Greetings, gentle readers.
The past week has been a turbulent one, with my previous life issuing forth vaporous apparitions of memory from whatever shallow grave it was unceremoniously dumped all those years ago. I had thought that most of the residual traces of my life prior to my sojourns to Africa and Europe had vanished. Apparently not. The cascade of madness down memory lane began a week ago, when the latest batch of trainees were released onto the floor of my office.
As the newly initiated milled about the floor, navigating the labyrinthine conglomeration of cubicles and corridors, one lass caught my eye. And held it. The fabric of the universe stretched very thin for a moment as two simultaneous cartoon thought balloons manifested just below the flickering flourescent lights - "I know that person from somewhere..."
It took a couple of days and a few blind alleys before it struck me. I was a student teacher in 1998, and Sarah was a grade 10 pupil. Having opened that can of worms, all sorts of associations and recollections came flooding back. Having discovered one former student, I found myself asking more and more questions. Whatever became of those children in the intervening seven or eight years since I stood before them in a classroom? Charlett and Marcus from St. Rose Junior High, Carly and Jamie from St. Francis Xavier High School. Does anyone still remember me? Did I make an impact on someone's life? Now that they're all adults, what do they recall of the goofy and awkward English teacher that waltzed in and out of their classroom for a couple of months? Answers on a postcard, please.
Meanwhile, Liverpool have tragically stumbled again, losing the League Cup Final to Chelski in extra time. No FA Cup, no League Cup, and with only fourth place in the League to play for, the Champions' League is the last remaining chance for silverware. The lack of trophies is particularly worrisome when considering the fate of young Stevie G, who was unlucky enough to be the poor blighter who scored an own goal, thus allowing Chelski to come into the game and punish Liverpudlian profligacy with two late strikes to bury the Reds' chances. And if there is a serious dearth of glory at the close of the season, speculation about a high-profile move for the young captain will dominate the back pages of all the newspapers. If Stevie wants to go, there will not be any shortage of interested parties with shedloads of swag. The ever-voracious Madrilenos will be waving their millions, while the blue Londoners have the Abramovich fortunes to fuel their bid.
And my TELUS stock matures this week, while stock prices are soaring. Hopefully this translates into a hefty whack of cash so that my forthcoming road trip to Calgary can be filled with over-indulgence and decadence. Looking forward to hitting the old Cow-town stomping grounds and catching up with people I haven't seen in over a year and a half.
Will be back at a later time with more news and updates from the world as I know it. Must also try and get back to working on my novel, since the things has been stalled out for months now. So until next time, good night England and the colonies. Cheers,
-mARKUS
^+Justice for the 96+^
http://jdsilentio.blogspot.com
23 February 2005
05 February 2005
It's been a long time coming...
Greetings, gentle readers.
Ah, the neglect of it all. So many things to discuss, so many things to say, so many assertions and commentaries to make. The world of sports spins onward, the terrifying destructive power of nature has been unleashed, and my life continues its chaotic, Brownian-motion descent into madness and despair. The days just seem to run together in some sort of quiet concatenation; time passes, the sun rises, the sun sets, the paycheques are cashed, the ambiguity has put on weight.
Where to begin? The Indian Ocean tsunami that wiped out over an eighth of a million people? Totally my fault. I happened to be listening to the Manic Street Preachers' "Tsunami" over the Christmas holidays, and thus subconsciously encouraged the natural disaster. Of course, now the song is ruined, since it has ceased to be a metaphor for the powerful currents of love, and has instead become a literal representation of powerful ocean currents that kill tens of thousands of people. Shame, really. Some of the catchiest sitar riffs since George Harrison was hanging with Ravi Shankar, ironically at the Concert for Bangladesh.
To briefly touch on the American Gridiron Championship, or as I've already termed it "The Thirty Year Anniversary Since a Team From Philadelphia Won Anything At All," I'm somewhat hesitant to open my big yap and boldly proclaim the Eagles champions ahead of the facts. But really - Philly needs another championship. I was two years old when the Flyers won the Stanley Cup for the second time, and every time since then when they've been good, something catastrophic happens. When they were good in the 80's, the Oilers became the greatest professional ice hockey team in history. And thumped the Flyers profoundly.
When the Flyers were good in the 90's, they had to play in a labour-conflict-shortened season, and failed again. The Flyers are actually a good team AGAIN, but this time there's no ice hockey at all. The Eagles have to bear the burden of that awesome responsibility for once. Even though they are depressingly consistent. The Eagles of yesteryear played the most bizarre brand of smash-mouth American rugby under the direction of Randall Cunningham. I used to love reading the box-scores of their games, just because it was always something weird. The scores would be 15-11 or something equally ludicrous, with unconverted touchdowns, blocked punts, safeties, and a host of other anomalies filling the scoresheet. Now they just win all their games by double-digits. Ho hum.
Liverpool have won again, this time against the Craven Cottagers of Fulham. Despite the heroics of Edwin Van Der Sar in net, Chris Coleman's Fulham finally succumbed to an awesome display of possession football which denied their midfield space, and kept their defenders running about like proverbial headless chickens. Fernando Morientes is finally coming into his own with another goal to augment the tally he began against Charlton. Vladimir Smicer is finally back from injury, and he's looking sharp. Stevie G and Jar-Jar were impeccable as always, spraying quality passes all over the pitch to keep possession, and the Dude looks as though he might hang onto the goalkeeping duties for a while yet. In short, the team has now won three straight, and it looks like they're finally starting to hit a good stride.
This past week has seen me blast out some rather lengthy and bloated e-mails, and for what it's worth, my apologies go out to Melnychuk and Laura for my rather purple prose which may have exceeded any brief that was extended to me. It's one thing to ask me for a commentary on an advertisement I haven't seen. It's something else again for me to draw the historical development of the field of marketing from the Industrial Revolution through the American Nadir period and the English Victorian Era to the post-modern nuclear society. Perhaps if I turned it into an interpretive dance, rather than the reams and reams of dead tree products that were encompassed by my rambling, meandering monologue, I would be more environmentally conscientious. Or at least seem that way. Hmm. Important principle of marketing: contrary to what Sprite ad execs say, image is everything.
I'm reminded of the scene from "The Exorcist III" where the demon possessing Father Karras speaks about the nature of reality.
"In this box you call a world, we cannot touch except through bodies." he raves.
Synthesize that with Erwin Rommel's famous saying that, "in the land of the blind, the one-eyed man is king," and you get a rather depressing picture of human interaction as a very shallow and superficial affair, where depth and authenticity are the exception rather than the rule, and the arrogant and pompous triumph. People follow the carrion crow's pursuit of bright, shiny things, and love crawls on all fours.
Damn, there I go waxing lyrical again. Gotta rein that in at some point. Also have to stop spraying academic references about like cat urine.
So after I finish concatenating (the word of the day, kiddiewinkies) a few e-mails and doing some editing, I should be able to post up some guest columns and other such interesting diversions. People must be sick to death of reading the same inane drivel I keep spouting. We've got to change it up a little, kick it up a notch, and several other pop-culture catchphrases.
Watch this space. There will be developments and descriptions to astonish and astound. I may even decide to trill off a small diatribe dealing with my employment at TELUS, and maybe even shut up about Liverpool FC for once. So until later, cheerio and best of luck to everyone.
-mARKUS
^+Justice for the 96+^
http://jdsilentio.blogspot.com
Ah, the neglect of it all. So many things to discuss, so many things to say, so many assertions and commentaries to make. The world of sports spins onward, the terrifying destructive power of nature has been unleashed, and my life continues its chaotic, Brownian-motion descent into madness and despair. The days just seem to run together in some sort of quiet concatenation; time passes, the sun rises, the sun sets, the paycheques are cashed, the ambiguity has put on weight.
Where to begin? The Indian Ocean tsunami that wiped out over an eighth of a million people? Totally my fault. I happened to be listening to the Manic Street Preachers' "Tsunami" over the Christmas holidays, and thus subconsciously encouraged the natural disaster. Of course, now the song is ruined, since it has ceased to be a metaphor for the powerful currents of love, and has instead become a literal representation of powerful ocean currents that kill tens of thousands of people. Shame, really. Some of the catchiest sitar riffs since George Harrison was hanging with Ravi Shankar, ironically at the Concert for Bangladesh.
To briefly touch on the American Gridiron Championship, or as I've already termed it "The Thirty Year Anniversary Since a Team From Philadelphia Won Anything At All," I'm somewhat hesitant to open my big yap and boldly proclaim the Eagles champions ahead of the facts. But really - Philly needs another championship. I was two years old when the Flyers won the Stanley Cup for the second time, and every time since then when they've been good, something catastrophic happens. When they were good in the 80's, the Oilers became the greatest professional ice hockey team in history. And thumped the Flyers profoundly.
When the Flyers were good in the 90's, they had to play in a labour-conflict-shortened season, and failed again. The Flyers are actually a good team AGAIN, but this time there's no ice hockey at all. The Eagles have to bear the burden of that awesome responsibility for once. Even though they are depressingly consistent. The Eagles of yesteryear played the most bizarre brand of smash-mouth American rugby under the direction of Randall Cunningham. I used to love reading the box-scores of their games, just because it was always something weird. The scores would be 15-11 or something equally ludicrous, with unconverted touchdowns, blocked punts, safeties, and a host of other anomalies filling the scoresheet. Now they just win all their games by double-digits. Ho hum.
Liverpool have won again, this time against the Craven Cottagers of Fulham. Despite the heroics of Edwin Van Der Sar in net, Chris Coleman's Fulham finally succumbed to an awesome display of possession football which denied their midfield space, and kept their defenders running about like proverbial headless chickens. Fernando Morientes is finally coming into his own with another goal to augment the tally he began against Charlton. Vladimir Smicer is finally back from injury, and he's looking sharp. Stevie G and Jar-Jar were impeccable as always, spraying quality passes all over the pitch to keep possession, and the Dude looks as though he might hang onto the goalkeeping duties for a while yet. In short, the team has now won three straight, and it looks like they're finally starting to hit a good stride.
This past week has seen me blast out some rather lengthy and bloated e-mails, and for what it's worth, my apologies go out to Melnychuk and Laura for my rather purple prose which may have exceeded any brief that was extended to me. It's one thing to ask me for a commentary on an advertisement I haven't seen. It's something else again for me to draw the historical development of the field of marketing from the Industrial Revolution through the American Nadir period and the English Victorian Era to the post-modern nuclear society. Perhaps if I turned it into an interpretive dance, rather than the reams and reams of dead tree products that were encompassed by my rambling, meandering monologue, I would be more environmentally conscientious. Or at least seem that way. Hmm. Important principle of marketing: contrary to what Sprite ad execs say, image is everything.
I'm reminded of the scene from "The Exorcist III" where the demon possessing Father Karras speaks about the nature of reality.
"In this box you call a world, we cannot touch except through bodies." he raves.
Synthesize that with Erwin Rommel's famous saying that, "in the land of the blind, the one-eyed man is king," and you get a rather depressing picture of human interaction as a very shallow and superficial affair, where depth and authenticity are the exception rather than the rule, and the arrogant and pompous triumph. People follow the carrion crow's pursuit of bright, shiny things, and love crawls on all fours.
Damn, there I go waxing lyrical again. Gotta rein that in at some point. Also have to stop spraying academic references about like cat urine.
So after I finish concatenating (the word of the day, kiddiewinkies) a few e-mails and doing some editing, I should be able to post up some guest columns and other such interesting diversions. People must be sick to death of reading the same inane drivel I keep spouting. We've got to change it up a little, kick it up a notch, and several other pop-culture catchphrases.
Watch this space. There will be developments and descriptions to astonish and astound. I may even decide to trill off a small diatribe dealing with my employment at TELUS, and maybe even shut up about Liverpool FC for once. So until later, cheerio and best of luck to everyone.
-mARKUS
^+Justice for the 96+^
http://jdsilentio.blogspot.com
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