A woman's worth; Overreaction to tasteless comment
Bugle-Observer
Tue Dec 8 2009
Page: A4
Section: Opinion
Byline: Katelin Dean
"Girls, we need to make more babies or we will never be able to support our future," York MLA Carl Urquhart wrote on his Facebook page the other day much to the chagrin of Liberal MLA Joan MacAlpine-Stiles.
Though it wasn't the most intelligent comment in the world and I agree with some criticism of this statement, I think McAlpine-Stiles blew it out of proportion to steer attention away from her decision to support the premier's plan to sell NB Power.
Of course I think it's wrong to imply that a woman's only role is to pop babies out. I also realize that with baby boomers well on their way to retirement, the province requires tax dollars from a workforce to fill the financial void that will be created. This workforce can be created by increasing the population in the traditional sense - through procreation. Or, the government can work harder on immigration and bring forth population growth that way.
And, as a political figure, Urquhart should have been much more conscientious while posting on his Facebook page.
Though, as someone who uses Facebook and writes a blog, we often post these things without really examining the repercussions. My guess is that Urquhart was looking to the future of the province and realized population needs to grow to maintain the tax dollars that are coming in. When posting on Facebook or a blog or Twitter or some other social networking tool, a quick thought can be expressed and broadcast in a few seconds.
As a female MLA from the opposite party, MacAlpine-Stiles swiftly criticized Urquhart's statement, as she should have.
What I find troubling was the timing.
In the same day, I read the story about her chastising him regarding his insensitive comment and then, further down on the page, read a story about how she has decided to vote with her party regarding the sale of NB Power. She originally told the media she hadn't read the MOU and would vote with her conscious when she decided. It's so convenient she was able to wave a shiny object - a woman's rights issue - to detract from something much more prevalent.
The sale of NB Power is an extremely heated and much-debated issue in the province right now.
While she found what Urquhart said "unspeakably offensive," many in the province would find her decision to vote in favour of the sale of NB Power equally as offensive and there's no doubt in my mind that she'd have some concept of the political gravity of her decision.
While I am well aware of how hard women have worked for equality and to shed the image of being barefoot and pregnant in the kitchen, I think using a woman's issue to detract from another political decision is offensive to me as an egalitarian.
Monday, December 14, 2009
Tuesday, December 1, 2009
As appearing in Dec. 1's Bugle-Observer
Since the bugle-observer is offline, i decided to post today's column here.
By Katelin Dean
John Lennon said, "life is what happens when you're busy making other plans."
In high school I didn't have many friends, though there were phases that were pretty typical of a teenage girl.
One time, I was excited about four girls who let me hang out with them during school and my mom let me invite the four of them over for a sleepover in Grade 9.
We stayed up most of the night talking about boys we had crushes on, putting make up on each other and watching movies.
It, incidentally, was the weekend Tim Hortons' introduced Iced Cappuccinos, and we lived within walking distance to a Tim Hortons.
Picture this: five 14-year-old girls, too much caffeine and talking about what our lives would be like when we were older.
We talked about getting married to the boy of our dreams (or at least who we thought was cute at the time), having kids and having wonderful careers.
I know I had it all planned out.
I was going to marry the French horn player from my high school band. We were going to have a terrific swing band – comprised of the people in our high school band – play our wedding reception and over 200 people would be there to see us celebrate our undying love for one another.
Then, after our honeymoon in Rome, we would come back and I was going to be a civil engineer – just like my dad – and he would be a professor.
I planned for us to have one child when I turned 25. Her name was going to be Abbey Rae – named after my two grandfathers. I wanted to have Abbey at 25, so I would still be fairly young when she went off to university because the French horn player and I would still have a lot of living left to do.
This, of course, was unbeknownst to him. But to me, once I admitted it to these four girls, it was real.
It seems hilarious now, as a 26-year-old single gal
I maintained a fairly close friendship with two of these for ladies for the past 12 years, though it has been sporadic, and they came to visit me this weekend.
Just before going to sleep on Saturday night, we reminisced about the over-caffienated sleepover so many years ago and how our lives are so much different than we had planned.
If you're reading this column, you know that I'm not designing bridges for you to drive on as a civil engineer.
As for the French horn player, he is playing bass in a reasonably popular pop/rock band in Halifax and is in a long-term relationship with a woman he met after university.
And as for me, I am super single with no immediate plans of entering a relationship or having little Abbey Rae.
Until fairly recently, I worried about when I was going to marry and have kids, but now, I'm just living life and having a good time.
Though it's different from the plan I had originally crafted as a young teenager, my life is working out pretty well overall.
John Lennon was right.
By Katelin Dean
John Lennon said, "life is what happens when you're busy making other plans."
In high school I didn't have many friends, though there were phases that were pretty typical of a teenage girl.
One time, I was excited about four girls who let me hang out with them during school and my mom let me invite the four of them over for a sleepover in Grade 9.
We stayed up most of the night talking about boys we had crushes on, putting make up on each other and watching movies.
It, incidentally, was the weekend Tim Hortons' introduced Iced Cappuccinos, and we lived within walking distance to a Tim Hortons.
Picture this: five 14-year-old girls, too much caffeine and talking about what our lives would be like when we were older.
We talked about getting married to the boy of our dreams (or at least who we thought was cute at the time), having kids and having wonderful careers.
I know I had it all planned out.
I was going to marry the French horn player from my high school band. We were going to have a terrific swing band – comprised of the people in our high school band – play our wedding reception and over 200 people would be there to see us celebrate our undying love for one another.
Then, after our honeymoon in Rome, we would come back and I was going to be a civil engineer – just like my dad – and he would be a professor.
I planned for us to have one child when I turned 25. Her name was going to be Abbey Rae – named after my two grandfathers. I wanted to have Abbey at 25, so I would still be fairly young when she went off to university because the French horn player and I would still have a lot of living left to do.
This, of course, was unbeknownst to him. But to me, once I admitted it to these four girls, it was real.
It seems hilarious now, as a 26-year-old single gal
I maintained a fairly close friendship with two of these for ladies for the past 12 years, though it has been sporadic, and they came to visit me this weekend.
Just before going to sleep on Saturday night, we reminisced about the over-caffienated sleepover so many years ago and how our lives are so much different than we had planned.
If you're reading this column, you know that I'm not designing bridges for you to drive on as a civil engineer.
As for the French horn player, he is playing bass in a reasonably popular pop/rock band in Halifax and is in a long-term relationship with a woman he met after university.
And as for me, I am super single with no immediate plans of entering a relationship or having little Abbey Rae.
Until fairly recently, I worried about when I was going to marry and have kids, but now, I'm just living life and having a good time.
Though it's different from the plan I had originally crafted as a young teenager, my life is working out pretty well overall.
John Lennon was right.
Friday, November 20, 2009
the third wheel
Before we learn how to drive a bicycle, many of us start with tricycles - a bicycle with three wheels.
It has more stability, thus we are less likely to fall and get hurt. I know when I used to drive a tricycle, I loved it - but when I saw some older kids driving two-wheelers, I knew that's the freedom I longed for. I could just feel my long, messy, dark hair flapping in the breeze (under my pink helmet of course!). Not only did I long for that freedom, but I knew I could go much farther and faster once I got the hang of it. The risk of getting hurt grew stronger, however.
Fast forward to life in my mid-twenties.
The tricycle has become two of the closest friends I've ever had. We used to lean on each other and support one another like a tricycle does a child. It was safe and tremendously fun. And just like adults long to go back to their childhood, I long to go back to the days when we were an innocent tricycle - but I fear it's impossible.
I feel as though I'm the third wheel that is holding a bicycle from finding its freedom. I know my friends have fun when it's the three of us because it's pure, safe and it used to be carefree - we still pretend it is in many ways.
It has more stability, thus we are less likely to fall and get hurt. I know when I used to drive a tricycle, I loved it - but when I saw some older kids driving two-wheelers, I knew that's the freedom I longed for. I could just feel my long, messy, dark hair flapping in the breeze (under my pink helmet of course!). Not only did I long for that freedom, but I knew I could go much farther and faster once I got the hang of it. The risk of getting hurt grew stronger, however.
Fast forward to life in my mid-twenties.
The tricycle has become two of the closest friends I've ever had. We used to lean on each other and support one another like a tricycle does a child. It was safe and tremendously fun. And just like adults long to go back to their childhood, I long to go back to the days when we were an innocent tricycle - but I fear it's impossible.
I feel as though I'm the third wheel that is holding a bicycle from finding its freedom. I know my friends have fun when it's the three of us because it's pure, safe and it used to be carefree - we still pretend it is in many ways.
Thursday, August 27, 2009
Grief
Giving grief, getting grief and grieving.
I've never really thought much about the connection before.
This world is full of unfortunate incidents: people die, people get hurt, people do bad things. The world is also full of wonderful things and in my opinion, I see so many more of those. At least that's what I try to see.
We all have instances of loss in our lives and people deal with them in different ways.
Fortunately and unfortunately, I'm in an industry where my job is to report news.
A car accident where the driver ends up dead is news. It's unfortunate, and if I had control over the world, I'd never report it because it would never happen.
When these things happen, people are continually looking for answers. My job is to communicate those answers as factually and responsibly as humanly possible. Many avenues are used to get to this point (police reports, fire reports, etc.) I do believe there are problems in the journalism industry - too much sensationalism sometimes, which can cause desensitization.
We're coming upon the eighth anniversary of 9/11, and I'll never forget the first time I saw footage of an airplane crashing into a building. Now,due to incessant replays of the tragic incident, it's so much a part of our lives that it doesn't even seem real. Occasionally we journalists who are trying to find balance between respect and news get grief because of the sensationalists out there.
This weekend there was a tragic car accident. From the time I heard about it, I felt sick about it. It wasn't someone I was close friends with, but a human life just the same. He lived a hard, fast life with many hinderences. Some would argue these hinderences were his own fault - I believe accidents are called accidents for a reason. No one sets out to lose the use of their legs, or hurt their friends, or wrap their cars around trees - NO ONE. He is someone's son, someone's sibling and someone's friend. No one can ever take their grief away.
Out of grief, I'm sure, one of his friends made the decision to send me a nasty note.
This is where the giving grief comes in. This friend took his grief and, instead of dealing with it, felt the need to, not only share, but inflict his pain on me. It didn't feel good, to say the least, but I understand. I truly hope it made him feel better, though it likely did not. I hope someday he develops better coping mechanisms than unkind words and copious amounts of mind-numbing substance. I have no control over that. Everyone has their choices to make and crosses to bear - I sure as hell have mine.
I've never really thought much about the connection before.
This world is full of unfortunate incidents: people die, people get hurt, people do bad things. The world is also full of wonderful things and in my opinion, I see so many more of those. At least that's what I try to see.
We all have instances of loss in our lives and people deal with them in different ways.
Fortunately and unfortunately, I'm in an industry where my job is to report news.
A car accident where the driver ends up dead is news. It's unfortunate, and if I had control over the world, I'd never report it because it would never happen.
When these things happen, people are continually looking for answers. My job is to communicate those answers as factually and responsibly as humanly possible. Many avenues are used to get to this point (police reports, fire reports, etc.) I do believe there are problems in the journalism industry - too much sensationalism sometimes, which can cause desensitization.
We're coming upon the eighth anniversary of 9/11, and I'll never forget the first time I saw footage of an airplane crashing into a building. Now,due to incessant replays of the tragic incident, it's so much a part of our lives that it doesn't even seem real. Occasionally we journalists who are trying to find balance between respect and news get grief because of the sensationalists out there.
This weekend there was a tragic car accident. From the time I heard about it, I felt sick about it. It wasn't someone I was close friends with, but a human life just the same. He lived a hard, fast life with many hinderences. Some would argue these hinderences were his own fault - I believe accidents are called accidents for a reason. No one sets out to lose the use of their legs, or hurt their friends, or wrap their cars around trees - NO ONE. He is someone's son, someone's sibling and someone's friend. No one can ever take their grief away.
Out of grief, I'm sure, one of his friends made the decision to send me a nasty note.
This is where the giving grief comes in. This friend took his grief and, instead of dealing with it, felt the need to, not only share, but inflict his pain on me. It didn't feel good, to say the least, but I understand. I truly hope it made him feel better, though it likely did not. I hope someday he develops better coping mechanisms than unkind words and copious amounts of mind-numbing substance. I have no control over that. Everyone has their choices to make and crosses to bear - I sure as hell have mine.
Wednesday, August 5, 2009
oh the trombone!
A facebook message sent to me from a great friend:
The trombone is, in my view, the real leader among the class of wind instruments I have described as epic. It possesses to the highest degree nobility and grandeur. It commands all the accents, grave or powerful, of high musical poetry, from imposing and calm religious tones to the frenzied clamour of an orgy.
The composer may at will make it sing a chorus of priests, threaten, utter a subdued lament, whisper a funeral dirge, raise a hymn of glory, break out in dreadful cries, or sound its formidable call for the awakening of the dead or the death of the living. (From Berlioz's "Treatise on Orchestration")
The trombone is, in my view, the real leader among the class of wind instruments I have described as epic. It possesses to the highest degree nobility and grandeur. It commands all the accents, grave or powerful, of high musical poetry, from imposing and calm religious tones to the frenzied clamour of an orgy.
The composer may at will make it sing a chorus of priests, threaten, utter a subdued lament, whisper a funeral dirge, raise a hymn of glory, break out in dreadful cries, or sound its formidable call for the awakening of the dead or the death of the living. (From Berlioz's "Treatise on Orchestration")
Thursday, July 30, 2009
It's my time
I, like my fellow blogging friend, should be using this as a tool to promote the Dooryard Arts Festival in Woodstock from Aug. 12-16 sure to capture the hearts and minds of anyone and everyone - but I won't encourage people to take in concerts by Ross Neilsen and the Singing Bridge Orchestra, visual displays by Jody Coughlin, Jody Denny and other people not named Jody, outdoor workshops and much, much more in this blog.
Nor will I use it to direct people to Friday's edition of the Bugle-Observer, which can be found at www.canadaeast.com, where the paper features a front-page story regarding 702 Main and a column by RiVA's own Amy Anderson.
I actually need to write about a journey I'm embarking on.
A few mind-altering things happened to me recently regarding my health.
I was walking to the bar the other night, and my lower back hurt so much I had to stop and lie down to stretch it out.
I knew it was because of my weight.
It's something I've struggled with for a very long time. In the last two years, I hadn't gained (nor lost) any weight since moving to Woodstock. I ate poorly much of the time, but I walked every day.
Since starting my new job (and getting a car), I've starting eating more poorly than ever before (think fast-food drive-thrus) and I've used my wheels to propel me around town.
I knew I had put on weight since the last time I checked - but I had no idea how much.
My high estimate was 10 pounds...I was wrong.
The last time I went pants shopping, I was up a size, it made me feel ill, but I still was ok.
It was the horrendous pain in my back that through me over the edge, and forced me to take a stand.
I, despite an exceptionally busy schedule, managed to make time to attend a weight watchers meeting.
It was inevitable, I was going to have to step on a scale - something I hadn't done in at least six months. I was not looking forward to it. The last time I checked, I was dangerously close to a very scary number.
Not only had I reached the frightening poundage, I had exceeded.
I nearly broke into tears in front of a room of people. But I didn't.
I stayed for the entire meeting and listened to what they had to say.
It was really great, and I have been sticking to my points all week. Already I feel better.
I played a show tonight with the Singing Bridge Orchestra, who incidentally will be playing at the Elks Club on Wed., Aug. 12, as part of dooryard arts, and felt more like dancing and really got into singing and playing the trombone. More than I have in quite sometime.
A few days will tell how successful I've been...it feels great to be taking a stand.
Nor will I use it to direct people to Friday's edition of the Bugle-Observer, which can be found at www.canadaeast.com, where the paper features a front-page story regarding 702 Main and a column by RiVA's own Amy Anderson.
I actually need to write about a journey I'm embarking on.
A few mind-altering things happened to me recently regarding my health.
I was walking to the bar the other night, and my lower back hurt so much I had to stop and lie down to stretch it out.
I knew it was because of my weight.
It's something I've struggled with for a very long time. In the last two years, I hadn't gained (nor lost) any weight since moving to Woodstock. I ate poorly much of the time, but I walked every day.
Since starting my new job (and getting a car), I've starting eating more poorly than ever before (think fast-food drive-thrus) and I've used my wheels to propel me around town.
I knew I had put on weight since the last time I checked - but I had no idea how much.
My high estimate was 10 pounds...I was wrong.
The last time I went pants shopping, I was up a size, it made me feel ill, but I still was ok.
It was the horrendous pain in my back that through me over the edge, and forced me to take a stand.
I, despite an exceptionally busy schedule, managed to make time to attend a weight watchers meeting.
It was inevitable, I was going to have to step on a scale - something I hadn't done in at least six months. I was not looking forward to it. The last time I checked, I was dangerously close to a very scary number.
Not only had I reached the frightening poundage, I had exceeded.
I nearly broke into tears in front of a room of people. But I didn't.
I stayed for the entire meeting and listened to what they had to say.
It was really great, and I have been sticking to my points all week. Already I feel better.
I played a show tonight with the Singing Bridge Orchestra, who incidentally will be playing at the Elks Club on Wed., Aug. 12, as part of dooryard arts, and felt more like dancing and really got into singing and playing the trombone. More than I have in quite sometime.
A few days will tell how successful I've been...it feels great to be taking a stand.
Tuesday, June 23, 2009
A lot about livin' and a little 'bout love
I'm writing this in response to a note that a friend recently posted on Facebook. It alleged that white people cannot dance, particularly Canadians. In this note, my friend referenced his first dancing experience, and his most recent. It made me nostalgic for the days of Junior High School Much Music Video Dances.
They cost at least two dollars more than a regular dance; however, it was SO worth it - especially in Grade 7. Everyone, and I mean everyone, even the cool ninth graders came out to the video dance. It was what student party night is to university students to the 12-15 year old teenagers at Quispamsis Junior High.
It was 1995, so some of the pretty and popular Grade 9 girls would wear loose-fitting, low-cut jeans, with their Calvin Klein underwear sticking out of the top. Looking back, I'm not sure if that was actually stylish, or if the girls were just proud to be wearing something designed by Calvin Klein and felt the need to show off. Most of us simply wore our green, burgundy or black Club Monaco sweatshirts. I don't think there was anything special about it, except for the name, but it cost over $40. Oh to be a slave to fashion.
I remember learning the macerena at this time, and a dance to Saturday Night by Whigfield if I'm not mistaken. Girls (and a few brave boys) would line up, side by side, and engage in these synchronized dance moves, mimicking what we'd see on the screen. Oh how wonderful we thought we were (actually, we only pretended to think we were wonderful - I know I didn't actually feel like I was). Then, IT happened. IT being the inevitable slow dance. How laughable we must have been to our teacher chaperons, or worse, the MUCH MUSIC video dance CREW!!! I'm sure they'd do it on purpose...play a Celine Dion song, or worse, November Rain...
Girls would quickly separate from their friends - their eyes darting wildly around the room - hoping and praying to see him. Oh yes, HIM. The lights are flashing, couples are starting to form, like a bees nestling on flowers - fear and dread take over, you see other girls, weaker girls, running to the bathroom in agony...their ever-comforting best friend close behind (only because no one asked her to dance either).
And then you see him, and, no, he wasn't your first choice, or your eleventh - but he wasn't dancing with anyone else...so you move in...the song's already two minutes in (but that's fine since November Rain is nearly ten minutes long).
"Ummmm....will you dance with me," you say with a quiver in your voice.
He agrees. THANK YOU GOD!
And so it begins...
THE SEVENTH GRADE SHUFFLE. Your arms are stretched as far as they'll reach, just to gently place them on his shoulders - his arms are also outstretched, to nervously place them on your waist (likely leaving a sweat mark on your brand new, olive green Club Monaco sweatshirt). There is room for at least one other person to slide in between the two of you...but it's magical.
Thoughts involve, "ooh, I wonder who's watching...oh my god, I'm three inches taller than him...his hands are really sweaty...Oh my god, Mr. Wilson's watching, totally embarassing."
Of course they don't play the extended version of the song...you awkwardly part ways with your dance partner...and it's off to do the Cotton Eyed Joe dance.
"Where did you come from, where did you go..."
Now, nearly 15 years later, it takes every amount of will power that I have to not launch into those familiar dances when I hear the songs associated with them (let's face it, I totally still do the dances). I may even haul out the running man or the shopping cart...
Many white people may not be able to dance with any sort of validity; however, we've mastered the art of making people laugh through our intricate, popular moves. There has to be something to say for that...right? maybe? err....LONG LIVE THE SEVENTH GRADE SHUFFLE (and thank you Mark Monroe for being taller than me in Grade 7 and dancing with me once at a Much Music Video Dance in 1995).
They cost at least two dollars more than a regular dance; however, it was SO worth it - especially in Grade 7. Everyone, and I mean everyone, even the cool ninth graders came out to the video dance. It was what student party night is to university students to the 12-15 year old teenagers at Quispamsis Junior High.
It was 1995, so some of the pretty and popular Grade 9 girls would wear loose-fitting, low-cut jeans, with their Calvin Klein underwear sticking out of the top. Looking back, I'm not sure if that was actually stylish, or if the girls were just proud to be wearing something designed by Calvin Klein and felt the need to show off. Most of us simply wore our green, burgundy or black Club Monaco sweatshirts. I don't think there was anything special about it, except for the name, but it cost over $40. Oh to be a slave to fashion.
I remember learning the macerena at this time, and a dance to Saturday Night by Whigfield if I'm not mistaken. Girls (and a few brave boys) would line up, side by side, and engage in these synchronized dance moves, mimicking what we'd see on the screen. Oh how wonderful we thought we were (actually, we only pretended to think we were wonderful - I know I didn't actually feel like I was). Then, IT happened. IT being the inevitable slow dance. How laughable we must have been to our teacher chaperons, or worse, the MUCH MUSIC video dance CREW!!! I'm sure they'd do it on purpose...play a Celine Dion song, or worse, November Rain...
Girls would quickly separate from their friends - their eyes darting wildly around the room - hoping and praying to see him. Oh yes, HIM. The lights are flashing, couples are starting to form, like a bees nestling on flowers - fear and dread take over, you see other girls, weaker girls, running to the bathroom in agony...their ever-comforting best friend close behind (only because no one asked her to dance either).
And then you see him, and, no, he wasn't your first choice, or your eleventh - but he wasn't dancing with anyone else...so you move in...the song's already two minutes in (but that's fine since November Rain is nearly ten minutes long).
"Ummmm....will you dance with me," you say with a quiver in your voice.
He agrees. THANK YOU GOD!
And so it begins...
THE SEVENTH GRADE SHUFFLE. Your arms are stretched as far as they'll reach, just to gently place them on his shoulders - his arms are also outstretched, to nervously place them on your waist (likely leaving a sweat mark on your brand new, olive green Club Monaco sweatshirt). There is room for at least one other person to slide in between the two of you...but it's magical.
Thoughts involve, "ooh, I wonder who's watching...oh my god, I'm three inches taller than him...his hands are really sweaty...Oh my god, Mr. Wilson's watching, totally embarassing."
Of course they don't play the extended version of the song...you awkwardly part ways with your dance partner...and it's off to do the Cotton Eyed Joe dance.
"Where did you come from, where did you go..."
Now, nearly 15 years later, it takes every amount of will power that I have to not launch into those familiar dances when I hear the songs associated with them (let's face it, I totally still do the dances). I may even haul out the running man or the shopping cart...
Many white people may not be able to dance with any sort of validity; however, we've mastered the art of making people laugh through our intricate, popular moves. There has to be something to say for that...right? maybe? err....LONG LIVE THE SEVENTH GRADE SHUFFLE (and thank you Mark Monroe for being taller than me in Grade 7 and dancing with me once at a Much Music Video Dance in 1995).
Monday, May 18, 2009
If it Feels Good Do It
You can only experience something for the first time once. Makes sense, right. Even seems a little obvious. But, is it true?
I was recently talking to a friend who had resisted reading 1984 - not because he thought he wouldn't like it - but because he wanted to savour that first-time experience. He'd read Brave New World because he'd heard them compared. He walked around with a copy. I looked at this avid reader in utter dismay, because I knew that he would adore this novel. I quickly ran to my room and found my copy to hand over.
This is why I believe it is possible to recapture the feeling of doing something for the first time - by passing it on.
Nearly four years ago, I was in my fourth year at UNBSJ and working at Kent part time. At work, I hung out with two young men, about my age, who I also went to school with. We spent entire Saturday evening shifts discussing books, school, movies, girl/boy troubles and Star Wars. These boys spent a solid 68% of our shifts referencing and quoting Star Wars. The trouble was that I had never seen it. I had resisted for many of the same reasons that my friend resisted reading 1984.
Also, I worried that it was built up so much by so many people that it would inevitably disappoint. After much chastising, when The Revenge of the Sith was released in theatres, I sat down and watched Star Wars. All of them. However, I started with the prequels. (For anyone else who lived under a rock and never saw Star Wars, I highly recommend you watch them in that order). JarJar Binks is an almost tolerable character when you've never seen any of the other movies. Anyway, I digress.
These two boys, who had literally seen Star Wars hundreds of times, found new appreciation in sharing it with me. My thoughts on the experiment we tried were valued, and I could see the twinkle in their eyes in listening to what I had to say. They had the opportunity to watch a favourite movie of theirs through new eyes.
For me, I feel this fresh feeling every time I share my favourite song with someone who's never heard it - I get down right giddy. It's pretty ridiculous. It's one of those songs that starts off quietly, and then builds into this big, brassy, mass of excellence. The lyrics are stellar as well. (The song is My Little Town by Simon and Garfunkel - I couldn't find a decent version on youtube, so I didn't post a link). Anyway, I love watching someone who's never heard the song listen to it. I get chills just like the first time I heard it.
My point is, if something is great - it will be even greater as you pass it on.
I was recently talking to a friend who had resisted reading 1984 - not because he thought he wouldn't like it - but because he wanted to savour that first-time experience. He'd read Brave New World because he'd heard them compared. He walked around with a copy. I looked at this avid reader in utter dismay, because I knew that he would adore this novel. I quickly ran to my room and found my copy to hand over.
This is why I believe it is possible to recapture the feeling of doing something for the first time - by passing it on.
Nearly four years ago, I was in my fourth year at UNBSJ and working at Kent part time. At work, I hung out with two young men, about my age, who I also went to school with. We spent entire Saturday evening shifts discussing books, school, movies, girl/boy troubles and Star Wars. These boys spent a solid 68% of our shifts referencing and quoting Star Wars. The trouble was that I had never seen it. I had resisted for many of the same reasons that my friend resisted reading 1984.
Also, I worried that it was built up so much by so many people that it would inevitably disappoint. After much chastising, when The Revenge of the Sith was released in theatres, I sat down and watched Star Wars. All of them. However, I started with the prequels. (For anyone else who lived under a rock and never saw Star Wars, I highly recommend you watch them in that order). JarJar Binks is an almost tolerable character when you've never seen any of the other movies. Anyway, I digress.
These two boys, who had literally seen Star Wars hundreds of times, found new appreciation in sharing it with me. My thoughts on the experiment we tried were valued, and I could see the twinkle in their eyes in listening to what I had to say. They had the opportunity to watch a favourite movie of theirs through new eyes.
For me, I feel this fresh feeling every time I share my favourite song with someone who's never heard it - I get down right giddy. It's pretty ridiculous. It's one of those songs that starts off quietly, and then builds into this big, brassy, mass of excellence. The lyrics are stellar as well. (The song is My Little Town by Simon and Garfunkel - I couldn't find a decent version on youtube, so I didn't post a link). Anyway, I love watching someone who's never heard the song listen to it. I get chills just like the first time I heard it.
My point is, if something is great - it will be even greater as you pass it on.
Monday, May 4, 2009
When Pigs Fry
I read this morning that the Egyptian government has ordered the slaughter of every pig in the country. I have a few things to say about this:
1. HOLY OVERREACTION BATMAN
2. Is it really going to prevent people from catching swine flu? What's the next step: shooting anyone who enters the country who 'may have' come in contact with someone who's been infected?
3. There have been no reported cases in Egypt. Really, I should invert 2 and 3.
4. Who does this help? It certainly isn't the pig farmer. Or the pig (but perhaps they're doomed anyway). Or even the consumer...
5. When does this stop? Who draws the line?
1. HOLY OVERREACTION BATMAN
2. Is it really going to prevent people from catching swine flu? What's the next step: shooting anyone who enters the country who 'may have' come in contact with someone who's been infected?
3. There have been no reported cases in Egypt. Really, I should invert 2 and 3.
4. Who does this help? It certainly isn't the pig farmer. Or the pig (but perhaps they're doomed anyway). Or even the consumer...
5. When does this stop? Who draws the line?
Saturday, March 28, 2009
university re-visited
I was flipping through an old file on my computer and I found this essay on ethics. It may be a little dry, but I like it. So..I decided to post it.
The first thing that comes to mind when asked ‘why ought one be ethical’ is to say that their conscience would be afflicted if they were not ethical. The question then becomes what is the conscience? I believe that the conscience is a construct of society which subconsciously and uncontrollably means that it is external, societal forces which deem what is ethical. Therefore, if external forces are what define ethics; we must look to the outside as to why we ought to be ethical. This makes the reason that one ought to be ethical simple, one ought to be ethical to conform to society.
This leaves me, personally, with an ethical conundrum. In order to function in society one has to be aware of ethics, whether one chooses to follow them or not. Kant argues that “we can readily distinguish whether the action which agrees with duty is done from duty, or from a selfish view” (Kant 297). Kant points out that it is out of duty to society that people should act ethically: “Now an action done from duty must wholly exclude the influence of inclination and with it every object of the will, so that nothing remains which can determine the will except objectively the law, and subjectively pure respect for this practical law, and consequently the maxim that I should follow this law even to the thwarting of all my inclinations” (Kant 299). However, on the other side of the coin, one questions the method in which these societal ethics and the laws which Kant deems important enough to define our moral code came into fruition.
Nietzsche points out that “no one is responsible for the fact that he exists at all, that he is constituted as he is, and that he happens to be in certain circumstances and in a particular environment. The fatality of his being cannot be divorced from the fatality of all that which has been and will be. This is not the result of and individual attention, of a will, of an aim, there is no attempt at attaining to any ‘ideal man,’ or ‘ideal happiness’ or ‘ideal morality’ with him” (314). When unpacking this in relation to ethics, Nietzsche is basically arguing that a person’s very being is dependent upon all that has happened before him and everything that is to come and I conclude that if there is no ideal to strive for, a person is only performing what he deems will keep him fit for society. This is an unconscious decision which is not a decision at all because the ‘truths’ of society are so engrained into a person that they are unable to escape and therefore it is society which deems ethics yet again.
The original question of this essay is, “why ought one be ethical”? The answer which I have delineated for the last couple of pages are simply that people ought to be ethical in order to conform to society; however, I do not think that everyone ought to be ethical and thus ensues an ethical conundrum. First of all, ethics vary within different cultures which becomes evident during war times and whose juridical systems deem which ethics are the most ethical (not to sound redundant). Second of all, even within the same culture, if everyone were ethical, how would we even know the difference? Also, there is an inherent problem with the history which defines our ethics.
Historically, it was the leaders with the best armies and/or propaganda that deemed what was right. This has not changed and will never change. This makes ethics very ethnocentric. Most societies began out of violence and greed and then once set up are the very people who formulate a moral code for the masses without even knowing it. The fact that it is greed and violence which put leaders in control is unethical itself which makes the entire notion of ethics ludicrous.
The question of ethics now comes under fire, which deems the question of this essay ridiculous. When traced, my own personal ethics can be traced to my parents, which inevitably winds up at the Judeo-Christian model of morality found in the Bible. The very nature of the bible then comes into question. It is simply a book based on many parables written by men, apparently under the influence of God, who say very lofty and at times contradictory things. People have used this model of ethics to do very unethical things like bomb buildings, kill people, and wage war on countries that do not see eye to eye with what political leaders deem correct. It is hard to swallow that this is what our society’s moral code is based upon and therefore it makes the question, ‘why ought one be ethical’ a really hard one to answer and the very nature of the question ridiculous.
If it the question was, “why is one ethical” it would be much easier to turn to society and explain that most people want to avoid detainment and chastisement and therefore conform to the rules of society. I do not know if people ought to be ethical. If one wants to fit into the construct that is society, by all means, they must be ethical; however, if there is an inherent problem with the ethics that society has deemed necessity, they will never change unless there are people who act unethically according to the laws of their particular society.
If a person believes in the society in which they live, they ought to act ethically at all costs. If, however, they view inherent problems with the doctrines of the society in which they live, it would be impossible for them to act ethically under the construct of their particular society. When this is the case, if the questioner of society is a powerful enough figure, there is violence and thus that questioner now becomes the moral leader and the masses simply follow whoever’s ethics are the most powerful at the time (i.e., Constantine making Christianity the thing to do in Rome). Ethics, therefore, are ever changing and the only reason to be ethical is to conform to society in which one currently lives.
Works Cited
Kant, Immanuel. “The Categorical Imperative”. Philosophy: History and
Problems. Ed. Samuel Enoch Stumpf and James Fieser. New York:
McGraw Hill, 2003.
Nietzsche, Freiderich. “Turning Values Upside Down”. Philosophy: History
and Problems. Ed. Samuel Enoch Stumpf and James Fieser. New York:
McGraw Hill, 2003.
The first thing that comes to mind when asked ‘why ought one be ethical’ is to say that their conscience would be afflicted if they were not ethical. The question then becomes what is the conscience? I believe that the conscience is a construct of society which subconsciously and uncontrollably means that it is external, societal forces which deem what is ethical. Therefore, if external forces are what define ethics; we must look to the outside as to why we ought to be ethical. This makes the reason that one ought to be ethical simple, one ought to be ethical to conform to society.
This leaves me, personally, with an ethical conundrum. In order to function in society one has to be aware of ethics, whether one chooses to follow them or not. Kant argues that “we can readily distinguish whether the action which agrees with duty is done from duty, or from a selfish view” (Kant 297). Kant points out that it is out of duty to society that people should act ethically: “Now an action done from duty must wholly exclude the influence of inclination and with it every object of the will, so that nothing remains which can determine the will except objectively the law, and subjectively pure respect for this practical law, and consequently the maxim that I should follow this law even to the thwarting of all my inclinations” (Kant 299). However, on the other side of the coin, one questions the method in which these societal ethics and the laws which Kant deems important enough to define our moral code came into fruition.
Nietzsche points out that “no one is responsible for the fact that he exists at all, that he is constituted as he is, and that he happens to be in certain circumstances and in a particular environment. The fatality of his being cannot be divorced from the fatality of all that which has been and will be. This is not the result of and individual attention, of a will, of an aim, there is no attempt at attaining to any ‘ideal man,’ or ‘ideal happiness’ or ‘ideal morality’ with him” (314). When unpacking this in relation to ethics, Nietzsche is basically arguing that a person’s very being is dependent upon all that has happened before him and everything that is to come and I conclude that if there is no ideal to strive for, a person is only performing what he deems will keep him fit for society. This is an unconscious decision which is not a decision at all because the ‘truths’ of society are so engrained into a person that they are unable to escape and therefore it is society which deems ethics yet again.
The original question of this essay is, “why ought one be ethical”? The answer which I have delineated for the last couple of pages are simply that people ought to be ethical in order to conform to society; however, I do not think that everyone ought to be ethical and thus ensues an ethical conundrum. First of all, ethics vary within different cultures which becomes evident during war times and whose juridical systems deem which ethics are the most ethical (not to sound redundant). Second of all, even within the same culture, if everyone were ethical, how would we even know the difference? Also, there is an inherent problem with the history which defines our ethics.
Historically, it was the leaders with the best armies and/or propaganda that deemed what was right. This has not changed and will never change. This makes ethics very ethnocentric. Most societies began out of violence and greed and then once set up are the very people who formulate a moral code for the masses without even knowing it. The fact that it is greed and violence which put leaders in control is unethical itself which makes the entire notion of ethics ludicrous.
The question of ethics now comes under fire, which deems the question of this essay ridiculous. When traced, my own personal ethics can be traced to my parents, which inevitably winds up at the Judeo-Christian model of morality found in the Bible. The very nature of the bible then comes into question. It is simply a book based on many parables written by men, apparently under the influence of God, who say very lofty and at times contradictory things. People have used this model of ethics to do very unethical things like bomb buildings, kill people, and wage war on countries that do not see eye to eye with what political leaders deem correct. It is hard to swallow that this is what our society’s moral code is based upon and therefore it makes the question, ‘why ought one be ethical’ a really hard one to answer and the very nature of the question ridiculous.
If it the question was, “why is one ethical” it would be much easier to turn to society and explain that most people want to avoid detainment and chastisement and therefore conform to the rules of society. I do not know if people ought to be ethical. If one wants to fit into the construct that is society, by all means, they must be ethical; however, if there is an inherent problem with the ethics that society has deemed necessity, they will never change unless there are people who act unethically according to the laws of their particular society.
If a person believes in the society in which they live, they ought to act ethically at all costs. If, however, they view inherent problems with the doctrines of the society in which they live, it would be impossible for them to act ethically under the construct of their particular society. When this is the case, if the questioner of society is a powerful enough figure, there is violence and thus that questioner now becomes the moral leader and the masses simply follow whoever’s ethics are the most powerful at the time (i.e., Constantine making Christianity the thing to do in Rome). Ethics, therefore, are ever changing and the only reason to be ethical is to conform to society in which one currently lives.
Works Cited
Kant, Immanuel. “The Categorical Imperative”. Philosophy: History and
Problems. Ed. Samuel Enoch Stumpf and James Fieser. New York:
McGraw Hill, 2003.
Nietzsche, Freiderich. “Turning Values Upside Down”. Philosophy: History
and Problems. Ed. Samuel Enoch Stumpf and James Fieser. New York:
McGraw Hill, 2003.
Sunday, March 22, 2009
Blogging
What is this foolishly addictive pass-time that I have started? It has seemingly turned into a journal/sounding board/forum for my random thoughts. It's crazy to think that people read this.
Until I was forced into blogging, I thought it was the most ridiculous thing on the planet. It's seemingly something that has grown on me in a big way.
It's ended up being the catalyst for some pretty major things happening.
Until I was forced into blogging, I thought it was the most ridiculous thing on the planet. It's seemingly something that has grown on me in a big way.
It's ended up being the catalyst for some pretty major things happening.
With every ending comes new beginnings. The print industry is going through an evolution of sorts. It seems like a grim time for newspapers across the world as people seemingly find their news from other, much faster, sources.
I think that it is an exciting time to be in print because you have the ability to reinvent the wheel. The industry will die if it follows the path it's on. Newspapers aren't used to break news anymore. They need to be looked at like a community machine, if you will.
Take Woodstock, for example. The Bugle Observer (or the Carleton FreePress when they were here) don't pretend that they are the only place that people are finding news. Anything huge, we're going to hear about on radio, television or the internet. The traditional response is that the newspaper is supposed to further detail things for us.
I will even go so far as to say that the newspaper has the ability to transform itself into something wholly different by covering events in the community. Papers will sell if your kid, or your dog, or your team, or your friend, or your business is featured. And ads will sell if papers are selling. I'm sure that's why papers in smaller centers are staying alive (even if it's barely alive).
Maybe I'm not saying anything new, but alas, that's what I think right now.
I think that it is an exciting time to be in print because you have the ability to reinvent the wheel. The industry will die if it follows the path it's on. Newspapers aren't used to break news anymore. They need to be looked at like a community machine, if you will.
Take Woodstock, for example. The Bugle Observer (or the Carleton FreePress when they were here) don't pretend that they are the only place that people are finding news. Anything huge, we're going to hear about on radio, television or the internet. The traditional response is that the newspaper is supposed to further detail things for us.
I will even go so far as to say that the newspaper has the ability to transform itself into something wholly different by covering events in the community. Papers will sell if your kid, or your dog, or your team, or your friend, or your business is featured. And ads will sell if papers are selling. I'm sure that's why papers in smaller centers are staying alive (even if it's barely alive).
Maybe I'm not saying anything new, but alas, that's what I think right now.
Saturday, March 14, 2009
Old Friends and Bookends
Life is a funny little thing sometimes. The things that probably should be awkward and weird are not, and things that should be natural are.
I said on this very blog not too long ago that some things are better left unsaid. I was wrong.
I'm not saying you should say every little thing that pops in your head...you'd start sounding like a James Joyce novel. (That is a headtrip to read...even more of one to listen to someone like that). However, in the last couple of weeks, I've discovered a lot about myself and the people around me. Some of it impacted me initially in a rather negative way; however, it has turned into one of the most positive times in my life.
If there's somethin' on your mind....spill it. You'll feel better. I promise.
I said on this very blog not too long ago that some things are better left unsaid. I was wrong.
I'm not saying you should say every little thing that pops in your head...you'd start sounding like a James Joyce novel. (That is a headtrip to read...even more of one to listen to someone like that). However, in the last couple of weeks, I've discovered a lot about myself and the people around me. Some of it impacted me initially in a rather negative way; however, it has turned into one of the most positive times in my life.
If there's somethin' on your mind....spill it. You'll feel better. I promise.
Friday, March 6, 2009
He's Just Not That Into You
So...I just completed a rather enjoyable day. I realized how exceptionally cool I was when after watching a girly romantic-comedy with two great girls, I say (in my out loud voice), "wow, I feel like I need to go home and blog about this."
Seriously, this is what my life has become. A few short months ago, I thought blogging was the epitome of self-centered, gratuitous, public journals--I have become the person I once loathed (And I LOVE it!! muahahaha). Occasionally I may actually blog about important things..but not tonight.
The movie I saw tonight, He's Just Not That Into You, was hilarious. Hilarious because I saw myself and many of my friends in every female character in that movie. The protagonist was essentially a caricature of many single women in their twenties and thirties. EVERYTHING a guy does contains some sort of sign or secret message. Then, we analyze each of these signs ad nauseum with friends, until we convince ourselves that the particular male character in our lives LIKES US! Actually Like Likes us. Any logical person knows and will tell you that this is irrational behaviour. Does it stop??? OF COURSE NOT!
I think, to some degree, that it gives us hope. Most of us know that our very own John Cusack isn't going to stand outside our bedroom window with his ghetto blaster playing a love song, or that Richard Gere is going to drive up in his white limousine, whilst overcoming his fear of heights to climb the fire escape into our apartment...we know that. But part of us REALLY, REALLY wants to believe that some guy (no, not just some guy, THE GUY) is going to swoop in and perform that grand romantic gesture.
Well...I am most definitely a sap. Oh well, I will go to sleep tonight with a smile in my heart.
P.S. I am aware that it is perfectly alright and awesome being an independent person, and I'm kind of rocking that life. That's why I'm not willing to settle for just anyone.
The link is to The Cure's "Friday I'm in Love." They used it in the end credits of the film, and I LOVE IT!!
Seriously, this is what my life has become. A few short months ago, I thought blogging was the epitome of self-centered, gratuitous, public journals--I have become the person I once loathed (And I LOVE it!! muahahaha). Occasionally I may actually blog about important things..but not tonight.
The movie I saw tonight, He's Just Not That Into You, was hilarious. Hilarious because I saw myself and many of my friends in every female character in that movie. The protagonist was essentially a caricature of many single women in their twenties and thirties. EVERYTHING a guy does contains some sort of sign or secret message. Then, we analyze each of these signs ad nauseum with friends, until we convince ourselves that the particular male character in our lives LIKES US! Actually Like Likes us. Any logical person knows and will tell you that this is irrational behaviour. Does it stop??? OF COURSE NOT!
I think, to some degree, that it gives us hope. Most of us know that our very own John Cusack isn't going to stand outside our bedroom window with his ghetto blaster playing a love song, or that Richard Gere is going to drive up in his white limousine, whilst overcoming his fear of heights to climb the fire escape into our apartment...we know that. But part of us REALLY, REALLY wants to believe that some guy (no, not just some guy, THE GUY) is going to swoop in and perform that grand romantic gesture.
Well...I am most definitely a sap. Oh well, I will go to sleep tonight with a smile in my heart.
P.S. I am aware that it is perfectly alright and awesome being an independent person, and I'm kind of rocking that life. That's why I'm not willing to settle for just anyone.
The link is to The Cure's "Friday I'm in Love." They used it in the end credits of the film, and I LOVE IT!!
Tuesday, March 3, 2009
Hold On
My grandmother had a heart attack this weekend. No one knew it was a heart attack until tests were run later. In the last ten years, nanny has had two strokes and now two heart attacks. When her doctor recommended she move to a nursing home seven years ago, I'm sure he didn't think she had much longer. She did. This weekend, the hospital called my mom and her sister and told them to get there at 3am because they weren't sure she'd pull through the night. She did. I'm not sure why anyone is surprised. Pierette Woods is probably the strongest, most dignified woman I know.
She's a mother of seven: five boys and two girls. There were three kids in diapers at one time. That is strength.
She made three meals a day for her large family. At the time, this was the norm in society. Hard to believe. I can't even imagine peeling potatoes for nine people. That is strength.
Her third born, Kenny, died in a car accident at the age of seventeen. No mother should ever have to lose a child. That is strength.
Having none of your children, for various reasons, stay in the town that you live in after they finished high school. Possibly feeling abaondoned, though I'm sure that wasn't the case. That is strength.
Losing the love of your life, who you've known since you were three years old, to a long battle with cancer, and being able to carry on. That is strength.
Now, suffering with congestive heart failure for many years. It seems unlikely that she'll make it much longer. Though, it has seemed unlikely that she'd survive as long as she has. Quite frankly, I wouldn't be surprised if she outlasted us all. But why would she want to?
The pain she's in now, compounded with the pain she's already endured. It would be easy to just let go. She keeps holding on. That is strength.
She's a mother of seven: five boys and two girls. There were three kids in diapers at one time. That is strength.
She made three meals a day for her large family. At the time, this was the norm in society. Hard to believe. I can't even imagine peeling potatoes for nine people. That is strength.
Her third born, Kenny, died in a car accident at the age of seventeen. No mother should ever have to lose a child. That is strength.
Having none of your children, for various reasons, stay in the town that you live in after they finished high school. Possibly feeling abaondoned, though I'm sure that wasn't the case. That is strength.
Losing the love of your life, who you've known since you were three years old, to a long battle with cancer, and being able to carry on. That is strength.
Now, suffering with congestive heart failure for many years. It seems unlikely that she'll make it much longer. Though, it has seemed unlikely that she'd survive as long as she has. Quite frankly, I wouldn't be surprised if she outlasted us all. But why would she want to?
The pain she's in now, compounded with the pain she's already endured. It would be easy to just let go. She keeps holding on. That is strength.
Monday, March 2, 2009
In like a lamb..no lion...no lamb..no lion..no, LAMB.
Well...I've started two separate blogs in the past couple of days that I just couldn't complete. One was about Tasers, and the other I just opened a "new post" and didn't make it any further than that.
This feels like the first March break that I've really had since I was in high school. I started working when I was 18 (which I realize is fairly late, but I babysat forty hours a week the two summers before I worked at Kent), and once I started working, I worked every break I had. Then, when I graduated from university in 'o5, the working world consumed me. My point is really that I'm taking an actual break right now. It's wholly strange. Certainly not anything I'm accustomed to, considering I take life on at 100 miles an hour 98.376% of the time.
March has traditionally been my favourite month. I'm not gonna lie about it, my birthday being in March doesn't hurt...but it goes further than that. Days have grown long enough that you don't feel like curling up and sleeping at 6pm; there are signs (however small they may be..like 8 or 9 birds in a tree) of spring; and really the promise of new beginnings and fresh starts. That's what it's about.
February ended in a cataclysmically cathartic chaos for me. March, even before I left Woodstock, began much more serenely, with a fresh outlook. Thus, March has come in like a lamb...that's the final consensus. I sure hope it's not out like a LION!!! (or if it is, I hope it's the lion from The Wizard of Oz....I really could while away the hours....)
This feels like the first March break that I've really had since I was in high school. I started working when I was 18 (which I realize is fairly late, but I babysat forty hours a week the two summers before I worked at Kent), and once I started working, I worked every break I had. Then, when I graduated from university in 'o5, the working world consumed me. My point is really that I'm taking an actual break right now. It's wholly strange. Certainly not anything I'm accustomed to, considering I take life on at 100 miles an hour 98.376% of the time.
March has traditionally been my favourite month. I'm not gonna lie about it, my birthday being in March doesn't hurt...but it goes further than that. Days have grown long enough that you don't feel like curling up and sleeping at 6pm; there are signs (however small they may be..like 8 or 9 birds in a tree) of spring; and really the promise of new beginnings and fresh starts. That's what it's about.
February ended in a cataclysmically cathartic chaos for me. March, even before I left Woodstock, began much more serenely, with a fresh outlook. Thus, March has come in like a lamb...that's the final consensus. I sure hope it's not out like a LION!!! (or if it is, I hope it's the lion from The Wizard of Oz....I really could while away the hours....)
Thursday, February 26, 2009
This is Me
Someone recently told me to make a list of things that I like about myself. I'm not entirely sure what that will accomplish. Will I look at the list and then not be able to fit through doors as my head is so big? Who knows? This person is wise, so I'm going to give it a whirl. I probably shouldn't do it this publicly, but alas, my journal is too far away, and I hate writing in notepad on the computer.
I think I've got a good sense of humour. I'm reasonably intelligent. I'm empathetic (sometimes I despise this about myself, but I'm mostly thankful for it). I like the colour o f my eyes. I like that I play the trombone. I like my friends. I usually like my hair. As annoying as they may be for some, I like my puns. I'm feeling pretty weird about this. I like that I'm president of the student council. I like my work ethic. Well.....this self-indulgent list is getting quite long enough I think.
Ok, this is one of the hardest things I've ever written, and I've written a five-page paper about a comma in John Donne's "Death be not Proud" poem. Seriously.
As a sidebar, will the Barenaked Ladies survive without Stephen Paige? I personally am going to miss the soothing tone of his sweet tenor tunes. Time will only tell. And what the hell was Paige thinking, leaving the band. One week, if he loses a million dollars, discovers alcohol and moves into the old apartment, is how long it will take Paige to return to the Ladies. I can't stand to learn anyone else's name in the band, except Ed.
I think I've got a good sense of humour. I'm reasonably intelligent. I'm empathetic (sometimes I despise this about myself, but I'm mostly thankful for it). I like the colour o f my eyes. I like that I play the trombone. I like my friends. I usually like my hair. As annoying as they may be for some, I like my puns. I'm feeling pretty weird about this. I like that I'm president of the student council. I like my work ethic. Well.....this self-indulgent list is getting quite long enough I think.
Ok, this is one of the hardest things I've ever written, and I've written a five-page paper about a comma in John Donne's "Death be not Proud" poem. Seriously.
As a sidebar, will the Barenaked Ladies survive without Stephen Paige? I personally am going to miss the soothing tone of his sweet tenor tunes. Time will only tell. And what the hell was Paige thinking, leaving the band. One week, if he loses a million dollars, discovers alcohol and moves into the old apartment, is how long it will take Paige to return to the Ladies. I can't stand to learn anyone else's name in the band, except Ed.
Tuesday, February 24, 2009
The things I can't say
I am an open person. I don't have many secrets (especially not after my documentary screening the other night). Thank you to everyone who came. I truly felt loved.
I feel like there are a few things that I can't express, despite my typically open attitude. My reasons for keeping the secrets I have are for the sake of protecting those around me. Sometimes it's hard to hold everything inside. But, I have to.
No good could come from saying everything. I mean, that's why we, as human beings, have filters. A wise friend of mine recently said (in a blog) to seize the day. I'm not sure what, if any, good could come from spilling my guts on this one.
I also think it's impossible to keep things in completely. It really hurts to do that. So, alas, I'm using this forum to speak in circles. I would apologize for this; however, I find myself apologizing a lot lately, and I'm not really sure why. I wonder if using those two words so often negates their meaning.
Sometimes I wish I could scream and yell and get angry, but that's not me. And I don't really feel like that. I think my empathy for others (including the people who hurt me sometimes) makes me understand why people do the things they do. Thus, I can justify it in my mind, thus I can't get angry. I just hurt.
This certainly isn't an indication of how I feel all the time....just right now. Don't worry about me, I will be fine. I just needed to write this.
Sunday, February 22, 2009
Journeys
I have two friends who, in a week, drove to Nashville, Tennessee, and back. Their trip was epic.
I did not venture out of the GWA (greater Woodstock area), yet this week was a different kind of journey.
I started the week with a large task at hand - finishing my documentary about my own struggle with weight. The interviews that I shot for this doc. had already changed my life for the better in terms of becoming a happier person. I now had to finish.
There were some obstacles at the beginning of the week (and I wouldn't change them for anything). I had a friend who needed me, and then was hit like a tonne of bricks with a terrible head cold. This made staring at a computer screen to edit impossible. I lost two and a half days of work - I knew I would get through it though.
I brought the essentials to school on Thursday and Friday - slippers, blankie, apples and the will to finish. I looked like a documentary superhero with my hot pink blankie wrapped around my shoulders like a cape, and my brown and beige checked slippers.
This mind-bending journey ended at 9:26pm on Friday - and I was mentally and physically exhausted (and in desperate need of a shower). Instead, I went to a party. I was virtually incapable of normal human interaction, and barely remember being there. (I was not under the influence).
The documentary trip I have been on for the last month has brought me places inside my own mind that I had rarely visited, and illuminated things that had never shone.
I did not venture out of the GWA (greater Woodstock area), yet this week was a different kind of journey.
I started the week with a large task at hand - finishing my documentary about my own struggle with weight. The interviews that I shot for this doc. had already changed my life for the better in terms of becoming a happier person. I now had to finish.
There were some obstacles at the beginning of the week (and I wouldn't change them for anything). I had a friend who needed me, and then was hit like a tonne of bricks with a terrible head cold. This made staring at a computer screen to edit impossible. I lost two and a half days of work - I knew I would get through it though.
I brought the essentials to school on Thursday and Friday - slippers, blankie, apples and the will to finish. I looked like a documentary superhero with my hot pink blankie wrapped around my shoulders like a cape, and my brown and beige checked slippers.
This mind-bending journey ended at 9:26pm on Friday - and I was mentally and physically exhausted (and in desperate need of a shower). Instead, I went to a party. I was virtually incapable of normal human interaction, and barely remember being there. (I was not under the influence).
The documentary trip I have been on for the last month has brought me places inside my own mind that I had rarely visited, and illuminated things that had never shone.
Wednesday, February 18, 2009
trying too hard
Perhaps my hand at simple analogies was thwarted. I was just rereading my last post and have realized that it simply looks like I am incapable of boiling water.
Moving right along, it seems this world is filled with second, third and sometimes even fourth chances (as was proven here at school this week), so I will continue to try awkward analogies.
What to compare next...mushroom clouds to peas? Hmmm...that might be a bit of a reach. Or, fighting to rainbows? Getting closer, but I digress.
In all honesty, this is me procrastinating finishing my documentary. I should really get on that.
Friday, February 13, 2009
A Watched Pot Always Boils?
I was making rice the other day, and was staring at the pot. I got the old "watched pot never boils" adage stuck in my head, and realized how utterly ridiculous it was. You're applying heat to a container filled with water - it doesn't care whether I'm watching or not - it's going to boil. In fact, when transferring this logic to life (which is what you're supposed to do with old adages I think), sometimes the aforesaid watched pot boils faster.
You're writing a test. You answer one question, skip the second, gaze around the room - only to notice the teacher looking directly at YOU. You immediately put your mind back on the test and quickly scribble through it. You've noticed someone watching you, so you launch into action.
On a more worldwide level, we, as the media, have the ability to illuminate situations in the world, thus inciting change. When we start assigning faces to statistics, that can cause the masses to feel something. It's easy for people to ignore statistics, but when there is a story about a specific girl, with a specific problem, and that story gets lots of attention - things happen. Thus, once it is watched, it boils.
Oh my, it seems the water is boiling now...I can't believe it boiled without me watching.
You're writing a test. You answer one question, skip the second, gaze around the room - only to notice the teacher looking directly at YOU. You immediately put your mind back on the test and quickly scribble through it. You've noticed someone watching you, so you launch into action.
On a more worldwide level, we, as the media, have the ability to illuminate situations in the world, thus inciting change. When we start assigning faces to statistics, that can cause the masses to feel something. It's easy for people to ignore statistics, but when there is a story about a specific girl, with a specific problem, and that story gets lots of attention - things happen. Thus, once it is watched, it boils.
Oh my, it seems the water is boiling now...I can't believe it boiled without me watching.
Monday, February 9, 2009
Masks
"All the world's a stage,
And all the men and women merely players;" (As You Like It Act II: Scene VII, Lines 139-140)
Why is this the case? Are we (collectively) so afraid of ruffling feathers that we stick to social mores? I wonder what the world would be like if we simply exposed ourselves. I wonder if we even know how.
The masks we all wear must serve some sort of purpose. I mean, it would be ridiculous to run around and say exactly what we thought, and did exactly what we wanted all the time. I know I would be arrested if I acted on every impulse I had. I do wish I was brave enough to say some things though.
Yesterday, when I was struck by this idea, I was concerned that we were all ticking time bombs, waiting to explode while living under these social constraints. I know that I am in some ways. I hold on to so much stuff that it bubbles out of me in ways I can't control. It's not typically an explosion though. It's more of a leak (completely unrelated to my last blog entry ;)).
I start off by saying one thing, that I instantly regret; but have said too much to not keep going. Like last week when I was speaking with the Director of Administration, the Principal and two department heads at a meeting and I said, "Nobody parties harder than I do..." I could have just left it at that and been embarrassed later, but no...I turn red, look around and day, "I can't believe I just said that...I feel really stupid now!"
That's a fairly minor case of my verbal diarrhea. There have been much worse.....
But alas, those are stories for other days!
And all the men and women merely players;" (As You Like It Act II: Scene VII, Lines 139-140)
Why is this the case? Are we (collectively) so afraid of ruffling feathers that we stick to social mores? I wonder what the world would be like if we simply exposed ourselves. I wonder if we even know how.
The masks we all wear must serve some sort of purpose. I mean, it would be ridiculous to run around and say exactly what we thought, and did exactly what we wanted all the time. I know I would be arrested if I acted on every impulse I had. I do wish I was brave enough to say some things though.
Yesterday, when I was struck by this idea, I was concerned that we were all ticking time bombs, waiting to explode while living under these social constraints. I know that I am in some ways. I hold on to so much stuff that it bubbles out of me in ways I can't control. It's not typically an explosion though. It's more of a leak (completely unrelated to my last blog entry ;)).
I start off by saying one thing, that I instantly regret; but have said too much to not keep going. Like last week when I was speaking with the Director of Administration, the Principal and two department heads at a meeting and I said, "Nobody parties harder than I do..." I could have just left it at that and been embarrassed later, but no...I turn red, look around and day, "I can't believe I just said that...I feel really stupid now!"
That's a fairly minor case of my verbal diarrhea. There have been much worse.....
But alas, those are stories for other days!
Thursday, February 5, 2009
We've Come A Long Way Baby
In the last little while, I've been fairly forthright with the fact that I was bullied in middle school and the early part of high school. In fact, as the nine followers of this blog know, I'm currently working on a documentary about that very subject (in conjunction with my weight issues).
What I tend to keep to myself is the precise moment that it all began to happen. I have told very few people this. To this day, it still haunts me. Once you read it, it may not seem so bad to you, but it changed my adolescent life (hell, my whole life).
In Grade 6, I was a member of the chess club at Lakefield Elementary School in Quispamsis, N.B. I had just moved their from Ontario, and had made a couple of friends who lived on my street. Being part of the chess club is not what continues to haunt me, haha.
One afternoon, during chess club, I realize that I needed to use the facilities, and had for a couple of hours. I swiftly make my way to the washroom - it was locked.
I danced back to the classroom (the oh-my-god-if-I-don't-pee-soon-I'm-going-to-die kinda dance), and resumed my position playing against Jill O'Reilly, if I'm not mistaken. I shifted, and I squeezed and I shifted some more. Relieving the pressure on my bladder had to happen in a big way.
(Sidebar: I also had a hairdresser who thought it a good idea to cut my hair short, and then put sideburns on me. Yes, I was a really attractive eleven year-old and I was the same 5'6.5" that i am right now. I was the tallest kid in school - awkward).
I was also reasonably shy (pick your jaws up off the floor, it's true), and I didn't think to ask Mr. White to unlock the bathroom. If I could go back, things would be different.
So, I'm squirming and squeezing, and finally, as I could feel my back teeth floating, I rationalized to myself that if I just let a little bit out, it would relieve some of the pressure.
NOT A GOOD IDEA!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
As you all well know, once you start the stream, it cannot be stopped.
I then found myself in a pool of my own warm urine. And the laughter erupted, and never stopped.
The next morning, I got on the bus, and all I heard was a chorus of 'SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS.' People continued to think this was a funny joke for a solid year after it happened....then began everything else those bastards could possibly pick on. My hair, my height, my weight, my speech, my marks (which were excellent at the time), everything. And I had no one. This feeling has followed me around for quite some time.
Even in the last few years, when I've picked up some AMAZING friends, I was always worried that if I didn't go along with what they wanted, they wouldn't be my friend anymore. I realize that is a ridiculous rationale; however, a little self-esteem goes a long way.
Fast forward to this very evening. I'm out at the pub, and didn't order anything myself, which is fine. My dear friend Laurel buys a pitcher of beer, and shares a glass. My dear friend Geoff buys a plate of nachos, and shares a few chips. The evening is winding down, and I ask Lisa, my favourite bartender, to get me a glass of water. She comes out with a double purple haze (which was my drink of choice last year) and speaks about how much she loves me as a customer, and how real I am...then the people who were out with me join in the chorus of accolades, and I was overwhelmed. I left the table in tears of joy and gratitude for the life I now have.
I'm in a position to actually argue with someone, and have other people to fall back on. Essentially, I have the ability to form a backbone, and not worry that it's going to leave me alone, wishing for ANYONE to call me. It's taken nearly 26 years, but I'm here, I've made it. Maybe not in the Capitalistic American dream sort of way; but, in the I'm a worthy person kind of way.
To quote Drew Barrymore in Never Been Kissed, "I'm not Josie Grosie anymore!" I'm not the little girl who let jackasses follow her around and whisper, "SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS," anymore. (Perhaps not as catchy as Josie Grossie, but hey, it's not a hollywood script......yet).
What I tend to keep to myself is the precise moment that it all began to happen. I have told very few people this. To this day, it still haunts me. Once you read it, it may not seem so bad to you, but it changed my adolescent life (hell, my whole life).
In Grade 6, I was a member of the chess club at Lakefield Elementary School in Quispamsis, N.B. I had just moved their from Ontario, and had made a couple of friends who lived on my street. Being part of the chess club is not what continues to haunt me, haha.
One afternoon, during chess club, I realize that I needed to use the facilities, and had for a couple of hours. I swiftly make my way to the washroom - it was locked.
I danced back to the classroom (the oh-my-god-if-I-don't-pee-soon-I'm-going-to-die kinda dance), and resumed my position playing against Jill O'Reilly, if I'm not mistaken. I shifted, and I squeezed and I shifted some more. Relieving the pressure on my bladder had to happen in a big way.
(Sidebar: I also had a hairdresser who thought it a good idea to cut my hair short, and then put sideburns on me. Yes, I was a really attractive eleven year-old and I was the same 5'6.5" that i am right now. I was the tallest kid in school - awkward).
I was also reasonably shy (pick your jaws up off the floor, it's true), and I didn't think to ask Mr. White to unlock the bathroom. If I could go back, things would be different.
So, I'm squirming and squeezing, and finally, as I could feel my back teeth floating, I rationalized to myself that if I just let a little bit out, it would relieve some of the pressure.
NOT A GOOD IDEA!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
As you all well know, once you start the stream, it cannot be stopped.
I then found myself in a pool of my own warm urine. And the laughter erupted, and never stopped.
The next morning, I got on the bus, and all I heard was a chorus of 'SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS.' People continued to think this was a funny joke for a solid year after it happened....then began everything else those bastards could possibly pick on. My hair, my height, my weight, my speech, my marks (which were excellent at the time), everything. And I had no one. This feeling has followed me around for quite some time.
Even in the last few years, when I've picked up some AMAZING friends, I was always worried that if I didn't go along with what they wanted, they wouldn't be my friend anymore. I realize that is a ridiculous rationale; however, a little self-esteem goes a long way.
Fast forward to this very evening. I'm out at the pub, and didn't order anything myself, which is fine. My dear friend Laurel buys a pitcher of beer, and shares a glass. My dear friend Geoff buys a plate of nachos, and shares a few chips. The evening is winding down, and I ask Lisa, my favourite bartender, to get me a glass of water. She comes out with a double purple haze (which was my drink of choice last year) and speaks about how much she loves me as a customer, and how real I am...then the people who were out with me join in the chorus of accolades, and I was overwhelmed. I left the table in tears of joy and gratitude for the life I now have.
I'm in a position to actually argue with someone, and have other people to fall back on. Essentially, I have the ability to form a backbone, and not worry that it's going to leave me alone, wishing for ANYONE to call me. It's taken nearly 26 years, but I'm here, I've made it. Maybe not in the Capitalistic American dream sort of way; but, in the I'm a worthy person kind of way.
To quote Drew Barrymore in Never Been Kissed, "I'm not Josie Grosie anymore!" I'm not the little girl who let jackasses follow her around and whisper, "SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS," anymore. (Perhaps not as catchy as Josie Grossie, but hey, it's not a hollywood script......yet).
Wednesday, February 4, 2009
Journalism
I was just reading on cbc.ca that over 100 journalists died on the job in 2008. Part of me thinks it's so unnecessary to have journalists on the front lines with soldiers. I mean, is it helpful to our society to know every little detail about Iraq, and do people listen anyway?
My opinion is that we, collectively, have become completely desensitized to what is broadcast, that it is ineffective to have photographers and videographers right on the front lines.
For one, it tends to eliminate effective writing, which has the ability to be equally as powerful. And furthermore, is it worth it to lose anymore people than necessary in wars that are not necessary to begin with?
Having said all this, there's a part of me who would love to be on the front lines talking to soldiers, learning their stories, etc. Would it be worth my life? Not likely.
My opinion is that we, collectively, have become completely desensitized to what is broadcast, that it is ineffective to have photographers and videographers right on the front lines.
For one, it tends to eliminate effective writing, which has the ability to be equally as powerful. And furthermore, is it worth it to lose anymore people than necessary in wars that are not necessary to begin with?
Having said all this, there's a part of me who would love to be on the front lines talking to soldiers, learning their stories, etc. Would it be worth my life? Not likely.
Tuesday, February 3, 2009
Wicked Cool Find
Presumably if you're reading this, you know who I am. I really don't have to explain why the $2.50 thrift store purchase yesterday was perfect. Let me see if I can illustrate it.
T R O M
B
O
N
E
is what it says on a white, crew-neck sweatshirt. As you can well-imagine, I'm currently wearing this fabulous sweatshirt. I look like a Wham wannabe, honestly. Speaking of old things, I claimed to have never blogged before this year–I lied. I'm going to copy/paste a livejournal entry from July 2004. Keep in mind, I was a third-year English major at the time, and also be mindful of my ridiculous amount of excitement concerning my trombone shirt. Enough pre-amble.
Current mood: | nerdy and nostalgic |
| Current music: | Haydn's trumpet concerto in E flat |
As I sit here listening to some of Haydn's best work, I seem to embrace my inner band geek:p I sure miss that stuff, and I know I could easily join a band, but what I really miss is my Dixie Combo and My Brass Quintet (oh jon, alex, devin!! i miss being in a band with them....and it's just not the same as it ever was...we've grown up and grown apart:() it's all good, i mean, i have great friends, yay!! it's just not the same as my band geeks!!!! and what's most amusing is that i never hung out with these guys outside of band and school, so the connection that was developed was from years of melding our sounds into one!! i mean, outside of that context, im not even that big of fan of some of these guys (alex white is my arch nemesis!!!!![and it's cool that i have one:p]).
i dont know what brought that on: oh right, good ole Haydn....hehe......
Ahh...nostalgia is starting to set in (i must be growing up, sigh). I'm disappointed that I havent had my "epiphanic moment" though (ahh,,,the good ole passage from innocence to experience) anyway, this is starting to ramble.......sorry....
Thursday, January 29, 2009
Where in the World is JCW?
Robbie Burns night was the last time I saw JCW. Twas a grand celebration, where JCW discovered his new love for scotch. It now seems as though JCW has consumed so much scotch that he can no longer be reached.
JCW had a heartbreaking night about a week ago. The meticulous movie master was unfairly ousted out of a trivia contest, which he should have won. This may have disheartened him so much that he refuses to be seen in public. Perhaps he blames me...not really sure why that would be though.
This is related to my journalism blog because he is a journalist as well.
My life is a little darker and a little sadder when he is not around. COME BACK JCW!! COME BACK!!!
(for those of you who do not understand, this was written ironically. i will indeed survive. and i'm not a stalker [or else i'd know where he is]. word).
JCW had a heartbreaking night about a week ago. The meticulous movie master was unfairly ousted out of a trivia contest, which he should have won. This may have disheartened him so much that he refuses to be seen in public. Perhaps he blames me...not really sure why that would be though.
This is related to my journalism blog because he is a journalist as well.
My life is a little darker and a little sadder when he is not around. COME BACK JCW!! COME BACK!!!
(for those of you who do not understand, this was written ironically. i will indeed survive. and i'm not a stalker [or else i'd know where he is]. word).
Tuesday, January 27, 2009
In the Thick of Things
The road trip to Darlings Island was tremendous!! I couldn't have had a better time. I feel that much was accomplished as far as documentary work goes, and I think everyone enjoyed themselves. I forgot how much I loved uptown Saint John! I saw so many people I knew. It was grand. It made me look really popular, hehe.
My one disappointment was that one of my interviews cancelled on me. It really sucks because she is a good friend, and I didn't get to see her. :( But alas, onward and upward I say.
This week seems to be kicking my ass a little bit. I cannot believe that it is Wednesday already!! Time flies when you're having fun I guess. It seems I am doing more work than last semester, but it's much more enjoyable. Life is grand!!
My one disappointment was that one of my interviews cancelled on me. It really sucks because she is a good friend, and I didn't get to see her. :( But alas, onward and upward I say.
This week seems to be kicking my ass a little bit. I cannot believe that it is Wednesday already!! Time flies when you're having fun I guess. It seems I am doing more work than last semester, but it's much more enjoyable. Life is grand!!
Thursday, January 22, 2009
ADVENTURE TIME!!!
Crazy weekend adventure begins tomorrow!! It begins with Fear and Loathing at midnight tomorrow, and culminates with my own documentary, with a little bit of Robbie Burns in the middle.
I'm most excited/nervous to start this documentary of mine. I see so much of it in my mind already. I hope it translates to video.
I am super pumped for the trip to Darling's Island. HOLY WORLDS COLLIDING!!
Monday, January 19, 2009
It Could Not Go Unmentioned
Tomorrow is kind of a big day, not only for our neighbours (neighbors-spelled for their benefit) south of the border, but for the world.
For those of you who have been living under a rock, I am referencing Barack Obama, who, in a few short hours, will be the first black president of the United States of America. It wasn't that long ago that a significant portion of white America dawned white robes and spawned hatred (as well as fire). In fact, this still exists on the periphery.
The oft-quoted 'dream' is going to be realized.
I am admittedly a political junkie; however, I have never been this moved by a politician and his beautiful family. I glanced at a photo of them in a magazine today, and it gave me chills. This is how my mother describes her family's reaction and pseudo-relationship with the Kennedy's.
Now there is a lofty comparison.
I am pumped to watch the inauguration tomorrow, and to be alive for the next four to eight years to watch this great man work.
For the first time in my entire life, I am jealous of Americans because of their leader.
For those of you who have been living under a rock, I am referencing Barack Obama, who, in a few short hours, will be the first black president of the United States of America. It wasn't that long ago that a significant portion of white America dawned white robes and spawned hatred (as well as fire). In fact, this still exists on the periphery.
The oft-quoted 'dream' is going to be realized.
I am admittedly a political junkie; however, I have never been this moved by a politician and his beautiful family. I glanced at a photo of them in a magazine today, and it gave me chills. This is how my mother describes her family's reaction and pseudo-relationship with the Kennedy's.
Now there is a lofty comparison.
I am pumped to watch the inauguration tomorrow, and to be alive for the next four to eight years to watch this great man work.
For the first time in my entire life, I am jealous of Americans because of their leader.
Thursday, January 15, 2009
McLaughlin Building
I'm going to preface this blog with a poem I wrote the other night.
Walls
If this is a war
Who are the soldiers?
Attending to who's agenda?
All that is left
Is the smell of musty memories
Lingering amidst the landfill bound rubble.
If walls could talk
Their voices would have
Just been obliterated.
This battle is over,
But the war has just begun.
I'm not sure why the destruction of this building has impacted me like it has. After the fire, and prior to its destruction, I couldn't help but pause every time I walked by. Walking down Connell Rd at night since the fire has been rather heart-wrenching with the lack of light emitting from the building. It makes me feel, for lack of a better term, empty.
Now it is but a pile of rubble. This could happen to any number of the old, unkempt buildings in Woodstock, or any place with any kind of history. In this economic downturn, it's hard to justify spending dollars on the upkeep of history when people are without work; however, can we, as a society, afford not to?
The heart of our town looks like a war zone. It breaks my heart.
WHOA! blogging to a whole new level
Well, well, well...I take one class that requires me to write a blog, now I think I can do a documentary focused on myself. THIS IS SCARY!!! Let me reiterate, I think that the topic (weight loss) will be enlightening (ha, ha pun–en-'light'-ening). The group trip to Darling's Island should be fantastic!!!
I know that isn't ultra-newsworthy; however, the documentary class IS part of the journalism program. I'm excited to employ some of the cool tricks (I mean, editing techniques) we've been learning in class. It should be a grand time. That sounded sarcastic, but it wasn't. It really will be grand....oh no! Not another fat pun...
Wednesday, January 7, 2009
The first step
Blogging seems so self-indulgent. Every sentence I type is all about me. Ok...who am I kidding? I LOVE IT!!
I'm covering an event for The Bugle tomorrow. Oh, the advantages of having Jim Dumville teach one of our classes. I'm pretty excited. I sure hope the school is open tomorrow so I can get a camera to take pictures. Class doesn't necessarily have to be in session.
I'm covering an event for The Bugle tomorrow. Oh, the advantages of having Jim Dumville teach one of our classes. I'm pretty excited. I sure hope the school is open tomorrow so I can get a camera to take pictures. Class doesn't necessarily have to be in session.
Monday, January 5, 2009
First Day Back
Well, well, well....here we go again. It appears it's our last term before practicum (holy scary thought batman!). Soon, the seven of us will be out in the 'REAL WORLD'. Oh my, is the world ready for us?!?! I sure hope so. I need to make some cash.
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