Eating like renaissance bog wigs, consuming like Medici lors, driving a market like fifteenth century elites. This is the status of our existence. It is an odd state to be in but we have to think about it occasionally. Not to self-flagellate, but rather to take stock of the directions in which the human experiment has taken us. Went out last night with a coleague and N. Visited this Vancouver Indian fusion restaurant, a description which in itself is misleading, as there was nothing specifically Indian in the food other than the Pakoras. Still the story lies in the nature of the experience. It lies in the economy of food of which we became but a part of last night. A beautiful space was arranged for the clientele, nice combination of falling faded blue plaster, exposed brick, wood beams, and modern clear cut shaped defining the bar.
All this beautifully arranged and constructed by some interior designer who probably makes money doing restaurants, setting trends and following trends at the same time. Then of course there is almost no reason to talk of the supply line that goes in kleeping a restaurant going, the ordering of food and drinks, the trucks moving around cities and the planes around the world, to strategically position more or less scarce goods on spots convenient for pick up by local consumers. So let us leave the banality of logistics aside, this careful dance of movement and timing on a global scale and let us move to the food.

What are we to make of the cook who spends his time developing new tastes? What are we to make of the R&D that goes behind my culinary experience? What of the investement of time and money in generating the new, the exciting, the pretty and elegant perishable pile of food that I will consume in a manner of minutes? What will the philosopher say of our hedonistic devotion to the new, the sensorily promiscious? What is beauty? What lies behind our pursuit of the exciting in food and beverage? And above all, how amazing that this experience is shared by a large percentage of our society, and yet it remains a mystery for the billions of the people outside our world. No, this is not a guilt tripping exposé. This is just about questions. N noted that we are all Medici's now, how true and untrue.

Back in pain, neck still stiff, and a lot of writing. Still, mostly done. I have earned the right to a film. Sunny day in Vancouver for a change, just to make the backpain more tolerable. News of sailing trip plans moving forward and items ticked off the stress board. Semester coming to a close and the time of departures approaching. Looking forward to it with some degree of trepidation. For now a bit of Walkabouts for the time of anticipation before the film.

Stiff. I am not talking of a drink. I am talkingof my neck. It feels stiff like a led pipe and it is not pleasant. Little hints of a head acke are lingering in the general vicinity and the hypochondriac is already thinking of ways in which the knots on my neck can actually be malignant growths intent upon destroying my joyous existence. At home working. It is going well. How to compress 100 years of history in one lecture and not simply talk about facts. The semester is coming to a close and it feels odd to have almost completed a whole period of teaching at my new school. It feels good, but of course there is always stress and this is I guess the main contributor to the neck stiffness. Anyhow, back to work. The greyness has to be used.

Grainy weather. If Hollywood, or rather imperfect visual media, created griny television images, then the Vancouver microclimate has generated the amazing phenomenon of "grainy weather." A situation which leads to impaired visibility and foggy vision as a result of grey, low light conditions generated by low altitude cloud cover, combined with a misty fog, that blend together to create a translucent soup of a day. This is where we are today. We are also faced by a white screen slowly filled with letters on the topic of Byzantine weddings. Once again on the popularizing front satisfying the demands of old friends for non-conspiratorial approaches to history. The rest of the day to be dedicated to student papers. Little to report on this front.

Sometimes epiphany comes late. This was one of the times. I had heard a lot about the film, but somehow never looked into renting it. Never saw it. September 11 happened and then all the GWT tragedy and only this year, from the misty rainforest of YVR did I finally watch Wag the Dog. And it was better than expected, funny and more real that Kassandra's worse nightmares. Only difference?
The GOP equivalent experienced at the present moment is in no way that funny. Other than that, a horribly boring day spent learning basic first aid. Some genious at the university's administrative quarters has decided that after spending 7 hours bored out of my mind with 11 other equally bored people I would be more qualified to lead a field-school. Anyways, all is quite in my kingdom at this stage. Boredome replaced with entertainment and good beer. I just had the first truly worth-while Canadian beer: Amnesiac from a brewery in Victoria. Hops to die for and yet a bitterness that is pleasant and not overpowering.

Here we are in solid domestic settings with student's papers on my side. The space in the room is filled by the sounds of the newest Arcade Fire record. I have to pay tribute to the quality of their work. So solidly written and executed. I think it is an instant classic. Even as their older albums show corkyness and vibrant interpretation of new music, this one feels more serious and instantly recognizable as both new, but also as part of a longer tradition of good rock.

Beyond the history of rock I have been riling myself with American politics and the submission of every single democratic candidate to the dictates of AIPAC conformity. The spinelesness of American politicians in the face of lobbying linked to the newest of Crusader states is simply pathetic. In my optimistic days I feel that a candidate who would have the "orbs" to state the truth and stand as a friend of the State of David in favor of just peace and 1967 borders would be able to dominate the debate. In fact a candidate with such a position would be able to open a debate and get all the support that the cowed academics and media critics are unwilling to express for as long as this would mean being alone in taking the dangerous position. While I respect research on the power of the AIPAC and the rest of the groups like AIPAC I do not share the conspiracy-like fatalism that goes with this assumption. I do not believe that there is no way to break the grip that AIPAC has on the US discourse. Carter's book and the recent academic memo on the power of this lobby has shown that the time is ripe for the debate. One can no longer fear the politics of smear. Dirt will only stick on the weak. If GWB has taught us one thing is that commitment to one opinion without wavering pays up. Then again, this is my assessment on a good day, when I do feel optimistic about the state of the US political discourse.

It seems that blogger is facing some problems. It annoys me to no end not having control over the posting mechanism. Maybe I have reached some sort of posting quota. There is little to report other than the recent development of home ownership. Yes I have put a deposit down and I have entered the large pool of people living the petit bourgeois dream of mortgage dose repayment. Or maybe we should say nightmare. The interesting thing in my case is that homeownership is one of those counterintuitive things that my conservative economic nature should warn me against. What if US housing collapses (it has already started)? What if the US stops lowering interest rates and increases them in order to attract fleeing investors who go to stronger Euro? What if in five years we are in major world recession with high interest rates and I have no longer the protection of a steady 5.09 rate. What if the sky falls on our heads? Even as those thoughts go through my head the domestic me says: what if all that does not happen? What if it keeps rising? What if Vancouver is kind of an exception tied as it is with the Pacific rim economy (bolocks, it is truly too close to the US not to be affected)? What if by 2010 he Olympics make it appealing for even more people to flood it and by then a one bedroom condo costs more than 20 years of me serving as a slave at a silver mine for 40 years. So following my metrosexual desire for beautiful dark floors, stainless steel appliances and space to unflold my rug, I made the decision with which I now have to live. I do not think it will be that difficult. Let us see.

Classic Vancouver. Woke up in grey and grey it is now at 5:30 AM. And yet that misses the story of the day. It misses my walk to the pub where I had lunch while preparing for tomorrow's lecture. It misses the moment when the sun came out and everything seemed spring. It misses the rolling up of the pub's fascade and the breeze, still a bit wintery but with unmistakeable strokes of April, coming in the dark beer serving establishment. It misses the gorgeousness of the walk back home at the end of my Crusade's lecture arrangement. So grey it may be now, yet the story of the sun over my town on this March day has at least been recorded. Listening to a new CD and following some news as a break from reading new book. The trip to Greece is now closer to me, feels closer to me. With it the union with friends and numerous students appears so real as well. Good!

Apartment mania. Domesticity overdose. I saw the place once more. I love it. N was as impressed as I. I am proceeding with paperwork and if things pan out I should have keys by April 30th. the Byzantine home owner should be a new subject of study. Already today I offered my class a taste of Byzantine family strategies and they liked it. A good day over all. Tomorrow some work awaits me on organizing the home purchase. Anyhow, this post is uninspired. To be left at this.