June 22, 1999.

I finished one of my essays this afternoon, not without an extraordinary amount of persistence (if I do say so myself). During the revision phase this maggoty beast crashed no fewer than six times. I had to hold back from screaming. But it got done despite a 3-day weekend elsewhere, despite unencouraging comments on my drafts, despite my new conviction that my scholarly pursuits are twisting my soul into useless evil little knots, and despite an infestation of friends and well-wishers in my room this afternoon.

Of course, the other one was due this morning at 10 a.m. And I've just begun research. Doo doo doo doo do.

In class this morning we discussed German Cold War policies in the 60's, specifically Ospolitik. That just means 'eastern policy.' But the word itself is fascinating beyond its meaning. I've always loved the sound of -politik...it's a word to be savoured. Unfortunately, the only other German I know is berliner, which of course means 'doughnut.'

(You didn't know that? God's honest truth. It's a rather silly linguistic error on the part of JFK...you can't just add an English suffix and have it modify a German word. So in essence, he declared himself a pastry.)

But I can use it anyway. Berlinerpolitik - the policy of the donut. Seems a particularly Canadian way to conduct affairs.

Thank God today was the last class with the Angry Young Man. The tutorial group's frustrations with him surfaced tonight in the form of direct argument...and then when that didn't work, smirking and snide laughter when he would launch into one of his ridiculous theories of history. There were some gems: witch-hunts were a movement of men who got off on seeing women tortured. Thus, only pretty women were accused.

This doesn't hold a candle to last week, though. The topic was exploration & discovery of the new world, and he tried to convince us that the Viking journeys were known throughout Europe and especially to the explorers. A few minutes later, he said that Atlantis had existed.

Honestly. It's like trying to drive a nail through a blob of mercury. Listening to this guy monopolize what should be a fun hour with his aggressive idiocy makes me wonder if "intellectual self-defense" would stand up in a Canadian murder court.

"I've never killed a man...not that there aren't a few who need killing."

- johnny cash

When my friend Paul was little, his favourite band was Pink Floyd. This meant that when he was five or six, he would listen to Dark Side of the Moon over and over. One day, his mom put on some strange music. He asked what it was, and she responded with puzzlement...it was Floyd, for heaven's sake. It was the album he always listened to. No, Paul said with six year old certainty, I know Pink Floyd and this isn't it.

It was at this point that young Paul found out that records had 2 sides.

Imagine that! Imagine being six, when such little things bring so much joy. And imagine finding out that now there was suddenly twice as much of your favourite music.

I felt much the same way this afternoon when St. Jack informed me that The Rebel Angels - my favourite Robertson Davies book, the one I've read three times in the year since I bought it - is the first of a trilogy. I wish I was six. But it still causes a slight thrill, a subliminal squeal of delight.