1:15 PM: I’m on the train. Something about normal delays. The guy in the seat in front of me won’t stop twitching. Legs are bouncing up and down, up and down.

1:35 PM: Maybe he really needs to pee but has something against urinating on wheels.

2:00 PM: Still twitching. How much longer can he hold it?

3:30 PM: What if he like, explodes? I’m in direct alignment with his crotch.

4:15 PM: He’s still going. Cute girl facing me sees me staring at Twitchy McPee and grins. Probably funny as hell for her because she’s not the one that’ll be drenched in piss if ever the train hits a bump.

4:45 PM: Tall girl in the adjacent seat has the biggest feet I’ve seen since Ronald McDonald. Wow. How can she walk with those flappers.

5:05 PM: 10 minutes to Toronto. Indian woman to my right stands up, walks to the luggage rack, and proceeds to unbashingly remove everybody else’s luggage so she can grab hers. Attendent walks up to her and calmly explains she needs to wait just like everybody else. She screams something about fragile contents. Everybody in the train is watching. I’m still worried about the guy who won’t stop twitching.

5:25 PM: I’m free. And staring at a gigantic map of Toronto and the subway routes. Scary.

5:35 PM: If my map reading skills are as reliable as I think they are, I’m suppose to get to St. George station.

6:00 PM: I’m on campus and at the porter’s office. ‘We’ll be back in 10 minutes’, says the sign on the door.

6:12 PM: 2 minutes late. No big deal.

6:25 PM: Getting restless. Decide to wait outside. Why are there so many advertisements for gays and lesbians lying around the place?

6:45 PM: Pissed. I’m giving everybody that enters a dirty look. That’ll teach ‘em.

7:00 PM: Porter finally arrives. Some ditsy asian girl, probably working this job so she can fund her growing addiction to heroine. Just give me the goddamn key you slut.

7:30 PM: Got into my room. Tried to set up my laptop with the network but the University is anal and forces you to have the updated patches for Windows. Connected with the Microsoft site but got an error. Something about owning a counterfeit copy of Windows. Left my room in case NSA decides to hunt me down.

7:50 PM: So hungry. No idea where I can find food. Walk in random directions.

8:30 PM: Stumble into a Tim Hortons and eat a BLT sandwich while watching the Torontonians pass by on College Street.

8:35 PM: Why are there so many asians? I feel so alienated.

10:00 PM: Back to residence. Curse the fact I have no internet connection.

10:25 PM: Decide I hate my room. Wander out into the hallways and locate the commons area on my floor. All is quiet.

10:35 PM: Move my papers, books, laptop, pillow, coffeemaker, and cookie stash to the commons area and barricade the door. Triumphantly pump my fist in the air. Why stay in your shitty room when you can have an entire lounge to yourself, complete with couch, loveseat, armchair, desk, and a full-sized window to the streets below.

2:00 AM: Still working. See several curious students pass by with stares of envy. Suckers. Bet they’re all, ‘why didn’t I think of that?’.

3:00 AM: Fall asleep on the couch.

Leaving: Ottawa on Sunday August 13, 2006 12:30
Arriving: Toronto on Sunday August 13, 2006 16:56

No time to chat. As soon as I get there, I’ll get my connection set up and tell yall about how it took me two fucking hours to find the damn residence.

To: Phil
From: Program Coordinator
Date: August 08, 2006
Subject: Fields Institute Summer School

Dear Mr. [Phil],

On behalf of the Organizers for the First Ukraine-Canada Summer School in Mathematical Sciences I am pleased to invite you to The Fields Institute and the University of Toronto as a Visiting Member during the period 14 - 26 August, 2006. Updated information about the program can be found here.

During your participation in the Summer School your accommodation will be reimbursed up to [insert buttloads of cash].

Sincerely yours,
[Mr. Program Coordinator]

A couple weeks ago, I applied to attend this summer school on Dynamical Systems at the Fields Institute in Toronto. It’s meant for selected graduate students from Canada and 5th or 6th year undergraduate students from the Ukraine.

There’s two reasons why I chose to go through the lengthy application process, where ‘lengthy’ should be replaced with ‘fucked-up’. I’m not sure how competitive the positions were, but they made me send in a CV, university transcript, two references, and a sample of my awesome biscotti.’

Okay, here’s the first reason: The course will be a fantastic opportunity for me to expand my CV. I can effectively tell the world I took an intensive class in which my name was carefully considered and selected among the few elite geeks of Canada willing to substitute a month of booze, parties, and hot chicks for hours and hours of lectures. Certainly something to help my graduate applications as a Ph.D. candidate in the winter.

Now the second reason: The course will help me get back on my analytical toes just before school hits me like a sack of bricks in September. I’m always afraid of losing my touch and this two week vacation will totally drain whatever fun is left in my system.

Wicked, eh?

More thoughts to come as I board the train to Toronto in 9 hours.

‘You should think about applying to Harvard’, my professor said to me, ‘You stand a good chance of getting in.’

I have to admit, I only briefly considered doing my Ph.D. in the US. I really didn’t give it much thought. MIT, Princeton, Harvard, Stanford, Yale, Berkeley, …they’re all top notch schools for any subject, including Mathematics.

Obviously a doctoral degree from Harvard or Princeton would be quite an honour. Obviously I would get an extraordinary opportunity to extend my research with an established supervisor at any of these institutions. And obviously, the ability to say, ‘I’m doing my doctorate at Harvard’ would be like, totally awesome.

But I just can’t help feeling that I’d like something different from North American life.

I’m sick of it. I’m sick of Canada. And I’m even more sick of Ottawa. There’s nothing left for me here except for heartache and bad memories.

Some of my referees — bless their hearts — have told me that my first and second choices for grad school would be delighted in accepting me in a Ph.D. (or rather, D.Phil) program. And between Harvard, Princeton, MIT, and my actual choices, it’s a pretty close race anyways.

It’s time that I left Ottawa. It’s time I hauled my ass off this goddamn continent. And it’s time I focused on establishing myself among the elite academia of the world.

But damn it. I’m so nervous I could wet myself.

If Jack Bauer was in a room with Hitler, Stalin, and Nina Meyers, and he had a gun with 2 bullets, he’d shoot Nina.

Twice.