Really? That just happened?

So, as experience tells me, shit happens.

I spend my life largely upon journalism and drinking, bleeding booze and bad journalistic references to things that happened before my time. Lately, I guess I realize the mere mortality of my profession and the foolishness that it endows upon us. We fight day to day to become something that has essentially become a sellout to the system that supports us. We cow before the corporate world, fearing that they will harbor our destruction and demise, wondering if ads will spell the end our our career lifelines.

To be dead honest, who cares?

Even if we are systematically torn apart by corporate Canada, what does it really matter? Perpetuated as martyrs will only render us as the pitiable figures of culture, rendered useless by those in a position of monetary and political power. We become an ideal, if only the best of what we do, fighting for something that has long since been lost. The integrity that so defined us during the times of Woodward and Bernstein has long since faded, leaving us as mere shadows of what once was. We are, as an industry, shadows of what once represented us. The powerful personalities that took on governments and captains of industry. We cannot compare to the days of what essentially could be contrived as sheriffs of the social world we exist within, but we can fight for something, be it good or bad. We fight for nothing but information at this point, bought and sold by those who control the money and power in our society. What chance do we have? None at all, but that retains our social conscience. That is what keeps us as useful foils to those in society who choose to impress their perspective on everyone else. And that is what keeps us useful to the everyday components of society. The part that holds people questionable for their acts. And yes, we will die as an industry. But the truth remains as the great equal to all the bad that occurs in our world. And we must embrace that as the only good we can do anymore.

If you can't beat 'em, join 'em

So, as some of you may or may not have known, I was involved in a Rock Band competition today. Skipped my English tutorial, went there, drank too many energy drinks, and proceeded to belt out "Float On" and, even better, my trademark song, "Hungry like the Wolf". Despite the groans I will invariably entertain for this song choice, I got 98% on Hard (go me) and proceeded to be awesome. I also dressed in costume and ripped off my shirt and threw it into the crowd. The hat wig I was rocking was also awesome (thing 80's glam rock and you get the idea). Point would be, my band rang up an awesome score and looked good doing it, but after a couple of mediocre bands, up came every competitors worst nightmare: beautiful women. They couldn't play worth a damn, but they were dancers. 4 BEAUTIFUL DANCERS! You simply cannot compete with that. And they were nice. Which, due to the the fact that the winner is crowned by the votes of the audience, meant that we were fucked. So, knowing we were going to lose due to our lack of anything resembling female breasts (I expect to get some snarky comments on this one), we decided to play a duet with them. Which also included the Global News reporter. Which, along with the interview he did with me, should appear at 6 on Global. This is frightening for both me and the viewers. Point would be, my band (People Under the British Empirical System) lost due to anatomical differences, but we lost graciously. And got to hang out with beautiful women, which is really the greatest victory of all. We didn't get what we came for, but the consolation prize wasn't so bad ;)

The roof, the roof, the roof is on fire...

Let the motherfucker burn. Like everyone, I have my bad days and my good days. Sadly, the bad ones tend to hit really hard, and the good ones are merely decent. Today was one of those bad ones. I woke up with the most ridiculous hangover, and then I had to go talk to Madelyn, the discipline lady in rez. She first went after me for empty beer bottles in the lounge where I wasn't even present when the R.A's showed up, and then after I asked a series of ingratiating questions, she went on a fuckin tirade against me. She spent five (hypocritical) minutes yelling at me for not keeping to the subject matter, and whenever I tried to get back to said subject matter, she would snap and say that's what she wants, but I keep going off on tangents. Which she continued to do.
So, after 20 minutes of bullshit, we finally got to the point where she hadn't given me a real answer as to how we got from suspicion to a solid issue, and then told me (as I had said that I had drank a couple of beer in a private room) that drinking underage was illegal, and it was a 3-point offence. So, now I face three points, which could cause loss of guest priviledges, as well as a possible eviction. Fuck.
But what people don't seem to understand is that I'm a stubborn son of a bitch. There's an appeal process that no one uses, and I have grounds for two of the three terms of the appeal. If I get so much as one point, I'll probably just burn the process to the ground. Fuck it, I've done it before, and I'll do it again. Today was not the day to cross me, and Madelyn seems to think that I'll lay down and die. My main point would be that I, as the prick I am, will take a molehill and turn it into a mountain. Sure, I could do something more constructive with my time, but why? To sound like a crazy leftist, this is just another abuse of power in the view of striking fear into the masses. Everyone here drinks, and Madelyn seems to think that just because she's pissed off, she can come after me and make an example of me. Fuck no. If she really wants to instill fear, she would be best going for the meek, not the pricks in journalism.
We don't need no water, let the motherfucker burn.

Fooling ourselves, and feeling good about it

I was reading the paper today, and for no good reason, i thumbed through the Living section. I should know better than that, as that damn section always has the touchy-feely bullshit that makes me cringe. Not all touchy-feely stuff is bad, but the living section has this way of always feeling like nails on a chalkboard to me.
Anyhow, I ran across yet another article about "Locavores", people who only eat food grown/raised within a certain distance of their home. Now, I'm all for reducing emissions by less distance when it comes to shipping. But this presents a greater problem for me. Namely, that we are a "feel-good" society, not a "get-something-accomplished" society. We feel good because we're buying, say, strawberries that are locally grown IN JANUARY. Now, I see an issue there. I love strawberries. They're an awesome form of berry, and I believe that they should be enjoyed by all who love and crave them. But, I have to ask how the hell we're growing strawberries and various other produce during the frozen months of our little chunk of tundra. Sadly, the answer is quite clear; greenhouses. There's nothing eminently wrong with greenhouses, but I get the feeling that we're just transferring the environmental costs from one stage to another. Let's take a quick look, shall we?
Locally grown strawberries will have to travel at most 150 km's to come to market, thusly cutting way down on emissions from cars. That would be the main argument for them. But are the strawberries processed on site for quality control and packing? Or do they have to be sent to another facility for that? Also, these greenhouses they were grown in didn't grow out of the ground after some water, fertilizer and a little TLC. They had to be built, which means heavy equipment, building materials, and man hours. Where did the building supplies have to come from? What brought them to the build site? What put them together? How did the workers get there to build it? How is it heated/lighted/powered in general during the cold months? These costs add up, both in emissions and cost. Powering the lights and fans of a greenhouse takes a lot of power, and as most power in Canada is supplied via coal-firing power plants, a lot of coal. If we were to grown the produce outside during the more hospitable months, that would mean no greenhouses, no need for excessive amounts of power, and less coal being burnt. Which also translates to less emmisions.
The issue is, growing produce out of season is not an economical option. The cost (both environmentally and fiscally) in producing and maintaining a site suitable for growing berries in the dead of winter makes me wonder how much good we are actually doing by buying our locally grown products. We have to figure out whether we can figure out a concept that at the very least is up-front with consumers about what the real environmental and economical footprint of a company is, instead of fooling them into believing they are doing good through their "informed" buying decisions. Otherwise, the only good we're doing is for people's consciences.

An aneurysm-inducing experience

I feel very sad today. Ravaged by what can only be described as the Martian Death Flu (or tonsillitis, if you want it that way), I have actually started a blog. I've always fought the concept of blogs, for a few reasons that I shall henceforth list:
a) Everytime someone brings up unbiased journalism, someone else will always, always pipe up "Have fun writing a blog for the rest of your life!"
b) No one really gives that much of a damn what you think. And by you, i mean anyone who writes a blog and believes it will be read.
c) Scaachi has a blog, and now that I have one too, we have something in common. This frightens me.

As you can see, there are a great many reasons that I should not be blogging, and yet I am still chicken-pecking away at my keyboard. The problem is (much to my chagrin) that blogging is now a big part of the dissemination of information. I'm sure that we all find it very comforting that Joe Yokel can tell us exactly where the aliens probed him, but I find it bothersome that we're giving morons a soapbox on which to spout their inane ideas. Morons like me, who go and stereotype a group that I am now a part of. Point would be, this is a different kind of concept for me: it goes against everything I usually believe in, and yet I feel as if I have to give it a try before a categorically bash everyone else who does this. Even if it does cause what I now consider to be an imminent aneurysm.

An open letter to Christie Blatchford

Dear Christie;

Your painfully biased "stories" make my heart hurt and my eyes bleed. Everytime I read one, I feel as if a small band of intelligent monkeys is punching me resolutely in the back the head. But, you do entertain. Seeing you lampoon not only defendants in court trials, but also your (and my) own profession has a painful yet comedic quality to it, akin to my idea that there should be a television show where celebrities have rabid giraffes set on them just for kicks. The point would be, stop kicking my chosen profession in the teeth.
But you also have good qualities, namely that you are getting up in years, and hopefully we will be able to blame your bias on senility. Remember, it's not discriminatory or hurtful if you're too old to know what you're saying! Also, you seem to be able to write anything (read:fictional dramatizations) without actually getting sued, while much better journalists are getting sued and/or jailed for saying or protecting the truth.
Truth is, Christie, you are a prototypical columnist. I say this not in praise, but in hopes that maybe if you are a prototype, there might only be one of you, and perhaps we can all be a little (read: a lot) better.

With love,
Concerned citizens