Drunkenness and moderation

I sincerely hope that I haven't destroyed too much of my brain while consuming ridiculous amounts of alcohol on certain occasions throughout my college career. I recently had an unfortunate episode (Friday) - one of the infrequent instances during which my alcohol usage brings me more costs than it does benefits. It's a crazy story, and best told over a pint, but I believe it suffices to recount that my entire brotherhood have nicknamed me "The Fugitive" for the time left for me at Penn.

Unbelievable.

I am, however, a lucky man, if the only consequence of this incident is that my PennCard (student ID) must be replaced. I have a horrible feeling that there is worse to come. Only time will tell.

I need to moderate. I need a system, or a sort of guideline, with which I can work towards moderating my lifestyle. Hopefully joining the workforce will be a contributing factor. Only pray that my interview tomorrow goes well. I am going to be spending the rest of the day preparing for it.

No summer of ridiculousness

It was going to be amazing, enlightening, awe-inspiring, insane. And now it's not going to happen. The other two guys living right down the hall from me are going to Japan and Greece once all of us seniors have graduated. I, however, don't get to go to Spain with Matt. I get to do financial controlling in Calgary instead of embarking upon a spiritual and intellectual quest of unprecedented magnitude (at least, that's how I imagine it would have been).

This is depressing.

I already owe my parents so much for everything they have done for me - I felt horrible asking them for anything more. Yet I did. I really wanted to do this, so much so that I risked losing their respect; the respect of those I honor most in my life.

And even though I am now not going, because I don't have any money, I still feel like I am living out the Catch 22 in which I inexplicably found myself locked. Go, and piss off your parents. Don't go, and piss off your best friend. Well, my parents are pissed off, regardless, and so is my best friend, with good reason. And I'm stuck in the middle.

Sometimes you really can't win.

I still intend on doing the St. Jacques de Compostela pilgrimage - I'm just not totally sure when. Maybe Matt would consider it for the summer after he graduates - his parents might give him a graduation present, and I would actually have some cash of my own. Well, I can dream, can't I?

Habemus Papam

I honestly don't know what to make of Ratzinger. I believe there were two predominant issues to consider with his appointment: (i) trying to stem the liberalisation and "corruption" of Catholic doctrine (which is arguably either good OR bad) and (ii) trying to maintain sufficient levels of Catholic church membership. I think that, at least in most regards (but not in all) I agree with his values and interpretation of the Catholic faith, but selecting such a conservative figure at this juncture (did you know that for 23 years he was head of the organisation formerly known as the inquisition?) may have been strategically retarded on behalf of the Cardinals. This morning's FT cited worries about Catholic Church membership in Europe as one of this papacy's main concerns: with the polarisation of world politics into conservative imperialists (like the US) and liberal pansies (like much of Europe), could there not have been a better choice in response to this problem?

I have to start preparing my economy of Thailand presentation. Just a note: heard back from the IFC yesterday, and apparently I will be interviewing with them in DC from 9:45am through 6:30pm. I personally judge over 8 hours of interviews to be intimidating and insane. I hope I get the job.

Codependent addiction - America and the World

As I procrastinate in avoidance of my finance research program on Thailand, the Economist is an easy and at least somewhat educational distraction. A cool article: Americans are addicted to spending (which most likely means that Canadians, the relentless cultural replica of our southern neighbour, have the same problem.) This, however, is not new. Check out:

http://www.economist.com/agenda/displayStory.cfm?Story_id=3834261

What is new is that the World is making it worse. Damn, stupid World. Whatever possessed them to fuel our desire for more, faster, and more again even faster? I honestly don't know where people get the courage to spend this much. If I get a job for after the summer, I intend to save as much as I possibly can in the hope of staving off homelessness and hunger.

Maybe 4 months of constant pressure and fear of being unemployed has finally started to break me.

Happy thought: almost all fo the data I am (potentially) using for my Thai research project (not in Thai) is from World bank data sources. How cool would it be if I got that job? If God is out there, listening patiently to the chaotic internet ether, I hope he hears me.

Economic Development blog

This is just a reminder to myself that I think, perhaps after the summer, I should start a new blog that has for its subject international development - I think that this blog format is potentially more useful if one has more direction to begin with, and intl dev't is a subject I am impassioned about.

This is amazing, I have posted three posts in 2 days.

IFC, McGill, beer, girlfriend

International Finance Corporation - IFC Home

This is where I want to work next year - I owe Reid for first letting me know about recruiting ops, now I just hope the interview goes well on the Tuesday after next. A perfect marriage between my finance education and my desire to do good for the world (and not fall into the evil domain of i-banking fat cat wealth).

McGill law are bastards, I can't put my life on hold anymore, and at this point I think I would probably refuse an offer to matriculate simply out of spite. What would be cool is if I got the IFC job, also got accepted to McGill, and then got to postpone my matriculation until 2007, when my IFC contract would theoretically run out.

Of course, I may not get either. That would suck.

What DOES suck is the way I feel today. Spring Fling = beer = Sunday hangover, and my stomach just doesn't feel right.

My girlfriend doesn't read this blog, so I can openly lament in anonymity about her being pissed off at me. I think it has something to do with all the beer I drank this weekend. I love her, but this 'mood' thing with girls I will never understand. Mars and Venus I guess.

My girlfriend may not read this blog, but I obviously post with only a marginally higher frequency. My bad.

Being a Pledge Father

This is taking up a large amount of my time this semester, but I honestly feel that this contribution to the fraternity is worth my time. Not only do I have the opportunity to form the mind and spirits of the next DU generation (who will be responsible for keeping my drinking legacy aflame), but I also give much to the brothers I am not personally indoctrinating, because the Pledge Father is essentially responsible for running all of the fraternity's pleasurable activities over the course of the pledge process (which in our case is likely to last through April).

Of course, as would be expected, the Weltanschauung of the Pledge Father is, and must be, strikingly different to that of the Pledge. The profundity of this difference can, I believe, only truly be understood when a brother has personally fulfilled both roles and his duties therein - an accomplishment of which I can now (at least partially) boast. Case in point: the sadistic pleasure that warmly flowered into a hearty chuckle as I crafted Dicktaters and adorned my wayward pledges with them is in stark contrast to the fear and embarrassment I recall from being subject myself to the same punishment.

Dicktater: a potato worn over the male genitalia, usually by way of a string drawn through the potato and around the waist, intended to humiliate pledges who feel they themselves can dictate the terms of the pledge process and therefore need to have the hierarchy of authority exemplified.

Minerva

Hegel said "the owl of Minerva first takes flight with twilight closing in." One way to interpret this is to believe that truth is only uncovered by way of historical reference and reasoning; the greater the part of history you can place under the lens, the more clearly you will see the undercurrent of meaning that, simply, explains.

Paradoxically, Goddess of Wisdom is driving me insane. I check this link:

Minerva

at least once every bloody day, visibly shaking with nervousness and anticipation at whether the desired "Accepted" will finally appear on my McGill law application, only to relax my muscles and collapse into a heap of relief upon seeing "Ready for Review" for the 54th time. It means I have not yet been declined - cause for moderate celebration.

I cannot keep this up much longer. I need to get into McGill. In any case, I suppose Minerva is aptly named: I need to keep telling myself that only after my admission will I know the outcome of my application. Regardless, I am finding it increasingly difficult to mitigate my emotional anxiety with this line of reasoning.

The Plan

It has, of course, been far too long since my last posting on my blog. Part of the reason for this has been the seemingly directionless struggle for a roadmap to the future of my life. My lack of a plan has overshadowed everything else I have tried to accomplish and enjoy this semester, and it would be a shame if this continued throughout the entireity of my last semester as an undergraduate at Penn. So, I am trying to efface the cloud of worry that hovers over my horizon by at least elucidating some sort of project for the future. Here it goes.

The ideal plan: I get into McGill law school, receiving my notice of acceptance by March (as foreseen the clairvoyance of my mom's animal spirit). The night I receive the acceptance will, of course, be one of excessive alcohol consumption. I enjoy the end of my final courses at Penn, remaining here until graduation to spend time with my friends, girlfriend and family. Then, since I know I am in law school and future employment is not an extreme worry, I would fly across the Atlantic to Paris, hiking the Santiago de Compostela pilgrimage through France and Northern Spain, with my best friend Matt partaking in the formative experience. This would likely be a two month venture, after which I would fly back to Canada and move into a newly-found apartment in Montreal.

This is the trail:

Camino de Santiago route map from France

The slightly adapted plan: I have to at least work for part of the summer. During that time, I will hopefully either (a) live with Matt near Vancouver and work in finance or law there, or (b) work yet again for Nexen, whom I dearly love, but would rather avoid for a fifth summer. I'll try to work immediately after graduation and then do half of the Compostela trail (maybe starting in Pamplona for the running of the bulls) with Matt before going to McGill.

The sad plan: I don't get into McGill. I have to take on a permanent job (hopefully one of the training programs with Shell, Schlumberger or another large oil industry firm), and apply to law schools PROPERLY for next year so that all of my chances are not riding on one application and an ill-prepared LSAT.

Frankly, it would suck if I did not get accepted to McGill law.

Kaustik Games

Kaustik Games

This is cool. Matt and I are going to change the world with games.

A Bizarre Semester

Damn...well I can be forgiven in my first week back at university. Hopefully these large gaps in my blog won't become the norm.

This semester is going to be very interesting class-wise; I'm actually rather excited about it, and expect that it will be a great way for me end my time at Penn. I am finally taking a class that explores modern literary criticism, a subject in which I have found myself increasingly frustrated by want of a theoretical basis. The catch: this class is a modern feminist class (not exactly the field in which I have the greatest interest - however I am told that it's a burgeoning forum of intellectual activity today). Oh, and it's in French. And it's entirely about Marie Antoinette (yes, that cult figure of history around whom so many myths pervade). In fact the professor wants to dispel the many falsifications history has attached to her personality (such injustices the result of, in her words, gender exploitation). As the only guy in there, it should be an interesting hour of debate.

The other course greatly piquing my interest because of its stark contrast with the business courses I am usually enrolled in is "Human Evolutionary Biology" - this is going to be awesome. I have always felt that to understand man, and therefore mankind, demands a mutlidisciplinary approach in which truth is corralled into narrower spaces of ambiguity by counter-directional vectors of intellectual probing and exploration. One of these undoubtedly has to be an understanding of man's animal origin, the source of our primal instincts and emotional quotient.

Interestingly, I have already started to question the validity of evolution. There is a lot of proof for different aspects to Darwin's theory (namely in six different areas: Comparative Anatomy, Embryology, Molecular Biology, Biogeography, Experimental Simulation and Paleontology) but never has the thepry of evolution been wholly provable, or at all demonstrable. I've been trying to find examples of "speciation" that exemplify the actual evolution of different species of animal as opposed to the typical text book examples of natural selection at work (yes, the air got dirty and there were more black moths than white moths, but never at any point did two different species evolve from what was known to be the same animal). No success, and the professor was also clueless.

Canada rules, car accidents don't

http://www.cbc.ca/story/sports/national/2005/01/04/Sports/canada-russia050104.html

Canada dominates once again - I really can't believe how much we rock at ice hockey. Thank God for this with the NHL season cancelled. The acquisition of ultimate victory in our nation's favoured sport irrevocably musters a warm pride in my heart for the otherwise discouraging leaf that serves as our national symbol.

But, car accidents really do suck. It will never cease to amaze me how cultural differences manifest themselves on even the most mundane levels. Living in Paris last year, I was accustomised to the brutish parking procedure with which all parisiens managed to secure themselves a side-street lot in the cramped quartier latin - the ol' whack-the-other-cars-with-your-bumpers-till-there's-enough-space. On Sunday, a moron (for he can only be called that, as I can clearly not be held accountable in any regard) drove into an unmarked intersection and collided with me despite my having the right of way. We both still broke in time, but due to the -23 degrees weather that is gracing my Canadian winter, our attempts at damage mitigation turned into a spinning ballerina act as we glided across silky smooth ice, the trunk of my shitty 1990 horizon nicely denting the side of this guy's SUV. Damn. And so ensued 3 days of paperwork and phonecalls, and a lot of time spent worrying about whether I was going to have to fork over $2000 for repairs. Thankfully, I was spared.

So after an awesome night at the police station filing accident reports, I came home and played 3 hours of chess with my Dad. I beat him twice, but playing white both times. My black game doesn't fare as well. But we spent most of the time playing endgames, the heart of chess. Is it possible to mate with only a knight and bishop? We couldn't figure it out.

First

I'm only 3 days late - 2 if you believe that nights are extensions of the previous day - which is not bad. Most of my resolutions for 2005 are likely to remain permanently unfulfilled. I'm simply trying to provide some rationale for the start date of my blog, if only because when (if ever) I wade through the archives of this journal, I will be forever curious as to why I didn't start writing on the arbitrary beginning of our cruise around the Sun. Laziness, I guess.

I am feeling relaxed, and refreshed, though not in the vigorous, energising way as after a good run. The holidays have started to take their toll...I am guilty of far too much drinking with family and friends, and too little production. Strangely, this is not altogether a good feeling - despite my increasing desperation to jump off the exam and paper treadmill as the end of the semester approached - it's the same every year - there is something amazingly satisfactory about stumbling home in the wee hours of the morning from the study halls, watching the rising sun through my bleary eyes and smiling inwardly at the amazing feat of endurance I have just pulled. But as I stretch myself more and more thinly over the widening maw of academic demands, the energy deficit becomes critical, and I crash, and burn. Two Christmas weeks of almost complete torpidity seem to be the perfect remedy, reinvigorating the bodily battery for another 4 months of fervent mental application, and increasing the odds that I'll make it to 30 before my hair turns grey. So? Well, there was that "but"...

I just feel better when I am being pushed, as I think most people do. How can a man (or woman) reach his maximum potential without first discovering his limits, and then challenging the boundaries they define? 2 weeks of R&R are 2 weeks during which those boundaries, encircling us entirely, can sag inwards, like an elastic material that needs force to define its own shape. In the same way, our own limits and abilities are partly defined by the energy we exert in trying to push those limits outwards. And it's not static. Leave it alone, and you lose ground. Yea, sucks.

So, instead of waiting for the start of the final semester of my senior year, I am going to try and overcome the inactivity into which I have sunk a little in advance. I have 5 days and much to accomplish - I need to get my resume together, finish (start?) applications to law schools, and drink excessively (hey, it's the holidays). I also have a choice to make. A choice of direction. Because right now, I have none, and that's going to be a problem when I finish university in four months and am bewildered as to what I am doing for the rest of "life". Or, so modern society tells me. In any case, enough money to support my lifestyle would be a fairly high priority in this regard. That, and avoiding any occupation (scholastic or otherwise) that will render me an avid participant in Russian Roulette contests.

Expect more on that note.

Finally, a mission statement might be appropriate for my first post. I am peripatetic (in the less specific, non-aristotelian nature of the word). I love this word, and think it is one of the most accurate adjectives that can accompany my name. Travelling philosophers are the province of myth and legend, into which I would like to write myself as markedly as possible. I'm a neoromantic who attributes far too much value to the notions of glory and self-sacrifice, one who delusively believes in the betterment of mankind over the happiness of a man. Faith in a dream greater than oneself is a liberating and enlightening ascent into the brilliantly platonic, where imperfect men can bathe in the golden light that radiates from perfect ideas. If only I knew how.

"Ullage" is perhaps best explained by a dictionary definition:

(ull'-ij) n. 1: the amount that a container (as a cask or tank) lacks being full; wantage; deficiancy, for example, as might be lost by leakage in shipment or storage. 2: apparently, in the UK, ullage is also the amount left in the keg considered undrinkable; dregs. [from Middle English ulage, from Middle French eullage "the act of filling a cask," from eullier "to fill a cask," from Old French ouil "eye, bunghole," from Latin oculus "eye." Other etymology says this come from Old French oile oil from the filling of almost-full flask with oil to prevent evaporation.]

Blogs fascinate me. I can't explain why I haven't started one earlier, but I think they are a wonderful outlet for the ullage that the mind produces. Writing allows for the rearrangement and preservation of temporal ideas that might otherwise dissipate into the ether of the unrealised. And hopefully, somewhere at the bottom of the barrel, there will be a pint or two worth sharing.