The Lonely Kiwi

I don't know what it is with me and random objects, but at dinner there sat a Lonely Kiwi.
Who leaves a perfectly good kiwi sitting on a table I ask you?
Answer: students otherwise preoccupied with the dreaded weeks know as Finals. With a capital F, because that's completely necessary in this situation.
And with these Finals come Distractions. The weird thing is for me is that it's not drifting off in my [incredibly comfortable] chair, it's staring out the window and noticing the most random things. That, and listening to comedy radio. It's a deadly combination.
What have I noticed thus far? Someone doing incredibly enthusiastic but otherwise completely unhelpful looking stretches next to an over-laden bicycle. It took me a full five minutes to get back to my notes. And he was wearing red too - that's just not fair. Then, of course, one begins to wonder why these stretches were being performed by someone not wearing athletic gear. Was it a crazy? Was it a sleepy student who had passed out in the bushes? I guess we'll never know. But we will be distracted by it for twenty minutes.
Other than lonely kiwis, I've been noticing a lot of lonely umbrellas also... like the one on the grass outside. And they're not so much lonely as utterly destroyed. Their spines all broken and splayed every which way, and their fabric all warped. I mean, we live in Vancouver, we're starving students... why are there so many umbrellas lying around? Perhaps we've inherited some sort of umbrella serial killer - making each head a little bit damper every day.
And this is what Finals gives you - bad comedy radio, bad blogs jokes, and lonely kiwis.
And laughing to yourself in the middle of the library, but that's simply embarrassing.

Hello Sunshine

Just as today it unexpectedly went from pouring to sun, completed by a gorgeous sunset, I found the Sad Bicycle. Parked among the other average bicycles, the ones that don't grab your interest immediately, and keep it that way.
Needless to say, just as sometimes you need that break from studying to go for a walk to watch the sky turn purple, you also need to see a familiar inanimate object to make you feel balanced again.

Possession

Dear readers,
I have done a terrible thing - I have lost the Sad Bicycle.
For a while I was hoping that it was simply being tethered somewhere else - or perhaps it had been forgotten outside of some building - you know, the bikes you see chained up in increasingly more random ways - sometimes simply to another of their kind. But no, I had seen neither paint nor tape of the Sad Bicycle.
It struck me as odd that I was constantly keeping my eyes peeled for the little blue bike, it's not as though I had any reason to be. The owner remains mysterious (my vivid imagination rathers that the Sad Bicylce have no owner), it is a pathetic little thing probably headed in the direction of the consignment store, and it really has no bearing on my otherwise mature and bustling university life. But I have grown attached to it.
Everyone grows accustomed to the little things that make their days meaninful - everyone creates these little things to begin with. They help us to find a rhythm without being bored, and each time they happen they reassure us and our superstitions. They are both things to look forward to and things that surprise us. Socially, it becomes the gatherings of the members of your hall for conversation and mischief at all hours of the day, or collapsing on a friends bed wihtout the effort to reach your own. Personally, though, I find that you make certain points of the day, or certain things, yours. It could be the quiet minutes of haphazard half-sleep as you stumble through otherwise silent halls to a searing shower, it could be the last bite of 89% chocolate, 11% muffin of your breakfast, or it could be seeing that silly little bicylce each time you leave home and come back.
And now I have lost it. Or the owner has lost it. Or the Sad Bicylcle has gone and lost itself. Either way I am now going to half to get used to the fact that my little friend is gone into the void that is my non-world.

Boys who broke my heart.

There are two of them - Jesse F Keeler and Sebastien Grainger.
Who are they? The former members of Death From Above 1979, that's who.
And those bastards broke up, and broke my heart.
It was two years ago, yes, but due to the terrible Ipod mechanism of "Shuffle" the heartache, pain, days of tears and Half-Baked Ben&Jerry's, and blind hatred, have returned.
I hadn't heard the throbbing bass and clashing drums for what seem a long time, but as soon as I did I remembered - my first concert, which, as it turns out, was also their last. Most people boast seeing Boys2Men or a girl band or Linkin Park or Blink182 as their first concert. Well, I was a late bloomer attending concerts, my first was at 15. BUT it paid off. It was DFA... opening for Queens of the Stoneage... opening for Nine Inch Nails. That in and of itself describes fully why my music taste is the way it is - loud, limb-skewing, mosh-pitting, interesting.
There's something particularly powerful about the first concert you attend sans 'the rents', with your friends. It's part being on your own, playing a role in music culture, surrounded by people who are just as passionate about something as you. But for me in particular, it's mostly hearing the band live - it's soul shaking. And the first time it happens is something you never forget, because you've never heard anything quite like it.
The difference between the sound coming off of Itunes (or, at the time, out of the CD player) and feeling the bass line, being deafened by the drums, shouting along to the lyrics with hundreds of other people, and throwing your body around at random, limbs everywhere. I fell in love because they didn't just sound as good as they do on the LP, they were better. And not many people can say that about a bass and a drumkit.
Although the jerks sitting behind my friends and I were rotating between blowing pot smoke and cigarette smoke directly into our eyes, and we were way far from the stage, it was absolutely amazing. Everyone was passionate about the bands, everyone was there to have a good time, and, surprisingly, the only band that let me down was NIN (and therefore I haven't trusted the headlining act since, openers must be good too).
Still high on the fact that DFA had just opening my proverbial musical eyes, it wasn't until that August that I found out they had decided to part ways. It was a mature break up, and they were both courteous and gentle about it, but my heart will forever remain broken. And it's all their fault.

Twas the Night Before the Math Midterm

Twas the night before the math midterm, and all through the dorm,
Not a creature was chatting, true to Science form.
The science kids were shut in their rooms with care,
In hopes that the morning would not soon be there.

The formulas were memorized, all snug in their heads,
While their vision began to blur and go red.
Doubt was still present, it would be no snap,
They still had to study for those hidden mind-traps.

When out in the commons-room there arose such a clatter,
They sprang from their rooms to see what was the matter,
Away to the door they flew like a flash,
Threw open the door, and heard a great crash.

The moon illuminated the fresh fallen chairs,
Gave lustre of mid-day to the lack of cares,
When, what to their wondering eyes should appear,
But a drunken Arts student, bearing a mug of beer.

Their hair was messy, their clothes unkempt,
Their breath smelt of smoke, but they weren't tired yet.
Bewildered, the science students could only stare,
The Arts kid turned 'round to see who was there...

"Oh, hey it's the nerds, who stayed in to study,
While I went out to the bar with my buddy,
We had a few pints, and a few laughs,
While you stayed in to look at your graphs."

That's all it took, it was the last straw,
There was no way these science kids could now withdraw,
A murderous look arose in their eye,
And they screamed, "Death, in the name of π!"

Before Mr. Arts could flee from the scene,
The nerds were upon him, strong from caffeine,
"How many seconds will it take to smother?"
"Inefficient! The knife!" Cried the other.

And at an approximate angle of fifty degrees,
With precision the knife flew, and expertise,
The Science kids proved they could do more than just work,
Apparently all those formulas made them beserk.

It 'twas a bloody end to a studious eve,
Proving only that Arts students could be so naive,
As to think that all Science students were merely nerds,
They could do so much more - not even using their words.

As they returned down the hall, staggering slightly,
One said to the other, soft and lightly,
"So what was the answer to 1, A and C?"
"Who cares, it's after one, let's leave math be."

And as their doors closed, pushing the murderous students out of sight,
It was heard - "Merry studying to all, and to all a goodnight."

The Sad Bicycle

Oh the stories it could tell.
Against the little sapling,
Duct-taped seat and all,
Rusted paint and tiny frame.
Azure, assured.
The Sad Bicycle.

It reminds me of all the stories you're supposed to have, most likely will have, when you're done with first year. Everything is, hypothetically, happening for the first time. First time away from home, a whole lot of first mistakes, first failures, first triumphs.
As much as it pains me to say this, not all of these stories need be inebriated stories. Partying is fun; getting dressed up, going out with friends, having a good time, and collapsing exhausted into bed in the wee hours of the night. These are the Drunken Nights, what you talk about over waffles on Sunday morning, what you remember with smirks or grimaces. They may provide the most outrageous or comical subject matter, but sometimes it's the events you go to with a few close friends and make fun that are better... and easier to remember accurately.
For what we soon realized was the first weekend since September, my friends and I embarked upon The Weekend of Sobriety. Friday was quiet, tasteful, and all about bad slasher flicks, and then on Saturday - brace yourself - we played boardgames. Yes, it sounds like that last-ditch effort a drowning man makes for the surface, but it actually turned out to be really fun AND we still had inside-jokes come out of it. Added bonus: the biggest mistake anyone of the night made was during Catchphrase:
"What continent is under Europe?"
"Asia!"
OR
"Where do you go on vacation?"
"Brothels!"
As much as it is fun to party and be stupid on the weekends because you really only get this chance once - when we all graduate into "the real world" we'll also have to be "adults" - in fifty years I don't want to remember my first year of university through a haze of frat parties, random dance parties in common rooms, and poker games, but I want to remember activities I did, and places I explored; concrete events that the really good stories come from.
Something tells me The Sad Bicycle didn't get to its present state by going crazy with the power of being a "grown-up", being on your own, and having access to certain substances, but by whirring down a hill full-speed, taking aimless long rides with fantastic views, rusting through all types of weather, and skidding when the road got too slippery.

I moved to Vancouver...

... and all I became was an f***ing hippie.
This is the thought that occurred to me yesterday as I fervently argued the pointlessness of labels. Labels such as "in a relationship" or "vegetarian".... and in that case I suppose calling myself a "hippie" is just another form of labeling. It's a vicious cycle, really, and it's incredibly difficult not to be constantly looking for some word to describe yourself.
As university students we have moved beyond the "Are you my mother?" stage and have now entered the "Is this my definition?" level of life. It's no longer about where we come from, but what we are, and my issue is, why do we have to be anything?
Yes, when we fill out applications we are required to "bubble in" the basic facts; marital status, occupation, diet, etc. Why is it that we try to "bubble in" the rest of ourselves? Is there really a point when you love someone to declare to the world (via Facebook of course) that you are "in a relationship"? Some would argue that it shows how committed you are to them, willing to declare love in front of a digital audience, but if there's anything that Hollywood and prime time TV has taught us, is that simply declaring yourself "in a relationship" means nothing. It doesn't stop actors and fictional characters from cheating; what stops someone, even us regular people, from pursuing someone else is that love that we're supposed to declare in the first place. I would rather love someone then be "in a relationship" for that very reason - it is the state you are in, not how you are defined, that matters.
The same thoughts go for anything else, yes, saying that you are vegetarian when people question you about your eating habits is important, but is it not simply the case of you eat what you eat and that's it. People call themselves vegetarians, and in the next breath fantasize over meat. Others may call themselves vegetarians and when questioned why may reply with some compassionate phrase, or that the idea of eating flesh is barbaric. Would it not simply be easier if everyone just had certain dietary habits, instead of fumbling for ways to explain why they were eating what they were?
And it's with that statement that I paused, took a moment to think, and realized I had just regressed to the Age of Aquarius... in the Age of the Starbucks, Google, and Consumerism. Just by moving to Vancouver I have gone from the least likely person to be termed a "hippie" to the most likely to throw pig's blood on fur coats, stage peace protests, and reject everything society deems fit - including my beloved Starbucks. On the bright side, I'm starting to think outside the box, and in the sphere.
And so I say - I moved to Vancouver, and all I became was a f***ing hippie.

O vs McC

Obama. McCain. Palin (snort of laughter). Biden (frown while considering why that sounds familiar).
These are the major players, who, on Tuesday will don their masks, step through the crowd, and wrestle for the title of... just kidding. But that would be an interesting publicity stunt.
Even for those who are not American, like myself, Tuesday marks a historic day. Thus far, the race between Obama and McCain has been world news almost every single day, everyone has an opinion to offer about each candidate, their running mate, and their extended families.
The US is arguably the most powerful country in the world (as much as everyone hates to admit) and whoever becomes their leader next has a larger burden to shoulder than just responsibility for their own country. With the world economy slowly spiraling down the drain, the situation in the Middle East only worsening, and natural disasters and conflicts like the Congo springing up everywhere, the world needs someone who can not only lead a powerhouse nation, but set a respectable example.
Many people seem to think that the role of the next President will be to clean up after Bush - restart the economy, work on the running deficit, pull out of the Middle East, and so on. In my opinion, however, the next President has that, and a much bigger job to do. Bush has been ridiculed for nearly the past decade - while running the most powerful country, he was also the running joke of politics - and it's time for someone who can fully represent their country to take office. Both candidates are smart, both have viable plans, but I think it's time for a Democrat to take office. The Republican party has some cleaning up to do - they put Bush in office for eight years, after all.
I don't know if I'd be arguing the same thing if Obama was not the Democrat candidate, because although his platform is refreshing and sensible, it's his presence that mainly concerns me, and is the most attractive thing about him for the majority of his supporters.
Obama is compared to Kennedy for good reason; both Presidents were over-poweringly charasmatic and both had phenomenal speechwriters. When the next President talks, their speech can't end up as the butt of a joke, because although it was what the President does that determines their worth, it is what the President says that causes them to be remembered, and beloved, by the people. And are not the people the most important part of the democratic election process?
Obama obviously knows this, let's hope this knowledge will pay off with a certain oval office.
I close with a line from one of his early speeches:
"This is not a red America, this is not a blue America, this is a united America."
Chilling, yes? That is a President speaking.

All Hallows' Eve

It's concept is brilliant, it's traditions divine.
Everyone can by anyone and no one. Halloween is the day that world becomes a stage and we are, literally, all the players. Dressed in costume, perhaps hidden by a mask you are given the leeway to act out whatever part you have secretly always wanted to be. Or maybe you dress as the personification of something you are every day. But the point is that nobody can be judged for what they wear, or how they act.
Every day people dress up and put on a "mask", or maybe they put on several, depending on the circumstances. We all act our way through life, never truly revealing who we really are to the general public. And Halloween celebrates this.
Originally, Halloween was the day that the line between living and dead blurred, now it is the day when the line between fantasy and reality blurs. Freudian theory would have me argue that just as ancient Halloween celebrators let things that were long buried wander among the living, we now let the fantasies of our unconscious out and put them on display. We become the character we could be in our mind for an evening and have no concern for what society may think of us - because they're dressed equally as outrageously.
Personally, the concept of dressing up was just always incredibly appealing. As a child, it was always the costume that was attractive and the candy was just an added bonus. Carving pumpkins? Messy and fantastic. Scaring people? Darkly fun. Letting out your inner demons? Necessary.