Remembrance of Joyful Times Past: The St. John’s College Experience

Last weekend, I had the pleasure of attending the SJC Alumni Celebration Weekend at my previous UBC residence. The place is St. John’s College and although it was wonderful to get to see and reminisce with fellow residents some of whom I had not seen in over two decades, there was a somber underlining to it all: We were about to say goodbye to this landmark building, and we had this three-day event to cherish and celebrate our experiences and to bid adieu to the place that houses many unforgettable memories for each of us.

I have spent two and a half years (I prolonged and extended my degree to as long as I could) and they were some of the happiest times of my life. Why, you may ask and the answer could fill up volumes of novelistic writing; in fact, it could even make for a miniseries, sitcom, soap opera, or telenovela (love, romance, marriage, heartbreak, infidelity, deception, all of which were not unheard of at the times) but my own simple answer is two-fold: first off, I loved studying and was studying what I loved (French literature) and then we had an amazing, buzzing, bubbling, and vibrant community.

There was no time for boredom. The community was fostered organically, that is we were forced to sit together and eat, that included breakfast in the mornings and dinners in the evenings. Breakfasts were a rather subdued undertaking. Not everyone would show up for different reasons; some would trickle in at different hours and when they did, they would not be necessarily in the mood for chatting or they would be hung over or half asleep. I myself would need at least a couple cups of coffee to barely function at that ungodly hour.

The dinners, however, were a whole different story. Everyone showed up at pretty much the same time hungry for food and for social interaction. We were excited to have finished the day of studying, reading, writing, or what-have-you and were there to chew the fat with our meals or share and listen to the latest gossip and anything else under the sun.

Most tables had various often recognizable voices reverberating through the community dining hall. It was always a joy to see and talk to familiar faces, but when that was not the case because you or your friends were late and the tables had already been taken, you did have the opportunity to meet and to talk to new people. Nothing unites people more than breaking bread together and sometimes, we also bonded over bad food. Certain items on the menu - something we were privy to at the beginning of each week - were not exactly among our favorites but that was fine and made us appreciate the good and tasty food items even more. 

For instance, on paella days – that distinct smell still haunts me to this day - I would suddenly turn vegetarian. It succeeded for a while but soon enough, the kitchen assistants grew suspicious, checked their lists, put two and two together and realized that this was not necessarily true. I was outed as an imposter: a non-vegetarian posing as one. You could of course miss the dinner and ask for vouchers but then again, you would not see your friends on that given evening. And that was not an option for me.

What I loved at the time was the list of contact information we were provided with on day one. It included all the names with their room numbers and phone numbers. At the time, we did not have cellphones (I’m carbon dating myself now) but it was wonderful to be able to call up anyone one wanted to see, or you had taken an interest in. No more awkward asking for phone numbers; we were supplied with them already.

In fact, there were visitors coming in and out at pretty much any time of the day. We had a revolving door policy. It was especially interesting to see and notice who walked out of whose room during night hours. I remember some of us getting caught in flagrante a few times crossing the courtyard at night where smokers would nod and acknowledge us with a grin and then share the intel with everyone at the next dinner event. Yet at least whatever happened at St. John’s did stay there. Not that it had anywhere else to go for that matter.

Yet I remember vividly the various events that enriched the whole experience. It was often ideas proposed by residents, but the office also had several interesting initiatives of their own. This ranged from regular speaker series where we had a chance to share our interests, research or otherwise and then there were informal language courses offered by residents for residents. As if that was not enough, we also had movie nights, hiking and sports events, choir, Improv, theater, coffee houses, and many more. There were some others after my stay and sadly I cannot comment upon them.

I very much enjoyed my Improv experience, and it was something that helped me with my teaching. It was instructive to be on your feet, be alert and respond quickly. Comedy is all about timing and through this experience, teaching was not just sharing knowledge and information but responding to different situations and questions more spontaneously and without overthinking. It is a theory I tried to develop as “framed spontaneity.”

And yes, it also made the class much more fun and me funnier in the class. And our Improv group performed a few times in front our own community, but we also did a show to welcome undergrads, and we each got a T-shirt for it as a token of appreciation. This was to date my only official payment for doing Improv and I hope that we did not scare off the new students at the event.

At SJC, I did delve into sports too but with varying success. We had a field hockey team that ended up being the worst in the league – this is not hyperbole, but we were literally dead last just like the Vancouver Canucks this year. I remember at one point asking the ref for the score and it took him half a minute to count all the goals we had accumulated against us. I immediately regretted wanted to know. We also brought in a contraband goalie, my brother, to help our chances and it ended up destroying his confidence for good. He never was a goalie after this, and I take full responsibility for this outcome.

Yet, we also had two volleyball teams: there were the Eagles and the Eaglets. One of them was in it for competition, the other one was in it to have fun. I was in the fun category of course. Losing did not faze us, and we shrugged it off skillfully (some might say masterfully), but we did have one memorable showdown against our own competitive team. And that night, against all odds and perhaps because it came upon the heels of a gala dinner night where wine made me less scared of the volleyball, we won against our fellow Johanneans.

Some of the players in the competitive team were upset and did not talk to me for a whole week but that remained such an unforgettable event for us. I remember celebrating with R. (more on her later) that same night. Moral lesson: Never lose hope because one day, you will beat those who are better than you.

Apart from scheduled and impromptu events – quite a memorable one would be the infamous room crawl, but memories are hazy on that account yet I remember it was a blast and we may or may not have ended up dancing and potentially stripping on the pool table and there may or may not be a photo of this somewhere - there was also the monthly gala dinner where we all dressed up semi-formally and formally ate delicious food with a copious amount of wine.

Many pictures were taken at those events. Again, we are talking about an era before cellphones and digital cameras so there was effort involved in getting the film developed etc. and they were snapshots of precious moments. As I was reviewing them, there were some names that have been forgotten but it was wonderful to have a chance to check with residents at the SJC celebration event and most of those names have been fortunately recovered.

There are some faces I will never forget. Apart from dear friends, there are also my more than half a dozen crushes (you probably know who you are). There were a few I had the fortune to date very briefly but most of them remained out of reach due to my shyness at the time. Some of them could have turned into something more lasting but in one case, let’s call her R., I was not at my best. From the get-go it was casual and was not meant to be serious; that said, I appreciated her very much, but I don’t think I showed it enough. As she said to me once, SJC was my world and I was so enmeshed in it that I could not perceive any other place outside of it.

I might have denied it at the moment, but she was absolutely right and hit the nail on the head. SJC was my go-to fairy tale place that blurred the lines with reality. To get me out of my cocoon, R. devised a wonderful adventure. I was supposed to leave the premises and all I needed to take with me was a toothbrush. I was given a note with clear instructions (again no cellphones), and I had to follow them to the letter. I did so and for a moment the world outside of my residence came into focus. But the moment we returned to SJC; I fell into my trance and slumber. I was both hopeful and terrified to see R. at this final reunion, but she did not make it.

It is still hard to imagine that the building will no longer stand. When I moved in, it was still new; now there were some natural misgivings. Aging may be good for wine and even certain people but as a rule, this does not apply to building structures. I was told nay warned that my hallway had a peculiar and strange smell around it and our current tour avoided it like the pest. But I could not resist and had to see it or rather smell it for myself. And yes, there was something funky that had not been there in the past.

As mentioned earlier, the event was a three-day affair that included a pizza reception on Friday evening, a gala dinner on Saturday and a brunch on Sunday. I signed up for all three but was considering skipping the brunch. When I arrived at SJC, I noticed my name tag was missing. I assured them and I assure you now that I did register and pay and felt a bit sad that they had not included my name there. However, as I looked through the tags, there were certain names that I recognized and was looking forward to talk to those fellow alumni soon. I got to use a makeshift one for oneself.

As I sat there, more and more familiar faces trickled in. Most of them looked very similar to how I remembered them, one of them, don’t ask me how, looked even younger than I remembered him – yes, I’m looking at you Kent! – and it was interesting to hear that among those that had kids, they tended to be of the same age as my son. This created an interesting common bonding experience, a sort of biological rhythm with people I had not talked to in two decades. It was also great to see what they were up to and to update them on my own exploits and adventures.

This was quite the event after all and I even met someone amazing who moved in after me but like me had gotten a good portion of her studies and readings done at Wreck Beach! Although she went to see the beach again, I'm still slated to do so sometime soon. 

I did not skip the brunch after all. Unlike the breakfasts, this one was well attended. We were encouraged to do graffiti on the building and off the record were told that we could scrape off our room number sign. Although there were still a few people residing at SJC, they might be confused but would not have issues finding their room without the attached number. Or so we were told. Well, I sure hope so because I could not resist to take this lasting souvenir with me as a physical reminder of a very precious time in my life.

The old building will be gone, and the clocktower will be no more, which served as a quintessential meeting place – “meet me at the clocktower” was a common and easily understood phrase that facilitated our meetings and get-togethers. And I want to thank everyone directly and indirectly associated with St. John’s College: Chef Clarence for feeding and taking care of us all over all those years (he is happily retired now), my fellow Johanneans from the past, the current ones and those yet to come, and each and everyone for making this vibrant community last and prosper since time immemorial and for a long time to come. 

Novel Experiences and Their Effects on Memory: Reflections on Dr. Lila Davachi’s Quinn Memorial Lecture 2026

It is that time of the year again for me: To attend the annual lecture of the Quinn Memorial, which has become a dear tradition to me. I started going to these fascinating and memorable lectures more than a dozen years ago and it is something I look forward to every year. The only times I have missed the Quinn Memorial were due to the pandemic where it was canceled or due to other commitments, for instance, work or appointments that I could not escape from.

Let it also be stated that part of my own personal tradition includes the complimentary and much appreciated glass of wine (I usually opt for red) as well as a brief chat and a few questions for the renowned speaker, all reasons why an online option is not feasible and only half the experience.

This time around I did something I had not done previously: I invited a handful of people to come along with me. Doing new things or doing things differently with its effects on memory will be discussed further below but the main reason I had not done this before was that as a generally reserved and private person, I like to go there alone. That way I could pay close attention and take notes during the talk. Also, I felt that I could freely mingle afterwards and talk to other guests and meet a variety of people. As a final point, it was also because I did not feel that many people in my social circle would be genuinely interested in these types of talks and lectures.

As the subject coincided with an upcoming book club discussion of Andy Clark’s The Experience Machine (more on this later as well), I figured that there might be some interest and perhaps overlap with group members, but alas, yet again, I ended up going solo. It was a shame because it was another wonderful talk that I would have loved to share with likeminded friends, but I get it, people are busy; they have busy lives and priorities, or they may simply not be as interested in these events as myself.

But enough preamble and let’s dive in! The talk was entitled “The wisdom of the unconscious mind: offline reactivation consolidates, integrates, and updates knowledge” by Dr. Lila Davachi from Columbia University. The title may not be on par with the talk itself; first off, I must admit that the title on its own does not necessarily sound sexy or exciting and may be a bit too technical particularly with the added subtitle. At the same time, the lack of capitals takes away from the transformative features that were included in the lecture itself, and finally, although it deals with the unconscious, it is a bit of a misnomer because the talk was more about brain processes than the mind per se.

Sadly, not much psychoanalysis to speak of and on the topic of dreams, Dr. Davachi simply stated that neither she nor anybody else she is familiar with has any clue or idea why we dream and what its purpose may be. I differ on this matter, but she has a valid point in terms of memory retrieval and consolidation of course and that was the main focus of her talk.

There were interesting insights alongside a new understanding of how memories are formed, how they are strengthened and/or weakened and, as a language instructor,  I appreciated that she provided some useful tips and vital points on how to be able to consolidate them further so our memories and knowledge do not end up decomposing in the waste bin of our mind.

But what are the different processes that occur in the brain to ensure that we have memories in the first place? I remember from psych undergrad classes that memory was closely tied and connected with the hippocampus. And although that still holds true, the real story is much more complex and more intricate than that.

First off, there are two parts to memories, the encoding and then later its retrieval. The encoding is basically the input, which is then converted into a memory. This often occurs offline, that is the hippocampus replaying the information after the event. Yet the brain is not passive in any of this; it actively selects what to consolidate and what not. In other words, what is deemed relevant is offloaded and distributed to other cortical parts of the brain, and what is not is left behind and may be forgotten completely.

As a result, the memory becomes consolidated not just by replaying it but rather by having it play like an orchestra. If the memory itself is strong, that is salient, vivid and involves an emotional reaction, it becomes more resilient and has a much stronger survival rate. In fact, connectivity is crucial here and can protect against forgetting.

The retrieval itself can come from cues, with some of them being partial. This may be something we see or something someone says that then triggers a memory; we may actively look for specific information or try to recall an event in the past. This is also not only related to the context and the circumstances of the memory event, but it also depends on what happens afterwards, whether it is repeated consciously or subconsciously or not. Sometimes associations and associated occurrences can aid the memory to remain strong even in the face of time.

This can occur in different ways. One of them is reward. If we are expecting a certain reward, we may work harder to ensure that we can later recall the given information. Put differently, it is motivation that can ensure both short and long-term retrieval. This is even more prevalent when we have motivation to remember. Hence reward and repeated encodings improve memory retrieval. This is also true with any information that we prioritize, something that we cherish and value for whatever reason.

It is noteworthy that cortical networks are more stable than just the hippocampus. In this cortical dialogue and interaction, weak memories need to be replayed more than strong memories to ensure that they can be recalled at a later time. There is also a significant difference between recalling simple standalone episodic events versus the gist of the situations and with it some overlapping details. When memories are clustered together, they tend to be more resistant to the erosion of time.

Interestingly, the same can be applied to routine memories if they are combined with novel and interesting or intriguing information. For instance, social and special novelty helps both mood and memory. Going out of your way to take on different activities or to take a different route will not only help you better recall the new information, but it will also make you feel better, excited and aroused. At the same time, all this will color your regular routine actions and make them stand out more than previously or otherwise.

Let’s face it, if you are living on autopilot, your routine actions become a muddled and indiscriminate mess of sorts, and you would either confuse them or forget them altogether. But the moment you encounter something or someone new on your regular path, you remember everything much more vividly and in greater detail while also feeling good about the whole experience.

This is your cue to get out and do something differently. When you do this, you will feel more alive and remember it much better. Carpe diem may not just be about going out there and taking risks but also trying out something new and different. Sure it can involve minimal or moderate amounts of risk but more importantly, just stepping out of your comfort zone or regular routine can indeed aid your overall memory in this case.

Now to return to my book club reading of Andy Clark’s book. His theory is that the brain is not just a passive recipient of sensory information but that it plays an active role in the process. It is not just encoding and processing the information that crosses its path but it constantly tries to predict what will happen.

When the prediction is correct, we can save time and energy and focus on things of greater importance to us. This is not unlike our experience of driving. When we start off, we need to pay close attention to everything around us and try our best to move this metal box in a safe and sound manner. But after time, it becomes more innate and automatic and our brain takes over the driving until or unless something surprising and unexpected occurs needing our attention.

So, during the reception I had the opportunity to ask Dr. Davachi about the brain predicting events and whether salient information would help us remember them better. She said that most likely we would. I then asked her whether the new incoming information would override the previous predictive pattern or maybe have us forget it altogether and replace it with something new.

She said that it depended on how strong the pattern was encoded, whether it was part of a weak or a strong memory. If we took that path more than a dozen times, we may just carry on with as it may be resistant to a single episodic memory or minimal incongruent information. Hence, in the case that the pattern has been more entrenched, it would not be so easily abandoned and replaced.

All this has also some relevance with trauma and traumatic events. They can lead to rumination, which can occur both online and offline. Yet at the same time, they may also become stronger because the brain would read certain cues in that particular light and frame of mind. Hence, for a war survivor, any loud noise can be seen as a potential threat where fireworks or car exhaust backfires may feel threatening.

Yet, on the flip side, good experiences will fill us with positive feelings, and we would look forward to other or similar events. In my case, this was yet another outstanding and memorable event that makes me look forward to the next one, regardless of whether I shall be accompanied or not.

Rock on, Disco Sucks! The Explosive Music Culture War

When disco became mainstream, it was already much more than merely music. Disco was a colorful umbrella that hosted and included a lifestyle, a sense of fashion, a sub-culture, and a mentality, whereas for certain parts of the population, it also represented a viable threat to their own understanding and perception of music and of the world.

This is why disco caused a strong backlash from people who with their heart and soul embraced rock’n’roll; they suddenly felt that they were being pushed in the background and eroded by a music genre that they despised. It all culminated in an explosive encounter and a riot at a Disco Demolition night on a baseball field essentially burying this genre once and for all. The backlash against the Beatles for John Lennon’s infamous Jesus comments pales in comparison to this.

To understand why there was such hatred against disco, we must look at its origin. This type of music started off underground, and it was played at gay nightclubs to great acclaim. A certain distinct and often over-the-top fashion sense went hand in hand with the genre. Yet because it was catchy and there were beats to groove to, disco spread like wildfire. More and more women took part in these parties, and they brought their own lavish styles with them, which could not help but raise the curiosity of heterosexual men as well.

After a while, it came as no surprise that colored women singers would not only embrace this music but add their own touch and flourishes to the genre. In a sense, this added to the budding sense of feminism, and it is perhaps nowhere as clear and distinct as in Gloria Gaynor’s hit “I will survive.” Not only was she telling off her ex, but she did so in a groovy style.  As we can note, race, feminism, and political aspirations were embodied with disco from its outset. Basically, disco took the demonstrations for equal rights of homosexuals and women away from the streets and onto the dance floor.

The turning point was of course the quintessential classic Saturday Night Fever which popularized both the music and the dance moves and made it accessible to everyone regardless of gender or race. Disco became universal and by extension even more egalitarian and moved from the underground to the foreground and into everyone’s living room. Soon enough, radios switched to disco whether it be The Bee Gees or various other bands and musicians of the times, and yes, that includes The Village People. This was a decisive shift from more rock-oriented riffs to groovy beats on the radio waves.

Enter rock’n’roll enthusiast Steve Dahl who literally suffered the consequences. In fact, he is considered one of the first shock jocks who was, like Howard Stern, not afraid to speak his mind on the radio and who would share inappropriate and controversial comments with, for, and for the sake of his audience. Yet overnight - and it happened to be Christmas Eve and right after he and his wife had opted to buy a house - Steve lost his job because of disco. This did not sit well, and he vowed to fight back.

The term that become popular at the time was Disco sucks and rock aficionado Steve Dahl took a jab whenever he could. This ubiquitous slogan then appeared on signs, banners, and T-shirts throughout the country but it all culminated in an event that Steve Dahl helped organize: The disco demolition night where people were encouraged to bring their disco records; these would then be carried to the baseball field only to have them exploded with good old-fashioned dynamite. This event that occurred on July 12, 1979, at Comiskey Park in Chicago was intended as a Major League Baseball promotion but ended up in a full-out riot with significant damages and destruction to property, equipment, and the field itself.

The crowd was predominantly young white males most of whom were not baseball fans and were half or fully drunk right before and when the "disco explosions" occurred. Although Steve himself strongly denies it and says it was all about the music, there are elements of race and ethnicity, and sexual orientation at play that cannot be overlooked or ignored in this case.

Yet these gender and racial differences tend to be also embodied in the respective genres themselves. Rock’n’roll has a masculine attitude attached and embodied within it. A stereotypical rock star would be someone who drinks a lot, does drugs, also a lot, behaves irresponsibly on stage, off stage and in hotel rooms and then caps his day by having a lot of sex with many different female fans and groupies. Rock stars are expected to act in that way and hence are given carte blanche to this excessive and aggressive lifestyle. After all, their own self-professed slogan is sex, drugs, and rock’n’roll and they believed they had to live up to it.

Disco, on the other hand, is a whole different beast. It is about dancing, peace, sweat, sensuality, and love, as well as lovemaking. It is basically better-looking and better-dressed hippies moving their hips and their whole body to specific beats.

That said, the disco lifestyle, however, was not immune to drug use either, with cocaine being the yuppie choice. All this was encouraged with the opening of Studio 54, a very poplar discotheque that was all about style, even more so than the music. So much so that the owner would personally select and decide who looked good and fashionable enough to be allowed entry to the premises. The rest would have to go home, lick their wounds and wounded pride for the night, only to hope for a better fate or prepare a more outrageous costume next time around.  

All this ended overnight right after the riot at Disco Demolition. This was a major fiasco, and nobody wanted to have any of it. Radios stopped playing disco music on their waves and rock made it back on, at least temporarily. This meant that certain social progress was suddenly cut short and undermined while many black female singers lost their jobs and income overnight. Interestingly, this was somewhat similar to Steve’s fate although he ended up doing fine in the end.

Yet do not fret and do not cry for the lost and forlorn heydays of disco. Disco may have stopped but it did not die. In fact, it transformed and was reborn in what is known as house music, and it really brought DJs to the forefront. The groovy beats continued still albeit in a different form and with much less resistance the second time around. And rock’n’roll may have become a relic of the past but it still rocks.