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Break The end of the world is Bas St-Laurent

Plato lived there twenty-four centuries in what is today the Greek republic. Ibn Rushd (known here under the name of Averroes) lived in the 12th century in what is now Spain. By virtue of where they were born, both are now European citizens but one is presented as one of the founders of Western civilization while the other is considered a foreigner. Yet it is impossible to establish a definition of Europe that would exclude and include Plato Averroes.

The argument, presented in an article which I forget title and author (but you should read it, it was very very good), aimed to show how the definition of Europe used to deny the entry of Turkey into the EU is artificial. But I think it demonstrates also something we do not teach in school: The historical discontinuity between antiquity and the Renaissance, the fact that these two historical moments have occurred in two different civilizations. Aristotle is more European than Middle Eastern. Socrates coasting sailors from Egypt and Asia Minor, but would never have agreed to define its own civilization as including the territories which are Today England and Scandinavia (land of barbarians!). The Renaissance was not the revival of an ancient civilization, but the birth of a new civilization. * * *



I finally saw The Dark Ages the other day. I could do a detailed critique, but I only succeeded in reproducing the bulk of the film, namely a long litany of chialage which deserves to be shorter. This is particularly disappointing that the focus and intelligence that Denys Arcand devoted to history has always impressed me.

But Arcand's trilogy falls completely within the panel ethnocentric who claims ownership of Western Greco-Roman as a CEO calls for severance pay. And, built on such foundations wrong, the film can only end on a solution just as wrong.

In The Dark Ages , the character of Marc Labreche is overwhelmed by the dehumanization of a bureaucratic society and obsessions mégalomano-materialist that sustain outperformance of his wife (best realtor, "category second ring" in Canada). He finally found a form of balance in the voluntary simplicity and rejection of fantasies that require it media. Clearly, he lands in the Lower St. Lawrence and began to peel apples for a lady who could be an owner of an inn or the guru of a sect. The message is clear: The rule of St. Benedict, who will save us, it is in the monasteries that civilization will be preserved through the Dark Ages who starts.

The problem is that if we, the contemporary West-collapse, we will never be reborn. If an age of darkness settles on our civilization, those who will be the first craft will be those who will be removed from the world (like the character of Marc Labreche) rather than trying to pick a renaissance in drinking from different cultural sources.

With that, Merry Christmas Live the Lower St. Lawrence, where I peeled apples until the end of the world.

Why Does My Left Ear Burn

Bye bye Maos

One winter morning in the mid-'90s, I went with a few dozen of my fellow college students on a bus to Quebec City. We would protest against any increase in tuition, and for the opportunity I had been careful to bring a copy of Little Red Book of Mao Zedong (Chinese leader compared, according to legend, in a work session in the local university to another great Chinese leader in parallel fate surprisingly, Mao Zedong, m'enfin's another story).

I was a bit annoyed: I would have to brandish said Little Red Book by hiding some of the coverage, the end where the label was affixed to the library. You see how capitalism corrupts: I was ashamed of not owning my own copy.

Anyway, I did not have to hide the Dewey Grand helmsman in the eyes of a baton in the pay of Capitalism as we never come to Quebec. Somewhere on the 20, a storm came up and, well, you know, insurance, the discomfort of being stranded in a snowbank, the price of a tow truck strong enough to extricate a luxury coach, was worth better not take chances. Shit on the revolution, we returned home tranquilos.

* * *

is a combination of circumstances that allowed the spirit of the '60s to attack me from all sides for a week or two. Seen I'm Not There , a really extraordinary film (and accessible even if your education Dylanesque boils, like mine, to be awakened every Sunday morning from your teen by father who fucks Blonde on Blonde in the carpet on the family stereo). Stumbled upon the album Rejoicing in the Hands of Devandra Banhart (who succeeded the first recording of odor in mp3 format, in this case the smell of patchouli). Seen Common , a documentary about a, er, social experiment (naked naked naked, no stockings) in northern California which I retain a profound life lessons (eg living surrounded by goats is damn coolest live surrounded by doctoral students in history). And I'd be lying if I stated do not be jealous.

Jealous lucky that my parents' generation had to feel on the edge of a historic change enough to resolve any fundamental social problems, a revolution which would benefit particularly as they are implicated. Otherwise the chance to become heroes, at least people finally liberated from, well, just about everything he could to denigrate the society in which they grew up, authority, the burden of having to work , the old rules of sexual behavior and music by Tino Rossi (the latter two elements are also more directly related as we think - the horror, the unspeakable horror). Jealous of those who could go on Psychotropic the bamboula for a year or two and come back as if nothing had happened, courtesy of a departmental program of any kind, in time to take the elevator to the top of the pay scale .

But hey, if you really insist for a small dose of bad faith, I can always add that jealous, I should perhaps not be. The days around us have a little more savvy than the NIR. Gone are the nice straight line that separated the good from the bad guys, one side leading to a brighter future, the other side towards the reactionary whose existence alone explained why those tomorrows had not yet arrived.

Today, we of course entitled to a dirty pile of problems, but especially (and this is the perverse charm of our time) with no easy solution. The U.S. military is trying to dissuade the president to go to war. The ADQ has reinvented the right-wing nationalism in Quebec. The capitalist machine that swallows everyone in its path is a country that claims of communist teachings of Mao Zedong and Mao Zedong (but still allows the diffusion of Little Red pdf for gratos). It is a time ie, that requires thinking and allows us to express original opinions without being accused of being a damned reactionary-who-plays-of-Tino Rossi.

And let's be honest, it's also a time that allows her to spend the afternoon on the Nintendo when the storm prevented the bus to go to the event.

Combat Speed Craigslist

Bing bang, Yale in your ears with two strokes of ladle

Historians are like Pavlov's dogs, when it sees a historical phenomenon bing bang it spit an explanation in two shots spoon. And if ever a rival in the profession has already given the same explanation, no problem, bing bang they'll prove the contrary in less time than it takes to write a doctoral thesis (well, okay, it takes a little time but the result remains the same).

Listing analyzable historical phenomenon: The world will know nothing. Or, in more academic, the penetration rate of university-level education in the general population has been relatively limited.

historical phenomenon bonus: Bev Oda is an exception, since it can measure the satisfaction of Afghans with the services of the Canadian army as best we survey Opinion conducted with Afghans in question .

I am a historian, I'm like a Pavlov's dog when I see a historical phenomenon bing bang I spit an explanation in two shots spoon. I will return to the bonus question, but what is the world who know nothing about, the answer is simple: those who did not know much about academics, it is those who have no university education. And several reasons can prevent access to university education, the most important probably being the financial strain of three years or more to pay tuition rather than receiving wages. To the son of a boss is on holiday, the daughter of the restaurant's customers sweats worse. A di da di vla, vla dlom di di ...

(OK, digress here to tell you the truth (to change): I am a convert. I was once a fan of Macintosh products finished, I was part of the Apple club in my area before the Internet does succeeds, and, more generally, I believe to be superior to the rest of humanity. One day, something terrible happened to me (like I'm tired of being taken for a fool) I 'm converted to the dark side and I denied my past (except the conviction that higher than the rest of humanity suddenly increased). And like any good convert, I became a radical opponent of my old faith. End of digression, which appears here as to why I despise iTunes.)

Now therefore I despise iTunes, but there is "iTunes U". iTunes U is a series of university courses (and not anything: Stanford, MIT, Yale, brief the cream) available as audio or video podcasts. Yup, direct access to course content, as if you attend in person. And the number of courses offered podcasts is growing exponentially each semester. The only catch is that you must install the iTunes software on his computer. But otherwise, everything is free. Everything is free when one has the devil on his side.

And we're back in Ancient Times - in what the ancients had time nobler, when education was done in public and joined the group of students who wanted to. Yep, it is now possible to take classes at Berkeley for free, which is still relatively cheap.

And if it does not increase exponentially just as the penetration rate of university-level education in the general population, evidence of Pavlov's dog, although we find an alternative explanation.

* * *

Oh, and for the bonus question is just as easy to explain. There are two possibilities: Either Bev Oda is a Jos Binns, who presented a brief to the Bouchard-Taylor , or gnomes are equipped with extra-sensory perception.

You see that I deserve my doctorate.