It’s kind of odd when you’re stuck in that place where your spirit is thoroughly broken but your mind refuses to stop thinking about things. Where you’re entirely disillusioned but refuse to acquiesce. I guess one could call it a no man’s land.

I find myself going through this kind of thinking quite often — nearly a year ago I made this post.

A commenter named patlajica left this message:

because you have no other choice! people like you, who refuse to be swallowed by ignorance, have no other choice but to think and fight. you are cursed with a brain that will not shut down, a mind that will not stop asking questions and eyes that will not look away when wrong-doings or abuse happen. your very existence is tormenting but there is nothing more beautiful than your cause.

She summed it up quite well, and in fact that reflects my first paragraph.

I’ve done a lot of thinking this winter, perhaps one of the worst I’ve had (and conversely perhaps also one of the best I’ve had). I’ve seriously considered resigning from ASSU to take a break from it, even as I’ve seriously considered running for a seat on Governing Council — all the while I’ve also come up with some thoughts and ideas to do something about both.

In one capacity or another I’ve been involved in just about every level of student government on campus, from course unions (HBSU and APSS) to a faculty student union (ASSU) to the university student union (SAC). The one that I haven’t stuck my nose in is the Governing Council.

One issue that really bothers me is the fact that there is no public accountability of the University of Toronto (or indeed, at an Ontario university). The results of its internal audit are never made public, the Audit Committee of the Governing Council has no student members (for what reason, I do not know) — it reports back to the Business Board (which has two student members, and the reports are publicly viewable) but many of its items are confidental and undisclosed. The web site for the internal audit serves as a “resource” for members of the “University community” — of course student societies don’t get audited by this ‘Internal Audit’ (so are we members of this “University community”?) and we aren’t given the most important resource of all: the results of the audit.

The very structure of the Governing Council also bothers me. 8 students out of 50 members. That’s one less than the number of alumni (eight plus the Chancellor), four less than the teaching staff (12), eight less than the provincial appointees (16). At the very least, I feel there should be more students on the Governing Council — substantially more — than there are alumni. Sure, they contribute to the “University community,” but really, we’re the ones who go through the crap here on the ground. To change this, one would have to go to the provincial government, because apparently the Governing Council is rooted in Ontario law (hence the 16 provincial appointees).

And that just brings it round full circle. The University of Toronto is established in the law, by the province, and yet it has no public accountability.

Many of the committees on the Governing Council co-opt unelected students. This is a route to get “in” — so to speak — but not being elected isn’t my thing. I used two negatives. I would rather be elected than be co-opted or appointed. (During ASSU’s March 2005 elections, I was acclaimed an Executive Member rather than being elected because not enough people ran for anything. Had I not stood against Yaser for the presidency, he too would have been acclaimed. At that point I didn’t want to become President, but I wasn’t happy at all about the lack of choice and the automatic acclamations.)

I’ve also noticed that no full-time undergraduate student representative on the Governing Council has reached out to faculty student unions — at least not to ASSU. If they had I probably would’ve known about it by now. Of course, I and ASSU have certainly not reached out to them either, despite their contacts being public information. Neither of us initiated anything.

I’ve been thinking a lot more about a lot more (more on that, hopefully, later). And although sometimes I feel like walking away, I think Shawn summarized it best when, in March responding to my post, he said “keep fighting b/c you probably won’t give up either way..”.

Sometimes, though, it just gets awful lonely when yours is the only voice you hear, regardless of how much you like listening to the sound of your own voice. Perhaps you’re not listening, or you’re not listening in the right places. But that just makes you feel even lonelier.

The fact that I can kind of half-speak French is annoying. I know enough to string together basic sentences but advanced speaking is hard. Also, understanding people who speak in French (i.e., native speakers) is difficult unless they slow down.

It’s annoying because, say I’m sitting in the subway or at the back of an Air Canada plane and people are speaking to each other in French, I can understand enough of it to pique my interest and keep my ears trained on the conversation and yet not enough for me to truly comprehend what’s being discussed.

I also remember several weeks ago, a girl came into the ASSU office to inquire about a French course and I gave her my card, saying, “Mon carte.”

“‘Ma carte’ you mean,” she corrected me.

I already had to grapple with my sleepy brain to come up with the French word for “card” in the first place and then ended up using a wrong term anyway.

It would be nice if I could consistently practice my French and keep a grasp on it. That won’t happen anytime soon though, watching French television, reading French comic books and listening to Francoise Hardy is no substitute for speaking French.

Before I left for New Jersey I managed to squeak out 13 comic strips. I’ve e-mailed the editor-in-chief of the Varsity, and am now awaiting a reply. I’m probably going to have to keep reminding him.

I spent a lot of time working on comics at the expense of working on two essays that are due immediately after the break, and I now have to spend all my time focussing on that. It wouldn’t be too bad if I werent going to Windsor for the Canadian University Science Games on January 11 (until the 14th).

It’ll be my first time in Windsor, and — with the exception of Peterborough and Collingwood (does driving through Barrie count?) — the only place outside of the GTA I’ve ever been in Canada.

Here’s to hoping Windsor doesn’t suck and that we actually win something.

saqib says:
…so when you going to buy this for your girlfriend?
saqib says:
http://www.szul.com/diamonds […] id=726013
nomes says:
as soon as i get a credit card
nomes says:
i’ll über-max it out on the very first day
nomes says:
and spend the rest of my life repaying that debt
nomes says:
wait, it’s starting to sound like a university education

Being unproductive and unmotivated in the time leading up to and including the very last assignment/test/exam of the term. You keep telling yourself that this is the last thing, and that just makes you want to do whatever it is even less. You waste your time reading various articles on the web, or participating in message boards you’d rarely otherwise frequent, or blogging. Ultimately you churn out something, perhaps minutes before the deadline, or you give up on studying as the train pulls into your station.

(This manifests itself on a smaller scale within a test or assignment when you’re near the end and start being careless, writing in big splotchy letters that run off the blue lines in the stupid exam booklet. There might be thirty minutes left, but you’re done and want to make it seem like you would’ve done a better job if you had more time. So you write “TIME…” in large letters under your crappy conclusion, hand in your exam booklet, and saunter off and fall asleep on the first flat surface you see to make up for all the sleep you’ve lost.)

I hate not living on campus.

I want to take up archery again.

Right now I feel kind of inept.

Emotionally, intellectually, my spirit: inept.

I met an acquaintance today (well, yesterday), after two years — he was in my Lord of the Rings course — and he told me about how he’d transferred to York. University of Toronto is shit, he told me, compared to York. The professors actually care about you, the courses are designed to help you learn, not to make you burn. The level of difficulty isn’t necessarily easier, he said, it’s the way York treats you — indeed, it treats you as a human being, a person. If the purpose of a university education is learning, then the University of Toronto has broken it, just like it has broken the spirits of several students who have come here. He went on about it for a while.

I really have no reference point when it comes to the University of Toronto and comparing it to other institutions. Well, not until I met this guy. Sure, the evidence is anecdotal, but hot damn — what the fuck.

I looked back at my two years on ASSU and I tried to pull out tangible things that I or we have brought through to make things better for the students. Academically. I found none. Nothing new, nothing improved. ASSU, in the last two years — to my recollection — has accomplished squat. Maybe I’m wrong, maybe I’m missing something. Yes, of course, there was the time I got the Dean to apologize to BIO250 students. Then the other times I’ve gotten into tiffs with instructors/lecturers/professors for all kinds of reasons. But other than that? I really don’t know. Perhaps being able to maintain the status quo is something. I think? I don’t know. We tell ourselves to take solace in our little victories, and that’s nice, but have we really moved ourselves to accomplish something big? I’m sitting here and I’m thinking that ASSU can be so much more, but I feel like I’m devoid of ideas.

If I’m devoid of ideas, I’m devoid of action. Where do the ideas come from? Everyone. But for that, you need communication and I don’t see that. There needs to be a regularized channel of communication. Apparently, that’s what course unions in ASSU are for. To keep the Executive’s ear to the ground, so that we can all pool our resources and effect some change. But that doesn’t happen. I don’t see it happening. I see that it might happen, but we really need something for that.

I don’t think it takes just one leader. Maybe it does. Maybe it takes a confluence of several leaders, in several positions. I don’t know. We ought to think about these things. How do we make our lives better — the lives of students better? We don’t think. It seems to me that we keep putting things off for an ever-later date. We don’t think. We’re devoid of ideas.

(I’m sorry if these musings seem esoteric or are inaccurate, feel free to ask for clarification or reprimand for correction.)

Recently, there has been a rash of thefts in the lockers that ASSU rents out to students in the basement of Sidney Smith. Things such as laptops and textbooks (incidentally, the one I’ve had tiffs over) have been stolen. Although ASSU has repeatedly asked Campus Police to conduct some sort of investigation, they’ve said that they don’t have the time or resources to do so — because the value of the stolen goods is not large enough, apparently. I don’t think you can base shit on the value of the stolen goods, it has to be based on the relative value. For students, a textbook is a big deal, a laptop is a fortune. If a senior administrator at the University had her car stolen, the Campus Police, I suspect, would be on that buggy like a hungry dog on a scrap of meat. What does it take?

The web site for the Undecided Party of Canada has some thoughtful ideas. It may seem to be a joke site, but don’t be fooled, it addresses some very serious issues and posits some absolutely interesting ideas.

On its about page:

If Conservatives could call themselves Progressive,
If the current federal Liberals can call themselves…Liberal,
If an organization that takes contributions from union dues without requiring the consent of those paying the dues can call itself the New Democratic Party,
And if the Reform Party can go without making any significant reforms, change its name to the Alliance Party without creating any significant alliances, and then drop the Alliance name after negotiating the only important alliance in its short history,

…any misconceptions about the meanings behind the UDP’s name can simply be considered part of the fine tradition of misdirection and manufactured disorientation that defines the political process.

This site is making me reconsider my support for the NDP. I’m half thinking of writing “undecided” on my ballot and spoiling it. I encourage people to become politically active, but when I reflect upon the state of things I feel incredibly discouraged. Most people are dimwits, it seems, in politics. It’s like they have an idiot convention where they pick who’s going to become a politician — liars, assholes, braggarts and all-around fuckheads are in high demand.

I’ll probably end up voting NDP. I’ll probably end up campaigning for the NDP as well. It’s important, I guess. If you can’t really effect change by kicking the shitheads out or being wittily ironical by spoling your ballot, you can at least moderate them by electing less fucked-up people to do something more positive.

This has to be one of the most incoherent and rambling posts I’ve written in a long time. I’ve barely covered half of what’s on my mind. Maybe less. I have an essay due on Wednesday. I have to work on that.

Yesterday morning I got on the Spadina streetcar through the backdoors as I usually. It was quite packed, and I would typically wait for another streetcar but I was in a hurry. I also usually take my backpack off but I was holding a bag full of books so I simply didn’t have the opportunity to do that.

From the front of the car, this black lady came hurtling through, “Excuse me! Excuse me!” She was physically pushing people out of her way. She came and stood near the doors, beside me.

Then she started muttering something about how they stole $10,000 from her young children, her social services, and “This is what you’ve become Canada!” Then she said she felt like she was going to throw up, and pushed me out of the way and proceeded toward the back asking (demanding, more like it) for someone to give up a window seat.

A person (in the aisle) complied and got up for her, and the person sitting beside also got up. So she got her window seat (and I think she said thank you but I don’t remember) and opened the window.

She continued muttering things, but I had to get off at Willcocks and so did not get the entire gist of her argument.

I think she might have undergone some kind of trauma (losing a lot of money, perhaps; losing her children?) or something.

But yeah. Another TTC story.

Monday night, I went to see a preview showing of Syriana with a couple of friends.The Cinema Studies Students’ Union (CINSSU) was screening the sneak preview, for free, as it often does. The film kicked ass.

It’s a complex film with several characters; shot with two hand-held cameras, it’s so rich in detail it almost seems like a documentary (and it might as well be). It is an important film about America’s dealings in the Persian Gulf revolving around oil. It follows four main characters (they’re all men): a CIA agent shuttled between the Middle East and America (George Clooney), and energy analyst (Matt Damon) advising the would-be emir of an oil-rich nation, an attorney investigating the shady merger of two oil companies, and a Pakistani migrant-worker in an oil-rich nation who joins a madrassa. The jargon may be hard to follow for some, and many of the business dealings can leave people confused; but the message of the film comes through — without making any of the characters appear one-dimensional.

Again, it’s an important film, because people need to know how it is that they manage to get cheap oil and at least some of the reasons why leaders of oil-rich countries are almost invariably lackeys of American agendae.

Many people, after the film finished, expressed that they didn’t understand it. And I suppose that might have something to do with the complexity of the content or of the way the film was structured. In any case, I hope they use it as a starting point to learn more about the United States’ operations in other countries.

On Tuesday, after noon, as I was headed downtown on the subway and reading Thucydides, a man started asking loudly for change. You could tell he was kind of homeless; carrying a few things with him, wearing two dirty coats, dirty pants, dirty hair, dirty skin, and with an intoxicated manner. As no one responded to his appeal for change, he began to loudly castigate the general subway ridership for their self-alienation and isolation — refusing to interact with fellow human beings and living in their own worlds. I actually agreed with him on that point.

Finally, a lady got up, thrust some change into his hands and sat back down. He left his seat and went over to her to thank her, and managed to find a seat right beside her and sat down. Soon, she — disgusted — got up and walked to the other end of the car. He laughed and continued his banter.

As we approached Broadview station, he quipped that he came to Broadview to view broads. Blondes, brunettes, redheads, tall ones, short ones, “pencil necks,” and so on (to the general repulsion of those who had nothing better to do than to listen to him).

He related a short story about how he picked up some girl and in bed she started talking about a “ban-job” — short for a banana job.

Soon he went into a narrative about a whore he picked up from Dundas and Jarvis. He talked to her, knowing she had been in this business for some time, and asked her name. She said it was Cynthia. So he asked her who gave her that name, her father or her mother? She replied neither. Well then, he asked, who gave her that name? At which point she rolled over on the bed and bent over and vomited on the floor. She then said Satan, Satan (and he had a peculiar way of pronouncing Satan, “say-dun”) had given her her name. He laughed and asked her if she was a ritualistic type, a ritual girl. She said yes. So he asked her how many candles she lit in her room. And she said sixty-nine, sixty-nine candles and that “ain’t no sexual reference, neither.” Sixty-nine. Cynthia. End of story. Thank you for listening.

The train approached Sherbourne station and he got up, stating that he didn’t understand why people were unkind to him — he wasn’t a gangster, he was a “good fella.” The door opened, and he said:

Crimson mountain, golden sun,
Purple tree for everyone.

Good-bye!

As he bid his farewell, the door chimed and just as it closed he exited. It was like he had it perfectly timed.

I turned to the girl next to me and asked, “Did he say purple tree?”
She replied, “I have no idea.”

Ever since I got that toque, girls have been looking over my way more often.

Of course, I realize that they’re checking out the toque and not me — but I’ll take whatever I can get.

Today I was on the subway with an acquaintance I’ve known since high school. We got on the subway at St. George station discussing ugg boots and how I dislike them, and I was trying to show him an example by pointing out someone wearing ugg boots. This we did not find.

There was this guy sitting down beside where we were standing, in front of us was a woman. The guy started tapping the woman and she, I guess, was scared and so with a frustrated expression, asking him what his problem was, walked away. The guy then got up and tapped a man and asked him where Donlands station was, and tried to get some elaboration, and the man tried to help him. For whatever reason he didn’t choose to adhere to the man’s advice and came up to me (within inches of me).

This guy was not in a normal state, definitely intoxicated, and he asked me where Yonge/Bloor station was, and I told him. He then asked me how to get to Donlands, and I told him to stay on the train; I told him I’d let him know when we got there. He then informed me about how “she” took his house, his truck and his two children, all because of his booze addiction (as well as crack). He also showed me how he was now drinking rubbing alcohol (Life brand) that he’d bought from Shoppers’ Drug Mart. He told me he was going to a detoxification centre but he had no hopes of building his life again, and that his wife wouldn’t take him back.

I tried to encourage him and tell him that as long as he was motivated to clean himself up, he’d at least have a new start. I told him it was good that he was going to a detox centre.

We were approaching Donlands and he told me that if it weren’t for me, he’d be on the train forever trying to find his station. He thanked me and held his hand out. I took it and shook it, it was rather dirty. (I didn’t touch anything with that hand until I got to Kennedy station and washed it.) When we got to Donlands and the door opened, he turned around and again thanked me, but the door chimes were going off. So I gently pushed him out of the train and told him to make sure he gets everything together, and bade him good luck.

I wondered afterward if I perhaps should have actually tried to help him find the detox centre. He told me he could barely see, and it seems if he were to go up to someone on the street and ask to help him find it, people would walk away quickly. I’m still thinking about that and wondering if I should have actually taken him to this detox centre. Not sure if it exists. Should google it. Apparently there’s a detox centre at East General Hospital at Danforth and Donlands.

I hope he finds it.

My acquaintance and I then sat down and continued our discussion about ugg boots. As it happened a girl came in and I noticed her boots, which weren’t quite ugg boots but were ugly nevertheless. A couple of stops later she was about to get off at Victoria Park station. So I asked her (because we were sitting right beside the door) if hers were ugg boots. She said no. I let her know that I thought her boots were gaudy anyway. She told me that a lot of guys had said that to her, but it kept her warm and comfortable. As long as it’s pragmatic, I responded. She was kind of cute.

Later we got to Kennedy station and as we went up to the RT platform I noticed another girl with boots, and on the platform I asked her if hers were ugg boots. She had apparently never heard of them. So I had to explain what ugg boots are. In doing so I also had to assure her that I was not crazy (and my acquaintance tried to reassure her that I was simply trying to show him what ugg boots are) and that I was, in fact, a student at UofT. And so was she.

As such, we talked about university, about tuition fees and about medical school, until we parted ways at Scarborough Town Centre.

In other news, I got the replacement for my malfunctioning iPod — brand new (or, at least, it has no scratches). I have to get a case this time.