Mail call

Snail mail is ever so much better than e-mail. There's something very satisfying about ripping open a letter. And I have had letters from so many people! From my Albertan family, from Grandma, from Auntie Moyra, from the political campaign I did a bit of work for, from various MLAs on my participation in the Summer Games ("Please know that your skill, commitment, and sportsmanship..."). It's delightful. I'm pathetically glad to have mail, actually. Sometimes it feels a bit lonely here. I said a few days ago that I felt a bit lonely and that people here don't seem as interesting as they do back home. It's probably just due to the independent style of living -- if you live sort of on your own, you're going to be on your own more -- and the fact that I haven't really had a chance to make a family yet. Everyone's getting along pretty well, though. I am cordially invited to go out to a strip club in Hull Friday night, but have serious doubts that I will go, because:

1. I am underage, even in Quebec, which wouldn't be a problem if not for

2. I don't have a fake ID, nor do I have faith in my ability to dress like somebody who's reached the age of majority. And besides,

3. It's a strip club. For heaven's sake, people, I have 60 pages of Plato to read by Monday. Fun is for people who don't know the joys of Greek dialogue.

It is rather tempting to simply go off the deep end and pick up various substance abuse habits, but I am discovering that I have quite puritanical instincts, applied to myself if not to others. I am very, very frightened of doing anything stupid. I know that one has to let loose every so often, and while there seem to be about 19 500 serious partiers and 500 serious students in the undergrad corps (or, on Sunday mornings, corpse), I am sure that not everyone needs to validate their existence by getting absolutely blasted each weekend. This is, after all, a very serious undertaking and I have prohibitive amounts of reading to do. Trust that I will give ample notice if I decide to abandon all the morals I am developing. Well, perhaps not ample, but you will at least know what's going on if you start getting e-mails full of gross misspellings ("High, guyes! How r ewe doing?!11!!? im havin liek, the most funn EVER!").

Ethnic update: There is another Armenian descendant on my floor! Her name is Sara, and her surname ends in "jian", so I asked her whether that meant what I thought it did. She was very excited that I actually know Armenia exists. She says most people don't -- for shame!

But I must go read chapter ten of Whittington and Williams' scintillating work, Canadian Politics in the 21st Century. I hope everyone's doing well and taking care of themselves.