Author: MK

There is no excuse not to vote, people. In the general election on January 23rd, each and every one of you who is eligible to vote (this means you, my parka-clad Canadian friends) ought to be there behind that little curtain, marking your X. In case you are wondering, I voted by mail, which involved sending information by both fax and the post, and fussing with three different envelopes to mail the actual vote. I went to a lot of trouble, and you just have to walk down the street, so let me restate the point: you have no excuse!

This election is particularly contentious due to the scandals plaguing the Grits, the rise of the Tories despite their leader’s lack of charisma, and the NDP continuing to play the underdog despite their leader’s abundant charisma. If you live in Quebec, you also have the option of voting for the Bloc.

There is plenty of information out there to help you decide how you should cast your vote. One useful tool is the “Voting By Issue” quiz. You may be surprised when you receive your results; perhaps you have been voting reflexively lately and it could be useful to refresh yourself about what the current leaders are saying about the issues.

You may be living in fear of a Conservative majority, or preparing to celebrate in the event of a Conservative majority. In either case, I highly recommend checking out Rick Mercer’s speculations on what a Conservative cabinet might look like. As always, Rick’s observations are very entertaining, and don’t pull any punches.

If you’re here reading this blog, chances are you also have an interest in the arts, since that is mostly what I write about. In that case (or perhaps in any case) you should check out what the Canadian Arts Coalition has to say at the Vote Arts 2006 website.

Happy voting.

Over the weekend I was struggling with a piece of writing. It wasn’t that I didn’t like what I was writing about (in fact, I was in love with it), it wasn’t that I don’t like writing (when I was a child I told everyone who would listen I wanted to be a writer… which strangely flipped to Prime Minister at around 10… I came to my senses soon thereafter), it wasn’t that I don’t have a solid command of the English language (I write well, enjoy speaking even to scary large groups, read voraciously), it was more about splitting the same hair over and over, unsure that the nuances I was casting were able to express exactly what I meant.

This is frustrating for someone who is a word nerd. How many times can I turn the same rock over, hoping to see something a little closer to my imagination underneath it each time?

When I was a teenager I thought music was one way of expressing the inexpressible that I could try. I was unable to read music, but seriously interested in certain clichéd pieces that at least set a mood of sorts, and so my extremely generous boyfriend at the time annotated the couple of scores I picked up, writing in the value of each note. You can imagine how messy these poor scores looked when he was done “fixing” them for me. Even with this incredible assistance, my fingers somehow couldn’t say anything meaningful.

Later on I moved to Montréal and thought I might find “it” in French. It’s definitely there, some French words express things that are inexpressible in English. But a command of French like the one I have in English would have taken much longer to cultivate than the time I spent there. Only knowing a few words that are interesting because translating them is tricky does not an articulate speaker make. I haven’t given up on French, but I have given up on my accent, so perhaps I’ll keep combing through French for its clues in private.

So here I am, fiddling with words, in the only language I will have this level of control over because it was programmed into my head since I was a baby. Still, I feel that there has to be some way to further refine what I say and write. And then? I thought. If I achieve it, will it be so subtle and meaningful only to me that I will be the only one who appreciates the great significance of choosing the word “expose” over “reveal”?

There is something I read about whilst researching my thesis, called an “idiolect”, a use of language so affected that the person who speaks it is the only one who understands it. Wow, I thought, that would be pretty lonely. It’s just about the saddest thing I can think of. This came to mind and I immediately forgave my minor misfires in English, my bad French, and even my wretched attempts at the Moonlight Sonata. I’d rather muddle through and at least make it halfway. I’d rather write love notes with my left hand, ball them up and toss them over your fence, in the hopes you’ll uncrumple them, and decipher them anyway. At the very least, the pile of crumpled-up paper on your side will hint that I have something to say, and it’s probably urgent.

Today I heard from Daniel Cockburn, the fellow who produced the music for my thesis video.
I had asked him to record segments of the Goldberg Variations, in a sort of mash-up style, and to make mistakes and then repeat those passages until they were right. Daniel is an extremely talented musician (I have memories of him in high school switching between instruments in a single performance with ease and grace – piano, trumpet, percussion, etc.) and the piece he produced for the purposes of my video was perfect (intentional errors are not flaws!)

I had ordered the sheet music of the Goldbergs online and had them shipped to him. He went to a friend’s house to use his piano to make the recording, and took the unopened package of sheet music to the friend’s house. Daniel opened the package and discovered that it did not contain the Goldbergs, but contained Mendelssohn’s “Songs Without Words”. Fortunately Daniel’s friend had sheet music of the Goldbergs handy, the recording was made, and this story therefore has a happy ending.

The part that is funny is in the music that was sent in place of the Goldbergs. “Songs Without Words”. Since my thesis dealt extensively with language and the action of speech, I find a certain irony in the title of the piece that was sent instead of the Goldbergs. It’s the sort of strangely resonant accident that distantly echoes the unintentional metaphors the voice recognition software on my computer created in my thesis performance.

My performance and thesis defense are done, and so my Master’s student days are over, and now if I wanted to be really pretentious I could technically add “M.A.” after my name on big deal emails and stuff. (Don’t fear – I won’t.)

I had the distinct pleasure of ending my Master’s in two unique venues – Montréal’s Palais de Justice for the performance, and then defending the thesis in a wine bar in Old Montréal. (I love the way my thesis director thinks – the wine bar was his suggestion.)

The Palais de Justice is a fascinating place. The architecture is very brutal, of course. It’s really easy to get lost in there, take a wrong turn and end up in the lounge where someone is microwaving their lunch. There are some touches of grandeur which are really nice – like on the 17th floor where there are rows and rows of oil paintings of the various Presidents of Québec’s Bar Association over the years, and judges swishing by in their robes (especially the female judges with their little frilly white collars poking out over the robes). I wouldn’t have been able to navigate the system at all without the assistance of Claudine Roy, a judge who guided me through the seemingly endless layers of personnel at the Palais that I had to negotiate with to make the arrangement for use of the courtroom. I think she was amused by my comments, as we strolled around the Palais figuring out which room I would use – “The law is so big!”, I said, in response to the several phone calls we had to make to secure the final room choice.

The defense went well, and I received some excellent feedback, particularly on my writing style, which I will incorporate into future papers. The defense went for about an hour, and then I was sent to the bar for a smoke and another glass of wine before being allowed back to the table to be told that I had passed.

Super big thanks are due to no small number of people, but particularly Claudine Roy (the very approachable judge with the chic purple purse); Nicolas Fleming (who rescues me from every predicament, large and small, in style); Daniel Cockburn (for his wonderful, improvised mash-up of the Goldberg Variations that was essential to the video component of my performance); Miriam Verburg (for her rearrangement of my setup in the courtroom that made all the difference, and gently quieting my sighs of frustration when they got too loud); Éric Raymond (my thesis director who consistently managed to rein me back in when I was off on another tangent); Gisèle Trudel and Kim Sawchuk (my other two jurors who provided excellent feedback, constructive criticism and words of encouragement); Slavica Ceperkovic (providing, as usual, an incisive and enlightening critique of my writing in progress); CIAM (for giving me a grant); and everyone who turned up for the show!

I think I hear the music coming up…. I guess we’re going to commercial…. but wait! I want to make a political statement about the upcoming election!… and I still have to thank God, my parents, and my dog… just 5 more seconds!…. [FADE TO BLACK]