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.

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.

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.

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.

I haven’t been writing a whole lot of direct stuff about my life lately, so here is something for stalkers:

I saw Leonard Cohen tonight.  I wasn’t able to stay 100% until the end, cause I had to come home to study for exams, but I saw most of the show.

Possibly the best show of my life.  I am saying this as someone who has always enjoyed Leonard Cohen, but was never a fanatic.

Leonard Cohen was always played in my home growing up.  His music, ironically, reminds me of carefree days of being a kid; of sunny afternoons in the summer, coming in from the kiddie pool and hearing “Everybody Knows” coming from the stereo.

It’s very difficult to describe how unreal this show was.  The man has an unmatchable amount of passion, and emotion that bleeds through everything.  Watching him, just as much as listening to him, was a trip.

I’m glad I’m not a music journalist, because I would not be able to string together a coherent review — it was that good.  I’m close to speechless.

Go see Leonard Cohen if he comes to your city.

There is something to be said about sociopaths, and I’m not sure what, exactly, that is.

Sociopaths have an uncanny ability to cause distraction at the worst possible time, and then distract all required attention away from necessity.

The sociopath draws you in, and makes you think, “alright, I am going to play this game, and maybe  beat you at this game”.  The sociopath makes you all but forget the days you were regularly told “I win; I always win”.

A sociopath can be friendly, and appear so interested when it loses its clutches on the prey that had once replaced you.  It is important to remind yourself of this anytime you interact with one.

Do not consume alcohol in the presence of a sociopath, and if you do, make sure to have an exit plan.  Exit plans do not necessarily need to be tangible; they can be abstract, for example, the knowledge of greener pastures is an acceptable exit plan.

Question the motives behind all words spoken from the mouth of a sociopath, particularly nice words.

Never, never, never allow yourself to be fooled by nostalgia, or tones of voice.

Sociopaths are adept.

This has been a public service announcement.

This past weekend I went on a secret vacation back home to Toronto.  It was pretty cool times.  Generally, when I go to Toronto, I get pretty emo about things: choose a crappy, cliché metaphor, and that will describe what Toronto is to me.  Today, my melodramatic and laughable description is as follows: a sarcophagus of lost years. HA HA HA. HA HA HA. Good one.  It drives me a little nutty, because I always end up dwelling on the past when I’m there..

This visit was probably the least stressful visit I’ve made to Toronto since I left.  I still got wound up over some things, but I guess that’s inevitable.

I also did some totally fun stuff!

I was staying at my friend Brad (and Timo and Meghan)’s place.  Brad is one of the coolest people ever.  In fact, he is cooler than I am.    Tim & Brad have a podcast, which I have referred to, called Comma Error Radio.  Seeing as I was being held captive, not against my own will, at Casa Geeka, I made a guest appearance on this week’s podcast, which basically means I said a few things that made me sound dumb.  So check it out!  The episode has some discussions about video games, movies, our friends in DD/MM/YYYY, pirates, and most importantly – EGG ON ONE’S FACE.  What’s the big deal about “EGG ON MY FACE”?  Well, listen and you will find out!  I’ll let you in on a little secret though: Don’t watch The Spirit, because it is the worst movie ever.

Anyway… That is about as much of my weekend as I am making public.  If I share any more, I might end up with egg on my face.

Lately I have been writing about topics that interest me.   These are just my blogs; my way of killing time and writing about stuff that doesn’t need to be structured for school.

I don’t really talk about my personal life so much, and I prefer it that way.

I also don’t think it’s fair for me to talk about people who have no control over what I say about them.

It’s too bad, cause I’ve got something to say.   About the disappointment of false freindships.

Luckily it only pertains to one person.

Hi. Blog blog blog blog blog.

If you read this blog, then either:

1) you are in my family, so you like to keep a tab on me

2) you are a friend of mine

3) you are stalking me

4) you actually think what I write is interesting, which makes you odd, but okay…

5) you google-blogged something like “AC/DC” (cause I wrote a blog about when AC/DC came to my work, and AC/DC fans found me right away), or a band that I link to, cause my friends are in it: my blog comes up when you search for those bands, apparently.

ANYWAY.  If you read my BLOG, then perhaps you may like my twin brother’s blog.  My awesome twin, Byron, is quite different from me.  First of all, he is not female.  Secondly, he is responsible and rational.  Thirdly, he knows a lot of stuff about computers.

Anyway, Byron is awesomely articulate and inciteful.  Often his blogs are about computer tech issues that I couldn’t understand for the life of me, but some of his blogs are about politics and whatnot.  Those blogs I understand, I am always so impressed that I have such a smart, smart twin brother.

Another plus to Byron’s blogs is that he writes coherently.  I do not always write coherently. Duh.

I was in Las Vegas from Sunday until Thursday for a business conference.  On Monday morning I started writing a list of observations and experiences about Las Vegas, because I was having trouble piecing it all together.  Now that I’m back in Vancouver, I have realized that it’s close to impossible to write a coherent account of what Las Vegas is.

Las Vegas [the strip] is a horrible place where people go to escape from reality.  On the periphery, there are good people, and good practises, I’m sure; but, the spirit of Las Vegas is to willingly have your soul ripped out of your body for the duration of your visit, and forget that anything exists beyond the walls of the massive casino/resort/hotels (except more casinos), and forget that there is an alternate reality to Las Vegas.

I did not see the sun for 4 days.

Here is a little bit of what I wrote on Monday morning:

“I woke up at 5:45 AM and was feeling a little discombobulated:  I had a nightcap at some bar in the Casino with my coworker; I had a gross martini and a mimosa (yes, it is a breakfast drink).

I woke up at 5:45 AM, as I mentioned, and really wanted a cigarette.  The guest room area is non-smoking, as far as I know, and I honestly had no idea how to actually get outside of this behemoth.

Las Vegas, of course, is a 24-hour party.  I knew I could smoke in the casino area, so I headed down there.  I was wearing my Ninja Turtles slippers.

I looked like a little kid.

The casino at 6 AM basically has the look and smell of what having your soul eaten alive is probably like.

It was empty.  It smelled like stale booze and smokes.  It smelled like the ‘party’ from the night before, with just a few maniacs who had stuck around.

At one of the bars, there was a small group of fancy-dressed people, rubbing at their noses and drinking champagne.

I wandered around more, just looking for somewhere to buy cigarettes.  Some security person in the casino said she could get a cigarette lady to come my way, but I didn’t want to go to the trouble, and the smokes were probably expensive.

A different staffer gave me some matches, so I had my last cigarette, and realized I was both hungover and hungry.

I bought a coffee and a bagel, which set me back 6.50 USD, which is about 8.45 CAD.

It was the hottest coffee ever.

At about 6:30, I walked back to the elevators to go up to my room.  You have to show your pass to security to get to the elevators.

At the security checkpoint, there was a group of young women, about my age, in cocktail dresses.  They were sprawled on the ground.  Some of them were looking for something – keys I presume, or swipe passes.  One was about to barf, and was looking for a nice potted plant to barf in.  I showed my swipe card and walked by.  Wow.  Las Vegas.   I don’t know if I would want to come here for a Vacation.  It is Monday morning, by the way.”

I was there for work, and the work stuff was okay.  It was unfortunate that I missed school, cause I have a lot to catch up on.  I’m not going to talk about that.

Las Vegas was very unsettling.  As I mentioned, Las Vegas is a place where people to go escape reality.  It is difficult to be immersed in a place like Las Vegas and be able to emotionally handle it without numbing yourself to “reality”.  Now we’re getting a little confused here:

1) Las Vegas is where people go to escape reality.

2) If you are not under the influence of some mind altering substance, then you are consciously observing the REALITY of people so painfully escaping reality for the sake of escaping reality.  IT IS HARD TO WITNESS.  It is upsetting.  It was upsetting to me, at least.

3)  you need to get very drunk to be able to handle the time that isn’t being used for business meetings etc. because it is far too fucked up to just stand idly by.

I know some people go to Vegas and just have a blast, and that’s cool, but a lot of what I saw was so unsettling.

I hated Las Vegas when I was sober, but I loved it once I had a few drinks. I loved it and didn’t want to leave.

I don’t want to ever go back to a place like that.

I’ve been back for a day and I’m still confused by reality.  I don’t know what day it is and I have lost sense of time.

I was only there for 4 days.

Apparently Las Vegas gets easier to handle once you’ve been a few times.

I wrote this list on my Facebook, actually, but I am going to elaborate a little here.

My list is as follows:  brazen, grisly, spate, scandal, outbreak, fear/feared/fearful/living in fear, rash (as in, a rash of murders) ,slammed, lambasted, sweeping changes, credit crunch, pain at the pumps feel[ing] it in their wallets/pockets, feeling the pinch,  The first name of missing/abducted/murdered little girls (ex: Hayleigh/Caylee):( I started to write a whole goddamn essay once about the implications of using a first name in these types of stories, but I had to so real homework… ) , top threat , sound[ed/s] [the] alarm, bombshells ,gangland – style [shooting/killing], epidemic, Good Samaritan.

There are certainly other words that are overused in the media — words that people don’t typically use in conversation, but are awkwardly used to excess in the news — that aren’t on this list.  These words make me groan when I read them, but I can’t remember them.

I realized there’s a reason why I don’t remember certain tacky words, but remember the other tacky words, and I would have to guess that it’s because they are pretty much all used to sensationalize issues that wouldn’t seem so sensational otherwise.

For example, there have been a few murders here in Vancouver over the past few weeks.  Vancouver, like the rest of Canada, has a relatively low violent crime rate, and it is very safe to live here.  Additionally, people are at a very low risk of becoming victims to violent crimes (particularly ones that result in death), unless they fall into a specific demographic.  Chances are, you don’t fall into that demographic.  If you are a male between the ages of 18-30 or so, are single, spend a lot of time outside of your house after dark, and consume alcohol or drugs, you are at a higher risk, but you still probably won’t be murdered.  Everyone else — it’s VERY unlikely you’re going to get murdered.

Getting back to these stories:  Of course, they are written to make the reader thing that the city is under siege by these crazy motherfucking gangsters, and we’re all going to die, or something.  I’m not 100% sure why the newspapers perpetuate these overblown scare-tactics: is it to sell papers, or is the political agenda of the newspaper actually so insane, that they are hoping to provoke their readership, as a whole, to lobby the government to make significant changes to the criminal justice system in Canada?

I’m going to guess the former, but why, then, choose a topic that puts your readers in fear?  Why not try to sell something else?  Are fear and anger the easiest ideas to sell these days?

The non-violent scare stories, are about the economic “crisis”, of course.  I don’t think it’s as severe as the media has made it out to be, but that doesn’t matter, people are in hysterics.  HELLO. The unemployment rate, while higher than it was a few years ago, is 7.2 %.  Yes the prices of goods have increased; yes the cost of living has increased.  Here’s a quick way to save some money, since you most likely have a source of income, so you just need to learn how to save it, you consumerist prisoner (ha ha):

-Don’t go to restaurants all the time

-Stop buying pre-made dinners/pasta sauce/pizzas/sandwiches etc.  Learn to make it yourself.  It saves a ridiculous amount of money.

-Conserve electricity so your bill isn’t so high

-drive only when you absolutely need to, or don’t drive at all

In other words: user your common sense, and don’t live beyond your means.  It’s not that difficult to manage your money properly.

Hearing the things I always wanted to hear, but so overdue that they lost their meaning.

I was going to write about something thought provoking until I ran into that romantically painful brick wall.

On the bus home from school this week, someone asked me what I ‘did’. By that, I mean, he asked me what I did in my spare time; what I did for fun.

I said I didn’t know anymore.

- pretending to be affluent

- writing letters of complaint, expressing how perturbed I am towards a consumer product, government service, or otherwise; it’s not like I’ve got a gun to my head and have to buy or use these things, but I might as well blow of verbal steam

- getting really worked up over small things

- listening to songs that make me feel sad and miss stuff even more than I did before I listened to the song

Then I remembered something that I used to like to do half a life ago!

When I was in grades 7 and 8, I went to a private school run by these wacky socialist feminists.  At was at Yonge & St. Clair, and pretty much every student there had a much larger disposable income than me.  There were restaurants around, so they’d get restaurant lunch every day, and go to Second Cup before school, and go to Mac’s or wherever.. And once a week or so, my parents would give me 5$ to go buy lunch, which was totally awesome.

But I wanted to fit in and show that I was a consumer too!  Sooo, I would gather up a few pennies (6 cents, to be exact), grab some things like bags of Ringolos and put them on the photocopier.

Then I would take a photocopy of the food.

Then I would put the photocopy up in my locker.

Then I felt satisfied for having proved that I, too, was a consumer and could make a purchase on the daily.  It did not satisfy my hunger for Ringolos, however.

It seems as though I like to write lists. Lists are fitting, because I have a short attention span, lack eloquence, and became jaded after taking creative writing; creative writing does the same thing to you as having someone produce your band when you are 17 years old (true story!) : you lose a part of yourself and look at something that was once special, yours and a good quality as just another irrelevent aspect to your replaceable character.

Anyway.  Lists are neat.  They are pretty open-ended, open to interpretation, and safe.  BUT ARE THEY?

After this little introduction, I don’t think I could possibly make an abritrary list today, and that saddens me more than any other heartbreak I have ever experienced has…..

So instead, I recommend that everyone look up the German version of the Darkwing Duck theme song on YouTube.  The “when you got trouble/you should called D-W” part is AMAZING.

• freak out next to the born again christians and tell them how awesome valium is.
•     please tell me that everything was real
•     listen to tacky, maudlin music while in flight
•     find a nice bowtie.
•     A real nice bowtie
•     Did I mention listening to real bad music on your flight?
•     Roofie yourself.  it helps reinforce any claims to your subscription as a romanticist , tortured artist who takes a bunch of valium, then drinks a bunch of merlot

MURPHY’S LAW: YOU WILL ALWAYS SIT NEXT TO ONE OF THE FOLLOWING: A CATHOLIC WHO WORKS ON A MISSION (OR A JEHOVAHS WITNESS , AN INFANT, A PSYCHIATRIST, A PILOT WHO DOESN’T TELL YOU THAT HE IS A PILOT UNTIL JUST BEFORE DESCENT, OR A REALLY CUTE GUY WHO HAS A BOYFRIEND

-            =lie to yourself about what Is right for you, and lie to yourself so that you can truly miss leaving

behind the place that you needed to escape from in order to have any potential to thrive in life

format your Microsoft word  improperly, because you have roofied yourself intentionally due to a recent fear of flying.

-              type everything out in pt. 6 font size so that the catholic missionaries sitting beside you can’t see  that you are writing about things: jesus could help you through this, you know

ssend psychic signals to your computer in hopes that it will start formatting correctly
-    recall when you creative writer taught you about disassociation (not the drug kind) but the conceptual disassociation that occurs when you condition yourself to no longer accept the standard method of doing things, and reject the status quo, cause you’re so rebellious and antidisestablishmentarian

latch on to what will perpetuate your ambivalence, douchebag.

Pretend to be someone else.
Wear a silly mask and name yourself Judith for the duration of your flight

Learn to perfect the following: biting the inside of your lower lip to prevent yourself from smiling when you truly feel like you are ready to smile.  You make a strange face, but at least no one will witness you smile, you selfish prick.

Play with your hair; scratch your head.
Order another drink.

A few hours after this was written, my plane almost crashed into the Pacific Ocean, due to running out of fuel.  I was stranded for hours, and arrived at my residence 12 hours after originally planned.

I would like to make this blog transition from a narcissistic one, where I talk about myself, for the sake of purging to a small, anonymous audience to a blog where I can talk more about the things that actually interest me.

Today is not the day of change, however.

I am in Toronto.

I have been content to visit my hometown and catch up with people, attempt to reconcile some of my past, and have a mindless vacation away from work, school and responsibilities.

Still, there is some kind of weight that I feel when I am here, and I feel so ambivalent towards this city:  In some ways, I want to move back here, but I also know that it wouldn’t be the best choice for me; I wont amount to much in life if I stay in a city with so many distractions, and with so many people who I have these longstanding histories with.

On the other hand, I get bored with the lack of things to do in Vancouver, and my lack of roots in the city.

When I come to Toronto, part of me is so happy to be reunited, that it almost brings me to tears. I also feel pretty empty seeing the skeletons of what my life used to be, before it changed for the worse (in many respects).

You know, I see the places that used to represent hope and opportunity, but turned into symbols of failure and poorly executed decision.  I pass by all these places that represented my dad, and my family.  I feel happy, but then I feel listless.

I don’t know what it means to consider a place home; if it’s the place where I live or the place where I’m from.

I get angsty like a 15 year old, and I want to get out so that I don’t have to face the reality that is my life.

My family doctor, always full of endless Jewish wisdom, said to me today:

Reality does not give a shit about your opinion.

If you need me to elaborate, ask.