Come on and grab a seat. Got some almonds. Chili & lime. Tasty.
It's been two years since you left this physical realm and went south. Two years and so many different things. So much change. Still miss you and am thrilled when you visit my dreams. You are the definition of strength and acceptance to me and always will be. So Grandma, I figured I'd give you an update.
I graduated. got this nifty keen little piece of paper in a silly plastic folder (I should get it framed) that sez I know stuff. And I say thank you to you, because you helped make it possible. You provided so much support and love throughout my whole life it would be hard to imagine it without you, so thanks.
The girls are getting bigger, and so much more fun with each day. Even through the challenges. Little Bear still misses you. I hope she carries on who you were, because she is so much like you.
I needed a rest. Things got too much so I ended up cracking, but thankfully you were there to help with that too. Thanks again.
I got a new job! I love it, I'm the writing instructor for FNUniv. It's so much fun.
And I met the most wonderful girl. You'd love her. Next time you come see me, come visit her too. She loves my quilt. She's a handy crafty type herself and recognizes just how great that quilt is. And loves to cuddle up with me under it.
When I hear this song I think of how you were, how you worked and lived. And what mattered to you. And how what matters to me seems to be strengthened by that same ideal. Love you Grandma.
Tuesday, November 29, 2011
Thursday, November 17, 2011
Whisper
There are dark
And shining places
Where
I
Find the beauty
of pain
And the solace
of suffering
Fear is not
among them
Only
Me
And shining places
Where
I
Find the beauty
of pain
And the solace
of suffering
Fear is not
among them
Only
Me
Monday, July 25, 2011
Such a jerk
Come on in and enjoy some pumpkin seeds. So tasty.
So I realize I haven't written much lately, except some mostly depressing and annoying self-involved crap, and I realized, 'Wow, I must be such a fucking downer.' So I went out and had fun this weekend. Two fun larps, lotsa fun socializing, getting to hang out with a new friend in a situation that wasn't virtual or solely game related. Was a great time. Of course, I also managed to piss a few people off but hey, without controversy what else would I be good at?
Also have realized that, besides the crappy parts, there are some rather good parts. Like my day today, it went super well. It made me realize that I'm actually valued in a lot of areas that I didn't think I was. And I started to think about the jobs I was now applying for, and what the pay in those were like, and wow. Life is certainly changing because of that piece of paper.
But the one thing I've been thinking about is a little flare up that happened recently between a few friends. And it's something I've personally been thinking about a lot lately, and it has to do with Richard Dawkins. I'm not a fan of the guy but I've never actually sat down and explained why I dislike his writing. So, over the next little while, I think I'm going to pull out the points that bother me about Mr. Dawkins. There may be a lot of things that folks will dislike about what I have to say but before I get into it, I want to make it perfectly clear that while I disagree with a good deal of the how of what Mr. Dawkins writes, I very rarely disagree with the why.
To lay a little ground work, here goes. I will, over the next little while, demonstrate how I feel Richard Dawkins writing is divisive, damaging, and overall a detriment to any useful dialogue that could happen to further his goals. I recognize that one of the major points within what he is attempting to do is to create a rallying point for atheist thought and foster community, however he's doing it in almost an exact replica of fundamentalist dogma. In fact, his response is just as dogmatic as it is based on false assumptions, and at times rather weak and selective academic work. In fact, there are quite a few parallels between Dawkins and another writer who takes dogmatic arguments and reverses them to create divisive work, and that is Tom Flanagan.
to counter point this I will make reference to a rather great writer, Douglas Adams, who wrote a number of incredible articles on atheism that I found to be perhaps the best rallying points and community based ideals that might further Dawkins' goals without the open hostility the dogma he is attempting to create.
But here's the kicker, in the end, the one thing that should be remembered is that this is an academic exercise, not a personal attack. Nor is it an attack on any who enjoy Dawkins' work. It is meant to create a place for dialogue so others can understand where the differences matter and where they don't. And to make sure that a wider community does not need to be split apart due to false assumptions or misunderstandings.
P.S. The Such a jerk is me, not Dawkins. Thought I should clarify that.
So I realize I haven't written much lately, except some mostly depressing and annoying self-involved crap, and I realized, 'Wow, I must be such a fucking downer.' So I went out and had fun this weekend. Two fun larps, lotsa fun socializing, getting to hang out with a new friend in a situation that wasn't virtual or solely game related. Was a great time. Of course, I also managed to piss a few people off but hey, without controversy what else would I be good at?
Also have realized that, besides the crappy parts, there are some rather good parts. Like my day today, it went super well. It made me realize that I'm actually valued in a lot of areas that I didn't think I was. And I started to think about the jobs I was now applying for, and what the pay in those were like, and wow. Life is certainly changing because of that piece of paper.
But the one thing I've been thinking about is a little flare up that happened recently between a few friends. And it's something I've personally been thinking about a lot lately, and it has to do with Richard Dawkins. I'm not a fan of the guy but I've never actually sat down and explained why I dislike his writing. So, over the next little while, I think I'm going to pull out the points that bother me about Mr. Dawkins. There may be a lot of things that folks will dislike about what I have to say but before I get into it, I want to make it perfectly clear that while I disagree with a good deal of the how of what Mr. Dawkins writes, I very rarely disagree with the why.
To lay a little ground work, here goes. I will, over the next little while, demonstrate how I feel Richard Dawkins writing is divisive, damaging, and overall a detriment to any useful dialogue that could happen to further his goals. I recognize that one of the major points within what he is attempting to do is to create a rallying point for atheist thought and foster community, however he's doing it in almost an exact replica of fundamentalist dogma. In fact, his response is just as dogmatic as it is based on false assumptions, and at times rather weak and selective academic work. In fact, there are quite a few parallels between Dawkins and another writer who takes dogmatic arguments and reverses them to create divisive work, and that is Tom Flanagan.
to counter point this I will make reference to a rather great writer, Douglas Adams, who wrote a number of incredible articles on atheism that I found to be perhaps the best rallying points and community based ideals that might further Dawkins' goals without the open hostility the dogma he is attempting to create.
But here's the kicker, in the end, the one thing that should be remembered is that this is an academic exercise, not a personal attack. Nor is it an attack on any who enjoy Dawkins' work. It is meant to create a place for dialogue so others can understand where the differences matter and where they don't. And to make sure that a wider community does not need to be split apart due to false assumptions or misunderstandings.
P.S. The Such a jerk is me, not Dawkins. Thought I should clarify that.
Wednesday, July 20, 2011
FOOTBALL TIME!
Come on in and enjoy some veggies. Gotta get a little more in shape, maybe lose some wieght, time to kick some ass with the football, yeah!
As is already apparent, I love football. LOVE. IT. SO. MUCH. And again, I'm coaching for the RMF Mounties and dayum, we got a great looking team this year. I'm thrilled to once again have the privilege to be the o-line coach and oh good goodies, we got us another super cool otherworldly offense. I'd tell you about it, but it's a sooper sekrit thing and all that, y'know how it is.
So here's the thing. I love coaching, for all kinds of reasons, ones I've shared. What do y'all love to do? What makes your lives feel complete and enjoyable. Share, talk among yourselves, I'm gonna go draw up all kinds of Xs and Os and squiggly lines.
As is already apparent, I love football. LOVE. IT. SO. MUCH. And again, I'm coaching for the RMF Mounties and dayum, we got a great looking team this year. I'm thrilled to once again have the privilege to be the o-line coach and oh good goodies, we got us another super cool otherworldly offense. I'd tell you about it, but it's a sooper sekrit thing and all that, y'know how it is.
So here's the thing. I love coaching, for all kinds of reasons, ones I've shared. What do y'all love to do? What makes your lives feel complete and enjoyable. Share, talk among yourselves, I'm gonna go draw up all kinds of Xs and Os and squiggly lines.
Saturday, July 16, 2011
What I know
Come on in and watch as the smoke forms words and those words form feelings and those feelings reflect on the soul.
Plugged In
Hollow life prepackaged for purchase
As meaningful as quarters jammed
Into an arcade game
Flashing lights creating a new reality
Flat images, two dimensional
Moving side to side in a dance
Of slow sliding death scrolling
Across a bar made of light
With little else beyond the
Repetition of joystick and buttons
Until you win or lose.
And shove in more quarters.
Plugged In
Hollow life prepackaged for purchase
As meaningful as quarters jammed
Into an arcade game
Flashing lights creating a new reality
Flat images, two dimensional
Moving side to side in a dance
Of slow sliding death scrolling
Across a bar made of light
With little else beyond the
Repetition of joystick and buttons
Until you win or lose.
And shove in more quarters.
Thursday, July 14, 2011
Time for a prayer
Come on in, grab some real estate and pass around the bowl of veggies. Enjoy the weather, the beauty of summer, the peek of life and the struggle for life that goes on around us.
I thank the Grandfathers for the wisdom to understand more than myself. The ability to step outside what ever perceptions are allowed to me and see the world from new ways, to crawl out from my own limited view and spy the vast span of existence for a brief and baffling moment.
I pray to you, those of you that walk beyond your path, the ones left behind and the ones chosen to stay, that you may illuminate the way for those of us still here, wrestling with the demons and difficulties of day to day existence.
I pray that the ways of understanding, of tolerance, and above all, sensibility, can flow into those around me who have found conflict, so that they might resolve the issues around them in a way that will both enrich them and allow them a broader understanding.
And I thank all my friends, from old to new, for their beauty, strength, differences and difficulties, and want them all to know that no matter the circumstance, I will never ever stop loving you.
I thank the Grandfathers for the wisdom to understand more than myself. The ability to step outside what ever perceptions are allowed to me and see the world from new ways, to crawl out from my own limited view and spy the vast span of existence for a brief and baffling moment.
I pray to you, those of you that walk beyond your path, the ones left behind and the ones chosen to stay, that you may illuminate the way for those of us still here, wrestling with the demons and difficulties of day to day existence.
I pray that the ways of understanding, of tolerance, and above all, sensibility, can flow into those around me who have found conflict, so that they might resolve the issues around them in a way that will both enrich them and allow them a broader understanding.
And I thank all my friends, from old to new, for their beauty, strength, differences and difficulties, and want them all to know that no matter the circumstance, I will never ever stop loving you.
Sunday, July 10, 2011
Holding
Come and grab a stump, the weather is so nice, I've moved the fire to the entrance and we can sit beneath the starry sky.
Driving along the sunny streets, gorgeous weather locked away from me as I spent my day locked into a large building so I can make a living, I let the smells of summer rush into my wide open window and try to shake away the depressing problems of my day. I have to breath deep and slow, the urge to let the tears rush down my face is barely contained. The only reason I don't is the emotional vapour lock that has decided to turn my usually rather sharp mind and senses into a locked room where the only thing to do is to stare at the failures plastered across the walls.
I can't help it. I turn over in my mind why she left. Why she can't see the good and only the bad, the bad that possessed me in the moments of my near death. I beat myself up over how badly I've done things. The friends who claim me insane. The ones who only tolerate me out of a sense of past loyalties. The ones who no longer talk to me because of the way I've treated them. and let's not even get into the various folks that would probably lynch me given the chance.
I watch as the sunlight flashes off the hood of the car, and think of all the different possibilities, the different time lines that could have happened, had I just learned a bit sooner. Actually, let's be honest, a lot sooner. I made the same mistake again, I walked into something that would never work, I walked into a relationship that would never succeed. I laid myself out, and let myself fail because I just couldn't find the right way to be a real human being.
So as I passed the happy people enjoying the weather I thought of all the things that had led me to this exact moment. And in truth, I found that only one thing mattered. The two of you. The two things of perfect potential. Two perfect beings still waiting to be raised above what ever small damages might be awaiting.
I pulled the car over to the curb, and got out, watching you run around the small park, chasing a small bug, I saw your older sister, standing aloof, her phone clutched in her hand as she texted some person about what was going on, and I suddenly smiled. I walked forward, an arm slung about the eldest, and as you saw me and yelled 'Daddy!' rushing to me, I flung my arms wide. I clutched you, I held the small body, no more than 30 kilos of weight, yet an entire world of potential waiting to be unleashed. Your sister, older yet on the verge of adding to that potential, filled with her own about to burst upon the world stepped forward and graciously allowed a hug among father and his daughters.
The world again regained its balance. This was right and whatever else may come, these moments, moments of pure potential, they were all that mattered.
Driving along the sunny streets, gorgeous weather locked away from me as I spent my day locked into a large building so I can make a living, I let the smells of summer rush into my wide open window and try to shake away the depressing problems of my day. I have to breath deep and slow, the urge to let the tears rush down my face is barely contained. The only reason I don't is the emotional vapour lock that has decided to turn my usually rather sharp mind and senses into a locked room where the only thing to do is to stare at the failures plastered across the walls.
I can't help it. I turn over in my mind why she left. Why she can't see the good and only the bad, the bad that possessed me in the moments of my near death. I beat myself up over how badly I've done things. The friends who claim me insane. The ones who only tolerate me out of a sense of past loyalties. The ones who no longer talk to me because of the way I've treated them. and let's not even get into the various folks that would probably lynch me given the chance.
I watch as the sunlight flashes off the hood of the car, and think of all the different possibilities, the different time lines that could have happened, had I just learned a bit sooner. Actually, let's be honest, a lot sooner. I made the same mistake again, I walked into something that would never work, I walked into a relationship that would never succeed. I laid myself out, and let myself fail because I just couldn't find the right way to be a real human being.
So as I passed the happy people enjoying the weather I thought of all the things that had led me to this exact moment. And in truth, I found that only one thing mattered. The two of you. The two things of perfect potential. Two perfect beings still waiting to be raised above what ever small damages might be awaiting.
I pulled the car over to the curb, and got out, watching you run around the small park, chasing a small bug, I saw your older sister, standing aloof, her phone clutched in her hand as she texted some person about what was going on, and I suddenly smiled. I walked forward, an arm slung about the eldest, and as you saw me and yelled 'Daddy!' rushing to me, I flung my arms wide. I clutched you, I held the small body, no more than 30 kilos of weight, yet an entire world of potential waiting to be unleashed. Your sister, older yet on the verge of adding to that potential, filled with her own about to burst upon the world stepped forward and graciously allowed a hug among father and his daughters.
The world again regained its balance. This was right and whatever else may come, these moments, moments of pure potential, they were all that mattered.
Wednesday, July 6, 2011
Pass Interference
Come on in and enjoy the beautiful weather, the gorgeous wind that blows through the night, entering the mind and bringing with it sweet smells.
On the wind I can smell a soft summer night, one that promises rain, a deep earthy smell, mixed with that near ozone smell of high voltage hiding in the sky. I remember a similar night, walking along the street, hand in hand with someone special, laughing and splashing through the puddles. Watching our clothes run slick against our bodies, tightening as we moved, spun, grasped one another, feeling the power of the rain, the lightning flashing above, hot sparks like our lips meeting. The rain fell so thick it was like swimming, the emotions ran so deep I felt I could swim forever next to you, and let the world attempt to drown us, we would grasp the joy it afforded no matter the situation.
The smell has a sharp tint at night, one that brings out thoughts of fall. I can feel the bite of the North Wind as it eases out of the sky after midnight, a promise of things to come. I love the fall, so bright and bracing, yet I remember an argument. One that flashed down like the wind on an October day, cutting into your flesh through the clothes, an argument that had no purpose, because like the fall, I was winding down, losing any warmth, finding only bitterness and bite, slashing about. I was dying, falling down like the leaves, but with little promise of the regeneration of spring. I was little more than wounded animal. A rotten branch dying, ready to be cut from the trunk.
Yet I lived, without you, without the intensity of previous seasons. I didn't die and learned of a new way to view the cycles, the promise of spring that must come after the desolation of winter. Without you.
On the wind I can smell a soft summer night, one that promises rain, a deep earthy smell, mixed with that near ozone smell of high voltage hiding in the sky. I remember a similar night, walking along the street, hand in hand with someone special, laughing and splashing through the puddles. Watching our clothes run slick against our bodies, tightening as we moved, spun, grasped one another, feeling the power of the rain, the lightning flashing above, hot sparks like our lips meeting. The rain fell so thick it was like swimming, the emotions ran so deep I felt I could swim forever next to you, and let the world attempt to drown us, we would grasp the joy it afforded no matter the situation.
The smell has a sharp tint at night, one that brings out thoughts of fall. I can feel the bite of the North Wind as it eases out of the sky after midnight, a promise of things to come. I love the fall, so bright and bracing, yet I remember an argument. One that flashed down like the wind on an October day, cutting into your flesh through the clothes, an argument that had no purpose, because like the fall, I was winding down, losing any warmth, finding only bitterness and bite, slashing about. I was dying, falling down like the leaves, but with little promise of the regeneration of spring. I was little more than wounded animal. A rotten branch dying, ready to be cut from the trunk.
Yet I lived, without you, without the intensity of previous seasons. I didn't die and learned of a new way to view the cycles, the promise of spring that must come after the desolation of winter. Without you.
Friday, July 1, 2011
Incidental Contact
Come on in and watch the smoke.
I was otuside some bar, having a cigarette, chatting with a female friend. We were discussing the songs that should be banned from karaoke, "'Summer Nights,' that shit has GOT to go, and if it's busy don't be the douche that puts up 'Don't Fear the Reaper.' Yeah, we all like cow bell but jeezus fucking christ, it's nine goddamn minutes long." A few folks near me nodded and chuckled along with my companion.
And coming around the corner was what could best be described as a piece of human refuse. And I don't mean that to be insulting. I mean it as an honest description. He was a human being who society had thrown away, finding him no longer useful. Despite the summer heat, he wore a ragged sweater, once white and now some blotched mixture of gray and brown, over top of a black t-shirt. His pants were corduroy, and some sneakers that looked like they were bought in 1982 were on his feat, high tops worn down to near nothing, patched with a mixture of black electrical tape and silver duct tape. (It's duct, not duck. It was original made to work on duct work, heating and what not in your house, but I digress...)
I doubted he was much older than me, but he was certainly smaller, couldn't weigh more than 130 lbs, and probably stood only an inch or two shorter than me, but he slumped. He was hunched over as if compensating for some wound or pain. His hair was dirty blonde with patches of gray, like the stubble that laid over his jaw.
Worst were his eyes, he looked at me and I looked him right in the eyes, not as a challenge but as an acknowledgement, one human to another. I tried to say to him without words, "I see you brother. You are not going to pass unnoticed and ignored. I care about you, because everyone needs to be cared for." All his eyes seemed to project was pain, physical, emotional, mental, spiritual pain. They said, "I need food, and water, and a place to sleep, but most of all I need a drink, or drugs, anything, something that will remove from me the knowledge of where I am and what I have to do to get by. Anything, I need anything."
He stopped and hooked his head to the side rather than up to look at me. He started to speak, but his voice didn't want to work right to start, he garbled something out, then coughed, and turned his back to me to spit in the street, and then spun around again to hitch his head to the side again to look up at me, "You uh. You got any change?" The voice was cringing, fearful, expecting this person who acknowledged him to abuse him like the rest of the world usually does. I nodded and smiled, "Yeah I got some change." I pulled about six bucks from my pocket, and held it out to him. "You need anything else? You smoke?" I produced my pack, it was half full, and handed it over, I had half a carton in my trunk anyways.
"Oh uh yeah .. I smoke." He was staring at me suspiciously, and started to back away without taking the pack. I slipped it open and took one out, lighting it up and handing the open pack to the beaten man, "G'head, I got more, look like you need it more than I do." He nodded and snatched at the pack, taking a smoke out and about to light it with some matches. My companion finally got the hint, she handed over her lighter, "Here take this." He did and lit his smoke, "I uh... I should be going." I nodded, not entirely in agreement, but to show he was free to do what he wished.
But before he could leave, I stepped forward. I laid my hand on his higher shoulder, the one away from where his injury had to be. Despite how gently I placed my hand, his whole body jolted, flinched and shook, expecting the worst, because the worst is all he knew. I smiled at him, and let his body settle while I kept my hand on his shoulder, and said, "Take care of yourself, and please keep safe."
As I stepped back, his face twitched. I swear he was smiling, but it was hard to tell with his face hooked over to the side like it was, "Yeah. You too."
As he walked away, I listened to the arrogant words of the drunks outside the bar wanting to reprimand me for caring about another human being, "He's just gonna buy booze or drugs with that money, he's a lazy bum," or "Great, that's just going to encourage more of those filthy stinking homeless crazies to come by here expecting some kind of hand out." Their words were filled with hate and contempt, a form of arrogance that bothered me so deeply, I wanted to turn around and scream at them, ask them why it was ok for them to go back inside and get drunk to forget their problems, but not ok for him just because he had no money or home. I wanted to kick them so they hurt as bad as the broken man did. Instead, I just kept feeling the love that I wanted that poor broken human being to feel and turned and smiled to the gathered mass, tossing away most of the smoke I had just lit, wanting to go back inside. As I passed the two knots of people I said to no one in particular, "I hope no one ever has to feel what that man probably feels day to day. But if they ever did, I hope someone will treat them like the human being they are."
I shook it off as I entered, and let the butchered vocals of 'Paradise by the Dashboard Light' wash over me and let me forget my problems.
I was otuside some bar, having a cigarette, chatting with a female friend. We were discussing the songs that should be banned from karaoke, "'Summer Nights,' that shit has GOT to go, and if it's busy don't be the douche that puts up 'Don't Fear the Reaper.' Yeah, we all like cow bell but jeezus fucking christ, it's nine goddamn minutes long." A few folks near me nodded and chuckled along with my companion.
And coming around the corner was what could best be described as a piece of human refuse. And I don't mean that to be insulting. I mean it as an honest description. He was a human being who society had thrown away, finding him no longer useful. Despite the summer heat, he wore a ragged sweater, once white and now some blotched mixture of gray and brown, over top of a black t-shirt. His pants were corduroy, and some sneakers that looked like they were bought in 1982 were on his feat, high tops worn down to near nothing, patched with a mixture of black electrical tape and silver duct tape. (It's duct, not duck. It was original made to work on duct work, heating and what not in your house, but I digress...)
I doubted he was much older than me, but he was certainly smaller, couldn't weigh more than 130 lbs, and probably stood only an inch or two shorter than me, but he slumped. He was hunched over as if compensating for some wound or pain. His hair was dirty blonde with patches of gray, like the stubble that laid over his jaw.
Worst were his eyes, he looked at me and I looked him right in the eyes, not as a challenge but as an acknowledgement, one human to another. I tried to say to him without words, "I see you brother. You are not going to pass unnoticed and ignored. I care about you, because everyone needs to be cared for." All his eyes seemed to project was pain, physical, emotional, mental, spiritual pain. They said, "I need food, and water, and a place to sleep, but most of all I need a drink, or drugs, anything, something that will remove from me the knowledge of where I am and what I have to do to get by. Anything, I need anything."
He stopped and hooked his head to the side rather than up to look at me. He started to speak, but his voice didn't want to work right to start, he garbled something out, then coughed, and turned his back to me to spit in the street, and then spun around again to hitch his head to the side again to look up at me, "You uh. You got any change?" The voice was cringing, fearful, expecting this person who acknowledged him to abuse him like the rest of the world usually does. I nodded and smiled, "Yeah I got some change." I pulled about six bucks from my pocket, and held it out to him. "You need anything else? You smoke?" I produced my pack, it was half full, and handed it over, I had half a carton in my trunk anyways.
"Oh uh yeah .. I smoke." He was staring at me suspiciously, and started to back away without taking the pack. I slipped it open and took one out, lighting it up and handing the open pack to the beaten man, "G'head, I got more, look like you need it more than I do." He nodded and snatched at the pack, taking a smoke out and about to light it with some matches. My companion finally got the hint, she handed over her lighter, "Here take this." He did and lit his smoke, "I uh... I should be going." I nodded, not entirely in agreement, but to show he was free to do what he wished.
But before he could leave, I stepped forward. I laid my hand on his higher shoulder, the one away from where his injury had to be. Despite how gently I placed my hand, his whole body jolted, flinched and shook, expecting the worst, because the worst is all he knew. I smiled at him, and let his body settle while I kept my hand on his shoulder, and said, "Take care of yourself, and please keep safe."
As I stepped back, his face twitched. I swear he was smiling, but it was hard to tell with his face hooked over to the side like it was, "Yeah. You too."
As he walked away, I listened to the arrogant words of the drunks outside the bar wanting to reprimand me for caring about another human being, "He's just gonna buy booze or drugs with that money, he's a lazy bum," or "Great, that's just going to encourage more of those filthy stinking homeless crazies to come by here expecting some kind of hand out." Their words were filled with hate and contempt, a form of arrogance that bothered me so deeply, I wanted to turn around and scream at them, ask them why it was ok for them to go back inside and get drunk to forget their problems, but not ok for him just because he had no money or home. I wanted to kick them so they hurt as bad as the broken man did. Instead, I just kept feeling the love that I wanted that poor broken human being to feel and turned and smiled to the gathered mass, tossing away most of the smoke I had just lit, wanting to go back inside. As I passed the two knots of people I said to no one in particular, "I hope no one ever has to feel what that man probably feels day to day. But if they ever did, I hope someone will treat them like the human being they are."
I shook it off as I entered, and let the butchered vocals of 'Paradise by the Dashboard Light' wash over me and let me forget my problems.
Monday, June 27, 2011
It's been a while
Welcome back to the fire, sorry it's been so long. Just needed a total break, what with all the ch-ch-ch-changes, and the pressure I was under. G'head, watch the fire for a while then come on back and you'll get a data dump and update.
So it's official, I have a Bachelor of Arts (Honours) in English with a Minor in Indigenous Studies, which apparently means I'm either overqualified or not qualified enough to do the things I want to do, and the decision to take a year off cost me a job but y'know what, I'm ok with that. However, what with all the funky dreams, it's time to get working on the things I'm supposed to work on, so I'll probably be using this as a means to organize various thoughts and plans that keep bouncing around in my stump-like-head.
I took some time off and went up to S'toon to participate in five LARPs as a part of SLARPcon. Which is put on by SLARPA. I just love to say SLARPA and SLARPcon. And it was a fantastic weekend. Lotsa fun. Best part though? Coming home and having both my girls be thrilled to see me and tell me repeatedly how much they missed me. Nuthin' like feeling appreciated by the two most important people in my life, nuthin' at all like it. Left me feeling warm and fuzzy, still do.
And of course, there was Father's Day. That was a hoot. I got lotsa 'Riders stuff, some fuzzy dice, a front plate for the car and some pj pants. So I can be all greened up while I'm cruisin' in my new car.
Oh yeah, new car. Nice deal on it too. Virtually a brand new car. Great price, and works great.
Oh and the Little Bear isn't so little. She got her learners and I'm teaching her how to drive stick, which is a hoot as well, but also I'm pretty sure I'm gonna hafta replace my clutch after a few months. But she's learning.
So that's the long story short for the last little while and of course, writers write, as a good friend of mine says, so there will be more. Love ya all, and in case I haven't said it in a while, thanks to every one of you out there.
So it's official, I have a Bachelor of Arts (Honours) in English with a Minor in Indigenous Studies, which apparently means I'm either overqualified or not qualified enough to do the things I want to do, and the decision to take a year off cost me a job but y'know what, I'm ok with that. However, what with all the funky dreams, it's time to get working on the things I'm supposed to work on, so I'll probably be using this as a means to organize various thoughts and plans that keep bouncing around in my stump-like-head.
I took some time off and went up to S'toon to participate in five LARPs as a part of SLARPcon. Which is put on by SLARPA. I just love to say SLARPA and SLARPcon. And it was a fantastic weekend. Lotsa fun. Best part though? Coming home and having both my girls be thrilled to see me and tell me repeatedly how much they missed me. Nuthin' like feeling appreciated by the two most important people in my life, nuthin' at all like it. Left me feeling warm and fuzzy, still do.
And of course, there was Father's Day. That was a hoot. I got lotsa 'Riders stuff, some fuzzy dice, a front plate for the car and some pj pants. So I can be all greened up while I'm cruisin' in my new car.
Oh yeah, new car. Nice deal on it too. Virtually a brand new car. Great price, and works great.
Oh and the Little Bear isn't so little. She got her learners and I'm teaching her how to drive stick, which is a hoot as well, but also I'm pretty sure I'm gonna hafta replace my clutch after a few months. But she's learning.
So that's the long story short for the last little while and of course, writers write, as a good friend of mine says, so there will be more. Love ya all, and in case I haven't said it in a while, thanks to every one of you out there.
Saturday, April 9, 2011
A while back...
Come on in and grab a seat. A while back a terrible thing happened. Well actually years of terrible things happened and eventually all the shit hit the fan and then the First Nations University of Canada almost died. The greed, lack of leadership, and outright dishonesty of quite a few people almost cost a lot of students a home, a lot of people a job, and the loss of a great institution of learning. So we as students headed up to the FSIN General Assembly, and at first I was asked to speak, then I got turfed. Why, I don't know. But I wrote a very pretty speech that was edited by the ever caring and wonderful Cenobyte. And I found it, and thought, it's a pretty nice piece of writing, and something that is still valid. So I'm going to share it.
My name is Richard Jensen and I come from the Pasqua Reserve. I was named after my grandfather Walter Richard Gordon, and it is with my grandfather’s actions in mind that I speak today. Those actions coupled with the teachings of my elders and the faculty of the First Nations University of Canada are what fill my mind and spirit, and while I would welcome the credit for the words I wish to speak I must give those before me their due. What I wish to address today is the wisdom of those who have a far greater understanding of our ways, of our past, and the strength and courage it gives to all who would follow the path they first laid. And while these words may come from one who may seem out of place, or less than those he would address, I beg for you to consider not the messenger but instead the message, because without that strength and courage I would not be able to speak to you all today.
I have no claim to being an expert on the history of my people but I have had excellent teachers. They have taught me of how the leaders of the past were chosen, of the importance placed on leadership, and how it was both enacted and received. Our leaders were not seen as the final word on any given subject, instead they were the speakers and caretakers of our people. Their main goal was to serve the people who made them their leader. They did this through giving of themselves to the point of poverty and not through threats or deception. These leaders did not ask for trust but earned it with their actions and decisions, knowing that at any time their people could ignore them in favour of another. Communication was vital; they were open to all who would wish to speak to them and saw their leadership not just as an honour but a duty to continually improve the lives of those they led.
What made this work was the understanding that consensus was vital. A leader had to get the approval of everyone they led to put any plan into action. Without that nothing was done. This may have taken longer than more European systems but once consensus was reached the speed with which a plan was enacted was spectacular. When everyone is pulling for the same goal incredible things happen in a very short period of time. This meant that leaders had to listen as well as speak; they had to understand every nuance of the plan to make sure that the entire community was satisfied with the final decision. It also meant they had to know their community better than anyone else. And they had to know how and when to negotiate, when to compromise and the best manner in which to compromise.
These are the points I brought up in our meeting with the board of directors last Friday. My own experience as a student, as well as the things I have heard from other students and faculty, led me to question whether or not these were what our leaders at FNUC had in mind. When I was done asking my question, the entire room burst into applause. I was happy to be able to speak for all those in the room, but more than that I was incredibly saddened that this feeling of failed leadership, of a lack of communication, compassion, and understanding was shared by everyone in the room. Instead of answering my question, each board member stood on their soapbox and spouted their favorite political point about the university, from the right of education held within the Treaties, to an impassioned ‘I love this university’ appeal to emotion. They then proceeded to do what they have done for the past five years. They told us to be patient and trust them, to have faith that they indeed knew the truth of the matter and it would come out in time.
We, the students and the faculty of the FNUC, feel that their window of blind trust has been exhausted. We feel that they have done nothing to honour their roles as leaders and continue to abuse their positions. They know nothing of us as students, or as teachers, and they care little to rectify that. We may be mere students still making our way, but we know enough that we know that is the truth: There has to be a better way.
I understand that as a university there is certain requirements we must fulfill. I know that it is an entirely European modeled institution and as such we must satisfy those things that are expected from a university, but that does not mean we have to do them in the same context. We have to get to the same place but we do not have to follow the same road map. I am not speaking of a radical new way of doing things or even of seeing them, merely a subtle shift in perspective. Rather than seeing the university as something that must be done this way because that is the way it was done in the past, instead approach it as this is the structure we must maintain, how do we do it while being true to who we are as a people. How can the leaders of the students and faculty impart to them the knowledge of both the university system and knowledge of First Nations ideals and principles? Even a change such as complete transparency of board meetings and decisions, as well as an open communication between the upper levels of the administration and the general faculty would be a huge step in this direction, yet even this is not something that we have seen.
I am not here today to tell you what to do. We as students did not come here to demand your attention so we can get our way. What you see before you is an incredible example of consensus. We are all here today to tell you how we feel about the situation at FNUC and to beg you to consider us, people you have sworn to lead, at your mercy. We beg you to listen to us and to our concerns, as well as the beginnings of the solutions we have found and do what you find to be best for us. We pray and wait for your wisdom and judgment.
Kind of wish I had had the chance to say it aloud, but hey, some of you out there can still appreciate it.
My name is Richard Jensen and I come from the Pasqua Reserve. I was named after my grandfather Walter Richard Gordon, and it is with my grandfather’s actions in mind that I speak today. Those actions coupled with the teachings of my elders and the faculty of the First Nations University of Canada are what fill my mind and spirit, and while I would welcome the credit for the words I wish to speak I must give those before me their due. What I wish to address today is the wisdom of those who have a far greater understanding of our ways, of our past, and the strength and courage it gives to all who would follow the path they first laid. And while these words may come from one who may seem out of place, or less than those he would address, I beg for you to consider not the messenger but instead the message, because without that strength and courage I would not be able to speak to you all today.
I have no claim to being an expert on the history of my people but I have had excellent teachers. They have taught me of how the leaders of the past were chosen, of the importance placed on leadership, and how it was both enacted and received. Our leaders were not seen as the final word on any given subject, instead they were the speakers and caretakers of our people. Their main goal was to serve the people who made them their leader. They did this through giving of themselves to the point of poverty and not through threats or deception. These leaders did not ask for trust but earned it with their actions and decisions, knowing that at any time their people could ignore them in favour of another. Communication was vital; they were open to all who would wish to speak to them and saw their leadership not just as an honour but a duty to continually improve the lives of those they led.
What made this work was the understanding that consensus was vital. A leader had to get the approval of everyone they led to put any plan into action. Without that nothing was done. This may have taken longer than more European systems but once consensus was reached the speed with which a plan was enacted was spectacular. When everyone is pulling for the same goal incredible things happen in a very short period of time. This meant that leaders had to listen as well as speak; they had to understand every nuance of the plan to make sure that the entire community was satisfied with the final decision. It also meant they had to know their community better than anyone else. And they had to know how and when to negotiate, when to compromise and the best manner in which to compromise.
These are the points I brought up in our meeting with the board of directors last Friday. My own experience as a student, as well as the things I have heard from other students and faculty, led me to question whether or not these were what our leaders at FNUC had in mind. When I was done asking my question, the entire room burst into applause. I was happy to be able to speak for all those in the room, but more than that I was incredibly saddened that this feeling of failed leadership, of a lack of communication, compassion, and understanding was shared by everyone in the room. Instead of answering my question, each board member stood on their soapbox and spouted their favorite political point about the university, from the right of education held within the Treaties, to an impassioned ‘I love this university’ appeal to emotion. They then proceeded to do what they have done for the past five years. They told us to be patient and trust them, to have faith that they indeed knew the truth of the matter and it would come out in time.
We, the students and the faculty of the FNUC, feel that their window of blind trust has been exhausted. We feel that they have done nothing to honour their roles as leaders and continue to abuse their positions. They know nothing of us as students, or as teachers, and they care little to rectify that. We may be mere students still making our way, but we know enough that we know that is the truth: There has to be a better way.
I understand that as a university there is certain requirements we must fulfill. I know that it is an entirely European modeled institution and as such we must satisfy those things that are expected from a university, but that does not mean we have to do them in the same context. We have to get to the same place but we do not have to follow the same road map. I am not speaking of a radical new way of doing things or even of seeing them, merely a subtle shift in perspective. Rather than seeing the university as something that must be done this way because that is the way it was done in the past, instead approach it as this is the structure we must maintain, how do we do it while being true to who we are as a people. How can the leaders of the students and faculty impart to them the knowledge of both the university system and knowledge of First Nations ideals and principles? Even a change such as complete transparency of board meetings and decisions, as well as an open communication between the upper levels of the administration and the general faculty would be a huge step in this direction, yet even this is not something that we have seen.
I am not here today to tell you what to do. We as students did not come here to demand your attention so we can get our way. What you see before you is an incredible example of consensus. We are all here today to tell you how we feel about the situation at FNUC and to beg you to consider us, people you have sworn to lead, at your mercy. We beg you to listen to us and to our concerns, as well as the beginnings of the solutions we have found and do what you find to be best for us. We pray and wait for your wisdom and judgment.
Kind of wish I had had the chance to say it aloud, but hey, some of you out there can still appreciate it.
Friday, April 8, 2011
It was the best of difference, it was the worst of difference
Come on in and partake of some chips and dip, or perhaps a super nib. Sorry about only junk food, it's crunch time and things are getting stupid busy. But I thought you all might enjoy a thoughtful read.
Unprecedented change and acceptance have marked the last thirty years of the relationship between First Nations and the Canadian government. Alongside this is the ever present dance of bureaucracy that has hindered any significant shifts in the perspective of the Canadian Government and public, forcing radical action on the part of First Nations, creating a larger gulf in the desire to mend and continue a self-sustaining and mutually beneficial relationship between the opposing forces. As Fleras puts it, “Instead of a principled approach to addressing the issues, what prevails is the equivalent of a political samba: every step forward is matched by one step back and two steps sideways.” (196) This bureaucratic dance is not one that the Canadian Government is doing alone, First Nations are just as complicit in the lack of resolution as its opposition. The unwillingness of either side to hear one another, to actively engage in the means through which both sides can work together, creates no space for dialogue, instead only a battlefield where victories are counted in cash, concessions and control. Both sides must realize that Canada as a nation, and the First Nations of Canada as a group within that structure, are staring at an unequaled opportunity, one that would restore balance to our country, not just for the First Nations, but all Canadians, and that would right the wrongs of Canada’s history of facilitating other human rights atrocities like South Africa and Australia, who modeled their divisive policies on our own. What it takes is the honest desire to adopt an altered perspective, embrace each other’s goal of inclusion, and demonstrate trust and caring for all members involved.
The most important aspects here are the two narratives, narratives that are in part displayed in two books of radically different intents. On one side, First Nations? Second Thoughts by Tom Flanagan, a book that attempts to dissolve the accepted ideas of nationhood and sovereignty as the First Nations view it, challenging what Flanagan sees as the prevalent orthodoxy of our time using sociological constructs from the 18th century. On the other side is Dale Turner’s This is Not a Peace Pipe, an attempt at a methodology to place First Nations thought and philosophy at the forefront of the discussion as a means through which aboriginality can be accessed and then enforced within Canada, yet he ignores the spirituality, the very foundation of First Nations philosophy, as unnecessary. Both of these books present a very different narrative, each from a generally accepted point of view on each side of the political divide, yet both fall far short of any meaningful change. Instead it is as Fleras points out, employing a brilliant metaphor using tectonic movements, “As perspectives slide into each other, past each other, around each other, and over or under each other, each of the “plates” tends to “talk past the other” by using the same words but speaking a different language.” (202) To expand this metaphor, as the plates move along, around, over, under, past, each other, they build up an intense amount of pressure and force, crushing and obliterating the space between, turning the meeting place from a source of discussion and understanding, to pulverized rock and debris, a barren place of raw open wounds.
Sadly, few have attempted to find a dialogue or language to share in this conflict. Closest is A Fair Country, by John Ralston Saul who takes the time to point out the parts of Canadian tradition and policy that are inherently First Nations or French ideals. His book is an attempt to inform all sides of their shared language, their shared narratives. He does so from the point of scolding the dominant culture for their ignorance of this shared history, by highlighting the places in Canada society, such as laws of common law marriage, the organization and operation of our modern military, and the very language of our constitution, where the Anglo culture has homogenized the ideas of others to lay claim to them, appropriating those things that they admired, but by doing so fundamentally robbed the other founding cultures of Canada.
On the surface, all three books seem to be a neat dialectic: thesis (Flanagan) to antithesis (Turner) forming a synthesis (Saul) yet the dialectic is the exact issue here. The perspective of trying to find a way to mesh the two points of view into a workable approach that will satisfy both sides is the very thing that is causing both sides to become so antagonistic and further separated. In the dialectic the thesis side will always be considered dominant and rather than a synthesis what is created is a devouring of the antithesis. This constant undercutting of the antithesis is easily visible in the official record of Canada’s treatment of First Nations, because even when a form of victory is achieved, such as the non-decision that was the Calder case, that same ruling is then used to shackle further restrictions, such as the traditional use clause, on First Nations activities. Now new approaches have to be made, new strategies on both sides formed, to achieve the progress that was intended. Forward once, backward once, and two steps to the side.
The First Nation demand to be recognized as different is the major sticking point, the one issue that seems to continually cause a complete inability to progress beyond initial talks, or create policy and procedure for future change. Fleras does a good job of summarizing what that issue is grounded in but fails to properly explain the point of view, the perception of that difference. Without this understanding of the point of view, without being able to shift perception, the argument comes across as overly simplistic and childish, “In short, Aboriginal difference is key. Without difference, Aboriginal peoples have no more moral authority than other Canadians to challenge and transform the constitutional order.” (Fleras 185) What this difference flows from is just as important as the difference itself.
Summarizing the First Nation perspective on sovereignty, and in English, is no easy task. But for the sake of the argument I will attempt to explain it. For over 35000 years, the time since the initial Beringian crossings, the First Nations of North America have made this place their home. They fought no wars for it, they claim no dominion over it, and they wish to share it freely with all who wish to come here. For that very reason, for the thirty five millennia that they lived here pre-European contact, they considered themselves just one nation amongst thousands of brothers and sisters, animals, plants, the rocks (Grandfathers), the wind, rain, water, and the air itself. This is their home and no other home will do. Oral histories span this entire time, and will continue to do so as long as even a single First Nations person lives on Turtle Island. Therefore the sovereign right to be considered a Nation is no different than the rights extended to all other creatures, including the visiting Europeans, as was the wish of the Creator, taught to the First Ones, and handed down as the perfect knowledges of achieving a Good Life. To the First Nations, these are not rights that one human can give to another; they are not rights at all, other than in the trappings of European imperialism. They are simply the way things are done. Like no one individual can perfectly know another individual’s thoughts, no other nation can truly know another nation. It is from these differences, understanding and learning them, that differences can be seen to strengthen rather than separate.
Under this point of view, other approaches, other knowings, start to become apparent. Flanagan’s arguments are true, for him and for many Canadians. If this is the case then instead of attacking Flanagan and his supporters for their belief, First Nations must carefully consider how Flanagan’s arguments inform the rest of the resistance met within the Canadian government. If “Sovereignty is an attribute of statehood, and aboriginal peoples in Canada had not arrived at the state level of political organization prior to contact with Europeans,” (Flanagan 6) then how do First Nations present themselves to Canada so they can be recognized as having achieved statehood. While the traditional response to this has been one in line with the colonizers thoughts, it is better if we look to Turner to understand another response that is suggested to this form of thinking. Turner states that First Nations sacred ways of knowing must be kept from European culture, as “history has shown us that at least at this time in the relationship, we must keep to ourselves our sacred knowledge.” (110) This is due in no small part to the naming of his book, knowing that Europeans would be given a pipe, or steal one, and that by presenting it as they travelled through First Nations territories they would be welcomed and go unmolested, abusing and perverting one of the sacred rites of First Nations people. His strategy then is in direct conflict with the dominant force, disallowing them from understanding, instead relying on a class of people called Word Warriors who would be trained along both traditional First Nations ways and in European philosophy and thought, so they might go into the hostile territory of Canadian legal and intellectual battlefields to defend aboriginality.
In this equation we get Saul’s contribution. He eloquently points out where all of the conflicting parties intersect and support one another. In a very clear way he establishes the three pillars of the foundation of Canada and shows the intertwining path that has led us to the nation we know today. So in this we can assume that we now have a means through which discussion can occur, but again, I feel he has missed the mark, particularly from the point of view of the First Nations.
Fleras is important to point out aboriginal difference. It is one of the cornerstones of understanding within the First Nation perspective. To paraphrase D’Arcy Rheault from his work on Mino-Bimaadziwin, understanding is intensely personal, and truth is always going to be a personal interpretation of the reality around the individual, therefore understanding the self, and the difference between the self and others, is the path through which outside understanding can be attained.
To put this concept another way, it is not important to discuss those things that are the same, as they should be self-evident, instead it is far more important to understand and celebrate the differences as those will lead to understanding and further dialogue. This is essential to the ongoing nature of such things as treaties in the First Nation perspective, as these agreements should be living things, a dynamic agreement between equals for the betterment of all.
While these philosophical underpinnings are important to point out, it is the actions that are taken after consideration that are important. Essentially a blueprint for what needs to be done between the Canadian Government and First Nations communities that will allow the true understanding of difference and how those differences can strengthen both sides. Unfortunately one side has already experienced and lived the life of the other and shows a high degree of understanding that difference. It is now time to put that knowledge to use, but not in a confrontational manner.
First Nations, who have attempted various ways to fit into, around, or under the dominant Canadian society must now step back, stop fighting. The fight is not working, nor will it ever, because as history has shown us, the rules can always be changed to disadvantage the First Nations people. Instead, knowing how the system works, a stance of engaged interest and protective action must be taken. When it is necessary fight specific battles to protect important interests, but the overall fight to have the Canadian government recognize the sovereign right of First Nations to be First Nations is not going to be accepted until First Nations act as sovereign nations. Land claims, treaty fulfillments, and systemic racism still needs to be fought for, but the larger battle to be recognized as an independent nation must instead fall to recognition on an international scale. Talks opened with international organizations that will include First Nations representatives into their decision making processes. The end result is not important, instead the process.
A step back to look within is also required. But this inward look should not be insular, or restricted. It must invite others, from other nations, from the Canadian government, to be as much a part of the process as they wish to be. Understanding of First Nations culture will then become less a project of resolution, but instead a part of the overall process, which again, is far more important than the end result. This inward look must rely on the dismantling of organization models that are not inherently First Nations, but still incorporate those things from other cultures that are productive and compatible with First Nations philosophies. Acting independently of the Canadian Government requirements will demonstrate nationhood far greater than trying to emulate or adopt other forms of government.
Financially, First Nations need to start focusing on the creation of community wealth and well-being. Rather than worry about immediate needs, far reaching plans need to be developed on a community by community basis, and these plans need to be shared outward, from neighbours, and further, so they can become interwoven, resources shared where needed, and strategies that focus on the individual’s importance in each community must be the focal point. Once individuals are considered, and how they create and strengthen the community, then action that includes the entire community will be stronger and far more effective.
Once these actions are demonstrated to be effective, through trial and error, and communities start to become self-sustaining and independent, then what choice is there but to recognize difference? There is nothing more telling of difference than to succeed where others have failed, and while great changes have occurred within the landscape of Canadian politics and policy, the changes that matter still need to come from within the First Nations communities. Once those differences assert themselves, and are accepted as a part of the strength of Canada as a nation, then true change, change that will be long lasting, effective, and positive, will allow the overall nation of Canada to attain the multicultural greatness it claims on the international stage.
Unprecedented change and acceptance have marked the last thirty years of the relationship between First Nations and the Canadian government. Alongside this is the ever present dance of bureaucracy that has hindered any significant shifts in the perspective of the Canadian Government and public, forcing radical action on the part of First Nations, creating a larger gulf in the desire to mend and continue a self-sustaining and mutually beneficial relationship between the opposing forces. As Fleras puts it, “Instead of a principled approach to addressing the issues, what prevails is the equivalent of a political samba: every step forward is matched by one step back and two steps sideways.” (196) This bureaucratic dance is not one that the Canadian Government is doing alone, First Nations are just as complicit in the lack of resolution as its opposition. The unwillingness of either side to hear one another, to actively engage in the means through which both sides can work together, creates no space for dialogue, instead only a battlefield where victories are counted in cash, concessions and control. Both sides must realize that Canada as a nation, and the First Nations of Canada as a group within that structure, are staring at an unequaled opportunity, one that would restore balance to our country, not just for the First Nations, but all Canadians, and that would right the wrongs of Canada’s history of facilitating other human rights atrocities like South Africa and Australia, who modeled their divisive policies on our own. What it takes is the honest desire to adopt an altered perspective, embrace each other’s goal of inclusion, and demonstrate trust and caring for all members involved.
The most important aspects here are the two narratives, narratives that are in part displayed in two books of radically different intents. On one side, First Nations? Second Thoughts by Tom Flanagan, a book that attempts to dissolve the accepted ideas of nationhood and sovereignty as the First Nations view it, challenging what Flanagan sees as the prevalent orthodoxy of our time using sociological constructs from the 18th century. On the other side is Dale Turner’s This is Not a Peace Pipe, an attempt at a methodology to place First Nations thought and philosophy at the forefront of the discussion as a means through which aboriginality can be accessed and then enforced within Canada, yet he ignores the spirituality, the very foundation of First Nations philosophy, as unnecessary. Both of these books present a very different narrative, each from a generally accepted point of view on each side of the political divide, yet both fall far short of any meaningful change. Instead it is as Fleras points out, employing a brilliant metaphor using tectonic movements, “As perspectives slide into each other, past each other, around each other, and over or under each other, each of the “plates” tends to “talk past the other” by using the same words but speaking a different language.” (202) To expand this metaphor, as the plates move along, around, over, under, past, each other, they build up an intense amount of pressure and force, crushing and obliterating the space between, turning the meeting place from a source of discussion and understanding, to pulverized rock and debris, a barren place of raw open wounds.
Sadly, few have attempted to find a dialogue or language to share in this conflict. Closest is A Fair Country, by John Ralston Saul who takes the time to point out the parts of Canadian tradition and policy that are inherently First Nations or French ideals. His book is an attempt to inform all sides of their shared language, their shared narratives. He does so from the point of scolding the dominant culture for their ignorance of this shared history, by highlighting the places in Canada society, such as laws of common law marriage, the organization and operation of our modern military, and the very language of our constitution, where the Anglo culture has homogenized the ideas of others to lay claim to them, appropriating those things that they admired, but by doing so fundamentally robbed the other founding cultures of Canada.
On the surface, all three books seem to be a neat dialectic: thesis (Flanagan) to antithesis (Turner) forming a synthesis (Saul) yet the dialectic is the exact issue here. The perspective of trying to find a way to mesh the two points of view into a workable approach that will satisfy both sides is the very thing that is causing both sides to become so antagonistic and further separated. In the dialectic the thesis side will always be considered dominant and rather than a synthesis what is created is a devouring of the antithesis. This constant undercutting of the antithesis is easily visible in the official record of Canada’s treatment of First Nations, because even when a form of victory is achieved, such as the non-decision that was the Calder case, that same ruling is then used to shackle further restrictions, such as the traditional use clause, on First Nations activities. Now new approaches have to be made, new strategies on both sides formed, to achieve the progress that was intended. Forward once, backward once, and two steps to the side.
The First Nation demand to be recognized as different is the major sticking point, the one issue that seems to continually cause a complete inability to progress beyond initial talks, or create policy and procedure for future change. Fleras does a good job of summarizing what that issue is grounded in but fails to properly explain the point of view, the perception of that difference. Without this understanding of the point of view, without being able to shift perception, the argument comes across as overly simplistic and childish, “In short, Aboriginal difference is key. Without difference, Aboriginal peoples have no more moral authority than other Canadians to challenge and transform the constitutional order.” (Fleras 185) What this difference flows from is just as important as the difference itself.
Summarizing the First Nation perspective on sovereignty, and in English, is no easy task. But for the sake of the argument I will attempt to explain it. For over 35000 years, the time since the initial Beringian crossings, the First Nations of North America have made this place their home. They fought no wars for it, they claim no dominion over it, and they wish to share it freely with all who wish to come here. For that very reason, for the thirty five millennia that they lived here pre-European contact, they considered themselves just one nation amongst thousands of brothers and sisters, animals, plants, the rocks (Grandfathers), the wind, rain, water, and the air itself. This is their home and no other home will do. Oral histories span this entire time, and will continue to do so as long as even a single First Nations person lives on Turtle Island. Therefore the sovereign right to be considered a Nation is no different than the rights extended to all other creatures, including the visiting Europeans, as was the wish of the Creator, taught to the First Ones, and handed down as the perfect knowledges of achieving a Good Life. To the First Nations, these are not rights that one human can give to another; they are not rights at all, other than in the trappings of European imperialism. They are simply the way things are done. Like no one individual can perfectly know another individual’s thoughts, no other nation can truly know another nation. It is from these differences, understanding and learning them, that differences can be seen to strengthen rather than separate.
Under this point of view, other approaches, other knowings, start to become apparent. Flanagan’s arguments are true, for him and for many Canadians. If this is the case then instead of attacking Flanagan and his supporters for their belief, First Nations must carefully consider how Flanagan’s arguments inform the rest of the resistance met within the Canadian government. If “Sovereignty is an attribute of statehood, and aboriginal peoples in Canada had not arrived at the state level of political organization prior to contact with Europeans,” (Flanagan 6) then how do First Nations present themselves to Canada so they can be recognized as having achieved statehood. While the traditional response to this has been one in line with the colonizers thoughts, it is better if we look to Turner to understand another response that is suggested to this form of thinking. Turner states that First Nations sacred ways of knowing must be kept from European culture, as “history has shown us that at least at this time in the relationship, we must keep to ourselves our sacred knowledge.” (110) This is due in no small part to the naming of his book, knowing that Europeans would be given a pipe, or steal one, and that by presenting it as they travelled through First Nations territories they would be welcomed and go unmolested, abusing and perverting one of the sacred rites of First Nations people. His strategy then is in direct conflict with the dominant force, disallowing them from understanding, instead relying on a class of people called Word Warriors who would be trained along both traditional First Nations ways and in European philosophy and thought, so they might go into the hostile territory of Canadian legal and intellectual battlefields to defend aboriginality.
In this equation we get Saul’s contribution. He eloquently points out where all of the conflicting parties intersect and support one another. In a very clear way he establishes the three pillars of the foundation of Canada and shows the intertwining path that has led us to the nation we know today. So in this we can assume that we now have a means through which discussion can occur, but again, I feel he has missed the mark, particularly from the point of view of the First Nations.
Fleras is important to point out aboriginal difference. It is one of the cornerstones of understanding within the First Nation perspective. To paraphrase D’Arcy Rheault from his work on Mino-Bimaadziwin, understanding is intensely personal, and truth is always going to be a personal interpretation of the reality around the individual, therefore understanding the self, and the difference between the self and others, is the path through which outside understanding can be attained.
To put this concept another way, it is not important to discuss those things that are the same, as they should be self-evident, instead it is far more important to understand and celebrate the differences as those will lead to understanding and further dialogue. This is essential to the ongoing nature of such things as treaties in the First Nation perspective, as these agreements should be living things, a dynamic agreement between equals for the betterment of all.
While these philosophical underpinnings are important to point out, it is the actions that are taken after consideration that are important. Essentially a blueprint for what needs to be done between the Canadian Government and First Nations communities that will allow the true understanding of difference and how those differences can strengthen both sides. Unfortunately one side has already experienced and lived the life of the other and shows a high degree of understanding that difference. It is now time to put that knowledge to use, but not in a confrontational manner.
First Nations, who have attempted various ways to fit into, around, or under the dominant Canadian society must now step back, stop fighting. The fight is not working, nor will it ever, because as history has shown us, the rules can always be changed to disadvantage the First Nations people. Instead, knowing how the system works, a stance of engaged interest and protective action must be taken. When it is necessary fight specific battles to protect important interests, but the overall fight to have the Canadian government recognize the sovereign right of First Nations to be First Nations is not going to be accepted until First Nations act as sovereign nations. Land claims, treaty fulfillments, and systemic racism still needs to be fought for, but the larger battle to be recognized as an independent nation must instead fall to recognition on an international scale. Talks opened with international organizations that will include First Nations representatives into their decision making processes. The end result is not important, instead the process.
A step back to look within is also required. But this inward look should not be insular, or restricted. It must invite others, from other nations, from the Canadian government, to be as much a part of the process as they wish to be. Understanding of First Nations culture will then become less a project of resolution, but instead a part of the overall process, which again, is far more important than the end result. This inward look must rely on the dismantling of organization models that are not inherently First Nations, but still incorporate those things from other cultures that are productive and compatible with First Nations philosophies. Acting independently of the Canadian Government requirements will demonstrate nationhood far greater than trying to emulate or adopt other forms of government.
Financially, First Nations need to start focusing on the creation of community wealth and well-being. Rather than worry about immediate needs, far reaching plans need to be developed on a community by community basis, and these plans need to be shared outward, from neighbours, and further, so they can become interwoven, resources shared where needed, and strategies that focus on the individual’s importance in each community must be the focal point. Once individuals are considered, and how they create and strengthen the community, then action that includes the entire community will be stronger and far more effective.
Once these actions are demonstrated to be effective, through trial and error, and communities start to become self-sustaining and independent, then what choice is there but to recognize difference? There is nothing more telling of difference than to succeed where others have failed, and while great changes have occurred within the landscape of Canadian politics and policy, the changes that matter still need to come from within the First Nations communities. Once those differences assert themselves, and are accepted as a part of the strength of Canada as a nation, then true change, change that will be long lasting, effective, and positive, will allow the overall nation of Canada to attain the multicultural greatness it claims on the international stage.
Wednesday, April 6, 2011
Maybe it's just me
Come on in, I've got those wonderful Old Dutch Crunchy Nacho flavour cheezie type things. So tasty. And I've got a few musings/rantings that I just need to get off my chest.
I think it comes down to a question about myself. But the framework of how the question comes around is fundamentally formed (ooooo, alliteration of framework fundamentally formed) by the actions of those around me. Now it's no secret that I have shown I pretty much suck at making a long term relationship work. I think it might come down to my rage. I just get so pissed at things that sometimes that intensity is a bit frightening, hell a lot frightening. So hey, maybe that's the answer. I dunno. But let's just say I apparently can't do it.
And the frustration comes from seeing both the good and bad relationships, the ones that have stuck together, the ones that have failed, and the ones in between, that I have observed around myself. On the one hand I see folks do the same things I have done and while there are consequences, those consequences are not the abandonment of the relationship. Except in my case. Which makes me think, maybe there is something fundamentally wrong with me that I cannot be in a relationship. Of course there is a subtle hope that maybe I just haven't met the right woman yet. But hey, if there is someone or something that has control of these things and they are reading, WHEN?! Pretty freakin' old now, my body is doing some interestingly disgusting thing (The hair, where the hell did all this HAIR come from?!) so it's not like I'ma gettin' all that more attractive.
So anyways, what prompts this is the back and forth that has happened over my life with many different women. I meet them, we hit it off, we have a great relationship, they, for the most part, cheat on me and dump me, then crawl back. The exception to the cheating and crawl back is the latest, where I can't see to let this shit go, but lord help me I'm trying.
And still, years later with these women, I hear their complaints, they call or chat with me about things that might be seen as a bit risque, and I always have to wonder, what do their current husbands have, that in spite of the complaints, keep their mates sticking around. Can't be the kids. Have done that, they still leave. Can't be the romance, I'm pretty damn romantic. So there is about a million things I could try to figure out but when it comes down to is, perhaps it's just me. Which is really damn depressing.
Now don't get me wrong, this isn't a whine or a call for attention, it's an honest question about myself, and I tend to come to some understanding through writing this shit out, but y'know what, this isn't the first I've written about this, nor will it likely be the last, and still no fucking epiphanies! In fact, it just keeps getting worse as far as trying to figure this shit out.
And it's not like I honestly want to go back into ANY of these relationships, even the last one, despite my heart deciding it doesn't want to let go, because I'm sick of the pain and suffering they cause me. So maybe that's it, being around people, in generally, is somewhat difficult for me, because I get easily frustrated by human behavior, so maybe that's it. Or maybe I'm just too serious about all this, and my level of intensity tends to cause reserve in others.
Honestly, dunno. What I do know is I could write a fucking book on how often I've been told 'Oh you're great, but I'd rather be with someone else,' or better yet, 'I only wish I had the maturity now that I had then to understand how great you are.' REALLY? Fuck you, yeah, that really makes me feel great. Or my favorite, when they come back right after fucking around, 'I didn't realize how good I had it with you.' WHAT?! I'm so glad I was so great you needed to make a comparison first.
Or maybe it's that I just tend to attract the crazy bitches. And my own intensity amplifies their craziness, and then they go all bat shit fucked up retard stupid crazy and have to do something that hurt me and themselves. I dunno. It's one of those things that I'm sure will continue to escape my understanding. Hell even when I think I've found a reserved quiet type they either go super slut or Queen of Passive Aggressive and once again, I'm left alone.
Y'know what? Sheldon's mailman is right. 'Bitches be crazy.' Perhaps I should reserve myself to a life of solitude and masturbation. At least then I know I'm going to enjoy myself and not have to deal with any other fucked up individuals issues. So maybe it is me. Maybe I've decided I don't deserve a long term relationship so I allow it to get to a point of no return and then shove that bitch right over the edge and BOOM! All gone.
So female readers, here is an honest request. I'd love to know why you're with who you're with. Or what factors decide if you're going to stay or leave. I'd really like to know from as many as possible. Your information may save a life. Well probably not, but hyperbolic statements encourage activity. I think. Whatever. But yeah, leave a thought or two about that, I'd love to know.
I think it comes down to a question about myself. But the framework of how the question comes around is fundamentally formed (ooooo, alliteration of framework fundamentally formed) by the actions of those around me. Now it's no secret that I have shown I pretty much suck at making a long term relationship work. I think it might come down to my rage. I just get so pissed at things that sometimes that intensity is a bit frightening, hell a lot frightening. So hey, maybe that's the answer. I dunno. But let's just say I apparently can't do it.
And the frustration comes from seeing both the good and bad relationships, the ones that have stuck together, the ones that have failed, and the ones in between, that I have observed around myself. On the one hand I see folks do the same things I have done and while there are consequences, those consequences are not the abandonment of the relationship. Except in my case. Which makes me think, maybe there is something fundamentally wrong with me that I cannot be in a relationship. Of course there is a subtle hope that maybe I just haven't met the right woman yet. But hey, if there is someone or something that has control of these things and they are reading, WHEN?! Pretty freakin' old now, my body is doing some interestingly disgusting thing (The hair, where the hell did all this HAIR come from?!) so it's not like I'ma gettin' all that more attractive.
So anyways, what prompts this is the back and forth that has happened over my life with many different women. I meet them, we hit it off, we have a great relationship, they, for the most part, cheat on me and dump me, then crawl back. The exception to the cheating and crawl back is the latest, where I can't see to let this shit go, but lord help me I'm trying.
And still, years later with these women, I hear their complaints, they call or chat with me about things that might be seen as a bit risque, and I always have to wonder, what do their current husbands have, that in spite of the complaints, keep their mates sticking around. Can't be the kids. Have done that, they still leave. Can't be the romance, I'm pretty damn romantic. So there is about a million things I could try to figure out but when it comes down to is, perhaps it's just me. Which is really damn depressing.
Now don't get me wrong, this isn't a whine or a call for attention, it's an honest question about myself, and I tend to come to some understanding through writing this shit out, but y'know what, this isn't the first I've written about this, nor will it likely be the last, and still no fucking epiphanies! In fact, it just keeps getting worse as far as trying to figure this shit out.
And it's not like I honestly want to go back into ANY of these relationships, even the last one, despite my heart deciding it doesn't want to let go, because I'm sick of the pain and suffering they cause me. So maybe that's it, being around people, in generally, is somewhat difficult for me, because I get easily frustrated by human behavior, so maybe that's it. Or maybe I'm just too serious about all this, and my level of intensity tends to cause reserve in others.
Honestly, dunno. What I do know is I could write a fucking book on how often I've been told 'Oh you're great, but I'd rather be with someone else,' or better yet, 'I only wish I had the maturity now that I had then to understand how great you are.' REALLY? Fuck you, yeah, that really makes me feel great. Or my favorite, when they come back right after fucking around, 'I didn't realize how good I had it with you.' WHAT?! I'm so glad I was so great you needed to make a comparison first.
Or maybe it's that I just tend to attract the crazy bitches. And my own intensity amplifies their craziness, and then they go all bat shit fucked up retard stupid crazy and have to do something that hurt me and themselves. I dunno. It's one of those things that I'm sure will continue to escape my understanding. Hell even when I think I've found a reserved quiet type they either go super slut or Queen of Passive Aggressive and once again, I'm left alone.
Y'know what? Sheldon's mailman is right. 'Bitches be crazy.' Perhaps I should reserve myself to a life of solitude and masturbation. At least then I know I'm going to enjoy myself and not have to deal with any other fucked up individuals issues. So maybe it is me. Maybe I've decided I don't deserve a long term relationship so I allow it to get to a point of no return and then shove that bitch right over the edge and BOOM! All gone.
So female readers, here is an honest request. I'd love to know why you're with who you're with. Or what factors decide if you're going to stay or leave. I'd really like to know from as many as possible. Your information may save a life. Well probably not, but hyperbolic statements encourage activity. I think. Whatever. But yeah, leave a thought or two about that, I'd love to know.
Tuesday, March 29, 2011
Thursday, March 24, 2011
Political Strife
Come on in, I've got those yummy Greek chips with the feta, organo, and olive flavour. So tasty. So this was a response on effbook to the wonderful fun that is the political system.
Not that I want to disabuse anyone from their abuse of corrupt politicians, but apathy is a problem in our political system right now. It's part of the reason we get these screwed up governments.
I understand the frustration with our political system, but there's two ways to fix those frustrations and they are the basis of HOW our system was set up, and the reason it has stopped working well. The first thing you have to do is understand how our system works. There's a great number of books out there that explain our parliamentary democracy, and just understanding the system itself will allow you to understand the movements and changes that happen without frustration or feeling 'left out' of the process.
Number two is getting involved. How many people who are complaining about this have phoned the campaign office of every single candidate in your area and asked questions that are a concern to you? How many of you have researched how those candidates have voted in the commons (All the votes are online, and easily accessible) to compare what they're telling you vs how many times they just toe the party line? How many of you have actively promoted the candidate you want to vote for, helping debate and information sharing amongst yourself and others?
The thing is, the two most important discussions that need to happen are politics and religion (In a very broad sense) yet we're all told, 'oh don't talk about those things, they just cause arguments.' Maybe we need a few arguments. Maybe we need to feel ok to get pissed at one another every so often, as long as we don't hold a grudge or make it personally.
My point is, the system isn't inherently broken. But our treatment of it is. Get involved, do the basic research, participate. We get the governments we deserve. With our apathy riding so high, with voter turnouts of about a third of the population and less than that actively engaged in the process, we're going to get governments that abuse us. Because the perception is, the Canadian public doesn't care. Let's show them we care.
Not that I want to disabuse anyone from their abuse of corrupt politicians, but apathy is a problem in our political system right now. It's part of the reason we get these screwed up governments.
I understand the frustration with our political system, but there's two ways to fix those frustrations and they are the basis of HOW our system was set up, and the reason it has stopped working well. The first thing you have to do is understand how our system works. There's a great number of books out there that explain our parliamentary democracy, and just understanding the system itself will allow you to understand the movements and changes that happen without frustration or feeling 'left out' of the process.
Number two is getting involved. How many people who are complaining about this have phoned the campaign office of every single candidate in your area and asked questions that are a concern to you? How many of you have researched how those candidates have voted in the commons (All the votes are online, and easily accessible) to compare what they're telling you vs how many times they just toe the party line? How many of you have actively promoted the candidate you want to vote for, helping debate and information sharing amongst yourself and others?
The thing is, the two most important discussions that need to happen are politics and religion (In a very broad sense) yet we're all told, 'oh don't talk about those things, they just cause arguments.' Maybe we need a few arguments. Maybe we need to feel ok to get pissed at one another every so often, as long as we don't hold a grudge or make it personally.
My point is, the system isn't inherently broken. But our treatment of it is. Get involved, do the basic research, participate. We get the governments we deserve. With our apathy riding so high, with voter turnouts of about a third of the population and less than that actively engaged in the process, we're going to get governments that abuse us. Because the perception is, the Canadian public doesn't care. Let's show them we care.
Friday, March 18, 2011
How do you see me?
The fire is lit. We begin
How do you see me,
What do I mean to you,
Why do you watch me,
When do you want me,
Who am I to you?
I see you as a part of me
I define you by the difference
I look for the strange
I want the times when I am not
I see and embrace your faults
How do you see me,
What do I mean to you,
Why do you watch me,
When do you want me,
Who am I to you?
I see you as a part of me
I define you by the difference
I look for the strange
I want the times when I am not
I see and embrace your faults
Wednesday, March 16, 2011
Finally a post on bullying
Come on in, I picked up some sour cream and dill chips. They're quite tasty. Enjoy those and the fire.
So there's this. Watch the video too. See how far this stupid shit goes with online crap and bullying.
So here's the thing. I was a fat kid who got picked on. I was always taught not to fight back. That was always bad advice. I know that now. I should have been taught to fight back in suitable means. This kid, Casey Haynes, he did what he knew to do. He picked up the little shit head and slammed him down. He exerted his right not to be hit and demonstrated not just to the one bully, but to all of them, that he is not fighting back because he can't, but because he doesn't want to.
What baffles me about this is two fold. Why do we insist on teaching our kids not to fight back? And why do school boards with zero tolerance for violence policies insist on punishing the kids who are merely asserting their right to not be hit?
So first off. This is what I've taught my children. Always ask for acts of violence being perpetrated on you, aka being picked on, bullied, pushed around, etc., to stop. After they stop listening to that, cause maximum damage with minimal effort, just enough to stop the assault on you, and then walk away. Both my girls know many ways to hurt a human body in horrific ways and when to use them. The eldest has defended herself. The younger is a bit more bombastic than her sister, so hasn't had to yet as she's a level of intimidating all without violence. Teaching your child to not fight back is not acceptable when other people do not teach their children not to be little shitheads. Teach them to be non-violent until they are violated, then they should defend themselves from further possibilities of injury.
Next. School boards. Kids defending themselves should not be punished. They should be praised. Because they're doing what you're not. Stopping bullying. Bullies are stupid creatures that only respond to simple stimuli. Like the idea that if I pick on someone, I might end up getting a face full of concrete. If that kid goes on bullying, it won't be against Casey again. And maybe some other kids will figure out it's alright to smack down a bully when they start getting froggy.
Here's the obligatory story to prove my point. I was picked on for being the fat kid. Until I grabbed one of my tormentors, threw him down, grabbed him by the throat, and beat his head against the playground until he almost passed out. The only reason that little fucker didn't end up in the hospital after years of bullying me was that his stunned friends hauled me off him. They didn't try to pick on me while they grabbed me off him, or from that day forward. In fact, they were all just a little bit frightened by me. And if that's what it takes to get some asshat to stop bullying, then so be it.
I am not advocating the preemptive beating of these wastes of flesh, who's better half ended up in their father's pants, but I am advocating the suitable consequences for their unwelcome and idiotic actions.
Oh and the right to smack the crap out of parents who are obviously creating bullies out of their children. Suitable consequences for suitable actions.
So there's this. Watch the video too. See how far this stupid shit goes with online crap and bullying.
So here's the thing. I was a fat kid who got picked on. I was always taught not to fight back. That was always bad advice. I know that now. I should have been taught to fight back in suitable means. This kid, Casey Haynes, he did what he knew to do. He picked up the little shit head and slammed him down. He exerted his right not to be hit and demonstrated not just to the one bully, but to all of them, that he is not fighting back because he can't, but because he doesn't want to.
What baffles me about this is two fold. Why do we insist on teaching our kids not to fight back? And why do school boards with zero tolerance for violence policies insist on punishing the kids who are merely asserting their right to not be hit?
So first off. This is what I've taught my children. Always ask for acts of violence being perpetrated on you, aka being picked on, bullied, pushed around, etc., to stop. After they stop listening to that, cause maximum damage with minimal effort, just enough to stop the assault on you, and then walk away. Both my girls know many ways to hurt a human body in horrific ways and when to use them. The eldest has defended herself. The younger is a bit more bombastic than her sister, so hasn't had to yet as she's a level of intimidating all without violence. Teaching your child to not fight back is not acceptable when other people do not teach their children not to be little shitheads. Teach them to be non-violent until they are violated, then they should defend themselves from further possibilities of injury.
Next. School boards. Kids defending themselves should not be punished. They should be praised. Because they're doing what you're not. Stopping bullying. Bullies are stupid creatures that only respond to simple stimuli. Like the idea that if I pick on someone, I might end up getting a face full of concrete. If that kid goes on bullying, it won't be against Casey again. And maybe some other kids will figure out it's alright to smack down a bully when they start getting froggy.
Here's the obligatory story to prove my point. I was picked on for being the fat kid. Until I grabbed one of my tormentors, threw him down, grabbed him by the throat, and beat his head against the playground until he almost passed out. The only reason that little fucker didn't end up in the hospital after years of bullying me was that his stunned friends hauled me off him. They didn't try to pick on me while they grabbed me off him, or from that day forward. In fact, they were all just a little bit frightened by me. And if that's what it takes to get some asshat to stop bullying, then so be it.
I am not advocating the preemptive beating of these wastes of flesh, who's better half ended up in their father's pants, but I am advocating the suitable consequences for their unwelcome and idiotic actions.
Oh and the right to smack the crap out of parents who are obviously creating bullies out of their children. Suitable consequences for suitable actions.
Wednesday, March 9, 2011
Good bye Coach Saip
What a year so far. Hmm. The fire is low and the smoke will be pretty intense. You have to see far to see the range of this great man.
I proudly call this man one of my mentors. One of my heroes. He was a man of little education, of great wisdom, of untold humour, and unsurpassed caring. Just do a google search for Brian Saip and you'll catch that from all that his been written since his death on this last Sunday. And as with the passing of all great people, the world has lost a light, has become dimmer in one part.
I however know that the world is far brighter, and will continue to be far brighter for generations to come because of the work Coach Saip did. He made it his business to make men of boys on various sporting fields. I know this personally from my time spent on the Martin Monarchs from 1989-93. He was my Head Coach all four years. He took a fat kid who was nearly destroyed and waiting for a miserable unknown death, and gave him the tools and encouragement to be a man. Few things in my life have impacted me as much as that time on the field did, as most can guess from my other writing, and few things mean as much to me as the activities I enjoy passing on the lessons Coach Saip taught me.
He was the first person to demand I not only be better than I expected, but better than anyone could possible expect. He made me crave to succeed. Not at the cost of others but to enhance the world around me. He taught me the value of dedicated work, of properly administered discipline, copious amounts of compassion, and self-respect. He was the first person to recognize my need to create myself and control my identity, encouraging even the most outlandish ways I expressed it.
His example is the one that I employ on the football field when I coach now. I do it my way, but in his tried and true measure. I owe him that passion that allows me to believe that his death is not the end, merely another beginning, another generation that will step up and do what is right for the world around them, as he did.
Because I know I'm not the only one. I know there are thousands of us. Thousands of men who served in Coach Saip's schools of battle. Thousands of us who listened, learned, and acted. Thousands who will take this loss and use it as the means to continue what he started. Thousands to take up one man's great shield and standard, and bear it forward so that others will benefit. There is a litany of names I could mention, names you'd all recognize for their great achievements, for their deeds, and every single one would point back to this man and say 'He showed me how.' There is an entire roll of young men who might have been lost forever, who still make mistakes, yet come back because of this man. The quiet unknown ones who owe a debt to Coach Saip. Multiplied over by thousands of actions, on hundreds of thousands of days, and you see, there is no dimming of this great man's light. There is only the forever exponential growth that will carry on beyond his own name.
Good bye, and thank you, from my heart and soul, Coach Saip. Real men get back up. We got this.
I proudly call this man one of my mentors. One of my heroes. He was a man of little education, of great wisdom, of untold humour, and unsurpassed caring. Just do a google search for Brian Saip and you'll catch that from all that his been written since his death on this last Sunday. And as with the passing of all great people, the world has lost a light, has become dimmer in one part.
I however know that the world is far brighter, and will continue to be far brighter for generations to come because of the work Coach Saip did. He made it his business to make men of boys on various sporting fields. I know this personally from my time spent on the Martin Monarchs from 1989-93. He was my Head Coach all four years. He took a fat kid who was nearly destroyed and waiting for a miserable unknown death, and gave him the tools and encouragement to be a man. Few things in my life have impacted me as much as that time on the field did, as most can guess from my other writing, and few things mean as much to me as the activities I enjoy passing on the lessons Coach Saip taught me.
He was the first person to demand I not only be better than I expected, but better than anyone could possible expect. He made me crave to succeed. Not at the cost of others but to enhance the world around me. He taught me the value of dedicated work, of properly administered discipline, copious amounts of compassion, and self-respect. He was the first person to recognize my need to create myself and control my identity, encouraging even the most outlandish ways I expressed it.
His example is the one that I employ on the football field when I coach now. I do it my way, but in his tried and true measure. I owe him that passion that allows me to believe that his death is not the end, merely another beginning, another generation that will step up and do what is right for the world around them, as he did.
Because I know I'm not the only one. I know there are thousands of us. Thousands of men who served in Coach Saip's schools of battle. Thousands of us who listened, learned, and acted. Thousands who will take this loss and use it as the means to continue what he started. Thousands to take up one man's great shield and standard, and bear it forward so that others will benefit. There is a litany of names I could mention, names you'd all recognize for their great achievements, for their deeds, and every single one would point back to this man and say 'He showed me how.' There is an entire roll of young men who might have been lost forever, who still make mistakes, yet come back because of this man. The quiet unknown ones who owe a debt to Coach Saip. Multiplied over by thousands of actions, on hundreds of thousands of days, and you see, there is no dimming of this great man's light. There is only the forever exponential growth that will carry on beyond his own name.
Good bye, and thank you, from my heart and soul, Coach Saip. Real men get back up. We got this.
Friday, February 25, 2011
Really? Really.
Come on, got some 'pasgetti and if you're not in for a meal, some sour cream and onion chips. The fire is high and well. The clue by four is out. And I think we need to talk about some things. Mainly just me and the guys, but you ladies, I have a couple things to say to you too, mainly about self-preservation. But that's for the end.
Ok first, go read this crap. Really?
Firstly, to Judge Dewar. I'm gonna lay this scenario out for you. What say I come by your house with the clue by four. See cuz let's say the victim is my sister, and you've angered me. You're going to get a beating. Not just a beating. I'm going to take this clue by four and I'm going to shove it straight up your ass, no lube, and we're using the splinter end. And everytime you shout 'NO! Stop sodomizing me with that big chunk of splintery wood,' I'm going to remind you that you asked for it by shitting all over the victim. And since you asked for it by making such ridiculous and sexist statements, I get to keep doing it. And I'm going to do it until even surgery won't fix your asshole, so you get to walk around for the rest of your life with a colostomy bag, emptying your shit into a toilet in the most humiliating fashion because Judge Dewar, that's what you've done to that woman. You. *JAM* Did. *THRUST* That. *JAB* Got it you stupid fuck? If I could get ten minutes alone with you, with my clue by four I don't think you'd ever make that mistake again. GOD! I'm so enraged just thinking about it.
Now guys. C'mere. Let's have a little confab, just us guys. Ladies, you can listen in but realize I'm going to use the guy talk shit ok. So here goes. Guys, we've all had a cock tease situation. We've all been in a sitaution where some hot to trot bitch gets her junk all up in our face, and shakes it like a dirty girl. This DOES NOT MEAN SHE WANTS TO FUCK YOU!! *SMASH* Sadly one of the few avenues of power we've given women is their sexuality. Of course, we punish them when they use it, but we also admire them and encourage them to do it. But only if they fulfill our sexual object fantasies. And this has got to change. It has to stop. Sexuality does not equal sex. Let me repeat that. Sexuality *BASH* does *SLAM* not *CRUNCH* equal *THUD* sex. Are we clear? Cuz here's the thing guys. Y'know what has happened? It's a part of this whole goal orientated society we've got. You're confusing that little squirt at the end with the whole process. Got it? Stop. *SMASH* Just stop. No more. And if it really frustrates you so much when you get cock teased, well, guess what mano, you got a fucking hand, use it. If you really need to objectify her, do it in your mind, but leave her alone. She is someone's daughter. Got it? Next time you start to lose control of your dick, think of that. She's someone's daughter. And fucking STOP! *CLUB*
*puts away the clue by four* You shitheads are dismissed. Now ladies. Let's sit down for a sec, and just talk about self-preservation.
Just to start with, this is not your fault. However, it is within your power to limit your own exposure to dangerous situations. And no this is not me saying women shouldn't explore their sexuality, even if it is in a public manner. I'm talking about understanding the boundaries and what you can do to change it. Or in simple terms, self-defense. Keep these things in mind. The instant that the man stops heeding your 'no,' he is technically violating you. It is now assault. And you get to do what you need to to stop the assault. Learn the various weaknesses in the human body so you can cause maximum damage with minimal effort. My eldest daughter knows, and is comfortable with using, about a hundred different ways to hurt someone in a lot of different positions. Learn them. Hell I'll give fucking lessons if you want. And I'm not teaching martial arts, I'm teaching how to hurt a human being. That's it, and sometimes, you need to do it.
And thanks to the fantastical Holly, she of the breathtaking art (If you ever want to sell that three birds of wisdom painting, I'll sell a child or two for it) and the badger like qualities, we provide this video to further demonstrate the fucking point.
Ok first, go read this crap. Really?
Firstly, to Judge Dewar. I'm gonna lay this scenario out for you. What say I come by your house with the clue by four. See cuz let's say the victim is my sister, and you've angered me. You're going to get a beating. Not just a beating. I'm going to take this clue by four and I'm going to shove it straight up your ass, no lube, and we're using the splinter end. And everytime you shout 'NO! Stop sodomizing me with that big chunk of splintery wood,' I'm going to remind you that you asked for it by shitting all over the victim. And since you asked for it by making such ridiculous and sexist statements, I get to keep doing it. And I'm going to do it until even surgery won't fix your asshole, so you get to walk around for the rest of your life with a colostomy bag, emptying your shit into a toilet in the most humiliating fashion because Judge Dewar, that's what you've done to that woman. You. *JAM* Did. *THRUST* That. *JAB* Got it you stupid fuck? If I could get ten minutes alone with you, with my clue by four I don't think you'd ever make that mistake again. GOD! I'm so enraged just thinking about it.
Now guys. C'mere. Let's have a little confab, just us guys. Ladies, you can listen in but realize I'm going to use the guy talk shit ok. So here goes. Guys, we've all had a cock tease situation. We've all been in a sitaution where some hot to trot bitch gets her junk all up in our face, and shakes it like a dirty girl. This DOES NOT MEAN SHE WANTS TO FUCK YOU!! *SMASH* Sadly one of the few avenues of power we've given women is their sexuality. Of course, we punish them when they use it, but we also admire them and encourage them to do it. But only if they fulfill our sexual object fantasies. And this has got to change. It has to stop. Sexuality does not equal sex. Let me repeat that. Sexuality *BASH* does *SLAM* not *CRUNCH* equal *THUD* sex. Are we clear? Cuz here's the thing guys. Y'know what has happened? It's a part of this whole goal orientated society we've got. You're confusing that little squirt at the end with the whole process. Got it? Stop. *SMASH* Just stop. No more. And if it really frustrates you so much when you get cock teased, well, guess what mano, you got a fucking hand, use it. If you really need to objectify her, do it in your mind, but leave her alone. She is someone's daughter. Got it? Next time you start to lose control of your dick, think of that. She's someone's daughter. And fucking STOP! *CLUB*
*puts away the clue by four* You shitheads are dismissed. Now ladies. Let's sit down for a sec, and just talk about self-preservation.
Just to start with, this is not your fault. However, it is within your power to limit your own exposure to dangerous situations. And no this is not me saying women shouldn't explore their sexuality, even if it is in a public manner. I'm talking about understanding the boundaries and what you can do to change it. Or in simple terms, self-defense. Keep these things in mind. The instant that the man stops heeding your 'no,' he is technically violating you. It is now assault. And you get to do what you need to to stop the assault. Learn the various weaknesses in the human body so you can cause maximum damage with minimal effort. My eldest daughter knows, and is comfortable with using, about a hundred different ways to hurt someone in a lot of different positions. Learn them. Hell I'll give fucking lessons if you want. And I'm not teaching martial arts, I'm teaching how to hurt a human being. That's it, and sometimes, you need to do it.
And thanks to the fantastical Holly, she of the breathtaking art (If you ever want to sell that three birds of wisdom painting, I'll sell a child or two for it) and the badger like qualities, we provide this video to further demonstrate the fucking point.
Thursday, February 24, 2011
Oh yeah...
Come on in, and grab some chicken burgers. Tasty.
So I fell off that wagon. *lights up*
I think it was the insomnia that was killing me the most. I didn't know when to go to bed because I didn't have my bedtime smoke. Like I said habit forming.
BTW, not an excuse, I failed. But I'm sure I'll try again. Maybe when sleep isn't as rare and important as it is right now.
So I fell off that wagon. *lights up*
I think it was the insomnia that was killing me the most. I didn't know when to go to bed because I didn't have my bedtime smoke. Like I said habit forming.
BTW, not an excuse, I failed. But I'm sure I'll try again. Maybe when sleep isn't as rare and important as it is right now.
Friday, February 18, 2011
This is my boomstick
Alrighty folks, come on in and grab a seat by the fire. But be ready to duck.
So a long time ago I used to play on MUSHes. And while I was an admin on the ShadowRunMUSH, I took the admin name Clue, because I used to make posts on the forums using my clue by four to fix glaring issues I saw in the game, be it from players or rules, or whatever. And I think I need to bring by the clue by four. Think of it as the metaphorical clubbing we all occasionally need. It won't be nice, it won't be pretty, in fact it probably will be uncomfortable and require medical attention but it will be educational.
So here's the thing. I'm drivin' to the bank and school to do some biz for the student association I'm a part of, and get this shit: Some MP is entering a private members bill about the volume of TV commercials. And I'm listening to this getting so pissed off I wanna drive my car into the nearest radio tower. And I'm pissed on so many levels that it's bordering on the stupid. So lets lay this out.
First off, CBC? I love you. But FUCKING HELL! *BAM* This is not fucking news. IT IS NOT NEWS! Get me?! NOT! *BASH* FUCKING! *SMACK* NEWS! *SLAM* There is about a million more things more important, like, oh, I don't know, the FSIN assembly? The continued revolutions in the Middle East, so on and so forth, not that some fucking lazy shits hate it that they have to turn down their TV during the commercials. And it just annoys me when they discuss these kind of useless topics. Wait, what, did one of you just say 'But it's not useless.' Oh ... let me explain my little clueless flock. Come closer. The more I chase the more I bash.
It is a useless topic because A) it shows an inherent weakness within our society that we believe everything that bothers us must be legislated, and B) that they are targeting the TV stations, which is a complete waste of time because it doesn't start with the fucking TV stations. So let's break this down.
Hey. Society. Why not stop trying to legislate change and ENACT THE FUCKING CHANGE!! *SMASH* It's like we're a bunch of newborns who can't find the nipple, so we whine and pucker about waiting for the great mother country to stick a teat in our mouth so we can suck ourselves back into docility. Don't like the state of things? find others like you, which geez, in our age should be stupidly easy, get together and write some emails, make an effbook group, phone the TV stations and advertisers. WHATEVER! Just DO something. Quit expecting others to do it for you, or thinking that a law about it will somehow fix the problem, it just creates new excuses and really our government probably should have more important things to do than worry about how often you have to take your fat hand out of the bowl of snacks to grab the remote, thus stopping your inevitable evolution into an actual lump attached to a couch like those poor fuckers in Wall-E. So. Here's the deal. I haven't hit you folks who think this type of thing is good a lot because I'm going to make a deal. You get off your lazy do nothing ass and enact some change, and I won't beat you like a 12 year old boy beats his wang. But ... if we continue on this path I will make sure I buy a whole fucking forest of clue by fours and each one of you gets to take one home. After I shove it up your ass. Sideways. Fuckers.
Secondly, from what I've read on the very making of commercials, for some they amp up all the sound and contrast and brightness to make it as attention grabbing as possible. Kind of like cranking the bass and treble up on your stereo, or turning the brightness up on a video game, to make it louder or easier to see. So, while PERHAPS the TV stations might be able to turn that stuff around, I'm guessing that might make the folks who are paying them to put their adverts out a little put out. Besides, we all participate in this wonderful 'Gimmie stuff!' culture, you want something other than adverts that have more technical know-how and special effects in them than the shows you want to watch then well. *BASH* read the previous paragraph and get off your ass and do something about it. Stop buying those products, contact those advertisers and their agency, VOICE YOUR SELF YOU SELF-ABSORBED SACK OF AMBIVALENCE!
So to sum up. Stop expecting everyone else to do something about it. *SMASH* Get up and do it yourself!
So a long time ago I used to play on MUSHes. And while I was an admin on the ShadowRunMUSH, I took the admin name Clue, because I used to make posts on the forums using my clue by four to fix glaring issues I saw in the game, be it from players or rules, or whatever. And I think I need to bring by the clue by four. Think of it as the metaphorical clubbing we all occasionally need. It won't be nice, it won't be pretty, in fact it probably will be uncomfortable and require medical attention but it will be educational.
So here's the thing. I'm drivin' to the bank and school to do some biz for the student association I'm a part of, and get this shit: Some MP is entering a private members bill about the volume of TV commercials. And I'm listening to this getting so pissed off I wanna drive my car into the nearest radio tower. And I'm pissed on so many levels that it's bordering on the stupid. So lets lay this out.
First off, CBC? I love you. But FUCKING HELL! *BAM* This is not fucking news. IT IS NOT NEWS! Get me?! NOT! *BASH* FUCKING! *SMACK* NEWS! *SLAM* There is about a million more things more important, like, oh, I don't know, the FSIN assembly? The continued revolutions in the Middle East, so on and so forth, not that some fucking lazy shits hate it that they have to turn down their TV during the commercials. And it just annoys me when they discuss these kind of useless topics. Wait, what, did one of you just say 'But it's not useless.' Oh ... let me explain my little clueless flock. Come closer. The more I chase the more I bash.
It is a useless topic because A) it shows an inherent weakness within our society that we believe everything that bothers us must be legislated, and B) that they are targeting the TV stations, which is a complete waste of time because it doesn't start with the fucking TV stations. So let's break this down.
Hey. Society. Why not stop trying to legislate change and ENACT THE FUCKING CHANGE!! *SMASH* It's like we're a bunch of newborns who can't find the nipple, so we whine and pucker about waiting for the great mother country to stick a teat in our mouth so we can suck ourselves back into docility. Don't like the state of things? find others like you, which geez, in our age should be stupidly easy, get together and write some emails, make an effbook group, phone the TV stations and advertisers. WHATEVER! Just DO something. Quit expecting others to do it for you, or thinking that a law about it will somehow fix the problem, it just creates new excuses and really our government probably should have more important things to do than worry about how often you have to take your fat hand out of the bowl of snacks to grab the remote, thus stopping your inevitable evolution into an actual lump attached to a couch like those poor fuckers in Wall-E. So. Here's the deal. I haven't hit you folks who think this type of thing is good a lot because I'm going to make a deal. You get off your lazy do nothing ass and enact some change, and I won't beat you like a 12 year old boy beats his wang. But ... if we continue on this path I will make sure I buy a whole fucking forest of clue by fours and each one of you gets to take one home. After I shove it up your ass. Sideways. Fuckers.
Secondly, from what I've read on the very making of commercials, for some they amp up all the sound and contrast and brightness to make it as attention grabbing as possible. Kind of like cranking the bass and treble up on your stereo, or turning the brightness up on a video game, to make it louder or easier to see. So, while PERHAPS the TV stations might be able to turn that stuff around, I'm guessing that might make the folks who are paying them to put their adverts out a little put out. Besides, we all participate in this wonderful 'Gimmie stuff!' culture, you want something other than adverts that have more technical know-how and special effects in them than the shows you want to watch then well. *BASH* read the previous paragraph and get off your ass and do something about it. Stop buying those products, contact those advertisers and their agency, VOICE YOUR SELF YOU SELF-ABSORBED SACK OF AMBIVALENCE!
So to sum up. Stop expecting everyone else to do something about it. *SMASH* Get up and do it yourself!
Thursday, February 17, 2011
Why do we still do this shit?
Come on in, seems we have a theme today. European vs. First Nation culture. If it is starting to sound a bit anti-European, well. It is. Sorry. Doesn't change the facts.
Ok, anyone else following this? There's a whole lot going on, so I thought I might expound on what I think of it. So let me ramble.
At the root of this is the perceived conflict of interest between Chief Lonechild's criminal charge and his position on accountability and reform. So let us all go over the sides here, the arguments for and against. Now the folks arguing for his stepping down are saying that because of this perceived conflict, and the chance of his stances being weakened, Lonechild needs to step down. Behind the scenes are such things as a rejection of more funds for the Senate which Lonechild is seen as responsible for, and Lonechild's reform measures which pushes out the old guard of corrupt officials who lined their own pockets. But those background arguments should be kept at arms length as speculative and inflammatory. On the flip side of this is the argument that Lonechild is not the first person to make this same mistake and the other were not required to step down. I mean hell, the former Premier of Alberta made drunk driving his usual form of leaving the Parliamentary buildings.
Now me, I'm watching everything that's going on and I have a much more fundamental question: Why the fuck are we using European institutions and philosophies to exercise our right to self-determination as a Nation? Seriously. Why? Sure, at one point it was the only way for our rights to be recognized but I think we've moved beyond that and perhaps it is time we started to take a serious look at the way in which we govern and find new ways to apply the old traditions.
Because here is what I think of Lonechild's charges, and subsequent admission to an addiction to alcohol. First off, he has admitted it. Sure it required an outside influence to force the admission and ownership of the problem but guess what folks? That was the traditional way it was done. The medicine wo/man would go to the afflicted and facilitate a public admission of the wrong doing and start to build a means through which to correct the issue. Which he is doing. We do not attack someone who has a problem. We fix it. Ousting Lonechild will not fix the issue. It will merely continue the abuses we've learned. These are the original ways and they still work.
FUCK! How can people not see something so simple?
Ok, anyone else following this? There's a whole lot going on, so I thought I might expound on what I think of it. So let me ramble.
At the root of this is the perceived conflict of interest between Chief Lonechild's criminal charge and his position on accountability and reform. So let us all go over the sides here, the arguments for and against. Now the folks arguing for his stepping down are saying that because of this perceived conflict, and the chance of his stances being weakened, Lonechild needs to step down. Behind the scenes are such things as a rejection of more funds for the Senate which Lonechild is seen as responsible for, and Lonechild's reform measures which pushes out the old guard of corrupt officials who lined their own pockets. But those background arguments should be kept at arms length as speculative and inflammatory. On the flip side of this is the argument that Lonechild is not the first person to make this same mistake and the other were not required to step down. I mean hell, the former Premier of Alberta made drunk driving his usual form of leaving the Parliamentary buildings.
Now me, I'm watching everything that's going on and I have a much more fundamental question: Why the fuck are we using European institutions and philosophies to exercise our right to self-determination as a Nation? Seriously. Why? Sure, at one point it was the only way for our rights to be recognized but I think we've moved beyond that and perhaps it is time we started to take a serious look at the way in which we govern and find new ways to apply the old traditions.
Because here is what I think of Lonechild's charges, and subsequent admission to an addiction to alcohol. First off, he has admitted it. Sure it required an outside influence to force the admission and ownership of the problem but guess what folks? That was the traditional way it was done. The medicine wo/man would go to the afflicted and facilitate a public admission of the wrong doing and start to build a means through which to correct the issue. Which he is doing. We do not attack someone who has a problem. We fix it. Ousting Lonechild will not fix the issue. It will merely continue the abuses we've learned. These are the original ways and they still work.
FUCK! How can people not see something so simple?
Right then
Come on in, grab an apple. Tasty. The fire is nice, but the snow and wind are not so much. I'm actually craving some warm weather, which is really weird for me.
So here's the thing. Us white folks are fucking idiots. Like ... how did we get control of so much of the world when we're barely above open mouth breathing retards? Seriously. A whole race of fucking morons just milling about and wrecking stuff.
See, I'm taking a class on ethics in literature, and a class on utopian literature, and y'know what? Philosophies, societal models, and world views that First Nations came up with more than ten millenia ago are what keep popping up. I have to look at these things and go 'Ok, what the fuck?'
Lemme give you two examples. William Morris' News From Nowhere. Were it not for some differences, that make the society unlivable, is a description of First Nations life. The 'European' additions, or edits, from the lifestyle and world view is essentially what critiques attack his utopia for, and they were solved by FN culture thousands of years ago! Leave it to a Pre-Raphaelite to screw up a pretty well done idea. (Rambling digression: The only one I liked was the younger sister, whasername. The Rossetti chick. She was a dirty girl. Anyways, sorry for the digression.)
Secondly. The big Ethics folks on the literary scene in our modern era are all so concerned with being right, that the whole lot of them can't see that they're all right. Relocate the arguments into a rough circle and understand the interflow of the ideas and they describe Bimaadziwin ethics. IF you're willing to say everyone is right too and integrate the various theories AND stop trying to divorce ethics from a very personal stance. From personal interpretation. But hey, what would a group of people who spent their entire winters thinking and developing these things know? They only spent, oh say a couple thousand years do it or so, and then another 10000 years refining it.
And yes there is a lot of similarities to Greek philosophy but again, this desire to compartmentalize and claim 'This is right, this is the truth' rather than a more holistic acceptance causes some serious fucking issues. It's that simple.
So one of the other classes I'm taking is a class on Inequality in Canada. And Little Bird's mom and I are in the class. So we're discussing the class and stuff and in particular the heinous abomination that is Bill C-31 and how it affected the passing on of status, and the assumptions within the act. And she goes 'Well crap, we've got it all wrong, why don't we all try to become Indians?!' And that really is the crux. White folks, join me. Give up the whiteness. Come on over and join the Indians, we'll all get status, we'll all get free schooling, no taxes, and all the other perceived 'benefits' of status that are not actually there and we can all stop fighting about it. Whaddya say? See, that's embracing assimilation, just the other way around!
So here's the thing. Us white folks are fucking idiots. Like ... how did we get control of so much of the world when we're barely above open mouth breathing retards? Seriously. A whole race of fucking morons just milling about and wrecking stuff.
See, I'm taking a class on ethics in literature, and a class on utopian literature, and y'know what? Philosophies, societal models, and world views that First Nations came up with more than ten millenia ago are what keep popping up. I have to look at these things and go 'Ok, what the fuck?'
Lemme give you two examples. William Morris' News From Nowhere. Were it not for some differences, that make the society unlivable, is a description of First Nations life. The 'European' additions, or edits, from the lifestyle and world view is essentially what critiques attack his utopia for, and they were solved by FN culture thousands of years ago! Leave it to a Pre-Raphaelite to screw up a pretty well done idea. (Rambling digression: The only one I liked was the younger sister, whasername. The Rossetti chick. She was a dirty girl. Anyways, sorry for the digression.)
Secondly. The big Ethics folks on the literary scene in our modern era are all so concerned with being right, that the whole lot of them can't see that they're all right. Relocate the arguments into a rough circle and understand the interflow of the ideas and they describe Bimaadziwin ethics. IF you're willing to say everyone is right too and integrate the various theories AND stop trying to divorce ethics from a very personal stance. From personal interpretation. But hey, what would a group of people who spent their entire winters thinking and developing these things know? They only spent, oh say a couple thousand years do it or so, and then another 10000 years refining it.
And yes there is a lot of similarities to Greek philosophy but again, this desire to compartmentalize and claim 'This is right, this is the truth' rather than a more holistic acceptance causes some serious fucking issues. It's that simple.
So one of the other classes I'm taking is a class on Inequality in Canada. And Little Bird's mom and I are in the class. So we're discussing the class and stuff and in particular the heinous abomination that is Bill C-31 and how it affected the passing on of status, and the assumptions within the act. And she goes 'Well crap, we've got it all wrong, why don't we all try to become Indians?!' And that really is the crux. White folks, join me. Give up the whiteness. Come on over and join the Indians, we'll all get status, we'll all get free schooling, no taxes, and all the other perceived 'benefits' of status that are not actually there and we can all stop fighting about it. Whaddya say? See, that's embracing assimilation, just the other way around!
Wednesday, February 9, 2011
Fifteen years ago today
Come on in and help me mark this special day. There is meager supplies but there is plenty of love and happiness.
So I'm pretty sure I've recounted the story of the Little Bear's birth, in numerous places. And I'm pretty sure you folks know at this point that being a dad to my two little critters is the ultimate for me. Little else matters. So instead this here is a post to recognize who she is now, and what she might be.
First off, she's so cute it's almost cartoonish. She is one beautiful girl. And I know, someone is going to point out that 'Oh look, it's a girl so the first thing he does is go to how she looks.' Yar, I get it. Sexist. If you dismiss that I'm doing this in a layered kind of way. So we start first impression on. Ok? Good. Divergent Rant Mode Off.
So she's gorgeous. Big bright eyes, cupid bow mouth, button nose. Built a lot like her dad, so she's not tiny, she's got a firm structure. Thick full hair. And her laugh is so awesome.
That laugh is what tells you a bit about her. She's one happy girl, outgoing, personable, charming. And not that glad handing, 'I'm nice to everybody so they'll do stuff for me' bullshit way. She loves everyone. She will never be able to understand why we can't all get along. And while others will see this as a weakness or fault, and some will even take advantage of it, I see it as her greatest strength. She will love until she bleeds, and even then she may not stop. She won't give up on anyone. She will, until the day she dies, care for every single person she's ever met in her life, even the ones she doesn't like she wants the best for. She sees the faults, she sees the problems, but doesn't understand why people wouldn't want to get past them, resolve or acknowledge them and make things better together. It's not some rose coloured glasses, 'The world is beautiful' thing, it is a genuine ability to love that gives her the skills to reasonably assess any situation, understand it, and still find a way to let her love be the force through which she will work.
But then again, that's not surprising to me, she's a little bear. Bears are healers. And she will heal people. Not as a medical professional, I don't think she has any interest in that. I've always imagined that somewhere in that hormone muddied head she has realized the body heals most wounds. Souls, not always.
And that is what she will heal through her gift of songs. I mean, damn. I'm her dad I'm allowed hyperbole about her singing. But when you go to her recitals, and even the little kids are staring in rapture as she sings, that's just hard fact. She has the voice of love and health. It brings tears to my eyes when she sings because she gives herself over to them, lets the music be what it must, herself what she is, and blends the two, creating a powerful mix.
And that mind, that base synthesis she has already learned that has taken me decades to understand, a molding of mind and emotion to let both have equal say in her actions and decisions blows my mind. I still struggle with it, but for her, both have to be present before she can make a decision, and it shows in those decisions.
And this is just a snap shot folks. This is far from the whole package, but it is what has struck me as of late as she grows, as she becomes the woman she wishes to be. Another year of memories sits before me to collect, and I watch with some fear and trepidation, and a whole lot of amazement and love.
Happy Birthday Little Bear!
So I'm pretty sure I've recounted the story of the Little Bear's birth, in numerous places. And I'm pretty sure you folks know at this point that being a dad to my two little critters is the ultimate for me. Little else matters. So instead this here is a post to recognize who she is now, and what she might be.
First off, she's so cute it's almost cartoonish. She is one beautiful girl. And I know, someone is going to point out that 'Oh look, it's a girl so the first thing he does is go to how she looks.' Yar, I get it. Sexist. If you dismiss that I'm doing this in a layered kind of way. So we start first impression on. Ok? Good. Divergent Rant Mode Off.
So she's gorgeous. Big bright eyes, cupid bow mouth, button nose. Built a lot like her dad, so she's not tiny, she's got a firm structure. Thick full hair. And her laugh is so awesome.
That laugh is what tells you a bit about her. She's one happy girl, outgoing, personable, charming. And not that glad handing, 'I'm nice to everybody so they'll do stuff for me' bullshit way. She loves everyone. She will never be able to understand why we can't all get along. And while others will see this as a weakness or fault, and some will even take advantage of it, I see it as her greatest strength. She will love until she bleeds, and even then she may not stop. She won't give up on anyone. She will, until the day she dies, care for every single person she's ever met in her life, even the ones she doesn't like she wants the best for. She sees the faults, she sees the problems, but doesn't understand why people wouldn't want to get past them, resolve or acknowledge them and make things better together. It's not some rose coloured glasses, 'The world is beautiful' thing, it is a genuine ability to love that gives her the skills to reasonably assess any situation, understand it, and still find a way to let her love be the force through which she will work.
But then again, that's not surprising to me, she's a little bear. Bears are healers. And she will heal people. Not as a medical professional, I don't think she has any interest in that. I've always imagined that somewhere in that hormone muddied head she has realized the body heals most wounds. Souls, not always.
And that is what she will heal through her gift of songs. I mean, damn. I'm her dad I'm allowed hyperbole about her singing. But when you go to her recitals, and even the little kids are staring in rapture as she sings, that's just hard fact. She has the voice of love and health. It brings tears to my eyes when she sings because she gives herself over to them, lets the music be what it must, herself what she is, and blends the two, creating a powerful mix.
And that mind, that base synthesis she has already learned that has taken me decades to understand, a molding of mind and emotion to let both have equal say in her actions and decisions blows my mind. I still struggle with it, but for her, both have to be present before she can make a decision, and it shows in those decisions.
And this is just a snap shot folks. This is far from the whole package, but it is what has struck me as of late as she grows, as she becomes the woman she wishes to be. Another year of memories sits before me to collect, and I watch with some fear and trepidation, and a whole lot of amazement and love.
Happy Birthday Little Bear!
Monday, February 7, 2011
What the f**k?
Come on in, this is another one of those observational rants here in the Den. Cop a squat and lend an ear.
Ok so ... It's the middle of February, and it's Saskatchewan, so y'know the opportunities for tanning are just a wee bit scarce. So unless half the university went to fucking Mexico this weekend, what's the deal with all the tans?
And I know, fake'n'bake. And I'd lay money that's what most of these are. And while I'm usually all fine with any way you want to get cancer, speaking as a former smoker, I'd like to point out that fake tans look just as the name indicates. Fake. You all look ridiculous! I mean I'm used to living here, and the pasty whiteness that dominates the winter months. And the dominance of the fake tan is starting to grate on my nerves. Don't get me wrong, I love that bronze look on people when it's natural. But when you look like a human sized hollow chocolate Easter treat, it's time to back away from the fucking bed and just let nature do its thang.
I mean seriously this one girl today, I was watching her in shocked amazement, because she was about 50 years and a thousand wrinkles away from looking like George Hamilton. Which if she keeps up the fake tanning should be there in about 2 freakin' years.
So people. Please. It doesn't look right. Sure it grabs attention. But it's not 'Wow that girl is hot,' it's 'wow that chick is gonna be one big fucking bundle of skin cancer in a couple years!'
Ok so ... It's the middle of February, and it's Saskatchewan, so y'know the opportunities for tanning are just a wee bit scarce. So unless half the university went to fucking Mexico this weekend, what's the deal with all the tans?
And I know, fake'n'bake. And I'd lay money that's what most of these are. And while I'm usually all fine with any way you want to get cancer, speaking as a former smoker, I'd like to point out that fake tans look just as the name indicates. Fake. You all look ridiculous! I mean I'm used to living here, and the pasty whiteness that dominates the winter months. And the dominance of the fake tan is starting to grate on my nerves. Don't get me wrong, I love that bronze look on people when it's natural. But when you look like a human sized hollow chocolate Easter treat, it's time to back away from the fucking bed and just let nature do its thang.
I mean seriously this one girl today, I was watching her in shocked amazement, because she was about 50 years and a thousand wrinkles away from looking like George Hamilton. Which if she keeps up the fake tanning should be there in about 2 freakin' years.
So people. Please. It doesn't look right. Sure it grabs attention. But it's not 'Wow that girl is hot,' it's 'wow that chick is gonna be one big fucking bundle of skin cancer in a couple years!'
Sunday, February 6, 2011
Some observations before I get back to work
Talk about a snap change hmm? Plus 2, beautiful no wind, everything melting, hell it even rained. This morning, -15, hard, harsh wind, and no fit for man or beast. Good thing we stocked up on the firewood hmm?
I'm not the bad guy. Sure, I get pissed off but I'm not the bad guy. I'm the guy. That's it. I'm also the guy that goes out of his way to try to avoid getting pissed off. But even I have my limits. Poke me with a stick enough times and I'm going to get mad. The surprising part is, I can tell you repeatedly, 'This one thing, this utterly tiny thing for you, really pisses me off. Stop doing it?' And you'll agree to, and the first chance you get, BOOM!! You do it. Wow. Y'know what. I'm not the bad guy.
When did we forget how to flirt and what flirting means? Seriously. I'm a flirt. This does not mean I'm looking to fuck every woman I'm friendly with. Nor does it even mean I'm interested in any specific woman. Hell right now folks, I'm pretty much determined to avoid anything like that. Won't end well for anyone.
Genius does not exist. Hard/smart work does. Nuff said.
My girls are genuinely impressive. I find it mind boggling that I had anything to do with the creation of such intense potential. This is certainly a skewed view because they are my children, but it is still a wonderfully humbling feeling to realize I have the responsibility to ensure that potential is not wasted, and to do it with no thanks. I think this is the part most parents get hung up on.
I'm still NOT the bad guy. Heh. Fuck you.
I really like coaching. Running into my kids later on in different situations is fantastically awesome. The part that always amazes me is that slightly awed look you get from them sometime like 'Holy shit ... coach exists outside of the football field...' Like I'm some cyborg kept in cold storage in the off season, my one goal to create fantastic football players. :)
I need a lackey. Actually a whole team of them. Anyone know if those minions from 'Despicable Me' are available? Obedient little yellow mutants seems just perfect.
One hour of intense physical activity a week is a 'bad thing' (TM). It hurts. It's been three days and oh GOD how it hurts.
Belfort got kicked in the face because Jesus didn't like being close to his crotch.
You can create entire UFC broadcasts out of these words: bucket, beast, tenacious. Just repeat in different combinations until the audience is left in a stupor of stupidity.
I'm not the bad guy. Sure, I get pissed off but I'm not the bad guy. I'm the guy. That's it. I'm also the guy that goes out of his way to try to avoid getting pissed off. But even I have my limits. Poke me with a stick enough times and I'm going to get mad. The surprising part is, I can tell you repeatedly, 'This one thing, this utterly tiny thing for you, really pisses me off. Stop doing it?' And you'll agree to, and the first chance you get, BOOM!! You do it. Wow. Y'know what. I'm not the bad guy.
When did we forget how to flirt and what flirting means? Seriously. I'm a flirt. This does not mean I'm looking to fuck every woman I'm friendly with. Nor does it even mean I'm interested in any specific woman. Hell right now folks, I'm pretty much determined to avoid anything like that. Won't end well for anyone.
Genius does not exist. Hard/smart work does. Nuff said.
My girls are genuinely impressive. I find it mind boggling that I had anything to do with the creation of such intense potential. This is certainly a skewed view because they are my children, but it is still a wonderfully humbling feeling to realize I have the responsibility to ensure that potential is not wasted, and to do it with no thanks. I think this is the part most parents get hung up on.
I'm still NOT the bad guy. Heh. Fuck you.
I really like coaching. Running into my kids later on in different situations is fantastically awesome. The part that always amazes me is that slightly awed look you get from them sometime like 'Holy shit ... coach exists outside of the football field...' Like I'm some cyborg kept in cold storage in the off season, my one goal to create fantastic football players. :)
I need a lackey. Actually a whole team of them. Anyone know if those minions from 'Despicable Me' are available? Obedient little yellow mutants seems just perfect.
One hour of intense physical activity a week is a 'bad thing' (TM). It hurts. It's been three days and oh GOD how it hurts.
Belfort got kicked in the face because Jesus didn't like being close to his crotch.
You can create entire UFC broadcasts out of these words: bucket, beast, tenacious. Just repeat in different combinations until the audience is left in a stupor of stupidity.
Sunday, January 30, 2011
Rant
Come on in and enjoy a few shouts of annoyance in this beautiful place. I may throw something, so be ready to duck.
Ok, so the comic series/graphic novel (depending on the format you bought) was freakin' great. It was a new story, a new take, and brilliantly violent and funny. The movie Wanted was the dumbest fucking thing I've ever seen. Why would Freeman agree to this shit? Why was Angelina Jolie in it? Who was that fucking loser playing Wesley? It was so bad I considered destroying my pretty new TV so it could be released from its shame for having to show such an incredibly useless bit of film. Seriously folks, go read the comic. I'll loan it to you. You'll love it.
And again, Jolie, how does she keep getting jobs? Well I know how. She's accepted as hot (I don't find her hot) as will get naked on film. Joy. She only does crazy well, and even that seems less acting and more that she's actually fucking crazy. Goddamnit people! Stop the mediocrity and stupidity!
Ok. So. Young ladies. Stop taking pictures of you and your friends posing together like you're posing for 'Effbooks Next Top Slut.' Really. I'm sick of it. I'm fed up to fucking here with it. And learn to set some fucking privacy settings. I'm all for the embracing of sexuality as a part of your identity, but when EVERY SINGLE FUCKING PICTURE LOOKS LIKE IT SHOULD COME WITH A PRICE LIST IT MEANS YOU'VE LOST THE FUCKING POINT!
Ok. I think I'm done for now.
Ok, so the comic series/graphic novel (depending on the format you bought) was freakin' great. It was a new story, a new take, and brilliantly violent and funny. The movie Wanted was the dumbest fucking thing I've ever seen. Why would Freeman agree to this shit? Why was Angelina Jolie in it? Who was that fucking loser playing Wesley? It was so bad I considered destroying my pretty new TV so it could be released from its shame for having to show such an incredibly useless bit of film. Seriously folks, go read the comic. I'll loan it to you. You'll love it.
And again, Jolie, how does she keep getting jobs? Well I know how. She's accepted as hot (I don't find her hot) as will get naked on film. Joy. She only does crazy well, and even that seems less acting and more that she's actually fucking crazy. Goddamnit people! Stop the mediocrity and stupidity!
Ok. So. Young ladies. Stop taking pictures of you and your friends posing together like you're posing for 'Effbooks Next Top Slut.' Really. I'm sick of it. I'm fed up to fucking here with it. And learn to set some fucking privacy settings. I'm all for the embracing of sexuality as a part of your identity, but when EVERY SINGLE FUCKING PICTURE LOOKS LIKE IT SHOULD COME WITH A PRICE LIST IT MEANS YOU'VE LOST THE FUCKING POINT!
Ok. I think I'm done for now.
Thursday, January 27, 2011
Mom said to do it
Come join me for another late night fire. Insomnia seems to be my curse right now. But the weather is nice, the night is gorgeous, and the fire is just perfect for warmth and cooking. Feel free to partake of the bacon'n'cheddar smokies. Oh my those are good.
So if you've been keeping up, you've probably read my mom's comment on the previous post. She said name what I wish for. So I thought I'd do that.
Well first I want to finish this paper, which is the application of the Anishinabe philosophy of Bimaadziwin to the character of Leopold Bloom in the Cyclops chapter of Ulysses. It's turning into quite a fun journey. So that's number one.
Number two, apply to grad school and get accepted into the Masters program for English, where I hope to write a proposal for a thesis on Utopian lit, and how it appears to be European interpretations of the FN lifestyle pre-contact. While doing that I would love to teach at FNUniv. Particularly the lab portion of their version of the University 100 course. As well it would be wonderful to do introductory English or Indigenous Studies courses.
Once that's done, I'd like to apply for a Ph.D. program in Multidisciplinary Studies, with the intention of proving a distinct connection between exposure to First Nations Culture and the massive political changes in Europe, such as Communism, the French Revolution, and democratic expansion in the world.
My intention in all of this is not to create a voice of resistance in a colonized world. Resistance implies a deficiency, which is something I don't find in Anishinabe philosophy. I want the world view of First Nations and other aboriginal cultures to be recognized as just as viable, just as applicable as anything created by European schools.
Once that's done I want to help recreate full programs at FNUniv, to bring it back to the levels it should be at and eventually make it a world class educational institution.
Why think small right?
So if you've been keeping up, you've probably read my mom's comment on the previous post. She said name what I wish for. So I thought I'd do that.
Well first I want to finish this paper, which is the application of the Anishinabe philosophy of Bimaadziwin to the character of Leopold Bloom in the Cyclops chapter of Ulysses. It's turning into quite a fun journey. So that's number one.
Number two, apply to grad school and get accepted into the Masters program for English, where I hope to write a proposal for a thesis on Utopian lit, and how it appears to be European interpretations of the FN lifestyle pre-contact. While doing that I would love to teach at FNUniv. Particularly the lab portion of their version of the University 100 course. As well it would be wonderful to do introductory English or Indigenous Studies courses.
Once that's done, I'd like to apply for a Ph.D. program in Multidisciplinary Studies, with the intention of proving a distinct connection between exposure to First Nations Culture and the massive political changes in Europe, such as Communism, the French Revolution, and democratic expansion in the world.
My intention in all of this is not to create a voice of resistance in a colonized world. Resistance implies a deficiency, which is something I don't find in Anishinabe philosophy. I want the world view of First Nations and other aboriginal cultures to be recognized as just as viable, just as applicable as anything created by European schools.
Once that's done I want to help recreate full programs at FNUniv, to bring it back to the levels it should be at and eventually make it a world class educational institution.
Why think small right?
Tuesday, January 25, 2011
Success and Failure
Come on and sit down with me. I've got a few things I'd like to say to you, just us here in this cozy place. Y'see I'm a little scared of what's coming and I thought if I owned it, the coming events might not be so scary.
I am, at my heart, a self-destructive person. My own best interest rarely wins in my judgments, and that means for the major things in my life I've failed. This isn't easy to admit, because, well, my own view of myself that is coloured by the opinions of others is that I'm a rock of strength, someone to lean on when times are rough, a strong defender of what's right, a comforting shoulder to help the weak continue on, and a keen observer of events to record and take witness of the world.
Unfortunately there's this disconnect. I mean shit, it's two thirty in the morning and I'm writing a blog post while I've got classes at 10 am tomorrow. Not the best approach when you've got to be keen for a presentation.
So here's the deal folks. I've never succeeded at anything major in my life. Three failed major relationships, well four to ten if you count all the times the last one broke up, came together, broke up, ad nauseum. I'm sure my friends all appreciated that litany of complaints. Three failed careers. The casino, security installations, and StarTek, where I was pretty freakin' good at what I did. And I'm not the most attentive person when it comes to my family. I'm sure my kids find me a bit harsh, stern, and perhaps even cold. I've pretty much loused up the lot of them, although with the kids that remains to be seen because I have turned a corner.
Going back to school was the best thing I could have done. I love doing what I do in academia, and wish to continue it. Not as one of the intelligentsia, not as a gilded tower academic, sitting on high and judging those beneath me with words that won't matter. Naw, I'm a workman of scholarship. I have to be. Me noggin's got some injuries and sumnat. The number of concussions I've had has pretty much assured me of a life of depressive episodes, memory lapses, and perhaps even another life threatening disease as I get older. Oh Joy!
But that's another post. Here and now I'm telling you what I'm afraid of. I'm afraid of succeeding. This is my last semester before I get that degree, and already I can feel this edgy darkness creeping around the den. I can feel an urge of insanity pushing me to get all crazy with my bad self, and reassure the rest of the world that even when we're at our best we can fail miserably. I'm terrified that if I do this the expectations will be raised, and they're already plenty high. I am near panic just contemplating the future and how well it might go.
This isn't a complaint, or a warning. Instead, this is an honest and open request for help. You're my family and I feel that we all owe it to each other to continue to push the other to bigger and better things. So if you see me doing the things that may cause a rupture in my damaged mind, point it out. I won't take offense. Well not for long at least. So please, give a hand, if you see me stumble, a little push back up, and if you see me heading for the hinterlands, tranq dart my ass and drag me back to sanity. Trust me, in the end I'll definitely appreciate it.
I am, at my heart, a self-destructive person. My own best interest rarely wins in my judgments, and that means for the major things in my life I've failed. This isn't easy to admit, because, well, my own view of myself that is coloured by the opinions of others is that I'm a rock of strength, someone to lean on when times are rough, a strong defender of what's right, a comforting shoulder to help the weak continue on, and a keen observer of events to record and take witness of the world.
Unfortunately there's this disconnect. I mean shit, it's two thirty in the morning and I'm writing a blog post while I've got classes at 10 am tomorrow. Not the best approach when you've got to be keen for a presentation.
So here's the deal folks. I've never succeeded at anything major in my life. Three failed major relationships, well four to ten if you count all the times the last one broke up, came together, broke up, ad nauseum. I'm sure my friends all appreciated that litany of complaints. Three failed careers. The casino, security installations, and StarTek, where I was pretty freakin' good at what I did. And I'm not the most attentive person when it comes to my family. I'm sure my kids find me a bit harsh, stern, and perhaps even cold. I've pretty much loused up the lot of them, although with the kids that remains to be seen because I have turned a corner.
Going back to school was the best thing I could have done. I love doing what I do in academia, and wish to continue it. Not as one of the intelligentsia, not as a gilded tower academic, sitting on high and judging those beneath me with words that won't matter. Naw, I'm a workman of scholarship. I have to be. Me noggin's got some injuries and sumnat. The number of concussions I've had has pretty much assured me of a life of depressive episodes, memory lapses, and perhaps even another life threatening disease as I get older. Oh Joy!
But that's another post. Here and now I'm telling you what I'm afraid of. I'm afraid of succeeding. This is my last semester before I get that degree, and already I can feel this edgy darkness creeping around the den. I can feel an urge of insanity pushing me to get all crazy with my bad self, and reassure the rest of the world that even when we're at our best we can fail miserably. I'm terrified that if I do this the expectations will be raised, and they're already plenty high. I am near panic just contemplating the future and how well it might go.
This isn't a complaint, or a warning. Instead, this is an honest and open request for help. You're my family and I feel that we all owe it to each other to continue to push the other to bigger and better things. So if you see me doing the things that may cause a rupture in my damaged mind, point it out. I won't take offense. Well not for long at least. So please, give a hand, if you see me stumble, a little push back up, and if you see me heading for the hinterlands, tranq dart my ass and drag me back to sanity. Trust me, in the end I'll definitely appreciate it.
Thursday, January 20, 2011
*Sparkly Snap*
Wow, that fire is big tonight, it's just roaring! Love it! And it keeps the brain flying.
In case I haven't mentioned this, I have a TOTAL thing for Redheads. Like the Irish red head thing, pale skin, red hair, big bright eyes, buxom. Oh that's another good word! So I had my little memory trip there and suddenly another popped into my head.
So this one is funny. It's funny for a couple reasons. I'll let you pick them out.
So time-wise, this is about 12 or so years ago, and I'm working at the casino. I loved dealing, it was so fun. So I'm dealing blackjack one night, and it's a pretty quiet table. I'm buzzing through the decks, making little chatter with the customers, having an ok time, mostly cuz the table is just being quiet, gambling zombies shuffling forward with their wallets open.
And she walks up. She, because I never got her name. She because I'm quite certain that I would define her as the most shining example of beauty I've ever laid eyes on. She because everything else around me closed down and I stopped mid-deal to stare at her with the unabashed directness of a 12 year old boy staring at a desperately wanted item.
I'm not sure how long I stared. Everyone else at the table was watching and it was like a bad movie moment. Y'know, Garth and 'Dreamweaver' without the rock t-shirt. And without preamble, without any more tact than an addict going through DTs given their drug of choice, I half moan out in pre-orgasmic tones, "You're gorgeous."
No one laughed. Everyone just kind of stared. And she smiled. Like an angel bestowing grace it made me tingle everywhere. She sat, and I dropped my worshipful gaze back to the task at hand, dealt it out, then took her money and changed it in for chips.
I had no idea where to start. No one at the table was talking and I knew I had to say something to prove I wasn't hired under some special 'Teach a Tard to Deal' program at the casino, or else the only memory this goddess would have of me was the kind of moan a puberty burdened teenager might have seeing their first porno.
And yet, the goddess was a forgiving, and giving deity. "You're a really good dealer. You know any chip tricks?"
"A couple." Next blackjack, I spun the 50 cent piece spin on top of the stacked chips.
My skills with cards and chips then decided to fully shine. I sliped cards into my hand, riffled them back and forth, spun chips, and chatted with this gorgeous woman. We joked, we laughed. And my hour on the table slid by way too fast. With regret, I logged out of the table, went on break, and shakily downed a number of cigarettes.
I came back down, logged into the next table, looked up, and my goddess had followed me. She came to me. I continued my impressive display of skill and wit. We laughed and enjoyed. After a while, in which I'm sure she told me her name but memory fails me now, she hinted at not knowing anyone like me. I must be just a fantastic person. "Naw, I'm just a guy with a kid, workin' a strange job."
"Oh, you're married?" Disappointment.
"Naw. I don't think I'm capable of that. Single dad."
"Really? A single dad, my you are impressive."
"I just love my kid you know?" But not myself.
I never caught the hints. I never figured out it was an opportunity, not until many years later when I had a head slapping moment of pure disgust.
In case I haven't mentioned this, I have a TOTAL thing for Redheads. Like the Irish red head thing, pale skin, red hair, big bright eyes, buxom. Oh that's another good word! So I had my little memory trip there and suddenly another popped into my head.
So this one is funny. It's funny for a couple reasons. I'll let you pick them out.
So time-wise, this is about 12 or so years ago, and I'm working at the casino. I loved dealing, it was so fun. So I'm dealing blackjack one night, and it's a pretty quiet table. I'm buzzing through the decks, making little chatter with the customers, having an ok time, mostly cuz the table is just being quiet, gambling zombies shuffling forward with their wallets open.
And she walks up. She, because I never got her name. She because I'm quite certain that I would define her as the most shining example of beauty I've ever laid eyes on. She because everything else around me closed down and I stopped mid-deal to stare at her with the unabashed directness of a 12 year old boy staring at a desperately wanted item.
I'm not sure how long I stared. Everyone else at the table was watching and it was like a bad movie moment. Y'know, Garth and 'Dreamweaver' without the rock t-shirt. And without preamble, without any more tact than an addict going through DTs given their drug of choice, I half moan out in pre-orgasmic tones, "You're gorgeous."
No one laughed. Everyone just kind of stared. And she smiled. Like an angel bestowing grace it made me tingle everywhere. She sat, and I dropped my worshipful gaze back to the task at hand, dealt it out, then took her money and changed it in for chips.
I had no idea where to start. No one at the table was talking and I knew I had to say something to prove I wasn't hired under some special 'Teach a Tard to Deal' program at the casino, or else the only memory this goddess would have of me was the kind of moan a puberty burdened teenager might have seeing their first porno.
And yet, the goddess was a forgiving, and giving deity. "You're a really good dealer. You know any chip tricks?"
"A couple." Next blackjack, I spun the 50 cent piece spin on top of the stacked chips.
My skills with cards and chips then decided to fully shine. I sliped cards into my hand, riffled them back and forth, spun chips, and chatted with this gorgeous woman. We joked, we laughed. And my hour on the table slid by way too fast. With regret, I logged out of the table, went on break, and shakily downed a number of cigarettes.
I came back down, logged into the next table, looked up, and my goddess had followed me. She came to me. I continued my impressive display of skill and wit. We laughed and enjoyed. After a while, in which I'm sure she told me her name but memory fails me now, she hinted at not knowing anyone like me. I must be just a fantastic person. "Naw, I'm just a guy with a kid, workin' a strange job."
"Oh, you're married?" Disappointment.
"Naw. I don't think I'm capable of that. Single dad."
"Really? A single dad, my you are impressive."
"I just love my kid you know?" But not myself.
I never caught the hints. I never figured out it was an opportunity, not until many years later when I had a head slapping moment of pure disgust.
My Fairy Tale
Come on in, grab some of that wood on your way past the skins. The fire needs to be stoked, it's so fucking cold. I'm someone who likes cold, so when I start complaining about it, it's fucking cold. So a comment from the always wonderful and awe inspiring Cori sparked a memory. A fairy tale. You know they never end well right?
I was 19, spending my time in university getting drunk and playing on a ShadowRun MUSH. That last word is an acronym for Multi-User Shared Hallucination. And I met this girl. She was a wonderful girl, full of verve, exciting ideas, great role-player. So we started talking over the phone. And we both became infatuated with each other.
I've looked back at that time and I'd love to cast aspersions on why she chose me, but y'know what, I think we were both at an incredibly low point. And we clung to each other as we sank. Fortunately I also think we needed each other, and we created one helluva young woman. But I'm getting a bit ahead of myself.
So summer is coming and I've pretty much skipped out on all my finals. I'm lost in this bizarre space of complete failure and the depression that comes with it, and a euphoric high from finding this one perfect girl. And so I did what any irrationally in love teenager would rationally do. I told her I was going to come visit her for a week. My mother was aghast, her foster parent was aghast, everyone was ghasting all over the place, but y'know what, they let me go. They let me gas up my 1975 Dodge Dart, and drive half way across a continent to hook up with some puppy love crush.
And my dad said, 'Well it could be worse. They could be planning on both coming back together.'
We had a wonderful time together. We visited with her foster parents, two different sets. Spent a week at Old Orchard Beach, a wonderful resort town in Maine. And being teenagers we spent most of our time naked. My favorite memory of the place is after our second night there. We haven't come out of the hotel room for about 40 hours or so. I finally decide, despite my fear of that much water, I have to walk in the ocean. As we are heading down the stairs, an old couple a few doors down from us comes out, and the old woman points, and in a joyous voice exclaims, "Oh that must be that young couple that was making all the -noise-." She seemed genuinely happy to see young love. And I certainly wasn't embarrassed.
As we got to know each other better, biblically as well as life stories, it became apparent she had nothing to do for the summer but sit around in some little podunk town in the hills of Maine. So I invited her back to the homestead over the summer. I knew I couldn't pay for my room and board, and I knew the university was going to kick me out, so I had already arranged to go back home for a bit, maybe stay with my grandmother.
I phone home and tell my parents. And dad says, "Well it could be worse. He might've asked her to stay for longer than the summer. Hell he might've asked her to marry him."
As we made plans for our departure, I did just that. One knee on the floor board of my car, with a thirty dollar gold band, I asked my fairy tale girl to marry me. She could spend the summer and then we'd work out the arrangements for her to move to Canada permanently. There was some border problems, but eventually we made that half-continent drive back to Rejayjay. I got a job with a handyman in a little town, we stayed with Grandma, and I looked for work back in the city.
That didn't last long. We missed out computer time, and being around each other all the time was already showing out differences. But the sex was pretty damn good so we had that.
And dad said, "Well it could be worse, she could be pregnant."
I woke up one morning in my room and board place, knowing we were going to get kicked out soon, to find out my girl was with child. And I was overjoyed. Dunno how often I've mentioned this, but deep down, I really want to be married, to be with my kids, to just have that not-so-normal family life TV programmed into my brain.
And dad said, "I hope you two are always happy together."
Fast forward some. We've gotten married in a civil ceremony. Little Bear is born. I work as the casino as a dealer with very odd hours, and we live in an attic apartment downtown. I run some ShadowRun games for friends, who have been incredibly supportive. We've asked for money from family for the immigration process (I'm sure it's more now, but then it was going to cost about 2 grand) and we fight. We fight over computer time, we fight about money, we fight about going out, we fight about everything.
There are good times, don't get me wrong. But it is not good. And we both know it. She starts to have online affairs with other people, and I'm getting more and more frustrated with how horrible my life is. Oh and the folks who own the house and live below us have called social services a few times about noise.
We sit together in our bed one night, and she tells me something that destroys me, and I still remember it to this day. "I need to leave. I can't keep lying to you. I didn't love you in the beginning. I've come to care for you so much because you're an incredible person, but I don't love you." And the dashing knight of our fairy tale is defeated by the terrible dragon. Redcrosse and the three Sans right there in a dinky attic apartment.
So she took the money that was supposed to go to her immigration process and left. With the Little Bear. Who came back to her Daddy. But that's a story for another time.
Toss some more wood on the fire would you? Get the dry stuff though, this wet wood is getting too much smoke in my eyes, making them water.
I was 19, spending my time in university getting drunk and playing on a ShadowRun MUSH. That last word is an acronym for Multi-User Shared Hallucination. And I met this girl. She was a wonderful girl, full of verve, exciting ideas, great role-player. So we started talking over the phone. And we both became infatuated with each other.
I've looked back at that time and I'd love to cast aspersions on why she chose me, but y'know what, I think we were both at an incredibly low point. And we clung to each other as we sank. Fortunately I also think we needed each other, and we created one helluva young woman. But I'm getting a bit ahead of myself.
So summer is coming and I've pretty much skipped out on all my finals. I'm lost in this bizarre space of complete failure and the depression that comes with it, and a euphoric high from finding this one perfect girl. And so I did what any irrationally in love teenager would rationally do. I told her I was going to come visit her for a week. My mother was aghast, her foster parent was aghast, everyone was ghasting all over the place, but y'know what, they let me go. They let me gas up my 1975 Dodge Dart, and drive half way across a continent to hook up with some puppy love crush.
And my dad said, 'Well it could be worse. They could be planning on both coming back together.'
We had a wonderful time together. We visited with her foster parents, two different sets. Spent a week at Old Orchard Beach, a wonderful resort town in Maine. And being teenagers we spent most of our time naked. My favorite memory of the place is after our second night there. We haven't come out of the hotel room for about 40 hours or so. I finally decide, despite my fear of that much water, I have to walk in the ocean. As we are heading down the stairs, an old couple a few doors down from us comes out, and the old woman points, and in a joyous voice exclaims, "Oh that must be that young couple that was making all the -noise-." She seemed genuinely happy to see young love. And I certainly wasn't embarrassed.
As we got to know each other better, biblically as well as life stories, it became apparent she had nothing to do for the summer but sit around in some little podunk town in the hills of Maine. So I invited her back to the homestead over the summer. I knew I couldn't pay for my room and board, and I knew the university was going to kick me out, so I had already arranged to go back home for a bit, maybe stay with my grandmother.
I phone home and tell my parents. And dad says, "Well it could be worse. He might've asked her to stay for longer than the summer. Hell he might've asked her to marry him."
As we made plans for our departure, I did just that. One knee on the floor board of my car, with a thirty dollar gold band, I asked my fairy tale girl to marry me. She could spend the summer and then we'd work out the arrangements for her to move to Canada permanently. There was some border problems, but eventually we made that half-continent drive back to Rejayjay. I got a job with a handyman in a little town, we stayed with Grandma, and I looked for work back in the city.
That didn't last long. We missed out computer time, and being around each other all the time was already showing out differences. But the sex was pretty damn good so we had that.
And dad said, "Well it could be worse, she could be pregnant."
I woke up one morning in my room and board place, knowing we were going to get kicked out soon, to find out my girl was with child. And I was overjoyed. Dunno how often I've mentioned this, but deep down, I really want to be married, to be with my kids, to just have that not-so-normal family life TV programmed into my brain.
And dad said, "I hope you two are always happy together."
Fast forward some. We've gotten married in a civil ceremony. Little Bear is born. I work as the casino as a dealer with very odd hours, and we live in an attic apartment downtown. I run some ShadowRun games for friends, who have been incredibly supportive. We've asked for money from family for the immigration process (I'm sure it's more now, but then it was going to cost about 2 grand) and we fight. We fight over computer time, we fight about money, we fight about going out, we fight about everything.
There are good times, don't get me wrong. But it is not good. And we both know it. She starts to have online affairs with other people, and I'm getting more and more frustrated with how horrible my life is. Oh and the folks who own the house and live below us have called social services a few times about noise.
We sit together in our bed one night, and she tells me something that destroys me, and I still remember it to this day. "I need to leave. I can't keep lying to you. I didn't love you in the beginning. I've come to care for you so much because you're an incredible person, but I don't love you." And the dashing knight of our fairy tale is defeated by the terrible dragon. Redcrosse and the three Sans right there in a dinky attic apartment.
So she took the money that was supposed to go to her immigration process and left. With the Little Bear. Who came back to her Daddy. But that's a story for another time.
Toss some more wood on the fire would you? Get the dry stuff though, this wet wood is getting too much smoke in my eyes, making them water.
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