So I have now unofficially graduated. More importantly, yesterday I played Wii for the 1^st time. Wii is da biiomb! True. Double true. I played tennis, baseball, and golf, and I didn’t even break 1 TV screen. Golf is pretty fun because 4 people can play. I shot even par for the 3-hole course. Shenelle got a birdie, and Roxanne got a +5 on one hole. However, Rock did strike me out about 4 times in a row in baseball. That game ended after I spat my chewing tobacco at the Wii sensor (apparently that isn’t part of the game). Tennis was pretty fun too; Nat let me use the special Wii spandex catsuit (which appeared to be just Saran Wrap with the letters Wii marked on with a felt pen.) because I was a newb. Anyway, people laughed a lot at my incredible tennis skill. Then I ate peanuts covered in chocolate.

I also did outside exercise yesterday in the form of toboggan sledding w/ Shalina, Andrew, Cedar & some people I didn’t know. The only important truth facts about this story are: 1) I went over a 4-foot jump on my stomach and landed on my face. 2) I drank orange juice afterwards.

Tuesday we are leaving for Vernon to visit Jay & Jenn (Rock’s brother and sister-in-law). That will be fun. Then on the 23^rd or 24^th we’ll head up to 100 Mile until about the 29^th. Chyeah! I foresee mirth. Hopefully we will hang out with Clan Pettman at some point because they have mirth written all over their faces and scrapbooks. Unhopetunately we will not see the Danya, for the Danya shall not travel south this shopping season. (P.S., did you know that Ft. St. John is in a whole ‘nother time zone? As if. How am I supposed to know that? Am I a math whiz?) Leah and Kelly will be there too, at some point. Hooray for genetic material.

OK, that’s about it. If you are bored, here is a great (longish) essay/article about wealth distribution and stuff (kind of a Christmassy thing). Peter Singer, who is a pretty well known contemporary philosopher, wrote it.

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I’ve been holding a lot of babies lately. Actually, it’s only one baby, but she’s been getting a lot of spit-up-on-Dave’s-shoulder time. Holly and Sukham are my landlord-roommates and they made this 1-month-old baby 10 months ago. I mean, 10-months ago it was a zero-year-old baby, but now it is 1-month-old baby. Her name is Lily Lee-Gwah Sapun (or L.L. Sapun, as I call her in my head). If all the cute buttons in the world had a convention, and at the end of that convention they elected a cute button champion of the year, that cute button would by L.L., who is actually human and not a button at all, except for her buttons.

I am getting pretty good at the head-on-shoulder holding technique, except that L.L.’s body tends to curl up into a potato-sack-like ball when I use it, and I think babies are supposed to be straight when you hold them, like a 2x4, right? Anyway, she cries less that way than when I use the football technique, which is probably more accurately just called the cradle-in-arm technique, but I thought I’d just throw the word football in there so that no one will figure out I’m a girly man. Babies ... babies ... cute as a button, what a girly man! Wait, what’s this? 2x4, football, OH YEAH! This infallible plankman guy is no girly man, he’s like …uhhh ... a beerguy!

I also helped change a diaper, and I hope someday to be able to change one all by myself. Did you know that baby pooh is yellow? Sometimes it’s green too. Man, babies have it good: they sleep all day, puke on anyone they want, and they have multicoloured pooh. Nice.

In non-pooh news, I have had good exam luck this term. For my 2nd exam, the teacher forgot part of the exam, which made it easier. For my 3rd, the teacher let us write on whatever we wanted. This morning, 1 of the 3 essay-question options that the professor gave was, coincidentally, something I knew a lot about from another class. I attribute all of this to my lucky exam shirt, which is starting to smell a little funny. Oh well, only one more to go and then I can wash it.

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In 1 hour and 19 minutes I will attend the last class of my inanely long undergraduate career. “Career” is the wrong word. Replace “career” with: “decapitated chicken pursuit expedition.” No wait, I wasn’t the pursuing chicken farmer; I was the headless chicken—and what a headless chicken I was.

A while ago my mom’s friend (Monica) asked if I would give her daughter a tour of the school when she came up on one of those introduce-high-school-students-to-university things. She did not, however, ask me to give her daughter any advice about university. I think this was because “take 6 years, change your major twice, dropout once to flip burgers, and then dropout again and move to a communist country” is bad advice.

Despite the circuitousness and nonsensicality of my trek, here I am at the … line … that … is near the finish. I suppose the important thing is not how long it takes one to learn a lesson, but rather how well that lesson is learnt. Still, 6 years? Mother F!

Oh well, at least it’s finally over—oh wait, it’s not. I still have 12-16 months in a BEd or teacher-certification program. I look forward to that more, though, because it will be more directly related to being a teacher. In English, nothing is directly related to anything. We mostly just sit around trying to think of new words that we could add “meta,” “post,” or “ism” to. To sum up everything I have learned in university: the post-cranial chicken is the meta-fowl of barnyardism. Really, it is.

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