.

Ah well. 0 for 2, maybe third time lucky? You never know, although I really have no idea why it is taking the IFC this long to get back to me with an offer or a refusal. I don't believe I have any alternatives other than to continue madly applying for jobs, in the hope that someone, somewhere, will pluck my resume-in-a-bottle from the surface of the electronic Sea, and read it. Then maybe they can send emergency help to a poor, unemployed, starving student.

Well, in truth, I am not that hungry.

Cannibalism in the Heart of Darkness

Africa was once labeled the 'Dark Continent' because of the mysteries it held for 19th century European society, and because of colonial ignorance. If Africa did not merit such a title in that epoch, it seems as though it has earned it ten-fold in recent times.

In a land that suffers unceasingly from the brutal suppression of dictatorial governments and the bloodshed of internecine tribal conflict, there are yet darker phenomena. Recently, in the DR Congo, trustworthy reports from multiple sources have accused certain groups, most particularly northern militias, of feasting on human flesh in the war-zone.

It is one thing to suggest that cannibalism has been reincarnated on a distant continent, but another to comprehend the atrocities to which innocent and vulnerable Africans are being subjected. The story of Zainabo Alfani says more than I ever could, and invokes irrepressible revulsion for those responsible for her suffering. Read it.

I know; how could anything human be responsible for that?

The frightening thing is, and we must accept this, that the cannibals in DR Congo are human, and hence what they are capable of, we are as well. This is a disturbing realization, but one that is supported by the existence of ritual and cultural cannibalism in numerous societies throughout history and around the globe. When living in Indonesia, I had the fortune to visit the Batak people of central Sumatra, who had only abandoned their cannibalistic practices at the turn of the century. Similarly, my father regaled me with frightening stories of modern-day cannibals in Irian Jaya who, or so say anthropologists, are probably still around.

Consequently, cannibalism appears not to be a cultural anomaly we can dismiss ourselves from. Rather, somewhere in the dark recesses of the human psyche are the behavioral instincts that can turn a society into the Heart of Darkness. But what could the possible motivations for this behavior be?

Primarily, and this certainly seems to be the dominant reason for the behavior of militias in DR Congo, cannibalism is connected to power. Upon consuming the flesh of another, you are physically subordinating them, but also stating a clear case for the others in your tribe.

Another possible explanation is that the tribes that practice cannibalism actually follow the mantra 'you are what you eat', and therefore attempt to consume the strength, intelligence or beauty of somebody they fight against or admire.

A third possibility is that, well, they are just damn hungry. It wouldn't be the first time an individual or a micro-society had been forced into cannibalism out of desperation, and Africa clearly has no surplus of resources.

However, despite these potential explanations (or justifications, if you are comfortable calling them so), my own sense of innate morality, wherever it stems from or whatever its source, cannot accept cannibalism. It seems so entirely wrong to me that I could not imagine anyone with even remotely the same beliefs as myself engaging in that practice.

Perhaps that is why I fail to understand why the cannibals in DR Congo can justify their own actions.

Strange, twisted times

Our world has some apparent difficulties with setting apprporiate priorities. Over the last 24 hours, the internet has been overwhelmed by people seeking news on the Michael Jackson verdict. Thankfully, this story is at least no longer the most popular read on Google's news page, with more politically pressing issues finally replacing such trite.

But before you refute public stupidity altogether, enjoy the disgusting sale of Live 8 tickets on eBay. The only flaw in Geldof's comments is that they do not sufficiently chastise such a selfish and profiteering act.

Ra-ra the human race. We should all be proud.

The Power of Thought

Taking a business degree has yielded enormous benefits for me; one of the most significant of these has been the increased employability I apparently enjoy (but have yet to realize). Another, more profound benefit has been a change in the way I think. My attention is now consistently focused on the practical, applicable solutions to problems, and their tangible consequences.

This approach to problems has its pros and cons. I am happy I enrolled in a double degree with French so that at least some part of my education could maintain a level of abstract, ethereal thought. The business approach, however, has definitely dominated the last four years of my life. Dune recently reminded me of the power of thought alone; in one of the appendices, Herbert says:

Whether a thought is spoken or not it is a real thing and has powers of reality.

This can be hard to remember and appreciate when you have had four years of business school imprinted on your mind.