Home for the holidays

It still doesn't seem much like Christmas, even though I am going home in two sleeps.

Christmas shopping this year seems haphazard, not the usual exciting adventure to find the perfect presents for people. Instead of the desire to trim the tree, I've had the desire to read journal articles. Instead of baking Christmas treats to send out to friends across the country, I've been wishing I could write faster and go to conferences in Montreal, London (U.K) and San Francisco. Instead of watching Christmas movies, I've been thinking about Marshall McLuhan's theories. I'm a bit overwhelmed. I know the essay I submitted the other day wasn't my best, but I just didn't care anymore. The thought of submitting three more essays by the middle of January, combined with travel to Ontario and Saskatchewan for the next two weeks, is terrifying. How am I ever going to get everything done?

Instead of doing schoolwork most evenings, I've been happily curled up with the Boy on the couch or out with my wonderful girlfriends eating brie and drinking vanilla apple mojitos. Ignorance is bliss, they say. Maybe a bit of Baileys in my coffee (or some eggnog) would bring some Christmas cheer?

Home Sweet... oh shit.

On Friday afternoon the many Calgarians and Edmontonians in our PCOM crew were huddled over our laptops ferverently checking and rechecking our flights.

"I heard all flights to Calgary were cancelled."
"You're okay going in, but no planes are leaving!"
"We're only delayed two hours; how long is your wait?"

We took long walks in the sunshine, soaking in the lush greenery, knowing that we were coming back to white. Nearly 20 cm of it. Less than a week later, the conversation is more like this:

"Want to run to Starbucks?"
"What's it like outside?"
"Only -14!"
"Oh God -- so warm! I'm in!"

So warm. At -14. That's what four days of -20 to -30 gets us.

It's hard to read and even think about writing four major essays when at the end of the day I just want to hurry home, start up the fireplace, and watch Dexter with B.

On why I love being a student

My communication theory professor is old. Probably 70. He is the sweetest man in the world and I want him to be my Grandpa. Today was our last class with him during this residency, though we'll be communicating with him during distance studies. It nearly broke my heart.

He is a man who knows theorists by their first names and silly qualities. "I know in pictures that this man never smiles, but he's hilarious," he'll say. "So-and-so doesn't really wear sunglasses all of the time, though I can see how you think he does." He told us his fanboy story about being recognized by one of his favourite theorists after writing his first book. He shared jokes and comics with us every day to make lectures more interesting.

But today he shared so much more. He told us about his experience attending Martin Luther King Jr.'s famous 1963 "I have a dream" speech. He told us about how exhausting the rallies were all day in the sun. He told us about how the air just changed and the audience was buzzing when Dr. King started talking. He choked back tears as he told us about the tall African-American man beside him who placed his sign on the ground, bent over it and "wept like a baby".

He told us about how he'd never told this story when he was teaching at Berkley or the University of Southern California. He told us that until teaching here, at Royal Roads, he never realized just how important that experience was to communications. His eyes were full of tears as he told us about his wife's cancer and the fact that any group he teaches could be his last.

We were blessed today. We have been blessed to know this incredible man. This man could be my grandparent but his world view is blown so wide open. He was a young, white man working to end racism in America. He was a young man who experienced a life-changing event that he still can't talk about without tears.

We gave him a standing ovation and he patted my shoulder as he passed by me. He gave Teresa and I hugs after class while telling us how much he appreciates his students, and how he hopes that even some of the knowledge he's gained in his life will help us through ours.

Today, I experienced the single greatest event of my academic career.

Get low, low, low, low, low, low, low

It only took a week and a half before there was a dance party.

A stressful day, fueled by APA style, caused our pub night to get interesting. It was one of those built-in stress relievers (and when you have 3 papers due, it's important to remember to be social), but the administration didn't realize just how much we needed it. Teresa and I walked home under the protection of our umbrellas, held arms, and jumped into the biggest puddle we could find. Laughter ensued. When we arrived back to residence, there was the faintest murmur of conversation coming from the lounge.

We opened the door to a few people drinking wine. As more people came home from the pub, we split up to our rooms to grab more wine and throw on our pajamas. One of the ladies brought her iPod dock, glasses of wine were poured and shared, and it became a full-fledged dance party. Bonds were cemented, love was declared, and security showed up to tell us they "Didn't see anything".

Two weeks in and it's hard to believe that there are only 6 days left. We won't be together (at least most of us) until next October. I'll miss the conversations about commas, grammar and APA style. I'll miss being told by other people how smart I am, especially after the dreamy writing professor made the class applaud me for knowing complex parts of speech. When surrounded by all of these intelligent people, it is easy to think that you're not worthy or special. Sometimes we all need to be reminded.

Even if it takes a dance party.

Mass media and its impact on women

I had to share these paragraphs by Susan Douglas. I agree with her so completely; there's no other way to demonstrate than simply to give you the text. My brain doesn't really turn off these days and it might burn out.

..."We have become alienated from our own bodies. We have learned to despise the curves, bulges, stretch marks, and wrinkles that mean we've probably worked hard in and out of our homes, produced some fabulous children, enjoyed a good meal or two, tossed back a few drinks, laughed, cried, gotten sunburned more than once, endured countless indignities, and, in general, led pretty full and varied lives."

..."The mass media raised us, socialized us, entertained us, comforted us, deceived us, disciplined us, told us what we could do and told us what we couldn't. And they played a key role in turning each of us into not one woman but many women -- a pastiche of all the good women and bad women that came to us through the printing presses, projectors, and airwaves of America."

..."Most women take for granted their own conflicted relationships to the mass media. They assume they are the only ones who love and hate Vogue at the same time, the only ones riddled with internal contradictions about whether to be assertive or diplomatic, gentle or tough. And too many assume that such contradictory feelings are unusual, abnormal. They aren't."

Susan Douglas, Media: A Girl's Friend and Foe