ToK What?

I don't know why it happened today of all days, but I suppose that if I did I could make millions of dollars. I got an interesting email this morning about a job that sounds perfect! It could be because:

1) Andrew at deepfriedgold posted a comment early this morning which said simply, "Dude, you'll find a job."
2) I made a public bad-mouthing of my connections who I claimed had done nothing for me.
3) My Mom calls me this morning to tell me that her contractor is looking to hire someone and suggested that I call him for a job.
4) I had finally developed a routine and was doing something that I really enjoyed with the writing of my book.
5) It's Wednesday before the long weekend and it is not possible for me to begin teaching a class with more than three days preparation.

All are possible explanations but I think that maybe things just have a way of working out even when you don't expect it.

I would be teaching the International Baccalaureate's Theory of Knowledge 1 and 2 to Upper School students at a fancy private school in Toronto. The gig is pretty much perfect for me since I have a minor in philosophy, an English literature degree, an Education degree, two years experience teaching high school, I went to a fancy private school in Toronto, and am OCT certified.

It would be part-time (only two courses) which would mean that I wouldn't be overwhelmed with the work. It would lead to substitute work, and would give me enough free time to continue working on my writing. The job is from September to Christmas which means that I'll also be able to apply to my MA and begin in January.

The job isn't mine, yet, so I'm not going to count any chickens, but I am hopeful that this is the one that'll work out. Cross your fingers!

Back to Work and School

Relax, I haven't found a job. Despite some great leads, all my connections have left me hanging, so much, in fact, that I really wonder if they did anything, or simply paid me lip service.

Had I been teaching in Saskatchewan, I would now be into my third day of classes. They began on the 26th and teachers went in on the 24th! I can't believe how early they begin, but they do get a full week off at Easter and a full week in February so I guess it all balances out.

Now that I've finished painting my apartment and have, more or less, moved in, I'm working- if you could even call it that- on my writing. I'm trying to spend at least four hours a day in front of the computer without distractions writing down my ideas and seeing where they take me. It's full of mistakes, and I'm not taking time to be perfect (that's what editing is for) but getting the ideas out is important for me, and I like spending time each day with a purpose and a pseudo-routine.

The real trick will be rereading what I've written in a few weeks and not hating it. That happens so rarely, but I suppose that it's something to keep me busy.

Parking Permits Volume 2

I was talking to my Mom last night about her upcoming trip to South America. I asked her, rather off-handedly, "What are you doing with your car when you're gone?"

She told me that she was going to park it at the airport for the three weeks that they'll be gone. Dumbfounded and shocked at what I knew was coming I asked, "How much is that going to cost?" Since my parents recently went to India, she responded, "Last time it was about $300.00."

Now, granted, I am sure that my parents parked in the most expensive lot right by the door, but they are old, and overweight and can't be walking from some lot six kilometers away. Fortunately, they can also afford to pay $100 a week to park their car.

Logically, I thought that I would drive them to the airport and pick them up and thus take care of their car for the time that they're gone. Simple right?

Surprisingly, yes. I have mentioned in a previous post that I will sing the praises of the City of Toronto Parking Permit office, and this continues today.

I drove down to City Hall today on a Q & A mission to find out about paperwork and fees to get a temporary parking permit for the three weeks that my Mom and Dad are away:

1) I found parking on the street. Total cost $1.00.
2) Walked the 63 steps to the Parking Permit office.
3) Walked to the front of the non-existant queue.
4) I asked, "What do I need to do to get a parking permit for my parents for the three weeks that their car will be in Toronto?"
5) I needed no documentation for a temporary permit. I simply gave him my address and the start and finish date.
6) I paid the $44.94, and received a parking permit.
7) I went home.

Again, I couldn't believe how easy it was to get the permit. I will have saved my Dad around 250 bucks, which will make him extremely happy (and is conveniently the price of my new tv), and have done my good deed as an eldest son.

At this point in my parents' lives, they are by no means dependent, but I do need to be closeby to help out with little things like this. I'm still at the "helping them avoid ripoffs stage" and would be ecstatic if it lasted for another 15 years or so.

Members Only

So I became a card carrying member of the Ontario College of Teachers this afternoon. My letter arrived today.

I can't help but think of scenes of happy children spinning around on a merry-go-round and hanging from monkey bars, quiet boys and girls sitting in desks, a teacher using a pointer on a roll down map and writing vocabulary words on the blackboard. All would be overdubbed with a deep chocolatey smooth voice:

Registration fee: $375
Criminal Records Check: $28.95
Parking Fees While Getting Criminal Records Check: $2.00
Parking Ticket While Queuing and Waiting for Criminal Records Check: $30
Photocopying of Documents: $2.74
Parking Fees While Photocopying Documents: $1.50
Certificate of Good Standing for the Province of Saskatchewan: $50
Long Distance Telephone Calls to Arrange the Certificate of Good Standing for the Province of Saskatchewan: $1.53
Certificate of Good Standing for the Province of Quebec: $0.54
Long Distance Telephone Calls to Arrange the Certificate of Good Standing for the Province of Quebec: $0.62
Annual Membership to December 2005: $104

Membership in the Ontario College of Teachers: Priceless or Worthless?

I suppose the value of this piece of paper will remain to be seen.

Movie Tip of the Day: Me and You and Everyone We Know

It doesn't take much to impress me at the movies, yet so rarely do I go to the movies and walk out impressed.

When I go to the movies, I don't need to be wowed by the powers of technology. I don't need to be shocked by heavy-handed plot twists. I don't need to be amazed at the number of tears squeezed out of an actor earning 20 million dollars a film.

After watching Me and You and Everyone We Know I walked from the Cumberland Theatre to my apartment. I was more aware of everything around me: The pop can caught in the streetcar tracks, the light reflecting off the windshield of a parked green car, the maple sweet smell of crepes on the griddle.

The film's opening scene sets the tone. The likeable, good-natured, yet bewildered Richard who in the midst of a separation from his wife, walks into the front yard, raps on his sons' window, douses his hand with lighter fluid and sets it alight. With that, the film continues with a feeling of something big just under the surface. Something not quite right that's going to burst and end in disaster.

The characters are bizarre, but not overdone. They are people you'd like to meet and get to know, because you know you'd never be bored. They, however, are profoundly bored and can't figure out how to be happy. It's simple, caring, perverse, and heart-warming.

Reviewers have tended to make simplified connections to Todd Solondz and Larry Clark, but Miranda July's film is far more than that. While Solondz bruises you with twisted perverts and Clark remains the onlooker doing nothing while the bully torments, July's characters are empathetically believable. The tension (in this case, a potential for evil) is there; there's nothing sordid, nothing ruthless, nothing cruel. Me and You and Everyone We Know manages to delicately toe the line and at the same time call into question the line's very existance.

John Hawkes's performance is magnificent as the recently dumped shoe salesman. He interacts with his kids in the same way you'd navigate a bathroom floor after having dropped a light bulb. July's dorky loser charm (as the female lead) is sad, lonely, pathetic, and yet the audience can't laugh at her. She's too aware of her sad, lonely, and pathetic life, and we admire how well she's able to handle it. The kids fall nicely into my previously discussed non-cutesy-pie-suck-ups, but work to temper the madness of the adults around them.

So as I walked home it occured to me that the only thing that a movie has to do to impress me is to make me feel good. In the final scene, I was so intensely immersed into the film that I dreaded what I knew was the imminent rolling of the credits. To me, that's always the indicator of a good movie.

Obsession 101

I have discussed my interest in details in a previous post. There I appreciated the little details in movies. It's funny that I quoted Ghost Dog yesterday because a quote from the same movie relates here: "Among the maxims on Lord Naoshige's wall, there was this one: "Matters of great concern should be treated lightly." Master Ittei commented, "Matters of small concern should be treated seriously."" It's funny how things have a way of connecting.

With that said, I came across an fascinating website this morning. The author states his reasons for creating this site (beware of artistspeak):

But it also comes down to an appreciation for documentation and lists, as well as a keen appreciation for the absurd aspect of "revealing" the contents of my home to the entire world. There isn't much in my house that isn't also in everyone else's house, and precious little that's not visible to the casual visitor, but almost everyone I've spoken to sees this project as either an incredible intrusion, or as an invitation to be robbed.

As far as details go, this might be about as detailed as it gets. I especially liked the cover of Ian Fleming's Goldfinger which can be found on Shelf 10, of Bookcase 2, on the second floor. Also check out the collection of clothing found in the second floor dressers (Matt's and Greta's). If you thought my explaination of my sock rotation was odd, at least I haven't photographed them (yet)!

This ought to be a standby for bored surfing. That is if you can get by the fact that these people have great taste, and that their house is almost certainly way more interesting than yours.

Summer Winding Down

"It is a good viewpoint to see the world as a dream. When you have something like a nightmare, you will wake up and tell yourself that it was only a dream. It is said that the world we live in is not a bit different from this." (Ghost Dog)

Usually at this time of year I'd be enjoying the the last few days of the summer and lamenting the imminent return to my routine.

I went out golfing today on a day that the creators of golf had in mind as the perfect weather for golf. I shot like complete garbage, and the, I kid you not, 9 penalty strokes can attest to my horrid performance. The funny thing about golf is that you can walk around all day stinking up the joint and then return home wanting nothing more than to do it all again.

After a glorious nap, I'm typing this and ready to sit down to an evening watching DVDs and relaxing. It's been a busy and interesting weekend that has seen me not only get a lot accomplished but have a lot of fun. On Sunday evenings like this when I'm supremely calm and content, it's just such a killjoy to think that a work week is a short sleep away. It's almost enough to pack up, get off the grid, and throw the whole working world away. I'm so glad, as I type this now, that it's all moot for me.

You're in it right now.

Sam: You're in in it right now aren't you?
Andrew: What do you mean?
Sam: My Mom always says that when she can see that I'm working something out in my head, she's like, "you're in it right now." And I'm looking at you and you're telling me this story and...you're definitely in it right now.
Andrew: I think you're right. I am in it


We'll I've decided that I'm in it. That's what all this nervousness and uneasyness for the past few weeks has been about.

I was speaking with a friend of mine about the job search and I came to the realization that all of this pressure to find work is a joke. "The Man" says I need a job. I need to make money so that I can consume. I need to be an active part of the economy. I need to be a part of the system.

My grandfather was the hardest working person I've ever met. He got a job during World War One sweeping floors in a factory. He was 10 years old. He worked his way up through the years to become the company's Treasurer. He also started the first credit union in his home town and was a socialist long before people (like me) were allowed to be lazy and hide behind cushy federations. Every summer during his one week holiday, he would come to our farm and paint fences, repair shingles, and pick stones. This is someone who grew up working hard and never allowed his hands to be idle.

I've been sitting here for the past five weeks with idle hands. Guilt has a lot to with me wanting a job. In reality, I don't really need one. I don't owe money to credit card companies. I have some savings. I have very few expenses, really.

This is a chance that very few people ever get. Why would I want to screw it all up by getting a job?

So I've decided that I'm going to relax about finding work. I'm going to write and get something significant accomplished. If I find a great job that I can love then I'll go for it, but I'm not going to settle for something just because I have some twisted obligation to the status quo. If I don't find my perfect job (the job that makes me happiest), I'm going to sub until January and then get started on a Master's and PhD.

It's what I really want and I've been blind to that even though the answer has been so obvious.

Cynicism 101

I dropped a resume off and an all-girls school this morning and I'm actually still wearing dark brown khakis, a fancy blue shirt, and the gayest tie I own (light blue with yellow flowers).

So I was passing over a few of my bookmarked blogs this morning. Andrea over at bibliographic.net has a hilarious booklist set up. My favourites are:

Get Your Freak On, by Mary Shelley
1948: It's All Good, by George Orwell
The Unbearable Rightness of My Opinions, by Milan Kundera
Wank, Wank, Wank, by Jack Kerouac

It inspired me to take a crack at it, so I've come up with the following:

My Journey to a B.Comm, by JD Salinger
Talk to the Hand, by Margaret Atwood
I'm a Pompous Ass, Look at Me, Love Me, by D.H Lawrence
Make Me a Movie, by John Irving

Alright, they're not so hot, but still this would make a great drunken party game (provided you've got the nerd crowd on hand; and likely the most boring party ever). It reminds me of the time that everyone I know sat around trying to come up with filthy names for sex toys. From that night I remember only two: Newcastle Brown and The Chimney Sweep.

Any suggestions?

Binge and Purge

Today was my yearly (though I fear it has been longer than that) sock change day.

When I just can't stand the stains that just won't wash out, or the threadbare heels anymore, I throw out all my old socks and buy new ones. I always go for the Wilson Sport Socks. The white comes in a 10 pack for $11.99 and the black comes in a five pack for $6.99 (I bought two). They are very simple socks, nothing fancy, but who cares, right?

This is a great plan for a number of reasons:

1) I do not have to worry about matching socks. White socks are white socks. Black socks are black socks. When I'm folding my clothes fresh out of the dryer I just grab two socks of the same colour and I'm done.
2) All black socks fade over time. With each wash a black sock loses something (maybe it's its soul; no pun intended). By keeping all my socks the same "age" the fading is not an issue and, again, simplified folding.
3) My Dad has a whole bunch of socks, but he has them in a wide variety of colours: dark brown, charcoal grey, very dark blue, and black. This makes laundry day a much bigger job than it needs to be. If you're in a dark room when you're folding his socks you can't make any matching guarantees.

So my toes are wiggling around in new-socks-luxury. The downside is that I know that my foot is going to have all that new socks lint that will remain for a couple of weeks even despite washing. Aye, there's the rub and probably the chief reason why this event happens so rarely.

What Would Kirk Cameron Do?

Apparently Kirk Cameron would become a Christian preacher.

Pageblank directed me to Kirk Cameron's recent incarnation as Flash animation. I thought,"hey this'll be good for a laugh" and I clicked on through. Immediately I was surprised to see the title, The Way of the Master, and laughed as it sounded Stonecuttersesque and Jedi order. Was I about to see Kirk Cameron and Yoda square off in some apocalyptic lightsaber duel?

No such luck. I kept clicking through and watching lines and lines of scripture waiting for the joke to come, but it never came.

If you've ever watched Mike (Seaver) and Boner's (Richard Stabone) hijinx on Growing Pains and thought, "I wonder if Kirk Cameron can preach?" here's your big chance.

Oh yeah, and I also found this related headscratcher.

Interesting Job.

During my daily job search, I came across this interesting one: Editor.

It's at NATO, and is a part of the Joint Analysis and Lessons Learned Center. From what I can tell it's based in Portugal (and Norway), and has a tax free salary of 4,778.16 Euros (almost $8000CDN) per month.

While I don't have a militaristic bone in my body, the one-year contract might be an great opportunity to travel on someone else's bill. I'll apply and see what happens. Basic training might be the deal breaker.

Movie Tip of the Day: Broken Flowers.

I was stunned to see the large audience during the 1:30 screening of Broken Flowers at the Cumberland Theatre. There must be a lot of people without jobs out there; at least we all have good taste.

Jim Jarmusch's movies are never what you would call action packed. There's a lot that's happening, but the action is not video-game-phrenetic. You cannot enjoy his films if you haven't checked your ADHD at the door. Some people rush out to buy the latest from PD James and Tom Clancy, while others would prefer to open up an old favourite like Crime and Punishment, or The Stranger.

Ghost Dog is one of my DVD collection favorites, and its reflective philosophy is something that I enjoy. It's a samurai film with little to no action, but at the same time artfully engaging.

Broken Flowers is a search film. Don Johnston (a great running joke in the film) played by Murray, searches for his son, but finds himself; a simple idea that Jarmusch does well and Murray carries. You must watch Bill Murray constantly to fully appreciate his nuanced performance. His eyes and mannerisms are perfect, though they will go undetected by most moviegoers.

The only problem with constantly watching Murray is that Jarmusch has a lot going on in his own right. There is a lot to look at in the film and unlike Revenge of the Sith, The Fantastic Four or the latest slop from Michael Bay, the movie doesn't bash you over the head with it. The framing, colour, and details haul your eyes all over the screen.

Before the movie started, Jon and I were commenting about how much crazy kids on the screen can make a great movie even better. We're not talking about cutesy-pie suck up kids, but the real nutcases. A good example was the boy who testifies his love for one of the girls in the Virgin Suicides by jumping out of a second storey window (he mouths, "I love her" just before he jumps). Another fave are the boys in The 400 Blows.

In the opening sequence watch for the little boy in the green and white jacket. He runs around and falls down constantly. Every time he's in a scene he wipes out. These details are what I enjoy most about movies. This might explain why I am particularly fond of the scene in Rushmore when Dirk gives Max his Christmas present. It's wrapped in paper and on the piece of tape is the little plaid tab that starts the roll of Scotch Tape. Movies, for me, are all about the details. Someone made an effort to take the time to do something right. I like walking out of the movies saying "I got that joke, and I liked it."

I really don't believe that the movie industry is in the toilet. There are a ton of great films out there. They won't make $100 billion at the box office, but they are far more valuable and important to see. Sadly, these are the films that will be soundly ignored.

Broken Flowers.

I am psyched for two reasons: one, my good friend Jon is in the process of making the move to Toronto; and two, he and I are off this afternoon to take in Jim Jarmusch's latest, "Broken Flowers".

I love Bill Murray's foray into the independent movie scene. While not all of his films have been worthwhile watching, glancing down his filmography, I think that it would be hard to criticize a lot of his recent film choices (Charlie's Angels and Garfield aside).

So I'm taking an afternoon off what seem to be pointless job applications, and Jon and I are heading out to the movies.

Back Again.

Well I'm back after my weekend in nature and I'm feeling quite unusual today. Maybe it's too much sun, maybe it's frustration with the job search that is getting me down today for some reason, maybe it's Monday-morning-around-the-corner-blues.

Actually, I think that it's the realization that the event that I had been looking forward to for such a a long time has come and gone. This happens to me all the time. I get all psyched up for something (in the same ways six-year-olds look forward to Christmas morning) and when it finally arrives I enjoy it, but am often left feeling rather empty afterwards. So I'm not feeling myself today, and am a little bummed out.

That being said, it was a fun weekend away. I don't enjoy being the host terribly much since I often put too much pressure on myself to make everything work. I erroneously feel that it is my responsibility to make sure that everyone has fun, so that they don't comment on the 400 on the way back home, "That was a whole lotta nothing! I'm so glad to be going home."

I hope everyone had fun. I broke even playing poker which was nice. The concert was good, but since I didn't know a lot of the songs, it was much less enjoyable than concerts of the past; concerts where I was a bigger fan. I think that's really the key to live shows.

Also, I have a hard time taking aging rockers dressing like young rockers seriously.

Off to Muskoka.

So I am a mere 45 minutes away from joining what is for all intents and purposes the "Get Me The Hell Out of Toronto 500". It's Friday, and I along with most of Toronto's population will race their vehicles as quickly as possible up to 400 highway to cottages and cabins far away from the city.

There should be lots for write about on Sunday. Until then.

NNNot FFFair

I feel extremely guilty on days like today. Days like today when I sit typing this wearing long pants and a sweater.

According to the latest reports it is 28 degrees in Toronto and with the humidity it feels like 38 (I also noticed that it reached 33 degrees this afternoon and felt like 42). I've been outside numerous times today and felt that wall of heat; it ain't pretty.

The main reason that I've gone outside today has been to warm up. My apartment is positively frosty and, quite frankly, uncomfortably cold. I wear sweaters while indoors, and frequently during the typing of this entry have had to blow on my hands to warm up my fingers. I painted my bathroom mainly because I needed to keep moving.

Since I live in a basement suite, it is naturally colder than the main floor. The situation is worsened by the falling cool of the air conditioning which makes the rest of the house quite comfortable. All my vents are closed and my windows are actually open to let the heat in, but it doesn't seem to help.

All of this has led me to the conclusion that live isn't fair. I am certainly not complaining about my situation, and my heart does go out to those of you who when you're not taking one of your 6 cold showers a day you're sitting on your couch too tired to move, wearing only your underwear, deafening fans pointed from every direction, with a damp cloth on your forehead. We can all rest knowing that it'll be winter soon and you'll be able to cool off while I'll finally be able to warm up.

Long August Long Weekend Report.

So I left Toronto on Friday at 12:00, and tried to navigate the suburban wastelands. Who knew that a street could have more than one 300-block? I ventured out on the proverbial wild goose chase to track down rope, if you could imagine. It is next to impossible to find 12mm diametre rope made of natural fiber as my two day epic search will confirm. This is undoubtedly my most frustrating experience in many years and will be the subject of another blog; that is if I can mentally handle recounting it.

So I ended up finding what I needed in Ajax, and drove to Perth arriving at 4:21. I had to go straight into town so that I could have some blood taken at the hospital. Don't worry, there is nothing wrong with me, just some routine checks, and part of a pre-allergy test work up.

I had gone in to see my doctor in mid-July and he wanted me to have some blood work done. This required fasting 12-14 hours. No problem. I stopped eating at 10:00 the night before and it was after 4:00 I was fine.

Me: I need to have some blood taken. Dr. M. gave me this form.
Nurse: You need to fast.
Me: I have been fasting. I haven't eaten since--
Nurse: --When did you eat last?
Me: Yesterday at 10:00.
Nurse: That's more than 14 hours.

I couldn't believe it. She wouldn't take my blood because I had fasted for more that the 12-14 hours. She sent me home with extreme prejudice. Now who would think that you have to fast for 12 hours and one minute, but can't fast for 14 hours and one minute? So I went to the farm, my plans to get this little job finished nicely quashed.

When I got there, my Mom getting ready to head off to her 45th High School Reunion. She looked very nice. At this point my father declares, "Let's go get that calf."

In early May my parents had around 65 cows. When you get that many cows in a herd they really have a mind of their own and when they want to break through fences, mob rules. During one of their destructive visits to the neighbour's corn field, our herd managed to pick up one of the neighbour's calves by mistake. The calf has been with our herd ever since. With my Mom in her fanciest clothes, the three of us headed out armed with a lasso and a halter to wrastle us up some cows (aka: l'il doggies).

The second we stepped into the pen, the cows knew that there was going to be trouble. They ran around in circles and we roped up our calf tied him to a post just as the fence smashed like matchsticks under the will and weight of one of our larger cows. The cows ran through their newly created gate and proceeded to head down the property at the dead run, smashing fences all the while. Insert long list of curse words here.

With the pen now emptied expect for our calf we took him over to his home next door. I had two tasks this weekend: one, help Mom and Dad rope the cow and give it back to Mr. R.; and two, make sure that the cows had lots of food and water. Since the calf had been returned and the cows were now down the property chomping all the fresh grass they can eat and chugging back two thirst quenching rivers, my jobs were done.

It is clinically impossible to herd cattle when they are not calm, and having just made 3 inch thick boards into kindling, we had to leave the cows alone until they cooled off. At this plans changed.

My job was now to drive to the cottage in Bala so that I could pick up a load of flagstone to drive to Perth. There was no rush for this job and I was free to spend the weekend at the cottage. I drove up and spent the weekend with friends at their cottage on Georgian Bay. It was a nice weekend away.

On Monday I returned to the cottage and met my parents who had driven up the previous afternoon. I loaded the truck with stone and drove home. 4 hours later I arrived. I unloaded the stone with no incident. My back is a little stiff, but other than that it was surprisingly uneventful.

I decided that I would begin my fast again that evening. I ate a big dinner and went out to pcik up the last few bales of hay. I stacked them and covered them, thereby completing the first cut of hay for the 2005 season. That pleases me.

I woke up early on Tuesday and drove into town to have my blood taken. This time successfully. Things were going my way until I decided to take Highway 7 from Perth to Highway 37 to Tweed and Belleville.

About 30 km east of Kaladar I got stuck behind a maroon minivan circa 1991. I never once saw it break 75km per hour. I wasn't in a rush, things were going well and I really didn't want to risk a ticket. I sat behind him for about 60 kilometres.

During those 60kms not a single car passed me or the maroon minivan, but a queue of about 15 cars tailed behind. The person behind me must have been late or in a hurry because he did not remove his front bumper from my rear bumper the entire time.

Finally, I couldn't take it anymore and zipped out into the passing lane around maroon minivan right into the open arms of Constable Knox of the Ontario Provincial Police. Insert long list of curse words here.

I got a $150 ticket. 112 kms in an 80 zone. Can you believe that? 112! As I fumed on the rest of the journey, I noticed that Option 2 was "Enter a plea of guilty and provide an excuse." All I had to do was go to the courthouse in Belleville between 9 and 12 on weekdays. It was 11:00 so I figured that I might be able to get it knocked down. I admit that I was speeding, but the circumstances, I feel, should not warrant $150.

I arrived at the couthouse after only getting slightly lost, only to have the clerk inform me that the Justice of the Peace was not available today and that I should come back within 45 days. Insert long list of curse words here (this time under breath). I paid my bill and left. I wasn't happy.

I arrived in Toronto without incident. I did happen to notice hundreds of cars driving far more than 112 in an 80 zone, but that's petty, I suppose. I did the only thing that I know to ease the anger of a speeding ticket: cleaned (baking also works).

I got my apartment all organized. All my unneeded boxes are stacked up in the closets. I vacuumed and scrubbed and did manage to get everything organized. From the clutter of half opened boxes, I've managed a real minimalist feel. It pleases me to have everything set up. A cluttered home is a cluttered mind, and I'm finally thinking clearly again.

So I decided to treat myself to dinner out to celebrate the clean apartment and to wash away the festering remnants of the speeding ticket. Pad thai and deep fried bananas. It was worth it and I felt a lot better. I didn't get a parking ticket either. Things are looking up!

So a fun weekend after all. It had it's ups and downs, but it certainly wasn't boring. My life seems to be all about flexibility. I guess that's why I'm a teacher.