So why am I against tuition hikes? After all, I graduate in June and therefore the changes “won’t affect me.” Except they will. In my last post I talked about the corruption I see in the university system (which is not limited to McGill, unfortunately). This corporatization of education, combined with a rise in tuition fees will essentially alter the social landscape and create a reality where education is (even more) limited to the elite and the top achievers. I don’t believe education should be free, but I do believe that it should be accessible. It strikes me as disturbing that the government will actually profit from the loans they give me to finance my studies. It’s almost as though my education were a nuisance, and not something that will help build our society and economy. Education is being undervalued by our society–and by extension our government.

Yesterday in a literature class our discussion of the readings were delayed by a discussion of the status of education and educated individuals in the world. The general consensus was that study of the arts helps make better human beings, which can help make a better world–whether it is our politicians, our employers, or our engineers.

Yesterday I received emails from two professors cancelling classes–one, a young course lecturer of an intro-level history course, the second a seasoned literature professor. Both emails were accompanied by reference to the student strike that the AUS voted to undertake today to allow students to protest tuition hikes at the demonstration (among other things), both emails justified their decision to go along with the strike despite it being “frowned upon” by the dean, both included invitations to the demonstration or discussion, one included extended office hours to make up for the strike, and the other included a copy of correspondence with the dean of Arts decrying the current condition of arts education at McGill and Quebec, Canada, the world.

Yesterday, students in London marched against tuition hikes.

Two years ago, the Polish Institute of Arts and Sciences (PIASA) held a conference on the 20th anniversary of the fall of communism in Eastern Europe. Professor Adam Czarnota spoke, and I still remember one of his statements, namely that since the fall of communism, capitalist societies were slowly working to “undo the French Revolution.” It is this statement that comes to mind each time I hear of tuition fees being raised. The most it costs to go to university, the less social mobility there is. America has long since considered it a place where if you just “pull yourself up by the bootstraps,” you can accomplish anything, but when it costs as much as it does to educate yourself, bootstraps might not be enough.

Critics might argue that, as is continuously published in a number of papers, education doesn’t necessarily equate employment, and therefore it may not be the key to social mobility we’ve always thought of it of. Solution? Just don’t got to university. Such a suggestion (though it remains unspoken) speaks to an even greater depravity present in society, one that does not value human beings, merely their functions. Education and the ability to think critically and act compassionately should not be limited to just the people who can afford it.

I’d like to give a historical example of the system that I fear we will approach if tuition costs continue to increase, in order to illustrate not only obvious implications of high cost of education, but the hidden ones as well. In pre-modern Asia (if you really want a reference, check it out here), the goal of which was to build a meritocracy in which those most familiar with the Confucian classics and therefore most likely to be virtuous would be able to hold positions in court. This served primarily to legitimize those that would hold power, but also served to allow a degree of social mobility. In theory, commoners could take the tests and if they passed (the tests were difficult), they could be awarded office. Sounds great, in theory: education and certification as a means for employment, but if you consider that only the elite were literate and only the literate could take these tests (since it involved reading and writing), only the pre-established elites were capable of passing. Wealth was also necessary, since students were required to study for an extended period of time to familiarize themselves with the texts, and therefore poor families who required their children to earn money for survival would not be able to study let alone apply, even if they were through some miracle literate.

Should tuition fees continue to rise, we will create a similar situation in Canada (as I would argue already exists in the United States). Only those with pre-existing status/wealth will be able to access this system, to become educated, and therefore find well-paying jobs and perpetuate their elite status to their own children. Beyond this, there is also already a bias that exists here in Canada and favours the wealthy: the internship bias.

Admittedly, I haven’t started to apply for jobs yet, and I probably won’t be applying for particularly well-paying jobs, because I’ve been content with/resigned to a lower standard since before university. As I see it though, in order to find employment at many of the major organizations, applicants require impressive experience to be obtained during university. There are age-limits for many entry-level jobs at international organisations, but applicants are still expected to have amassed impressive work experience over their summers. The best kind? Unpaid internships at big corporations or volunteer work overseas. The problem? The unpaid part. Personally, I’ve always had to work during my summers, and always at jobs that could and often do pay minimum wage. I’m not qualified for anything else, except maybe internships, and those don’t pay. Despite the fact that my family is able to afford to send me to university, I can’t afford not to work during the summers. It’s a good think I don’t have my heart set on the UN.

This blog took me an hour and a half to write, which is probably the longest I’d have lasted wandering through the procession that is just now meeting up at Berri UQAM, though I might go by later today to see if my professors or friends are there, some of whom I heard saying they’d go, but for me a strike seems like a social event rather than social action. I’m at a loss of a better way to voice my feelings, either as a seeming flaneuse in a mob or one in millions of blog entries. I stand by the sentiment and the goal of this demonstration, and hope that this time the Quebec government decides not to go ahead with the hikes because in twenty years or more when our generation’s in government, well, we might just cut your pensions, if they still exist.

I didn’t want to write this blog entry. I’ve been putting off writing this since September. I don’t like to write blog entries about stuff that sucks, but lately McGill University really sucks.

#1 thing that sucks right now: the MUNACA strike

Read about it in the Gazette
Read about it in the McGill Daily (student newspaper)

I think most students get it: balancing a budget is hard. Most of us are plagued by one of two fears: that “the Man” is trying to ruin life for us and we need to do something now, or that if we give our opinion and history marks it “wrong”, our life-GPA will be affected and we’ll be sent to student purgatory and/or blacklisted from ever giving our opinion again.  But we get it. Money doesn’t grow on trees, not everyone will get everything they want.

Still, I think most reasonable people (as we basically all are, whether we’re ruled by the picket4life or the neurotic silence impulse) will agree that this MUNACA strike has gone on too long, and maybe, just MAYBE, McGill is being a bit of a douche about it. We’re pretty sure our school is run by reasonable people, too, but lately the evidence is stacking up against the admin, and despite the enormously entertaining “Strike Update” emails all of us students keep getting from the ever charming DiGrappa, this is a PR war McGill’s fixing to lose.

Except this shouldn’t be a PR war. This should be a dispute between an employer and their employees, and that “reasonable solution” that everyone keeps talking about shouldn’t need to be put in quotes. It should just happen. It might take compromise (a word the McGill emails is not nearly as fond of), and it might take commitments (both financial and symbolic) to make things work. It should not take unreasonable injunctions, the persecution of student activists, and increasingly laughable attempts to demonize workers. This is a negotiation between employers and employees, NOT a hijacking. McGill is not negotiating with terrorists, and by meeting the demands of the union, the only message they’d be sending would be that they’re capable of rational thought. Why anyone would want to go back to work for McGill is beyond me, but for the love of properly maintained staplers in the library (because we needed a space-age electric one–a regular stapler would have sent the wrong message to investors) give the people some of what they want and let them go back to work.

In the mean time the managers (not Scabs!) are overworked trying to fill the positions of MUNACA workers. Buildings close early. And one Professor announced that McGill has been indirectly pressuring its staff to scab: “You go to an institution of higher learning that puts pressure on its staff to break the law.”

What do the MUNACA workers want? Read their blog!

Now, here’s where I wish that the strike was the only thing that sucks about McGill. It’s not.

#2: Consultation, and the department-formerly-known-as-German-studies.

I study something obscure (I guess). I accept that. Still, when McGill announced last year that they were considering amalgamating many of the language and literature departments into one, we weren’t happy. Our departments (German, Italian, Hispanic studies–who’re especially pissed because they’re not even European, and Slavic studies departments) are under funded as it is. When staff retire, they’re often not replaced. This amalgamation would (we suspected, and it turned out to be true) be a way to cut funding by reducing the number of language courses (Shouldn’t you be allowed to pay to learn whatever language you want at university? Doesn’t an international University like McGill want to send a message to its students that learning a language is an excellent thing to do with your electives?) Apparently not. Maybe they just want all that international tuition. The departments were fused over the summer when students were out of school: working, travelling, studying. I didn’t even know they had gone through with it until I got an email from some weird department called the Department of Languages, Literature, and Culture. Not cool.

#3 reason: Tuition hikes! I think these are self-explanatory. If I have to pay more money to go to university so that they can hire more professors and pay the ones that I already have more, great. If it’s so they can pay their employers, great. Buy more computers, sure.

Except they’re not doing this with my money! I now pay more money for less school.  And I don’t know where that extra money went. It didn’t go to my department. It didn’t go to the people who impact my university experience: the professors who shape me, who I worship. It didn’t go to the employees who help me navigate the bureaucracy, who help me prepare for life, who make sure my files don’t get lost (they’re on strike, you know, and have been for 7 weeks now).

At first we were urged to write letters to the school to tell them how unhappy we were about the strike, about my weird new department, about that awesome Architecture café they shut down for ambiguous reasons. Of course, it was pointed out that the McGill admin thinks we’re children. Extremely lucrative children. Then they suggested we have our parents write in, especially if our parents have deep pockets or are alumni. This disgusted me a little, that McGill might listen to my parents only if the had influence. Understandable, but disgusting.

So here’s the part I really want McGill to read, for the record. 

I may just be a student right now, but thanks to the work of my professors (who are giants, who are the only reason you are worth anything), I do plan on becoming very successful one day. I plan to be on talk shows and in newspapers. I plan on having deep pockets. I plan on being someone you’re going to want on your list of alumni.

And if I could, as things stand right now, I would decline to be on that list. I am an alumnus of classes, of Intro to Modern European History, of Weimar Republic Literature, of Japanese Experimental Film and all the rest. I will be a pupil of great teachers, but not an alumnus of an institution. When I accept my Oscar/Pulitzer/Employee of the Week prize, I will not be thanking McGill, I will be thanking the individuals who–in spite of McGill’s best efforts to reduce this university to a corporation selling expensive pieces of paper–made me a relatively knowledgeable human being. And when that poor little work-experience student calls me up and asks me for a donation, I will either explain to them that I don’t donate to corporations who don’t share the same values as I do, or I will simply pretend not to speak English and hang up.

Another topic that’s been driving me crazy, and there are never enough nerds around to discuss it. Thankfully, that’s what the AV Club is for.

Article highlights:

On the appeal of long-form storytelling: “The appeal isn’t hard to understand. Even with the knowledge that book Z will probably be inferior to book A, the chance to invest in characters and a world over a long period of time remains appealing.”

On Stephen King and personal investment in fiction: “When he got off track with it, when he wasted time … it… offended me, somehow…This was personal. I cared about these people, and King was just jerking them around. Why would he do that? Why would he let me down?”

High standards for endings: “Much like it was hard for many fans not to get outraged when the final season of Lost didn’t answer their questions.” (So much so that this might actually become a “thing.” To quote the Abed from the wonderful Community as he opens a box that is supposed to contain the meaning of Christmas, “It’s the last season of Lost. It represents lack of payoff.”)

“We need a conclusion that will reinforce our notion of that shared reality, one that holds up to scrutiny, closes off the loose threads, delivers on whatever promises have been made, and turns a fragment into something complete./ This is nearly impossible. “

And of course don’t forget, “by publishing each entry in his series separately, before the others are complete, George R.R. Martin is, in a sense, putting out a rough draft for the public. That makes it impossible for him to go back and fix anything.” 

“Neil Gaiman was right to remind everyone that writers aren’t machines; the amount of work Martin, or any other artist, can put out isn’t a simple equation of time and intention, and trying to force the issue through rudeness isn’t going to change that simple fact. “ 

I’m not going to write any commentary on this article, which would just be me echoing my agreement and approval with anecdotes. Besides, I have an epic or two in the works that I’m supposed to be writing (not to mention a thesis).

I want to ask him why he doesn’t just take her somewhere else where he can actually fuck her. It’s clear that he wants to. It’s clear that she’d let him. But I don’t. He orders another coffee and comes back to fondle her some more. It’s four in the afternoon.

Am I bitter?

I called a friend another day and she said she was bitter, too. Her brother, who was never very good in school, was picked up right out of highschool by someone from a British finishing school in Indonesia to be their photographer, and now, two years later, he’s actually as good as he always used to think he was. Their parents held a barbeque and invited all our old teachers, as though to say “Look how wrong you were about him. He’s a big shot now.” But he’s not. Not yet, anyway. He’s off to London in a week to work at another finishing school. I haven’t seen him, but in photos he looks almost as handsome as he always acted like he was.

Meanwhile, my friend, who was always good in school, spent her summers working two or three jobs to pay for her degree, who is, like me, among those with grades high enough to hope for scholarships, but not high enough to get them, telling me she thinks she wants to talk to a doctor about depression because she spends twenty four hours in bed on winter days and feels anxious all the time. I tell her I have the same problem, trapped in a cycle of high standards, over-ambition, stress, followed by inevitable failure and disappointment. All her friends are getting married. She lives in a one bedroom apartment with her boyfriend; the debris of their combined possessions predicting that the life they’ll have together might not be the one they dreamed of, but she loves him. She really loves him, and he even shut down the computer to spend time with her last week, something her underdog champion of a brother wouldn’t do, not even after two years apart, not even after she took a week of work for him.

So I make excuses for all of us. I pretend to understand both sides of the story. Maybe I do. But there are six sides to the die, and it’s still in the air, and I’m terrified because I want it to land on odd when I’ve put my money on even, though I’m more terrified still that he’ll find out that the money I bet wasn’t everything in my pocket like I said it was, and that I don’t want to get it back.

Maybe bitter’s not the word.

A friend wrote me a letter this summer, one like I haven’t received since ninth grade when the girls thought that “Three’s a crowd,” wasn’t clear enough. I had failed, and even if I already knew it he needed to let me know, because that’s what friends do. I didn’t tell him that he was just like me. I told him that I already knew. I had to try and steal his thunder somehow. I promised myself I wouldn’t do it again, though I can’t change the fact that I’d like to.

What makes a person mean spirited? D’avoir l’esprit mal tourné, as though a simple recalibration could fix it. I imagine there’s a man with a wrench somewhere who services lines of unhappy people who all suffer from l’esprit mal tourné. In Ireland, probably. You can find his listing if you know his name, but nobody who’s broken does, and nobody who isn’t thinks he exists. If you were able to find his address– to wait outside his garage, to meet with him after months on the waiting list behind your boss and several dozen  film directors–he’d take you inside, offer you a cup of tea and, setting his wrench aside, tell you that there’s nothing wrong with you or anybody else and that you’ve all been led to him by an error in translation.

You’d like that. I’d like that. I’d even be in Ireland.

The fondler at the table next to me is gone. His girlfriend remains, and she’s been joined by her friends and they’re studying. She’s not a lamp anymore—she talks and moves–and I wonder what made her happier; the fingers  running up and down her like piano lessons, or her friends and torn-out pages from notebooks. I think I’ve missed the point.

1. Finish the books from last year’s summer reading list. That means The Bridge on the Drina (which is my new laundry day book. So far so good, but following the way reading the same thing in the same location regularly binds the two in your memory, I will unfortunately now and for always associate the laundromat with graphic descriptions of impalings from the second or third chapter of Bridge on the Drina.) But the book is still fantastic so far.  My second book left over is A Book of Memories which is rather long, but I have a friend meaning to read it, so if we make a mini book-club out of it and reward ourselves with tea and biscuits, it might be doable despite the summer brain haze and Nadas’ often densely vivid prose.

2. Remember how to speak French without forgetting how to speak German. Tactics: I have accumulated a small library of French livres de poche which I will try to start into this summer, paired with the best of the Quebec film (rental) scene to help me lose that pesky savoyarde accent. And to retain my Germanity, regular visits to the fabulous Goethe Institut and their cinema. After all, there is a thesis looming on the horizon and I’m really, really not prepared for that. Really.

3. Writing. I basically ended up missing Script Frenzy thanks to exams, but I will sleep soundly if I can manage to write at least 50 pages of a sci-fi revenge script in May, and continue working along on the old Nano Novel (the planning material for which is taking over my apartment.) If I can get that one close to completion by the end of the summer (in order to start massive rewrites in the fall) I will be very happy.

4. Fresh air, sunshine, exercise, employment, education. Apparently sitting isn’t healthy. Neither is debt. It only occurred to me in March that I’m 6 credits short of graduating on time, so I have applied to a program that will hopefully give me what I need and help with goal number 3, the French language and quebecois culture goal, but as I explained to my adviser when I went to try to work out a plan D, I have really bad luck (as plan A, B, and potentially C prove.) Thought it could just be bad planning, it’s less embarrassing to tell a stranger that you have bad luck than to tell them you’re really stupid and capable of screwing up just about anything potentially awesome.

5. Perhaps the most ambitious goal of them all: I will not kill the Easter Lily  I bought a couple of weeks ago. While it’s already looking rough, I’m convinced that I’ve been doing my best and following all the instructions on the tag. Its potential death should be regarded as suicide.

6. I will write better quality, potentially insightful, artistic, or entertaining blog entries. (not like this one)

Where does this futility come from? I mean, there’s nothing more defeatist and futile than not voting at all, but after doing all my research, after reading an endless flow of public statements from one politician or another, I’ve come to the conclusion that my interests aren’t actually represented at all by any of our politicians, except slightly by the Green Party, which I consider still to green (pun) to run the government even IF they could manage to win an election (which makes me giggle, because it’s not almost impossible, it’s actually impossible).

What is my so neglected demographic then? Young voters, university students, left of centre folks who believe more in efficient government than in any other single issue on the block. I would vote Conservative if they promised to work hard and get something done, unfortunately I think the current party is incapable of doing so, as their past term has proven. Suspension of parliament. Votes of non-confidence. Flip-flops, coalition threats, and a whole lot of our politicians not doing anything. (Actually, I take that back: an effective Conservative government could be conceivably worse than an ineffective one).

But all partisanship aside, whoever you want to win this election, their victory isn’t going to be worth much under the circumstances. Either Canada experiences what has been referred to as the “benign dictatorship” of majority government, or it struggles with an ineffective minority government. The options? Coalition. Personally, I am all for coalition, and I don’t care between who. Of course, each individual party makes a lot of noise about abhorring coalitions when they have a chance at going it alone. Each individual party is more concerned with gaining and holding power in some foreseeable future than they are of effectively governing Canada in the immediate future.

Even as I write this I’m losing enthusiasm. The more I think about what I want the more I feel that it’s of no concern to anybody, because I’m only one voice. If you’ve seen the headlines from the past couple of weeks, you’ll understand why. Immediately after how many years of ineffective government, upon the drop of a pin, our politicians begin to court the votes. And whose votes are they courting? Whoever they think is most numerous, and on the most basic platforms available to them. They are appealing to those who feel they are under financial pressure (Which, face it: That’s everyone!), calling for increased spending cuts (Cons) increased spending accountability (everyone but the Cons, since the Cons were the last ones to spend any of our money, we can hold it against them!). What ridings are they targeting? GTA of course. Quebec of course. Where the majority of the population lives. Western Canada knows, especially non-Conservative western Canada, that by the time their polls close, the vote has already been decided.

That’s not apathy. That’s defeatism, and not without good grounds. So what can we do about this? Unfortunately, there is no box you can check on the ballot that says “I vote for X, but I’m very unhappy with everyone.” Sadly, abstaining from voting only looks like apathy, and that risks allowing those whose opinion is different from yours to win.

So vote, but even more important at this point, in my opinion, is that we voice our concern over our government. That we tell them, whoever they are, that we’re unhappy with the way things are. Often. Constantly. Loudly. Democracy goes beyond choosing your party and supporting them blindly. Whoever says, “If you don’t like the government, you should have elected another one,” is missing the point. Supporting a party is not like supporting a sports team. Parties change. Conditions change. Being incompetent is as much a grounds for one to pick a different candidate as traditional political orientation. Do I think our politicians are incompetent? Very.

Prove me wrong.

The lesser-known sibling of National Novel Novel Writing Month (NaNoWriMo–possibly because it doesn’t have a catchy abbreviation) begins April 1st, and while you can’t get started on your script until April, planning ahead is allowed and encouraged. This will be my first honest attempt at scriptwriting (except a playwriting class at nerd camp and two “doodles” written to experiment with script formatting). After a couple years of fascination with film and a very unproductive spring break spent watching Tarantino and Antonioni films and anything starring Nathan Fillion, I’ve decided to eventually become a screenwriter and/or director (not just so I can count those 30+ hours at my laptop as “career research.”) Probably not the first, though possibly the first to want to combine the trademarks of Antonioni and Tarantino in a single film.

Either way, for everyone who has ever wanted to make a movie and for those who just want to do something new this April, there’s Script Frenzy. So check this stuff out:

I’ve posted about this site before. If you’re not interested in downloading script software or want some place to store your script online so you can work on it from say, your work computer, this is a good option if not the only one. I enjoy this site’s organizational capacity, just make sure you hit all the save buttons before you navigate away from a sub-page, because losing your work is a bitch. Naturally it’s free (nor is it the only site available for online scriptwriting, but it’s my favourite.)

The Script Lab has a section on Screenwriting Basics which breaks it down for newbies and experts alike with formulas and essential tips, as well as a ton of other film reviews and stuff on the main site. I may or may not have found this site through the Script Frenzy site, but it’s a helpful place to go either way.

Just want to read some scripts? Check out The Daily Script where, you guessed it, you get to read a different script daily, for free. Even more impressive is the Moviefone Blog’s article that links to where you can read all of this year’s Oscar nominated scripts.

So there’s really no reason not to start preparing now (unless you have a 2000 word paper on film authorship due in less than 48 hours, ironically preventing you from becoming a film author). I should prepare for my essays like I prepare for Script Frenzy. My goal: I made it halfway through NaNoWriMo with 25k words. The goal for Script Frenzy is 100 pages. If I can write 50 pages and pass finals, I’ll be a happy person.

(For what it’s worth, I have my project narrowed down to either an Antonionian college drama of miscommunication–since they say to write what you know, or a serial quasi-sci-fi political-social drama  for TV. Considering as I live the former, I’m leaning towards the escapist option)

A better than average romantic dramedy. Call it situational bias (renting a movie on iTunes Saturday night has its implications), but I thought this movie was quite good. The characters were easier to identify with than in most romcoms (less irritable than usual, more ‘realistic’), Bateman’s pessimistic man-boy dominates, making Aniston’s usual routine enjoyable and well framed so you forget it’s her–the sign of a decent performance.

Bateman is the star: if you like his character, which I did, you’ll like this movie even with its cheesy voice-over. If not, the kid’s still adorable and the humour isn’t gag based. (Reminded me of Definitely, Maybe)

If you haven’t read the Unbearable Lightness of Being by Milan Kundera, you should. I understand that his style is not for everyone and the few people I’ve recommended him to have more or less admitted to getting either bored, depressed, annoyed, or all of the above with his plots and characters (their loss!). I love him. For once, I actually took the time to find the quote I dog-eared while reading his book for the first time, one of those quotes that stays with you. It turns out it’s less of a quote and more of a (short) chapter.

“All languages tat derive from Latin form the word “compassion” by combining the prefix meaning “with” (com-) and the root meaning “suffering” (Late Latin, passio). In other languages—Czech, Polish, German, and Swedish, for instance—this word is translated by a noun formed of an equivalent prefix with the word that means “feeling” (Czech, sou-cit; Polish, współ-czucie; German, Mit-gefühl; Swedish, med-känsla).

In language that derive from Latin, “compassion” means we cannot look on coolly as others suffer; or we sympathize with those who suffer. Another word with approximately the same meaning, “pity” (French, pitié; Italian, pietà; etc.), connotes a certain condescension towards the sufferer. “To take pity on a woman” means that we are better off than she, that we stoop to her level, lower ourselves.

That is why the word “compassion” generally inspires suspicion; it designates what is considered inferior, second-rate sentiment that has little to do with love. To love someone out of compassion means not really to love.

In languages that form the word “compassion” not from the root “suffering” but from the word “feeling,” the word is used in approximately the same way, but to contend that it designates a bad or inferior sentiment is difficult. The secret strength of its etymology floods the word with another light and gives it a broader meaning: to have compassion (co-feeling) means not only to be able to live with the other’s misfortune but also to feel with him any emotion—joy, anxiety, happiness, pain. This kind of compassion (in the sense of soucit, współczucie, Mitgefühl, medkänsla) therefore signifies the maximal capacity of affective imagination, the art of emotional telepathy. In the hierarchy of sentiments, then, it is supreme.”

Kunderal, Milan. The Unbearable Lightness of Being. Trans. Michael Henry Heim. New York: Harper & Row, 1984. pp 19-20.

As usual, Kundera’s multilingualism shows itself in his writing and it is interesting to note the relationship Kundera had with the translating of his work, from playing an active role in the translation of his earlier works in exile to the shift to writing entirely in French. Language as point of view is not something new in my literary studies (I think I reiterated it repeatedly in a rather bad essay on Herta Müller), Müller’s foreign glance (der fremde Blick) seems to refer more to an alienated way of seeing the world, whereas Kundera’s deconstruction of compassion focuses on the relationships between people and their ability to relate to one another on an authentic level, one of co-feeling and not pity. Subtle linguistic connotations offer not only a different point of view, but an alternative mode of experience.

I can’t help but think that’s kind of fantastic.

But the presents under the tree weren’t from Santa, they were from very real, very present philanthropists, namely my parents. Neither narrative did them justice, not the baby Jesus who would die for my sins when the Easter Bunny came (who I never really believed existed. A giant rabbit?Honestly?) nor the man from the North Pole who may or may not be Jesus, but in any case did not exist. (I asked, why can’t he be Jesus? He was also a carpenter, wasn’t he? Aren’t toys made of wood?)

For a long time I celebrated the made-up birthday and festival of two unlikely deities, not really buying into either but enjoying the atmosphere, the food, the presents, and the mandatory family time that comes with it with all of its performance and exaggeration that unities the entire population under the banner of The Family if not The Lord Christ. I’ve read my way through the Enlightenment, I’ve agreed that the Treatise of the Three Imposters hits the nail on the head, and I can’t pretend to believe in Jesus or Santa Claus any more, not for anyone’s sake.

This holiday is, at its core, a chance to enjoy the physical presence and attention of your relatives. If you are able to come together with friends and loved ones outside of your family, even better. Enjoy the fact that you exist, and that it is completely acceptable for the duration of this time to be unproductive, to stay inside, and to indulge yourself in a very anti-puritanical way in the dead of what would otherwise be a cold, dark, and uncomforting season. There are still months of winter to come, it’s going to get colder, but you’ve made it this far, so finish off the last page on the calendar as best as you can. Let food, rest, and the pursuit of agreeable activities assert your physical existence, the fact that you have continued to physically exist for another year, and plan to carry on existing well into the future. Nobody is going to give you secret, cost free presents. Nobody is going to die for your sins, but then again sins are nothing indelible. There is no deus ex machina outside of Greek tragedy, so thank God that you aren’t on stage don’t need one, and enjoy the contradiction of this phrase.