Gertrude Robinson

Today, I met Gertrude Robinson, one of the founders of Canadian Communication Studies. A founding mother, really. She was also one of the first tenured women at McGill. Robinson got her PhD from the Institute of Communications Research at the University of Illinois and wound up here, in the sociology department. She gave a talk over at the McGill Institute for the Study of Canada on journalism and gender, based on a comparative study of data collected in 1974 and 1994. The comparison was pretty interesting just by virtue of that old-school social science approach: design a questionnaire, ask the same questions of lots of people, and tabulate the results. Over two decades, you can see a lot. I’ve never been that interested in consistency or discipline in conceiving my own work, but there’s no arguing that over time, it has its rewards. Carrie went too — she likes Carrie, which is not terribly surprising given their shared interests.

Afterwards, we went and got passport photos taken — AGAIN — to the right specification for the Quebec permanent residency form. Which I hope to send out tomorrow.

In “I watch stuff way off schedule because of my DVR” department, last week’s Alias was actually good. I still don’t trust it, though.

Dash for the Finish Line

On Tuesday, the 12th of April I head out of town for a week of work in the midwest — presentations at the U of Chicago and Chicago Art Institute (hey Chicago friends, yes I’ve been lazy and need to email you!) and then back to Pittsburgh for a set of Friday-Monday defenses.

Until then, it’s the dash for the finish. But this time of year is always a little special.

As is the case with every place I’ve ever worked, there is a point when all of the interesting guest speakers descend on my humble city at once, and I am left with impossible choices between getting my own work done and choosing among a rich menu of cool talks. That day was Thursday, when I had to choose among three talks — Jessica Riskin on automata, Sherry Simon on Montreal as a divided city in the 1960s, and Kathy Peiss on Zoot Suits. It was physically impossible to be in the same place at the same time. I chose Riskin and was happily rewarded. The talk was perfect for me because it was about 50% esoteric material I knew cold, and 50% stuff I’d never heard before. As an added bonus, her thesis was unusually ambitious for this kind of work, which only increased my appreciation of the event. I’m sure the other two were just as good. I bailed on the usual drinks and dinner afterward to hook up with Carrie and a group who’d caught the Simon talk. Since Jenny had a craving for TexMex and Carrie and I always pretty much do, we wound up at Carlos & Pepe’s. I need to preface this by saying that I have extremely low standards for this kind of food. But still, it was a pretty weird scene. They served the sweetest salsa I have ever tasted (okay, I know about fruit salsa, but that wasn’t at all their gig). I guess there’s some truth to the story about the Quebec sweet tooth.

After a series of meetings, one of which I was especially glad to have because I learned i’d screwed up part of my permanent residency application (I figured it would be good to know before sending it off), on Friday afternoon I attended the Montreal at Street Level conference which was simply outstanding, which is no surprise since my friend Johanne Sloan organized it — though you’ll be hard pressed to find her name anywhere on the event website. Thursday’s Simon lecture was the opening of the event. My only regret is that I didn’t see more of it. That was followed by a reception and then a large-group dinner at a Chinatown restaurant whose name escapes me. Their rendition of “Happy Birthday,” however, will not leave my memory any time soon.

You know, there are some people I see at every talk I attend. It’s like they make a life of this. I’m just amazed at how possible that sort of thing is here.

My only question is — how come these things are never spread out over a whole term so you can get a maximally even social and intellectual experience? I mean, if Thursday’s three talks had been at different times, I might have hit them all. . . .

Sponsorship Scandal

As you may know, there is currently a federal investigation into approximately $100 milliion dollars in misspent federal money, which went to ad agencies who basically did nothing for the government. Yesterday’s Globe and Mail had the top headline “Firm Got Cash to Attend NHL Games” reveals that the Canadian government spent $133,000 a year in 1997-8 and 1998-9 for use of corporate boxes at Ottawa’s Corel Centre, plus $27,000 yearly for catering. An Ottawa PR firm then billed them for 3414 hours of work mostly to attend events at the Centre.

Of course I’m used to American government, where this kind of money is routinely misspent in military efforts to topple regimes around the world or to hire PR firms to launch clandestine PR campaigns to try and propagandize the American public (Clinton and both Bush administrations did it). So I’m thrilled to live in a country where people are scandalized by much less, and at greater length. But the scandal really came home for me when I saw what the ad agency people attended:

NHL Hockey Games (well, that’s normal)
Alan Jackson (um, not my taste)
Backstreet Boys (this is getting ooky)
Shania Twain and Neil Diamond (not my demographic but understandable)
and then
Lords of the Dance
a World Wrestling Federation event.

I ask you, citizens, where is the outrage? Lords of the Dance? Lords of the Dance?

Enough said.

McGill Smells

I don’t mean that metaphorically. I mean, when you walk in the gates and up the path toward the Art Building, it reeks of putrefaction. Julian, my TA, says that it’s just the melting snow and the grass interacting to give off some kind of nasty gas. He says Parc LaFontaine smells the same way.

I can’t say I’m too too upset. I mean, it would be better if it didn’t smell but since the snow’s melting, I shouldn’t complain.

Today, while we waited for our very lo-fi permanent residency photos to be developed, Carrie bought me a new ring. It should arrive in a couple weeks (of course they don’t have my size in stock). It’s actually a nice ring; shiny, gold and everything. But I figured I might as well since I’ll wear the thing every day (and not remove it in airplane bathrooms). I mean, I spent that kind of money on frames for my glasses, so what’s the point in resisting?