Well, I’m back.

More to come after I stop hallucinating.

Well, I’m off.

Blackouts are gayer than a treeful of monkeys on nitrous oxide.

As far as I know, the T-Dot trip is still on (and yes Rob, I guess I still owe you that half a favour… ), but it is looking very likely that there will be several zillion delays, if the flight gets off the ground at all, and doesn’t get rerouted to Winnipeg (joygasm!!). And even then, my cousin might not be able to pick us up at the airport, because no electricity means no fuel pumps. Sigh.
It disgusts me sometimes how reliant we are on electricity. I read about New Yorkers who had to sleep on the sidewalk outside their hotel because – get this – their electronic room keys wouldn’t work! We took something as simple and perfect as a key, and decided it would work better if you added electricity, and zingo – trendy New Yorkers bunking on the sidewalk. Stupid world.

The hottest character in all of literature is Mervyn Peake’s Steerpike.

Yesterday’s favourite comment about the June physics 30 field test, from a teacher: “This analogy is both silly and contrived. In fact, you’re silly. Yes, Alberta Learning is silly. Physics is silly. I hate physics. I quit.”

Today’s favourite, from a student commenting on a different question on the same test: “Well, I couldn?t manage to even find enough thought in my head to comprehend this question. It may be that I do not understand the question, or that my pursuit of physics 30 knowledge was in vain and that I truly am a fraud. But right now I can barely gather my thoughts enough to write a comment. The question would probably be a good one if I understood it.”

I need a new job.

Anyway, like a lot of people I know, I’ve thus far refused to read the ‘Harry Potter’ series because of all the hype surrounding it. You know what I mean – I was worried I’d like it, and then like it a little too much and turn into one of those glass-eyed zombies standing in Chapters at midnight waiting for the release of the next book. It was with a certain amount of trepidation that I opened up the first one this morning.
But you know what? There’s nothing to worry about. Nothing! Because anybody – I kid you not – with half a brain, or any sort of literary taste, or who is over the age of about twelve years old – would rather read the TV Guide than any of the Potter books.
I admit that they’re written for kids – which is what makes it so much worse, in my mind, when you see fully-grown people reading them on the LRT or whatever. The writing style? It’s barbarically plain. The exposition is disgustingly dull, dry, and forced – I’ve suffered through quite a lot of it feeling as if someone were stuffing salt into my brain. The dialogue is bad enough to make you moan out loud. No offense at all to J.K. Rowling, of course, but she writes like a sixteen-year old girl – the totally insufferable one you all remember from, like, English 20 who kept getting 100% in class and who made you read her bad short stories and her even worse poetry.
Anyway, I’ve finished the first book, and I am giving up right here and now on the Potter phenomenon. Leave it for the kids. Stick with Nabokov, Faulkner, Pratchett, Shakespeare, anything – just don’t, for the love of God, give in to your curiosity and read a Harry Potter book.