Coyote's Dark Sky Den

New agey bullshit 'live in the now' annoyances

2012-01-24T07:44:00.000-06:00

Come on in and grab some sammiches. The lovely love who loves me has made some wonderful french bread, fixin's are in the fridge. Make yourself at home in the den.

So I'm all for trying to make your life better. And I'm a huge fan of short snippets of info that make you smile. I love those little pics that have the cool sayings on them that populate the intarwebs and effbook and such. I do indeed like them. Except. Except those 'ignore the past, live for right now' ones. Those ones really make me annoyed.

Because y'know what, you have to carry the past with you all the time, not as baggage, but instead like a weightless library, a reference point to everything going forward. Not only that, but without considering how your actions will reverberate into the future then you're being just a wee bit irresponsible. Well actually a whole lot irresponsible.

The problem here isn't learning how to let go of the past, instead how to learn. Y'know I could throw a metric fucktonne of platitudes and cliches at you about this concept but instead I'm going to break it down into a simple formula.

Doing + Failing = Learning. Learning + Repeated Attempt = Growth. Well as long as the repeated attempt is not identical to the first attempt. Then you didn't learn. See, there is one tiny part of that equation I didn't put in there, and that is the fact that you have to, you know, remember past events, and how shit happened like it happened so you can learn from it.

And yes I know, the idea isn't to forget what you learned from the experience, but to let go of the negative emotions, but again, I have an issue with this. First off, why do we deem some emotions negative? They're all useful, they all help us contextualize our world, remember, and give structure to our own perceptions and reality. Maybe if we stopped using labels like negative or positive emotions folks might not obsess over this shit, and that is the real problem. When behavior that could help growth is stifled due to not wanting to experience these negative emotions.

Well folks, we evolved these emotions for a reason. They are a part of our social matrix and are just as valid as any other means we have to interact with the world. We need to unbunch our collective panties and stop thinking that 'feeling bad' is a bad thing. It's just a thing. A thing we developed to help our species survive. It's not the thumb, or the tools, or the intelligence that makes human beings different from other animals, it's the complexity of our social interactions that does. And even then it doesn't make us 'better' than the other critters, it just makes us different.

Survival

2012-01-17T23:02:00.000-06:00

Come on in and enjoy a respite from the cold. I have some spaghetti for you, made with some nice healthy ground turkey and lots of onion and garlic. Quite tasty. And I'd like to tell you a story.

So the Truth and Reconciliation Commission is in Saskatchewan. And at the First Nations University of Canada. Which is where I work. So I've spent some time listening to the stories being told to the commission. I'd love to say that what I heard was a beautiful thing of healing and coming to terms with the evils of genocide but that just wasn't the case.

I listened to an older man, probably one of the last generation to be put into residential schools. He talked of the hate he felt, the damage he'd done. He spoke of the guilt and pain he felt for knowing that his own hatred flowed into the world and that people in that very crowd, people he never knew, were damaged by his sons and daughters because of the hate he showed them. He talked of how he was still damaged, still causing damage, still not quite a human because of the evil he was subjected to and accepted as a part of living. I would love to be able to show you the true depth of his pain and suffering but it is his story, his life, and I doubt I could do it justice.

But here is the power of the First Nations culture. I looked into the faces around me. I watched the reactions of the people listening. The faces were not filled with pity, nor were they filled with judgment. Instead it was a mixture of understanding and determination. A kind of power of witnessing the degradation of a person, of a culture, and not seeing it as something that needed vengeance, instead something that required understanding. A kind of communal gathering of spirit and will to take part in the draining out of the infected and diseased parts of a culture and gain the knowledge required to fix it.

And then, as the lunch began, and the commission and sharing circles broke up, so did the massive clouds of pain and hurt. Instead a community formed. There was laughter, there was hugging and joking. There was love. That man who told his story sat among strangers and listened to their jokes, laughed and was a part of the whole. And that is the beginning of true healing.

What a year.

2012-01-03T23:26:00.001-06:00

Come on in, there is some turkey soup being made, I'm sure it will be done by the time we're all done here. You can have a bowl once we get through this all.

So the about this time last year I was just getting geared up to finish my last semester of my Bachelor of Arts (Honours) in English with a minor in Indigenous Studies. Today, I have that degree, and I've got a couple jobs associated with that degree. One I got last year, one I start on Thursday that is brand new. But I'm getting ahead of myself. Let's go deal with all this crap.

My New Years last year was spent by myself, playing The Force Unleashed. I think I might have had a flirty call with the ex-wife. The first one, Little Bear's mom. I then threw myself into a nearly exhausting schedule, taking two honours/grad courses, two 200 level courses, and finishing the thesis paper. Anyone ever wants to read it, well, I'm thinking about doing some more work on it, see maybe I can get that thang published. Maybe the James Joyce quarterly. That'd be sweet.

That summer I started looking for work, knowing I would be heading back to school in a year or so. No one wanted to hire me. I either wasn't a student anymore or I was too much of a student. That rejection, and the issues at my current work place were starting to wear me out. I was tired, I had drained the reservoir, so to speak, and I was heading for a crash.

I tried writing about that crash. And I couldn't do it, not without it coming across as a PSA about mental health, or something overly poetic and dramatic. I didn't want either. So it go deleted tonight. Instead I thought I'd sum up some of the things I learned in the psych ward where I spent a few weeks.

First off. Control is a problem. Particularly control of the self in relation to the world around us. I guess I should take my own advice on what the world is like. I didn't. And so between personal issues with the second ex-wife, that'd be Little Crow's mom, my perceived failure with Little Bear, the work rejections, the inability to write, oh and let's not forget the excessive drinking where I repeatedly embarrassed my friends with my behavior, I decided I would finish things. In case that's too obtuse for anyone, I decided one Tuesday morning to kill myself.

I had been hanging on to threads for so long, that when I had one fantastic weekend with my girls, I was good to go. Had a wonderfully negative email exchange with the second ex (that didn't influence the decision, just kind of confirmed it, I'd decided when I woke up) and a call to my mother, I gathered my tools of destruction and was ready to go. For the truly morbid, I had planned to inject myself with two complete vials of insulin, down half a bottle of glycon and glyburide (these help insulin work and help the body process it) while I sat on the football five man sled at my old school, and just riff on some tunes until the blood sugar was low enough to slip into a coma, and then the cardiac arrest would happen.

Instead, I didn't. I remember giving up. I remember a full and complete shrug of body/mind/soul/emotions of giving up. Next, I remember talking to a woman on the health line. The website for the number was up on my computer. The cops came, and amid glaring eyes of my ex, the tears of my daughters, they hauled me off to the General.

I like to think that the grandfathers kept me going. I gave up and they drove for a bit, let me find my soul, and get on with living again. I wrote a couple things in there. Well actually had a journal. It's filled with all kinds of crap. But there's a few good things. And one great find. Here they are.

Six Reflections

Standing across from
the five images
Variations of the same

Not one is true
all filled with lies
Fractures of the mind

Losing the self
finding no firm place
Symbols of the one

Locked by panes
with no common ground
Death of the past

A new prayer

I thank the grandfathers for the wisdom to ask for help when I had cut off all else. They gave movement
to a thought and carried it through. Without them I would die.

I thank the family and friends who give me love and hope, especially two little girls who teach me as
much as I teach them.

I thank the hard times so that the good times are so much better, and so I may learn the lessons of my
path.

I must love myself, or these gifts are wasted.

I had some great visitors. New and old. They helped because y'know what, the loony bin is just that. It's a big bin where they leave a buncha crazy people. Don't get me wrong, I'm thankful I was there, but wow, there is a whole load of hurt in that place. Once I was back to being kinda normal it was a bit painful to be in there. I spent as much time off ward as I could.

Once I was out, there was a few other trials and tribulations, but that is someone else's story to tell if they ever want to.

One of the things I read, on effbook of all places, came from a brilliant young man I had the pleasure of getting to know back during the 'Year of Troubles' at FNUniv. He posted it and I just about fell over when I read it. 'Depression is not a sign of weakness, it is a sign that you have been trying to be strong for too long.' Read that over again. If there is anything I can suggest to anyone else who reads this and might be having some mental health issues, it's that one line.

Depression is not a sign of weakness, it is a sign that you have been trying to be strong for too long.

So I got out.

And I had to deal with work. Luckily I had a medical leave, which I knew they wouldn't fire me for, but I was expecting a lay off. Which they eventually did, but I quit before they could dump my fat ass. Always go out your own way right?

Because well, I was at home for maybe three days, my mom was there, when I got a call from someone at the FNUniv. They wanted me to come down and interview for a job. My interview consisted of the person hiring me saying 'The writing center, think he can handle it?' to one of my profs, who went 'Yeah!' And thus, I was hired. Only part time but making almost as much as I did at the other job. Because well, DEGREE! Yah!

And then. Well. I decided to try to date. Or at least try. Y'know, casual, get to know a girl. So I did, and it turned into a bit of a drama llama situation. But strangely, it led to meeting someone from the past. Someone who ... Well, long story short, she's lying down in our bed right now, reading and cuddling up with Pixie. Pixie is Little Crow's cat. It happened like a flood, came in and just sank into everything, washed away a lot of the crap that was there and brought in new healthy soil for growth. I love this woman. She's incredible.

And that brings us here. To today. In a couple days I start my second job, still have the writing center gig, as a teaching assistant to a high chief at the FNUniv, where I will actually get to do some teaching. And I'm being encouraged to do so. And life, while far from perfect, and this Coyote is far from totally healed, is life. A beautiful thing full of hurt, work, joy, and wonder.

And so to you, my faithful readers who happened to stick around even though I haven't written much as of late (I hope to change this) I say, Happy New Year. I wish you all the best and worst that life can give you.

Two years gone

2011-11-29T12:50:00.001-06:00

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.

Whisper

2011-11-17T12:26:00.001-06:00

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

Such a jerk

2011-07-25T23:47:00.002-06:00

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.

FOOTBALL TIME!

2011-07-20T21:36:00.000-06:00

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.

What I know

2011-07-16T23:53:00.000-06:00

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.

Time for a prayer

2011-07-14T00:12:00.000-06:00

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.

Holding

2011-07-10T02:19:00.000-06:00

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.

Pass Interference

2011-07-06T01:40:00.000-06:00

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.

Incidental Contact

2011-07-01T21:46:00.002-06:00

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.

It's been a while

2011-06-27T03:04:00.000-06:00

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.

A while back...

2011-04-09T02:05:00.000-06:00

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.

It was the best of difference, it was the worst of difference

2011-04-08T22:12:00.001-06:00

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.

Maybe it's just me

2011-04-06T12:07:00.002-06:00

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.

In the smoke tonight

2011-03-29T23:39:00.002-06:00

Sit and listen with me.

Political Strife

2011-03-24T10:24:00.001-06:00

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.

How do you see me?

2011-03-18T02:06:00.000-06:00

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

Finally a post on bullying

2011-03-16T18:07:00.002-06:00

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.

Good bye Coach Saip

2011-03-09T15:48:00.000-06:00

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.

Really? Really.

2011-02-25T17:01:00.001-06:00

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.

Oh yeah...

2011-02-24T22:01:00.000-06:00

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.

This is my boomstick

2011-02-18T16:52:00.000-06:00

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!

Why do we still do this shit?

2011-02-17T23:44:00.001-06:00

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?

Right then

2011-02-17T11:03:00.000-06:00

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!

Fifteen years ago today

2011-02-09T16:49:00.000-06:00

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!

What the f**k?

2011-02-07T22:18:00.000-06:00

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!'

Some observations before I get back to work

2011-02-06T14:17:00.000-06:00

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.

Rant

2011-01-30T12:38:00.000-06:00

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.

Mom said to do it

2011-01-27T02:23:00.000-06:00

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?

Success and Failure

2011-01-25T02:53:00.000-06:00

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.

Sparkly Snap

2011-01-20T03:10:00.002-06:00

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.

My Fairy Tale

2011-01-20T02:00:00.002-06:00

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.

Two of the Best Lines from the Best SciFi Series EVAR!

2011-01-19T03:20:00.000-06:00

Come on in and enjoy the fire, watch it flicker and it will bring you delights.

So I love Babylon 5. I think it was quite possibly one of the best shows ever created, easily the best science fiction show created, and was the precursor to any show that used/uses a story arc longer than a few shows. Hell, the creator, who's name I can't spell, pitched it as a FIVE SEASON story arc. And it was a magnificent five seasons with a few associated TV movies.

It's treatment of the various themes it tackled was impressive and never about clear cut right and wrong. Turns out acquiring space travel doesn't make the world a better place it just makes things more complicated. Wait that's like everything we know of so far! Love the show.

And it has two of the greatest lines EVAR delivered, both by females, both filled with menace and promised violence, and both so awesome, that this blog post may be too awesome for the average viewer. So take it in steps, don't tax yourself, and if you have to ... leave the website and hit the youtubes to jack/jill off to the awesomeness seen here.

Oh so tasty, so awesome, so good. C&C out.

The craziness

2011-01-18T01:42:00.004-06:00

Come on in and enjoy the fire. Don't mind the tears, or the tears. The drops from my eyes are just the rents in my mind, soul, and body releasing themselves. But just be warned. None of what you are about to read is pleasant. (Author's note, the reading is better if you turn on the video as you read)

Y'ever lay a real beating on someone? I mean the kind where you can feel flesh and bone change shape beneath your hands, feet, teeth, and other instruments of destruction? There is an atavistic pleasure that comes from violence. There is something gut wrenching honest about in-your-face, straight up, physical destruction. I've been on the end of both, giving and receiving. And lately they've been on my mind.

I ever tell you folks about one of my favorite fights? Woulda been grade eight, many moons ago. I had this one real prick giving me the gears, thought he was tough cuz he took some martial art. Don't get me wrong folks, I'm a big fan of the various fighting forms, but let's just say I follow the 'James Brown Top Fight Academy.' I don't know Karate, but I know ca-razy.

Anyways, I was leaving school late for some reason, had a couple people waiting, including a couple girls who I had crushes on, but wouldn't give me the time of day. They liked my buddy Lee. Shit, if I was gay or a straight chick I woulda wanted Lee too. Dude's probably still gorgeous. Anyways. They're down at the street, and I'm coming out of the school, and there's this slope down to the sidewalk, and around the door is one of those industrial pipe fence things they put in school yards to let you really feel like cattle.

That's when prick boy, who I didn't see in the corner around from the door, starts in. Callin' me fat, and stupid, and a variety of other things that he knew would hurt me. And I decided to walk away. That's what I've always been taught, ignore the words, just keep walking, be the bigger man. But that's when I catch sight of the girls. They're both laughing. And that was it.

Now let me be honest here folks, when I'm just toolin' about I'm pretty clumsy. I trip over shit I can see, I constantly have cuts all over my hands from work, in general I'm kinda klutzy. But it's more carelessness than ability. The flip side to that is, when I need to, I'm the fastest, most graceful, powerful pagan beast you've ever seen. I'm capable of superhuman feats that would make your eyes pop, jaws drop, and bowels void.

So I spin, and drop my bag, and launch myself back up the hill. Prick boy is laughing at first, because he thinks that the cattle guard will keep him safe, until I do a one handed vault over it like a freakin' gymnast, and launch myself at him. He goes from laughing to all wide eyes and raised hands in fearful supplication.

One leg hooks behind his feet, and I shove, launching him back and down, before following him to the ground with a knee jack-knifed down to catch him in a sensitive place. Oh, right, I don't play by the rules when I fight. I just go for maximum damage. The knee catches his hip and I slide to the side, my hands grabbing his upper arms as my head comes forward, and I smash my forehead into his nose.

After that it gets a bit blurry. Both because I had the red mist going, and there were tears in my eyes. In case it wasn't also apparent, I cry at the drop of a hat when I let down the walls. What I do remember is me screaming 'Still wanna be funny?!' at the top of my lungs as I laid my hands into every soft part I could find. I know he rolled onto his side away from me at one point so I started laying knees into him. And it was a one sided beating folks. He never even tried to fight back. He never had a chance to. I've been told when I get full of fury I'm one of the scariest looking motherfuckers around. That fear freezes people.

So this probably didn't go on too long because the other kid walked away. Wobbly, but he was at school the next day. Two big black eyes, limping, didn't do gym. Anyways, my screaming, which was at the top of my lungs, and probably can drown out air craft, brought the teachers, three of them, who hauled me off prick boy. I'm sure I was still scary. They didn't try to detain me, they just screamed at me to go home and they'd deal with it tomorrow. I stared at the three of them between me and my victim, and stalked back down the little slope. One of the girls who was laughing, was holding my bag, and as I approached asked, 'Holy shit, how did you do that? You were ... I mean, how did you jump that fence, it's four feet high from this side.' (Aside, said girl spent that spring dry humping me in the little island in the stream in A.E. Wilson Park, so I guess I made an impression.) I just grabbed the bag and said, 'I just did.' And started stalking off. I didn't care if they followed. Because mainly I was pissed.

I was pissed because they denied me my victim. I wanted him to feel pain so bad he'd never ever talk any shit again. I was pissed because I lost control. I'm dangerous when I lose control. I know that. Out of control Coyote causes world ending floods of pain and grief. I was pissed because I hurt someone. I knew I hurt him. He didn't get up and scramble away when the teachers hauled me off him. I hoped and dreaded that an ambulance might come for him. I honestly cannot stomach real violence after the rage passes. Consider it some psychotic break in my brain, but I can dish it out but afterwards I am torn apart with sorrow for my actions. I was pissed because the girls were laughing. Who cares if they noticed me now, they were laughing before. Geez-us why did I let their laughter get to me?

The next day at school we both got hauled into the principals office. Me and my victim. My rage was gone so he was safe. But my friends had mentioned how he had been harassing me for weeks so we both got off with warnings. And prick boy decided it was much better to be Coyote's friend. We were joking about the principals name by the time we left the office.

That one's my favorite because there was no lasting bodily injuries. Well I'm sure the guy snores now, his nose was pretty damn pancaked. But I like it because I still remember most of it. Others, I don't. I don't know why I had a lot of blood on the cuffs of my jeans as me and a friend ran away from a bar late one New Years Eve. I don't remember why I've woken up after a hard nights partying to find my shirt has blood and tears all over it and my muscles are aching. I've heard stories, but I wasn't there. You might blame it on the booze, but I know it's the red mist, the rage. Disappearing inside myself to enact violence that I normally never would.

Now there is a certain insanity to admitting this but I've often said that unless we're willing to own all out mistakes we'll never get any further down our individual paths. And I'm sure some of you will read this and go 'I knew it, the guy is a psycho.' Oh well. Not much to do but to admit it. Sure. I'm a little bit outside normal. But there is a point.

The point is this, despite those mistakes, they have not repeated themselves for a long time. The rage has come but has been held in check. And right now, despite the uneven mental stability right now due to some chemical imbalances from giving up an addiction, I'm still keeping it under control. Mostly that means me hiding out in my home but it has had a few moments where it could have gone and didn't.

Yah me?

I'm just diggin' on that cosmic vibe

2011-01-11T02:08:00.004-06:00

Come on inside, the den is bundled up against all this snow, but the fire is just perfect, warmth and light that lets us sit and talk for a while, and just dig on that cosmic vibe.

I ever tell you folks I like to sing? Love it. Not that great, but y'know what's funny? There's a lot of dogma out there that is the same as the Christian phrase 'make a joyful noise.' Of course, even non-joyful noises bring something to the soul.

This is what I'm listening to now. It's a 'what if' song for me. In case I haven't mentioned it to you folks, my dad killed himself. He was an alcoholic, shot his girlfriend, shot himself. [edit] He died at the scene, his girlfriend died several days later in hospital. [edit done, thanks for info from the Sky Woman] I was six. What if he had lived? Would he be with my uncles out in that sweat lodge? I dunno. Part of why he wanted to kill himself was that expectation.

Ahh now Sarah, well a remix of 'Into the Fire.' Just vibe folks, say what comes to mind, share what's there, me I'm just going to keep going along this little path in my brain here.

The rage dumps are happening with the quitting smoking thing. I barked at a customer on Saturday. He kept saying bullshit to me while I was trying to explain something, and then called me 'Sir.' I saw red and lost it. I mean really, you wanna swear at me and then politely refer to me as sir? And it was polite. If it at least had been somewhat sarcastic I might've let it go but man did that push my button.

Remember a while back when I mentioned, the healthier I get the higher my libido goes? ... Right then, moving on.

My mom said I need to find my 'dove-y-ness.' I think I told her to sit on it and rotate. The frightening part? I'm WAY calmer than I was ten years ago. Damn how did you folks who have known me that long put up with me? Thanks.

I keep getting set off when I read the rejection of my honours thesis proposal. Don't worry folks, doesn't mean that's over or I won't graduate. Just means I gotta rework it a bit. Here's the thing. I have no desire to 'resist the dominant culture.' I'm a part of the dominant culture. I may follow Anishinabe spirituality but that doesn't mean I don't take advantage of that wonderful white bias in our culture. And my thesis, which boils down to applying my life's path to Ulysses, is not about trying to resist the dominant culture. I want to embrace it in my way. There is a real difference there. Colonization isn't all bad. I just think we all need to own up to our mistakes. And to quote the indomitable Cenobyte, be nice to each other.

Yeah I'm a romantic. If you read this and know who you are? Yeah. I am ready now to fall.

Y'know what I did the other night? I was starting to boil. The thunderheads in my brain were reaching full on force of nature destruction event. I was reworking the proposal. So I went outside. In the snow. And I stood in the street. I watched the street lights get caught in the snowflakes, refracting back bright points of light, sparkling as it laid across everything. And I breathed deep. I let that cold air flow into my body and closed my eyes, closed my ears, closed my body down, and let that cold air just flow. I opened my mind, and let the spirit of everything around me speak. I let that deep earth chatter start in my feet and flow up until my body was little more than a conduit for the universe.

It's kind of nice knowing my goal. Knowing my purpose and path. And I can see a very long way. It's nice being able to grab that spark of spirit outside of me and listen, just grasp onto the edges and watch it all unfold. The path I walk is so small yet so very big. Luckily I have good guides. The darkness is closing in, but that's alright, with large eyes I see, with keen ears I hear, and with an open heart I proceed.

G'won, say it with me.

2011-01-06T23:05:00.002-06:00

Come on into the den. The fire is low cuz the weather is just beautiful. And me I've been thinking about the whole act of white washing history.

I like that term, white washing. Because it is what is happening. The folks in power (white folks) who are ashamed of parts of their history, either ban it or edit it. And this whole Huck Finn thing is like that.

I know that's not the actual genesis of the term but that's my take on it.

So here's the thing, I've listened to a couple different interviews with the English prof who edited this new version that takes out the 'bad' words, and his intentions are sound. He wants the actual issues of the book to be taught, so why not take out the offensive bits? Seems fine. But I dunno. It just seems to ring a bit hollow for me.

Cuz here's the thing. I'm kind of sick of other people assuming that exposure to bad ideas will somehow make someone want to try them out. My take is if someone is going to think a bad idea is worth doing, chances are they were going to do a bad idea anyways. But that's not really my problem.

My problem is the word itself. What word? Naw, I'm not dancing around it. I'm just setting this little part up as a warning. I'm going to be liberally using racial slurs. If the mere use of them offends you, then step away from the blog and head on out to less controversial topics.

Nigger and Injun. Those were the two words changed. To Slave and Indian. And I just don't get it. Well I kinda do. Let me tell you a story.

My sister is a post colonial theorist. And we were at my brother's place for a party and I heard her say 'That word is just so offensive that I never want to hear it.' And I went 'What word?' 'The N-word.' 'What nigger?' THWACK! I get punched. 'Don't say it! It's a horrible dirty word!' 'Nigger is not a horrible dirty word. It's just a word. Intent has to be considered.' *THWACK!* I get punched harder. 'Don't say it around me!' 'Why?' 'Because I find it truly offensive.' 'Ok fair enough. But just to be fair here sis, I _hate_ getting punched. And I've told you that a dozen times. But I'm unclear as to why it's such an offensive word? I mean I know why but what I don't understand why it needs to be just outright removed. It's a valid term and ignoring or banning it's usage just gives it way more impact than it deserves.'

And that's kind of my point. You want the word to be understood, teach it. Say it in the proper context. Twain wasn't using the word to validate it, but instead to demonstrate the dialect of the time and place. Ignoring it doesn't make the word go away. Instead it builds up a taboo about it that can now be abused. You know you can use it as a weapon.

And I'm all for the empowerment of taking an insulting term and owning it as the marginalized group. I get that. Fag, dyke, nigga, all kinds of examples can be made to demonstrate this. What I don't get is how this suddenly means to use the term in different contexts suddenly becomes a taboo.

Other than, as is being demonstrated, to edit a horrible part of history. But folks, what goes for the individual goes for the society. You want to fix a problem, you gotta own it and make it your own. You have to be able to say aloud, 'The term nigger, used in a pejorative manner to describe black people, is an antiquated term that demonstrates past ideas of segregation and marginalization.'

You even have to be able to joke about it. You have to be able to diffuse the word's power by recognizing it for what it is, a left over from bad ideas and bad actions.

So c'mon now, say it with me. Nigger. It's a horrible word. That still requires thought and understanding. Imagine that, understanding our history, even the crappy parts.

Quitting

2011-01-05T17:54:00.000-06:00

Come on in and enjoy the fire. It's so nice out today, it's a shame I spent it vegetating in my house. Well I was also inhabiting a part of my brain where I'm writing something. I've got this super cool idea for a Shadowrun game and the characters and the story and all wonderful and stuff. Anyhow.

So I'm quitting smoking. Kinda. I want some lungs back and I think I'd like to be in shape again. Start riding the bike at the University gym for this semester see if I can stick with it. But I gotta quit the smoking. Of course I'm kinda cheating. I went back to chew, which is where I started my tobacco kick. But it allows me to keep from killing folks and breathing and eventually that will get reduced and I'll be tobacco free again.

But as a public service I thought I'd list a few things the other folks around a quitting smoker can do to ease the transition.

1) Don't ask how it's going. If they want to talk about it, cool, but for most folks, reminding them they're quitting generally makes it worse. Part of it is getting rid of the habit. Cigarettes are both physically addicting and habit forming.

2) Speaking of the addiction, nicotine is one of the hardest things to kick in the world. Don't remind us how good we're going to feel because the DTs right now feel like fucking hell. If you've quit anything physically addicting before you know this.

3) When the mood swings hit, just leave. Trust me. Trying to make it better, trying to point it out, or any other action is just going to go wrong. WAY wrong. Walk away.

4) The money thing. We don't care. We're addicted. Shaddup about the money thing. Heroin addicts kill people for fucking nickles to get their drugs, don't remind us we're just as bad, if not worse, because the money thing? Yeah, it's not the issue.

5) Ask how you can support. Reasonable requests should be done. Unreasonable ones should be checked with appropriate authorities and considered. :)

6) If you're a former smoker, and you're one of those holier than thou motherfuckers who want everyone to quit like you did, stay far away from quitting smokers. We hated your attitude before, and any sanctimonious comments you make now will be justifiable homicide. I've got case files to prove it.

7) If you're a former smoker and you're one of those people that are cool with others smoking while you don't, stick around. We quitters like you and want to emulate you. You understand that quitting is a very personal thing and your support is awesome.

8) Before you say anything that you think is supportive of a quitting smoker, consider how it can be taken the wrong way. If you find just one way it can be taken wrong, don't say it. Physical injury will follow.

9) Remember above all else, this person is quitting a harsh damn addiction. And smokers are openly discriminated against. Yet other addictions are given all the support in the world. Remember that. If alcoholism is a disease, then so is smoking. Treat it accordingly.

10) If the person fails, don't do that 'Aw, you didn't make it,' or any other negative comments. They are down enough as is for failing to quit. Just leave it be and be cool. If they really want to quit, they will. If not, they won't. Got it?

Hope these suggestions are helpful for any other folks dealing with folks who are kicking the smoking habit. If not, well. G'head, say something. I dare you. I need to vent some rage anyways.

It's a new (Calander) Year.

2011-01-03T10:21:00.002-06:00

Come on in and grab a seat near the fire. It's a beautiful day, it's a fun time, and in general, life is pretty good.

So I gotta brag a bit. I got a buncha new stuff. A new 40" 1080p 120mHz LCD TV for a great deal. It's a Samsung. It's pretty. It unfortunately confirms my general consumerism. Cuz I also bought some Wii games to enjoy on the big TV. The two Force Unleashed games because they were on sale. As a side note, I'm a bad ass Sith. I kicked Darth Vader and the Emperor's ass. Oh and Access Communication was offering free cable packages with the rental of an HD/PVR. HD TV is kinda awesome.

I also got a spanky new desk. It's cherrywood with a glass top and all kinds of pretty. And a filing cabinet. And other stuff for the desk. OH OH! And my cybertree!! It's a floor lamp with five individual lamps that have those totally awesome pose-able metal arms with five colourful flower lights and it's my cybertree. My cybertree is awesome.

Anyways, the best part of Christmas was how much time I got to spend with my girls and such. It's totally sweet. The Bear and Crow were lotsa fun, in fact they're over today and we're having ourselves a fun time. :)

Oh and my Brother had a baby. A beautiful little girl who is huge! She was a bit overdue, and was over 8 lbs. Full head of hair, very vocal and active, and was on the breast in moments. One gorgeous new member of the family, born on Boxing Day.

So how was your holiday? Anything interesting?

My Christmas Prayer

2010-12-26T01:33:00.001-06:00

Come sit around the fire and enjoy some cabbage rolls. I made them for the potluck this year. Used Gramma/Mom's recipe and as evidenced by the large empty crock pot, they were pretty well received. Don't worry though, I made a massive amount and have extras.

And before we break this bread amongst friends I offer this prayer.

I thank the grandfathers for what they provide, from the ground we find beneath the fresh snow, to the knowledge we now share from the beginning of time. I offer them a sacrifice of myself to honour their spirit.

I honour the spirits of joy, the gifts of the soul, and the selflessness that is the heart of this time. No matter your background, your spiritual belief, your religion, we all keep this time together to recognize the promise of life through death.

I say a blessing to my family and friends, those that already know my love, but even more so I make a promise of generosity to those I do not know, to those who may not know that even those without a personal stake care for them simply because they exist.

I extend my love to all those members of my world who may not always be seen, who may not even have been human. I honour their individual nations, and give thanks to the sacrifices they have made so my feeble existence may continue.

And to you who may read, I love you.

Time for the Happy Music!

2010-12-07T21:57:00.001-06:00

Come on in, and sit down. One of the horrible parts of getting older is that the people you looked up to, the folks who helped shape your life start to die. And this is one of those moments.

Unfortunately I didn't find out until now, but apparently one of my favorite teachers from high school passed away in July. Ms. Brenda McAlpine was one of those crazy teachers they make movies about. Someone who inspires their students to bigger and better things, and she always gave everything she possible could. Her students are in the thousands and I doubt there's a single one who doesn't love and respect what she taught.

What I remember most about her was the intense belief she inspired in the people around her. She just wouldn't say no, or never, or can't. Instead she would push everyone through her own belief in them to be that much better.

I ran into her when I was working at the Casino after my first daughter was born. She was still teaching at Martin, and had a class that essentially boiled down to a life skills class for kids that were in trouble, or danger of getting kicked out of school. She invited me as a former student who didn't have an easy life to come talk to the kids. I was thrilled to be invited and went. Mostly because I truly loved Ms. McAlpine as a teacher, but also because she wanted me to, and if Brenda wanted me to, damn straight I would.

So I go. And spend an hour getting questions tossed at me and talking honestly with these kids. About what turned my life around about the goals I had, where I was working and mainly speaking about the idea that your life is never over, you always have a chance to come back. And it was awesome. But the lesson wasn't over.

After the class, Ms. McAlpine asked me what my plans for my life was. I was pretty tapped out at that point, figured, work at the casino, enjoy my married life and raise kids. She said 'I always thought you would've made a good lawyer. I'm surprised you didn't do well in school.' And that was the seed that started the thought of going back to school. Because if Ms. McAlpine thought I would do good then damn straight I would.

She was going to be one of the people from my life, there's a long list of them, who I was going to phone or find after I graduated next semester to say thank you. To thank them for believing I could do it. And now. Well I guess a prayer for her will have to get those words to her. So in advance, thank you Ms. McAlpine.

Now talent? This was one gifted woman. She took the rock quartet arrangement for Little Shop of Horrors, and made a full band arrangement. We were the Skid Row Orchestra. And we were allowed to shout up at the stage, and make comments, and help get the crowd into the show. And during one performance, before this real bouncy happy song I shout out, 'It's Time for the Happy Music!' and the whole orchestra loses it, the cast lose it, and the crowd starts howling with laughter, almost falling over themselves with the hilarity. And after the performance, Ms. McAlpine says, 'That was great Rich. Never do it again!' Not just because it disrupted the show for about 5 minutes, because no one in the Skid Row Orchestra could get enough breath to play our instruments, but because it would never be as spontaneous or perfect as it was that moment. She recognized the beauty of that one shining moment and wanted it to stand on its own.

So to pay tribute to that genius, I give you some music from that fantastic musical.

Oh what a feelin'

2010-12-02T01:00:00.000-06:00

Come on inside, I'm just working on a paper and in a fit of impromptu frustration I've decided to ditch out of work for a few minutes and write this little rant.

I love my kids. My Little Bear and Little Crow are the most important things to me and make every day just that much better. They are so incredible, just looking at pictures of them as they grow up makes my heart swell and I can be reduced to tears by happy memories.

And then comes this little worm of guilt. This little horrible dark stain that seems to want to intrude on a lot of my life at times. Sometimes it likes to peek out and help make things seem more detached than they should be and it gets me angry. Because really, the only reaction I have to negativity seems to be anger. I'm good at it, and it can masquerade as righteous indignation, as moral outrage, or as justified defense of those I love, but what it comes down is being a generally ornery person.

And the one person I'm usually angry with is myself. Because I'm the asshole that has created the situations that mean I can't be with my girls all the time. I'm the one that has made it so they can't be together and grow up as sisters under the same roof. I'm the asshole that has cost myself love and happiness with a family that is all together and united. Because I'm a generally ornery person.

Now I'm not saying I should or could change. I mean sure, from what I used to be I'm a pretty mellow guy, but I can still fly off the handle at a moments notice. Like the experience with wannabe tough biker dude. But that's a story for another day. And it's not to say that the anger hasn't been useful at times. I make a great person to have on your side when someone is trying to screw you over. Once I get rolling, very few things stop me from getting what I want. Unless what I want is a healthy long term relationship and a life where my girls grow up together. That I pretty much have fucked up, cuz I'm a generally ornery person.

I think I'm making progress. I mean, sure I still get angry, but I'm able to hold it in check and release it in adequate ways, like writing, or video games, or singing, or ... welll shit, there's no one to have some hard angry sex with so that one isn't an option. Probably because I'm a generally ornery person.

I don't think I ever had a point with this, and really, it may come across as a little whiney but I prefer to see it as self-exploration. I'm happy I can at least say to myself, 'You stupid fuck, look what you did. Dummy up!'

For Gramma

2010-11-29T12:38:00.000-06:00

Come on in and watch the fire, thought I'd share one of my Gramma's favorite singers with y'all.

This first one was her favorite. I love Don Williams as well, and can't help but think of Gramma and Granpa when I hear this song.

And this ... this is just one fantastic song for everyone today.

That's one thing about Gramma, she was always thankful. She had the thunder and the rain, and all she ever wanted was that one good day. She certainly gave us lots.

One year ago

2010-11-29T09:39:00.001-06:00

Come on in and grab a seat, don't mind me I'm just talking with a loved one. Yeah, that shadow right there that keeps shaking her hips.

It's one year ago today that she passed. And while the world could be said to become a little less rich for some people, those same people are the ones who will carry forward the beauty and strength that was my Gramma. And so to celebrate the wonderful woman that she was, again, this day I will share a story or two about who she was. And anyone who reads, I invite you to share one you might have of her.

I ever tell you folks it was because of her that I was able to get my Little Bear back and keep her? I mean sure, I did all the fighting and legal stuff, but the practicality of it was that I worked a job with weird hours, and LB wasn't quite 18 months so couldn't get into any daycares. So she came into town and stayed with me for the while I needed her to so I didn't have to worry about it. And because of that Little Bear and Gramma became very close very fast. And it's a bond that's important to this day.

LB comes up to me the other day and says 'Can I skip school on Monday?' and I asked why and she explained the anniversary and I asked her to think about her Granny and what she might have done. Last night LB said to me, 'I'm going to school and in choir I'm going to sing my best, my loudest, and every single note I'm going to dedicate to Granny. I'm going to be happy she's still with me.' She floored me with that last line.

After that initial stay with us to get LB to 18 months, Granny would come in every month or so for a week and hang out with LB. She would make her 'Special Granny Mac'n'Cheese' which was Amber's favorite lunchtime meal, and Granny made it somehow that was just a little different and tasted perfect. She never did share that sooper sekrit one with me so if anyone knows?

Anyways, those weeks, LB would rush home to play snakes'n'ladders with Granny, and later learned how to play Cribbage. Little Bear loved and cherished every single moment she got to spend with Granny, and I'm sure if it were ever an option, the only person she might live with beside her Dad would be Granny.

Part of that was just that LB loves to love her family, but most of it was that Granny loved her great grand children, loved that she had created this legacy and got to enjoy it and love it and teach it. And that love was something that just flowed from her.

By the time Little Crow was born, Granny was pretty wizened, and LC would have been about 2 or so, and of course had that first initial reaction of 'Whoa old!' But then, she crawled into Granny's lap and while my youngest isn't the cuddliest girl some times, she just curled up and snuggled into Granny. Was one of the strangest reactions I've ever seen a kid go through.

So today, if you don't feel like sharing a story, or you didn't know my Gramma, I want you to do something for me, and for her. I want you to love someone. I want you to show that love with such intensity all they can do is just enjoy it. I want you to let that love guide you to actions that solidify that love you're showing. And I want you to take one moment to just hug them, and say 'You're important to me and I love you.' Just to make sure they know. Because these are all things my Gramma did in her life.

UFC 123 Thoughts

2010-11-22T12:30:00.001-06:00

Come on in and watch the shadows fight... got some nice chicken soup to enjoy.

So I am a fan of martial arts, and mixed martial arts as s sport and having watched the last PPV I'm a little dismayed at the response to a few of the fights. Particularly the main event. I'm unsure what people want or think or if in the end the only idea is to continue to make controversy rather than adequately report on the event. Either way quite a few of the MMA media sites I go to are all up in arms about Machida losing a split decision. And there are a few other points I'd like to go over.

First off, let me explain something to Mike Goldburg and Joe Rogan, the two colour commentators for the UFC. Your job should not be to continue to hype the fights once the PPV is bought. I mean, seriously guys, if I'm watching, I've bought it, provide some insight or some interesting things on the techniques being used. To continue to sell the fight just makes you seem cheap and whorish. Still better than Strikeforce's commentators. But not much. I think our refrain when it's all the guys together to watch is something along the lines of 'STFU Joe!'

If anyone thinks that because Blow Job Penn knocked out an aging Matt Hughes, someone who has not fought a quality WW since his fight with GSP, somehow proves Penn deserves another run at the title, let me correct that thought. Hughes is susceptible to big strikes because he doesn't know how to move his head. Penn came out, caught one, and then set up the big right, and Hughes did nothing to defend it. If it's true that Penn is going to fight Fitch next, we'll all see how unlikely it is for Penn to make a title run.

Now let's look at the main event. It was slow. Jackson has knockout power, especially when it comes to counter punching, and Machida is an avoidance fighter who counter strikes when opponents get over extended chasing him. I don't know why anyone thought this would be a big exciting fight because for both fighters, they rely on the other fighter for their style to work and in this case, neither one sets the other off nicely. Jackson's style works best against brawlers, as evident in his crushing knock outs of Liddel and Silva. Jackson himself is not a balls out brawler. He prefers to take a few shots and then unload when opponents are startled that he's still standing, and have their guards wide open after throwing a series of blows. Dude is tough. Machida on the other hand requires a fighter to come at him. He is the least engaging of fighters out there. He dances away continually, waiting for his opponent to tire or expose themselves and then he strikes. So right there, bad bad style match up. There was no way this fight was going to not go to the judges.

Now let's look at the complaints as to why people think the judging fucked up the decision. Lots of folks feel that since the only significant portion of the fight occurred in the third when Machida did indeed dominate Jackson with a flurry of blows, followed by a take down and mount, he should have won the fight. Some others point to Fight Metric's analysis of the fight, that Machida landed more significant strikes in round one and two, and that their score cards show either a draw by ten point must or a win by Machida for being more effective.

Normally I'm a big fan of Fight Metrics but I'm going to have to disagree with their win for Machida because A) The judging is on a ten point must system, and B) scoring a round a draw should only happen if NONE of the criteria for judging is viewed as being in favour for either fighter. What are those criteria you ask? Effective striking and grappling, aggression, and octagon control. Those are the standards they are given and what they must score the fight on.

So the first round folks agree was Jackson's, and the third everyone agrees was Machida's so let's focus on that tricky second round, which FM says is a draw, and some folks are crying for Machida to have won, and one judge did award to him. According to FM, of the five categories they track for striking, three went to Rampage, with the biggest difference coming in the total strikes. As far as significant strikes? Machida had one more than Rampage, but total strikes? WOW, 28 to 11 for Jackson. That's a lot more activity. Of course, let's be honest, in a five minute round, a total of 39 strikes thrown by both fighters is pretty fucking tame, and striking could almost be seen as non-existent. So let's look at the grappling. Oh wait. There wasn't any. There was one clinch attempted by each fighter, and only Jackson succeeded in his. So effective striking and grappling could be fairly muddy to determine. So what does that leave us? Aggression and octagon control. Having watched the fight, Machida was backing up a lot, Jackson was keeping the center of the ring and dictating Machida's movements, and for the most part, Jackson was the aggressor. I mean c'mon 28 to 11 strikes total? Cut me loose here folks, aggression, as little as there was, was in favour of Jackson. The appearance through most of the fight was that Jackson was stalking down Machida and Machida was continually dancing away. So yeah I woulda scored the round for Jackson myself.

The point here is that if your style requires you to continually back up, dance away, and wait for the other fighter to engage, guess what chumly? You're gonna lose a lot of decisions once people figure out how to take advantage of that. And why by garsh, someone did. As well it's utterly hilarious, that these same people who are bitching for a draw are the same folks who bitched when Cecil Peoples, the dumbest MMA judge on the planet, said that Machida dictated the first fight against Rua because he backed away. He just ignored aggression. Let's have some continuity people.

One of the funny things about youth ...

2010-11-18T02:14:00.000-06:00

Come on in and grab some celery, good tasty snack. The fire is really stoked up and the skins down, that wind is getting to be a real killer out there.

So I guess most of us in this little story would've been 18 or there abouts. And we decided to be 'adult' and start a weekly poker game because someone found a copy of Hoyle's card games. Yeah we were nerds even back then.

And there we are all talkin', and four of us had recently started dating regularly and well, young men being young men, and having regular sex, suddenly a few folks started bragging.

2 sez, "So I'm the god of two!"

I sez, "How you figure?"

2 sez, "Well last night, we did it twice!"

3 sez, "Oh whatever, that makes me the god of three then."

6 sez, "Then I'm the god of six, because we did it six times last night!"

I start to laugh, "Well I'm happy with the once I did it last night. 'Course, that's all I needed to satisfy her."

Ahhh youth. And me being a complete asshole. :)

A video lesson in why it's a bad idea to act like an ass hat before a fight

2010-11-16T13:05:00.002-06:00

I've certainly had a busy fire these past couple of days. Stare in it again and find out why acting like a cocky SOB can backfire on you.

Not that I condone the assault of a ref or the continued beating of a downed opponent, but c'mon, did you see the way he was acting? It was kinda like when Perez Hilton got his red carpet right hook. Sure, no one should be assaulted, but sometimes they still deserve it.

Another nice one

2010-11-16T00:30:00.000-06:00

Come on in and watch the fire. I'm not sure how many out there know about Joshua Radin, he's a buddy of Zach Braff's and this song was featured on an episode of Scrubs, so maybe a few of you have heard it. But I love the song.

And I'll take the blue ones every time too.

Time and tides

2010-11-09T01:43:00.000-06:00

Come on and grab a bit of food, we've got some left over pizza, and some tasty Royal Gala apples. I sure do love the taste of those apples. I thought I might pontificate a bit on the nature of teenagers and my experience with my Little Bear.

I love my Little Bear. She's one talented girl, very caring and wonderful. She's funny, charming, beautiful. I don't doubt that I couldn't have gotten any luckier than I have to be able to raise such a fine young lady. Of course, the Little Crow is turning into another pure miracle, so maybe I'm doing something right. Probably just finding the right chick to knock up. Ha ha.

And that's why these teenage years or so frustrating. Because on one hand I totally understand the reasons for what she's doing, why she's acting the way she is, and why it is necessary. Doesn't make it any easier to deal with the emotional aspect. In fact it almost makes it worse.

I understand that she is testing the limits of who she is and what she wants to be. I know that she is attempting to redefine herself amongst her world, her peer group, herself. She is taking those first steps to be a lone individual who will stand on her own. And I like that, I want her to learn all the things she needs to so she can be that incredible woman I know she will be.

The flip side of that is the petulance. The distrust. The view that somehow, by my mere existence, I am somehow holding her back, or unfairly restricting her ability to be who she is. Which is kinda funny since I don't put those kind of restrictions on her. In fact, she's rather free to do what she wants, as long as she fulfills her obligations. I advise, but I don't lay out what she can and can't do, she has the freedom to do her chores in a fashion she feels is best, so on and so forth.

And for the most part, she's actually pretty good at making those decisions. I'm very proud of her and she knows it. But let me be honest here folks. There are times when I've got the most delicious desire to club her like a baby seal. I tell you there is this pose she strikes, and this look in her eyes she gets, when I ask a rather benign question like 'So what was with that status update?' or 'What are you and your twinaroo doing tonight?' And it's like a switch, POW, she's off into justification mode. So I calmly listen to her berate me about what is 'really' going on and how I don't understand, and then I nod and explain, 'Just curious, I'm not saying you were wrong, just wanting to know what's going on.' And rather than a, 'sorry for flying off the handle,' I get, 'Yeah well...'

Lotsa fun with a teenager. Don't get me wrong, this isn't a lament, I'm not troubled by this. Well that's not entirely true. My kidlet can be a little hurtful in the way she treats good old dad, but the fact is I'm proud of her and her Independence because that's the kind of daughter I was hoping to raise. A strong, capable person, who is comfortable taking care of herself. It's kinda cool.

'Course, I still get the urge to kick her ass so hard she poops shoe leather for a week.

The payoff

2010-11-04T13:26:00.002-06:00

Come on in, the den is a bit chaotic, it's a busy day today. Grab some garlic sausage and mini dill pickles and pull up a stump.

So I had trouble sleeping and I decided to ramble on about the price of football, and it was significantly personal, but it also made it sound rather dark and foreboding. And that should really be explained. You see football is just like anything else, and what it comes down to is the equation of what you put in is what you get out. And more than that, the payoff is huge. Bigger than it should be really.

Part of that is the team. That concept that allows you to understand how important it is that working together creates results that are far beyond the combined efforts of individuals. It magnifies itself. It's a gestalt. Love that word, go look it up. And the payoffs, for me personally were huge.

I went into high school a very out of shape, terrified grade nine student, and when I graduated, I felt confident and capable. I learned to trust myself and the people with me. I have repeatedly said, and will continue to say it, that without the experience of football, with the way my life had been heading, I would be in jail, dead, or both. So here is the payoff.

The payoff is the ability to expect more than you thought you could do from yourself. Football is a very physically and mentally demanding sport, and at times it may seem like more than an one person can do. But that's just it, the team can elevate you. But as an individual you are called upon to do things you never thought possible, and that realization, that expectation of better than you were before will find its way into other parts of your life and drive you to do better each time.

The payoff is the concept of team over self, where self is still responsible for themselves yet the welfare is about the team. Something I often coach is the reality that in football, when you screw up, you miss a block, you drop a pass, you miss a throw, you blow a tackle, you lose coverage, it is very rarely the individual who made the mistake who pays for that mistake. There is a give and take within football that requires the team to be one large cohesive unit that supports and drives one another to bigger and better things. It is both micro and macro in its application. Miss a pass block, the quarterback gets hurt, not you. The offense doesn't control the ball and put points on the board, the defense is tired and on the field too long. If the defense is unable to shut down the opposing teams offense, the offense has less time to try to score and must play a more desperate game to catch back up. To win, both sides have to do their job, to do their job each unit has to do their jobs, and in each unit for each of those jobs to be effective every single individual has to do their job right. I could ramble on endlessly about all the little examples but I'm hoping you get the point.

The payoff is the respect for opposition. Learning that you don't want to win at all costs, you don't want to belittle your opponent, you want to respect and challenge yourself. You can't do that if you think too little or too much of your opponent. You must see them as an equal and be willing to win or lose, but even more than that, you have to be willing to lay everything you can on the field. What respect do you show an opponent when you play soft? When you play cheap? You must see your opponent in the same light you wish to be seen. There is no animosity, instead a respect born of mutual challenge.

The payoff is the family. The people you play football with will forever be attached to you. I run into past team mates and it's like they're old friends or long lost cousins. We are genuinely interested in each other's success and what we've been doing. We ask after our kids, we share funny moments, and we talk football. We may have nothing in common beyond that shared sport but it is enough to create a bond due to the intensity of the sport.

The payoff is the control. The body control, the mental control, the emotional control. You learn quickly on a football field that without an incredible amount of discipline you will not succeed. You need to know exactly how to use your body, exactly what to do and the techniques involved, you must never let your emotions get the better of you, and that sometimes your mind gets in the way, and to let it wander while your body, that knows what to do due to hundreds of hours of practice, goes to work. This isn't about tightly weaving yourself into an automaton, but instead to find the control through careful practice and release. Zen if you will.

The payoff is the release. The emotions involved in football are intensified because of the seriousness, the potential for bodily harm, the investment of every single player, coach, parent, fan, and official. You think the officials aren't invested? How much vitriol gets spewed their way? They care too. But the release of that emotion. Be able to release it and understand even outside of football it is acceptable to release it. You will scream for joy, for triumph, you will worry, panic, stress yourself out. You will cry. You WILL cry. And it is something that is perfectly allowed first inside, then outside of the sport.

The payoff is undefinable. Even without a championship, you will find yourself reflecting on life, on where you are, and what you do, and why you do it. And some little piece of something said somewhere on the field will come back and you'll smile. You won't always know where it will come from but it will help define you. For good or ill you will forever remember those team mates, those games, those moments, those joys, those pains, and know it was all worth it.

Why do I share this? So you know that even with a price that will forever affect you, the payoff is just as great, if not greater, than the price. So you understand why parents enroll their kids in football, encourage them to risk their bodies and health, why the parents put up with all the time, why the coaches spend not just the time in practice and games, but hours upon hours working on strategies and plays. The payoff will always be reaped.

Late night ramblings

2010-11-04T02:26:00.000-06:00

So here we are in the den. It's dark out, darker than normal. The shadows are very playful, even the big mean ones. And I can't sleep. Sometimes it happens. Well it happens a lot actually, but usually I just read through it. Sometimes that works, most times really. Right now I'm all antsy and my tummy is upset.

So in case it wasn't painfully obvious from a bunch of other places, I love football. A LOT. It is easily one of my biggest passions and something that continues to fascinate and enthral me after all these years. I love the game, and will most likely continue to coach and participate in it for years and years. Probably until they cart my body off to the nearest medical school to be hacked up by medical students.

And I want all of you to consider having your child play football. Kinda. I read an interesting article by Chris Schultz on the TSN website when he talks about how he feels when parents ask him if their kids should play football, and he's pretty honest about it. I rather liked what he had to say. It's very true that football comes with a very heavy price. But he's somewhat short on what that price is beyond the physical, mostly because he was speaking very specifically to the violence he witnessed in that week of football.

And trust me I understand that price. I have:
1) Two completely fucked up knees that make all kinds of interesting noises, the right one more so than the left. The right will also swell up to roughly cantaloupe size when the weather changes.
2) A shattered elbow that never healed correctly. It was literally shattered, but because of how physically built I was it held together but now under x-rays looks something like a school of blow fish.
3) A blown out set of tendons in my right ankle. It was my usual starting foot and took the majority of punishment on initial contact. It creaks audible.
4) Very messed up nasal passages. Bone crunching hits in my second year with a helmet that didn't fit properly caused broken noses. A lot.
5) Last and certainly not least, over a dozen medically recorded concussions, two of which were serious enough to require medical supervision, and which research has now made a tentative link to my depression.

This is not to mention the litany of injuries I've witnessed. Some I caused, some I watched happen, and some I still get queasy about when I remember them. That guy who I knocked out? Guh. That one still makes me feel bad.

But he didn't talk about the price you pay for failure. For those times you still come up short. The moments when you doubt yourself because you thought you did everything you could and you still didn't win, and for the rest of your life you think about it and wonder what else you could have given. The nights when you're thirty five and thinking about that city final game when you shattered that right elbow in the first series of the game, and then had it taped up and played out the rest, and wonder if that might have made your performance worse, and even with that sacrifice of your body that you're still paying for you didn't win, and was it worth it?

He didn't talk about the drive that comes from wanting perfection and never getting it. That perfection that other people can't even imagine but you can see it, you can feel/taste/smell/hear it and know exactly what has to happen but you always come up a little shy. How that desire for perfection seeps into the rest of your life and hounds you to do things no one else will for that exact reason. You will step up, you will take the hit, and you will like it just because it's nice to be known as that unstoppable guy.

And he didn't tell about the vanity. The pride that comes from being a part of a true team, of having brothers who are a part of your heart and will never ever leave you. How you remember those you fought with in the trenches, in the open field, in the end zone, and how when you meet them all you can talk about is football, past/present/future and how it pulls at you still.

He doesn't talk about how no one who is a true football player ever gives up the game voluntarily. Sure, guys say they retire, and it is made to seem as their choice, but it is usually a forced issue, one where it is one thing or the other and no matter what you say, you would always give up just about anything to strap on those pads one more time and head out onto the gridiron and test yourself against the very best you could. You can close your eyes and still remember the first time it took hold of you and your entire body bent itself to become the best football player you could be and how you will never give up that goal, even after twenty years, it still drives you. You want it more than a junkie wants his fix, more than new lovers want to sink their desires in each other, more than a mother wants to see their newborn's face.

Why do I tell you all this? So maybe you'll think of those of us who still talk of our glory days as more than an Al Bundy joke. So maybe those of you with children who will wish to play football can properly council them on what they're getting into. So maybe when you see me out there coaching a new generation of football players you'll understand why I seem so harsh, why all us coaches seem so harsh. And finally, when you see us passionate about it, when you see us give up so much of ourselves for it, you will understand why we have that passion and why we are willing to give up so much.

Idiots

2010-11-02T16:41:00.000-06:00

Come on in and grab a stump, time fer some rantin'! Oh here's some Pc Greek Flavoured potato chips too. Tasty!

Alright, now I'm pretty sure very few young people (Teenagers) read this blog, but that doesn't mean you don't know some teenagers. Also there is another aspect of this that I want to talk about that is related. But let's get right to the meat of the issue.

So being a good parent I look over (spy) on my kid's effbook page. And I click on the pictures that her friends put up and I check them out from my page. Meaning they are not my friends on effbook but I can view their entire album. And what do I find in these albums? In almost every single case I looked into, I found pictures of underage drinking, with a whole fucking page of comments that all translate to this idiotic statement: 'Dooood, I was so wasted that time!'

Why do I know it's an idiotic statement? Because I've said it. Anyways. All of you may be saying to yourself now, 'Why does Coyote give a shit about underage drinking? I'm pretty sure he was drinking fairly young.'

And you would be right. I was. I was getting into bars at about the age said daughter is now. Which is 14. But here's the difference. I DIDN'T PUBLICIZE IT! Admittedly, we didn't have the tech then that we do now to instantly publicize yourself, but it's not like I had t-shirts made up to proclaim my underage drinking, nor did I brag about it in front of teachers, or coaches, or parents.

Which is WHAT YOU'RE DOING WHEN YOU POST THAT SHIT ON FACEBOOK!!! You are essentially bragging in front of a bunch of people, some of whom may actually be a cop, that you're engaging in illegal activity. and it's not really you that will pay, it'll be your parents or the owners of the house where you got wasted.

Let me explain the deal here so you fuckers won't ruin it for the next generation. There is an agreement, that we all know the teens are going to drink, and so we as adults let it slide as long as other precautions, like asking for a ride, or a safe place to sleep, are observed. We're down with that. And the cops are down with that too, they'd rather let the parents handle their drunk stupid kids. But when you make that shit PUBLIC then they're going to have to come down on you. So knock it off you fucking morons!

And that's not to mention the whole 'memory of the Internet.' Don't know what that is? Essentially it's the theory that anything put on the Internet will remain there forever. It will always be there, always accessible. do you know what that means? It means if the job market again turns into the scary dog eat dog of the '90s, the people who hire for the really big jobs will have people on staff who will dig up this shit. How will that go, sitting there, third interview, thinking 'Yah, got me a killer job!' and BLAM! There is a picture of you 14, with a bunch of comments underneath about how you got drunk, so drunk you made out with some one, and you woke up without your panties and OH HOW FUN IT WAS! Get it? That shit follows you. It's not fair but it is what happens.

Speaking of Internet memory. All you fuckers that go everywhere with your camera and take pictures at the bar? Knock it the fuck off. Ok? Not everything needs to be recorded. Sometimes it's fun to be able to tell the story without a damn pictographic essay. And if you REALLY need to keep the damn camera going, or are one of those assholes who can't stop pulling out the camera on your phone, do two things out of consideration and respect for other people. A) Ask the people you are photographing if it is alright. B) Try to situate your pictures so you don't have a bunch of people in the background who DID NOT give you permission to take their picture. It's just a matter of respect people.

Craziness, judicial style!

2010-11-01T17:11:00.001-06:00

Come on in and enjoy the fire. Brought some eggs with me today, and some green onions and turkey and plan on making up some really tasty scrambled eggs, how many you want? Two, three?

So a friend of mine did one of his 'I'm busy talk about these subjects' posts. And we weighed in and of course, when the talk is of justice, I tend to go my own way compared to a lot of folks. It's because I have a hard time seeing the point of what we do now and how it is of any help or use to society in general. Anyways, go check out that post, come back here, your eggs will be ready by then, and we'll dive into this idea of my perfect 'jail.' So to speak.

First off there are a lot of different styles of justice. Right now in Canada we use a mixture of punitive and corrective justice. The idea's when mixed are kind of strange and send mixed signals and for the most part, I don't find that either really works. The reason they don't work is not because they are necessarily wrong, or completely ineffective but because they are completely removed from the events which caused the incarceration.

So if they don't work because of their separation, what do I advocate? Restorative justice. What exactly is restorative justice? Justice based on the ideal that the individual who committed the crime must now restore what was taken or fix the issues created by the crime. It means direct involvement by the criminal to actively understand and face the issues created by their crime.

There's a lot more details to work out but here's how my 'ideal' jail would work. First off, it wouldn't be a jail, it would not be some place just to incarcerate individuals as punishment. I'm sure we can mostly agree that punitive justice doesn't work for the most part. I would rather have a remote compound that was set up more like a university. But that's getting ahead of the overall concept so let's take a step back.

First off, the trial process, that makes sense. But I think as part of the sentencing I would incorporate a much further application of victim's impact and I would make the victims an active part of the process, where they could speak to the complete nature of how the crime affected them, and would have a hand in setting certain marker posts that would make them feel that the crime was made up for. Those limits are not necessarily monetary, but wouldn't preclude them.

But the biggest part of this would be multiple encounters that would make the criminal fully understand and face the impact of the crime in an ongoing and comprehensive way. To fully participate in this idea you have to understand what you did and how far reaching the effects of crime can be. And then actively come up with ways in which you can attempt to rectify the situation.

So here's the deal, the person is guilty of their crime, and they face their victim(s) and are sent off to this complex that is fairly remote. And the length of their sentence is 'until they feel comfortable back in society.'

And here is where I get all the 'whuuuuuuuaaaaaaat's? Yeah, different right? OK let me explain this part.

You have to participate in the standard assessments of skills and abilities as well as profiles in both medical and mental health, as well as stay long enough for on going meetings with the victim(s) of the crime. After that you are given a space in the complex to sleep and are given any opportunity you have to help yourself with the same programs available to the general public. Obviously there will be suggestions for future endeavors and counselling but the main thing here is to explore yourself and your situation and how you got to be where you are.

The place will have a basic farm where they will explore different complimentary growing methods, and different workshops to keep the farm running as well as teach those skills, and everyone will receive a taxable wage for the work they are performing. They will be expected to pay room and board from their wages, and in general the only real difference between being at the complex, and being out in the 'normal' world will be the general remoteness and the availability of counselling opportunities so the individual can come to terms with themselves and learn to fix the problems they create. This is of course including dealing with continual sessions with the victim to ensure that the situation is restored.

You can leave at anytime. With the understanding that continued violation of other people's rights will result in your being shipped off to an island up north to help solidify Canada's claim on it. this should not be viewed as a threat to you, it is more an aspect of society protecting itself from those that choose to not play well with others.

That's my crazy perfect jail, in a thumbnail sketch that requires a lot more definition and overall thought but that's the general premise. Poke holes at will.

C'mon you faggos!

2010-10-22T18:21:00.000-06:00

Come on in and watch the fire. Y'know I've always been a huge fan of the Kids in the Hall, and some of their humour/social commentary is just brilliant. Like this.

That's right. That horrible T. I hate T's! HAHAHAHAH!

Thanksgiving Prayer

2010-10-10T12:44:00.004-06:00

Come on in, it's been a weird couple weeks. Between sickness, kitties, and teenagers (Oh we'll discuss that later) it has been a bit rough. And I have listened to a bunch of folks bring up the darker aspect of Thanksgiving, the holiday which apparently commemorates the colonization of the First Nations in North America. Which I really don't see it as such, instead I like to see it as the celebration of the intersection of culture. Despite what came after, it is worthy to celebrate that meeting, that doubling, the enhancement and loss. So in that spirit I offer this Thanksgiving Day Prayer:

I thank the Grandfather's for the wisdom they've given us all, in letting us learn all we can to both survive the world of old and now this one.

I thank the People, for the spirit they retain despite their worn bodies and minds. I wish they could see it past the pain and dependence.

I thank the various Governments who have made it their policy to eliminate cultures and people from the face of the planet. You have shown the true depth of the human spirit, both its highs and lows.

I thank everyone around me for the myriad of voices they add to the chorus of the world, the web of existence, the Sacred Circle.

I thank my immediate Family, for they have given me all that I am.

I thank you, who listen to my prayer, in all worlds and ways, for without you there is nothing else.

Worst. Sneeze. Ever.

2010-10-09T11:25:00.001-06:00

The den is a mess. Let me tell you why ...

It starts when you go into a coughing fit, and your body is heaving so much that your stomach decides it is damn sick of being ignored so it starts clenching, and even though you've eaten very little, your stomach squeezes out everything it can. Lucky for you, you were in the bathroom so your coughing/vomiting fit is contained. Or so you thought. See the coughing, that set off your sinus to drip, and it hits the wrong part of your sinuses, and mid heave, you start to sneeze. And so, after a few little chuffing noises, you stop puking, and that's when the big sneezes kick off. Those big woofing kind that clears out the sinuses of the person next to you. And that's when the stomach and back cramps kick in...

One Fine Feline

2010-10-07T19:33:00.003-06:00

Come on in and watch the shadows right there. See that really active one, the one that is chasing all the small ones, while the big mean looking one watches? That's one of my old kitties. That's BD. He was let go today, let go to move on because he was in so much pain and no longer loved to dance. And now. Look at him. He's dancing again.

See this cat lived twenty years. Twenty! That's one of the oldest I've ever had a cat. Well he was my mom's cat. But that was probably twenty years more than he should have had, were it not for my mom.

She found him under her car after visiting a friend. He was way too small to be away from his mother, and was mewling. LOUDLY. This cat had one of the loudest YAWOWS out there, and his purr box was extra big. Anyways, he was malnourished, his ears were infested with mites, and he was dehydrated. We had a cat already but my mom just couldn't leave him. So she brought him home and said 'We're going to nurse him back to health and then take him to the pound.' You see how well that went hmm?

Anyways, his name is really weird right? BD. It stands for two things: 1) Brain Dead, and 2) Buster Douglas. He was so weak but so playful, he would jump around and bash into things, and then add to this the incredible damage the mites did to his inner ears (They were so thick, all you had to do was lightly scratch inside his ear and you'd come away with a near ounce of mite crud) that he constantly looked like the kitty equivalent of the Keystone Kops. Kittystoned Kop. Heh. And of course, he was tough. Our other cat, my cat, Natasha, was one of the meanest cats to ever grace this planet. She intimidated German Sheppards, she was that bad ass. But BD, he always wanted to play, so he'd jump Tash, and get beaten to a pulp, bounce back up and be right back on her. And at the time, Buster Douglas, some tune up fight for Mike Tyson, came out, got beat up, and beat Tyson for the title. And that was our new kitty. Tough and too stupid to know he should have died.

And that's what made him neat. He would escape the house when he was younger, and go feral for two weeks. Then come back because he loved people. He was a super mouser, and ate his kills. Trust me, nuthin' grosser than cleaning up dead mouse pukies. Gah. And he was incredibly strong. And while he was entirely black, it was actually patterned black and looked like tiger stripes, and he was built like one, thick chest, slightly in turned front paws, fast, killer with his claws against all things that needed to be killed, which did not include humans. With people, he just loved to meet'em. And beautiful? Sleek fur and about the greenest eyes I've ever seen on a cat.

Anyways, today, my parents took him to the vet. He'd started to get dementia, he would take ten minutes just to lie down, and he wasn't always making it to the kitty litter. And he was always in pain, and about a week ago, he stopped playing at all with their dog, Princess Kneesa.

So he's gone now, kinda. Like I said, watch that shadow that doesn't stop moving. That's BD, that's him, chasing down everything he possibly can. If you stay still, he'll even come cuddle for a bit. Love ya BD.

Bizarre

2010-09-29T11:07:00.005-06:00

Come on in, enjoy the heat and steam. I've closed up the den a bit because I need to sweat out this cold.

And that of course is the irony of the situation. Yesterday I talk about how great my health has been lately and today my throat is aching, my nose is entirely stuffed up, and I'm exhausted. So I'm going to spend the day resting, sipping some liquids, and trying to get over this annoying cold.

So this sparked something I want to talk about in between a couple things my wonderful friends cenobyte and Viper Pilot have posted recently. And that is the extremes. The extremes of belief and religion and such.

Reading about ceno's experience with some teachers who balked at books on time travel, and of course the hilarious searching for signal, made me sad, and tired, like herself, because it really is a bizarre concept. The idea that ideas lead people away from God is rather bizarre. It's the restriction of ideas that lead people away from religion.

Example time. Buddy of mine I work with, great guy, and very intelligent. He, and his family are very committed Christians. Of course he loves dirty jokes, spends his days at work making y'mama jokes about me, and is a huge fan of tech blogs and questioning the very nature of the 'truth' through various podcasts and such. In fact, I think that's what makes him a very good Christian. Because he constantly questions. And that's the funny part. He describes himself as a former goody two-shoes who bought hook, line, and sinker into the 'party line' that ceno has described, as he went to Christian orientated schools, until he got into high school and realized that a lot of what he was taught in school about the world was a complete lie.

And then he revised that, he explained that a lot of the 'dangers' of the world, as he'd been told, were not dangers at all, merely parts of life where people could overindulge, or find issue, but that his faith, and his belief in the core values that he was taught were still just as valid as ever. He started his own path and found his faith and spirituality.

And that's really quite cool, because he got past the indoctrination, part of the reason both ceno and I agree that until someone is able to understand the decision they shouldn't be required to be a part of any particular religion, and found what his personal relationship with God would be. That's pretty neat.

So part of the problem that bothers me about that indoctrination is the 'us vs. them' attitude that is fostered in it. We're right and they're wrong, the vast over-generalizing that assigns people to specific beliefs when they should be considered in each situation individually. What, because D.C. Scott was a confederation poet, and the Indian Commissioner who wrote scads on the eventual assimilation and destruction of the First Nations people and culture, that I should say all Canadian poets are racists? Hell even Scott wasn't a racist, he was mere a product of ill conceived science and reason.

Which brings me to the logical fallacy that is used and then mocked in academia everywhere. The Hitler reduction. And while the Pope was wrong for using it, let's not let Mr. Dawkins off the hook either. He did the EXACT same thing! Really, it's quite like two kids, 'Hitler was your fault poopy head!' 'No he was YOUR fault, poopy head!' Really? And this pisses me off because I have read quite a bit of Dawkins stuff and I find his central argument popping up in a lot of places, and even in my friends' mouths. And it is an identical indoctrination and over generalization as religion does.

Somehow Dawkins thinks the only rational people are those that reject religion and spirituality all together. You can't be rational if you believe in any form of God. And how is that any different from the over generalization that if you don't believe in God you can't know right from wrong? Because as we all know science and reason have NEVER been the cause of anything bad. EVER. Like old social theories that created systemic racism. DDT, thalidomide, CFBs, atomic waste, strip mining, and a vast cornucopia of scientific 'advances' have brought us worlds of grief, therefore, reason and science are evil and anyone associated with them should be put to the cross.

And of course this will foster the cross argument of 'Well it was individuals...' Wait what? Stop. Individuals caused this issues? So why is that not good enough to understand the so-called 'Evils of Religion?' Ahhh right, that doesn't support your argument. How rational is that?

It comes down to the extremes. I understand that each side will go to whatever lengths they can to 'win the argument' and meanwhile, people will take these extreme points of view and run with them. When really, neither side is right or wrong, neither side is really all that valid. Both sides should be there to support the individuals who support their point of view, and reinforce community and understanding rather than a continued debate that doesn't even ATTEMPT to speak to one another, just shout over generalized insults and accusations.

My Health

2010-09-28T10:27:00.003-06:00

Ooooh such beautiful weather. So good I turned on the A/C. Sad huh? I don't do well with too much heat. I prefer the cold. But the den is delightfully full of sunlight and a fresh breeze, so enjoy.

Speaking of my lack of enjoyment in heat, I thought I'd let you folks in on some of my body things. So yes we're going to talk about my body which is a pretty neat device. So to start this, I just completed participating in a clinical trial of Lantus. This is because I'm a Type II Diabetic. It makes life lots of fun and for a while I really didn't take care of it. I ended up in the hospital near death. That's not hyperbole, it's the truth. my sugars were averaging about 18, which should be between 4 and 7, and my triglycerides were somewhere around 22, when it should be 3. I should be dead, luckily my wonderful body is pretty damn tough.

I have however been taking much better care of myself over the past few years and my last visit had these wonderful benchmarks. My A1c is continuing to lower, I lost 4kg (That's close to 9 lbs for you non-metric folks) and all my other stats (blood pressure, heart rate, cholesterol, etc.) are all in the normal range. And I FEEL healthier. My eyesight is better, my energy levels are up, I'm not constantly tired after eating. However there is still one thing about my fabulous body that makes some of this difficult.

Thing is I'm hypersensitive. My sense of touch, smell, taste, and hearing are all exceptional. When I quit smoking the smells around me are so intense that it actually becomes physically painful in certain situations. Like heavily applied perfumes. MAN, that just about kills me now, let alone when my sense of smell is at full tilt. I can pick out separate tastes in what I eat, I can hear the tiniest noises (and can grow ever increasingly irritated by them) and the whole touch thing?

Well the plus side is it makes my wonderfully good at finding aches and pains on other people. The subtle changes in heat, skin tension, and reaction to touch makes finding them easy. And ladies? It also makes me a very appreciative and reactive intimate partner. I basically turn into one huge erogenous zone during sex. It's very fun.

The flip side is I get incredibly irritated with clothes. Keys in my pocket, hell even too much change, causes me to get pissy. I never enjoyed boxers, cuz when my boys are moving too free it really gets bothersome. And the needles... Since I have to inject myself with insulin every day, I was told repeatedly, 'Oh you'll get used to it.' Guess what? I haven't. I can feel the steel slide into my flesh, and even holding the insulin pen perfectly still, I can still feel the invader in my flesh. Blood tests, IVs, everything that goes into me is HIGHLY disturbing. So I don't think I will ever get used to it. But I also have had to learn incredible control when it comes to how much I feel, so I can shut it out for brief periods. But thinking about it without enacting that control? Just makes me grit my teeth and get all kinds of pissy.

But overall, the SWC is in good health.

Frustrations

2010-09-27T12:52:00.004-06:00

Come on in while I pace. I tried just letting it go, and moving forward but some things just tend to stick in my mind like a bone in the throat. It frustrates and aggravates me. I get all pissy and until I get it out it is going to stick there.

See here's the thing. I look white. I have pale skin, and I don't talk like I came from a reserve. I don't go 'ahhhhh' and stick out my tongue, I don't pepper my language with little Cree-isms, and I freely admit I never grew up in a traditional manner. Somehow this is my fault.

On the flip side of this I have spent a great deal of time understanding the overall experience. Listening to elders, reading what is out there with a critical eye and watching. Always watching.

So why the fuck do I get flack for speaking with authority in a class about First Nations research? Because I did the reading, as well as a lot of other reading on the subject, since this is EXACTLY what I plan to do with my degree, and I have enough confidence to speak in class, but because I'm not 'Indian' enough I get told things like 'Well what you don't understand is that First Nations are humble. We would never talk about our history like that.' WHAT?!

Oh yeah, that Pequis guy, he was real humble. Wrote up the head commissioner for Indian Affairs and said 'Dude, you fucking with my shit, fix it or else.' Sitting Buffalo, that guy, real humble. Chief Kahkawistahaw, he was so humble when he signed treaty and told the commissioner signing it, 'My history says you will try to take more. But I refuse, because my nation must have land.' the GW in B.C., REAL humble when they forced the courts to finally accept oral traditions as legitimate history.

Yeah we got a real huge traditional of humility. Bullshit. We got a real history of meekness. Of being beaten so often we figure, why fight? And that tone, like I don't have a clue what I talking about. If I remember correctly, the bitch who said it was one of the people during our discussion group who said 'I never finished the reading.' Shut yer fucking dumbass mouth. You don't have the time to do the damn REQUIRED reading but you got more than enough time in class to speak up and tell me I don't know what I'm talking about? Gonna tell me 'Well you're white so you don't know.' I call bullshit again.

Damnit I just get so pissed when folks lay preconceived notions down and essentially act as racist as the system they're trying to change. Good job y'fucking hypocrite.

Sporting insanity

2010-09-27T08:31:00.002-06:00

Come on in and grab a stump. I'm going to need your attention and your ear to make sure you understand what I'm saying. And most folks are going to have a knee jerk reaction that might not be entirely based on fact.

To start with, I get really frustrated listening to sporting pundits talk about how boring something was. UFC 119 wasn't the best card they've ever put on but there was some damn entertaining fights, and while the Mir/"Cro Cop" fight wasn't a barn burning (And who expected it to be? "Cro Cop" came in on short notice and Mir was motivated to fight a different guy) it had an exciting finish one that happened so fast it took multiple replays before I totally understood what happened.

And there were a couple fights that went the distance where I wasn't entirely sure who won. Overall the card wasn't huge but it was entertaining. The problem seems to be that some folks were complaining about the lackluster drive some of the fighters seemed to show. And the excuses given at the press conference at the end had a lot of people saying 'I just couldn't get off' or 'I couldn't find my timing.' So on and so forth.

And man, except for like one post, almost every single MMA news site out there is just EVISCERATING the event. Like the devil himself shoved his thumb up their ass and gave their prostate a shock. And not the good kind that makes you cum, I'm talkin' that bad kind they use on the minks.

Let's contrast this to the previous event. Everyone LOVED that one. It was exciting and full of action. And the guy who lost in the main event just got popped for steroid use.

What do these things have to do with one another? Let me explain.

Abuse of steroids, as in constant use that drives massive muscle growth, is damaging to the body, and to various internal organs. Especially the synthetic stuff. Strangely though, there is no actual medical studies that link any specific ailments to steroid abuse. However ex-pro athletes who have abused steroids have shown an increase in joint (ligament and tendon) damage and a greater propensity to things like liver disease, certain cancers, and kidney issues. However, I stress again that there have been NO DIRECT MEDICAL STUDIES THAT HAVE LINKED THEM. This is all anecdotal observations.

Now you have to remember that steroids have been used in medical situations for YEARS. It's used to deal with massive body injuries, like burns, because it speeds healing. It's used as a part of hormonal treatment for men who are not producing enough. It's used in large muscle tears to help healing, and it is used to help late stage cancer patients.

And in athletes it has an actual medical use that can improve their ability to perform and decrease the chance for injuries. When you do long term training, your testosterone level, especially when older than 30, does not always return to it's full rate. And when you're talking about athletes that train usually twice a day, 3 or 4 hours a sessions, 5 or more days a week, their body cannot come back as quickly. So their testosterone level steadily drops. This means less muscle repair, and more fatigue. So by the time it comes to fight, after a solid 6 month training camp, these guys are completely drained. No testosterone in their system and their muscles are heavily damaged without proper repair.

So here's the thing. It's time to play reality. Reality is that steroids used properly, on small cycles through training allow an athlete to achieve more, to be better prepared and to increase training. this will allow them to perform better overall. If this is used properly it does not allow dramatic increases in muscle gain, but instead allows an athlete to better recover. When steroids are over-used, or abused, then it turns out massive muscle growth. If this use was regulated, rather than shoved underground, perhaps we could have more entertaining sports, with longer lasting, healthier athletes, without the detrimental aspects. But then again, that's going to require someone to step up and actually do the studies.

And it's time to play reality again. Do you want the always exciting cards, the ever improving athletes, who are always ready to fight, or do you want things to be 'honest.' Because as we all know using anything is cheating. Hell, Evander Holyfield was accused of cheating because he didn't lift weights, instead used electricity to do a a controlled twitch through his muscles.

Honest was what happened last night. Most likely both men were not on proper steroid cycles due to the change in opponent and neither was at their peak to perform. And that's just it. Steroids do not make super athletes. There's a lot more to sports than just physical attributes. Hell, look at Gretzky, that dude never trained, saved it all for game day, was the weakest, least agile athlete when compared with other sports but was the greatest hockey player ever. Because the skill, that's what matters. The steroids just ensure a continual use of that skill over a greater amount of time. When it isn't abused.

So again, we have a situation where knee jerk reactions have driven something to an underground status, when if we as a society had just said 'Ok that's new' and treated it like any other medicine we'd be able to properly regulate and protect people.

Whaddyamean I'm not 18 still?!

2010-09-26T12:08:00.003-06:00

Come on in, the weather is beautiful, so the fire is low, perfect for cooking, and the skins are pulled back to let in all that wonderful fall air. I got some left over dry ribs for the folks that don't feel like cooking.

So here's the thing. In case I've never explained this, I've got an unbelievably high pain tolerance. I don't know something is hurt until it stops working. Like my shoulder. Which is completely jacked. I'm pretty sure I've done something inhumanly nasty to it. It's been limited in motion for most of the past year. It doesn't look even, the muscles in my shoulder don't look right. Overall it's just a bad situation. It started with some football. I was helping the kids with blocking, picking up blitzes, using my body as the blocking dummy. Someone caught my shoulder in a bad way, and it felt funny. But that didn't stop me. Cuz I'm still that tough 18 year old that can heal from anything in an instant and am relatively indestructible.

So I keep using it normally, it gets hit a bit more, I do push ups with the guys, and then later that night, I go play dodgeball. Throwing the ball full tilt at people. With the right arm that has the fucked up shoulder.

And I continue like this. Because it doesn't really hurt. And I can still use it. Until one night after dodgeball my arm just wouldn't lift. Couldn't go up at all.

So I've done some physio, and tried not to use that arm. I'm quite competent with my left hand anyways, being ambiconfused. And it's more than a year later and while it isn't fully mobile yet, it's still way better. It moves almost in a full circle and I can use it to lift stuff again without any issues. So I'm on the long road to recovery for my joint issue.

Until this last Friday. Playing dodgeball. See I tend not to throw. I'm quite good at catching, and dodging, and will sacrifice myself so someone can get somebody else out, and so we can keep the balls on our side, so y'know, I'm still useful. but with increased mobility and my own mistaken belief that I am somehow still 18, I get a guy right near me on the line, and a ball in hand and I just whip it at him.

And feel like something inside my shoulder suddenly burst into flames. Then the arm went numb. And I couldn't lift it for the rest of the game. Sure some other guy on the team went all wussy and quit when his elbow started to hurt a bit, but me, I kept playing. And kept making catches. And was still useful. And it actually hurt. I know it's a bad bad thing when I can actually feel the pain, and it makes me nauseous.

And now, every single muscle group that makes up my rotator cuff is locked up and my arm barely moves again.

I'm a fucking idiot.

Economists are EEVUL!

2010-09-23T09:43:00.006-06:00

Thanks for stoppin' by, I've got some yummy veggies, and fruit of course, but we've already discussed the Apples and Bananas. I'm gonna lean back here and enjoy a smoke while you watch the fire.

I had the strangest dream last night. I dream lucidly, and usually my dreams, even when they're totally surreal, still make sense. This one. Not so much. Apparently I had to gather a good deal of money for some unexplained reason, and the only way to get this money was to defeat various economists in debates and financial challenges. And man, those economists are vicious.

So it starts with some need of money and I explain to my buddy Neo that I need to get this money, but never why, but hey, Neo, he's my pal he's down with whatever we need to do. We contact the Ringmaster and cenobyte, and off we go to the training montage.

Have you ever thought what a training montage for battling economists would be? Well no need to ponder anymore, I can tell you! There was even cheezy 80s music from a Rocky film. There I am on a stationary bike, while I'm surrounded by people reading financial papers out loud. Quick cut, there I am running down a street, a cig in my mouth and bottle of Diet Dr. Pepper in my hand, while ceno on a moped shouts the three letter stock exchange title for companies, while I name the companies. Quick cut, there I am in a whirlpool swilling beer, while being indoctrinated by the policies of greed by Ringmaster. Quick cut, there I am watching Jim Cramer. Quick cut, I run stairs in an office building, stealing people's inter-office mail, in what I can only assume is somehow related to economists.

And then the battles begin. Here the dream started getting hazy, cuz I think I had to get up to pee, but still, what little I remember was enough for me to realize I never EVER wanna fight with an economist. Not cuz I'll lose, but because they fight dirty and cheat. And that's MY method of fighting. Fuckers. *shakes fist*

Coaching and Penguins

2010-09-20T12:11:00.003-06:00

Come on in, the sky is overcast, it's drizzling a bit, and I'm currently listening to 'Down With the Sickness' by Disturbed. OH and there is stirfry. Tasty stuff, red curry sauce soooo good.

Ok so everyone is bitching about the punt thing that Miller called for at the end of the last game against Calgary. That was the least of our worries folks. Remember a while back when I said, 'Look for the WTF moments?' Well a bunch happened in that game. Offensively there were some really questionable play calls which again reinforces the fact that Berry is a nipplehead. But the big one came on defense and has been an issue before.

Ok so here's the thing. We know that for the vast majority of plays that happen on the goal line that a run will happen. It is the least risk, highest pay off way to get the TD. So on Second and goal on the three yard line, why the FUCK was Kitwana Jones an interior lineman? And don't give me that 'there were injuries' bullshit because Mullander wasn't on the field. I know Mullander is an exterior DL but please, you can't teach BIG and that's what you need in those situations. Like for fucks sake, we take all the big guys from the DL and put them on the OL for our short yardage, why don't we do the same on defense? They don't need to tackle, just keep the pile from being pushed back, and then let someone like say KITWANA, who is quick and tackles incredible well to fill and pick up the runner. Would make way more sense. But nope, instead we put all two hundred and twenty pounds of KJ in there and he gets blown out of the blocks and ends up on his back, and where he was is a huge hole for Calgary to score. BAD CALL.

So now that I've vented that, let me move on to Happy Feet. You folks watched this entirely too cute movie before? Got it for the girls yesterday, and after it was over (With me being the big suck that I am crying) I asked my Little Crow, 'Did you understand the message?' And she got all serious (Because we have these talks, these lessons sometimes and she focuses in on me like a freakin' dog in front of raw hamburger) and said 'No daddy.' So I said 'Well at daycare, there is a lot of toys right?'

'Yep there is.'

'And are you allowed to keep them all to play with?'

'Oh no, you hafta share so everyone can have fun.'

'Why?'

'Well it would really be horrible if someone didn't get something to play with.'

'Well what about food. What if the toys were food?'

'I don't wanna be hungry either!'

'Right. That's the message baby. Take only what you need, and share the rest. Think of the others before you just take all you can.'

And so the Little Crow smiles, hugs me good night and clambers down from my lap and heads off to bed, and my not-so-Little Bear goes off to sing her good night (It's their sister good night ritual) and she stops and looks at me. 'Yeah ... we don't share very well do we? Like I mean ... in the world.'

And I can tell she's struggling to find the right words and so I grin at her, 'Yes Little Bear, adults are indeed idiots because we forget what we learned as children.'

She laughed and nodded and went to sing her little sister to sleep.

Again, my girls amaze me, and the world frightens me, and hopefully, like their dad, they never grow up enough to think that sharing is something you don't have to do.

New Look

2010-09-17T18:46:00.003-06:00

Hey come on in. The Den got re-arranged a bit here, and I hope it works better. I was using such an old template I decided, hey I should do something so the video's fit, and also, I hated how narrow the text was. So TA-DA!

Of course this somewhat highlights how little I know about the technical aspect of this thing. I couldn't compose HTML if my life depended on it. HAH!! And just after I said I want to be able to do everything. EYE-RON-KNEE!

So I guess this means when I get some time I'll have to learn some HTML. Time... man I wished I had that time turner necklace that Hermoine had in Harry Potter.

Really? You think that huh?

2010-09-17T12:14:00.002-06:00

Come on in and grab a stump. Some nice soup is available, home made chicken rice. Y'know what I love most about our talks? You folks. Even the crazy folks over in Germany and Russia who apparently check in regularly. I swear that stat page is freakin' me out.

So interesting situation yesterday: At football practice someone scoffed at me for something I enjoy doing. Now here is the thing. I have never understood how having one trait that can be attributed to you somehow precludes you from others. Never have. Ever. Don't get it. Don't like it either.

See I mentioned LARPing. That's Live Action Role Playing. I love LARPing. I love saying LARPing (G'won say it, you'll enjoy the experience). I love the entire concept of bending my entire imagination to doing something completely unlike my life for nothing more than enjoyment. Cuz my imagination is pretty keen.

And one of the kids goes 'What that vampire thing? Do you sparkle?' And there was a guffaw, and I looked at the kid and said 'Nope. But the hot chicks who dress rather scantily sometimes do.' And I felt bad about that, because I made it sound like I went there to try to pick up half nekkid wimmin when that's not that case.

I then asked him, 'Why would you scoff at something that utilizes someones imagination to such a magnificent degree?' Yeah, the kids I coach are starting to get used to big words. Well, except this one who went 'RRrrrrrrrrrrrrwha?' To which I said 'Why would any activity that someone does somehow deserve your insults?' 'I dunno, seems pretty geeky.'

'Ah,' sez I in my wise old man manner, 'so does that make me a geek?' And he doesn't know what to do so I smile and say, 'answer honestly, it's ok.' And he kinda quickly nods, hoping that some lightning bolt, or a coach won't suddenly crush his soft skull.

'Ah,' sez I in my all-too-knowing voice, 'But this is one geek who could strap on the pads and still wipe the floor with you. Let alone if you were to cross the span of time to try it while I was in high school as well.' And suddenly he gets all frightened and I chuckle, in my foolish-child-suffering way. 'Naw, don't sweat it. But don't ever think that one activity precludes you from another.'

And that I think is the thing that bugs me. It's not even a social thing, or a bully thing, or trying to teach a lesson, although one was learned. What bugs me is this idea that we should be good at like one or two things and that's it. To quote Heinlein: 'A human being should be able to change a diaper, plan an invasion, butcher a hog, conn a ship, design a building, write a sonnet, balance accounts, build a wall, set a bone, comfort the dying, take orders, give orders, cooperate, act alone, solve equations, analyze a new problem, pitch manure, program a computer, cook a tasty meal, fight efficiently, die gallantly. Specialization is for insects.'

When did we forget that we are not specialists? Well we are, in the ability to think ahead, but beyond that we're the ultimate generalists. We should be able to do it all!! Now truly, those that become great in any particular field most likely bent a considerable amount of their energy to that one goal but I'd bet my left testicle that they were damn good at a number of things.

So if you wish to continue in your bug-like ways, feel free. Me, I'm gonna continue in my own way, able to do it all and feel comfortable in just about any situation thrown at me.

I lurve dis guy

2010-09-15T16:33:00.001-06:00

Come on in and stare at the fire...

From one brother to another

2010-09-14T13:41:00.003-06:00

Come on in, feel free to enjoy the nice fire and some tasty chicken. Mmmmm, chicken bones for soup. So normally I don't write to just one person but this, this is meant for only one. However there are things in it that anyone can benefit from.

I could go back and reference a lot of things I've written before but for you, my brother, I have some very specific things I need to say to you, things you need to hear, but things you need to hear on your own time and in your own way. Unfortunately situations like this require both the security of the closeness of a friend and the distance to find your own way. So I chose this method to allow you the place and time to do it as you see fit.

So here is the list of things to remember in this time of trouble:

1) Whatever you think is going to happen, whatever you hope is going to happen, and whatever you're being told is going to happen, don't believe it. Plan for the absolute worst situation possible, and act from there. Keep in mind two very very important marker posts to base your judgements off of, the welfare of your immortality and the your own well being. Nothing else matters. Take that to heart.

2) Stoicism is a great thing in certain situations. Not this one. Feel what you need to feel and express it to those you trust. The only way out to the other end of this one is finding out what you are capable of feeling and where your values lie.

3) Get the right council. Both as a specific and as general. Do not listen to the bitter or the hatred, do not listen to the hopeful or the joyous. Listen to the even tempered and those that are looking out for the same two things I said to value.

4) Know that not only do I love you, would live, kill, and die for you, but others do as well. Lean on them as you need. Never be afraid to ask them for help, because they will not see it as a duty, or a weakness in you, instead the way they can show their love.

5) Do not procrastinate on anything to do with the situation. Handle it as quickly as possible so there are no questions to your passion, values, or commitment.

6) There is going to be bitterness, anger, betrayal, self-recriminations, and questions of your own worth. Feel them, work through them, tell those you need to tell, but do not let those things rule your actions. When you doubt, tell us. We can be strong for you in those times.

Brother, I wish you love, happiness and all the things you deserve, but I know those things will only come with time. Don't worry about them now, or what you think you might deserve, right now you have a duty and a job to do. Do it as you would any other job in front of you, with your full attention and faculties, eyes wide open, and throw yourself at it with dedication. We're with you.

The li'llest 'Rider fan

2010-09-10T14:25:00.002-06:00

Come on in, I have some fruit, and some tortilla chips with salsa. The place is mostly picked up and we're getting back into the swing of things.

Listening to the radio this afternoon, and on Blue Sky they had some 'Riders on and were doing listener call-ins with their favorite 'Rider memories, and of course, this sparked my own, and I thought about phoning in, and then remembered, I needed to go throw up (Ugh, ate something bad today) and so never did call. Thus, it shall be shared with you all.

I took Little Bear to her first live 'Rider game. She would have been around 5 or 6, and had a couple years of soccer, with yours truly as coach, and she knew about good sportsmanship, and loved the 'Riders cuz she loved her dad. For those of you worried, she's becoming a 'Rider fan again on her own terms now, but back then, it was all about her daddy.

So there we are, up in the stands, and right next to us are these two delightful older chaps who have taken a liking to Little Bear and share their peanuts with her, and she decides to tell them both about all the great things about coming to a football game, and how it was her first, and mostly it boiled down to how great it was to be there with her dad and of course have peanuts. She charmed the hell out of those two gentlemen.

The game starts, and it was a good back and forth game, and me, I cheer for any good play, just way louder when it's the 'Riders who make the play, and so does Little Bear, taking her cues from me. Unfortunately we had one of those fans who thinks getting really drunk and belligerent at a football game is the thing to do right behind us. And he's swearing and cursing out the 'Riders and opponent alike, getting louder and louder. At half time, he leaves to get more beer, and I look over at the two older chaps and they go 'That guy, every game, like that. Gettin' sick of it.' They nod and hum and haw at each other. Obviously they're not happy about my Little Bear getting an earful of drunken swearing and attitude, and frankly, neither am I. When he comes back, I'm about to turn around and say something to the guy, when Little Bear beat me to it. She turns and looks at this guy and says 'Y'know, if you don't have anything good to say, you shouldn't say anything at all,' in her most princess sounding voice, filled with contempt and wisdom in equal measure.

There was some laughter and the drunk starts to stand up, thunderclouds in his eyes as he stares at my Little Bear, who is still calmly looking at the man like he is beneath her and should take a lesson from her. I get up and I'm ready to tool this guy, even if it means getting tossed out at half time, as being completely worth my time. And that's when the two old gents with the peanuts also stand up and the one pokes the drunk and says 'Been a long time coming young man, you just get too loud and annoying at these games, so y'best shuttup before a whole group of us makes it so you hafta shuttup.'

Drunk and Belligerent stares around at a good half dozen folks who all have stood up and are more than willing to back up Little Bear's proclamation of civility, and he goes some what blurry and wavers down to his seat and does what all stupid drunks do, makes an excuse about how he was just having fun and everyone else is getting too serious.

The rest of the game was quite fun, with Little Bear becoming the unofficial spokesperson for that section and being treated to a lot of drinks, peanuts, and popcorn. Amazing how the simple view of a child about what is right and wrong can spur us stupid and lazy adults to do what we should have done a long time ago.

The Big Three Five!

2010-09-09T10:19:00.004-06:00

Come on in, the weather has turned, which might be a bit of a blessing overall. I have a lot of fresh fruit for everyone to enjoy, like Apples and Bananas!

Thirty five. Yep, today I turn thirty five. Y'want some scary true thoughts? About 25 years ago, I was pretty sure I wouldn't make it to this age. Hell even 20 years ago I still had some doubt if I'd make it. And I'm not talking about being unable to imagine myself as this age, because I could. I mean I really thought I wouldn't make it. I'm just too volatile sometimes, and figured I'd be put down like a rabid dog somehow, somewhere, before I ever got past 30.

And no, it wasn't a death wish, the depression and suicidal thoughts didn't come until later. It was an honest belief that I would be dead because of some stupid shit I would get into before I got there.I've always been one of those folks that cannot have a situation described to me, I really need to experience it. So I've tried a LOT of crazy stuff.

So this here is a shout out to all my family and friends, who obviously realize what an idiot I am and how I turn into a complete dumb ass when a new experience is presented to me, yet have stuck by me and in most cases made sure this ole mangy beast managed to make it home alive.

And of course, full birthday policy in full effect. :)

Two elephants.

2010-09-08T12:18:00.006-06:00

Come on in, the weather has been insane, and what with my schedule it hasn't been used in a while. So come sit down while I dust off a few things in here, and pick up all the crap that's accumulated, and you can listen to me talk about large things that get ignored.

Let's start with the more obscure elephant in the room. BJ Penn. Oh how I love to watch you get your pudgy Hawai'ian ass beat. A ton of MMA sites are going over all the shit about this latest loss, and doing all this speculation, like he's over-rated, or he's not wanting to fight, blah blah blah blah. Only one site even came out and said what really is the problem and they did it in such a spineless way, the majority of retards who read the post won't have a clue what it means.

BJ, if you read this, and I hope you do, GET A REAL FUCKING COACH!! Stop listening to your cadre of yes men, ball huggers, and ass lickers, and get on a real fucking team, stop deluding yourself that you have even a small inkling of what you need to do to be a champion, let alone teach others to live like one, and get a real goddamn camp. You can afford it you rich ass little punk.

Ok, next pack-a-derm. 'Riders. And all 'Rider fans. I want you to listen to me very closely and know that I'm not trying to vilify anyone, I'm just trying to make something painfully clear. The problems we're having? It's not the players. The players are some of the best in the league. I would say that overall, the 'Riders are one of the most talented teams in the CFL. It's the coaches.

We lost both our coordinators, our special team coach, and they got replaced with whatever retard they could find. Etchvery is a fucking retard. His 'big risk/big payoff' defensive schemes, which are barely two dimensional, usually only mean one thing: big gain for the opposition. And rarely, if ever, do they make half-time adjustments!

And Berry... oh if I could just get one minute alone with you, and your playbook. I'd either shove that thing up your ass, where it might actually make a difference, or at least teach you a sequence of plays that will work you nipple head.

(Brief Interlude)

Me: Ok Doug, here's the situation. You're in a HUGE wet paper bag. You have three options. One, is this machete here. Two is using your BARE HANDS to just rip up the bag, and three is this tasty doughnut. Which will it be?

Doug: And I have to get out of the bag right?

Me: That's right Doug.

Doug: Can I still have the doughnut after I get out of the bag?

Me: Sure Doug, you do things however you want, the possibilities with the tools you have are endless.

Doug: Is there a chair in the bag?

Me: What? No, no chair Doug.

Doug: Damn. Cuz I like to sit down when I eat a doughnut.

Me: Doug, you have to get out of the bag. If you don't get out of the bag, you'll eventually be suffocated by collapsing wet paper. I mean a bag that big has a lot of paper and water and ...

Doug: Really?! Oh shit I better eat this doughnut first thing. By the way, where is the doughnut?
Me: There is no real doughnut Doug, we're talking a hypothetical here, a mental exercise to demonstrate your planning and coaching acumen.

Doug: Well why did you bother with all this paper bag and doughnut thing if there is no ACTUAL doughnut. Screw you buddy, I'm gonna go get a box of doughnuts!

Me: Uhm... Doug. You can't, you're still in the paper bag.

Doug: Really? Oh well I'm just going to sit here till I get my doughnut!

Me: Right. You have fun with that Doug.

And... don't even get me started on that fucking John Daly bullshit. We fired his ass for being a slacktastic head coach, why oh why would we hire him back to coach special teams!! He says he needs to coach better, but y'know what John?! You can only coach so well, and I think we've surpassed your talents just by expecting you to show up on time!

So. Next time you watch a game, just wait to see any player on the field, after a call in from the coaches give the 'WTF!?' look to the sidelines. I promise you'll see it.

Real Men

2010-07-07T00:38:00.003-06:00

Come on in and grab a stump. The weather is so bizarre right now, I'm just leaving the skins open and let come what may. But today I watched some rather ... unique displays of behavior and I thought maybe we could all sit down and talk about what it made me think of.

Fair warning folks, this is a football story. Kinda. Really it's a story about what life is like, and perhaps just a little bit about what it means to be a Real Man. But mostly, it is about football.

You see I had a real break out year in grade 11. I crushed people on a regular basis, was in peek physical condition and generally a terror of the gridiron. I earned an All-Star nod, and was nominated for Offensive Lineman of the Year. I lost by one vote, and my head coach was the presenter for that award, and made a cool speech, in which he mostly talked about me, and how I was the 'Poor Man's Roger Aldag.' It was rather incredible.

But like most people I rested on my laurels a bit. I didn't work out as hard in the space between grade 11 and 12 seasons. I came out and wasn't the lineman I was the year before. I didn't really come into any good plays until our last game. Because my coach said to me 'Coyote, you're only staying in because we have no one else to put in.' That really hit me. So I got back in the gym, knowing I had the Senior Bowl to make up a little bit for such a horrible season.

What happened next, well that was what really stuck with me. I've graduated high school and I got my year book and I headed to the school to go visit with the coaches, and I thought, you know, I got students to sign the grade 11 one, I'll get my coaches to sign the final one.

Little interlude here. I have a few heroes in my life, and one of them was my head coach Brian Saip. He always pushed me to go beyond what I thought I could do, and then beyond what anyone ever thought I could do. He brought out all the best qualities on the football field out of me and helped me grow up a lot.

So I see him and, let's be honest, he's been watching me. He laughs with me and chuckles, and tells a few jokes, and I asked him to sign my book and he says 'Leave it with me. Pick it up later.' And we talk some more and he mentions that I've worked pretty damn hard lately, and is happy with that. So I head off to get a few things I'll need for Senior Bowl and when I get back, Siap is gone but my yearbook is there. I grab it, stow it and head home.

When I get home I finally pop open the signature page and there, all my coaches have signed. But right across the middle of the two pages is a sentence, that to this day, is one of the guiding principles of my life: Real Men Get Back Up!!

I sat there and stared at it. It was both a complement and admonition. He was both chastising me for a craptacular final season but congratulating me on figuring out how to get back up. And let me tell you, I didn't waste that opportunity. I destroyed folks in that Senior Bowl.

So here's the point: I know there's a lot of things that define what makes a man but for me, the only thing that matters, the only rule about what men should be, act like, look like, is that one statement. That one emphatic message from a coach who was proud of his player. The rest, you can forget, the rest is all lies, bullshit, and hyperbole, the rest is nothing but machismo that does nothing but continue restrictive roles and behaviors. The rest, is meaningless. Only one thing matters when it comes to whether or not you're a man.

Real Men Get Back Up.

Why getting older sucks

2010-06-29T21:16:00.002-06:00

Come on in, the larder is low, but I do have some smokes for those of you that partake of the demon weed. And despite the harried and expensive few days it has been, I'm quite happy with them overall.

So here is a list of things that suck about getting old:

Hair sprouting all over the place. In my ears? Seriously?! Like I need more impediments to trying to hear what crazy shit people are saying.
Hair changing colour. I'm OK with the gray in my beard, even in my hair. People doubt what I say a lot less when I've got the gray beard and sides going. But down there?! Yes, down there. Actually that's where it changed first. Apparently my nuts got old before the rest of me.
Age-ism. I try really hard not to look at 20-somethings as stupid kids but they keep doing stupid shit and acting like retards so I have no choice but to go 'Stupid kids.' I honestly think I have more respect for teenagers than I do the 20-somethings.
Longer recovery times. When I was stupid kid (read 20-something) I could drink all night, work all day, do dangerous physical activities, drink and fuck all night and then still wake up after two hours of sleep over two days and wonder what I could get into the next night. Now I work an extra hour at work, and I need to crawl into bed by 9pm. If I don't I'll need a nap the next afternoon or be grouchy. And don't get me started on what happens when I play sports. I think my 15 minutes of football the other weekend which left me winded for a good hour is proof enough I'm not at my peak physical condition.
New music seems stupid. Lady Gaga? What the fuck? Have we crossed out so many names that baby talk for a skinny, big nosed, flat assed, stupid cunt is used to name her? And don't get me started on what happened to rap.
Long winded stories about what it was like when I was younger. Like a meg of ram costing fifty bucks! FIFTY BUCKS! And dot matrix printing on long sheets was good enough for us! 2400 baud modems and text based MU* games! None of these fancy web-based, 3D, fully orchestrated monstrosities!
Forgetfulness. Did I mention the stupid kids? Fucking stupid kids. Retards.

That's aging. And I didn't even get into the free fall of all those tasty meals that have grafted themselves to my various body parts. No one needs to hear about that mess.

Good times

2010-06-23T17:08:00.003-06:00

Come on in and enjoy the weather. The fire is low, but I think I've found what I need to set up a nice spirit lodge, maybe we can all have a good cleansing sweat.

So high school. My Little Bear will be going into it next year. And she's already got all these horrible pre-conceived notions and ideas and various things that make me want to scream, but instead of going on and on about how troublesome it is to be the father of a teen, instead I'm going to tell you a strange story. One so strange I am apparently the only one who has ever had this happen to them.

I had a good time in high school. I did. Not because I was popular, because I wasn't. And not because it was the best time of my life, because it wasn't even close. But I had a lot of fun in high school. I played tons of sports and enjoyed my classes, had few conflicts, enjoyed my time in band and choir, joined everything I possibly could and without a doubt enjoyed the vast majority.

Maybe this is because I had gone through a world of hurt before I even got into high school and had an idea of who I wanted to be. Maybe it was because I had a mother who taught me to be an independent thinker. Maybe it was because I was a stubborn idiot who didn't know any better that high school was supposed to be this angst filled pressure chamber of social pitfalls and self-doubt.

I got drunk, I got high, I got into fights, I got insulted and humiliated, and I had incredible triumphs and accolades. Overall it was a satisfying experience. I did good things, I did bad things, I did smart things, I did stupid things, I did embarrassing things, I did amazing things.

I think perhaps the few things I didn't do were get involved with girls, I was pretty much oblivious to the apparent legions of chicks who wanted to be with me, and take myself very seriously. For all my considerable flaws, I think the one thing I've always been able to do is not take myself all that seriously. I mean sure, I'm passionate and I get caught up in the moment at times but when all is said and done, I've always been able to laugh at myself, and take a step back and see when I'm just going too far. And then laugh my ass off at myself.

And I kinda hope some of that has rubbed off on my little bear. She tends to have a fairly good humour about herself, and I'm hoping she won't buy into all the bullshit social politics and labelling that occurs, and just does what she wants to do and be who she wants to be. And realizes, that while high school can be fun (for like ... me and that one gay guy who was accepted at his Catholic school) it isn't the be all end all of life's experiences. Oh and to laugh like you've just escaped from an insane asylum at yourself.

Dreaming of You

2010-06-01T08:39:00.003-06:00

Come on in, the smoke is swirling, and within it are dreams...

Sitting in the theater, I can feel you start to fidget, which is odd, I look to your face and I can see you appear impatient, almost annoyed. I raise an eyebrow, and you just grimace and shake your head, shoving your chin at the stage. I resume watching the play, having a hard time paying attention because you keep moving.

After a few minutes you seem satisfied, and your posture relaxes. Your foot hooks around mine and you grab my hand. A smile is shared and we lean against one another as the actors move about, their story unfolding. The end is sad but fitting and you hold my hand tight as the applause ends and people begin to stand up. I again raise an eyebrow, curious; you just shake your head and we let the rest of the theater exit. Once it is down to a few people here or there, some talking, most still slowly moving to the exit, you wink and wiggle your foot.

Leaning over and looking at your foot, I see your underwear, purple and sheer, see through, a pattern of flowers in the lace, hanging from your ankle. A short burst of your low laugh startles me as it is so close to my ear, and you nibble at it. I turn, and we kiss. Slow, lips touching, our hands still held, my free hand reaches down to collect the favour you've left me, your free hand presses to my chest. Our lips press then part, like a subtle vibration I can feel your tongue lightly touch my upper lip, mine then chases your tongue back. You pull away.

Not often do you get that wicked look on your face. But when you do... If angels could sin, this would be it.

We finally start to exit the theater, you walk ahead of me, bodies close, as my own physical reactions are somewhat obvious. And you seem to be taking pleasure in continuing to tease me as you rub against me with accidental swipes of your hips and ass.

I calm somewhat, but am still feeling on edge, my body is hyper sensitive as your fingers brush inside my palm. Every scent around me seems to be magnified. The smell of your body is carried to me in surprising drafts as you move. Soap, sweat, arousal. No perfume. Just you.

I am unceremoniously yanked sideways as you dart through a door. I have been so caught up in my own sensations that I haven't noticed you testing doors for an open one and inside we go. The lights are off but I can see a row of windows high up, the room is not large, letting street light in, but it is so bright where it shines, the rest of the darkness is impenetrable. It is the darkness where you take me. And the darkness is where we find one another.

It is the smells, the taste, the touch. Our eyes are useless, it is the rest of our senses that make it so intense. Breaths come in short animal grunts, bursts of exhalations, sharp intakes of pleasure. Absurdly, I worry we won't find our clothes afterwards. The noises we make must surely be audible outside the room but there is little concern for the world outside our bodies.

When we finally do leave, I almost expect to be greeted by a crowd holding up signs with numbers, applause, shouts of encouragement. There is no way passion like that could go unnoticed. Instead, the lights are out, a few people move about cleaning up. We exit as quickly as possible.

Like the Tides

2010-05-27T22:25:00.002-06:00

Come along out of the rain, I know the skins are back but I love the smell, so clean and refreshing. I could stand out in the rain for hours and just let it soak away my cares.

And maybe that's part of the problem. Caring is hard work and makes you ask a lot of questions. And caring makes you work hard to do what is right. It pushes you to better yourself and the world around you. For some of us thought, we care with more strength than perhaps we have.

Questions are always a part of caring. Why seems to be a fairly common refrain. And why is virtually unanswerable. It makes more questions than any answers. Most times because even when you can find at least some answers they rarely lead to a good place.

I guess what it comes down to is being able to say to yourself 'It is going to be ok,' and believing it. And I know I could put down a laundry list of why there is no reason for me personally, or for all of you wonderful readers (I think about three people) should not believe that it is going to be ok, but instead I'd rather go forward.

And of course ask, would you mind believing it for me for a while? It's going to be ok? Right?

A ball game

2010-05-20T18:51:00.003-06:00

Watch the fire, enjoy the hot dogs, be in the smoke, live.

A long time ago, so long ago Indians didn’t know how to write, or read, or had any laws, and did nothing more than scratch around in the dirt, Coyote was bored. She had played all the games that the Indians knew, like ball and dream walking, and she knew all their stories, like how Sky Woman fell, and how Nanabush flooded the world because of those silly snakes. She knew how to change shape and look like an Indian, or a flower, or a canoe. She even spent time just sitting still so she could learn how to watch like the Indian because they seemed to spend a lot of time noticing everything. They certainly noticed when Coyote tried anything fun! Coyote even learned how to use all the plants and animals around her so she could maximize her fun and always be able to bound about like she really liked.

Bored and lonely, Coyote curled up on the nearest hot rock in the sun and panted at the world around her. It certainly was tiring knowing everything! She grumbled and growled that the world had become boring, and suddenly she leaped to her feet, “I know! I’ll make something! I watched Sky Woman make land! I can do that too!” So she started to scrape about at the rock with her claws to get some good dust.

“You wouldn’t like it if I scratched you like that!”

Coyote jumped up off the rock and looked around, “Who said that! Where are you? If you’re invisible I’ll sniff you out!” She started snuffling about, but couldn’t smell anything besides what she could see. So she sniffed harder. *SNORT* All that got her was a sneezing bout. She didn’t much like that.

“I’m right here Coyote. How can you not see me?”

“Oh I see you. You’re hiding behind that bush,” Coyote lied. She was hoping she could trick whoever it was to tell her where they were.

“I was under a bush once. The shade was nice.”

“Oooooh, then you must be just over that little hill, how do you talk from so far away?”

“I’ve been on a hill. It was nice because I could see far.”

“Oh well then you must be flying up high, that’s why I can’t sniff you out! The wind is taking it away.”

“I’ve never flown. I rolled once. Didn’t care for that.”

Coyote got very angry now, “You’re teasing me! You must be a bug, so tiny that I can’t see you, so then I’ll just ignore you like I would any bug in my fur. Well maybe I’ll scratch you off!”

“You already scratched me. I told you I didn’t care for it.”

“I scratched you?” She sniffed at the rock, and gave it a playful bat, “Are you under the rock?”

“No.”

“Are you on the rock?”

A soft sigh came from the air, “Do you see anything on the rock? And what could be left after such a scratching.”

“Then you’re behind the rock!” Coyote pounced! And landed on nothing but the dirt. “Wow you must be fast!”

“For someone who is bored and knows everything you’re pretty damn stupid.”

“Hey!” Coyote pouted and sat back, scratching at her fur, right by the ear like she really liked, it made her feel better after being insulted, “I’m not stupid. You’re just using a magic I don’t know yet. Show me!”

“There is no magic in this. I am Grandfather. How can you not see me?”

Coyote scrunched up her eyes and peered around, “No magic, I scratched you, and you’re right there? I don’t believe you!” She stood up and prowled about, “I think you’re lying to me, prove you’re who you are!” She thumped her rump down and took on her most impressive posture, snout in the air. “You will tell me or I’ll bite you when I find you!”

“That would break your teeth, even if they are strong.”

Coyote was starting to get frustrated. This didn’t make any sense to her and she knew everything! She barked and growled again, “I’m getting angry.”

“You would make a bad Indian Coyote, right now you’re not even a bad Coyote. You should have stayed a flower.”

This really got to Coyote, because she kind of liked being a flower, no one noticed you and you got to listen in on everything, and no one suspected the flower when their roots started to tangle things up, “That was mean! You’re not a very good thing; you’re just being mean to me for no reason!”

“No reason? You scratched me. And I’m not being mean. I’m pointing out the obvious.”

“Then why call names?”

“I didn’t call you a name, I said you were not paying attention. Now, if you’re done being so self-absorbed and will sit still, I’ll tell you a story you don’t know.”

This got Coyote to pay attention. She sniffed again, trying to figure out where the voice came from, and then peered around one more time, “Ok. Well if it is a new story.”

“It is an old story, but new to you.” The wind picked up and new scents filled Coyote’s nose. Burning smells, harsh and oily seemed to stick in her nose, she felt cramped and cold and hot and tired and scared and happy and exhilarated all at once. “There was a man, he was the son of the creator. He came to his people and told them he would make a sacrifice for them all. He gathered together twelve men to help him tell his story, but few believed him.”

Coyote scoffed and started to get up, “Oh I know that story, it just hasn’t been told yet. They get all the weapons and throw them under a tree.”

“Sit down.” The voice made Coyote sit down. “This is not that story, but they are alike. Soon many people started to listen to the Son of the Creator. So many people listened that other men, the men who ruled, started to feel threatened. So they killed the Son. But that was part of the Son’s plan. That was his sacrifice.”

Coyote scoffed again, “I would never die so other people could live. Besides, I can come back!! I learned that from Bear.”

The wind changed direction, and new smells, soft smells of spices and salt soon filled Coyote’s nose, and it got her hackles up and made her calm and she cried while she grinned. “Where are those coming from?”

Grandfather seemed to chuckle from the earth itself, “Those are where you need to go Coyote. Maybe you know everything here, but you know nothing of there.”

“Where is there? Is it far? Do they know how to play ball or change shape?”

“No, they don’t play ball or change shape. They made a world based on the teachings of the Son. They revere his gift from the creator and try to live as he lived. You should see what they know.”

Coyote was intrigued, and forgot she was bored. “I will go and meet these people of the Son. They seem interesting and the smells are new. I like new smells. Even if they’re bad smells sometimes they have good things to eat.”

“Well then you have to go very far towards the sun, but there is water that way. Or you can go very far to the north but then you have to ask the North Wind to let you pass.”

This irritated Coyote, because she remembered when Sky Woman came down and everything was water, and she didn’t like the way the water made her beautiful fur stick down and smell funny. Swimming wasn’t very fun. And going north would be hard because the last time Coyote went north she made the North Wind very upset when she tried to make it warm. Silly wind thought it should always be cold but Coyote wanted to see it warmer. Either way she wasn’t happy about the choices. “Are you sure I can’t go south or west? West is nice, I like west.”

“No Coyote, we know the folks in the west already. They came here in small boats and left us some of their things and left with some of ours. And they are not the people of the Son. And south, well you would have to die eventually to go that far south.”

Coyote didn’t want to die, and she really wanted to meet these people of the Son. So she sat down and lolled out her tongue. She thought best when she could taste the air. The wind changed again, and the new smells were gone and it was the same old boring way it was.

“Grandfather, when I meet these people will they play ball with me?”

Silence greeted Coyote. Well, she thought, I guess he left, from wherever he was hiding. She doubted he was really a grandfather, probably Mosquito playing a trick on Coyote. Oh how she hated his bites. She scratched again, tongue bouncing about as she thought of how to get to the people of the Son.

She remembered that a long time ago some big hairy people had come in long wooden boats and met with the coast people. They didn’t get along so Coyote didn’t get to see if they played ball or not, but he remembered that they seemed to like fish. Big fish.

“Well I might as well start walking to the West at least and then when I get to the water, I’ll probably have thought of something by then.” Coyote was good at thinking of things, and sometimes those things became real. Maybe if she thought enough of a way to get across the water it would be waiting for her when she got to the big water.

The trip took a long time and along the way, Coyote got distracted. She teased one group of Indians with some dream walking, and another group she made sick until they learned how to sweat it out. She didn’t mean to make them sick but apparently eating Coyote dung made to look like meat made Indians sick.

When she got to the water she had forgotten to think about what to do about getting across the water so of course, there was no way to get across just waiting for her. This annoyed her so she decided to get some Indians to play ball with her. Playing ball with Coyote isn’t very fun, unless you’re Coyote. She changes the rules a lot, and always wins. But one little boy who lived by the big water was willing to play with Coyote. He said his name was Oskinikins and he liked to play ball, even if he lost. So the boy and Coyote played, dancing about, and Coyote taught the boy the rules, and how the rules changed with each new throw. Quickly the boy learned how to anticipate what Coyote would change the rules to so eventually he won a game. This made Coyote a little bit mad, but it was so fun to play ball and for it not to be boring that she only nipped at Oskinikins’ heels a bit.

“Hey Oskinikins, do you remember the big hairy people?”

“Oh yes, they were very mean. They wanted fish and tried to take our fish.”

“Did they play ball?”

“No, they only played war. They killed my uncle, so my father killed that hairy man.”

“Oh I don’t like killing,” Coyote was a big fan of living forever, “did they leave any directions on how to get back where they came from?”

“Oh yes, they left a map, and my father still has it. But there is a big ugly swimming snake in the water to the east on their map, so no one has tried to follow it.”

“Show me!”

Oskinikins took Coyote to look at the map, and Coyote studied it carefully, “Oh you’re right, that is a big ugly swimming snake. I bet a monster that big could drink the whole big water!” The boy nodded in a frightful manner.

Coyote suddenly had an idea, “Oh that stupid Grandfather! He made me think I would have to swim. Well I will have to but not as me!” With that Coyote started to change shape into the big swimming snake from the map of the large hairy people.

Oskinikins was alarmed, “Don’t change here, you’ll crush the whole village once you get big enough!” The boy quickly gathered up the changing parts of Coyote and rushed to the big water. With a huge heave, he threw Coyote off a cliff and into the water. Coyote had forgotten where she was and happily fell into the water, waving a big flipper as she splashed down, “Bye bye Oskinikins! Thank you!”

Coyote started swimming about, getting so large, she almost beached herself, but then remembered she could move like a snake too. She slithered off into the depths and started off to the east, following the sun and the stars. As big as she was it didn’t take her long to swim across the big water.

As she floated about, she started to see big huge shapes floating above her, at first she thought they were whales, and once she surfaced, she saw they were huge canoes, with large tents stretched out on poles and ropes. She watched in amazement as people, pale people, ran about on the ship, tying off ropes, shouting at one another, and generally trying to keep the big tents from falling down. Coyote found one that had a big chain slung down from it, with a huge hook at one end. What a silly way to fish, she thought, with the hook on the ground. But she needed to learn about these people, who certainly looked like the people of the Son as Grandfather had described them. She turned into a mouse and scurried up the chain and into the huge canoe.

Inside she met other mice, but they were rather simple creatures, who only seemed to care about food and staying away from the people. The mice told Coyote they were called humans. Funny word that. It almost sounded like what the Indians called each other just mixed up. The mice also told Coyote that they couldn’t change shape. Coyote knew a lot of mice back home, she would trick them into playing ball before eating them, and they could all change shape.

Coyote thought it would be fun to learn how to be one of these people of the Son, so tried to change into a human. Instead of changing she pooped. The other mice laughed at her. Coyote was very angry at this so she tried to change into herself and eat the mice but all she did was poop again. This was very troubling.

“What are you trying to do?” Asked all the mice.

“I’m trying to change into a human,” answered Coyote.

“You can’t do that you’re a mouse!”

“No, I’m a coyote who changed into a sea monster that changed into a mouse.”

The mice laughed at Coyote, “You’re a crazy mouse! What’s a coyote?”

Coyote was very upset at this. She tried to change again, and once again, she pooped. There was nice a large pile of mouse droppings by Coyote. The other mice started to run away, “If the humans find all that poop, they’re going to look for us! Stay away from us you crazy mouse!”

Coyote was stuck. She didn’t want to be a mouse and she was pretty sure she couldn’t change back into something that could swim all the way back home, so she decided to find out if there was anyone who could help her change on the ship.

Many days passed. Coyote made a few friends with the mice, and taught them how to play ball. It was hard as a mouse because they had no ball, but Coyote taught them how to use their poop to do it so it kept the humans from finding it. And mice aren’t known for being all that clean. Coyote also listened to the humans and learned how they talked. They kept speaking of some new world that Carter was going to find and they would find lots of money. All these new words confused Coyote and scared her. She didn’t want to go to a new world. Sure she was bored, but she didn’t want to lose a way home.

After a while the big canoe found land and beached itself. Coyote’s curiosity got the better of her and she rushed off the boat and sniffed at the air. It smelled familiar! She knew this place! Oskinikins lived just a day or two north! Coyote tried and sure enough she changed back into herself!! She jumped about and laughed, thrilled to be home, even if it was boring, and happy to be able to change again, even if it meant she never got to see the land of the people of the Son.

But as it turns out the people of the Son came here. This couldn’t be their new world could it? Well if their world was new to Coyote, then perhaps her world was new to them. She was so happy she ran off to play with the Indians again.

After a while, Coyote started to hear stories of the people of the Son. How they learned how to live like Indians, but still couldn’t change shape. But she ran into some mice who told her that the mice from the boat learned how to change shape and now they were humans! They looked like a mix between the humans and the Indians. And they were teaching the humans how to play ball, but not with poop, with real balls. This infuriated Coyote, because the mice were horrible at playing ball and they always got the rules wrong and couldn’t figure out how the rules changed, and they cheated. They cheated really badly!

Coyote ran to see Oskinikins. Except he wasn’t called that, now he was called Inini. Coyote told Inini about his problem, “The mice are teaching the humans how to play ball, but they’re teaching it wrong! Can you go teach them the right way?”

Inini shook his head, “No, they don’t listen to me. I can’t get them to stop asking about what they need and how hungry they are. We give them all they need and they want more. They are stockpiling their food and they would have died, if not for us, but now they are taking too much. I fear they won’t ever listen.”

Coyote argued that was because they didn’t understand how to play ball, “If they knew the right way then they would listen!” Inini didn’t really believe Coyote, but thought he would try. He went to the humans and played ball with them, trying to correct the mistakes that the mice had taught them, but the humans just laughed, “Oh sure, you teach us a game and then keep changing the rules. Good joke.” It didn’t seem to help.

Coyote was very frustrated. She saw that the changes the humans brought to the game were making it worse and worse. It wasn’t fun to play ball with the humans. They always argued and changed the rules, and wouldn’t stop until they won. Even the Indians wanted to stop playing ball with the humans, but Inini counseled against this. He told the other Indians, “It just takes time. Look at how they listen now when they didn’t listen at all. In time they will join us where we are, but we have to wait. We know they will keep winning, but it isn’t winning that matters, what matters is that they will still play ball with us.” Others didn’t see the wisdom of this. The Kotas hated the humans and fought them just as hard as the humans fought them. Others moved away, some of Inini’s family with them, to get away from the humans. Others moved with the humans, listening to Inini’s words and kept trying to play ball with the humans.

One day, a long time ago, Coyote was bored with trying to teach ball to the humans. She flopped down on a rock, letting her tongue loll out so she could taste the air while she thought. “Maybe if I make something then it can learn how to play ball with me.”

“So did you meet the people of the Son?”

“Grandfather?! Where are you hiding again?”

“Silly Coyote, you don’t need to make something to play ball with you. You need to learn how to play ball like the humans. Then they will see you as a human.”

“But I’m a Coyote.”

“What does Inini call his people?”

“Anishinabe.”

“What does that mean?”

“The people.”

“What does human mean?”

“I think it means people.”

“What does it mean to be people?”

“I don’t know. I’m a Coyote.”

“Exactly.”

Artist Statement

I thought a lot about those three sections and all those questions. And a lot of them, I’ve written essays on them before. I thought about all I know about the Anishinabe, and their history and what it meant to me. I could not see how to answer those questions without writing what I’ve already written. It did not seem like I could answer them without crossing over paths I’ve crossed before. And I thought of what this history means to me, and how I see it. I’ve learned a lot in this class, a lot of things I feel will help me produce those things I need to do, but first, I need to understand one vital point that keeps eluding me. That history is not an artifact, it isn’t a part of a missing link of who I am, instead it has always been a part of me, but I’ve often refused to believe it. So how could I demonstrate that I understand what that history means to me?

There is no essay, no test question I can answer that will show that. Instead, it takes the language and ways of the Anishinabe to demonstrate that. And while I have not fully assimilated my own language, I have learned more about why I need to. To that effect, this story is disjointed, it is harsh, and uses terms and techniques that will make it feel awkward and clunky. Because it is done in English rather than Anishinabe, and for that reason alone it will seem out of place.

This story also touches on the part of me that is always an outsider. This year at the university, helping where I can, has shown me that there is still a significant amount of work that needs to be done in both the white and Indian world that will allow both sides to understand each other. I am told by the whites that I should be able to understand their position and help the Indians. The Indians tell me to talk to the whites. Both sides tell me I’m not a part of them and should be careful what I say to them. It has not heightened my sense of community. Except when I have participated in the ceremonies. Within those, things like my genetic make up are forgotten and a spiritual communion happens. That spirit, that ability to bring our spirituality out of the ceremony and use it in every day life is important, and again, I hope that message is visible in the disjointed aspect of this story.

The point, I suppose, of this story is to try to find that point of intersection. It is not a middle ground or even a compromise, instead, it is knowing that we can all play ball.

Just nothing

2010-05-18T23:19:00.004-06:00

Heya folks, come on in, I've let the fire go down to coals, feel free to cook up something. The pantry is full and I'm sure we've got some nice fish for everyone to enjoy.

So here's the thing folks. I've had a rough few days dealing with a situation with the Little Bear's school. It's becoming one of those situations where I honestly have to question what the fuck they're teaching teachers these days. But on the flip side it has helped me teach the Little Bear a particular lesson that I think we all need to accept.

The world nothings you. The world is not a place that is out to get you. It is not a dark scary place filled with sharp pointy things and evil monsters out to eat you, nor is it a happy place of rainbows and puppy dogs, where your every wish shall be fulfilled and you will always find happiness. It is just a place. It is a place that heavily depends on what you do in it, but at the same time there is a lot of folks out there who are also in it, and even when they apparently screw you over it rarely has anything to do with how they feel about you, but instead their own needs and desires. The world nothings you.

The world nothings you. It does not owe you anything. You are not promised anything coming into the world, or going out of it. Either in or out, the thing about life is that no one gets out alive. Nor does it mean when you do everything the 'right' way will you get what you want. Sometimes it just works out that way. It doesn't mean that nefarious forces are gathered to prevent you from getting what you want, it just means that someone else maybe wanted it more or didn't care that you wanted it as well. The world nothings you.

The world nothings you. Life does not suck. It is not a hellish experience filled with bad news and disappointment. Nor is life a bowl of cherries. It is neither end of this spectrum, and perhaps is not related to a spectrum at all, instead a point of dots that intersect other points. The world nothings you.

The world nothings you. That is neither bad nor good. It merely is.

Five years

2010-05-16T20:53:00.002-06:00

Come on in, the fire is low, the skins thrown back and we just reloaded the larder. Feel free to gnosh. Oh and another successful birthday done, little crow, Antekens, is five years old today. Amazing.

Of course there is a bit of a problem with events like this. I always end up feeling lonely. No this isn't a whine folks, just one of those things that always hits me at some point during the festivities. Happens at family events, happens at parties, happens pretty much everywhere because, well, I'm at that age. Mid-thirties, everyone who can be paired off usually is. And I'm pretty much destined to be single.

And again, this isn't me bemoaning my relationship status. Sure, I'd love to have a partner I could share my life with, but I really doubt that is in the cards. I've been in a number of serious relationships, pretty much married twice, and the final count is Me-0, Relationship death-1,000,000. And when the score is that lopsided, you have to figure, it's probably not everyone else I've dated. Kinda like the old line, if you walk into a room and everyone calls you an asshole, it probably isn't the room that has the issue.

So no this isn't a 'poor me, I'm so lonely,' and this isn't a 'fucking stupid chicks don't get me,' it is simply me saying, man, lonely sucks. Appreciate the relationships you have, cherish them and congratulate yourself on learning a lesson I apparently haven't yet. Cheers folks.

Zombies Bad

2010-05-16T09:15:00.002-06:00

Come on in and watch the flames... oh and I know the cupboards are bare, bring your own snacks.

So there I am, walking into the house with the Antekens. And the following conversation happens.

Antekens: So does Little Bear still have her stilts?
Coyote: Crutches honey, and no.
A: Why not?
C: Because her ankle wasn't as hurt as we thought it was.
A: Oh well, that's good. But what if it swells up again? What if it gets worse?
C: I guess we'll just have to cut that foot off then.
A: NO! That's bad.
C: Really? Why?
A: Because then she'd have a hole in her leg. And she might bleed. And then people might mistake her for a zombie. And that's bad.
C: Totally.
A: Yeah, cuz people kill zombies. And we don't want Little Bear to be killed.
C: Yeah, I agree. No cutting her foot off.

I love my girls.

Take home exams

2010-04-21T10:54:00.004-06:00

Come on in, still beautiful and the fire is still low. Some nice corned beef and rye bread available for some sandwiches. Garlic pickles too.

So let me explain something I hate. I hate take home exams. Do you want to know why I hate them? Because they're way more work than just going in and sitting down and writing a 3 hour exam. Well for me they're way more work. Let me explain.

I review constantly. When I leave a classroom, I think about what was discussed. I then get home and review my notes and compare it to the text book reading. You see I'm usually done all my reading, first run through at least, by the third week of the semester. I then start casually re-reading so I can identify things I have heard in lectures or things I might want to write about. Then once a week I go over my notes and readings, and ask myself questions about what gaps are in the knowledge. I usually email my professor or talk to them about these gaps and get suggestions on further reading, as well as do some casual research to find more info to fill in those gaps. Once a month I do a couple hour review that helps me link all this stuff together.

I work my butt off during the semester so that when it comes time for finals to happen, I can sit down and write for three hours and walk out knowing I've learned something and have been able to demonstrate it as well. So it pisses me off when I get a take home exam.

Because everyone always votes for a take home exam. Because it means they get to slack off and just do a research paper for the final. So because 99% of the other students want to be slackass fucktards, I have to now do another research paper?! Fuck you lazy cumstains. And to top it off, so I can pay rent I have to go back to work immediately and only take off the days for finals. So on these days off, rather than having a bit of a relax, writing a paper, and getting back to normal I have to spend it writing a fucking goddamn research paper!!

So it pisses me off. Fucking lazy shitheads.

Tag!

2010-04-20T22:49:00.003-06:00

Come on in, the fire is low and the skins are taken right down. The air is so gorgeous out right now, can't imagine wanting anything but to sleep outside in it tonight.

So I watched the Little Crow play tag last night. I just about split a gut laughing at her frenzied antics and drama laden shrieks. Actual dialogue.

Little Crow: I'm it? I don't want to be it.
Coyote: Well honey, tag someone else and you won't be it.
Little Crow: Oh. (runs up and tags her sister who wasn't playing) You're it!
Little Bear: I'm not playing!
Little Crow: You weren't playing, 'til I tagged you! (sprints away, arms flailing in the air) Run for your LIFE!!!!!

I just about peed.

Time slips

2010-04-18T12:41:00.002-06:00

Come on in and take a quick seat. This is just a random thought bouncing around as I sit in the den and finish off another semester.

So my Little Bear is a teen, 14, and of those 14 or so years, only about 5 months of her life have not been spent living with me. And it bothers me.

Don't get me wrong, I'm not much of a sentimentalist, I don't long for the good old days, or wish my children were small again. I find a wonderful joy in each new day as things change. So why do those missing months bother me?

Well because three of them came at a very early age when my ex-wife left and took Little Bear with her. She left being a little baby who still breast fed and while she walked a bit was not entirely mobile, to a toddler who spoke (admittedly not much) and could feed herself.

I can never have those three months back, I can never know what she was like during that time. And I covet that time others had with her because she is so incredible.

Dunno if there is a point here. Sometimes the only point we need is the tops of our heads.

An apology

2010-04-13T10:42:00.003-06:00

Come on in. I know it's raining but I've thrown back the skins to get as much clean new air into the den as possible. I love thunderstorms. The tend to get me all riled up, filled with the energy of the storm.

So I know I'm not a big fan of apologies. I find them useless for the most part. But there are some times when someone has to step up and say what has not been said and give a clear accounting of themselves. As such, I wish to clarify something about the debacle at the FNUC.

You see, we screwed up. By we I mean First Nations people. For far too long we have allowed our leaders to practice unfettered greed and personal power to our detriment. We sat by passively and allowed others to tell us what we should do and then did nothing ourselves. We were apparently satisfied with the status quo, hoping that someone would come along and fix it.

Well they did. They fixed it so we may end up losing a great institution. The provincial and federal governments came in and took away our funding because it was being abused. And they had good reason to.

So to the rest of Canada, since no one else will say it, I say we're sorry for fucking up. We're going to try to do better, and expect no one to recognize that until it is done. We fucked up and we're sorry.

On a related note, and possibly more sarcastic and inflamitory, I'd like to apologize for a few other things.

We are sorry, that as a people who have been subjected to a hundred years of genocide, that we are downtrodden and used to being abused to the point that we accept any abuse, even those from our own people.

We are sorry that as a part of that genocide you took our children, people who are now adults and in positions of leadership, and stole their identity. You made them into copies of your culture yet rejected from that structure so they had nothing to tie themselves to. They are forced into a mindset lacking any moral grounding and can do nothing but satisfy their own base needs.

We are sorry that as a part of this stealing of our culture and history we now have a generational gap that must be overcome and with the few elders left, our young men and women are having to relearn their culture and become proper members of their community.

We are sorry that Canada has to wait while we overcome the difficulties of repairing our culture after various acts of genocide. We respect that patience is not always there and as such we may just do things our way and make others wait while we figure this out for ourselves.

We are sorry that we cannot take your examples of civilization because all we have been introduced to are the elements that have tried to destroy us and as such we find your civilization questionable.

We are sorry that we have given Canada such a shameful history and black eye in the international community, one that Canada hides on a constant basis, by not laying down and dying under your efforts of genocide. We should have told you at the outset that adaptation and survival are the two biggest imperatives of our various cultures and histories and that eventually we would figure out how to get by despite Canada's attempt to destroy us.

And finally I, as an individual who identifies as a half breed, am very sorry that I must be the one to point out the mistakes on both sides. I know I don't get to stand with either side, instead I must stay out here with the rest of the outcasts, and try to get either side to listen. I leave you with a poem.

Song of the Breed
by Carroll Arnett/Gogisgi

Don't offend
the fullbloods,
don't offend
the whites,
stand there in
the middle
of the god-
damned road
and get hit.

Dreaming of Romance

2010-04-12T08:42:00.003-06:00

Come on in and watch the smoke from the flames. The fire is high because it is snowing again. When the smoke washes over us, sometimes it finds our dreams and lets others watch.

We stood together and you had your head bowed. I was mixed up in a whole series of frightening emotions. My adrenaline was pumping, my heart was fluttering, my head hurt, and watching you make different excuses and pull up a lot off different walls frustrated and infuriated me.

"But I'm not going to be in Regina for much longer, sure I'll be back after the practical, and you said, you want to go somewhere for your doctorate. And I'm just not ready to try something because I'm still raw. It just seems silly for us to try to get to know each other better, or beyond friends, I just *-"

Your eyes go wide as I grab you up and kiss you. At first your hands hit my shoulders and lightly push. I'm not holding you that tightly. Firmly, sure, but not so tight you couldn't push away if you wanted to. I peek. Your eyes close and your arms wrap around my shoulders.

At first it is just our lips pressed. And your body remains rigid, apart. I let my hands unclasp and rather than a hug I slowly run my hand along your back and side, I let the other reach up to touch your hair, your neck. I'm aroused as your body slowly melts into mine. Your leg presses between my own. Your hands cradle my head and our lips slowly part.

For eternity we let our breath, our souls mix. The kiss erases physical boundaries and we entwine.

I step back, regretfully. Time stopped for us, but not the rest of the world. I stare into your eyes as we separate. I hold out my hand, smile as charmingly as I can, "Would you care to join me for dinner tonight?"

"As," your voice is shaky and hoarse, you cough and clear your throat, and try to grin but seem nervous, "As friends?"

"No, I'd love to get to know you, slowly and surely. I'd like to go on a date with you." I grin and wink, "Will you be my girlfriend? You can wear my school jacket."

You laugh at me and shake your head, "I don't think this is wise."

"So you're coming to dinner as my date then?"

Quietly, but with conviction, "Yeah." You mutter something as you turn to pick up your dropped bag, and I think it was 'that was some kiss,' but I don't need to clarify. You'll tell me if you want me to know.

-

Several years later we meet. It is a pleasant surprise to see you here amongst other former students. We chat and you are as charming and beautiful as you were so many years ago. I haven't the inclination to stop you as you tell me all you've done since we left one another, as out paths diverged.

"You know, that kiss was one of the best of my life." You're surprised as you say it, and I chuckle.

"Greatest I can remember."

Our hands touch, then wrap around each other. It is more a handshake between friends than the interwoven fingers of lovers. For a moment we both seem to be held timeless again as either one of us might change the simple embrace.

"Thanks."

We part as others come to greet us, and time resumes.

Ok Dan Hardy.

2010-04-09T10:21:00.003-06:00

Come on in and enjoy the skins down, amazing how much they stop the wind hmm? And we have peanut butter and banana sammichs!

Ok. So Dan. Mr. Hardy. I understand you gotta be you, and you're a loud mouth shit head, I get that. I understand that. I really do. I'm a bit of an asshole myself so I get it. But let's be honest here ok. You got your ass kicked. You got dominated by a far superior fighter. Not just a better athlete, not just a better martial artist. You got your ass KICKED by a better fighter. GSP punched you when he wanted to, he took you down at will, and the only reason he didn't break your arm is a slight miscalculation on how he should have had the hold in the position he was in.

But for you to say THIS SHIT? Oh wow. Are you ever a fucking retard:

"Obviously GSP won, you look at the scorecard and he was dominant in his victory. But I didn't feel like I was beaten up in any way, I wasn't injured, I wasn't hurt. He took the win from me but he didn't take the fight from me.

"I wasn't beaten mentally or physically. I don't know, it must be frustrating for the fans and it's frustrating for me because I know that GSP has the kind of potential to make more of a fight out of it. But he's very good at wrestling and he chooses to stick with the safe option to keep his belt. I mean you can't hold it against him. It's not what I would do in his situation but I'm not in his situation right now, so I can't really make those calls."

That is Hardy's opinion of the fight. Really. REALLY?

Ok well let's look at the fight metrics.

St-Pierre took Hardy down 11 times and connected on 59 of 79 significant strikes, according to FightMetric which tracks mixed martial arts bouts. Compare that to Hardy's four of 27.

FightMetric gave the champion 84 out of a 100 in its Total Performance Review -- which it compares to a football quarterback's rating. Hardy got a 14.

Dude. You got fucking owned. And then you come out and say, 'I mean sure, he won but really, he only won by showing off the glaring holes in my game, where if I were the champion, I woulda come out and tried a very stupid game plan that would put me at risk.' What a fucking retard. How dare GSP fight a smart game plan that made you look like you never should have gotten the shot in the first place.

To quote Fightlinker (BTW full on sarcasm in full effect): All kidding aside, though, shame on GSP for exploiting his opponent’s weaknesses en route to dominating victories. Prick.

BTW, all data and quotes pulled from TSN.

Random thoughts while procrastinating before getting back to writing a paper

2010-04-07T09:40:00.004-06:00

Come on in, it's a beautiful day. The cat is wandering around and the little bear is here because of holidays. Small fire, just to get the smell of sage around the cave. Always helps to clear out the winter smells.

So Tiger Woods is front page news for being a golfer who fucked around. Slow news day? Let me tell you all what I feel about this. Tiger has a lot of money, is a handsome dude, and he would have literally had pussy flying at his face. Does this mean he should have done what he did? *shrug* For me, no, for others, yes. For other still, they don't know. What I _do_ know is that it isn't front page news.

The feds cut funding to the commission for dealing with residential school issues, citing their negative attitude towards the feds. Hmmm. Y'know I've said this before. Saying sorry is meaningless if your actions still show you don't care.

MMA is now its own tab on the TSN website rather than under the 'more' tab! COOL! The sport is more mainstream!

How about that. A re-imagining of A Nightmare on Elm Street. If they fuck this up I will make my own glove and find the producers and ... well. You've all seen the movies.

I've been injecting myself with insulin for about four months now. They told me 'You'll get used to it, the pain will go away.' It hasn't, and I haven't. I hate the injections. But. I'll keep doing them.

And it looks like I'll be coaching soccer again. WHEE!!! :) For the wee little guys too, 4 5 and 6 year olds. I love that age group.

War! HUH What is it good for?

2010-03-31T00:01:00.003-06:00

Come on in, and grab a seat, the skins are thrown back so we can all enjoy the gorgeous weather. Yeah I know, unoriginal title, but when someone gets it that dead on, y'know?

So to quote the horse from Ren & Stimpy, "No sir, I don't like it." Not a big fan of war as a means to solve issues, because it is so devastating. And the fall out for a war continues well beyond the end of the conflict so it doesn't really solve anything, except maybe who has the best weapons.

I do recognize the need for war to resolve certain types of disputes. And I can't give you a definition of what those types of disputes are. Instead I would offer this as the means with which to judge if going to war is the proper thing: If you are willing to completely obliterate your opponent, and by that I mean wipe them from the face of the earth, every man, woman and child, and all they have done and are doing, to completely erase them from existence, then you are prepared for war and should go to it. If your commitment to it isn't to that extent, then you had better find another solution.

A lot of people will read that and go 'Holy shit Coyote, you're a complete psycho who advocates the destruction of an entire people!' I don't. I just know there isn't many wars I'd advocate if I had to use that as my measuring stick. I apply it to a personal level. Outside of participating in a sport that requires it, I will not get into a fight unless I am willing to kill that person. Because you can never EVER predict what will happen after the fighting starts. What might only annoy one person might kill another. I know my skull is somewhat proof against large blunt objects (many people have tested it) but other folks might get a crushed skull from a baseball bat to the back of the dome. Hell I might too if it is hit in the right manner. And if attacked I will defend myself to the same extreme if required because I have many people who depend on me for their existence. To harm me puts them at risk and I won't let that happen.

Ok so yeah, maybe I am a bit loopy. And I'm sure there might be better solutions. And I'm sure a lot of folks out there will read this and go 'Geez... maybe Coyote got too many smacks to the dome,' but it comes down to this: I value human life far too greatly, including those that would oppose me even by force, to want to take their life without being absolutely sure that it was required.

When we care

2010-03-25T09:44:00.004-06:00

Come on in out of the cold, and enjoy the fire. Typical Saskatchewan weather, give ya some warm, then slam you with some cold once you've put the parka away. Well we have some yummy soup and grilled cheese sammiches. Dig in.

So a good friend of mine is going to do something today she hasn't done yet. And she's very nervous. I understand nerves. When you're about to do something you really care about you tend to get nervous because you don't want to screw up. As well if it is something where you are representing more than just yourself you don't want to be a bad representative.

It made me think of my days playing football. ('Gee Coyote, what doesn't relate to your days playing football?' Nothing. I learned more in my days of football about what life was really like than just about anywhere else. 'Oh well. I was mainly just making fun of you.' I know. I learned about that in football too.) I remember how worked up I got before a game. I was jittery, shaking with anticipation and fear. It didn't matter that I'd dedicated hundreds of hours to making myself a better football player, it all comes down to game day. Until that first hit I was caught between pissing myself and puking. Dunno how I got through so many games without doing either, but I did.

Once that first hit came though, my body would take over. Sure my mind was there but you don't think once you're in the moment, you just do. If you have to think you're already beat. You practice and think then so you don't have to during the game. And I think that is what a lot of things are like. Practice, so when you get to the big moment you don't have to think, you just do.

I also believe the nerves are necessary. It is your body purging the mind of energy, because it knows what to do, it knows the moves, the footwork, the balance, and the rhythm. Almost like a defense mechanism to keep your mind busy so it can't fuck up what the body knows it can do.

So to you, my friend, good luck. Nerves are good. And as I told you before, I've watched you perform. You obviously love doing it and put a lot of yourself into it, and because of that, when the time comes, let your body do what it knows to do.

Once upon a time

2010-03-23T15:40:00.003-06:00

So come on in, got a bit of good news, looks like the Province, the U of R and FNUC have come to some kind of agreement, and Norris is going to start lobbying the feds. Neat. Oh and we got some salad left from supper last night. Enjoy!

So I was watching a Disney show about male twins, who would be about 12, dancing with two female twins of about the same age. And there they were dancing cheek to chest, and it reminded me of my first slow dance, the only slow dance I had with this girl, with my grade school crush.

She had curly strawberry blonde hair, gorgeous freckles, complained about how her mom used her arm hairs to test mascara. And she sat beside me through most of grade seven.

I had that one slow dance with her, and yeah, I was shorter, and she was a highly developed female. We were cheek to boobs. But I don't remember those. I remember looking into those fantastic green eyes, framed perfectly by those gorgeous freckles, and seeing her smile. Probably because I had a big stupid goofy grin on my face because, let's face it, I was 12 and my head was next to boobs. But that's not what I remember. I remember that smile.

Man she was gorgeous.

My love

2010-03-22T10:15:00.002-06:00

So we're still here, still enjoying the dark shadowy recesses of the den. If you just came, go here first. Trust me, it might make more sense.

One of the founding principles of the First Nations University of Canada is to teach from the cultural perspective of our Elders and to use the world view of various First Nations to create a unique and fulfilling educational atmosphere that will allow all cultures of Canada to benefit from those teachings. As such it is baffling that our leadership took so long to fix themselves, and in fact didn't choose to but were forced to by the actions of students and faculty.

So as such I want to teach you something. One of the things I learned at the First Nations University of Canada. Well, actually, I learned it a long time ago. Turns out I've always lived 'as an Indian.' Just didn't know how to articulate it.

One of the fundamental aspects of First Nations world view is the concept of the Sacred Circle. While it has been called many different things, and is symbolized by a lot of different ideas, words, and pictures. Yet despite the simplicity of this idea and symbol it is rarely incorporated correctly or interpreted correctly.

When it is stated that this symbol encompasses everything, it literally means that. EVERYTHING is in this circle. The good, the bad, and the ugly. Everything is inside this circle. Within it is a web of connections that touches everything else.

So why does this apparently simple concept get so misinterpreted. Because of human falicy. Because even those raised in this culture and who claim to live by these principles can sometimes forget this central point. It happens, it isn't wrong, or bad, it just happens. No one can forever walk their path without misstep.

So to expand this to a concrete example, let's look at my school again. The FNUC uses a principle of inclusion in its education principles. But our leaders forgot about that. They refused outside help, they ignored warnings and issues that others had pointed out and continued down a path of self-interest rather than inclusion. They excluded others who could help them so they failed. And now we're finding in the fixing of the problems that perhaps that is starting to happen again.

I say this because what baffles me, is while I know that the provincial and federal governments do have an obligation to fund the FNUC, what is being done to include outside sources of revenue? A friend once said your ability to get funding depends on your ability to get funding. This idea fits perfectly into the Circle. Your ability to include others, and to widen the overall impact of the school depends on your ability to include others and widen the overall impact of the school.

While that might seem like a redundant thought, I'd prefer if you took some time just to consider that idea. How do you understand the overall impact without testing the waters and trying to get as broad a range as possible?

So I'll take this down a step to just me and you, here in the den. Me and you, sitting here and enjoying some food. If you and I can sit here and discuss this, even if we don't agree on the same point, that doesn't mean either of us are wrong. In fact it is the disagreement, the difference and tension, that creates a space that is most useful. Because it allows both of us a place to understand more than we knew before.

So does that make any sense? No? Yes? Think it over. Find the difference and the space. Find the whole.

My school

2010-03-22T09:34:00.003-06:00

Come on in, spring is here. My kitty has decided she is needed to help me write this so she is perched on my lap staring at the keyboard as my fingers go clickityclack. Oh and trying to tempt same hands to pet her. Ooooh and there's nachos for snacking on today.

So you'd think I would have written a lot about the problems at my school. You'd think, I, as someone who might have a couple readers, would actively attempt to educate you all on various issues within this particular problem and spend great gobs of energy on ensuring that at least a few people out there were fully aware of all the issues involved. But I haven't.

Why? Asked with a note of concern and confusion. When has the Coyote ever shut up about issues that concern him? When he's angry. When he's very very angry. When it could best be described as a rage. When I know that my own base nature will cause me to snap out and bite you all despite our friendship and love. Because this situation has me in that rage.

It makes me want to say things that are fueled by bitter, vengeful feelings, to use words that will slash at you and make you bleed like I do when I think about these things. When I get like this, I want you all to feel the pain of the last 400 years of a people who invited in guests, to have those guests shit on the carpet, light the couch on fire, and then lock them in the coal room of the basement.

And some of you would say, 'But Coyote, this is not my fault, this was done hundred of years ago, how can this include me?' And again I would rage, and want you to feel my teeth and claws, because you don't get it. You forget that we all have benefited, have enjoyed the privilege of a society built on the backs of others and that makes us all responsible for those issues. Why does it matter now? Because now wouldn't exist without then.

I get so angry and I clench my teeth and fists, I feel my claws puncture my own skin and I howl and screech at the world around me and I say, I think, I ask, 'If they knew what would happen now, if those Anishinabe, my ancestors who helped Cartier stay, who led the whites further and further inland, even watching as these Europeans abused sacred practices like the pipe ceremony, would that do it again?' And this bitter, dark, poisoned part of me screams 'Of course not!! They'd kill those fucking interlopers and burn their bones to ash!' But that same voice laughs, and sits back down and shakes it's feathered, wide eyed head. It speaks and I don't just listen, I live it.

Owl speaks, 'You witness the darkness all around you and sometimes you're just too stupid to get it aren't you? You are lucky I watch and come to you when you start to do something wrong. Like now. Your people are beaten and weak, they bleed when they walk, when they breathe! When they die is the only time their pain stops and you sit there in your little place of privilege, able to act like the moniyas and think you get to rage? Stupid child, listen now. Open now. Your people are not bitter people. They would have done nothing different, for they foresaw that the welcoming of new people, no matter the pain, was always better than exclusion. They knew what the Europeans would do, they called them Wendigo. They knew. Stupid child, they would have welcomed them in just the same and given them the same hospitality and loved them, hoping that in time the love would pay off. Do you love stupid child? Do you? Then find those words. Don't use the angry ones. Love. In the dark, love is the only thing that makes you see your way out.'

With that I ask you, I beg you, forgive my anger. I mean harm but not hate, and as such I will leave this question in regards to the FNUC. In regards to this issue:
If you knew you could say something, something that was fueled by love, by your soul, rather than by the black ink of the issue, would you say it?

AH HA!

2010-03-16T12:20:00.002-06:00

Come on in, the fire is low because the weather is just gorgeous!! Even my cat, who is terrified of everything that is outside our door, wants to enjoy it.

So my friend Cenobyte, she's pretty awesome. Really really awesome actually. She's wonderfully kind, brilliant, gorgeous, talented, and a whole lot of other words that say she's awesome. But there were times when I thought to myself, 'No one is this awesome... when will we find the bodies?'

Well I found them. Here. She twitters. Oh Ceno. Oh my, that's just ... so ... so ... unawesome.

PS I can't remember Ceno's hand signs for posts to denote humour and sarcasm, but various parts of the post should have those signs. Can you find them?

What moves me

2010-03-10T01:35:00.001-06:00

Come on in and enjoy the fire, watch the flames. Watch what moves me. It's beautiful.

I've always loved this band and they're so underappreciated. Great music.

No we can't all get along.

2010-03-03T09:55:00.008-06:00

Come on in and sit for a bit. I read something and so trying to sweat out how much it angers me to read bullshit like this. It continues to frustrate me that people still think like this. That they don't have the mental capacity to think beyond the here and now and figure out a far more intelligent response. Perhaps it is because of the crap they try to teach kids in grade school these last few decades.

Ok so the student paper at the U of R is not known for its great product. But still, I expect a bit more than a recent editorial. The main point had to do with the Olympics and the various cultural conflicts involved. Said op-ed editor wrote:

This just isn't fair. I had no say in the cultural conflict four hundred years ago. It's not right for anyone to feel marginalized or as though their culture is undervalued, especially that of the Francophone. Why do I have to pay for the mistakes of English ancestry just because I speak the Language? [...] Why can't we all just get along?

Statements like this make my blood boil because of the inherent laziness and lack of care the author spoke against.

She states it is not right that anyone should be marginalized yet that is EXACTLY what she is doing with the next statement. You have to pay for those mistakes because you have benefited from them. You as an Anglophone have grown up in a society designed for YOU, where YOU have benefited from four hundred years of history on the backs of others, from the First Nations, to the French who first laid the work for settlement here in Canada. If you are unable to see this then you are guilty of continuing the issue rather than attempting to correct it.

And the catch all 'Why can't we just get along?' For exactly that reason! You obviously don't understand the issues nor care enough to learn more about them and attempt to correct them. Instead you bemoan your own fate and how unfair it is and why can't we get along. To sum it up: fuck you.

Perhaps if you better understood the issues, such as two of the three founding cultures of Canada being virtually erased from the history of our nation, or perhaps the early restrictive rule of the English upon the French of what was to become Quebec might help you to better understand the current state of affairs. You can't just erase that history and expect the animosity to just disappear. It takes active dialogue and planning to start to repair those bridges so that future relationships can continue in a more positive light. But to sit there in your place of privilege and talk about how unfair it is to you? Again I say fuck you.

It comes down to the oft quoted statement: Those who don't learn from history are forced to repeat it. You want to stop feeling the weight of four hundred years of oppressive history? Stop being one of the oppressors and fix the damn problem, not throw stupid platitudes at it.

Long Live the Queen

2010-02-24T02:27:00.007-06:00

Come on in, sorry about the lack of posts, apparently I have picked up some more readers, imagine that. Kinda frightening that there is an audience besides the folks that know me well but hey maybe crazy is infectious. Anyways, I've been working on stuff and trying to catch up on stuff and dealing with other stuff and that stuff will all be made apparent. And I'm still writing. But I need a break and I realized there is something I've never written about that it is high time I do it. Not just do it but do it right. Oh and I can't sleep.

So in case it isn't apparent, I'm a bit of a character. I don't say this as a means to brag about myself but instead as a recognition that I am not a hum drum person. Sure I'm pretty normal all things considered but at the same time I stand out. Not out of any desire to stand out mind you, I mean really who wants all the hassle? And in case any of you were wondering, while I love you all and know my life is enriched and changed by all your presence there is one person out there who deserves the most credit. She is an outstanding person in her own right. Someone I've known to be the strongest, harshest, gentlest, most beautiful critic and architect of my life. She is my mom. And to start with I just want to say thank you mom, thank you so much for everything.

What kind of person does it take to raise an annoyingly precocious, overly demanding, and at times truly frightening, individual? It takes my mom. Sure things weren't always good, in fact there were some horrible terrible times, but you know what my mom never gave up. No matter what, she did the best she could with the tools she had and in the end has not just made up for the past mistakes but corrected and enhanced those flaws into strengths.

You see I'm going to share something and maybe she may not want it publicly known but my mom beat me. I beat back too. We used to have drop down drag out fights, weapons and everything. Walls were destroyed, a door or two, wooden spoons, trophies, so on and so forth. Not good. So bad in fact that I did some horrible things and ended up in custody. A lot of folks might lay down and just write off the kid as a bad apple, sometimes there are just bad people. Not my mom.

While I was in custody she did everything she could to be a better parent. Not just be a better parent but help others be better parents. She taught the same class she took! And boy did those things help. Not just that but she kept her materials and has since helped me deal with my teenager. Can't beat that.

But that is who my mom is. She never stops caring. I've seen her hurt by caring so much, she has watched a lot of suffering for no reason she can understand and still she stands up for those that want her help and it never stops to amaze me. I've never met one person so accepting and loving in how she operates and for that I must attribute all my knowledge on the subject to her because I can't think of anyone else who does it as quietly and perfectly as her.

I'll tell another quick little story just to show you how fearless she is when it comes to her love. A good friend of hers was suffering in her relationship and it was becoming abusive. Alcoholism was involved yet my mother never feared wading into the fray and making sure her friend was taken care of. I remember we were helping my mom's friend move out and when we came back my mom saw that the spouse, who promised to stay away, had shown up, drunk. I was a teenager, and full of myself and my newly found physical strength from massive amounts of working out and my mom said 'No SWC, you stay back, let me handle it. If he dares hit me you feel free to do what you need to do but not until then.' We walk in and there is the abusive spouse, yelling and he grabs my mom's friend and boom, there goes my mom and she has got her hand around the guy's throat and up against the wall. She has gone from pure love and caring to snarling beast because she had to. Me, it is more of a natural state, for my mom I'm sure it hurts her to do it. In a few minutes, without any further violence, she convinced abusive spouse to leave and we finished the moving. But there was no fear. None at all and she hated the idea that she had to be at all violent to get what needed done done.

There a million ways in which my mother showed her caring for me and so many I could list that it dizzies my head to think how much I owe her. Everything from my first box of condoms (Was a birthday present) to sharing her twisted humour and showing me that laughter was indeed the best medicine, I just can't say enough to show her how much she means to me. Not to mention that whole gift of life thing. Let's just say that when I tally up all the strong points about myself I can attribute them directly to my mom. A woman who did her best with what she had and always put others before herself, including a troubled son who I'm sure still tries her patience on a daily basis.

So mom, this is to you, thank you for everything, for life and all the rest that goes along with it. You are my personal guardian and angel and mean more to me than most would care to say but I gladly admit the debt. At best I can carry forward what you have given and do my best to honour you and your life by making sure mine is the best it can be. Thank you.

I love you mommy.

A baby

2010-02-09T09:27:00.003-06:00

Come on in, it is not often that I get all nostalgic and such but I thought with all of the craziness of the past two weeks perhaps it might be best to sit down and enjoy a moment of times past.

So fourteen years ago, I was still rubbing my ex-wife's back with Sprite cans while she went through three days of labour. We went into the doctors office about this time just to see if we should go to the hospital. She was only about 3 centimeters at this point and the doc said wait.

Later that day it started to sleet. Thick, heavy, wet clumps of ice, snow and water were sloshing down into the streets of The City that Rhymes with Fun. We had moved the two born and the one unborn into the hospital and my parents were on their way. Through a lot of different issues (crazy pregnant lady, sadistic anaesthesiologist, no doctor due to weather) my baby bear was born.

I cut the cord and laid the baby bear on her mother's breast, and that little girl, why she lifted her head up clear of her mother, and looked about the room with just about the world's biggest pout on her face. She never cried, she just gave that pout and then put her head down and went to sleep.

I went home that night stunned, elated, drained, and amazed. I thought if that little baby bear could go through that ordeal and do nothing more than pout, I s'pose there was a lot I could endure without having to make much noise.

So if you would all be so kind, sing a little birthday song for my little bear today at some point. She's fourteen and has turned into one hell of a young lady.

So many things to say

2010-02-06T00:55:00.002-06:00

Come on in, the den is a bit of a shamble right now because well, there's been a lot of rage. Rage and flying emotional mood swings, and a whole lot of words said and heard and overall, I'm feeling quite drained. So excuse the mess, it won't be cleaned up for a bit.

Anyways, what this has to do with is of course the wonderful situation that has occurred at the First Nations University of Canada. I am of course a student there and while I would love to rehash with you folks about all that has gone on, I would prefer to actually hear from you about what you think about it. Because at this point I think my best bet is to be an observer.

So with that I will give you some highlights, in point form, of some of the highs and lows:

Being in a meeting with board members and not having a single question answered. Questioning said board members about their communication and lack of leadership, getting the same old bullshit of 'trust us we know what we're doing,' and finding out the entire room agrees with my rather dark and dreary assessment.
A trip to the Dakota Dunes Casino to attend the FSIN General Legislative Assembly. Finding out the system really isn't set up to work but being proud of my fellow students and being amazed at their leadership and abilities.
Lying on my back all Thursday due to a migraine that threatened to split open my skull because all the stress and rage caught up with me.
Listening to Grand Chief Guy Lonechild speak at the University and hoping for positive change.
A few minutes alone with said Chief to explain what I felt was important.
Being able to tell other students about a more inside view of what is going on.
Being terribly frightened that we, the students and the faculty of the university, are being used by both sides (Provincial gov't and FSIN) as political pawns in a larger game where eventually we will be tossed aside and left to flounder about. Some hope that despite that we will pull it out because there really are some impressive students and staff at the FNUC.

So if you would be so kind, I have decided I need more points of view, and frames of reference. Please weigh in and tell me what you think about what you have heard from any source and give me your honest opinion. It would be greatly appreciated.

Facebook flame

2010-01-29T17:41:00.003-06:00

So come on in and enjoy the fire. I did something today I haven't done in a long time and makes me happy. I flamed the crap out of someone. Check it.

Miranda OMGOMGOMGOMG Michael Buble is coming to Saskatchewan again ths summer! SO GOING!!!!
Yesterday at 16:42 · Comment ·LikeUnlike
3 people like this.

Alicia
keep me posted miranda!
Yesterday at 16:44

Miranda
It's Saskatoon in August, but I dont care. I saw him at the Casino Regina years ago before he was huge and LOVED it!!!
Yesterday at 16:45

Alicia
do you remember the Ops mgr Chris? He was my ops and at the xmas party one year he said to us, this guy is going to be HUGE. He played us "home" before it was released to mainstream radio. Now every time I hear him sing, I think of Chris.
Yesterday at 16:46

Miranda
Ha ha. I knew it too, the first time I heard him. he was on the Vicki Gaberuex (how ever its spelled) with his first album and I fell in love right then with his music. :D
Yesterday at 16:47

Alicia
Yep he is amazing.
Yesterday at 16:48

Levar Rowe
Michael Buble is a fag...your welcome
Yesterday at 16:54

Miranda
go fuck yourself
Yesterday at 16:55

Levar Rowe
you say that like its a bad thing :)
Yesterday at 16:56

James
Buble has more talent in his left eye than you do in your whole body. You post a childish response to an enthusiastic woman's Facebook status because you are jealous of said talent. It's ok, run along and play with your legos before bed time.
Yesterday at 17:05

Levar Rowe
You wanna talk about childish comments? Your woman always put stupid and disrespectful comments on people's wall. So you can shut your got damn mouth b4 I put my foot in side of your head. I would of said ass but I know how much u would like that. Stop trying to be an internet warrior.
Yesterday at 17:13

Miranda
EXCUSE ME??? WTF are you talking about??
Yesterday at 17:18

Miranda
You're the one being disrespectful
Yesterday at 17:19

Lisa
where did you find that!
Yesterday at 18:34

Korinne
Wow. Don't talk trash about talent and Don't FUCKING TALKING TRASH ABOUT FAG'S You worthless piece of shit! People like you should not exists in this world! You are closed minded and just a waste of time and space!
Yesterday at 22:40

Levar Rowe
LOL korrine just stop your making yourself look like a drama queen. I didnt talk trash about gays, I've got no problem wit that as it doesn't effect my life in the slighest. I basically called the guy wack so relax. Where in this conversation did I make fun of the homosexual lifestyle? I can talk trash about michael buble all I want so just shut it.
15 hours ago

Richard Jensen
Mr Rowe, while I firmly believe you are indeed allowed to speak your mind, I feel it is also my right to correct your misconceptions and ignorance. First and foremost, you did indeed 'make fun of the homosexual lifestyle.' You said Mr. Buble is gay, insinuating that the word is a pejorative. Go ahead and get your dictionary and look a few of those words up and then come back to read the rest. I'll wait. What the use of gay in this context implies is that you have little regard for Mr. Buble, but indeed you also have little regard for homosexuals and believe that it is still insulting to call someone gay. In case you were wondering this is called bigotry. Secondly, it is you're welcome. Miss Kirkness does not own the welcome. Your is the possessive pronoun, and you're is the contraction of you are. So to demonstrate this: Mr. Rowe, your bigotry and lack of grammatical knoweldge has impressed upon me that you're a complete fucktard. In the future you're best served if you keep your rude comments to yourself, because you are unable to intelligently do so and fail to insult as well as prove your incredible ignorance and stupidity. In short: you're an idiot and your smack talk is weak. So fuck off.
7 hours ago ·

Levar Rowe
How do you know I wasn't calling him a cigarette? fag = cigarette, cigarette = wack, so frig off wit this bigot shit already.
5 hours ago

Richard Jensen
Wow. That you would respond with that shows me just how chastised you are. Let's be honest shall we Mr. Rowe? You didn't mean cigarette. You don't make that particular slang a part of your venacular. You meant it as a derogatory and inflamitory comment about homosexuals and Mr. Buble. So now you're not only a bigot but a liar and a coward. You can't even own up to your own failings. Me? I'm an asshole who takes immense pleasure in pointing out the ignorance and stupidity (Those are two different things, go look them up) of people around me. Just like I'm doing now.So Mr. Rowe, I suggest again, that you keep your comments to yourself in the future and you may not find me lurking about pointing out what a complete asshat you are. Or suggesting that a dick knuckle like you perhaps would be better served as part of a medical experiment on how dick knuckles manage to type. To repeat a previous statement to you Mr. Rowe. Fuck off. Fuck off you syphilis infected dripping from the cunt of a diseased whore.
4 hours ago ·

Ahhhh, that felt so good.

I changed everyone's name but mine and his. I don't protect the ignorant and stupid.