I cannot say where we left off, dear reader, in respect to my orientation in the world and the progression following, but it would be entirely safe to guess that I was tired, overwhelmed, and perhaps a little melancholy, and that any progression at the time seemed wholly in the wrong direction. But that’s obvious, as you can see by the lack of activity here in the last month. I forget so easily that talent is not innate and certain, but separate and predisposed to neglect, like a foster child. My care has been judged deficient.
Back again, then, and hopefully this time for good, though probably not. But quickly, to recap:
Work goes well, I suppose. The turbulence seems to have resided, as New York enters wakefulness and fewer people want to spend their time inside a restaurant. I finally have a decent schedule, all promotions and training complete, and the water looks decidedly calm from here on out. (I have been vociferous lately in decrying superstition, but—dash it—let me knock on wo…
My sweetheart—well, you’ll get to know her, but maybe not yet, so for now I’ll call her Apollonia. That is, my sweetheart says I shouldn’t be modest. There’s no reason for me to stare at a blank page for two hours trying to write the perfect introduction to a site that doesn’t exist yet. After all, introductions get written after the fact, and usually by someone else, someone scholarly or famous.
I should just dive in, she says. Just start writing. Do what you set out to do.
But then, that’s just it. I don’t know what I’ve set out to do. I was kind of hoping that was going to become clear in the introduction. But there’s not going to be an introduction. Not yet, anyway. Maybe after someone reads this—that is, someone scholarly or famous—they’ll condescend to do a little introduction for me. Nothing too fancy. Maybe it would start with some quote in Latin juxtaposed with some modern soundbite. Then it could go into a description of my milieu, a little bit of my personal story, and then t…
My sweetheart is a Canadian, those reasonable and quiet folk from the North. I am an American. We met in New York, and, as my style of flirtation is good-natured contrariness and gentle ribbing, we have been arguing about the merits of Canada from the beginning.
It is a favorite pastime of Americans to slight their northern neighbors (well, all of their neighbors), and now that I am faced with a true Canadian, and having consequently visited Canada and been in real conversations with many of her kind, I have had to question my feelings about the country and its people. Wherefore the lack of goodwill?
After many rounds of verbal sparring and some introspection, I came to the decision that Americans show dislike of Canadians for the very reason we love ourselves. They are not what we are, and because what we are is loud, brash, and prideful, we are caught in a cycle of egotistical self-inflation and outward depreciation of everyone that is not us.