Transition: "to flicker like small flames on high masts"

If I keep making updates in the comments below, we'll always have a megabyte plus of pictures sitting on the front page. So I'll start up here, even though like every day this week it's a story of gradual evolution of circumstance.

When last I left you there was one more day of the "international student orientation." This time around I learned fascinating things like how America uses "Western medicine," that Americans are individualistic and friendly but that this should not be taken to mean they are superficial, and that there is no socialism here. I feel nervous. In Canada, when I have to comply with the perverse and draconian dictates of a foreign dictat and submit myself to an immunity titer I just show up with my CareCard and am out of pocket absolutely nothing. Here I tremble thinking what it might cost just to talk to someone who can tell me what the same might cost. I think I join all my expatriot fellows and European brethren in asking America to, as quickly as possible, get itself a real health care system. If you are uncertain how to pay for it, perhaps consider not building as many aircraft carriers. I doubt that will quite do it but then you'll also build slightly fewer aircraft.

Anyway, I'm glad that part is done. It left me feeling somewhat uncomfortable. Perhaps as Richard remarks in time I might come to feel more "international." On the other hand, just today I was speaking to a new colleague (first-year math grad), bemoaning and bewailing as usual the state of my boxes, when he remarked this was strange, since Canada is such a close neighbour (or something to this effect). I think that I do not actually want to feel "international." I want to feel "North American," or barring that "European" (if they'll have me). Somehow I feel strongly, as an old Italian restauranteur remarked, that "peoples is peoples."

As you may recall, by virtue of living in this place, the Graduate College, I am compelled to buy into their meal plan. Considering this, and the extortionist nature of their racket being reflected in their fees, I would have expected a little more courtesy on their part; for example, that they would actually supply meals during certain holidays, or, say, from the time that I actually arrive here. Beginning yesterday they have started to do something about this: Friday and today they held barbeques on the south lawn. This was pleasant -- where I met the aforementioned new colleague (more than one, actually). (So for the first time in a week or so I've spent a few hours chatting, a pleasant change.) Tomorrow they offer a "soup and bagel" brunch. I hope I'm not inconveniencing them too much. There's nothing we Canadians hate more than to feel like an inconvenience.

Speaking of which, there was a suggestion that the space crunch I referred to (too many students, not enough desks) may not actually amount to anything because some students wouldn't want to use that space. This was not something that came to my mind. I learned the trade from Richard Anstee, who would make certain to stop by and chat a while with some frequency. (How are you today? What's this you're working on? -- no, no, don't read that; it's all wrong; I just didn't get around to erasing it from the blackboard--) So maybe some will be recluses. Math department orientation is Monday. We'll know more about lots of things then.

I'm sure I'll have a lot then. In the meantime I don't even have any new pictures. I haven't visited any new exotic locations. I was going to snap a few of the desk I claimed and its environs but frankly the place looks a little Dickensian and I wanted to put some space between it and the pre-Victorian pictures below. (Got to watch out for the anachronisms.)

We'll call it full there for now. It seems that irrespective of what's happening outside and about I can manage to talk it up. I was feeling a little sluggish this week but better now, a little isolated but now relaxing, feeling more menschlich, less allzumenschlich. Thanks to everyone who wrote. See you anon.