Slow, everything is slow. Slowness starts from the beginning. It starts from the forgotten watch and it slows down even more as you forget your phone at home. Time becomes contingent upon fixed time-measuring devices, devices that exist in a space uncontrolled by you and randomly arranged arround you. A space whose logic you have to adjust to. OK, exageration. I carry a laptop with me and there is time on its little uper corner. I do not have to rely on the kindness of others as long as I am using the computer and use it I do since I am correcting papers. Time goes by and I meet N for prepackaged lunch and short chat. Time goes by again and I am off to home. Time flies even more and somehow it is 6:30 PM and I wonder what it is I have accomplished if anything. Time for dinner, time for climbing after dinner and then time for who knows what.

WARNING TO PRUDISH READERS: THIS BLOG MAY CONTAIN CONTENT WHICH WHILE OFFENSIVE TO YOUR SENSITIVITIES MAY ALSO GET YOU HOOKED ON READING IT. HINT, HINT R!

So, I guess I have been posting without titles. No signposts for the reader. A hint that says, you need to read this, or you can skip to the next more interesting posting. Having discovered the labelling option I start with it, only, oddly, the labels appear at the bottom of the text, like the sorority Greek initials that one can find walking huddled aroung female bottoms on American university campuses.
Listening to Spoon, the "Girls Can Tell" record. Not bad, pretty honest rock music. It was one of those days when a collection of small things led to a synthesis of a satisfying whole of accomplishment. One of those days when the sheer tackling of bureaucracy and day to day tasks satisfies the mind, if only because the postponement of those same tasks taxes the mind. Let me then count in the τυρί, ρίζι, γάλα, CAMBAS method of Greek arithmetics: I dispatched the profile of my program to the MGSA, I collected some application forms for journal funding, I walked to the office that made their collection possible and on the way I kept my brain active and considered possible themes for a journal article collection, I dealt with student questions over the net, I chatted with my boss, inflated my optimism (a by product of talks with my boss), I came back home, I bought lamps to illuminate my medievally dark kitchen, delivered some pants to the italian tailor for shortening, I got a haircut and then ended up at home reading Anthony's intro to his new translation of Psellos. I am grateful to him for referring to my diss and I am sipping cocoa, which does not compare with N's chily spiced version. Overall I produced a study in pedestrian living and still I feel satisfied. So the option of leaning on the couch and reading more on Byzantine families and elements of their domesticity is actually appealing. Meanwhile, the time is approaching when I will be asked to load my goods on a plane, along with my body and move all of them to Greece for a visit to friends and family and an experience of the customary Christmas domesticity. Stop reading reader, there is nothing interesting in this posting. It is enough, it will end here.

Lets discuss fetish items. Your kinky mind may automatically direct itself towards closets filled with stileto shoes. Your imagination is already slipping in drawers of neatly arranged underwear. Yet here we have entered a whole new realm of fantasy and fascination. The colours are not brigt red and pink. No leopard patterns here. The materials are neither lace nor leather.

The locus is far removed from the bedchamber. We have instead entered a very different world. A world of synthetics, plastics, and strong, resistant materials. They are not meant to make breasts look gravity-defying, they are meant to make whole bodies fly, a whole human stick to a wall or hang mid-air. We have entered the rock-climbing twillight zone.

On Sunday I purchased my Christmas gift to self. In good Byzantine fashion it was a gift in three parts. Pouch for climbing chalk and chalk, climbing shoes, a nice pair of 5.10 spire shoes and a black diamond Harness. The fetish value of those items, forthwith tested on the walls of the Edge, the North Vancouver gym we visit, was intense. They are little things to own, cherish and take care of. So here I am, age 34 discovering my fetish. Let us see what else I will be discovering.

A night at the Opera. This was a memorable experience, yet not for the reasons you would think. We arrived at the "Queen Elizabeth Theater" early. Our logic was that an opera house must be an interesting elitist establishment to explore. See people in their formal attire attempting to belong in a world and class which they normally do not frequent. Also, see people who really belong in a class which WE do not frequent, the Lawyers, corpodroids and moneyed real estate magnates of BC.

Well if that was our intention, we were in for a disappointment. We arrived at closed gates. A reception was going on, though nowhere to be seen and the plebs had to wait outside for a few minutes in BC's coldest weather (sub zero I tell you). An amalgam of retired school teachers, accountants, young professors (that was us), and some more retired folk patiently wearing faces of expectation and frustration stood outside the doors waiting. The agitators were of predictable origins, they were a Greek, a very critical American (N), a local elegantly dressed elderly gay man and a french-Canadian lady (the one I have branded as a school teacher). The Anglos were predictably quiet, accepting their fate of queuing, as if they were waiting a bus on Piccadilli Circus.

The time of our wait in the cold was used productively as we scrutinized the apearance of the building. Well the QET is no architectural gem. (S)he who tells you that is a big fat liar. In fact the QET tries to appeal to your more nautical senses. It evokes the lines of a ship in its indoors spaces, only it is no modern Norwegian or Danish floating pleasure palace that we are experiencing here but rather the Greek Island hopping ferry with its worn 1970s carpet and exposed metal ceilings. The crew itself, fits the profile of such a naval extravaganza, for all that they are at least more polite than the Greek sailors.

Entering the concert hall itself you notice that the seats are the same seats on which your mother sat when she attended that Barclay James Harvest concert wearing a collar that hang to her hips and bell-bottom pants. In describing all this I should note that the idea for this purely objective invective was not mine. It was N's declamations, worthy of Quinntilian's pen and Cicero's tongue that inspired my writing here. Like a Lady Macbeth of the blogworld I slash away and describe. Like her, I have no guilt. In any case eventually the lights were dimmed and we were exposed to what originally was a very weird spectacle. you see, the stage decoration for the opera was overall very good and quite effective, yet the first choral piece where the choire of witches predicts Macbeth's future was so badly done, with such kitschy dresses, funny choreography and 70s disco lighting that we were truly afraid that the whole opera was to follow along the quality of our sinking ship of an opera house.

Happily for our experience, the rest of the opera was quite good, though admitedly not the best of operas (put the blame on Verdi for that though). Lady Macbeth was certainly the largest presence on the scene, not in terms of her talent (of which her CV says that there has been a lot) but rather in terms of girth. The woman for all her singing skill, had the worse presence one could bring on the theater floor. When enntering the scene you were not sure whether she was going to say something sinister, omething dripping with blood, or whether she would ask for the potato peeler and head for the kitchen.

The evening ended well, with the good guys winning and us on our way home to a cat in need of attention.

At home, for yet another frosty post. Cold whiteness is my way of testing the patience of this blog's readers. It is also a very simple way for me to expose my shallowness. How would any sane or, better, any intelligent person, spend so much time writing about an altered form of water? Sanity and intelligence aside the city of Vancouver is in a kind of suspended animation. Its educational institutions are shut and classes are cancelled at the two Universities. At SFU because we are too high up to be accessible by bus and at UBC beacause they have no power. It makes you admire Michigan with their "never closed, whatever the circumstances" policy.


At Home I am writing on the Franks and Rome and on the claims of the Franks on Rome's heritage. Nothing too deep, just an attempt to connect a number of threads from my lectures that had been left loose and then reach a proper point of conclusion. As Western Europe is "born" so is the orientalized Eastern part slowly challenged in its claim of Romanitas and by extension its claim to be part of Europe per se. I guess writing on a blog helps you clarify what you want to say. This is my excus for not actually writing right now.

Here is the spaceship. I mean SFU. This is the status of the mountain. It is interesting how the weather becomes an object of fascination the moment something out of the ordinary occurs. I feel that I am being converted into one of those American couch potatos waiting for yet another weather report. My interests in the weather betray a certain lazyness. It is not my lounging and working on a couch which is the issue. It is the fact that I find myself deeply interested in a possible Uni closure for Tuesday. Not even one semester in teaching and I think of work-breaks.

Getting dark. It is this moment of the day when your body decides that it is still the summer and since it is dark it must be nine o'clock at night. And your body gives you a warning that it may shut itself down. And you rise, and go to the fridge, or just plain fidget and walk around to get past the dangerous window of opportunity when a siesta would become inevitable. And if you remain awake, you have hours ahead of you of total consciousness. If you avoid the siesta, you may convince your system it is winter and that is simply how things are done. And you want to forget that your parents in Greece told you that they have 20C temperatures.

You would not think it possible, yet it has been snowing rather consistently since last night. The effect of snow on my mood is interesting. A certain longing for Michigan, but also a certain satisfaction that this will not last for more than just a few days. Soon we will be back to our familiar grey colours and rain.

In a more immediate fashion, the snow just amplifies all sorts of already strong domestic tendencies. It is time for couches, blankets, some music and slow paced activities. I cannot in anyway complain. Right now, 24 hours after the whole thing began, it is still snowing quite constantly and I am correcting the last papers. Editing on a computer the ones that were delivered in electronic form. A side effect of this snow may be the cancelation of classes. I am not sure what the status of Burnaby mountain is right now, yet I am not sure that our buses can make it up there.

I am really curious to see what the administration will decide for Tuesday. Meanwhile, here I am with cat and laptop. All that is missing is a chili spiced hot-chocolate for the picture to be complete.

The extremes of satisfaction and frustration with my work all in one afternoon. Earlier I experienced two moments of those that make the life of an academic pleasant and so rewarding. I read a paper by a student, which was truly inspired. Excellent and broad use of primary sources, good manipulation of the information and truly rounded presentation of the various perspectives. I am really happy for him, especially as he has been an oddball in many ways. Still, evidently he worked and performed.

Then there is my most serious student. She is in another plain of existence compared with all the others. An artist, a mother and a pretty responsible presence in my classes, she has been a joy to work with. Her good work is no surprise to me. It was just great to receive her audiovisual "instead-of-a-paper" work. It was well done, funny, and coherently informative. Good use of imagery and music. I wish there were video to add to the mix.

And after these pleasant experiences I read a paper by a student who simply decided that thinking is not his thing. He submits a piece of work that goes against every rule I have tried to establish with painful harping and tedious repetition throughout the semester. No primary sources, a system of reference that makes no sense, and an overal F for his absolute mental absence from my class. I will not venture to say he does not have what it takes. He simply lives in space.

Reading the first student's work and watching my brilliant video producer's piece I had a smile on my face. I was alone at home talking to myself and feeling happy. I was congratulating them in their absence. I would buy them a beer if it were appropriate. Then, reading the last paper I started cussing as if I was addressing a referee who has just given a match-defining 93rd minute unfair penalty to the opposing team.

I am angry, frustrated and yet I am aware that ultimately there is so much I can do. I will take the blessings of work and leave behind the frustrations of lazyness and incompetence.

Had a great breakfast. The place is part of a chain, yet one of those chains that you can enjoy. Called De Dutch, it offers excellent pancakes. I sampled a bacon, onion, and apple pancake with stroop (dutch for sweet syrup) on it. I was sated by the end of the experience. Then the move back home for reading and correcting was paired by a walk in Vancouver streets that took me from rain, to drizzle to sun at a rate of a chameleon testing his camouflage against a psychedelic screen saver. Now pen in hand I hope to put a dent on the last part of the papers in need of treatment. Later, some music, possibly at a club. Vediamo.

Today I can see. I still remember the first time I realised I was shortsighted. I needed F's logic to reach that conclusion. Somehow the idea that my seeing had degenerated and that I could not see well was strange to me. The bus numbers, I was sure, were blurry for everyone. And it was then, in 1987 that my long interraction with spectacles started. They were clunky, nerdy and unfortunate, they made me look like the high-school nobody that I was, and yet they were necessary. Then I purcased my next pair in college and oddly enough along with the glasses came sexual awakening. I wonder if there was a connection. My current pair dates from 2003. I just upgraded the lenses today. In three years there was a certain deterioration of my eyesight. Nothing too dramatic, yet also nothing insubstantial.

So today, as I came out of the mall, where the optometrist is located, I saw clouds, and the sun going through them, with a clarity I had long forgotten. Then moved home, boiled water for drinking, as we are still in a water advisory, and sat down on the net. next to me McMullen's book waits to be finished and I think it will get its half an hour read before I go for dinner. The boss is paying and nice coleagues are attending. So to church councils I go

Serenity. I am calm. I guess two beers and a manhattan help. Next to me N reading Greek words from cards, στρατός, σταθμός, σφιχτός. Dead can Dance for background and the certainty of rest before a day of work. A constructive day today. A lecture and its visuals were produced quite fast and efficiently. Then a meeting on an online course was assisted by some drinks. Wine makes you crass, she says: κρασί. Mnemonic devices are so interesting. Built on experience. Constructed with what is stable and certain. Tomorrow I am discussing iconoclasm with my students. I was surprisingly satisfied with the process of producing their lecture. Somehow, memories from days of studying in the Bodleian conspire to create a warm feeling. Iconoclasm is one of those subjects I totally associate with my days as a 22 to 24 year old trying to gain some sort of mastery over the field. And of course, it is a subject on which I feel I know so little. But then again I know so little of everything.


I often feel like a mosaic of incomplete knowledge about everything. All together it looks nice, but should you dig you would find the weaknesses in the plot.

Sunday is nearing to an end. A weekend of back-pain is also about to come to a close and it does not seem as if things are going to be much better tomorrow. I have a cat by my side, some ungraded papers in front of me and another three hours to bed-time. I have a craving for the lemon-flavoured cake on the counter of the kitchen. I should control myself. I ate well tonight, leftovers.

Check out this article in the Michigan Daily:

http://media.www.michigandaily.com/media/storage/
paper851/news/2006/11/16/TheBSide/
HowTo.Extra.Credit-2463978.shtml?sourcedomain
=www.michigandaily.com&MIIHost=media.collegepublisher.com

Hilarious take on Graduate Student Instructor (T.A.) - Stundent relations. All agency on the students mind you.


It seems that my students have a problem with parsing categories. For them there is only absolutes. If you are heavy handed you are a tyrant. If a tyrant you cannot be a reformer. If a reformer, you must be honest, dishonest men cannot reform anything. It is amazing how much we live in a world of absolutes for all the effort of the postmodernists to demolish and deconstruct our certainties. Sometimes I wish they would just be relativists of the worse poststructuralist vain. But no, to them things are clear as pre-mudslides Vancouver water. What is it that leads to this poverty of thought. How is it that this straight-shooting approach to reading and writing ultimately produces unclear papers with no point at all? What are they doing in high-schools? How are those kids being wired. But also what are popular culture, TV, billboards, telemarketers and "BEST BUY" Christmas brochures doing to my students' brains?

And talking about shopping, I really want that new MacBook. I think early december I am getting it. Enough for now. Time to do something else.

What an accusation! I have just been told that the function of this blog is dubious at best, but most likely simply scandalously flirty. It is, according to a discerning but on this occasion oversuspicious reader, a tool of flirting, a toy for a feminine imagination. How faithless men are these days. Or how, feminized my own writing? I protest my inocence. All the flirting and woing takes place on another plain. Here I simply write. That I end up with soppy lines is strictly attributable to my lack of talent. Nothing more nothing less.

Off I go now. Purchase a hen, some taties and the essentials for Lemon-chicken in the oven

This is the new and improved bedroom. The "Swede," as my bed will be called from now on, proved sturdy enough to support one person. The question is: can it take two? Can it take two and a bit of rough sea? Little details that fill your day. Today is the big midwestern game day. It shall be watched by two Michigan alums. How focused they will be, it is an unknown. How do you follow a game about which you know little more than the colours of the teams? No players' names no yearly stats. Still, it sounds like a good thing to do on the side of eating and maybe of having a drink. I should correct a paper or two now. It is time.

One more interruption. As Ben Harper is singing his stuff, I take a break from paper tedium. Yes it is slow. How I wish I had more A papers, with fewer requirements for commenting. The inevitable result of the tedium was restlessness. And in the context of this feeling of busy feet and unfocused eyes the decision was taken to assemble my bed. Yes, I finally have a bed in place. This does not mean that I have a bed. The jury is still out on that. The night has to be spent safely on it, and the Swedish contraption has to prove sturdy, for me to pronounce "I do have a litter for my weary body."

Now German practice. Let us see how this will go

Dark Day. It is eery to be at home with lights full-blast-on and a feeling that at 16:00 it is already the deep night. Got to get used to that again I guess as it will be my companion for a while. Grading is going slowly. It is actually rather pathetic. I am distracted by a myriad of little tasks be they bank account phone-calls or coffee making breaks. Meanwhile, our Vancouver water looks murky. I boiled a few liters of brown water but it does not look inspiring. theoretically it is now safe but I am afraid that I may be drinking purified sediment. The closer my system will ever get to silting. I feel like a river building my inner alluvial deposits. I like alluvium though, it is so historically charged and it is rich.

Best classes are always those that ride free of text. I used a text, but also went off it, a lot. It worked. One of the least prepared classes therefore became a model of efficiency. Or at least so I think. Today is a day of expectations. I expect to taste a muffin, I expect to see if it affects me. I expect to see how and if I can control my responses. How conscious is someone of the effects of "food" on him? On another front, books have started pouring in. My bookcase is slowly filling its gaps. It is a good feeling, it looks good. How shallow we are?

Last night I gave a show. The audience was non-specialist. People who knew little about what I do. People who lacked the general education to fully get what I was saying (not all of them of course). Still, I enjoyed giving the speech. I do well in front of audiences. I just like being observed and performing. I think the end result was positive. Even those who did not appreciate the details of my argument, liked the enthusiasm of the presentation.

An odd little aside: This presentation is a way to meet the community but it is also a catwalk. I present my wares to the people. Well on this occasion N was there. It was in fact interesting to have her in the audience. Now she knows that I am a born clown. Her presence, however, was interesting for what it meant for who I am. I have been converted from the eligible, Greek batchelor, a possible target for interested local galls, into the "taken," "hitched" man. I guess it was good that she was there. Never thought fo this dimension till she actually arrived there.

Had a chat today with the "Boss." Pertained to the issue of publications and books. I am slowly seeing the possible benefits of eventually writing for a commercial press. Evidently my first book will have to be on an academic press. Tenure say so. Yet, who says the next one would have to be the same? This raises some issues. How does one pick a subject that allows for the field to be developed and at the same time for the book to be accessible to a broader audience. It also raises another question. What is the relationship of scholarship and that audience? I am not sure I know how the compromise may be effected. In many ways a lot has to do with how I look at myself and what I want to do with books. Do I want the benefits of participation in a closed academic society, or do I want the name recognition and money that comes with the other choice. the money will never be that much but money it will be. I have six years at least to think of those questions.

On that note, off to teach.

About to leave for my public lecture. This will be an interesting experience. I think I am ready. I can wing it for sure. Lets hope I do not stumble at any point. There will of course be the added pressure of having N in the audience. Let us see what kind of an effect this will have on my oratory. I am almost tempted to totally discard my notes. But I think I will avoid the temptation. there will be little else from me tonight.

Reading. It is a book on "The Formation of Islam." Its opening chapters are a good overview of religious developments in the Med in the period before Islam. A lot of stuff I do not really know. More things to learn about Judaism and now, once I post this, more to read on Zoroastrianism. Other than that not much to report. I had a good lecture, an OK tutorial and good chats with André at work. At home I had to deal with my upcoming public lecture and decide on the public persona I need to assume for it. I am still a bit hazy about this. I think I would want to use a text but I really do foresee talking out of basic bullet notes.

Tomorrow I am off to check my blood. I can only hope that I am healthy. I guess it is the ultimate test. If things are fine on all the various little tests run I can say that my life in Vancouver is truly sweet. As a hypochondriac I have, of course, put my self into a paroxism of stress. I guess I do this well, bless Molière's for his description of my condition in his Le Malade imaginaire. Now back to Zoroastrianism.

I have missed you, I have wanted to talk to you, I will admit this weakness, I will admit this fact. So let us add this visual element in this truly open-book type posting. The day is moving ahead and so is my paper and the moment in time when interraction becomes possible.

On a plane to LA. Reading a book on the history of Southeastern Europe from 500 to 1250. It is good so far. I am also chatting with the people next to me, and considering falling asleep. It should not be too difficult. The conference is over and I had a very good time. I also had very good feedback on the paper. It was even used (I was not there) to make a broader comment regarding Byzantine Studies inner politics. So I guess I like being part of the broader discourse. Now I need to research it a bit more and try and publish it. I think it will be my project for the next month or so. It is a good way to go back to research. The people have spoken, they are positive about it, so I need to just write it. It should not be too dramatically difficult.

The social dynamics at the conference were pleasant. I ended up chatting with a bunch of friends and making some good connections with people I will be happy to meet again. As for St. Louis, well I know it only slightly better now than last time I was here with Frixos. I went up the arch and saw the kitschy cathedral dedicated to St. Louis. I saw little else. The company was good though. The Michigan crowd gave what I think were pretty good papers. In fact it is possible to say that Michigan is establishing a pattern that wants good rhetorical skills as part of our conference performance. I like that.

I feel that the trip to the US had one negative aspect in it. The food. I felt that the moment I moved to the states the quality of food collapsed. This is unfair to the states yet, the conference food was horrific and so was whatever else I ate in town. Admittedly we did not sample the best of St. Louis, yet the symbolism is potent. Cross the border and things will suck. I think I need to go out for dinner tonight once back home. I am still in a plane. Now I just need to switch the lap top off and simply sleep. Off I go.

So, I am evidently safe at home after a log day. More tomorrow. Tomorrow has come and I have this picture I just discovered thanks to a friend to add to this posting. It should go to a new day posting yet I am happy to let it trail after the American Experience. After all the americans invented the internet did they not?

[The emperor sent] to me from among his most delicate dishes a fat goat, of which he himself had partaken, deliciously stuffed with garlic, onions and leeks; steeped in fish sauce: a dish which I could have wished just then to be upon your table, so that you who do not believe the delicacies of the sacred emperor to be desirable, should at length become believers at this sight!

Reading on Byzantine food. The reason is not academic, yet I think that ultimately I will be able to better present Byzantine social life once informed about this subject. Other than that I am sleepy. I cannot wait to go home and sleep after my physical. The crazy Vancouver weather is slowly conducting some of the clouds to the far side of the horizon, letting precious rays of sun through the grey veil. I wonder how it all looks from the areas that must already be under the sun, like UBC and the sea. I wish I did not have to be here. Still, another 40 minutes to the doctor's appointment. Not that I am counting

Election day. It is strange to even say that, while sitting on the other side of the fence without the right to vote. Not that I am claiming it. Nevertheless it feels as if I am part of this process even as I stand excluded from it. It is really ironic what one ends up wishing. Pure spite and instinctual hatred of the posse rulling the country right now makes me wish to join the Democrats in celebration of some sort of victory. Yet, realistically, what can I expect from a compromised party fielding veterans as candidates? Who was the genious who thought that the way to change a militaristic approach to politics was to run a campaign on macho presence and military salutes? I do not expect Democrats to scale down military spending, in fact they promised to increase the size of the army. I do not even expect them to cut expennsive pet projects like the F-22, for these things are already too well established for spineless politicians to attack. I only expect them to project a more humane, less arrogant form of violence. A more tempered imperialism, one which combined with their diminishing world role may eventually lead to the end of American empire in a less than cataclysmic manner. For if we leave things to republicans, the eventual implosion will be potentially lethal.

Anyways, other than that, state of happiness. State of general exuberance and of course state of stress. You cant have a good thing without fearing you will lose it to all those factors out there that are conspiring against continuity. Still day by day, week by week one may hope to create safety around comfort (ooops this sounded like an American political slogan). I need to do a final edit of my lecture before I leave. So I will post this and be on my way. Have a good day, whether you are heading to the überlab, a Romanian environment-shredding factory, a Greek computer-software company or the world's headquarters of money-grabbing and money-creation. Cheers to all.

So, this is a first for this blog. I think that I am fascinated with this character Constans II, emperor of Byzantium. I had never really thought of him in any serious fashion. He is one of those characters, who fall through the cracks of historiography as unfortunately he comes at a time with relatively limited sources. Yet think about it, this man left Constantinople and moved to the west, feeling that the empire's future lay there. Think of the implications of his move. How Roman his choice, how revolutionary his approach. Contemplate a history where Constans is not murdered. Where the east keeps going on under his son and where the young emperor - only 37 when he was murdered - succeeds to reinforce Byzantine lands in Italy and Africa through the introduction of the "Theme" system in those territories.

Think of Italian thematic armies defending the land against the Lombards with the same guerilla techniques developed to fight the Islamic armies of Mu'awiyah. Think of a consoldated Byzantine Italy south of the Po. Of taxes levied effectively and of Sicily and Africa forming a line of defense against the Islamic armies. Think of a Byzantine Empire that continues to exist as a dual Latin-Greek state keeping the Roman imperial ideal firmly in its hands. Where does Charlemagne fit in that model? Well, we will never know as a servant of Constans murdered him in his bath in Syracusae in 668. One disaffected servant standing, hands bloodied, on the course of history. I guess what I am developing here is probably anathema to a view of history based on grand movements predicated on economic and social developements and longue durée changes. Well, who cares, speculation is easier in people-centered history. And tonight I wish to speculate.

Just came back from watching "Death of a President." An odd film. For all that I see what it is trying to do, I am not sure I enjoyed it that much. Even as a documentary (a fake one) it was almost too cheesy. Of course it can be argued that it is the cheesiness that conveys the message. Yet, what is the message after all? That responses to terrorism are dangerous, that the state finds its victims and ignores reality? Is it a questioning of the right to resistence or the forms of resistence? Is it even a critique on the medium itself of the media and of their way of depicting events? Can we say that the choice of mocumentary in itself is a mean to study the creation of reality? I do not know. The fact that those questions emerge attests to the success of the film on some level. The fact that I left with a feeling of so what, despite the questions is proof of problems in the attempt. As for the pretty Minoan ladies, they are there simply because I like them, they did not have a part in the film.

At home. I liked my teaching for all that it was unstructured. By liking my teaching I do not claim to have been an effective teacher. I claim to have enjoyed the process of delivering the material. I also appreciated the discussion of material in the tutorial. The rest is trivia. Little tit-bits of discussion with people floating in my horizon but not effectively affecting my life. All this a parenthesis to my life of revelry in the world of N. All this an essential aspect of the process that powers my life at a time when this is devoted to the appreciation of N. They are fulfilling in the most amazing ways those early stages of a love affair. The question is how to maintain the inertia and keep them going. Only time will tell.

Done! Well never really done till the morning when everything is printed out, yet both lecture and ppt are ready. About to go taste N's curry. I like the idea. A day of work and then rewards. How funny we are with our need for justification of pleasure. My account of Herakleios is done and now we need to see how the students will respond. I am slowly getting more relaxed about Tuesdays. The only hard thing about them is after all the early wake-up. The rest is fine. Over and out, off to dinner. The little image is Piero della Francesca on Heraclius.

I just woke up from a siesta. It felt absolutely essential, and yet I am now, 44 minutes of really heavy sleep later, in a state of slumber even as I slowly regain consciousness. Still, work has been done since the morning. The lecture is being written and yet another period of time with my students will be disposed of soon. I do see, however, how the change to light savings will produce brighter mornings at the expense of the evenings. I can see the light assuming a sun-set position and glow. Today feels like the day when the writer of this blog could be asked about his state of existence and he could answer: satis. Today was the sequell to 36 hours of complete satisfaction with the world around the present writer. So today I will post something that will not be inspired as it comes at the tail end of true excitement. Today I learned that one friend of mine will be getting married this summer. Why was I not informed?

Is it desire the spurs insecurity, or is it insecurity an aspect of desire. An element of chance that we appreciate simply because it escapes routine? In any case I exist in a state of happy, desirious insecurity. Unsure as to what I am doing and where I am going with this desire -and as a result increasily insecure in its possession - yet committed to its pursuit. This is all too complex I see. I do not intend to make it simpler though. I will, however, change the subject and discuss a good dinner. Yesterday I went out to a pretty fantastic French restaurant with Anthony. The food was spectacularly good, as was the "do zou vant zome mor guater sir" French on hormones service. Admitedly it was by a French guy so I should not mock him. It is however, difficult to take Frenchness too seriously in the super Anglo, and otherwise Asian environment of Vancouver. It was great chatting with Anthony. Reconnect automatically with the field. Tomorrow I will introduce him at the conference and will eventually go to dinner with him and with, it seems, το αντικείμενο του πόθου. Always interested in those dynamics. It is odd expressing oneself in this open accessible fashion. I do not intend to stop though. At least this way people have a glimpse into my mind. It may even be more honest.