Just don't

Reading bad poetry makes me want to give up literacy entirely. Here, bad poetry is understood to be any poetry written by anyone +/- 20 years of my age and written within the last decade. And don't try to mask it with background music; a poem is still a poem, and I will slap the sibilance right out of you if you try it again.

This is unrelated to what I like to call "The Great Saturday Debacle". My exam went horribly, as did the commentary recording for Marital Aid 2000. My plan for recording the commentary was all wrong, as was my plan for studying. Apologies (and thanks) to everyone who called, but I shan't be using any of Saturday's material. That right: shan't. Conversely, I shall be using what I learned in Stats when I re-take it next semester. And we shall never speak of this again.

I'm getting on a plane to Calgary/Toronto/Tampa in five hours. Holy crap do I have a lot to do before then. I had an interesting conversation with Maura last night. She held the position that it's better to be driven to the airport by a loved one than to be picked up at the airport by a loved one. I held the opposite position. I can't defend her side because it's clearly wrong, whereas mine is so steeped in experience and wisdom that I'm surprised that I have to repeat it.

It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a person in possession of any sense must be in want of leaving Saskatoon. Leaving this city is one of the best things a person can do for their personal well-being, and expedience is the key. When you're on the last chopper out of Saigon, you don't look back and wave; just go. On the other hand, when you look at your ticket and see that the last chopper out of Saigon will be bringing you back, what you'll want ... nay, need ... is a hug from a loved one upon your return.

I know many Saskatonians read this blog, and to them I extend my sympathies. And apologies!

But mostly sympathies.