Tomorrow I have to get up and trek my away to West Montreal to defend my thesis. I don't know which is more important to me at this point: this degree or not having to do that tomorrow. Maybe I shouldn't have decided to take up every season of Project Runway in the past month. I just keep picturing that set up, with me sitting on the stage with my 140 pages of bullshit and the academic translation of Nina Garcia telling me how she wonders how I got into this program in the first place. I just keep reading this one line in the thesis examination manual over and over again:

Four decisions are open to the examining committee, voting to be based on a simple majority. The thesis can be accepted as submitted, accepted with minor modifications, accepted with major modifications, or rejected.

Meanwhile, I could actually be preparing myself. Today was supposed to be my prep day, but instead, I decided to use a bunch of drunken photos of me and some friends by the giant cross on Mont Royal Saturday night and make a fake commercial for a Christian rock group:

Making THAT is how I decided to cap off six years of post-secondary education. And writing this. I just feel like either its happening or its not tomorrow, and no re-reading of something I've written myself is going to change that. Honestly, I know deep down it will be fine. But getting up in front of a bunch of extremely educated people and defending something you spent so much time writing that you grew to resent and eventually hate it sounds really unpleasant. I also have a tendency to revert to puberty voice in these situations, and experience nausea, unfinished sentences, and mispronounced words.

And I also fear the feeling when its over and have to truly face the fact that its all done and I have to start acting a little less lost. We'll see..

Anyway, I'll probably be blog-lite the next week or so as I prepare to move. TIFF's around the corner, and that will likely be my full time return.

I have seven days until I move. A by "move," I mean drift into accommodation oblivion. I've decided to opt out of immediately getting an apartment, storing most of my stuff at my mom's house, and living life out of a suitcase in a triangle of cities across Eastern North America. Besides a variety of reasons, I thought it might liberate me of attachments to material possessions. But now I'm getting cold feet. The past few days have been a back and forth of social goodbyes, prepping for the doom that might be my thesis defense (48 hours away, and I haven't prepared anything), and trying to figure out how to pack for my decided life of a hobodom. This was my closet area this morning:

I still own clothes I bought when I was 14. And this is a trend across all my belongings, creating a serious existential crisis for me in the final days of packing. For example, do I throw out the "Free Winona" t-shirt that hasn't fit me since "Mr. Deeds" came out? Or what about my ten Nine Inch Nails t-shirts, all of which go down to my knees and permanently smell like CK One? The answer is obviously yes, but I don't like it.

I collect clothes, and usually not-at-all expensive ones. I go to Value Village or Goodwill at least once a month, filling a cart and paying $25 for it. And when t-shirts cost $1, its so easy to find this state of denial in terms of whether I'd ever actually wear them. As a result, I found a really embarrassing number last week when I did a guilt-inducing head count. And I doubt I've worn half of them more than once.

So now I am forced to pack two suitcases with clothes I'd like to wear on a regular basis, and the rest go to either Goodwill or my mom's basement. Tonight's first haul to Goodwill was 8 garbage bags full, so I am on my way. But its not as liberating as I thought it would be.

Canada's got 13 medals now. More than Athens, closing in on Sydney.

But more importantly, we've got Alexandre Despatie. He's the 23-year old Montreal diver who just won a silver medal.

If you are someone who might enjoy looking at hot Quebecois male divers, do a google image search. Or better yet, divert your eyes below this sentence (this may be the gratuitous entry I've ever posted).

A national treasure:

And because I've already gone too far, check out this beautifully crafted "ode" to, essentially, Alex's bulge:

I had high hopes for this. And maybe it will just take a few episodes to find its groove, but judging from its first episode (posted on AfterElton.com and now here after the jump), The Cho Show just feels like a bad imitation of Kathy Griffin: My Life On The D-List.

Its almost the exact formula: Female comic, her wacky parents, her assistants and her "gays" deal with the in and outs of a certain level of fame. And I would have never in a million years bet against Cho here, but I didn't find it particularly funny or amusing. See for yourself...

Because I'm lame like that. After the jump.

The entire list is here. Also, an interview I did this afternoon with TIFF co-director Cameron Bailey.