While I appreciate a good rogering as the next person, I also appreciate bad rogering, such as the annual Literary Review Bad Sex award. Of course, this year Tom Wolfe won the less-than coveted prize for his book I am Charlotte Simmons.

And just like any self-respecting man, even one who writes "Slither slither slither slither went the tongue," Wolfe defended the "irony" in the text (personally, I prefer "The smell of his armpits was on her shoulders -- a flower depositing pollen on a hummingbird's forehead" from Nadeem Aslam in the novel Maps for Lost Lovers.

Anyhow, the reason I bring this up... (will continue later)

A couple months ago I gave in and bought a mini-voice recorder. As a journalism student I've spent almost my entire university life writing stories from notes that I'd written during the course of many interviews. In class I chose to listen to the professors who said that much like recording lectures, recording interviews was a waste of time, forcing one to play and replay the tape for the sake of a quote or two (I saw how true this was when transcribing Naomi Klein's speech at last month's "Navigating a New World" conference at the University of Toronto. Did it really matter if the subject said "that is what I really want" as opposed to "I want that really badly?" If the subject cannot repeat verbatim what he or she just said, why is it your job to do it for them?

I've discovered since buying the voice recorder that the reason is not that I have to get it right for them, it is so that I don't totally screw it up. I was very surprised when I first discovered that when transcribing a simple line how my brain puts the words coming from the voice recorder into a different narrative, with new words and ideas spliced into the sentences which I then type into the draft. When I check for accuracy, guess what? I find words missing, words added and sometimes even words replaced ("happy" turned into "shocked", "took the streetcar" turned into "caught the streetcar.") On the surface they all look like simple , inconsequential discrepancies, but it is amazing just how much my mind leaves behind as I go through this process that I was sure I'd had down pat for the past five, six years. My biggest worry, and this comes in hindsight, is what if one of those mistakes was not so simple, so inconsequential? What if I'd mistaken the words of the mayor's spokesperson, or of Abby Rockefeller or a Member of Parliament? Yikes.

I write this now because I finally watched Christopher Nolan's Memento yesterday. The main character, Leonard, lost his short-term memory and cannot generate new memories, and he says something to the effect of "if you can't trust your own mind, how can you trust anybody else?" You could argue that people I want to trust have a much greater impact on my life than some fly-by-night interview subject so I concentrate more on getting things right with them, but then I would argue that those fly-by-night interviews will go much farther in my aspirng career as a journalist, hence I would work that much more harder to get those things right.

What I've found of course is that what I want doesn't matter, that what I think is right is what is actually inconsequential. Because if I can't get something right in the half-second it takes for me to hear something to entering it into a computer, then the objective fact is I didn't get it right. The subjectivity is gone. Forget what I think, or want to think. I got it wrong.

Thank goodness for the voice recorder, because it records facts. It is my polaroid camera, snapping objective pictures, while my notes are what I write around the picture that it captures. And now I have to rethink everything I know or think I know, and figure out if those things are right, or that I only want them to be right.

There's no army to save us but we've had our first big storm of the year... big enought to knock the streetcar system offline. Funny enough the bus I took on the way to work this morning passed by one of the new buses... stalled at the side of Pape Avenue. That was a close one.

I'm doing my gosh-darned best to stay away from buying anything for myself this Christmas season. I am drawn to the malls but my pockets are heavier than they've ever been, even with a pouch full of heavy coins. I still can't shake this stinginess out of me; ever since I stopped smoking I've realized not just how much more money I have, and also how much less it is worth. Weird.

What were those fools at the ACC thinking when they wore their Santa hats to the Raptors game? If paying out hard-earned money wasn't enough these people also advertise their spendthrift ways? It's almost as bad as people wearing those stupid hats at the mall.... sheesh... the only people saying "ho ho ho" are the execs vacationing in warmer climes, not them, not the cashiers, not those Chinese kids slaving over a sewing machine.

While I can certainly appreciate the holiday spirit, I believe it is best exhibited with a smile and kind gestures. Guess what? Contrary to that crappy Bell commercial, this is not the case, nor has it ever been. This "Christmas spirit" is about giving to your friends, your family, and most importantly making YOU feel good. As it should be. But this crap about being nice to everyone and random gestures of goodwill and kindness and all that other b.s.? Well... if a holiday is required for everybody to be extra nice then we're really in trouble, aren't we?

I had a wonderful day today. My two piercings turned into two stretches, which halved the price with almost all of the pain. So only TWO cockroaches are getting ready to burrow underneath my skin... heh.

I'm quickly running out of resolution ideas. I've already quit smoking and I've tried exercising most of the year... maybe I'll think about exercising more. Cripes.

I got a new job. While it's only ten hours a week it's ten hours that I'm being paid to read the newspapers, something I do anyways. Not looking for more work, as I imagine I'll be writing like crazy again once school starts in January. Until then, I have my Jack London books and FINALLY a copy of Naomi Klein's books, No Logo and Fences and Windows. I think I'll start... NOW!

A couple nights ago I went to bed with philosophy, science and religion in my head. I had crammed for five hours for that crappy exam and I honestly dreamt that I was writing the exam. Scary eh?

More scary was how I woke up to a cold foot. I have a thin blanket and comforter, which until it gets colder to necessitate a higher heat setting are not enough to keep me warm. So I go to bed each night wearing jogging pants, a sweater if need be and wool socks. Loose wool socks. The cozy type that until that night I'd never had a problem with... and then I woke up to one cold foot. A sock had fallen off, and the sobering realization that my left foot was cold hit me like alcoholic vomit coming up my esophagus. No more wool socks. I'm going with cotton again.

So I think I picked a great time to quit smoking. I do not feel any better, but I am inspired enough to eat those crappy low-carb foods and have gone to the gym two days in a row despite a cold.

Where I really feel the difference is the wallet. Being jobless bites, but not as much when I spent $20 a week for cigarettes. I've been able to coast these past two moolah-less months pretty well, and when I heard today that Ontario is introducing the new tobacco legislation that includes yet another cigarette tax-hike well gosh... I'm smooth sailing.

But I start a new job next week, so I may pick it up again. Heh.

I see that planning actually DOES take some pressure off of exams. I've finished four with three more next week, but I haven't even thought about pulling an all-nighter. Good job Yee-Guan!

I've realized how much I missed the last five years. Earlier today I went through this book that I've had for awhile, "The Elements of Style," and wow... I should have been studying this back in 1999. Blech.

Sooo much time to make up. Anyways... holidays are almost here. Another year of nostalgia, remembering good times past when I received great presents. I love tha tI don't know what the future holds.