I’m almost too embarrassed to write this post after such a long hiatus. I could easily attribute the break to three months of melancholy incurred by the disaster that was Winter’s Tale, but in truth, my absence has been a result of my thesis. And that’s probably a better excuse anyway. Miraculously, I can see the light at the end of the tunnel now and I’ve been working pretty hard to finish it. Still, one’s brain can only withstand listening to famous movie themes on repeat for so long, so I’m hoping to do myself a favour and have completed a full draft by the end of next week. The plan is to defend in June sometime but I want to get it done ASAP because we have some exciting stuff coming up in the summer. But I will get more into that next time…
Imagine having waited six years for someone to make a film adaptation of your favourite book. Now imagine yourself sitting in a theatre eagerly anticipating what you believe deserves to be the cinematic equivalent of Star Wars. But almost from the outset you realize it’s not going to be Star Wars, it’s actually Space Balls. Except it isn’t meant to be a parody, it’s meant to be a dramatic interpretation of your book. Welcome to my world last night, when, for the first time in my life, I seriously considered walking out of a theatre.
The majority of this post was written on Tuesday night, from about 11:30 onwards. I was wide awake and extremely restless. Which doesn’t really seem like blog-worthy news; realistically, a third of Vancouver was also probably awake. But, since Wilf and I live like an old married couple, being awake past 10 p.m. on a weekday (hell, any day) is, actually, quite a rarity. And it all started at about 8:12 p.m. when I had a coffee post-dinner. I didn’t think 200mL of drip-brewed house blend would have an effect. Should have known better. Should have trusted gut instinct and life experience. But, I suppose the reprieve from sleep gave me time to reflect. And, ultimately, share that reflection with others.
My facebook and Twitter feeds have been aflutter this week with news and comments about the annual Taiji dolphin hunt. And, since this topic was another point of contention between Wilf and I (despite what it must sound like, we actually really do like each other), I may find myself hungry and homeless after writing this post. But I think it’s something that needs to be discussed. (Just a warning, there are some fairly graphic pics in this post, so consider averting sensitive eyes.)
At the end of my entry yesterday, when I mentioned our Wednesday dinner/blog arrangement for the year, I wrote that Wilf and I are aiming to eat a wider variety of sustainable seafood in 2014. And although this did not transpire last night (more on his culinary creation later), it did get me thinking about New Year’s resolutions. (If you don’t want a pep talk, skip the next two paragraphs.)
Like many, I don’t really like the term ‘New Year’s resolution’. I absolutely believe that change is good, but having a resolution implies that something needs to be fixed, that last year wasn’t good enough, that you’re doing something wrong with your life. Not only is that an unfortunate outlook, for the majority of people, it’s also wrong. The other interesting thing about resolutions is that for some reason, once you’ve made them, it seems like if things don’t go as smoothly as you would have liked (e.g., you miss three workouts in a row, you keep postponing the tuna painting you want to start, &c.), then you’ve failed. For me, this typically happens around January 10th. (Which means that come January 11th, I feel great about life again.) But I think that the biggest problem with resolutions is that they feel like an obligation. Which is why I like to use the term ‘goals’ instead. It’s less finite, and much more motivating. What I also tend to find is that goals are constantly being created, regardless of the time of year. It’s like you’re building on an already wonderful and appreciated you. Ok, well maybe that’s a bit much…
Wilf and I get into a solid argument at least once a day. Usually it’s small stuff, like who cooks most or does the laundry more often. These typically result in one of us giving in, sitting on the couch pouting for 10-15 minutes, and then forgetting it ever happened…until the next time. But sometimes we get into some really good disputes. Take last night for example. We argued for over an hour about sour cream. Well, I guess the sour cream was the catalyst to larger issues, but still, it was amusing. And so, while I will be posting on our recent trip at some point (we had a wonderful time, but it was strange to hear “White Christmas” playing when it was 30+ °C outside), I’m going to make my first entry of the new year about one of our other arguments this week. Well, no, it’s more about traditions. Well, actually it’s mostly about tuna. (Yeah, clearly not much has changed.)
But, before I get into that, I just want to extend major props to those of you who stuck with this sporadic blog for nearly a year. I hope the first week of 2014 has treated everyone well so far.