So, the Lancet finally retracted the study that was published 12 years ago, which helped fuel the disturbing anti-vaccine movement.  When intelligent, properly researched studies were published that said “no; vaccines have not been proven to cause autism”, the reaction of the anti-vaccine crowd was generally something along the lines of “IT’S THE GOVERNMENT AND BIG PHARMA, IN BED WITH EACH OTHER, LYING TO US, AND COVERING UP THE TRUTH SO THAT THEY CAN PROFIT”.

Which is basically how most good conspiracy theories go.

The anti-vaccine people are not crazy.  They are just ignorant.  (Remember, if you don’t have enough knowledge to back up your opinions in an argument, just diss the appearance of a well-educated doctor).

I started writing about this, but it got out of hand.  I could go on all day.

In short: EMPIRICISM FTW.

So this guy from a few years ago, who I do think is a sociopath…  One day I remember him telling me that he thought that all other people were robots.  I said “but I’m not a robot”.   He told me he had know way of knowing if that was true or not, and I could not prove that I was not a robot.

A few years ago, I was in a really shitty quasi-relationship with the above mentioned fellow.  In a class discussion today, something caused a light bulb to go off in my head, and offer another suggestion as to why the other person in the relationship was so unpleasant.

So we were discussing a simplified dichotomy of natural sciences vs. humanities.  The prof then mentioned research about autism vs. schizophrenia, and how they can be seen as being on different ends of the spectrum (in regards to a patient’s reaction to an outside agent).   He jokingly (?) mentioned that those who think pragmatically, and are often more interested in natural sciences could be found closer to the autism end of the spectrum, while those in the humanities would be found on the opposite end.

(This probably doesn’t make much sense to most people reading this, so sorry for the crappy attempt at describing something really cool)

Going back to the robot discussion, I thought maybe this idea of pragmatic thinking complimenting someone who lacks empathy, but recognizes patterns in different people enough to be able to manipulate them makes sense.  By looking at the world in a mechanistic manner, a person is less subject to feelings of empathy — or really, anything.

I’m not getting into the other end of the spectrum and schizophrenia tonight, though.

Ciao.

Over the past 8 years, I have been flying pretty frequently. I realized yesterday, while waiting to board my flight back to Vancouver, that most of the passengers I had seen dozens of times before, on previous flights. Yes; the screaming baby is one of them.

1) The foolish person who should have checked his or her luggage, and not brought it as carry-on: This person typically sits in one of the first few rows of Economy. While boarding for the economy class section is supposed to start from the back, this person pays no regard to such instructions, and boards early. What happens when a person sitting in the 3rd row of a 40 row section boards first, and his or her luggage does not fit above or below the seat?

An absolute standstill of people who cannot board the plane, cause this douchebag failed to consider basic logistics, of course!

2) The sad looking family: A nuclear family consisting of a mother, a father and at least two children. The family huddles around the entrance to the gates, as though this will somehow improve their probability of boarding their flight, and sitting in their preassigned seats, or something. The father, who we will called “Dad”, goes up to the counter several times to ensure that their seats are all together, and that their flight hasn’t been canceled, because of that one time in Tampa Bay when two members of the family ended up in row 17, and the other two ended up in row 14. You are correct if you were about to ask “are the shirts they are wearing souvenirs from their vacation?”

3) The fancy aspiring executive: The fancy aspiring executive has fancy clothes, electronics and carry-on luggage. He talks fancy about the fancy things he will do. The usually sits in the middle seat, which gives him a better chance of being able to tell a person sitting next to him about his grandiose future, which he has so naively determined.

4) The wastecase (that’s me!): This passenger shows up to the airport a few hours early, if possible, so that she (or he) can make a bee line to the Maple Leaf Lounge (or other lounge) and drink as much “free” booze as possible before boarding the plane. Once bar service has commenced on the plane, drinking continues. The wastecase is super afraid of flying, despite flying on the regular. Wastecase feels like shit today. Wastecases can smell each other out, and are delighted to find another of their type at the airport bar, and are especially stoked if they happen to get a seat next to another one on a flight. BOTTLES UP, IDIOTS!

5) The screaming baby (and the screaming baby’s handler): Not having children of my own, I sometimes feel it is unfair to judge these people harshly. Still, Murphy’s Law dictates that you will always be sitting within 4 feet of a screaming baby on any flight that is to last longer than 3 hours. How does this happen? I’m not sure, but I should invest in some noise canceling headphones. Sitting a wastecase near a screaming baby is dangerous, unless the wastecase also has some Valium (which I do!). I dream of the day that airlines will construct isolation booths that screaming infants can all be thrown into for the duration of the flight.

6) The person who looks like a bum, but is sitting in the first row of Executive: You always think “WTF?” After the “WTF” moment, you then think “this is another lesson in not judging a book by its cover”. Being archetype #6 is fun.

7) Post 9/11 “ethnic” looking person: the events of September 11th, 2001 have made it so that when people who look remotely “terroristy” enter an airport, heads turn. Whether buying a 4$ orange juice at the terminal, or reading the Globe and Mail, in the eyes of many, these passengers ARE terrorists until the plane lands at its destination unscathed. I’ve been on flights where people have asked to have their seats changed, so as not to sit next to someone Middle Eastern. I don’t even have the words to express how fucked up that sort of behaviour is.

The proselytizer: So, being stuck next to a person on a plane for several hours, who is really passionate about Jesus, can be awkward. Because I am person #4, the wastecase, I start to feel guilty a few hours into the flight when sat next to proselytizers. If it’s a really boring flight, I’ll totally read their religious literature though.

9) The sleeper: How the devil did you manage to fall asleep before the plane took off, and not wake up until it landed? Give me your drugs!

10) The absolutely wasted missed connection: You will find him (and sometimes her) at the airport bar. 18-hour stopover? Missed your connection, or your connecting flight was canceled? What are you going to do? The logical thing, of course, is to sidle up to the airport bar and drink double scotch on the rocks until it’s time to board your plane. AWMC call their partners about once ever 15 minutes to tell the partner “baby, I’m still at the airport. Fucking bureaucracy! Fucking [insert airline here]! I’ll be home soon, baby. I love you, baby. Yeah, they don’t know when the next available flight will be; they’re all booked up. I’ve been at the airport for 18 hours…” After getting off the phone, AWMC will chat up the bartender like he or she is their best friend. The more alcohol that is consumed, the greater the odds are that the conversation will turn to football.

Somehow I came across the following story on ABC:  Webcam Catches Attempted Suicide on Tape. A young woman was chatting with her boyfriend; they got into a fight; young woman attempts to commit suicide herself by hanging herself, while on webcam.  The boyfriend called the young woman’s father, who lived in the house and told him what was happening; the father ran down to his daughter, cut her down, and she survived.

That’s pretty wack, but I guess it’s bittersweet that the father was able to save his daughter’s life, thanks in part to the immediate reaction of the boyfriend.

The strange thing about this article is that it presents the issue, not as a medical/social/psychological problem, but as an example of misusing the Internet.  It’s the social media bogeyman; people are so connected that they are doing CRAZY, CRAZY things on the Internet!  It’s like “idiotic teens/young people and their Internet! Why must they do everything on the Internet?”

A detective investigating the issue stated “that he’s relieved the woman is now safe but that the entire incident serves as a grave reminder of how the Internet can be abused.”

This is a very strange comment.  While it appears at the end of the article, it really frames the whole spin of the story.  With that view in mind, would policy makers, cops and parents actually think that the appropriate action to take if they have a suicidal child is to take away their webcams and internet access?  Is that going to solve the problem?  The idea of treating suicide as a form of stupid misbehaviour is irresponsible and scary.  The decision of this young woman to do what she did does come across as someone just trying to get attention, or hurt someone else, but we don’t know her whole story.  I don’t think I’m going out on a limb by suggesting that MAYBE, just maybe, the girl had some mental health issues, which required treatment.

Yesterday I submitted a complaint to TransLink about a bus driver who has the habit of smoking cigarettes inside of the bus.  I’M NOT  JOKING.

This morning I was delighted to see that I had received a response, until I actually read the response.  I don’t know why I actually expected to receive a non-automated response.  Below is the response that I received:

”
Dear ———————————-
Thank you for your recent feedback regarding unacceptable customer service from one of our bus drivers.

We regret your unpleasant experience.

Please be assured that every effort is made to ensure our drivers maintain high standards of service quality, to minimize the likelihood of a similar incident being repeated.

We will look into this incident thoroughly.  However we ask for your understanding that, in the interests of privacy, no information about our internal investigation can be shared.

Sincerely,

Customer Relations Department.

This Customer Relations Incident number 185168 has been closed. If you require further assistance, please contact Customer Relations at (604)953-3040.”

I thought “I really doubt that somebody actually read my complaint, which is unfortunate, considering my complaint”.  By the way, I am a smoker, so my complaint to TransLink was not an attempt at anti-smoking rhetoric.

I wrote back to TransLink.  Because the bottom of the e-mail says if I require further assistance that I should call Customer Relations, I don’t expect TransLink to e-mail me back, but it would be nice to receive a response to my response:

”

Hi Customer Relations Department,

Thank you for your response.  Based on your reply, I am under the impression that my feedback was not read, and I have received an automated response.  While I appreciate that confidentiality must be respected, I would like for Translink to confirm that a human actually read my e-mail, and took the issue seriously.

Best regards,

Leora”

I wrote the following letter to TransLink this evening, but thought I would put it up here so that other people could read it too.

Even though the stuff I’ve discussed is a bit annoying, at least TransLink doesn’t suck as much as the TTC.  Having lived in Toronto until I was 22, being at the mercy of the impossibly lousy TTC makes TransLink (and pretty much every other city I’ve visited’s public transit system) seem pretty decent.

[[[[[[A bit of background, for those who do not use TransLink: The UBC Bus Loop is the terminus of many bus routes in Vancouver.  Because of this, buses are often parked at the loop for quite some time  ( approximately 5 - 30 minutes, depending on the time of day). Generally, the buses are parked at the curb during this time, with their doors shut, meaning students/faculty/other passengers have to stand, staring longingly at the bus that mocks them for being stuck outside.

Please keep in mind that from October through March in Vancouver, it basically does not stop raining, and is pretty chilly.  Okay -- it didn't rain the other day.   So picture that it's 9:45 PM at night:  you just missed the 9:43 PM bus, and the next bus isn't going to leave until 10:13 PM.  You're standing outside with a big heavy book bag, while being inundated by what feels like a mild typhoon.  It's not too pleasant, but it's all a part of dealing with Vancouver.

What makes it unpleasant is that the bus you are going to spend the next 28 minutes waiting to board, is parked 20 metres away from you!  The bus driver is on the bus, and perhaps has some sadistic tendencies.   This is not about one particular bus driver; this is about most of them.  Sometimes the bus driver eats a sandwich, or reads a book, or talks on his or her cell phone.

I understand that maybe the bus driver needs to have a few minutes of peace and quiet.  I also understand that maybe the driver is required to do a quick walk-through of the bus to make sure there is no garbage, no vomit and no lost umbrella aboard the bus, and this can't be done while passengers are sitting on the bus.  Still, have some empathy!  Pull the bus up to the curb and let us board it! The bus driver doesn't even need to be on the bus, because TransLink uses a proof of purchase/honour system, and all vehicles are "fare paid zones", which means it is assumed that all passengers have paid.

Adding insult to injury is that the driver for the bus I take home from school, #7212, which leaves the UBC Bus Loop at 10:13 PM on Wednesdays, has a habit of smoking cigarettes inside the bus.  Just inside the bus with the door open, but inside nonetheless.

Without any further ado, my brief letter to TransLink on the matter:]]]]]]]

Date of Incident:            12-02-2009

Time of Incident:            10:05p

Transit Mode:            Bus

Vehicle Number:            7212

Route Number:            25

Stop Number:            59271

During the waiting time, before pulling up to the loading bay to pick up passengers, the bus driver was standing on the step inside the bus and smoking a cigarette.  This is not the first time I have seen the bus driver doing this.  The driver for the #33 bus was standing right outside the bus, chatting with the smoking driver, suggesting that he was not opposed to this behaviour.

To the best of my knowledge, smoking is not permitted aboard TransLink vehicles.  While the door of the bus was open, and the bus driver was blowing the smoke of her cigarette outside, the bus did smell like cigarette smoke.

Furthering the frustration of this ongoing situation is that passengers often wait for upwards of 15 minutes to board a bus, parked mere metres from the stop they are waiting at.  If the bus drivers are going to make us stand outside, late at night, in chilly weather, while staring at the bus we are not permitted to yet board, they could at least be so respectful as to not smoke inside the vehicle.

Thank you.

If you are like me, then you enjoy groaning at Rosie DiManno’s columns in the Toronto Star.  I discovered something fun.  For those of you unfamiliar with Rosie DiManno, she is a columnist at the Toronto Star, and formerly of the Toronto Sun.  The columns that she writes are sensational, and chock full of cliches, suggestive language, and stuff that borders on libel.  I read her columns when I feel like I don’t have a good enough reason to pull my hair out and scream “what the devil is wrong with people?!?!?!”

I had originally sent this to a friend, but then thought I would post this here, too.

1) take the text from a column, ex http://www.thestar.com/news/canada/afghanmission/article/729370–dimanno-disdain-for-u-s-led-to-afghan-torture-fiasco;

2) paste text for Flesh-Kincaid / other readability tests at http://www.online-utility.org/english/readability_test_and_improve.jsp;

3) read analysis and LOL. Last time I tried this out, the grade level was like 4, so the fact that the readability varies so much from column to column is rather telling.

Best: at the bottom of analyses there are suggestions under the heading “List of sentences which we suggest you should consider to rewrite to improve readability of the text :” Effectively, this is a tool that auto-selects the worst parts of Rosie’s writing, and isolates them into tidbits.

Example: “That was the original sin, as has become ever more evident, because Afghanistan is nowhere near ready, all these years on from the 2001 invasion and ouster of the Taliban regime, to administer itself.”

WTF

The past few days I have had some heavy conversations with one of my brothers, I guess.  “Heavy…. I guess”, insofar that he actually considers the conversation serious, too.  This stuff is hard to gauge, right?

It’s all relative. So, for example, when I talk about the deaths of people I loved dearly, it’s not awkward, because I think I became disenchanted from the mystical idea of dead people a long time ago…. or something.  Still, there are very few people with whom I can talk about some things, and that is unfortunate.

I was talking to my brother, as I said, and I noticed I had been talking about songs that reminded me of really shitty times in my life.  Like, these are songs I can not and will not listen to.  So, I decided to listen to those songs tonight, and I felt sad and lousy.  I really wanted to feel as awful as I once did. While those songs reminded me of feeling bad, which made me feel bad, it’ll never be like that again.

Example

1) Song one: The Scientest by Coldplay.

A day or two after my dad died, I remember waking up in my old bedroom at my mom’s house.  I used to call that house “my house”, or “my parents’ house”.  At some point I started calling that house “my mom’s house”, and that was strange.  Wasn’t that house still “my house” even though I hadn’t lived there since I was a teenager?  Wasn’t that house still “my parents’ house” even though only one of my parents is still alive?

So I woke up in the bedroom at whatever that house is called.  It was late may, and it may or may not have been a nice day.  I think it was one of those overcast days, but the sun is still bright enough that it’s like the sky is a giant fluorescent light bulb, making you and everything else look ugly, sick and artificial.  My dad had been dead for a short enough time that I didn’t know what was real or what was going on.  People were coming over to the house in droves.  People who never had known me, or hadn’t seen me since I was an infant were there.  Some of the people who showed up didn’t know who I was, so figured I was just as much as a well-wisher as they were: “who is this young girl and why is she here?”

I hated basically everyone who came in through that door.  I hated them for telling me about people they had care about who were dead, and I hated them for wanting to talk to me, or be charitable.

I woke up to the sound of a group of 14 year olds in my brothers room all singing “The Scientest” by Coldplay.  They sang that song over and over.  All I could hear was the cracking voices of 14 year old boys and the shrill voices of 14 year old girls singing “NOOOOBODY SAID IT WAS EASY”, and all I wanted was for the sound to go away, because it was interfering with my personal space.  But those were my brother’s friends, and they were there to support him, so it’s not like I was going to barge in and tell them to shut up.

So I laid in bed, with the door closed, and fell like a prisoner in a cruel sarcophagus that once held my youth, and everything I understood about myself.  I could not go downstairs, because it was full of stupid well-wishers, and I could not escape the sound coming from my brother’s room.  So I stayed there, and listened to the song over and over.

When I hear that song, I feel like shit.

Prior to the release of the vaccine for H1n1 (aka “swine flu”…), there were plenty of conspiracies going around about the flu: it’s biological warfare; it was created by Novartis so that the company could make huge profits off of pharmaceuticals/vaccines; etc. etc. etc. etc. It’s like reductio ad swine flu, guys. Seriously.

So that had been going on just nicely, and occasionally on Twitter, you would see “#h1n1″ as a trending topic, and that was the end of it.

Now that the vaccine has been released, a major division seems to be arising: people who think that the vaccine is warfare/poisonous/going to cause autism/Gilles-Barre Syndrome/Gulf War Syndrome/neurological diseases/herpes/AIDS/cancer/stupidity/obesity/homosexuality/atheism/terrorism and so on.  The other side is a group of people who are confident that the vaccine is not harmful, and really, really, REALLY wish that people in camp 1 would stop watching Youtube and reading Wikipedia, along with other unverified sources of information, and do some proper research before freaking out.

The problem with the “I trust Youtube more than I trust the a primary source of research” is that, I guess, the underlying opinion is that the data which comes from all the research done on vaccines and diseases is propaganda (unlike the stuff on the internet, saying the vaccine is evil, which isn’t propaganda?), and cannot be trusted.

I think some of this comes from a lack of understanding about just what goes into peer-reviewed research.  It’s not as simple as Grade 10 Biology class.  Okay, here’s a story that I hope won’t get me in trouble:

In Grade 10 Biology, we had to do a project and a lab report where we had two different bean plants growing. One was the control, and the other had to have a variation in the way that it was being grown.  I had two bean plants;  I didn’t care for Biology.  I put the two bean plants in the furnace room under lights with different strengths of light bulbs.  Students were supposed to measure the plants every day or something for like 30 days.  I measured the plants maybe three times during that period.  In the end, I just extrapolated the data and got a 75%.  That was rather dishonest of me.  I had never done anything like that in school before, and I never did again.

So, in that case, I could get away with making up shit about my bean plant and saying “this type of light makes a bean plant grow taller than type B” and it was reasonably accepted.  Had I also talked about how much water I gave the plants (uh.. none?) and taken pictures, maybe I would have even scored an A.

My point is that you can make up that kind of stuff in grade 10 Biology, and it will be accepted by your mentors and peers as truth and as a properly researched job.

In the world of post-doctoral research, not so much.  In a sense, yes; some vaccines are not tested to the same extent as others (seasonal flu vaccines), but health departments spend a great deal of time observing how strains of flu change, and developing vaccines that, based on a significant amount of knowledge, will be effective against the season’s major flus.  These vaccines ARE tested on various cross-sections of the population.  Not just “healthy” people.  People who have had liver transplants, the elderly, and people of all ages.  If you even spend a few minutes using Google Scholar (or your school’s local online database, such as EBSCO), you can find this information easily.

This leads me to another problem: If someone who is skeptical of the vaccine is actually going to go to enough trouble to read up on the research done on these vaccines, they are likely going to have some trouble understanding the language, because it contains a vocabulary familiar to people working in healthcare, as opposed to laypeople.

So what is the best way to dispel the hysteria and the rampant conspiracy theories?  Right now, because of the economy, the wars, and the rise of social media, governments and institutions of authority are in the perfect position to be totally disregarded as truthful.  This gives way to a nice breeding ground for unhealthy skepticism, ignorance, and unfounded statements that will be taken as true.

Some newspapers have invited doctors to answer questions from readers about their concerns regarding the vaccine.  They are able to put the words of these articles into more understandable words.  How effective these doctors are at conveying their take on safety is another story.  Based on comments online, and public polls, it doesn’t look like the public is being convinced; rather, I don’t think the public wants to be convinced.

I guess what we have are two problems:

1) a public who does not want to believe their government, or authority figures;

2) a lack of easily available information, which the average person can understand.

To further #2 — the easily available information doesn’t seem to become available until problem #1 is has already ingrained itself deeply.  At this point, the understandable information doesn’t have the same value.

But is it realistic to have preemptively fear-quelling information, without knowing what people’s fears will be?

Roman Polanski was arrested Switzerland last month. Some people believe that he should still be institutionally punished for the crimes he was convicted of, while other people do not.  Fair enough.

Sexual assault cases are tricky.  I guess all law is technically tricky, but sexual assault cases are extremely challenging.  The issue of sexual assault deals with taboo; the way the law approaches it is rife with old-fashioned myths about the roles of women, their expected behaviour, and their power relations with men.

The thing about being raped, that gets so easily overlooked, is that it destroys people.  Yes, you will get a harsher sentence for murdering someone, but a dead person doesn’t have to live the rest of his or her life with feelings of self-loathing, guilt, loneliness, and being misunderstood.  I am not saying that rape is “better or worse” than murder, but I’m trying to put this into perspective for people who look at violent crimes as though they can rationally be graded in severity.

Now that Roman Polanski has been arrested, the victim of the crime is being harassed incessantly by the media. According to reports, more than 500 requests for interviews/comments have been made since the arrest. That’s more than 15 calls per day.  Those numbers, of course, don’t include e-mails, random appearances at the victim’s workplace or home.  I’ll bet everybody who shares the victim’s name has been contacted by several interns from media companies, who have been requested by their employers to track her down on Facebook and see if she has something to say.

This type of harassment can cause the victim to experience something called “revictimization”.  If you don’t know what that is, google it and come back later.

So you know what a really difficult part of being raped is?  This may be surprising, but it’s not the sex itself; a lot of people look at rape as a “sex” thing, but it’s about control.  The worst part about being raped, at least from my personal experience as a rape victim, is the loss of control.  Some people find this notion wishy-washy, but you really do lose fucking control over yourself. It’s no fun.

Do you know what it’s like to no longer feel like you have control over your body? Over what you do with it, and what goes in it, and who you let into your life?  Do you know what it’s like to go from being a teenage girl, to an asexual creature who looks at every man like he is a threat, and is repulsed by being touched in the most harmless manner?  And then do you know what it’s like to live in a world that blames the victim for being subject to what I just described?  To not be able to talk about it with friends, because it makes them uncomfortable, because the issue is so taboo?

And do you know what it’s like to have to repeat your story over and over again to cops, to attorneys — in front of the person who did it to you? And you repeat the “story” so many times that it no longer feels like your story was even yours to begin with.  So not only did you lose control over your physical being, but the recollections of your past — an abstract part of self that only you once knew — are taken away as well, and left to other people to decide what they mean?

So imagine that.  So which experience is worse? The act itself? The aftermath and the way society approaches the issue? Or the knowledge that unless something drastic changes in the policy and perception, the act and society’s approach will forever be a see-saw of revictimization?

Does this mean victims shouldn’t go to court, because they should know better that they’ll experience further harm?  No.  It shouldn’t be like that.  More victims of crime WOULD go to court if there wasn’t such a risk of being told they were liars, sluts, deserving, and useless.

In an article on CNN.com, the victim (in an interview well before the arrest) discusses how she was treated by the press after the rape, and after the trial.  It’s tragic.

And so the victim wants the case to be thrown out.  Why? Because it’s causing her further harm.  Because the media is causing her harm, and the state is causing her harm.  Not Roman Polanski; society.  You.  Everyone who keeps clicking on those stories and googling her name, and encouraging the press to sacrifice this woman to the crops, like in that South Park episode.  The Attorney General says the charges can’t be dropped for legal reasons, but that’s bullshit.  Since when did criminal courts care about rape victims?

As the victim said, in her interview with CNN:

“The one thing that bothers me is that what happened to me in 1977 happens to girls every day, yet people are interested in me because Mr. Polanski is a celebrity.”

And if you couldn’t figure out why the subject of this post was in that particular order when you started reading, maybe you will have a better idea.

Okay, so I am not a polisci major; nor am I American.

Anyway, I was looking at Google News today, and I noticed this headline:

“She May Be on the Other Team, But She Called All the Plays”. Oh?  I assumed that based on the headline, the article must be about a lesbian or “something” equally tantalizing.  “Gosh!” I thought, “this must be quite some crazy story about a lesbian calling the shots for it to be a top page story on Google News!”  Yeah yeah yeah. Black presidents! Female Secretaries of State! Hell, America is getting pretty hippie-dippie.  What have these lesbians done now? [/sarcasm]

Then I clicked on the article, and to much bemusement, realized that it was about an American politician named Olympia Snowe.  Not really following what goes on in American politics, I had no idea who this woman was.  Oh, indeed, she does have some leverage.

Unfortunately, the article, like many before it, made my brain explode.

And here is where I throw out the misogyny card.  Would the attention, at least displayed by the Washington Post, really be paid in the same manner were this senator a man? Probably not.

“She May Be on the Other Team…” Clever double entendre of a title! Get it? She is a member of the opposition party, but she’s also a chick playing in the man’s game of politics! Read further, and you see her painted as a coy and clever woman, holding out until she can work the men, the “other team”, how she pleases. Look at that woman go! Playing hardball with the big boys!

Well, props to the Washington Post for only making a moderate mention of Ms. Snowe’s attire.

I was sitting in class, staring at an elderly man who had enrolled in the course, when I became full of fear and anxiety.

All I could think about was the idea that, unless I die young, I won’t always be the person who I recognize myself as.

There was a time in my life when almost everything that mattered, or defined me positively, was lost or taken away, through no choice of my own. I was young, and it was not a happy time.

And so, I started my life over, when virtually nothing was left; I was reborn at 21. (By reborn I absolutely do not mean in a religious manner.)

Some days I feel like I’m 10 years old, but also middle aged, but I look like a teenager.

I remember how when I was a kid, I couldn’t imagine being 18 — 20. I knew I would grow up, but the future was so far away. I would lie in bed, trying to stay as still as possible, hoping that I would actually get frozen in limbo, and not have to experience the terrifying ordeal of being old and become the face of imminent death. I think of how I’m 25 now, and 40 is still 15 years away. The time it took to reach 25 will have to pass all over again — my whole life span, until I reach 50. Terrifying?

And reading historical texts, in that class, where the elderly man sat, from over a thousand years ago reinforces how insignificant and useless angst is, when one day I will turn to dust and cease to be, whether or not I was momentarily pained over the notion of one day no longer being a hip, young thing.

“And I do not see how I can get out of asking this question: Does it matter to anyone or anything that all these peepholes were closed so suddenly? Since all the property is undamaged, has the world lost anything it loved?” – Kurt Vonnegut, Jr, Deadeye Dick

I’m in my house right now in Toronto.

There is so much strain between me on the west coast, and me in Toronto.

I sometimes toy with the idea of moving back here, because I really do miss the familiarity.

I keep going back to this topic from Urban Geography, which was the most abstract dimension — the sense of place. Other dimensions include production, reproduction and…. I forget. I had this essay question on an exam which asked me to explain my sense of place in Vancouver.  I couldn’t.  I had just come back from visiting Toronto for the first time in two years and described how simple things like seeing streetcars and my familiarity with the most simple, originally subconscious, attachments I have to this city made me realize my “place”, and how Toronto is my place.  In contrast, aside from my house, itself, I don’t feel like I have the same sense of place in Vancouver.

Home is where you choose to make it, and I have been trying to make Vancouver my home.

Being in Toronto is nice, but it’s really hard on me, because I miss the past, and still can’t accept that the past will never be the present again.

Conversely, In Vancouver, I don’t have a past that is holding me back, but that lack of past sometimes leaves me empty.

School year not in season = brain is on vacation = I don’t usually have as much on my mind to say.

Stay tuned for September and I guess there will be stuff being written here again.

Right now I have swine flu, or something.

Until then,

Check out all the blogs on my blogroll; go listen to Die Mannequin’s website, cause they have a new album coming out.  There’s a picture of me that will be appearing in the album art, actually.

I went to Brooklyn/Manhattan to visit my cousin and wandered around the city by myself.  I wanted to be somewhere, alone, but surrounded by millions of people who were complete strangers to me.

Brighton Beach, Brooklyn, is a fascinating place to visit, and I would recommend visiting that > Time Square any day.  It is interesting to see a Russian ghetto, so inspired from a Soviet past, in a corner of the city that is the symbol of American capitalism.

Today I got on the Skytrain at Main Street, and this totally drunk pair was squished up against me. At first I thought “oh, how irritatingly almost entertaining. Two strangers who got afternoon drunk downtown making the trip back to Surrey (read: Scarborough, for those in Toronto). The two of them were blasted. It was 5:15 PM, aka rush hour in a city with TERRIBLE sober drivers, even.

Then the man said, “my car is parked at Patterson; I’m not too drunk to drive, so we’ll get off there.” That was right before I got off at Nanaimo.

[[Unfortunately, there is a culture of acceptance about impaired driving amongst some of my friends, so for now just pretend that I am talking about an abstract crime being committed, that could potentially harm someone.]]

Anyway, in my opinion, impaired driving is considered by the police to be a “substantive crime in progress”, as per their website (and common sense), which warrants a call to 9-1-1. Call 9-1-1? You bet I did.

After I quickly explained the situation, the woman on the other end of the phone informed me that because Patterson Station is in Burnaby, I should have called the Burnaby Police. Sorry. That was ignorance on my part: I assumed that because in pre-amalgamated Toronto, we had one police force, it was the same in Greater Vancouver. Anyway, I was kindly transferred to the Burnaby Police after wasting precious minutes. I was naively that maybe buddy could have been stopped before getting into his car, despite Patterson being like an 8 minute ride from Nanaimo.

Burnaby Police than said “oh, well let us put you through to the TRANSIT POLICE”

Oh! The transit police! Fantastic. So the I was put on hold for 3 minutes. During that time, I found a transit security officer, who did dispatch somebody to Patterson. By that point a good 10 minutes had passed, and I would assume that the drunk pair had by then gotten off the SkyTrain station.

You know what slowed down the process of the security guy dispatching someone to Patterson? He kept asking me for the number of the train I was on. I DON’T REGULARLY KEEP TABS ON THE NUMBER OF THE TRAIN CARS OR BUSES I AM ON! If I say “I got off the train _ minutes ago”, then I would expect that an employee of said transit company could deduce about how long it would be until passengers from said train would reach Patterson Station.

I don’t know a lot about municipal policing in the GVA, so I could be saying something that makes me look really stupid and naive. I know a lot of people say “fuck the police” and that cops don’t get things done, but a big problem, as I have illustrated, is so clearly bureaucratic, and not due to a lack of motivation on the individual or group’s part.

The amount of time that it takes for a couple of departments from the same urban area to say “that’s not my problem; please go elsewhere” puts people at risk. Secondly, I would hope that in a situation like this, it would be simple for a police officer to contact the alternate municipality’s department and advise them to dispatch some police to the area where the crime is most likely to occur. I THINK that the police at the other municipality’s department would trust the judgment of another police officer.

Another issue that is raised here, is at what point would a police officer say “oh, shit, this is a pretty serious crime, so I had better try to get the ball rolling, even though this is not in my jurisdiction”

That is a.. Now I am going to write a real essay, for school, that at least somebody will take consideration of.

Qualities found ?)

-a need to justify opening a bottle of cheap wine when your co-conspirator has to bail due to a hangover

-watching 50 horror and sci-fi movies in chronological order, with the goal of aggregating some (as yet) unknown data related to… horror and sci-fi movies. (quasi-academics don’t do things for fun)

oh! in keeping on the subject of quasi-academics, such as myself, somebody needs to write a book titled something like “Relationship Advice for Academics: love lessons for those who are not as socially inept as pure-bred geeks, but still lack the proper social skills to form a loving relationship with something other than an abstract idea”

A person is not an abstract idea, technically.. But don’t let me go there.

Tip 1:

I don’t know what tip #1 is.

Which is why someone needs to be commissioned to write this.  The person should either be a refugee of academia, or a hack who is really, really good at pursuading overly-critical minded, individualistic, self-obsessed douche bag knowitalls that their words and advice will actually work.

Perhaps the description of characteristics possessed by said “douche bag”, who needs to be convinced by the latter hack, are the negative qualities that keep “overly-critical minded, individualistic, self-obsessed douche bag knowitalls” from being able to have a relationship.
OH SNAP.  My qualities which have disbarred me from ever having a real boyfriend have allowed me to determine the problem! The difference between myself, and the hack, is that the hack would most likely have some sort of practical suggestions; whereas, I am still waiting for the hack to give me a simple answer that I have made too complex to find.

OH SNAP.  I just wroke the geekery version of what, I guess, is the lame-ass Shakespearean/Kieregarard-y bullcrap rhetorical question of what the poet, Haddaway once asked: “WHAT IS LOVE”?

When I was a kid, I was really into reading books about what are known as “natural disasters”, and weather.  I was always a geek.

Apparently I still am.  Lucky for me, thanks to the Internet, I can now quasi-monitor the Atlantic hurricane season, which is quite exciting.  The United States’ “National Oceanic Atmospheric Administration” (NOAA) has a website for their National Hurricane Center. It’s pretty cool.  On the main page you can see the little map that shows tropical cyclone activity.  It is update pretty frequently  I remember one day last year when I looked at a blob on the map that was marked as “high potential” for tropical cyclone formation in the next 48%, and when I checked back 5 minutes later, it was a tropical depression!!! Very neat.

It’s like you are watching the storm as it develops, except not really.  It’s really cool for me.

So, the geek that I am, this becomes my favourite website from June through November.  Check it out!!!

Sometimes I remember that there I people who know me that read this, even though I don’t know; or, I forget that I know.  Of course, you don’t tell me, cause then you feel really creepy.  That’s okay.  So here are some housekeeping rules:

- if you expect to find me discussing anything to do with, for lack of a better term, “relationship” type stuff: it’s not happening.

- same with work. no work discussions. I do have a sweet job, though.

- other people’s personal lives

- 99.999%-ish of people’s last names

- specifics

A funny thing about blogs, and people who read them without telling the “author”, is that some people think they are getting a sneak peak into said author’s life.  The thing is, I am very aware that anyone can read this.  Despite the fact that it may seem like I put a lot of information about myself out for anyone with internet access and an understanding of Google to find, I’m actually pretty selective about what I include an exclude.

Perhaps it comes as a surprise to people who don’t know me well that I’m a very private person.  All of this online stuff can be describe as the following:

- a cariciature

- a distraction from the full, complete me

- the misleading notion that you have actually come across some top-secret shit that I’d be petrified for you to know.

/end housekeeping.

-A strong disdain for Karl Marx

-loss

-gains

- change/lack thereof/fear of change/awareness of change/ discomfort with the reality etc etc etc

-relationship [s] [?] (see all of the above, save for the strong disdain for Karl Marx)

- effort x 2 x 4 x6 x 2  (see all of the above, including the strong disdain for Karl Marx)

- The happiest day of my life.  Okay, that was in July, 2008, but it deserves a fair mention: sans happiest day, none of the above would exist in the same right which they do.

- Le Temps Detruit Tout (see note just above this).

Sometimes I get carried away and say the wrong things.  I’m aware at the time, and in retrospect I think “maybe I shouldn’t have said that, because I was so close to coming across as well put-together, and there I go without thinking before I speak.”

Sometimes I say things I have already said, several times over.  It’s not that I think I’m particularly interesting; rather, I forget what I have said, and to whom I have said it.  Even if the conversation was meaningful. Other times, the conversation was meaningful, but I don’t know if it was to you, so I repeat myself to understand if it meant anything to you the first time around.

Did it?

- I tended to cross the line a few times, and that damages everything but myself in the end.

- Basically, I reduced everything back to just me, to protect myself, my interests an as a subconscious way to keep outside interests on the outside.

I would prefer not to, but there is a steep learning curve.

- forgetting to use spell check.  I know how to spell, and my grammar is fine when I please.  Technology has made me lazy. I can has smart.

Whenever the semester ends, my body shuts down, and then my brain follows:

The last time I updated this blog was on April 20, 2009 at 12:39 AM.  I wrote my final exam for GEOGS at 6:30PM that day.

When school is finally out, my body finally lets it guard down: it isn’t being forced to stay up way too late, and get too little rest; it isn’t being fed crappy food [as often], because I actaully have time to make proper meals for myself.  It isn’t being stressed out by the awareness of the preceding, unhealthy habits.  It isn’t being stressed out by the pressure of school, and work, and everything else.

For about a week or so, I more or less slept or lazed around at any given chance.  I slept a LOT.  One night I slept for 13 hours in lieu of seeing Mastodon, who I did want to see.

Once my body has caught up on its rest, my brain goes “hey, it is my turn for a rest.”  During the first week or so, my brain was still running crazy.  Any conversation that even remotely related to an area of recent study had to be abandonned, because all I could do was start meddling over theories and ideas in my head.  “Well, this surely isn’t an exciting conversation to have with someone I haven’t socialized with in months, due to me crazy schedule”.   This issue causes for social awkwardness.

Finally, my brain says “okay, see ya in a few weeks for summer school!” Then I go into moderately carefree mode.

The problem is, I like inspiration or motivation when this happens.  I haven’t updated this, because I haven’t had anything of value to share, I guess.   Rather, I haven’t been stimulating my brain.  I know it’s only been a few weeks, and I’m sure I’ll get back into being my geeky old self; but, lately I haven’t had a whole lot of quasi-intellectual/academic shit percolating in my head and I’m not sure what to make of it.

I’d hate to think that enrollment school is the only thing that allows me to think critical.

I think I’m just taking a breather.