Life is Unfair

I often think about what is fair and what isn’t. I’m a libertine which means I don’t feel bound by the moral constraints of society although I do have my own strong moral code. In living this lifestyle I recognize that I do have one set of rules for myself and another for everyone else. I’m okay with that. I don’t push my morality on anyone else and happily ignore what everyone else feels I should do. A kind word for this is independent. Let’s call a duck a duck, shall we? I’m unfair to most of the world. It’s good for me, but not for you. This is not a code everyone can or should live by and I get that. It’s not fair, but it is what it is. In truth, most people are the same way but most pretend to some sham of equality so they can look good to their neighbours. Personally, what others think of me isn’t a big problem for me.

One of life’s early lessons for me was life isn’t fair. The bad guy doesn’t get it in the end nor does the hero always win. That’s okay. Life would be very boring if everything was fair. If the bad guy always got it in the end, we wouldn’t need heroes to try to serve justice. We wouldn’t need to strive to become better people or to live better lives. Let’s face it, if life was fair, you could live your life, be happy and that’s it. Sometimes the unfairness hurts or tragedy stikes and we cry bitter tears. Sometimes the pain that the unfair situation brings can cause us to raise a wall of fear around ourselves. That is life. That wall gives us something to overcome. Those tears cleanse us. Whoever said “don’t cry” is a fool.

There is a difference, though, between unfair and unjust. Unfair is the circumstances of life. When the cancer strikes or when the car goes over a cliff. There’s no malice in the act. Cancer doesn’t strike because it’s evil and wants to hurt people. The accident doesn’t happen because some demon has decided to plague mankind. Unjust is what we do to each other. Terri-Lynn McLintic abducts a young, beautiful Victoria Stafford. Trayvon Martin is shot to death by George Zimmerman. This is unjust.

Racism is unjust. I agree with that statement. I cannot fathom how a human being can look at another and deem them unworthy simply based on beliefs, gender, sexual orientation or colour. Somehow I’m not seeing what these people see and it confuses me. What confuses me more is reverse racism. The idea that all of those of us in the majority (usually whites) are racist. Or that being in the majority is bad. I was once told that I was a racist because I’m white. I’m not. I’m Metis. I was also fired from Indian and Northern Affairs because I “didn’t look native enough.” When I tried to take that one to the union I was told it was okay to fire me for that reason since First Nations were a minority and they could hire whomever they wanted. That one is still bitter to me.

Last year I worked for the Government of Alberta in Education. Anyone who reads my blog regularly will remember what a horrific time that was. So much so that, while I’m currently desperate for a job, I’d rather be homeless than work for the Government of Alberta again. I digress.

During the time I worked for Education we had National Aboriginal Day. Being Metis, I was the token Indian and had to go to a speech given by a First Nations Elder. I sat through an hour to an hour and a half listening to this man and his wife tell me the problems the First Nations people were having because of whites. I couldn’t get out of there fast enough.

First, let’s look at the treatment of the First Nations people toward the Metis. The First Nations people have refused to acknowledge the bridge between themselves and us. At best we are ignored by the First Nations. At worst, the First Nations accuse us of being wanna-bes. I cannot count the number of times an Elder has told me that only people who can’t get their treaty status get Metis status. For myself, my family has been Metis since the Europeans first came here. Our family heritage is just as rich and varied as any First Nations.

Second, let’s look at the accusations the First Nations level against whites. How is it that the First Nations get to call a Canadian of European descent “white” but I can’t call them “Indian”? The First Nations cite examples of children being taken from homes to go off to boarding schools to be educated. They also cite beatings that occurred and other abuses. Let’s examine this.

While I don’t condone taking children away from a perfectly happy, loving household; the Europeans of the time believed they were doing what was best for the child. European education, the type of education that we know and love today that takes place in the classroom, was believed to be the only kind of learning. In other words, if you didn’t read or write, if you hadn’t gone to school, then you were an ignorant savage. Narrow minded, but it was the belief at the time. We now understand that learning occurs in many different environments and ways and I hope we’re smart enough to embrace them all. How is it I’m being blamed for something that was done a hundred years ago? Does this mean I get to blame Italians for what the Romans did to the early Christians? How about blaming the Spanish for what they did to anyone who lived in South America? Blame is a tricky dish. There’s always enough to go around.

As for beatings, well, that was the standard of the day as well. Again, I don’t condone beatings, but I do remember the strap being still used in school when I was a kid. It was scary and awful, but I don’t blame the principals of my schools for nightmares I have today. It was a part of my life. Shall we shake hands and move on?

Another part of this talk was how the First Nations people were somehow privy to a more ecological way of living. That somehow they had secrets that the white man didn’t know. Really? Okay, then why is it that there are First Nations people using dynamite to fish? BOOM!! Yep. Very ecological. As well, according to the 2009 Fall Report of the Auditor General of Canada, landfill sites, sewage treatment and disposal on First Nations Reserves were not operating according to regulations laid out in the Indian Act. Let’s lay this out; First Nations reserves are dumping their shit wherever they please and, as of the report, were not called to task on it. Yet, there have been health issues on First Nations reserves. However, instead of blaming their own waste disposal system, people (the vast majority who listen to big media) have chosen to blame the Oil Sands.

Yet, the Government of Alberta has an active land reclamation project underway as do many of the oil companies that operate there. For example, Syncrude Canada has an extensive reclamation project that is a major undertaking by this company. Cheryl Robb, Media Relations Advisor for Syncrude Canada, explained that Syncrude has an active relationship with the First Nations people regarding reclamation and suggestions for moving forward with sustainability projects. This relationship is one of the six pillars of the Syncrude corporation. Syncrude will soon be able to boast they’ve planted over 7 million trees. Yet, it’s okay for the First Nations reserves to literally dump their shit wherever they please.

The First Nations also claim they have the right to self-govern. I’m Scots. I’ve decided that the Brits were shitheads for taking us over and I’m going gather other Scots and govern the way we did before the Brits came. Now all I need is a druid. I’m a witch. I don’t qualify.

Let’s take a look at what the First Nation’s self-government has gotten. There are stories of addiction, sub-standard living environments, crime and rampant poverty. In Hobbema, a reserve in Alberta, the chief’s 5 year old grandson was killed in a gang shooting spree. His was not the first death and I’m sure it’s not the last. So if the First Nations can govern themselves so well, shouldn’t they have fewer problems than us whites? Yet do not criticize them. What about the Attawapiskat reserve in Northern Ontario where living conditions were so deplorable that the government was forced to step in and take over the governing of the reserve? By that winter, 2000 people had to be evacuated from the reserve because the housing was so bad the government feared that people would not survive the winter. How on earth did the situation get to that point if the First Nations people are able to govern themselves so well?

Life is unfair and I accept that. I don’t want everything to be fair because it gives me something to work towards. However, it’s unjust when a minority group like the First Nations are able to point the finger of blame towards everyone else and not once do they address the issues on their own doorstep. Jesus said it best in Matthew 7:4, “Or how will you say to your brother, Let me pull the speck out of your eye; and, behold, a beam is in your own eye?”. Worry about your own backyard before you begin laying accusations elsewhere.

A Gift for a Friend

Nocturnal Butterflies

I missed my friend’s birthday and felt bad. He does a great deal for me and I wanted to show my appreciation for his friendship. I am something of a photography aficionado and take a number of pictures of his daughter. She’s a beautiful little girl who loves the camera and getting her picture taken. I came up with an idea for a type of graphic story using pictures of her and captions to tell her story. My friend gave me permission to share the work and, since I’m so proud of it, decided to post it here. I hope you like it.

 Rachel’s Story

Life in a Fat Suit

All of me

I am fat. Clinically the term is “obese”, but let’s call a duck a duck. Fat. I’m okay with that. It’s taken me a long time to sort through the garbage I hear from well-intentioned friends, family and even strangers. You’ve all heard the lines, “you’re not fat, you’re big.” Or, my favorite, “oh, don’t call yourself fat.” This one is usually mouthed by those who have been taught that hard truths are not to be spoken and hearing them makes them uncomfortable. Men will sometimes say, “I like you the way you are.” Really? Then why are you drooling over that hot little 20-something?I gained this weight while being mis-medicated for a condition I didn’t have. I’ve spoken about this before, but let me give you the soundbite. For years I was diagnosed with anxiety when, in fact, I had a sleeping disorder. I wasn’t anxious, I was tired. I was put on anti-anxiety meds that made me more anxious than what I was. This didn’t happen quickly, it happened slowly. I am one of those few people who reacted to the medication over a period of a year. By the end of two years on this medication my life had become a living nightmare. My sleeping was worse, I could barely function while trying to care for my parents, it took everything I had to just go out in public. Most days I went grocery shopping I wound up throwing up. Talk about a way to cut down your grocery bill. Most importantly, I gained weight and type II diabetes. When I finally came off the meds, it was a fresh set of hell. I’d been on them for years. I shook, I cried, I laughed hysterically, my sweat was rank and smelled like chemicals and I was not sleeping at all. That took about two months to get out of my system. However, the damage had been done.

The result of all of this was a big change in who I am. Once I was an outgoing, gregarious person. Now I’m horribly shy, prone to anxiety and fat. Before I was active and sexy. Now I love my computer far too much and am badly overweight. I’m reclaiming myself, but this isn’t an overnight thing. That’s important for people to understand. Most people I meet feel that since the medications are out of my system, I should just rebound back to who I was. That’s nice and it works in Hollywood, but reality is something different.

Let’s take stock of what happened. I was living in a hell that few people can understand. Yes, I’m out of there now, but when you’re there survival takes over and you do whatever’s necessary to keep going. You learn quickly that the coping mechanisms serve to keep you safe. When you take away the medication there’s no longer a need for the coping mechanisms but you’ve been doing them for so long you don’t remember any other way. I’d like to be that gregarious, outgoing person again. However, shyness and being socially awkward served to keep me safe. There is a part of me inside that screams in terror whenever I try to break my old habits. I try not to listen, but it’s still there.

What has this to do with me being fat? That’s simple. Just as it took me years to build up these habits, it’s taken me years to get fat. If I cannot be expected to change those anxiety habits overnight, what on earth makes me think I can change being fat overnight? That’s a secret that has been eluding me for years and now I’m sharing it with you.

Dr. Arya Sharma has been saying for a long time now that there are no instant fixes for obesity. I was shocked to hear that if a doctor sees a 400 pound patient and all that happens is the patient doesn’t GAIN weight it’s considered a win. Let’s look at that. Pretend you are 400 pounds. Dressing in the morning is a chore. Sweats and t-shirts are easier so you resort to those. If you’re a woman, forget about bras. Underwear is obnoxious at that weight. Cleaning the house? Ha! Hire a maid. People laugh at you and point. If you have kids, they’re ashamed of you. You go to the doctor because finally you’re going to do something about it. The doctor and you create a healthy eating plan and exercise regimen. Six months later you return to the doctor and you’ve lost five pounds. You’re discouraged, but your doctor is ecstatic. Why?

In our Barbie-driven, Disney hallucination world, we believe that eat right and exercise is the Be All And End All of weight loss. Isn’t that what Dr. Oz says? Weight Watchers has built an empire around that philosophy. Jenny Craig relies on it to make money. The mantra goes that if you eat right and exercise you will lose weight. That is true. To a point.

Eating right is always a good idea. We live in a wealthy society where we can get sufficient food and water for our nutritional needs. We should take advantage of that. However, what all these diets and health gurus and nonsense fails to mention is time. A person like me doesn’t get here overnight. This has taken 44 years to build up. What on earth makes anyone think that I can undo 44 years of damage, both mentally and physically, in six months? If I said to someone who had degenerative arthritis that exercise could help them and then expected them to be up and walking normally in six months, I’d get laughed at. Yet, fat is different in our minds.

We link obesity with laziness and stupidity. There was an episode of “Fresh Prince of Bel-Air” where Will is given a fat suit by Susan Powter. She makes the point that Will is in shape and is healthy but that he knows nothing of what life is like for his uncle. Will is challenged by Susan to wear a fat suit all day. It’s a hilarious episode, one of their best, but it makes a point. Will finally sees what carrying all that weight around is like. He finally sees the day to day problems the obese have like doing simple things like grocery shopping. There is another side to this episode, too. Things that aren’t said. His uncle is far from lazy or stupid. He tries to lose weight and is seen interacting with his family in a healthy way. When they show him eating it’s generally healthy (a few snacks to get laughs) and he is not a stupid man. He’s a judge. This episode is one of my favourites and I wish I could email Will Smith and thank him for airing it.

Obesity is a lifelong challenge. As problematic as alcoholism and as difficult to treat as addiction. Every day we see stars who have babies and lose the weight within a month or two. Sometimes less. We forget they have personal trainers and dietitians and money to get liposuction and Photoshop. I don’t. Oddly, I find that obesity is most often a problem among those who are poor. This isn’t a statistic I’ve looked up, it’s just a personal observation.

We need solutions to obesity that are going to treat it as the lifelong problem it is. Don’t tell me to eat less and exercise. I already know that. Don’t blame me when I’m not losing weight as fast as you think I should. Don’t stare at me when, for the first time in a month or two, I’ve bought fast food. I’m treating myself. Let’s start changing the way we look at obesity. The obese are not the sub-human creatures painted in Hollywood. We’re real people with a real problem. Maybe the first step in treating obesity is changing what we think obesity is.

The Scary Lady

Danielle Smith Boob Bus

I suffer from night terrors. Night terrors differ from nightmares in that when you wake up, you don’t fully come out of the dream. So, you wake up and the monster you’ve been running from is now there in your bedroom. Not fun. In these dreams things start out innocuous enough; things look normal until the family you’ve been having dinner with decides you’re very tasty. This whole Danielle Smith campaign has been a little like that for me.

Smith is charismatic. She can sure talk and she looks pretty on the side of a bus (by the way, how on earth did that slip by her office?). Let’s face it, she talks better than Ralph Klein ever did and looks better than Stelmach. So much so she slipped this whole “conscience rights” things past me. I didn’t pay attention to it at all. I was so busy listening to the promises of payouts and improved health care that I missed this one. Like David Copperfield, Smith has an amazing ability to get her audience to watch what is happening in the right hand while her left is doing the pickpocketing.

Let’s look at this whole “conscience rights” thing for a moment. I first heard of it when Warren Kinsella of the Toronto Sun wrote about it in his article, “Smith Changes Her Tune and Is Completely Off-Key”. Wait a minute. I don’t usually watch the news and such, but come election time I do keep up with the politics. I love the Internet for giving me that ability. So how did a journalist in Toronto click into this and make noise about it before Alberta journalists did? To be fair, perhaps there was an article or two that I missed. Still, he’s in Toronto writing about Alberta politics and drawing attention to where it needs to be focused. You’re being ripped off, people and Kinsella is showing you.

Conscience rights, as I understand it, means that if an official does not agree with a particular issue and it conflicts with his job, he does not have to perform that function. So, let’s explain that. Let’s suppose there is a judge that does not agree with gay marriage. That judge does not have to perform the marriage. What? If there is a doctor who does not agree with abortion, he does not have to perform the abortion. Now, if you’re a judge who does not agree with gay marriage, you tend to stay away from marrying people. A doctor who does not agree with abortions would probably go into another field. No problem there. Right? Let’s take this one step further; let’s suppose you’re a prison official who does not agree with gay rights. Does that mean that official no longer has to care for them? Let’s say you’re an apartment manager who does not agree with the swinger lifestyle. Guess what? You don’t have to rent to “them” any more. Restaurant manager who doesn’t agree with First Nations’ rights? Don’t serve them. Welcome to the slippery slope, people.

Yes, some of the examples I’m showing are extreme, however, do you really believe there aren’t those who won’t go there? I’m a Wiccan and once lost a job because of it. No, that wasn’t the official reason, but was something that was said from my manager to me on my way out. She later denied saying it. Who is easier to believe? I have met racists, skinheads, gaybashers, and religious nuts; all of whom believe that “those” people should be grateful for what they got. I actually met a man who once said, “Rosa Parks should have stayed at the back of the bus. Then we wouldn’t have all these problems.” They’re out there and this policy gives them a blank cheque.

Okay. Those people do exist. What about the woman who really believes that shielding her children from swingers and Wiccans is best for her kids? I have to ask, what do these people think will happen if they meet a swinger couple? That the couple will start indoctrinating a five year old? “Yes, Billy. Your Mommy and Daddy are going to hell because they only sleep with each other.” Do these people believe that Wiccans will steal their 10 year old to perform a “Drawing Down of the Moon”? Do they think gays will infect their children? Come on. Let’s get real here. I’m all for raising kids right, but not when that means they get the idea that stomping all over the rights of those who are different is okay.

I did try to contact Danielle Smith’s office. I was a good girl and sent an email via their website. That’s a nice way of doing it. I can be polite when I try. That was a week ago. They never responded. So, when I called Smith’s office today the alarm bells really rang. I first called her campaign office and was told that the website email goes to her “other” office (they never really explained what the other office was). So, I called there and tried to get someone in the media office. No answer. I hate leaving messages. Besides, they’ve had a week to respond. So I got ahold of the receptionist who stated that the office “wasn’t sure where that email is routed to.” WHAT?? Let me get this right; you have an email for constituents (and nuts like me) to get ahold of you but you don’t know where it’s going? There’s a unique solution. Don’t want to have to answer questions? Create an email link and dump the email into the ether. Then you can honestly say, “nope. Didn’t get your email.” Does anyone else find that hilarious?

All I can do is write this blog, send a letter to the editor of local papers and cross my fingers. I won’t be voting for Smith, I can tell you that much and I urge others to do the same. Yes, the flash and dazzle is pretty, but all that gets annoying after a while. Then, when reality sets in, we’re left with “conscience rights”. I’m awake, but the night terror goes on and the monster is in my room.

The Racism Equation

All my life I’ve been the kid on the edges. You know the one; the one sitting on the side of the playground, reading. She’s the one pretending it doesn’t hurt to be left out or made fun of. The one standing along the bleachers at the high school dance, bouncing along to the music that no one asks to dance. She’s the one that’s learned to do things on her own. No one’s going to ask her to join them. It hasn’t been easy, and sometimes it has been very hard, but there’s an advantage to knowing how to do things on your own.

That life I have integrated into myself and embrace it. I am who I am and make no apologies for that. I’m a libertine, a polyamorist, pansexual, lover of life who makes her own way mainly by brute force and sheer determination. Would I like to have a clique? Sure. Then when things go horribly wrong I have someone to blame. I only have a small group of very good friends who remind me that when things blow up in my face, it’s my responsibility. They also come to the front and help me celebrate life’s victories. Those are many and they are sweet because I got there on my own.

I have battles I choose to fight. One of which is bullying. Of course, bullying comes in many forms including; abuse, rudeness and racism. To me, all of these are just bullying. They don’t always take priority; I simply don’t have that much energy. Which form I’m battling depends on what’s happening in my life. This time it’s racism.

By now, everyone’s heard of Trayvon Martin and how he was gunned down by a bully. Yes, George Zimmerman was nothing more than a bully with a gun and a stupid Florida law behind him. There are so many issues here that I want to address that it’s hard to keep them from crowding each other out. However, recent events in my personal life pushed me towards making a statement.

Let me say I never intended to say nothing. This is such a huge issue I felt it was vital, as a writer, to take my time and really mull over what I felt and wanted to say about this. This is not a simple situation and, as a Canadian and a writer, I felt it would be irresponsible to pound out words said in the heat of the moment. Now I’ve had a chance to think about it and I have something to say.

I am no stranger to racism. Growing up, my father was a closet racist. He held to the idea that “those” people were inferior, but tried to keep that to himself. I loved my father, don’t think I didn’t. I was very close to him but I heard the “jokes” and the snide comments. They were very subtle and I only heard it as I stood at the periphery of the adults speaking. When I got a bit older I questioned this attitude and the rest of my family defended him. It was harmless, I was told. Or, I was told that he was simply pointing out a truth about a certain culture. Indians drink, for example. Blacks like hot weather (please don’t ask me how this one came to be. I’m not sure myself).

As an adult I protested this subtle racism and was pushed to the edges of my family. I was being over-sensitive. I should learn to live and let live. I was tilting at windmills. Yet, my mother contended that Chinese were the best accountants and my father insisted that blacks were best at blue collar jobs. Finally I told my family that it had to stop or I would never talk to them again. Luckily, it never came to that.

I have friends from all walks of life; asian, white, Muslim, Jewish, Christian, pagan, black, you name it. I try to respect everyone’s beliefs and am very curious about their lives (which generally leads me to asking questions other people don’t ask). It was a shock, then, to be the victim of this subtle racism I’ve fought against all my life.

One of my friends is Polish and is very proud of his heritage. I ask questions and try, in vain, to pronounce his name as it’s meant to be said. Usually I give up and revert back the Anglicized version of his name. Recently, he posted a picture on Facebook with a caption in Polish. I assumed it said something positive so I posted, “I agree”. The picture was pretty.

He sent a message back to me saying how rude I was to post in English on a Polish posting. That I shouldn’t have said anything and stayed in my place. I wondered why my place suddenly became the back of the bus. When I replied, I pointed out that ostracising someone based on their culture or language was racism. He didn’t like that. I cried.

So let’s go back to Trayvon Martin. I would like to make a comment about Florida’s “stand your ground” law. From what I understand, this allows a person to shoot first and ask questions later. Okay. I’m Canadian and maybe I’m being a bit dense on this, but it seems that this is the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard of.

Let’s do a comparison. A police officer, in most places around the world, has to train for months, learn the laws of the land, take counselling and generally prove he is worthy of both the badge and the gun. If a shooting does occur, an inquiry is called. He is questioned by his superiors and by the local internal affairs department, has to fill out paperwork and takes more counselling. In all of this he MUST have “just cause”. This means he has to be able to prove, beyond a doubt, that he believed his life or the life of someone else was in imminent danger.

In Florida, if I understand right, if you’re a private citizen all you need to have is a gun. This law says that the owner of said gun only needs to PRESUME the threat of imminent danger. The danger doesn’t actually need to be there. No one sees a problem here? What about a gun-happy idiot like Zimmerman who was told by the 911 operator to take no action? No. Zimmerman creates some imaginary threat in his head and kills a boy with skittles in his pocket. I imagine there are unicorns and werewolves in Zimmerman’s world, too.

Now, why was Martin killed? He was a black kid wearing a hoodie. That was the threat. I’m not sure which Zimmerman found more threatening; the hoodie, the fact he was black or the skittles. Skittles can be scary, you know. That whole “taste the rainbow” sure sounds ominous to me.

Racism is such an odd creature. I’m not sure I understand the idea of ostracising or hurting someone because they’re different. To tell me I can’t comment because I don’t know the language is patently silly. To shoot a boy because he’s a black kid wearing a hoodie is criminal. All of it is just sad.

My heart goes out to the family of Trayvon Martin. I would like to show my support but, as there are so many ribbons out there, I’m choosing a different method. I’m going to wear a hoodie for Trayvon. Maybe if more people wore them, people like Zimmerman wouldn’t find them so frightening.

Between Truth and Honesty

I’m baffled by writers. They are this mysterious lot that has more rituals and superstitions than a hockey player coming to the Stanley Cup playoffs. Every writing class I’ve ever been in agrees there’s some magical formula to being a “real” writer. Usually it involves keeping journals and writing notes on sticky notes. Another part of this ritual involves sticking those notes all over the computer and token whiteboard or corkboard. Every writer carries a notebook and pen for sudden spurts of inspiration. I always feel like such a fraud when I realize I do none of this.

I have a mind-mapping software that lets me spin out my notes in a way that works for me and the way my brain works. I’ve tried to tell other writers about this, but the look I’m given is the same one you give a brain damaged puppy. I don’t carry a pen or a notebook. Writing is a chore for me sometimes since my hands shake. Besides, if an idea is really juicy, I like to chew on it for a while and let it percolate for a bit. I don’t like sticky notes, but I will admit it is fun to stick them to the cat. I am allergic to journals.

There is very little of the writer’s rituals that I do. I feel like a guilty Catholic and wonder if I’m a real writer. I don’t know. I’ve spent the last two years in a writing program that is supposed to teach me how to be a real writer and all I’ve learned is that I’m not a writer.

I’m a storyteller. Writers, I find, are fascinated by words; how they sound, how they feel, how they work together. They know a dangling modifier when they see it and can shoot a participle at 10 paces. I have a nodding acquaintance with grammar at best. Writers feel a burning desire to be published and jump through amazing hoops to placate the editor. I only want to have my stories heard.

In my Metis blood is where this comes from. Scots and Cree are the majority of my heritage, though some French is there; I cheerfully ignore that. Growing up, my mother would tell me stories about her own childhood. She got the gift of weaving a good story from her own father, whom I’ve met once. So, telling a story is a part of my very core.

Writing is involved, but I see it different than writers. I hear the story of how Hemmingway once changed a story ending 300 times or so and it stuns me. Why didn’t he let the story tell itself? Sounds like trying to fit a fat woman into a corset. The story will tell itself. Not always the way you expect or the way you want, but it will lead you the way it wants to go.

I am fascinated by stories and love to watch them take shape then trim and primp them to sparkling beauty. Then I strut them up and down the street and pimp them out to anyone willing to give them attention. My stories are not lofty things, nor are they delicate. My stories have callouses and muscles from working the docks. Their hair is dishevelled and unwashed. They are not ones to mingle with such literature as Margaret Atwood might write. No. They’re often down at the neighbourhood pub with Tracy Hickman and Margaret Weis singing pub songs with a mug of beer.

It’s taken me years to realize this is who and what my stories are. I’m good with that. I’m a storyteller.

Santa Clause Ate the Easter Bunny

Have you ever looked at your life and wondered, “what the hell am I doing here?” It’s like driving along and you’re sure the right lane is the way to go but you come to a point where you look up, have no idea where  you are and think, “I shoulda taken that left turn at Albuquerque.” It’s a dismaying, overwhelming feeling. You want to laugh at your situation, but the truth is  you’re scared as hell and want your mommy. That’s where I’m at now. Question is, how did I get here?

Three years ago I came out of a depression haze that consumed my life resulting from my father’s death. Unable to think or do anything, I spent most of a year playing World of Warcraft, avidly avoiding life and living on social assistance. When the haze lifted, I realized this was not the life for me. I needed more and set out to do more. I tried to revive my writing career but I had spent the last ten years cocooned in the world of caregiving. HTML, Facebook, blogging and Twitter had all passed me by. I tried to apply for writing jobs, but when one said “must Tweet” I almost cried. I was way out of my depth.

Still, where there’s a will, there’s a way. So, I went to the Edmonton Metis Employment Association and begged them to send me back to school. I had two choices; return to University of Alberta where I could get a second degree in business over a two-year period and focus on communications or go to Grant MacEwan’s Applied Diploma in Communications in Professional Writing program. The PROW program. I chose the latter. The PROW program had a good reputation and gave me an opportunity to stretch my creative wings. I did not choose wisely.

At 44, I’m gracefully called a mature student. I’ve been out in the world, had a beginning writing career in journalism and ran a theatre company. I’ve cut my teeth a bit on the Edmonton writing scene. I came into a place full of people who’d just left high school and called themselves wizened. I found it annoying in the same way you find a mosquito bite annoying, but not enough to derail me. However, things quickly deteriorated.

In my first year, I found that the instructors, not the students, were the problem. Grant MacEwan has a policy of smaller class sizes and more intimate relationships with the instructors. Works well on paper. University of Alberta treats all the students the same. Teach the students, give them the work, they pass or fail on their own merits. The problem with Grant MacEwan’s system is the instructor wants to be your friend. Sounds nice, doesn’t it?

Think about the friends in your life for a moment. You love them, but they’re annoying. You have to deal with their insecurities and foibles just as they have to deal with yours. They can bring their drama to you because you’re safe. Now, translate that to an instructor. See the problem?

Writers as a whole usually have self-confidence issues. I don’t know why, but I think it has to do with ripping your soul out and putting it on paper. I think this is also why so many writers drink. So, imagine you have a friend who lacks self-confidence. They may cover it up by being arrogant or by telling you that you’re the one with the problem. However, at the root is their own inability to stand confidently. They wind up lashing out at those around them. Now make that person an instructor.

I don’t say that was true for all the instructors. Just an alarming majority. They were good enough at hiding it from a green 20 something, but a former freelance journalist can sniff that out like a bloodhound on a convict’s scent. I have my own confidence issues, but a lack of belief in my own writing skills isn’t among them. I’m weird that way.

As I said, I entered the first year a bit ahead of my peers. Much of the stuff discussed in class I’d done in the real world. I just didn’t know I was doing it. Okay, so I learned to refine my technique and get comfortable using a Mac (by the way, I am not an Apple fan. I think they’re useless toys. I’m an avid PC’er, myself). I also learned about HTML and social media. But it was the instructors who alarmed me.

There wasn’t a lot of overt hand-wringing. Most of it was so subtle I doubt the instructors knew they were doing it. One instructor  informed the class to not bother sending pieces to American magazines as we would never get published there. This instructor went on to say that it was her opinion that Canadian writers were shunned by American media and that we weren’t good enough to go there. I was stunned. American magazines often publish Canadian writers on a regular basis. When I said so, I was told that I would learn in the same way you’d tell a child they’d understand when they were older.

Other instructors covered up their feelings of inadequacy by being arrogant. I became far too familiar with the “I’m the instructor and I say so, that’s why” thinking. Ironic since Grant MacEwan makes the instructor your buddy. Yet others would tell inane stories over and over again, reminding me of my visits with my mother who is afflicted with Alzheimer’s. A few, possibly two or three, would demand my best and know when I was giving it. They would make me stretch my writing abilities and earned my respect through their abilities, not their willingness to be my buddy. Sadly, most had no idea when I was doing a crap job. For most of my instructors I would write something up a day before it was due and hand it in. Most times I hadn’t even edited beyond the spell check on Word.

Things came to a head recently with a particularly arrogant instructor. I liked this instructor. I trust those who are blunt and honest more than those who give sweet words. I knew where I stood with this instructor and I liked that. I liked him and trusted him enough to tell him, recently, that I hated an assignment I did for him.

Everything came to a screeching halt there. This instructor turned on me like a pit bull. I was told I was “rude and unprofessional”. He’d made it clear in class that he held grudges. He also separated people into groups and if he didn’t like you, you’d go into the “apathetic loser” group. I was being set up to fail and I knew it. I didn’t deserve it. Grant MacEwan wanted me to give the instructors my trust and when I did I got slapped for it. Now I was angry.

I went to the Student Services advisor and launched a complaint. She heard me out and told me to return and I’d find out what my options were. I was uplifted by this. I didn’t want to be the bad guy, but I wasn’t going to take that. Upon my return I got another slap in the face. I was given the option of finishing the course online which I opted to do. I let the rest of it go, not prepared to fight this big of a fight this close to graduation (which is in April of this year). Then came the bomb. She was glad I was letting it go. Some concerns had been raised about me.

Now wait a cotton picking minute. I have no doubt concerns are raised about me all the time. I’m constantly tilting at windmills and laughing all the way. Nothing has been said to me about any of this until I raise a complaint about an instructor? What?

The prior semester I had done an analysis on Playboy Magazine. I chose the magazine as it is an industry leader and the pictures of the women are tasteful and artful. Writers such as Alex Haley, Stephen King and Margaret Atwood have written for this magazine. Playboy is one of those that creates new trends. The instructor of the class had no problem with me doing the magazine, but someone else did. Really? Who?

I got angry. They were upset by naked pictures? Walk down the halls of the West Campus of Grant MacEwan. There are nudes and partial nudes all over the place. Some titty got someone’s panties in a bunch? Great timing, too. Nothing was said the prior semester when I might have been willing to change my choice or even defend my choice. No. It’s brought up when it looks like I might go forward with my complaint.

Now I took a new look at my program and suddenly I was very glad it was shutting down. Instructors who demand I validate them as human beings because I’m supposed to be their buddy is a waste of my time and energy. Instructors who feel it’s perfectly fine to have affairs on their wives with students IN THEIR CLASS is not someone who can teach me a damn thing. Let me say this clearly, if you can’t sort out what is or isn’t appropriate behaviour towards your students, and that includes whining to them or berating them or having affairs with them, then you have no business teaching me. Go get a dog or get therapy or something for your issues. Don’t bring them to class.

So now what? Here I am feeling like I’ve wasted 2 years of my life. I’ll get my career going after graduation, but I’m also bringing along a whole lot of baggage imposed on me by instructors who don’t understand what’s appropriate or not. I doubt this blog will win me any friends in the industry, but I’ll say this to them; hire me and you won’t get the drama or baggage that goes along with so many in this industry. Hire me and get the job done.

Enough is enough.

Suckling at the Paper Teat

I’m not a regular poster on this blog because I thought no one was reading. I check my stats and get one or two hits, but nothing spectular. Until tonight when there were nine very warm and positive comments waiting for me. Thank you to everyone who commented and I will try to post more regularly.

Everywhere I turn I hear about “green” this and “eco” that. The eco-weenies are running around screaming, “the sky is falling” and giving some horrible advice. I’m tired of it. I know it’s not very popular of me to say so, but can I just scream at them once, “SHUT UP!” Nature is extremely resiliant and if She has a parasite She doesn’t like or causes Her harm, She will get rid of it. However, life will go on. Maybe not human life, but life nonetheless.

I can hear the gasps of disbelief already. This is a topic that everyone thinks about but no one talks about. The emperor isn’t wearing any clothes but let’s not tell him that. Come on, people, wake up already. Let’s just discuss the bad ideas the eco-weenies have come up with.

Bamboo - but bamboo is wonderful and it helps unicorns get their horns and fairies fly free because of it. The ultimate renewable resource, huh? Okay. Let’s take a real look at this stuff. Yes, bamboo grows fairly quickly compared to the trees normally cut down. Yes, I get that. However, they do take time to regrow. Meanwhile, we’re cutting down the main food source of an endangered species; the panda. That loveable, shy forest creature is getting their homes and food sources cut down wholesale so that you can feel “greener”. This stuff goes into making everything from flooring, paper, socks, towels, toilet paper and you name it. Heck, you can even eat it. Wait. Isn’t that the point? We’re consuming this stuff and what’s happening to the panda? Good question. Don’t ask the eco-weenies. It’s like the Wizard of Oz said, “pay no attention to the man behind the curtain.”

Recycling - okay. You separate your bottles and plastics and paper, put them in a blue bag every week and the nice man comes and takes them away and  you feel like you’ve done your earthly good deed. It gets taken away to Narnia where little gnomes turn them into flowers and shiny stars for all the good boys and girls. Seriously, that’s the fairy tale people are buying into? Let’s take a look at what it takes to recycle stuff. It takes energy to recycle. Lots and lots of it. Plus there’s the waste product the recycling plant puts out. As well, not everything you recycle gets actually recycled. If you fail to follow the rules and something finds its way into your little blue bag that shouldn’t be there, the whole thing gets thrown out. Yet not one of the eco-weenies has taken these recycling plants to task and demanded that better ways be found. Energy saving methods, less waste by-product. Nope. This is merely a means to keep your local governments from having to actually fund research into finding out what the hell to do with the landfills.

Books - let’s look at this people. Do yourself a favor and look around your home. How many books are there? Now, take a good hard look at those books. Each one of them is filled with paper. There are now e-books available through such devices as Kindle and Kobe and even the iPad has books available. Yet, what do I hear? “It’s not the same.” Yes, you’re right. It’s not the same. If you’re so short sighted as to believe that a book is merely pages upon pages of paper, you’ve learned nothing from the greats. Legolas isn’t a bunch of pages, he’s words and Boo Bradley isn’t limited to dead tree material. Yet publishers are reluctant to publish e-books. Why? They don’t sell as well as the paper versions. Yet, look at most of those who cling to those books and have their noses shoved deep into them. They’ll tell you they’re eco-friendly and “do their part”. They wear tie-dyed t-shirts and shout slogans. Yes, they’re good little hippies who are busy cutting down forests because they refuse to adjust and do something real for the environment. It’s not just them, either. Colleges and universities could have their textbooks available on an easy to access e-book at a fraction of the cost. Most don’t. Why? That’s a good question. Go ask them. I encourage you.

So if we remove all the nonsense stuff the eco-weenies spew, what are we left with? Make some good, common sense choices. Stuck for ideas? Here’s a few;

Hemp - I am a strong supporter of this stuff. It does everything; paper, clothes, oils, makes julienne fries. Easy to cultivate, easy to manufacture, easy to maintain, strong and the products are quality stuff. One negative is that it’s expensive. Well, it’s expensive because not enough people buy the stuff. If more people bought hemp products, more farmers would be encouraged to grow it.

Fair Trade Products - fair trade products green? What the hell? Yes. Green. The coffee you get from the big name companies that mass produce the stuff doesn’t taste nearly as good as the slightly more expensive stuff you buy from fair trade. Fair trade encourages small farmers and local producers to continue their trade. So, that handmade scarf you got in the fair trade store may not be Simon Chang, but it’s handmade and not mass produced.

Transportation - If you have a Hummer in your driveway do everyone a favour and ask your spouse to slap you. If you have an SUV and it isn’t a hybrid, you should be ashamed. Tell me, how is it my parents got by with one car for a family of six and todays families need a vehicle that looks like it needs to be in the Outback of Australia? Here’s a suggestion; one day a week, put away your vehicle, whatever it is. Park it. Don’t drive it unless there’s an emergency (you know, anything that involves fire, police or ambulance). Keep it parked for the whole day and have the family find alternative means to get around for that one day. When my siblings were younger, my parents were too poor to afford a vehicle. So, every weekend in the summer, they packed up three kids, a picnic lunch and headed off to a city park for the day. Those days became valued memories for my siblings. Do something as a family. Go for a walk, take a bike ride. Whatever, but leave that gas guzzling beast in the garage.

Children - okay. Here’s where I get into trouble with my readers. Someone has to say it, though. STOP HAVING BABIES! Tell me, does one family really need 19 children? I can understand if this were the 1400′s and most of them died of childhood diseases before the age of five. This is the 21st century! 19 children is obscene. If we really want to do something substantial for this earth, we will stop watching shows like “Kate Plus Eight” or whatever the hell it is. Stop encouraging these people with obscenely large families. Stop buying into the Octomom’s nonsense. Here’s the problem; those 19 children or 8 children or however many are going to have children of their own. 19 becomes a whole lot more when they grow up and have families on their own and this earth has limited resources. So, a family of 8 or 10 or 19 uses up that many resources and takes away from those families who choose to be reasonable and have one or two children. If you currently have a large family, talk to your children about having small families. And if you know of someone like me who has chosen not to have children, take time to thank them. They’ve left more resources are available for your children. Stop making people feel like they need to have babies in order to be a whole person.

Make intelligent, informed decisions. Chicken Little can cry about the sky falling all they like. We need to stop suckling at the paper teat and listening to the eco-weenies. If you really want to help the earth, do something that matters.

When Does No Mean No

A woman sits in a corner at a party. She’s a little shy so she’s sipping her drink and keeping to herself. A man walks over and asks if he can feel her breast. She says no. He cups her breast in his hand and gives a squeeze. He tells him to stop but he keeps going. She’s nervous. She knows she’s awkward socially. Maybe this is acceptable at this party. She tells him to stop again but he gets angry. He slaps her face and calls her a prude. Near tears she tells him to leave her alone and starts to walk away. He laughs and tells her he got what he wanted. He likes copping feels against unwilling women.

A woman is online. She begins chatting with a man who asks if he can go on cam for her. She says yes, but so long as he’s only showing his face. His cam turns on and it’s him stroking his penis. She’s not shocked, it’s just a penis. However, she tells him again that she doesn’t cam (perform sexual acts on camera) or sex chat. He says he wants her to go on cam so they can masturbate together. Again she tells him no. She wants to end the conversation, but she’s unsure. She’s not very savvy when it comes to Internet chat. Maybe this is normal. He tells her she’ll like it and he wants her to. She has finally had enough. She says no one last time and tells him she doesn’t cam. She’s about to end the conversation when he calls her a prude and says she’s a tease. Things get ugly because she gets angry. He then sends her a message saying he got what he wanted. He liked showing his penis to unsuspecting women.

These are two variations of the same story. A woman is violated. One physically, the other psychologically. No one would dare dream of telling the woman at the party that she was to blame for the man’s behaviour or that she got what she deserved because she didn’t move away fast enough. Yet, on FetLife, it seems that blaming the victim is normal.

The second scenario happened to me. I do date online and I know there are some weirdos out there. However, there are new fetishes turning up every day and I don’t like to step on anyone’s kink. I gave this jerk three chances to change his behaviour. I figured that was fair. However, when I sent a forum message polling the group “Edmonton Kink” on FetLife what they thought about this situation, almost unanimously I was blamed for the situation. I was told in many ways I was to blame for allowing it to go on and not simply ending the conversation. One user even stated, “if you stayed on formote(sic) than 1 second… I question your inlligence(sic) as much as his.” Another user stated, “You implicitly encourage bad behaviour by not ending it.” This theme went on in varying degrees of hostility. Apparently I’m to blame.

Yes, ladies and gentlemen, if someone does something you don’t like in chat, do NOT be a nice guy and give them chances. If you are not an immediate asshole and cut them right off, you are to blame for being violated. After all, I did let the conversation go on. Another user made this speculation about my personality flaws;

“ My theory is that you suffer from some low self esteme(sic), and believe that people will hurt you or that you may never find respect, and this energy then attracts just that… people who will hurt you and/or won’t show you respect. “

Wait a minute. Low self-esteem? This bit of psychological assessment came from a user who has read maybe four or five of my posts, never met me and is hardly qualified to make any psychological assessments of anyone. Anyone who makes a living writing can’t afford low self-esteem.

Meanwhile, what has been FetLife’s response? Surely they’re a responsible website who takes care to ensure that their users feel safe and comfortable voicing their opinions on their website. After all, this type of lifestyle demands a comfortable and safe environment, be it online or in reality. So they must be racing to correct the problem.

Don’t count on it. This is not the first time a problem like this has arisen. If the FetLife website is any indication, the Edmonton kink community is neither open nor welcoming to those who are new or in any way different from themselves. This is an irony, all things considered. You’d think such an ostracized community would be more understanding and patient with those who are new or curious. The truth is, on the FetLife website they are closed, conservative and non-welcoming at all. I have had several instances of being called names and told my opinion is wrong (I’m unsure how opinions can be wrong, but all right). I have complained to FetLife many, many times and they have yet to do anything about it.

So, this last time I have decided to close my profile there. I do not recommend the site to anyone who is curious or beginning in this lifestyle. I find the majority of users there to be mean and vicious while FetLife sits back and does nothing.

To set the record straight, I do not believe I was to blame for this violation in any way despite what the users of the Edmonton Kink group on FetLife may say.  No means no. It doesn’t mean maybe and it doesn’t mean keep trying.

To FetLife; damn well take a stand already. There is no reason any user should have to sit by and be blamed for being violated.

Pay for Spray: Another Name for Extortion

If you’re a Canadian, I want you to send a letter of thanks to your local emergency personnel. Police, firefighters, emts, it doesn’t matter. Send them a thank you card with a gift certificate for Tim Horton’s. Thank them, love them and let them know they’re appreciated even when they mess up. These men and women work hard to keep us safe, save lives and to give some dignity to those who died violently. Thank them.

In years past I had a tradition of baking something every Christmas Eve for a firefighter centre not far from where I lived. I’ve changed that and now give them a box of coffee stuff from Tim Horton’s. I want them to know I appreciate them. Especially at this time of year when tragedy can strike so easily with just a miswired Christmas tree. I know if anything should happen, I can count on them to come into the scene and help me and my loved ones. I can sleep easy at night knowing they’re there.

Now, imagine if they weren’t there. Or, rather, imagine if they were there, but refused to help you because you didn’t pay a “fee”. In South Fulton, Tennessee, that’s exactly what happened. I encourage you to go read the Local 6 WPSD story. Please don’t make the mistake I initially made and blame the firefighters. That’s easy and seems fairly clear. These are professionals paid to put out a fire. However, they’re not the demons here. Yes, it’s easy to be angry at them because they’re right there. Right there watching a couple’s home burn to the ground. They’re not to blame.

Let’s look at the truth of what happened. According to Local 6 WPSD, the city of South Fulton, Tennessee forces those who live in nearby counties to pay a fee of $75 per year to get firefighting protection. It costs money to run a fire department and sometimes taxes doesn’t cover everything. Here in Canada some smaller communities have gotten very creative with raising money for their volunteer fire departments. They hold barbeques, fundraisers or learn to stretch dollars. In South Fulton the mayor opted for extortion.

Okay, here’s how it works. If you live in a nearby county, you have to pay $75 per year to get firefighting protection. This fee works on a similar concept of buying condoms; you don’t think AIDS can happen to you, but it’s better to be safe than sorry. If you don’t pay the fee, you don’t get protection. I hear the mafia works on a similar principle.

What happens, though, if you can’t pay the fee? $75 may not seem like a lot to the average citizen, but for some folks it’s the difference between having heat or power or food for another month. In a country that does not have a centralized health care system like Canada, it can also mean the difference between your child seeing a doctor or not.

Well, South Fulton does have a mayor, David Crocker. Surely he cares about the situation? Nope. I’ve read at least half a dozen stories and can’t find a single word of sympathy from this goon. All the quotes I have seen added up to basically a pay or you don’t get protection. Surely there’s got to be a better way. Don’t want to raise taxes? Why not train a volunteer firefighter squad to take up some of the slack? Still don’t want to raise taxes? Why not do fundraisers? Going through your files to decide whose house or lives get saved and whose doesn’t isn’t a way to run a firefighter department.

I did try to get in touch with the city of South Fulton. Go ahead. Google it. Their website comes up as a test page for the Apache HTTP server, whatever the heck that is. Try googling the fire department. You’ll get a page selling cell phones. So, if anyone can forward this blog on to them, I’d love to have a few thousand questions answered.

So far this situation with their fire department has happened twice. The fire department has been amazingly lucky in that no one has been hurt. Yet. However, what happens when parents who haven’t paid the fee watch their children trapped inside their home, unable to help? Will the powers that run this department still order their men to stand down while innocents die? It hasn’t happened yet, but if this situation continues, it will.

In this situation I urge everyone who reads this story to NOT blame the firefighters. They followed orders as much as it may have hurt them to do so. Let’s place the blame squarely on the shoulders of those who are running this gong show. Mayor David Crocker (Mayor Crock-o-Shit is more like it), the fire department chief, the local and state governments. Let’s blame them.

Let’s see what this “Pay for Spray” thing has cost;

• Stress to the fire crew when they have to watch a fire burn out of control when they know they can stop it – unknown
• Family mementos that cannot be replaced – unknown
• Clothing, furniture, household items, day-to-day items – unknown
• Stress to the county when they realize they’re being extorted for protection money – unknown
• A place you couldn’t pay me to live in – priceless

This Christmas I’m going to get a nice Tim Horton’s gift certificate for my local firefighters. I don’t send food any more, I learned that gift certificates are the best thing. Here in Canada we may not have the best funded emergency crews, they may struggle from time to time to keep up. However, I cannot even begin to imagine a single Canadian emergency crew officer ordering his crew to stand down during an emergency.

Maybe that’s the difference between Canada and the United States.