Ode to Lin Alg

Today was the last day of Linear Algebra. God knew about what a hard day this would be for those resting under Mikael Pichot’s gentle wings; the sun was hidden and the air thick with humidity. Alienor and I made it onto our usual bus and spent the trip in a haze, both much more silent than usual. I didn’t want to waste our last moments on this treasured commute, but I couldn’t escape the nagging thought at the back of my mind that I would never be taught by Pichot again.

It had been two semesters of our tri-weekly commute to Stewart Bio, and I reminisced about some of the good times we’ve had. The first week of fall semester, I didn’t know Alienor was in Linear Algebra and we were in completely different sections. Part of me wonders if I screwed myself over by transferring classes – our old professor Romain had his strengths (I am sure) but teaching was not one of them. Still, I didn’t mind. My passion for Linear Algebra was soon to begin. In our first midterm, the class was divided by last name. I took it in Leacock 26, Alienor in 132. It was a Thursday and I rolled my eyes at the scent of stale beer emerging from BDA in the basement. Truthfully, I was glad for the smell. BDA is something that I love to get annoyed at, especially during exams. The theme for this week was Halloween, so I was also pleased to judge the costumes while getting a preview for the upcoming Halloweekend.

I took the exam, delusionally confident about everything save the proofs (turns out, the numbers and calculations that I was so sure about were my downfall). The time passed quickly and I was soon out, waiting for Alienor under the shelter of the Arts building entrance. Minutes ticked by and I got increasingly nervous as the stream of people leaving Leacock slowed; she was nowhere to be found. Her phone had died and mine was freaking out from the moisture.

I imagined that it was similar to how people must have felt waiting for their friends in the days before watches. I had no idea how much time had passed. I wondered if she had gone home but I waited anyway. Eventually, through the rain, I saw her emerge. She told me that her exam had a delayed start because someone outside the classroom had a seizure, and I thought back on my days as an epileptic. We discussed the test and walked to the bus.

A couple of months went by and it was time for our final. I have always loved standardized testing, so finals at the fieldhouse are where I shine. I don’t necessarily do well, but the antsy energy feeds me. I like the sound of knees tapping and I like to pass judgments on everyone’s preferred pencils and pens. The recent TA strikes made me nervous that I wouldn’t get my spring fieldhouse exam this term, but luckily Pichot stayed true to his syllabus.

A week or so later, it was winter break and I thought a bit about how the next semester of linear would be. It was a 9:30 class, so I was nervous about whether Alienor and I would take too many liberties when deciding whether to skip.

The semester got off to a bad start. I was back before any of my roommates and struggled to hold myself accountable on this Stewart Bio adventure. Luckily, immediately as they returned, this streak ended and Alienor and I hardly missed a class. I can’t give us too much credit, as Pichot called us like a siren, it was almost impossible to sleep in.

One of the things I love about having a class in Stewart Bio is the social value. Whenever people hear about it they seem pained on my behalf, imagining the trek to reach it. They commend me for making it to class and I bask in the glory. I knew that he would be there every class with his transition lenses, small briefcase and white button-up. He began to feel like a celebrity.

So, naturally, it is not a class I like to skip. Also, it boosted my ego after class was done to arrive at the GIC before the masses, laughing at those who were still sleeping.

Like all good things do, the semester flew by before I knew it. Our days at Stewart Bio were first numbered, and then they were over. I was reckoning with this when my summer course, also in Stewart Bio, got canceled. It was a rough week. Our housing search had just dealt us our second crushing blow, and I was now struck with the knowledge that I would have to take comp sci instead of ordinary differential equations. It was nothing short of heartbreaking.

Day in the Life of a Glowing and Youthful Blogger

I started my day with some Russian Babka from my favorite bakery in Montréal. This was no small feat, as I have been flirting with the idea of buying babka from this specific bakery over a period of months. The first time I went, I was instructed by Alienor to pick her up some of the chocolate thing, Eliza would know what she was talking about. This intrigued me, as I could see a glimmer in her eye as she told me the exact words to say. I spent the whole walk wondering what this “chocolate thing” could possibly be. 

I don’t like to make rash decisions, so I decided to wait to place my order until after I saw what looked good.  I listened closely as Eliza told the people working what she wanted and noted it down. This “chocolate thing” was their babka. I’m not sure if this is based on anything, but babka in my mind has always been associated with nuts, so I abstained. As a child, some of the best days of my life were the days my mom brought cream puffs back from Beard Papa's, so the cream puffs immediately drew my eye. I am always a bit nervous ordering baked good because you never know when nuts are involved, but I made my best judgement calls and ate everything slowly. I walked out with a cream puff and a rugelach, but no babka.

Upon returning home, we began to snack. I looked at the babka with a lustful eye but kept to myself. My cream puff was delicious, and I was satisfied. 

Over the next few weeks, we made many more trips to this bakery. I continued to only look at the babka from afar, keeping my dreams of trying it one day mostly to myself. Soon, I couldn’t take it anymore; I had to know what it tasted like. I looked at Alienor slyly and asked if it seemed nutty to her. She confidently said no. I tried a piece and waited, nothing. 

Here it is. I am sure you can imagine my jealousy.

The experience of eating a little crumb with no allergic reaction filled me with confidence. I smiled to myself, knowing next time I would buy some of my own.

This assumption was wrong, as the next time we went I forgot my wallet and my phone was dead. Yikes!

I made the pledge to buy a treat every Sunday to start the week off on a good note. Yesterday, I racked my brain, trying to figure out what to get this time around. I thought about it, gazing out the window in a way that I am sure made me look extremely mysterious and contemplative. (I like to think it helps the brainstorming process). It suddenly dawned on me. Babka. I rushed to Alienor’s office door and asked if she wanted to come. She did! Soon, Eliza, Alienor and I made our way over and I got my babka. It was just as magical as it looked. Every bite was decadent and heavenly. I felt like the world stopped spinning on its axis and everything was right again. I chuckled to myself, knowing my world in Montreal was forever changed. 

I made sure to get extra so I had some leftovers for breakfast. Both eating our babkas, Alienor and I discussed trying to make the early bus to class. We never are on time to Linear Algebra, but it’s nice to pretend. 

Me this morning with my babka

Of course, we missed it, but in a shocking turn of events, managed to get on the next one. In record time, we trekked across the icy field and arrived at Stewart Bio. Mikael Pichot, the man he is, stood confidently at the front of the class in his trusty white button up and transition lenses. I knew, walking in, that we were only a couple of minutes late because his glasses had not yet adjusted to the indoors. I was right, by the time we settled in he had barely started with the lecture. My iPad was charged, as was Alienor’s (like usual). My Apple Pencil was charged. My nose wasn’t running; things were looking good. Our current unit is linear transformations and I was so wrapped up in surjectivity and injectivity that time sped right on by. I wrote my notes feverishly, contemplating Pichot’s life outside of Math 223, and all of a sudden we were done with class. 

Putting on our jackets before the next class started coming in, we made our way to Burnside. I wondered to myself how many times we had done this walk. We took back our right to the city, jaywalking and stopping at Soupe on our way. I got a piece of bread with pesto, a couple of tomato slices and mozzarella (which of course was 8 dollars). Things were going so well that it didn’t even get to me, and we took the elevator upstairs. We both did more linear algebra and soon it was time for me to make my way to Urban Transportation Geography. Alienor didn’t show it, but I could tell she was nervous for me to leave - the walk to this class is notoriously treacherous (I have to go down two flights of stairs). Eliza had just arrived so it was hard to tear myself away, but I said my goodbyes and began my trip. 

I was pretty excited because last lecture I annotated the slides on my iPad for the first time (as opposed to taking notes on my computer). It was glorious, and I couldn’t wait to do it again. This class, my professor included many slides with pictures of people, allowing me to continue my childhood obsession of using highlighters in note-taking apps to add makeup to people. I went with purple eyeshadow and falsies on a man wearing a bike helmet and blush with a smokey eye on Simon Cowell. 

Class ended, and I went back upstairs. Eliza and Alienor were seated at a booth and they welcomed me back. I pulled my iPad back out, this time to make flashcards. Alienor had inspired me earlier and I was unstoppable. Using my iPad this much made me so gleeful I could no longer focus and I had to return home. I reheated some leftovers and ate them outside, thinking about all the things on the books for this week.

And here we are! I realize that I said day in the life, but it’s only 5PM so my day is nowhere near over. Guess you’ll have to imagine what I do with the rest of it……...

This post is dedicated to Eliza who first brought me to this bakery.

Jello and Poetry

Wednesday

I am practically foaming at the mouth at how excited I am about the Jello salad we made today. As most crafts begin, Maddy and I were overcome with a sense of dread. I’m not sure if it was really dread, but it definitely did not feel positive. 

We discussed this feeling as we walked down the stairs, four things on my mind. Eliza and Alienor had provided us with a list, and we knew exactly what to get. 

1. A mold

2. Canned fruit

3. Marshmallows 

4. Plastic figurines. 

As Dollarama was only a short walk away, I soon began scouring the aisles. Marshmallows in one hand, circular cut pineapple in the other, things were going pretty well.  Eventually, Maddy and I settled in the toy section to pick our figurines. The good old American I am, I searched and searched for some green army men. Nowhere!! North America these days… all they had were single packaged characters. We looked a bit more, and there it was. A four pack of animal-print cars. It flew off the shelves and into Maddy’s arms, just like in the Magic Finger by Roald Dahl. 

Now we were on to the easy part - the mold. This was the initial purpose of our trip as it was clear the Jello deserved a shape just as regal as its contents.  Aisle after aisle, my eyes scanned floor to ceiling. Nothing. No molds. The only things they had were mixing bowls which we already own. I became overcome with a gripping sense of nostalgia. Whatever happened to Bundt cakes?

Propping ourselves up against the wall as if to gather some sort of emotional comfort, Maddy and I discussed our options. Whatever would we do? 

Deciding to return home, we chose on a small mixing bowl. Jaimie came in as a fresh mind suggesting we use a smaller dish to create a hole in the middle. Just like I had imagined!

Spirits back up, we continued our journey. 

Layer one: lime jello with maraschino cherries.

Whenever I think of maraschino cherries I am brought back to the pink honey scandal, but that’s a tale for another time. 

Layer two: whipped cherry jello with egg whites and cream (the whip was not happening, which led us to add the cream and egg whites). Troubleshooting did not improve the situation. In this layer, we incorporated marshmallows and canned pineapple. (Yes, the disk shapes. Before you say it, we were impressed too. The perfect Jello ingredient!) 

I accidentally got some water in this layer, creating this nice mix of Jello that closely resembled slime with liquid around the edges. 

I quickly put it in the fridge, hoping the water would break the laws of science and evaporate away. This, unfortunately, did not happen, as the next time Maddy took it out she commented on the separation, worried that we did something wrong. Charlie had recently returned home; I drew strength from her comforting presence and my Year of Bravery, coming clean about my mishap. 

For those of you who don’t know, it takes time for the Jello to set in between layers. Either way, despite our ingenious use of the materials around us (snow from the roof to create an ice bath), the Jello was not ready and the clock was ticking. It was 11PM and it was going to be an early morning. Maddy had class and Jaimie and I had planned to rise and grind. 

A part of me wondered it had something to do with Eliza leaving, our muse had gone home. 

So, we covered it up and stashed it away in the fridge. Sleep tight!!

24 Hours Later….. Thursday at 8PM

Maddy, Eliza and Ady came back over and we pulled it out of the fridge. I was glad to know Ady was around because she’s told me about her Jello Salad experience (I knew I was in good hands).

It was time for the cars. We began by pouring in the green Jello. I knew from my Jello handbook that marshmallows were floaters, but my eyes still widened in shock. I winced as the marshmallows dislodged from the previous layer and rose to the top. We foraged on, adding in the cars and putting it back in the fridge. Alienor came home and we put on real housewives, our work was done for the night. 

Friday

Now it was time. The Jello was in the fridge, and we were all anxiously waiting to see it revealed. The internet told us to run the mold under hot water, so that we did. Alienor drew strength from her time waitressing and stepped up to the task: she turned on the water. We let it warm up for a few seconds and then began to lift the bowl up, unveiling the Jello. It got off to a pretty good start, retaining its shape very nicely. 

Then, we got to the middle. Trouble in paradise, let me tell you. Immediately, red juices started leaking out of the edges of the pan. Complete structural failure, the Jello cake collapsed. 

Let me set the scene: 

Team morale was at an all time low, but we began rooting through and salvaging the bigger pieces. We transferred the chunks we could to another plate and lo and behold - a circle. The cake was reformed. It looked very janky at this point, so we began adding in other smaller pieces of green jello over the cracks. 

(Let me be clear, the Jello pieces that remained were those containing the cars. Specifically, they were made of clear Jello which is flavorless. Oops!)

Maraschino cherries and sprinkles went over top, and as I stepped away I marveled at our creation. It was better than I could have dreamed. I knew that the talent show winners were in for something good. 

I opened my window and turned off the heat in my room as we put the Jello in there for safekeeping until it was time to give the prize. The act that won was the fight scene from Marriage Story, and much to my surprise the winners did not have anything negative to say about the taste of the clear jello. Maybe they didn’t eat any, if that was the case I would understand. Some things are just to0 beautiful to destroy. 

Here is the slam poem Alienor and I performed for all those curious:

Man Has Feelings

Sometimes I look at the ceiling, I look at the ceiling and wish I was looking at your eyes instead, those shimmering balls, 

Reflecting the glimmers of a thousand seas seas that were conquered by men such as Colombus and others on boats carved out of natures babies; trees. Trees that make up everything we own, our houses, our beds, my bed, my womb of a bed

Womb of a bed but not my mother’s womb because she abandoned me 

Abandoned me like im scared you will abandon me because love nowadays is just money and sex

And sex when I say sex, sex I mean something completely alien from the sacred love that we share, 

The touch of heavens small angels taking us both up to the skies, like very light Boeings 747s, their gentle wings brush across my back

“Life rafts are located below your seats” but there are no safety nets when it comes to love 

There will be no warnings when we take off…..

Take off? Take off? Take off your clothes, You ask? NO! No, I’m not one of those who looks at women’s bodies ands think of things like that. 

The other day —it must have been last Monday, you looked at me, tearing your eyes away from the green bike he shows you….

Green… green. Green board in our classroom, green the color of grass, green and red, colors of Christmas, Christmas, Father Christmas. It reminds me of family, love, happiness. 

A happiness That was taken away from me as a child, my mother looking at the clock, her suitcase, and her new lover beside her before she left me sitting alone and cold.

A baby under the Christmas tree, Santa baby under the Christmas tree I hate that song

At only 19 years old, three weeks without your mother’s touch feels like a year, a century, an eternity,  

Don’t do to me what my mother did. 

They say women are all the same but I don’t believe it I hear but I don’t like it 

So listen to me as I beg on my knees like a defeated, yet still powerful, Bill Clinton - I don’t like what I hear 

Sometimes I remember when Don told Johnny “you turned out to be a Hollywood finocchio that cries like a woman,” - and GOD, I love the godfather but I disagreed then, and I disagree now; women are powerful. 

You are powerful. Full of power like a glass is full of milk; milk that spoils when left out 

But I won’t let our love spoil. It takes two to tango but I will dance this one alone.

Don’t you know I got a job for you, don’t you realize, do you even care, do you even know what a Boeing 739 is? 

I am thinking about the future and I see you looking at me when you hold his 

Strong, muscular, built, veiny arms, I know that he works out I know I ask myself – does he swim, does he bike?

I mean yes, yes, haven’t you seen him in his bright yellow bib shorts?

Aaaaarrrghhhhh I don’t care because I see your eyes, as they watch me and they hope to catch mine like a fox catches a mouse, primal, passionate;

You want me, I want you, but there he is like metal separating two magnets. The other man, you make me the other man. 

Be strong, I said women are powerful like goddesses of milk and my middle name means the one who waits waits weight upon my shoulders 

The shoulders I thought could brush boeings 3499 but instead, you leave me here to sit in this concord’s cockpit alone.