Rain, endless rain. Vancouver is treating us with its finest rain. Tea time, paper correction time, film time and library visit time. We have to start, however, from the waking up time. From the hard, not nearly hang-overed, yet still nearly impossible task of getting out of bed on a day when there was no sun there to greet you. Under those conditions you deal with reality in a not particularly enthusiastic fashion. You think of things you need to do and of those you are already mechanically doing, you add to those some other things you feel that maybe you would actually love to do, things which in themselves are not truly pleasant but could potentially allow some of the things you need to do, to be done more easily, therefore relieving you, and you take a coat, you get in the car and drive to the...spaceship. You can easily miss this spaceship. It exists in a universe encased by cement and glass, yet if you ignore the modern architecture and peek in, through the square windows, windows like any other square windows, which could be leading into a world of cubicles, watercoolers and animated officetrons, then you will be rewarded with a scene from the best SF cinema. The UBC Barber Learning Centre is a storage facility from outer space. A mechanical wonder of book taxonomy. Dt from order of book to delivery on the circulation-desk counter, less than three minutes. You collect the book as well as your scatered thoughts on modernity and step out in the rain once again. Arcade fire infiltrates the scene, but this is from hours later when you are at home, sitting at the couch writing this account. The intrusion of the future in the rainy past is pleasant, the walk is to the burger joint and to marking of students' papers. The hours pass, the white pages with the inkjet-spurted wisdom aquire their small, relatively orderly marginalia and the time comes to take a break. You go to the movies and travel to Paris and to couple paranoia and reality. Good to know that Julie Delpie is actually smart. Two days in Paris packed in less than two hours. Pas mal.

Woke up after a very nice, active evening at the Vancouver Commodore. We had predrunk, twoo gin and Tonics and home over dinner and a manhattan at an overpriced dive close to Granville. Then we just went to the venue early not knowing what to expect of the place. The Commodore is a nice venue. elevated, near cinema balcony style areas with seating and the possibility of dinner and then a large center stage before the stage where groups perform. The group took its time, and of course we were early so we waited 1,3 hours for the beginning of the show. It was worth it though. The geriatric DJ was a gem and the show, once started, was great. There are caveats though. The Vancouver crowd took 45 minutes to get into the music and still significant amounts of people behaved like calvinists in a church. Still by the encores which lasted as long as the main show the crowd was happy and active. As for the group they were characteristically rampant and happy. I enjoyed it as much as the show at the Magic Stick in Detroit, though the novelty made that show more interesting.

This is an effort to support Persia. Consume its Baluchi rugs and keep its economy alive in view of the coming deluge. In other terms, keep consuming, only with the broader world as the market place. Here is the hallway in the apt and the cat. The books just make it in the mirror like like the viewer of the couple in the Arnolfini wedding. For more hedonism I add the following picture of gorgeous lamb from a dinner we had at home a few weeks ago. Just as an attempt to distract the mind from the greyness of this day and the coming political mess of September. In a few hours we will go see Gogol Bordello in downtown Vancouver. If the concert is anything like the show at the Magic Stick in Detroit it will be excellent. More to report later. Now I need to consider the logistics for the creation of a class blog for my seminar. Mouble mouble...

Mutability is good. Makes things interesting, and ultimately is a principle built-in in life. Yet mutability is one of those things that you learn to hate when living in Vancouver, when you are unable to plan a weekend because rain follows sun, pretty much with the same probability (though not certainty) that a night trails the day. So, here we are, on a Sunday I was to take off work and use for some hiking, sitting at home and looking out at what can at best be described British bleakness.

Energy is another word of interest. If I do not muster some energy I can see myself sitting on this chair and checking the news all day. I am bound to chat with some blogger on things Iranian and guaranteed to be depressed by more news of forest fires in Greece. Can we not please send them our rain? Yes the story goes that September is going to be the month for all things Iranian. I can already see the sad faces of my students and the good folk in North Van when our neighbors in the South decide that not having enough on their plate, what makes most sense is to attack Persia.
It has to be wondered whether it is power that makes people crazy, or whether this, the American Empire, is more peculiar than every other one before it. It is probably the first imperial state to be abducted by a clique of people using it solely for their own interests. Every imperial state to some extent does that. Rome expanded to offer commands and enriching opportunities to its senatorial elite, England expanded to serve a number of commercial interests and in order to provide legitimacy for a number of succesful pirates (I know history redux). You could even argue that as those states expanded, at least their populations benefited alongside the elites from the reality of empire. Yet all those empires had a sense of what their limits were and eventually, when they reached them, simply scaled down their activities. The US has reached its limits yet, it faces an interesting reality. While its influence, both economic and political is becoming increasinly limited, it still has the means to project force.

And here is where it gets interesting. It would be to the interest of the general population of the US for its elite to realize they are no longer an empire (call it superpower if you will) and go through a voluntary process of demobilization. In the case of the US there is no India or Rodesia to be abandoned. What should rather be mothballed, if not outright scrapped are at least half of its aircraft carriers, half of its airforce and at least half of its armed forces. The US has to become like France and England, even better, like Germany after the second world war. A country that has enough troops to send on a peace mission but no more. This would naturally create an automatic economic boom as resources waisted in non-productive investment in the wasteful defense industries, would go to fuel a services economy based on innovation, education and welfare. Yet this is a pipe dream, as the strength of the armed forces, allows the tiny plutocratic cabal ruling the country to make one last attempt at looting society before the inevitable turn towards new forms of Keynesianism shows its face.
We are dealing with a class of a few hundred men with stocks and stock options in positions of power, using the most powerful military machine ever to act on earth, to amass loot, as much loot as possible, before they are faced with some sort of popular reaction. What is interesting, in our case is that those men, the ones most wrapped in the flag of all Americans, are also the ones who will be the first to take their money and live in some Caribbean island or, as the case may be, in Southern France; a place most suited for rich retirees with a history of imperial overstretch. So the sooner we realize that we are no dealing with Americans per se, but with accummulative barbarians, the sooner we will remedy the situation and will lead this great neighbors of ours, and with it the world, to a safer path, where real concerns, from famine and human rights to the environment can be addressed.

Been a while. Have to wonder what spurs the communication bug. Is it simply lack of company? Possibly. Highly likely in fact. Anyhow. NAY approaching (New Academic Year) and things are bound to get busy. AS for me I am still escaping with bad writing in world I am sure I would not like to live in. Escape from what you ask? Who knows. Things are more or less optimal and yet Byzantine fantasies keep me occupied. Have a taste of bad prose:

The professor paused and turned to his students. It was early in the morning and a good 10 out of 17 were still in Morpheus' world, present bodily but absent in every other sense from the classroom. Two of the younger ones were looking at him with bright eyes. It was to be expected. Attaleiates’ great grandson Theodore and Psellos’ great granson Basileios Malesis sat on the front row proud to hear their professor read from the famous history of Skleros Seth, the foremost historian of his generation, still alive though impossibly old, and prolific like few others. Seth, who had been the son of a friend of their great grandfathers and one of Psellos’ last students had grown to become a sensation in Constantinopolitan letters. His Historia Leptomeres was a model of historical composition and was taught in every classroom. The professor turned to Theodore and before he could address him the 15 year old opened his mouth: "it is Thucydidean master. Seth starts with Thucydides’ staged dialogues, only he does something very interesting. This is not simply a set piece with each side presenting a dialogue to the agora. This is more novelistic. It is as if Seth wants us to know everything about the event. Clothes matter, tables and rolls of paper, even what the people felt, their hesitations. I have not seen this in Thucydides. I have not seen it in my great grand father’s work either. He cut straight to the chase. Not with Seth. He seems to have taken Achileas Tatios and the other Greek novelists and stole their techniques of detailed description. And I have to admit, he seems to have read a lot of Malesis’ great grandfather as well. All this emphasis in their inner thoughts is Psellos, it cannot be anything else." The master was once again awestruck. The young man before him was showing acumen that few mature readers, let alone students had shown in the many years of his teaching. He took another careful look at Theodore, clapped his hands to awake the two sleeping students at the end of the class and threw a reed stylus at a third who had fixed his gaze at the rear of Artemis’ statue standing at the crossroads just outside the school. He then addressed the young man with warmth that rarely escaped his body. "Theodore you’re truly right with this, and I may even argue that there is more. We are no longer in the realm of historiography. This class, by reading Skleros Seth is not just talking history. With Skleros we have politics weaved elegantly in the text. Have you noticed the configuration of the dialogue? Have you thought of the participants? Why does Skleros introduce devolution with those men and in the form of a dialogue? What does it mean that a man in a monk’s dress, known as a philosopher, a judge and ultimate authority are discussing politics? Do you see how the most important moment for the reform of our great empire’s system of governance is rooted by Seth in religion, philosophy, justice and victorious imperial power? Am I getting through to anyone of you? Does anyone other than Malesis and Theodore get it?" The silence was disappointing. The master started thinking that his classes would have to meet later in the day. The students before him were too sleepy, or simply too dumb.

Doors offer access even as they block it. In my apartment-building doors are what keeps the world outside and firedoors what creates a notion of safety inside. You see the building had suffered a fire years ago and like London post 1666 the psychosis among the natives is palpable. I buy it, I understand it, but I also, as a Greek feel odd about it. Fire hazzard drills were non-existent in Greece where cement just makes us assume a posture of hubris; that is till the forest next to us burns... Meawhile in my own abode, the logistical possibility of hosting people has just been created as my couch-bed has arrrived making my space more friendly to visitors. And even as my place is ready to be lived-in, I have to abandon it in order to play tour-guide for 29 young Canadians. Good luck to me and to them.

A new day brings me closer to the departure, but also directly into a new kind of work and life arrangement as by now I am getting to test-live my new place. I have not used the bedroom yet but I am settled on my desk and dealing with the bureaucratic and research issues that constitute my life at this stage. It is not the brightest of days, which is an understatement for :it has been raining all day and I just saw a bit of light from the south east," yet it feels good listening to the Band and editing a future article. The new work area is pretty good and well positioned for Vancoveur's grey reality, just under the main living-room windows. More work to be had, not more procrastinating.