On a Lush kick

Better late than never, truer words are rarely spoken.

As I am writing this one of my new furry roomates is stealing my chair yet again. Throughout the day and night they have been using it individuay and in tandem; cute but nonetheless inconvienent. 

The month of May seemingly gone and went without much being acheived thanks to a nagging feeling of doubt and a monumental case of writers block. It has been a true whopper of journalistic constipation that has plauged me and any attempts to break through it has only tightened its grip on my psyche.

Throught the second semester of the print journalism program I had intended to atempt to post video entries to my blog and hopefully this ends up being the inagrial vlog or whatever it the proper term is(so much for that plan). This past semester has been a difficult one for myslef and others. My lack of blog posts should be evidence of that and my current hamfisted atempt to slavage a bevy of incompletes from the semesters subjects is the death knell of a grim acedemic performance that I feel was more or less phoned in.

In this digitized, pasword protected and commercialized Ireality that we currently exist in it has become all to easy to forget the importnace of being mindful of the past. We are fatally obsessed with the future and the advancements offered by the snake oil salesmen of the information age. I digress,but it’s what I am good at and I can't help it.

In trying to find guidance from the past I find I only half-heartedly endeavour to avoid the technologically induced blindness caused by the shiny tools and quick and dirty methods of the trade. Looking to the past I see a rose coloured and romanticized version of journalism. A lost art practiced by hard as nails fedora wearing walking stereotypes, dinosaurs and Neanderthals that evolved into the best and brightest of generations past. Present day is faced with the ever growing, lumbering hulk of multimedia and citizen journalism. These new evolutionary steps are facilitated and augmented by the tempting conviences of the world wide web; a digital whore of babylon that takes all comers. It is all to easy to defame and lament the tools that both empower and hobble us as human beings and journalists. I speak from years of experience of bitching and moaning about technology ruining all my nostalgic ideas of how things should be.

I am a terminal fool, you are not paid to lsiten to this drivel, William S. Burroughs once said something to that effect and it seems somehow fitting. I recently finished reading the mans first novel, entitled Junky, and in doing so I have a newfound respect for him and his work. I had hoped that delving into a familirar and favoured area of literature would help to break me out of my own literary impotency. I fear it may be a case of too little to late, sounds too much like a cop out at this point but I think a brief online rant hardly qualifies as a miraculous recovery. It’s a start goddam it, but where it leads is another mystery.

As it stands my progress in the print journalism program is in limbo, I am unsure if I can pull enough classes out the fire and my chances at entering into second year seem to fade with every passing minute.The alternatives are inumerable on my path and I stand at a literal and figurative fork in the road. As always I am insuferable in indulging in the nerotic pratice of exploring and agonizing over all my options till I’ve worked myslef into a mad frenzy of self loathing and doubt. So it is that a constructive practice is perverted into a orgy of whining and cranky ruminations.

Alltthough I often fancy myslef a realist I find that my own perceptions of reality come at a different angle than the everage joe, which may go to explain the flaw in my world view, but that is reality for you. Bryon Gyson said that man is a bad animal and I often wonder what kind of man a bad animal makes. Some of us are too afraid to seek out and correct our flaws and those of us at the other end of the spectrum cannot see anything but our flaws and the flaws of others. Living a life consumed with correcting every little problem we see within ourseleves and others is no way for a human being to live; let alone a bad animal.

Where does all this driveling nonsenecal rambling leave me? Pretty well the same place I started off at I suppose. The option of signing into the three year advanced journalism program is always, well, an option and the fact that a photojournalist who has woked for the Toront star for 22 years said that the new program is the type of thing sure to get employers salavating makes it the obvious choice. I’ve never been one to partake in the obvious and expected and Idealy I wanted to follow up my first year in the print journalism program with the second year and get my diploma or whatever scrap of paper my time and money would net me.

As it happens, the chances of the latter happening are seemingly not as great as I had hoped and I have no one to blame but myself. So as a backup plan in case of the eventuality of the events of the past month transpiring in a negative way (i.e my limp dicked atempt to pull my marks out of the toilet) I applied to and accepted a spot in the photojournalism program at Loyalist. At the outset this was my first program of choice and by all accounts and purposes I should be happy to get the spot but that nagging feeling that I should take full advantage of this last run of the print journalism program still clings to every fibre of my acedemic being.

I guess I have to face the cold hard fact that thing never seem to work out as you picture them, hell you would think I would be used to that by now. Seems like learing from my own past is a skill that I choose to foget from time to time especially when I am trying to learn form someone elses past.

Enough to make a moon-eyed man go blind

Well it has been 16 days, by my count, since the new semester began and I am still not entirely sure how I feel about that.

I chalked it all up to a little too much time spent resting on my laurels and not enough hitting the books; except all I did while resting on said laurels was read. New courses and new challenges presented themselves and I took the information in but just filed it away for later, when my mind could actually comprehend the situation in its entirety... and I am still waiting.

Beats, ADAs, grammar and golden oldies like civ lit quizs and writing assignments piled up like cord wood, nearly gave myself a coronary trying to schedule it all in outlook express and my computer is worse for the wear, thanks a bunch Mr. Gates. Here I am trying to force all this information into a shape I can understand, and more importantly into a manageable plan of attack, but it seems scheduling is the least of my worries. Right now the choice to avoid interviews of any kind last semester seems ill-advised if not a bit negligent on my part, but then again it's not like I was ignoring a fundamental of the trade...oh, wait...crap.

It is a bizarre and unique head-space to be in when you have managed to exceed most every expectation you had in the short span of a few months only to be brought crashing back to earth by an even greater set of challenges. Perhaps I am too new to this whole success thing, I was a mediocre student my whole life and frankly never really had the wherewithal to apply myself to anything. It seems logical in a twisted way that being realistic and setting your sights low can be less stressful and in an equally twisted way rewarding when you hit higher than your current aim.

Since Friday I have explored every option my mind could come up with, to the detriment of my schoolwork and a big chunk of my school time this week has been eaten up by further exploring the options I have pondered... somewhere in there I hope I can find time to get back on the ball.

The third installment of our electrifying tale of battery powered misadventure has our clueless protagonist ready to make a deal with the “Debell” herself, read all about it in...
CONFESSIONS OF A CRACKBERRY FIEND
Part Three: Bargaining

The air in the mall was giving me a headache, or maybe it was the simmering rage from my encounter with the slack-jawed hormone at the Rogers kiosk. I parked myself on an uncomfortable bench and began to ponder just how I would cope with the situation I found myself in; the bargaining had started. “I can always use the labs and computers at the college,” I thought “yeah that’ll be cheaper and I will get more work done, yeah,” but then I realized that I would not be able to work before going to school. There was no way out, I could not keep up on world events or even keep in touch with my family without some form of communication and I needed it NOW! “It’ll be weeks before I can get a landline and internet hook up so why wait when I can get a portable facsimile of both?” I knew from experience that Fido was a dogs breakfast when it came to service and coverage and having just eliminated Rogers I was at a loss at to who I could go to.

The question rattled around my brain and I knew the obvious answer that was before me but I did not want to even consider it; Bell. After all I had been through with Ma’bell I had sworn to never give her any of my business or another cent of my money and now I was contemplating crawling back to the most unholy telecommunications company in the universe. My yen for data and contact was overriding my better judgment and I was ready to sell my soul (for three years at least) to the devil, er debell, just so I could get brain cancer from a little plastic toy. There were no more options it was this or continue living like*gasp* people did before the internet.

It was all over and it had come to the very thing I had hoped and prayed to avoid. All that was left was to go and hand over my money and sign over my life to my own personal Mephistopheles.

Editor’s note: The rehabilitation of the lab staff has been completed with only a 75% mortality rate, so after replacing lost staff with several trained Mandrills we have managed to retrieve yet another digital nugget for you lucky readers, enjoy!

“Stuck inside of Tara with the mobile blues again?”

Well the visit home has been most enlightening, in a variety of ways. The end result of it all... Technology offers a crutch to the multitude of able bodied, albeit lazy, people (read CONSUMER) and they suddenly view their everyday commonplace tasks as handicaps. Well not me, I'm getting a Goddammed pen and paper!!!!!!!

Sent on the TELUS Mobility network with BlackBerry

We interrupt the irregularly scheduled cellular saga for a far less interesting and painfully longwinded public service announcement.

Now for the majority of people November means the onset of the fall and bitter temperatures and lots of raking and yard-work. For me it means dealing with unresolved issues and emotions that I tend to keep in check most of the year but end up bubbling to the surface sooner or later. With Veterans weeks and Remembrance day I have to come to grips with my own service in the military and where it could have taken me and where it is taking several of our young men and women.

Every time I see another story about a Canadian soldier being killed or “seriously injured” (which is a polite way to say they have lost limbs or other extremities) I wonder if that could have been me had I stayed in the military or I wonder if I knew the face or the name of the soldier. Before anyone gets ahead of themselves and says I am un-Canadian or subversive let me say I unequivocally support our troops, that said I think we have lost our way militarily. We are engaging in fierce and bloody combat operations when we should be focusing on rebuilding a country and keeping the peace. I could go on at length and no doubt provoke several comments on my opinion but I will focus on an idea that I have heard.

On Friday I traveled to Ottawa to attend the 1914-1918 vigil and pay my respects to the 68142 Canadian men and women who where killed in the First World War. While there I was told Remembrance can be about asking questions of our current choices, and it occurred to me that these selfless individuals who decided they needed to go to war went to protect my right to stand up and say loudly “Now wait just a minute, this is wrong.” Yeah sure, the right to complain the right to scratch at the big ugly machine you may say but in some countries doing that will put you in a world of pain and the fact is we do have it pretty good here for all the bellyaching that goes on.

Are our valiant troops fighting and dying in the wilds and cities of Afghanistan to keep the Taliban and Al Qeada from bringing terror and Sharia law to our doorstep? Possible but rather unlikely. Are they bogged down in the quagmire left by the unchecked aggression and military power of the United States? That’s possible too but the fact is there are a bunch Canadians who are highly trained and tough as nails fighting because that is there job, a job they volunteered for. We should support these citizens of Canada and not forget them we should make choices politically and socially to see that they get the support they need and to get them home as soon as possible.

I think what I am trying to say, and I do apologize for the disjointed and rambling nature of my entry which I blame on lack of sleep and emotions, is that our soldiers were, have been and continue to be the most dedicated and professional in the world and we should not just be proud of them we should be honoured to have had and continue to have such fine men and women willing to put their lives on the line for you and me.

-LEST WE FORGET OUR GLORIOUS DEAD-

In the second installment of this tale of digital debauchery our hapless rube finds he needs info like a junkie needs junk… Will he fight the temptation of the mobile monkey? Find out in…

CONFESSIONS OF A CRACKBERRY FIEND

Part Two: Anger

My first stop was the Rogers kiosk in the local mall, still could not shake the dirty feeling but I was determined to have some form of link to the outside world besides filth encrusted payphones. When I found the joint all the handsets where under glass like expensive watches or some other fancy bauble and I had to ask the clerk to show me the ones that looked really shiny. I felt like I was trying to choose an engagement ring for a relationship I desperately wanted out of. The units were ridiculously overpriced and the plans for internet and email usage were extravagantly priced with no good student plans or even a decent unlimited plan. Granted all my info was coming from a blurry and dog-eared photocopy of the actual brochure. After the clerk informed me that they only had the one copy and went off to flirt with a pair of teenage girls looking at handsets under glass. The second stage came on quickly, anger, pure venom and bile, I dropped the handset on the counter and walked away.

Editor’s note: The boys in the lab have managed to recover another memo, unfortunately it took several weeks as no-one could push any of the right buttons due to atrophied fingers. The entire staff is now undergoing intense physiotherapy and electro shock treatment for acute withdrawal symptoms:

“Crapspackle”

What strange turn has my path taken, it's the things you least expect that offer the greatest shock but promise the greatest rewards.
Well so much for promise, can't even view news videos much less waste time watching cartoons, ye gods what is the point of owning one of these horrid things if you can't get some kind of online video news summary????

Sent on the TELUS Mobility network with BlackBerry


Can this story really continue for three more installments? You read it you can’t UN-READ it!!!!

What follows is a five part account of a rational, upstanding citizens downward spiral into the depths of addiction, debauch and thumb cramps. Can isolation and information withdraw push the civilized mind to madness? Read and find out in…

CONFESSIONS OF A CRACKBERRY FEIND

Part One: Denial


I have always looked disparagingly at the poor saps twiddling away at miniscule keyboards or blathering into oversized handsets and never in my wildest dreams would have imagined that one day I would join the ranks of these crackberry fiends. My indoctrination into the ranks of the thumb-typing horde came out of desperation pure and simple, the only choice I had was which cell phone provider I would beholden to for the next three years. The reason I was in the unheard of situation of being without phone and internet service was because of the ineptitude and all around shabbiness of Bell Canada and its (service) agents, so going to them for more mind polluting “customer service.”

Choosing a cell phone service provider is like choosing your executioner and your mode of execution, whatever choice you make it’ll turn out badly and you’ll always think you made the right choice right up until the very last moment. In my case it wasn’t so much the executioner that confounded me but the way I would get done in, I knew absolutely nothing about cell phones, data devices, PDA’s or smart phones other than the fact I considered them a blight on society. I started to think of the shrieking plastic abominations as tools, something to be used and exploited to my own ends, I was in the first stage of my impending execution, denial. I still felt like some kind of degenerate junkie when I asked to have a closer look at any of the “merchandise” and I disliked the feeling immensely.

Editors note: From a micro SD card found in puddle of urine along fragments of smashed plastic and glass , that our experts inform me was once a Blackberry Curve smart phone, we have managed to reconstruct the following memo. Spelling and grammar errors have been preserved for continuity:

“No rest for the restless”

So 3 pm and a few things done on the to do list, but still no real dazzling revelation that this small plastic brick is somthing I cannot live without. It is mediocre as a phone and lackluster as a web browsing tool, email is its only good point and that involves becoming proficent at typeing with this lilputian keyboard, yeesh.

Sent on the TELUS Mobility network with BlackBerry

Flea-bitten And Frenetic

Even before I’ve had a chance to recover from my third week at school, week four begins amid rashes and strange rumblings. Wednesday of last week marked the beginning of an infestation of filthily insects out for my blood. I felt sorry for Honey, my landlady’s cat, that day because she looked miserable, scabby and anemic. I can safely say I now know how she felt. A brief encounter with Honey a week earlier had netted me a rather nasty “rash” on both my forearms which I chalked up to cat dander allergies having never suffered flea bites before.

Itchy but determined I continued about my routine until my basement suite became ground zero for a serious flea invasion. The final straw came as I removed my boots after a long day of classes on Thursday, my ankles were covered in bites identical to the irritation on my forearms. The next morning I was swarmed while I was trying to enjoy my morning coffee, the area rug in my den was full of fleas so it had to go. Friday was awkward, itchy and all through class I was petrified I was going to give everyone fleas.

My week was a total write off and I knew the weekend would be more of the same but I knew I had get rid of the fleas. Not wanting to resort to fumigating the place (especially after I failed to find any flea bombs) I had to find alternative methods and since my Landlady had disappeared I was on my own. Using a pie plate with soapy water and a candle in it I placed several ‘flea traps’ in the various rooms of my suite, turned out all the lights and hoped for the best. In theory the light attracts the fleas and they drown in the water because of the soap in it… in theory. I caught maybe half a dozen in three traps and considering a female can produce 20 eggs a day I was loosing the battle. In the nick of time my landlady arrived with several cans of flea spray and thus began the onslaught of a chemical warfare fueled genocide. In a frenzy of vacuuming, sweeping and toxic clouds the vicious brutes met their tortured ends.

I tend to hold life in high regard but when it comes to dealing with vermin I do what needs to be done. Sunday came and I had no fresh bites, the weekend was nearly over and apart from playing exterminator very little got done. It all did not matter in the slightest because the fleas were gone and everyone was better for it, even the cat. After seeding my suite with enough fleas to make my life miserable for several days Honey was quarantined and has since received many flea baths and is now her regular feline self.