Mesothelioma Awareness Day

It's been almost two years (less about a week and a bit) since I got the news that I had cancer in my ascending colon. After surgery, six weeks off work and a much longer period of both physical and mental recovery, I'm now approaching two years cancer free (as of November 1st).

I was lucky, in that colon cancer, if caught early, is pretty easy to treat.  Mine was caught very early, stage one.

Others are not so lucky.

September 26th is Mesothelioma Awareness Day.  Mesothelioma is a cancer of the lungs, caused by exposure to asbestos, otherwise known as that stuff that people used to put in houses for insulation, until people found out that it was all kinds of terrible for you.

Although asbestos use has been drastically reduced over the years, (Canada's last two mines closed in 2011) it's still legal for use in both the U.S. and Canada, and even if people aren't actively using it as much (however, they still are, which is mind-boggling and scary), it's still all over the place, in older homes and buildings. 

Hell, two years ago, when the sewer backed up into the basement and the line had to be dug up, one of the original pipes was made of asbestos, and got left in our yard over the winter.  I had to keep calling to get it removed, because I'd be damned if either myself or the Well-Travelled One were going to touch that thing with a ten-foot pole.

Mesothelioma is one of the major side effects of asbestos exposure, and it's outcome is general devastating.. Victims are usually given less than a year to live.

If you want to find out more, visit www.mesothelioma.com

A part of my childhood just died.

I'm usually not one to get all emotional about death when it comes to celebrities and other public figures, so I'm a little embarrassed to admit that I pretty much burst into tears not too long ago when I found out that one of my childhood heroes, Stompin' Tom Connors had passed away at the age of 77.

As a child, I would go to my grandparents house in Bancroft where they had a big old 8-track stereo. If my paternal grandparents were Big Band, my maternal grandparents were Grand Ol' Opry. One weekend when I was about 7 years old, my mom dug out one of the 8-tracks and played a song called "Goodbye Rubberhead." The rhyming scheme and gratuitous use of the word "boob" appealed to me. I giggled at The Ketchup song, about a potato and tomato that get married, and at the long-sufferingness of "My Brother Paul".

My mom and dad found a 60 minute tape and made me a copy of that 8-track album, Bud the Spud and other Favorites, filling air on the B-side with East Coast fiddle music. For the next year or so, when we visited our trailer during the summers my mom would cue up that cassette tape before I went to bed each night and I would fall asleep to the music of Stompin' Tom. I held onto that tape until I was in my early 20's, when it was lost during one of many moves.

He came to Midland a few years ago to play the rec center, but at the time the ticket prices were out of my reach, or perhaps I had I unbreakable obligations to attend to, but for whatever reason, I missed this show and I swore I would see the man perform live while there was still time.

That time has run out and I don't mind saying I'm a little heartbroken.

R.I.P Mr. Connors

Today I am all out of patience.

Today I am out of patience.  Outwardly, I look okay.  Normal.  I'm going to go, do some christmas shopping with a friend, have dinner with The Well-Travelled One and go about my business, while inside I kick and scream and throw a toddler-tantrum at the sheer un-fucking-fairness of it all.

There's so much anger inside me right now.

I'm angry that, as a friend of mine pointed out, we don't show the same level of remorse and shirt-wrending heartache when we hear of children across the ocean being killed daily by bombs and artillery.  Over there are also parents who woke up one morning, kissed their child that morning only to mourn them by day's end.  We call them collateral damage and hush people who dare to mention little brown children dying when clusterbombs are dropped on school yards because we need to support the troops.

I'm angry at the people who are suggesting that the way to prevent gun deaths is with more guns, rather than less, as though arming teachers couldn't have possibly ended in more bloodshed.  I'm angry when people say that this is not the time to talk about gun control, when people are dying.   This is the perfect time.

People say that he would have found another way.  Perhaps a bomb, perhaps stabbing like the guy in China that stabbed 22 school children.  Do you know how many of those children died?

None.

Fucking ZEE-ROH.

So don't tell me now is not the time to talk gun control.  This is the perfect time. Don't tell me less access to guns wouldn't have made a difference.   Today 22 parents in China are thanking their lucky stars instead of mourning their lost babies.

I am angry at people jumping to the obvious conclusion that this man must have been 'mentally ill'.  Is it a possibility?  Yes.  But not all mentally ill people are violent and not all violent people are mentally ill. To assume so does a huge injustice to the non-violent mentally ill.  It is not up to me or you to diagnose.

I am angry at the idea that this could have been prevented by allowing God back into our schools.  We kept Him out.  We refused to let people pray.  (We refused to force people to pray, actually).

I want no part of any God who would let little children die because we do not worship as he sees fit.

I have been told, in dark moments, that God has a Plan.  Was this part of it?  Cold comfort to the families who are living a nightmare today.   I have been told on numerous occasions that he is both omnipotent and loving.   If he couldn't have saved those children because he isn't "allowed" in schools, then he is not omnipotent.  If he wouldn't, then he is not loving.

An omnipotent, loving god would have stopped Adam Lanza before he ever reached the school into which he was not 'allowed'.

You know Canada Has No Interest in its Celebrity Culture when...

.. one of our cultural icons DIES and it takes five freakin' years for anyone to even notice.

Or, more accurately, we're too interested in U.S. celebrity culture to notice when one of our own dies.

In the past I have expressed my annoyance with the disproportionate amount of grief that people express in the wake of celebrity deaths, as once again was demonstrated over the last week after news of Whitney Houston's death broke.  So in light of that, I feel more than a little hypocritical to say that I felt PROFOUNDLY FUCKING SAD when I found out that Neil Hope, who had played Derek "Wheels" Wheeler on Degrassi Junior High and Degrassi High had not only died, but died FIVE YEARS AGO without anyone really noticing or giving a shit.

You said it, Ed the Sock.

I do have to add that I find it funny that I found all this out from a sentient, chain-smoking sock.  So that says something... about.. something.  I guess.  Score one for patent absurdity.

Anyway, maybe it's the affinity I have for those original Degrassi series' after they got me through weeks of being hospitalized in my late teens (along with Guiding Light, as well as reruns of Law and Order and Northern Exposure) or perhaps it's that it sounds like Hope in spite of his name had a pretty shitty upbringing not unlike his on screen counterpart but this made me sad in a way that usually doesn't happen with me.

Source

Maybe it's because after Degrassi ended, Neil Hope seemed to kind of fade into obscurity, popping up once for a brief cameo on the pilot for Degrassi: The Next Generation.  It's entirely possible  that the family purposely hid his death from the media, and if that is the case more power to them.  That would at least be a less wholly depressing thought than the idea that this guy died in a fire and it took five years for anyone to really notice or give a shit.

According to the story in the Globe and Mail, creator Linda Schuyler and executive producer Stephen Stohn had kept quiet out of respect to Hope's family.  Odd that the Globe cites natural causes, whereas the National Post says he died in a fire.

Apparently, the news was finally made public due to a Facebook group dedicated to bring 'the real' Neil Hope to Facebook.  I guess the family confirmed so as to not waste everyone's time.

In the spirit of blaming all that is wrong with the world on Mark Zuckerberg I say "Good job, Zuck.  Way to make things AWKWARD."

Here's a clip from the movie/series finale School's Out, where Wheels gets drunk and kills a kid and maims Lucy in a car wreck.  Trigger warning.



UPDATE: So most of the other news outlets are reporting that Hope died of natural causes (Wow.. out of context, that phrase is like.. really depressing). Our lesson here is that the National Post kind of sucks.

No Title Fitting.

Your beauty kindled envious green flames
You were the wanted, and I was stunned and shamed 
but the laughter, in writing was infectious
and something like a friendship born

Troubled and hopeful, youth cased in wisdom
Too much spirit to be held by a mere human form.

One day, one pill, one phone call
That spirit exploded and touched across the miles
Drawing strangers in flesh but friend in words
To the place where you lay

I wept tears for the broken
As your pedestal crumbled
Crushing the spirits of those who worshipped at your feet
Falling into madness and bottles and nothingness.

Four years, holding a vigil to your silent photograph
We left messages, until the day you became a Cause.
They took your face.
They took your voice and spoke for you.
Strangers, and I could look no more.

Copyright 2011 Andrea Lyn Cole

Wasn't going to, just feel like I should.

I had sat on a large cushion in my living room, feeding my almost four-month-old daughter a bottle. It was 9am, Regis and Kelly time, but the show had been interrupted.

With my free hand I reached for the portable phone and dialed my best friend who was a thousand kilometers away with a baby of her own to care for.

"Turn it to Regis. Some jackhole flew a plane into a building. Who does that?" I said, with my usual display of sensitivity and compassion. It could only be a fluke, I reasoned.

"I know, right? People are idiots"

Mere seconds later, the line fell quiet between us as on the screen, before our very eyes, the second plane hit the tower and we seemed to come to the same conclusion almost simultaneously. It takes a special kind of stupid (or, in fairness, a gregious technical error or malfunction) to crash into a building once, by accident. Nobody does it twice.

Not by accident.

"Holy shit."

************************************

I still can't accurately describe my feelings.  Sad, of course, for the families and friends that were lost.  Humbled, by the heroics and feats of strength and perserverance of everyday people.

Afraid.  Angry.

I felt angry mostly because of people's reactions.  Maybe if I had lost someone close to me I would feel differently, but I remember thinking that in many people's minds, this would simply be justification for hate that already existed.  

Justification for taking up arms against people who were different from us.

People who, like many of us want nothing more than to get up every morning, hug their children, spend time with friends and family and enjoy life as it is given, but who would now be targeted merely for sharing a belief system.. nay, for sharing the NAME of a belief system (for, much like Christianity, the interpretations of Islam vary and some people take it to dark places, where others choose to approach from a paradigm of love and respect for humanity), with people who wish to see us dead.

I felt a certain amount of pride in own government's reaction, for keeping a level head when G.W. was making his "If you're not wi' us, yer agin' us" speeches.  We went to Afghanistan, but we stayed out of Iraq and I think that was one of the last good decisions ol' Jean C got to make (or his government made) in that final term.

I felt fear, still feel fear.  During the cold war, my mother used to have nightmares of nuclear holocaust, and of trying to urge us, her children, to run from the danger while our feet melted to the sidewalk in the face of the overwhelming heat.

In the days following, I felt connected to that memory.

I still don't know how I feel.   Awed, that such time has passed.  Vaguely cynical, as the more things change, the more things stay the same.  I don't feel like we have learned much at all.  I'd like to say we value life more, but I'm hard pressed to back that up.

I wasn't going to write anything at all, because I always feel like I'm bandwagon-jumping.  I'm loathe to feel obligated to feel something today.  I had a great day today, spent time with family and with friends and enjoyed life.

And I did it guilt-free.  Maybe that is the lesson.  I don't know.  What is the lesson here?  Is it to fear?  Is it hate?  Or is it to value life, no matter whose life it is?

Anyway.  This song kind of haunts me.

Kimya Dawson - Anthrax

A 'victory' that is bittersweet, at best.

Having had roughly 24 hours to reflect on the revelations of last night, namely that U.S. special forces had finally captured and killed Osama Bin Laden I gotta say, I have some mixed emotions.  It might be fair to say I'm a little numb.

In no particular order, my thoughts:

I'm happy and relieved for the people who lost friends, family and co-workers in 9/11 who will hopefully find some sort of closure from this news.

I'm afraid of Bin Laden's martydom being catalyst for more aggression against North America.

I'm conflicted because I don't usually believe that justice for taking life should involve taking more life, especially without due process, but in this case, a big part of me is willing to give it a pass, just this time.

I'm irritated with people screaming 'America, Fuck Yeah' and 'Hooray for the good guys!' like we've won some kind of pissing contest.  It's not the Olympics.  It's not the bloody Stanley Cup Playoffs.  It's life and death.   It's not just about one man, it's about the memories of thousands lost, on both sides of the fence.  Let's show a little decorum so we can at least hold ourselves to a higher standard than those people who celebrated and rioted in the streets when the World Trade Center fell.

I'm apathetic because I know this is merely a symbolic victory.  Bin Laden's capture and subsequent death won't end terrorism, it won't end the blood spilt over conflicting ideologies.  This is a continuation of an ongoing cycle of violence with no end in site.

I'm still more than a little amused with the fact that Barack Obama's address cut into the end of Celebrity Apprentice.  Suck it, Trump.

Yeah, so all in all.. don't know how I feel.  There have been a few choice things I've read around the interwebs that addressed it nicely:

Yes, bin Laden the man is dead. But he achieved all he set out to achieve, and a hell of a lot more. He forever changed who we are as a country, and for the worse. Mostly because we let him. That isn’t something a special ops team can fix - The Stay-At-Home Feminist Mom

Osama Bin Laden is dead.  Couldn’t have happened to a more deserving guy. - Jill at Feministe

The world breathes a sigh of relief that the foremost terrorist leader has been eliminated, and rightly so, but let's not lose sight of temperance and grace. This is far from over and the actions we take and the words we speak today will color what happens in the future. - Everything I like Causes Cancer

ten years ago, i may have felt different.
ten years ago, i may have felt a bit of righteous and well deserved retribution.
ten years ago, i may have felt that good triumphed over evil...
ten years ago, i would have felt that we struck a huge blow to the terrorists.

i may have felt that we knew where they were and were coming for them.

not yesterday.
not today.
not tomorrow.

revenge is a dish that is best not served.
it is a dish that is best a lost recipe.

today this feels
like a lie.
a ruse.
a spin.
a hide the weenie.
a slight of hand. - Bruce's Evil Twin at Stupid Stuff I See and Hear

and this which has been going around Facebook:

I have never wished a man dead, but I have read some obituaries with great pleasure - Mark Twain

They Tell You to Look for Blood.

This post is written as part of Studio30Plus weekly writing challenge.  The prompt is 'Red'.  Although I've attempted to keep it less than graphic, you may want to skip if you're squeamish.

*******************************************************

They tell you to look for blood.

When I was eleven, my grandfather died of colon cancer.  Well, he died of liver cancer, but it originated in his colon.  All four of his children were told that they would need periodic screenings, since colon cancer can be hereditary, like many cancers.  As for the grandchildren, we were merely advised to keep an eye out for blood in the stool.

Blood is red, right?

What I overlooked, in the months that I was hemorrhaging internally on a near daily basis from May to September of 1998, is that new blood is red.  Old blood is black. Sometimes a purplish color.  But not easily recognizable as the bright, vibrant red of new blood.  Red would have sent me running to the doctors, health card in hand, going 'What is wrong with me?'

Black?  Black I ignored.  I ignored it while inside my intestinal tract was slowly decaying, day by day.  I ignored the bathroom trips, and the embarassment of my own functions.  I ignored the pain in my leg, which was the clot that was forming, quite possibly out of my own body's effort to stop the life literally draining out of me.

I ignored it until the morning I passed out in the bathroom, banging my head on the door jam.  The morning I couldn't lift my head high enough to even sit up and dress myself.  My mother and a family friend tugged a sweater over me and carried me to the car.  I wept with pain and disorientation, sure I was dying.

Turns out, I was.

Source

The doctors explained it thusly:

Normal Hemoglobin levels:  110-120
Safe Hemoglobin levels: 90ish
Level at which heart failure sets in?: 45

My level?  55.

I was a month in hospital, a week in Intensive Care, where there the doctors had the task of thinning the blood-clot in my leg, while controlling the bleeding in my intestine.

Four pints of dark, thick blood was pumped back into my body.  Eventually, color returned to my face that had become pasty white during the weeks bedridden.  I missed an autumn, watched from my bed as the leaves turn brilliant orange, crimson and warm brown outside my window.

Today, 12 years later, my health issues have stabilized for the time being and have been so for the past two years (she says, superstitiously rapping her knuckles on the desk).  But, I still look for blood.

They Won't Call You Shirley, Anymore.

From TMZ:

Legendary funny man Leslie Nielsen died today of complications of pneumonia in a hospital near his home in Fort Lauderdale, this according to his agent. He was 84.

Here's a better story from CBC News

We've lost a legend of comedy and a part of Canadian cinema's legacy.

I saw Naked Gun when I was around 8 and it was my first real foray into absurdist comedy.  Neilsen's deadpan delivery caught me, and kindled in me a love for the absurd.  From there I moved onto the films of Mel Brooks and Nielsen's own earlier work, Airplane.

In my opinion, he was under-rated as a dramatic actor, though.  One of my favorite roles was as Paul Gross' eccentric, 'shroom-growing, father in Men With Brooms.

As a country up until recently not particularly well known for our entertainers, Leslie Neilsen was someone I was proud to have represent our Nation in the entertainment industry.

Rest in Peace Mr. Nielsen.

There's love in these arms.

... and on 'em, today.

Today is To Write Love on Her Arms day.  It's supposed to be a day to recognize the daily struggle of people who suffer from depression, addiction and self-harm.  And no, regardless of the title, it's not just about girls.

I've never dealt with clinical depression, myself, but I have had some pretty low points, so I feel for those who have to deal with these issues on  a day-to-day basis, and would like to share a quick story.

In the late winter of 2001 I was living in Barrie, alone with my ex-husband and expecting our first child.  We had no money, no jobs, no transportation, no phone and at times, no food.  We were cut off from our friends and family and frankly, life sucked.  I remember one day having to go to the food bank, which was a forty minute walk from our room we rented.  They loaded me up with bags of food.  I had no money for the bus, let alone a cab.  The Food Bank people took pity on me and put me in a cab home.

One day, I was walking up the long hill from downtown back to our shitty little boarding room that we had rented because it was supposed to save so much money, and I stopped at the bridge on Sunnydale Road and looked down and just stared at the cars whizzing by on the highway below.   I was so overwhelmed with my situation and I couldn't see an end in sight.  I watched the cars and wondered if I had the guts to climb up and fall down to the highway below.

I have terrible vertigo sometimes.

I thought about my baby, and if she really deserved to be brought into such a shitty, hopeless situation.  I thought about my ex, and my family.  I thought about the people in cars below, about the people who would have to live with the vision of my body crashing through their windshield.  But Goddamn, it was so fucking hard to keep going when things seemed like such a goddamned unending struggle.  Eventually, I turned and dragged my feet the rest of the way home. 

I don't ever drive down Sunnydale Road.

Remembrance Day.. In Case You've Forgotten

First off, I'm going to say a few things that might annoy and/or alienate some friends and family.

I'm GLAD for the Red Vs. White Poppy debate.

I'm happy that someone has come up with an alternate symbol for Remembrance Day.  Why?

Because people are TALKING about Remembrance Day.  They're talking about it, about what these symbols stand for, about why we have this day.  They're actively discussing what the purpose of November 11th is, and not just going through the motions.  Tom Megginson of Work That Matters posted an excellent piece on the debate here.

Myself?  I continue to wear the red poppy, out of respect for my family members, especially my grandmother who did lose loved ones.  I've never had to experience this.  I continue to wear it, because all those things that the not-so-new White Poppy is supposed to represent, I have already come to associate with the red.

However, I do not agree with the Legion's stance on the white poppies.  Promoting peace is not disrespectful to soldiers.  WWI was supposed to be the war to end all wars, was it not?  Should we not be quibbling over something like the color of a symbol.. especially when to some, the two have almost the same meaning.  Many will argue that they fought for our freedom... so by default, we shouldn't practice it?

That's my take on it.  I continue to wear the red, but I would not deny anyone the right to wear the white.  The idea is to remember...

Here is a link to my post from last year, which still applies.


I am a Pacifist, this is why I remember

Hot Toddy Time.

I am sick.  I've been fighting it for about a week, but it's finally caught up to me.  Usually my way is to give in completely at the first sign of sniffles, and get that shit over with.  But this is October and with my favorite holiday season in full swing, there's been just too much I have not wanted to miss out on.  November 1st, I will happily succumb to whatever cold or flu symptoms decide to immobilize me, because frankly, what am I going to miss?  Remembrance Day?  There's a party no one wants to skip.

For those who are unfamiliar with a Hot Toddy, which I am currently sipping before bed, it's a drink consisting of tea, honey, lemon and a big old shot of whiskey (Wiser's special reserve being my brand-of-choice).  It's hot, tastes like ass, but clears your various respiratory cavities and beats the hell out of Neo Citran.

In light of it being less than a week until Halloween, I've been fighting this cold like *insert a famous old-timey boxer here* on steroids.  I've also been hanging out with a friend of mine who's been visiting Canada this month after not being home for two years.  There's been much to do.  Last weekend she came to my house and we went karaoking, then for sushi and shopping on the Friday.  Saturday we took my girls on an impromptu visit to Castle Village where my little one braved the Museum of Horror, while the eldest child stayed upstairs in the gift shop and hung out with the owner's daughter.

The rear of Castle Village is a park/walking trail referred to as the Enchanted Kingdom, and there's a trail with a bunch of nature facts on signs, and there are houses that you can look inside to see different fairy tale tableaux eg. Snow White, Red Riding Hood, Goldilocks, etc.  My friend commented that Goldilocks looked like she'd already had her run-in with the bears.

Oh we got chip truck fries and poutine for lunch.  I am told chip trucks are not common in the U.S.?  Or, at the very least in SoCal.  Interesting.

This weekend I drove down to the city Saturday morning so Sammi and I could participate in the Toronto Zombie Walk.  On the way down I stopped a friend's place in Anus-Ville (her particularly cute nickname for Innisfil) to pick up a very cute mosaic she had made years ago, and was giving away to clear some space.

Due to my general inability to gauge drive times, we had a pleasant but short visit and I was off to the city once again.  After lunch we got all zombied up and headed for Trinity park.

Zombies drive cars.  True fact.

 Running about 30 minutes behind, we caught up with the zombie hordes somewhere outside of Kensington Market.  I was truly impressed with the creativity and innovation put into some of the costumes.  There were theme zombies (we saw star trek zombies, Grease Zombies, no less than two Zombie Jesus', Scooby Doo zombies and so on), as well as some that were absolutely breathtaking in their gruesomeness.  There were also people in the parade dressed as Zombie Hunters.  One duo in gas masks were darting through the crowds screaming "Run! Don't just stand there taking pictures!!"

What really got me was people's ability to stay in character.  I made a really bad zombie, on that level.  I was to excited to stop giggling and smiling and taking pictures to be at all convincing.

At the end of the walk, back at Trinity park, we were treated to the musical stylings of The Von Drats, a pretty kick-ass surf-rock band.  I'll be looking them up for sure.

Oooh, quick fun story!

I never ever ever get singled out or picked for stuff at public events.  EVER.  Even as a kid, I was generally over-looked when I would shyly stick my hands up when the magician would ask for a volunteer.  I'm always a few rows off when the band starts throwing guitar pics and drumsticks.

So we're right up front for the Von Drats (it's a band in the center type layout, so some of the guys are facing us and some aren't)  Bass-Guy keeps throwing out T-shirts between songs, and although I'm screaming and jumping like a long-term fangirl, and not some who has just stumbled upon a free show in the park, he keeps throwing right over my head.  So the third time, he's got the shirt ready, and makes eye contact and I give him the sad puppy face.. and HE THROWS IT RIGHT TO ME!!

Being me, I drop it, because I suck at catching, and some girl tries to thwart me by stepping on it, but I manage to swipe it out from under her heel because gawdammit, that shirt was MEANT FOR ME!  So Yay, I got a free T-shirt.

And a bitch of a cold.  By the time we had gotten back to the park I had to pee bad.  There were NO open washrooms in the area, so we decided to make our way back to the car.  It had also started raining by this point, so we walk for about an hour in the rain, in single digit temperatures, our zombie make-up smearing down our face.. no doubt adding to the effect.

And that's what got me.  I felt like ass by the time we got back to the car, and pretty much have been since.  I crashed by 8:30 that night, and barely survived lunch with another two friends before I decided it was in my best interests to go home.

I picked the girls up, and because I have been promising for weeks we finally decorated the house for Halloween, seeing as there is only a week left.  You know the deal, caution tape, spider webbing, foam tomb-stones, decapitated heads, disemboweled babies.  Same old, same old.

actually, I'm really proud of how my head came out, and I've been getting many comments on my baby.  I consider 'disturbing' a compliment this time of year.

The Mrs. Lovejoys have their priorities out of whack.

You know who I'm referring to, correct?  Those that wring their hands crying 'Please, think of the children!'

Over the last couple of weeks there have been a string of teen suicides involving gay teens who were being tormented (bullying is so overused.. ) by their peers.  One kid was outed on the internet by his college room-mate.  Imagine, if you will, someone you were forced to live in close confines with playing a video of you having sex ON THE INTERNET.  Without your consent, or knowledge.  Imagine how horrifying that might be for you.  Regardless of who you are having sex with.

Dan Savage, who writes a sex advice column, came up with the brilliant idea for the "It Gets Better" project... basically, a collection of videos where gay adults can let young people who may be grappling with their sexuality know that there is life after high school and that life will get better.  Frankly, I think ANY kid who is being bullied can benefit from this.  I sure could have.  It was a huge relief finding out that all those heirarchies that exist in a high school and even public school environment DON'T MATTER when you're finally out in the 'real world'.

Of course, we get the dissent, as I mentioned yesterday like this jackass here (Again, trigger warning.)  A commenter at Here and Now pointed out this story as well:

Some School Anti-Bullying Programs Push Gay Agenda, Christian Group Says

Imma file this under "Are you F***ing Kidding me??"

"What parents need to be aware of is there are activist groups who want to promote homosexuality to kids because they realize if they can capture hearts and minds of our children at the earliest ages they will have for all practical purposes won the clash of values that we are currently experiencing," - Candi Cushman, education analyst for Focus on the Family, said on recently launched website TrueTolerance.org.

Seriously?  I have to laugh at the irony of the 'TrueTolerance.org' I also love the idea one can sell a certain sexual orientation to kids.  No, sorry.. the idea is not to promote, the idea is to let kids that are having issues with their sexuality to say 'You're okay.  Be who you are'.

Now, I have issues with Anti-bullying legislature (yes, even as a former victim) because frankly, I think a big part of the problem is that parents need to stop teaching their kids to be such little shit-heads.  Seems pretty friggin' simple to me.  However, some parents refuse to do this, as I learned at a young age when the parent of the kid who spent a year throwing pine cones, then iceballs, then eventually ROCKS at me at my bus-stop until I finally got hit in the mouth, responded to my mother's complaint by saying "Well, YOUR daughter was swearing at my daughter."

SHE WAS THROWING ROCKS AT MY FRIGGIN' HEAD.  DAMN RIGHT I'M GOING TO SWEAR AT HER!!!

So, there are Those Parents who won't teach their kids not to be shit-heads, and there are kids who, for some reason or another, won't bring it to their parent's attention when they are the ones being victimized.  I was one of those kids, and why, I have no idea.  Hell, I was skipping school in the third grade to avoid the douchebaggery of my fellow classmates.  I had no reason not to tell my parents, I just didn't.  For this reason, it is necessary to have some boundaries in place in schools to prevent this behaviour.  But to say that the legislature shouldn't have any focus on one of the more marginalized groups of students because of a 'clash of values' is absurd at best, dangerous at worst.

Basically, the message I get from their stance is "What's a few gaybo's offing themselves if it means our kids don't catch 'teh ghey'."

Mrs. Lovejoy's of the world, I think you need to rethink your priorities.  Think of the children, indeed.

Think of YOUR children.  If this was your child, would you not want someone to stand up for their right to be who they are and love who they love?  As a parent, I'd rather my kid be gay than dead, any day of the week.

Maybe Ms. Candi Cushman of Focus on the Family needs to take a moment and focus on the families who are grieving right now for their lost children.. children they lost to hatred, intolerance, and bigotry.  May these poor boys rest in peace.

Billy Lucas, Age 15
Tyler Clemente, Age 18
Asher Brown, Age 13
Seth Walsh, Age 13

My trip to the psychic fair

Yesterday two good friends and I, in the name of doing something fun and different and relatively cheap, decided to check out a psychic fair.

In matters that one might call 'supernatural', I'm kind of what you might call a hopeful skeptic. I have an interest in things like clairvoyancy, mediumship, telemetry and whathaveyou, but still not sure I really believe in a lot of it. I've seen and experienced things that lead me to believe that there is a lot more out there than modern science has found explanations for. However, there are other things that people claim to be supernatural can really be chalked up to psychology, and unfortunately in some circumstances, good old hucksterism.

I think there are planes of existence and dimensions that science is not yet capable of exploring and explaining but may be able to, one day. Just look at the atom. I'm sure that once upon a time, the idea that all matter was made of tiny little particles that you can't see probably seemed like a whole lot of bunk, until we were able to create the technology to prove such things.

Anyway, the fair had about a dozen or so booths, a number of people doing readings and such. The aromatherapy/reiki booth was interesting and the two girls (twin sisters I believe) who worked the booth were fun and interesting. My friends both had some kind of foot therapy thing done, which they said was very relaxing. This is one of the areas I have an easier time buying, as I think a lot of it is psychological. Who has not been triggered by a scent at some point or another? At the same time though, it all may come down to a form of meditation, and forcing yourself to RELAX. I think a lot of the reason reiki and aromatherapy and the like seem to work is because you have someone there to guide you in your state of relaxation because in this day and age, it really is something that a lot of people are incapable of doing on their own.

A lot of the booths had people doing readings of all types, and since I was broke I kind of bypassed them. An amusing Scottish man did a quick (and I mean that literally, the guy spoke SO fast) numerology thing for each of us. Horoscopes and numerology rank pretty low on the credit scale for me because:

A) if people want to believe in something bad enough, they will see evidence that supports their belief and ignore that which conflicts.. this is confirmation bias.

B) I never seem to fit the descriptions of my 'signs', or I'll only half-fit them. The exception to this is my chinese horoscope. Last Christmas my co-workers and I all went out for breakfast at a local Chinese place and there was a fair amount of laughter all around when I read that 'Monkeys generally have a low opinion of others'. What, me? Really? nooooooo.

And again, with the numerology guy, some stuff fit me (jack of all trades, master of none.. yup. I also liked 'You do good things well, but you do bad things just as well when it comes to the drink and sex' - haha, nice.) but a lot of it I just kind of shook my head and said no, that doesn't sound like me.

There were also some booths selling some very nice artwork and handmade jewellery and such.. these had more appeal to me than trying to find my spirit guide or my guardian angel. Spirits and angels and communication with the deceased are more things that I have a hard time giving credibility to, especially as recently I've been privately grappling with a lot of my own beliefs/ideas regarding what happens after we die. But again, there are things I have seen with my own eyes that won't allow me to write off the idea entirely - Mom, you know what I'm talking about.

One of the readers was in Barrie for the first time so they were offering a 'One question' reading for free (usually for $15). I don't see the point in turning down anything that's free, if my effort is minimal, so I signed up and when my turn came I went into talk to Mother May, a matronly Jamaican woman and apparently third-generation psychic.

This was my second time ever speaking to a paid psychic (I have a couple of friends who 'see' whom I have spoken with). My first paid experience was for lack of any other better word, terrible. I came out of the reading very upset with some of the predictions she had made. The fortunate part was that her visions concerning my personality and my family life and whatnot were way off (she claimed I had unresolved issues with my father and that I didn't get a long with my sister etc etc.. yeah, FAIL.) so the predictions she had made were pretty much inaccurate too.

The only nice or good thing she had told me was that I should take up painting, so in an effort to take something positive out of the experience, I gave it a try, and well, I enjoy it. So that's something.

The woman I saw previously gave me a very negative vibe as soon as I had walked in. Mother May on the other hand gave off a very soothing kind of air. I asked my question (I'm going to keep it to myself, as it's personal) and she gave me an answer I had already kind of figured for myself. Although the confirmation was comforting, the skeptic in me couldn't help but think "but isn't that what anyone who asked such a question would 'want' to hear?" I felt my own confirmation bias kick in, as most of the things she said applied pretty closely to my situation, except for one.. but you find yourself going "but by *this* she could mean *this*" to which point even the stuff that doesn't make sense, makes sense.

All in all, it was a fun way to kill an afternoon, and it got me thinking about a lot of unexplained phenomena that still exists in the world, things that we still have so much to learn about like dreams, and deja vu and why some people seem more attuned to the energy around them. Why, when I walk into an old old house, do I feel a warmth or well-being that I don't get walking into a pre-fab model home? Is it the ability of inanimate objects to absorb the energy of people they once belonged to?

Being skeptical doesn't necessarily mean that seeing has to be believing, but it does mean questioning what our senses tell us.

well, that's all for today. I'll be mulling these questions and more while I do laundry. Oh Sunday.

Not to be morbid or anything..

But when I die, please play this at my service:



Do You Realize that you have the most beautiful face
Do You Realize we're floating in space
Do You Realize that happiness makes you cry
Do You Realize that everyone you know someday will die

And instead of saying all of your goodbyes
Let them know
You realize that life goes fast
It's hard to make the good things last
You realize the sun doesn't go down
It's just an illusion caused by the world spinning round

Do You Realize Oh - Oh - Oh
Do You Realize that everyone you know
Someday will die

And instead of saying all of your goodbyes -
Let them know you realize that life goes fast
It's hard to make the good things last
You realize the sun doesn't go down
It's just an illusion caused by the world spinning round

Do You Realize - that you have the most beautiful face
Do You Realize


Please, though.. leave the craptacular fan vid at home, thanks.

Celebrity Death Machine (originally posted on facebook 06/26/09)

No it's not a new Nine Inch Nails album, so don't get excited.

Judging by the 50 some-odd or more status updates from yesterday evening on, most people have gotten wind of the news of the demise of Michael Jackson, once known to the western world as 'The King of Pop', following on the heels of the news that Farrah Fawcett, actress and former pinup best known for being the most well known of a number of Charlie's Angels, succumbed to cancer.

And because these things come in three's, a day earlier we heard that Ed McMahon who was a long-time sidekick to Johnny Carson and also had the dubious distinction of being 'The Publishers Clearinghouse guy' (when Dick Clark wasn't being that guy) passed away from an number of health issues.

I'm left once again to question the morbid fascination we as a people seem to have with the lives and deaths of celebrities. I, for one, feel pretty much numb to it. I never knew these people, and while I can acknowledge the tragedy to some extent, my life goes on as normal.

I think it's the disproportionate level of grief society shows these people... some of whom seem famous for being famous, and may or may not have contributed much to their art in years, but happen to get caught up in the celebrity scandal machine. Immortality acheived through constant exposure.

On Ed McMahon.. well, he was 86. He had a long and full life with much success, so I don't think it's any sort of tragedy. I'm sure his family is sad, and I hope they get to grieve in peace. But I have a feeling that in the next few months, there will be at least one unauthorized biography with tales of a) sordid love affairs, both female and male, b) drug use c) pick your own. I hope not, though.

Farrah Fawcett, I honestly don't know what she has done for the last 30 years. except get married and look pretty. I'm told she's done some movies, some of which could be described as 'good' or even 'very good'. Again, it is tragic that she developed breast cancer at a young age, but I can't really fathom why her death is more tragic than any number of beautiful women (inside and out) and men who have been taken away by cancer.

I do think Michael Jackson's death is a tragedy, but not for the reasons by many. The general concensus is that we've lost this great musical icon.

I'm sorry folks, he was lost to us years ago, when he got caught up in the cogs of the gossip machines and the pressure became too much. Had it not been for his eccentricities, he may not remained in the spotlight as long as he did. Sadly, from another perspective, perhaps without the pressures of being constantly scrutinized by the media's eye, he may have continued to be the creative genius he once was, if a slightly eccentric one.

In my humble opinion, the tragedy lies with his children, who are already standing a good chance of growing up profoundly effed up. Now they've lost a parent, and my fear is that the youngest child, who I believe is only about 6 years old, is going to grow, and the few memories this child will have of his father will be tainted by 'wacko jacko' caricature painted by the media, including some of the uglier allegations. The older children will have clearer memories to counteract that picture but at the same time, it must be easier to deal with the media picture if there is an actual person there to compare. The self-doubt and questioning these children stand potentially go through is mind-boggling.

I sincerely hope the media leaves these poor children alone, and that they are allowed to go on with life and fade into obscurity. I think we all know that's not going to happen.

If I've pissed off or offended anyone, my sincere apologies. Just utilizing a public forum, is all.

This looks fun, so Imma do it too.

This is stolen from Mari, Queen of the Desert and Kaydeelicious...

What happened on your birthday? Did empires crumble? Did sports dynasties form? Did nothing particularly interesting take place? Go to Wikipedia and enter your date of birth (month and day only), then post four events, three births, two deaths and one holiday.

EVENTS

August 14, 1908 - The first beauty contest is held in Folkstone, England.
August 14, 1936 - Rainey Beathea is hanged in Owensboro, Kentucky in the last public execution in the United States.
August 14, 1945 - Japan accepts the Allied terms of surrender in World War II and the Emperor records the Imperial Rescript on Surrender (August 15 in Japan Standard Time).
August 14, 2003 - Widescale power blackout in the northeast United States and Canada.

BIRTHS
August 14, 1851 - Doc Holliday, American Gambler and dentist
August 14, 1945 - Steve Martin, Comedian
August 14, 1950 - Gary Larson, Cartoonist

DEATHS
August 14, 582, - Tiberius II Constantine, Byzantine emperor
August 14, 1952 - William Randolph Hearst, American Newspaper Magnate.

HOLIDAYS
National Creamsicle Day

I think finding out that I share a birthday with Gary Larson may just be the single most incredible discovery of my life.

And yeah my 25th birthday was a memorable one, for many people.
I could have sworn Elvis died on my birthday.

Internet=Serious business, indeed (R.I.P. Erika with a K)

Authors Note:  This was posted after hearing of the passing of a good online friend of mine.  The intended audience at  the time of writing were the other people in the group of friend through which I had met Erika.  She had touched many before her untimely death, and is still missed - Andrea 05/15/11

I'm not going to go to a great length eulogizing, because most has been said before, by those (Erik, Paul) who are much more qualified to do so than I.

I will say, however, and I'm not proud of this, but in the beginning, I was prepared to dislike Erika. Why? Because she was young, fucking GORGEOUS, and got all the attention, and I can be a jealous, petty woman.

Guess what? Didn't work. Why? Because along with being young, gorgeous, and charismatic, she was also Smart as hell and ridiculously funny. Despite myself, I liked the hell out of Erika. That was cemented with a mutual love of Chuck Klosterman.

I was surprised by the force with which the news of her death hit me. I've had relatives pass away who garnered no more of a reaction than 'oh, I'm sorry, that's so sad'.

It's made me think about my relationships with my online friends. The honest truth is, I don't get out much, and I communicate with many of you more than my local friends (a much nicer term I think than 'IRL' friends). It's a bizarre dynamic though, because of distance and the ability for people to come and go, and disappear into the maze that is the internet.

In high school I was assigned to read "The Chrysalids" by John Wyndham. In this book there are a group of characters who are able to communicate telepathically using 'thought-shapes'. They talk to each other, and know each others thought intimately, despite having never met (with the exception of two of them). At one point, one of the group suddenly stops communication, and it's not until a few weeks later they find the boy has died in an accident.

This part of this particular book has been floating around my head for the past week or two, oddly enough, and had me wondering, what if something happened to one of us? In this situation that wasn't the case, but it's obvious by the way everyone has reacted, the shock and the sorrow, that it's not JUST the internet, we make friends, we lose friends, sadly. The relationships we form here can be just as binding, just as meaningful as any friendship with physical proximity.

I think in the wake of this tragedy, and it is a tragedy when anyone is taken so young (although I often forgot she was only 19, she was wise beyond her years), it becomes plainly clear that we need to respect each other here as we would anyone IRL, because behind each profile there is a living breathing person with thoughts, feelings, hopes, aspirations, insecurities, fears, hearts and minds.

P.S. I don't want to be one of those people who disappears into the interweb, so I'm leaving you all my number... anyone I trust enough to be on my preferred list, I trust enough to have my number. Use it any time.

Uncle Steve...

... was not my real uncle, but I was closer to him than either my mom or dads brother(s). My heart goes out to everyone he left behind, Auntie Lyn, his children and grandchildren. I suppose even God didn't want to see him suffer.

We'll miss you Uncle Heabie. :'(