Top Ten Albums

Well, if you don't already know, I'm have a huge addiction to music. It's seriously sickening sometimes. My 80GB ipod is jammed with over 13,000 songs which accumulates to something like, I dunno, 900 albums. I've amassed my collection over the last eight years or so. I mean, I might have 80GB on it, but I'd say since I started collecting I've had about 160GB pass through my ears, making me dance, contemplate life, think about the future, reminiscence on past memories, dream, adventure, experience, love, unlove, mend, bleed, forgive, rebuild, rethink and rediscover myself. Music is truly the soul of my life.

For me an album has to be a tight, cohesive collection of songs. Now, there are albums that are just that - but don't hold up for more than a few listens. They just don't maintain the powerful delivery they had when you first hit play. But those albums, the ones, when you hit play spew sonic energy at you - those are the albums a step above the rest. They stand out as forward progress in the voice of music, a language constantly evolving, a constant revolution.

Songs, well, in my case, I hear a lot of them. There are probably 50 songs I could choose from this past years' releases, but I will choose only 20. It's a difficult task because songs can fluctuate in terms of likeness. I can like a song a lot and listen the shit out of it quickly. It's a great song, but is it going to live up to the top 20. A song I heard in February might not be as great a song now because it's been eight months since it came out and it's lost steam compared to a song that came out in September. Over the year there are a lot of moments when I hear a song and go 'wow, song of the year'. I say that at LEAST 100 times a year. But, when the year gets closer to the end, the list is about 50 or so, maybe more, maybe less, depending on the year in music (2005 was a great year for music, hense a list of singles a mile long).

This year hasn't been a great year in my opinion. There have been some really solid albums, but not like years' past where you could put 25 albums in your top ten. It's a lot easier this year for me to pick top albums than past years. Singles, on the other hand is going to be a different story. There have been some excellent singles this year. This is why I love music - freedom and choice.

So, without further adieu (sounds of the horns, crashing drums and cymbals...) - My top ten albums of 2008.

Serious letdowns of 2008

I wouldn't usually mention these, but I must. Two of my favourite bands released albums this year. I had extremely high expectations for them, considering their discography and progression towards, well, awesomeness. Both My Morning Jacket and The Kings of Leon were serious disappointments to my ears this year. ***and for those wondering why Radiohead or Coldplay aren't in this list - I just don't think they were all that special in terms of music this year...In Rainbows is a pretty good album, but in comparison to some of their other releases, meh, just doesn't cut it for me. Coldplay, christ, they are just purely over-rated. They haven't done anything good since Rush of Blood. People just need to get off and get over Chris Martin.


Honourable Mentions

At Mount Zoomer - Wolf Parade, A Long Dream About Swimming Across the Sea - Tyler Ramsay, April - Sun Kil Moon, Real Emotional Trash - Stephen Malkmus and the Jicks, Directions to See a Ghost - The Black Angels, Partie Traumatic - The Black Kids, Goodbye Blues - Hush Sound, Elephant Shell - Tokyo Police Club,Offend Maggie - Deerhoof , Now or heaven - The Broken West, Cardinology - Ryan Adams and the Cardinals, Attack & Release - The Black Keys

The Top 10 Albums

10.Rabbit Habits - Man Man
9.Little Joy - Little Joy
T8. Consolers of the Lonely - The Raconteurs
T8. The '59 Sound - Gaslight Anthem
7. Made Upwards - Grand Theft Bus
6. Oracular Spectacular - MGMT
5. Dear Science, - TV on the Radio
4. Fleet Foxes - Fleet Foxes
3. Microcastle - Deerhunter
2. Skeletal Lamping - Of Montreal
1. Stay Positive - The Hold Steady

I'm going to try to write about some of these albums, if not all, before the year is out. Stay tuned!

Anhedonia...

It's becoming easier to talk about the moments of my past I so utterly wished would be zapped from my memories, floating aimlessly in the air for no other soul to know, but yet, I must cross paths with them when they decide to appear in the makeup of my mind. They slink in the streets, the paved and unscathed, the unknown paths destined for somewhere. Their sunken eyes and faces of defeat bum change from the passerby, refusing to look at them, but can't help but lay eyes on the pathetic and sad sight. They act as cobwebs, easily brushed away, but always come back.

Somewhere in my past I got lost. I don't really know when, the exact point this downward spiral started. But I got lost. I wonder where it all began. I want to put my finger on the exact point, the day, hour, minute, second, event, action, thought, whatever it may be, the root of the problem. I'm not looking to place blame or take away the significance of my struggles, but in order to move ahead there needs to be some understanding in the events of past days. There has to be one exact point in my past to explain the events that unfolded from therein after. There is a culmination in the experiences of the last two years. It's been a structure built up to eventually crumble. Slowly and unexpectedly was it all suppose to just implode. I knew though. I anxiously battled with myself for many months, around the world, trying to explode rather than implode, to break out and fight. Many days were lost, friends, jobs, reputations, many lies built, formulated, manipulated. A glimpse of where I wanted to go would kick and scream, beaten and bloodied, day in and day out to not fade away how the writing on the wall was beginning to indicate. I wasn't about to let it go that way. I knew it wasn't meant to be and I needed to turn around and face reality. I knew it was going to be tough. It wasn't going to be easy. Still isn't. But I needed to. I wonder if I hadn't made that choice in my life if I'd even be here clicking these words out. I think it was an honest possibility.

I think I could have changed the course of my life earlier if I just stopped running. Rather than dealing with life, the stress, the uncertainty, I just ran. Even when I wasn't running, I would stand back against reality. I lived in a nightmare I viewed as a dream world. I painted the positive picture no matter the situation I was living. I lost my job because I didn't show up to work - I didn't need the job anyways, there are plenty out there. I didn't pay money back on time - They owed me so I can pay it back whenever I want. I'll say whatever it takes to get this girl in bed - no real way to make this positive. Sometimes I just didn't care. there were times I'd lower my standards because I just wanted to have sex, to feel something other than what I was trying to avoid. Temporary happiness was the poison I craved and I would do what it took to get it. I say I lied. Yea, I did. No outright, blatant lies. Bending of the truth - Yes, definitely. Sweet lies to get a smile - yep, few of those. Bolstering of my personal resume - yeah. Fuck yeah. I'm a confident person without talking myself up more than I need to - at least I used to be - my confidence is on fragile tracks, some sections better than others, but I couldn't live on my own merit anymore. I wanted to be moving along with my life. I couldn't stand being who I was, stuck in neutral, going nowhere when somewhere was always where I wanted to go. Expected to go.

It's easy to not care about the consequences you face because of your choices when you can just have a drink. There would always be a reason to have a drink if I didn't draw the line finally. there was a reason before, always. It's Friday, it's a four day work week, it's so and so's birthday, I don't know them but that's ok, it's a celebration. A holiday, a new dvd, poker, whatever it was, it was no limits.

In some place, at some point in my life I could easily drop a couple hundred drinking, have a great time, not remember a thing and wake up next to a woman every time. It was like living the high-life, except I wasn't rich and the money didn't match the spending. It never did. But hell, sweet-talking a sexy lady, or any lady was always fun. It built that temporary sense of security that was so desirable at the time. I remember one night, sitting at the bar with some people, some of the only friends I have left from this turbulent time in my life, and looking around the bar. I had slept with four women in the room. There were only 40 people in there. Maybe 15 women. A normal person might be concerned about that, but all I could think about was which one gave me the eyes to take home and screw. No emotion. No attachment. Nothing. A primal urge, a desire to peak and nothing more. Nothing. What a feeling. Nothing. It's incredible how much nothing feels more than anything. How overwhelming nothing can be. Nothing hurts more than nothing.


"...When it comes it don't stop comin', careful what you're wishin' for, and when it takes it don't leave nothing, haven't we been here before..."

This Time...

Rock-bottom is a weird mix of emotions. The moment you feel you're standing at the edge of a cliff and falling doesn't seem so bad, it's kind of, peaceful. Oddly enough. I remember the moment so vividly. I had gotten my paycheck, gruelingly earned due to the fact I couldn't stand the job I was working at. As much as I love cooking, cutting veg and making marinates for eight hours a day for rich people just doesn't make me want to jump for joy.

I remember sitting after my shift in the bar area of the restaurant with some of the other staff. We had conversation, empty words thrown around, in full force a feeling of plasticity overwhelmed me. I sat their judging everyone around me when I really should be judging myself. I was so uncomfortable with who I was that being something I wasn't made me feel better. I put back two beers quite quickly, in fact, if I remember correctly we ordered a pitcher of Mojitos. Maybe two, who knows. Most nights like this never really added up in the end, blurry in parts and left with an emptiness so painful.

I was ready to get ripped. That feeling when you know you want to go get wasted just engulfs me. It's a feeling of excitement, giddiness almost. I get to be superman for a night. I had no confidence left in myself, in who I was, so finding it in a glass of beer, a shot of tequila, a blast of scotch or whatever fill I could put in my body gave me a glimpse of what I craved so greatly. A few of us made our way down to the watering hole, a dingy, carpeted bar with long tables and benches, cheap piss, cheap girls and a place to drown reality out.

Pitcher after pitcher, things started to get out of control. It was early, maybe nine or something, it's hard to say, but things were amped up. We met this group of German girls who were out watching the Euro Cup and were quite loaded. Empty shot glasses began to fill the table, one after another, round after round, tequila after jagermeister, the haze began to set in. Things get extremely hazy at this point, like many nights prior, things were off the hinges and I had blown money on something I shouldn't have been doing. The grip of getting beyond drunk was strong. Screw food, screw bills, screw everything, lets just get fucked.

I ended up back at the German girls house on the UBC campus. I woke up late for work, half an hour or so, still drunk. Covered in a blanket on the floor I had a serious calm over me. It wasn't the first time I would be late for work. I had in the past, a half dozen times, maybe more, I didn't care at the time so I didn't keep track. This time though, I just didn't go. I didn't care.

I wanted to go home and sleep and worry about nothing but getting rid of this hangover. I knew I would have the shakes later that day, probably a bit of anxiety. My stomach would brutalize me with an ulcer, I would sweat, I would want to vomit but not be able to. I knew I would just want to die later that day. I didn't want to be awake for any of it. I just wanted to sleep. I could make an excuse when I woke up to get out of it. I figured the excuse-well would never run dry. They start to catch on quickly thought. I didn't care about my job, my life, nothing.

It's a peaceful feeling when you have no faith in the life you are living. you just find happiness in the temporary moments available to you. I couldn't make real friends because I didn't know who I was anymore. I would go out to the bar just to meet people I would never have to see again. I just wanted to make temporary memories, or lack thereof and move on to the next day. I struggled to let people in to my life because I was a wreck. I seized up and closed myself off to the people around me who really cared. I didn't want any of it. I was a fucking train wreck.

Waking up in the morning was hard most days. I didn't want anything to do with having to live life. I hated my job, I hate myself for getting this way, I hated people who had control over their life. I hated anything I could hate. Facing what I had created, this monster, was too much to handle.

I remember one night, or morning, the sun was coming up, after being out partying. I walked into my room and I looked into the mirror at myself. A fury of rage grew inside me. I wanted to smash the person I was looking at. I wanted to beat and bloody him. I wanted to destroy him for destroying me. I wanted him to just die. I wanted the nightmare to stop. I wanted to wake up one morning for once and feel like living. I was beginning to lose hope I would ever feel that again. I was starting to forget what it was like to love life. I scratched at the door to let me into it once more.

The bottom felt so good, because there was no where to go but up.




"...For every chemical, You trade a piece of your soul, With no return, And who you think you know, Doesn't know you at all ..."

White Flags...

I can't go to a bar and not have a drink. When you're a drinker, you want to drink, more so when you are around people who are. It's easy to say you will only have one. You'll stand around and chat and sip on my beverage, except sipping isn't part of my vocabulary. It takes every ounce of energy in my mind to think about having just one, to slowly sip it and act like I'm not thinking about slamming it back and pushing everyone out of the way to get another.

The first drink is always fine. I enjoy it. A great peaty glass of 12 year-old Scotch really warms my soul. Everything is great. Conversation is good, smiles, laughs, the whole bit. When the ice clatters against the bottom of my rock glass is when I face a straining choice. Do I have another, or do I not? It's a battle I tend never to win, no matter the choice.

If I don't have another I feel extremely uncomfortable around people in a drinking environment. I get anxious and feel all eyes in the room on me for not having a drink in my hand. I feel alienated and isolated from everyone around me. It's like there is a darkness draped over me. I feel so different. The struggle inside knowing I'm not in control, that it's a constant fragile war, easily lost but difficult to win. I don't want to say I never win, because I have in the past and more so in the last four months. In fact, more battles won than lost.

I think that's why losing now is harder than before. In the past, if I gave in, it wasn't a big deal because I always gave in. My rubber arm was easily twisted. I'm trying to make changes in my life, re-direct my time and energy to the things I am passionate about and not the things I let consume me, or should I say the things I consume.

I want to be able to go to the bar and not feel the pressure of having ot have a drink. I want to be able to go and have the power and strength to have just coke or a cranberry juice and not have to focus all my energy on not thinking about drinking. I want to be able to enjoy conversation and not feel the anxiety of not having a scotch or a beer in my hand. It's like the smokers' habit of having the cigarette in their hand. The psychological affect is so overwhelming sometimes.

Hard days can really make me breakdown. My cop out was always to run to the bar to hid from problems, stress, the difficulties in my life, even to hide from the idea that I might have a problem. How weird is that, Drink to avoid the problem of drinking. You get to a point when you're drinking heavy where you don't feel anything anymore. You feel dead inside and you'll do things you might not usually do just to feel something. You will use people to feel that one bit of anything. You'll do whatever it takes just so you can feel something special for that brief moment, even though the pain is only worse the next day because of the guilt. It just grew and grew and never got better, as much as I wanted it to it never did.

There was this one girl I knew in a place I once was. She was a genuinely sweet woman. Honest and kind she was always so sweet to me. She had this shyness to her that made her so beautiful. I knew she liked me. She'd call me to go for a drink, dinner, check out a band. I knew I just wanted to be her friend. As much as she was a great woman, she just wasn't for me. I always wonder if maybe it was just who I was at the time, the fact I knew I was a train wreck kept me from getting close to anyone. I guess I'll never really know.

I remember one night dancing to the Doors. We both liked them a lot. It was kind of ironic to be listening to music by a guy who was a train wreck himself and couldn't deal with life. I could feel she would carry this as a special moment at this point of her life. I knew I wouldn't care come the morning and would just want her out of my bed. The lights low and our bodies moving to the music I remember looking into her eyes. In that instant I saw everything that was wrong with me. I saw my destruction rearing it's ugly face. I saw myself destroying a persons' soul, her faith in humanity, her ability to openly love. I remember, vaguely, not feeling anything. I almost felt like I smiled inside.

My past bears some ugly moments. They return in my dreams as vicious nightmares of what I never want to be again. I wake up in the middle of the night and wish I wasn't me. Reliving times in your life you wish you never had are painful cuts on your heart and soul that never heal. I hope some day the wounds will cease but I don't hold my breath.


"...Hands are beaten and bloodied, I'm sick of fighting this war, crawling out of these trenches this confrontation's a whore..."

That '59 Sound...

Life can be overwhelming when you fight with inner demons. The wars we wage inside our own minds can cause a tailspin of emotions too much for anyone to really understand. As much as words can be expressed people will never really get exactly what is happening.

It's a constant every day. Some days, good, some, not so. Some days I want to fight, some days I want to drown in a bottle. The resistance is there and it's stronger with each day I stay a float but you can never really be sure you won't drown again in a past you so wish to escape. It lingers in the shadows, it's rabid mouth foaming, patiently awaiting for the bridge to break, a violent tumble into darkness.

It is a constant in your life from the moment you decide to change until the day you die....

I don't regret my life. I don't regret the things I've done. They wouldn't have made me into the person I am today. Mistakes teach us about ourselves, our destiny, our end game. We take those footprints on the path of our life and use them to make the next journey of steps. All I can do is take those mistakes, those moments in time etched so painfully on my mind and in my nightmares and try to make amends. the list was long in the beginning, now, not so much. I've checked things from the list in my mind, some carry parts to their completion. But remains is one I have yet to build up to dealing with. I know I have to and I intend to, yet, the shame and guilt are too much to deal with. I think about it from time to time and the embarrassment I cause, the disappointment...it's just too much and for some reason, I feel like no matter what I say, I don't know if I can ever fix that.

Yellowknife really knows how to have a good time.

I attended a silent auction Friday evening in support of the NWT council for peoples with disabilities. Hundreds of people came out and participated in the evening. There were MORE THAN (charged with obstruction of good grammar by the g-police...haha!) a hundred items available in the auction. Trips, jewelery, clothing, books and plenty of art work, all representative of the culture and history of the north. I even got in the mix, involving myself in a bidding war over some beautifully framed prints and photography as well as some interesting sets of books on the illustrated and written history of Yellowknife and the North.

The who's who of Yellowknife were out. Businesspeople, politicians and prominent citizens inked their three digit auction numbers on a plethora of items. Elbows rubbed, stories exchanged, laughs and chatter murmured against the walls of the Explorer Hotel. People came out to support a great cause, something this city and its citizens are known for - stepping up for the betterment of their community.

It was one of the first chances I've felt like I was part of the community. I love this place.

Our path

We tread a white path, the snow in love with our toes as we stamp the moment. I glance across my powdered shoulder. You hide your smile, warm and vibrant, in the neck of your jacket. Rosy red cheeks freckled with melted flakes of snow glow bright below your glassy black toque. You look straight ahead, but you feel my gaze. Your fingers enclosed around mine speak words with the gentle touch of your tips to my palm. The energy in our hand held storm bustles about our bodies.

I look at us from outside my own entity. Two people together in one perfect picture, brush strokes of passion and love, a painted masterpiece. Each stroke, delicately touched on the canvas of our lives, resonance of an overwhelming reality. We walk in step, the snow battering against us. With our hands and hearts intertwined, there is nothing but us.

In a clouded, cluttered sky we find solace. The sun fights through and beams bright on our souls. In our own personal storms and private wars we thrust ourselves outwards. My mind writes songs of struggle but my heart writes songs of redemption and rebirth. And the hero of the story kisses hard and coats me with passion. Her words are full of ambition and blast bold and brazen from her lips. She's a spark in a fire, a starter in a a blaze of glorious love. Fierce touch and a look of gold she steals a smile and it spills over the brim of her loving cup.

I drown in her.

What a beautiful death.

At war with the demons

The demons they swirl in the winds of my dark past. Linger in my mind, front and center, I fight with them from sunrise to the moonlight. They push me hard, but I push back. Entangled in a struggle to maintain, to kill the person who stole me from my life. They tied me up, rope burns around my wrists and ankles. Gagged and bound the door closed and locked. No windows, only a flickering light in the hanging fixture, reflective of fading hopes.

He laughed an evil pitch. He lived my life and stole my dreams. No direction, only now. In false faces he ridiculed my life. A glass in hand, a flap, an altered state of mind, complete disregard and one foot in the grave. The demon, he laughed an evil pitch. He made the mistake of underestimating the determination of the bound and gagged. Dripping sweat, torn flesh, bloodied and fiery-eyed. I won't go down. I won't fall into the depths of the unforgiven. I'll fight for myself.

Renewed I find everything a chance at redemption. Through my eyes, everything seems brighter. Wholly vivid each breath I take thankful and truthfully blessed for my second-coming. When my aspirations were dying, slow and painful, I fought to save them. Bruised and bloodied, my mind a grotesque car wreck, the mental carnage torn at the very core of my being, I wouldn't let go. I was losing battles more than winning, but the war wasn't over. I had my back against the wall, fighting to save what was left of who I once was.

The fields are drenched red and I'm winning the war finally, when their seemed to be no chance I could. It will never be over, but it's worth fighting. It's my life.

A.

Seven Days...

People in small communities really make an effort to get to know you when you're a fresh face on the street. I lost count of how many times I've been stopped in the street, people of all ages curious as to who I was. When I first got here, I was concerned I'd be looked at as the enemy, infringing on there town, stepping on their toes.

I remember walking down the street one of the first days I was here. I don't know if it was my paranoia, but every time a car drove by, I felt eyes peering out their windows to see who the newbie was. I'm sure it was happening, but not in the way where they were peering because of a hatred for this new guy. I quickly learned this town is very welcoming. People have stopped by my office, prominent members of the community, just to introduce themselves and welcome me here. It's really gratifying to be accepted by a small community, especially when your presence is only for a short time.

Thinking about it a lot lately, I really wish I had more time here. It's strange because since day one my attitude has been to do my job, do it well, meet some people and then fly the hell out of here. I wasn't really very interested in coming here. I had good things going on in Yellowknife at the time of my shipping out to Fort Simpson. So many variables were up in the air when I came here. I just felt a bit pissed at this town because I got stuck here. I was optimistic when I spoke of coming here, but I was trying to convince myself it was going to be a good experience. It has turned out to be a worthwhile adventure, but in the beginning I surely wasn't expecting anything great.

I've met some wonderful people here. they have accepted me without hesitation and allowed me to see the hidden beauty of the small community way of life. They have been hospitable in every manner. I've been invited out for dinners, drinks, invited to events and treated like part of the community rather than the outsider I subconsciously felt I was being. I hope one day I can return the favor and offer them some down home maritime hospitality.

So, one week remaining. Seven days and I fly off into the sunset, my parka wrapped around me, my mind full of memories of Fort Simpson and the great time I had.

The sword of summer

The snow is painted on the trees like acrylic on canvas. It slices through the air, cutting the continuity of each breath taken. I leave a trail of footprints. Fresh in the white powder, each step a brief moment of history, stride in step towards the sunken skies. Black clouds break beats of Mother Nature, blue skies buying time before breathing clarity into the day unfolding.

The sun beams bright on the beaten, snow-covered beaches of the Mackenzie River. The clouds slither across the sky towards the northern nowhere. Shadows speak songs on the sides of the buildings of ancient times, each flaked piece of paint a moment caught in stride.

The snow is a coat on a town, draped over its shoulders for warmth and comfort. Youth run rabid in the streets, screaming psychotically for savior. People locked in their dilapidated dwellings their damaged dreams dying a slow death to the isolation they can't live without. The coat prepares them for the moon in the sky, the sun a brief glimpse in the hours of the day when it loses the battle with darkness.

On the edge of the cliff, the water whispers tales of earthly beauty. It sails through the air, a soothing sound of a seasons' birth, the grand goodbyes to the soul of a summer once so saintly. With its sword in its sheath it sails on the whispers of the river to sleep soundly until awakened to bring glory to the ending gloom of the winter season.

baby face bruises...

The wind blows up dust as my headlights carve the night. Tall grass grows giant in the ditch to my left. The Mackenzie river to my right, just past a sickly tree line. Darkness settles along the banks of the great feeder. Grey becomes black. The clouds hide the starry night.

A three way stop. I pull back onto the main road. My headlights capture legs; two sets walk, one set drags. Limp and lifeless, her head gravitates to the ground. Her feet point inward, white kicks drag the dirt.

They prop her up, a rag doll body. Baby faces, too young to vote. Too young to be in this way. Their faces show no terror. Calm. Experienced all too well. The door clicks, swings open. Her lifeless body tossed carelessly into the vehicle. Six younger kids watch in silence, smoking, looking on as they watch their future self in a dream all too real.

No concern. Just life. Like home. Just without the beating and bruises. Darkness covers the pain they feel all too real.

A life they know no different.

My editorial - October 9, 2008

Headline: A slap in the face

The issue: Death and taxes
We say: Collect promptly from the living

With the death of Allan Anderson Sr., the village of Fort Simpson lost one of its most prominent citizens.
Talking to people in the community, it becomes apparent the big shoes Anderson left to be filled, a task likely never to be done.
The last Second World War veteran to be laid to rest in the village risked his life for the freedoms we know today and then lived thereafter with the images of war forever etched on his memory. At the memorial service, Mayor Duncan Canvin spoke of his close relationship with Anderson, calling him a friend.
Now the village council has voted to make his wife pay years of back property taxes. Stemming from three properties and dating back to 2002, Anderson Sr. owes the village $20,321 and change.
There were three bylaws to wipe out property taxes Anderson had not paid on the table Monday evening at the village council meeting.
None passed first reading.
It’s sad that a woman who just lost her husband of more than 60 years has to deal with such a financial burden and could possible make her finances implode. Curiosity gets the best of me and I want to know why the money wasn’t collected when he was alive. It couldn’t have been that important to the village, since they let it go this long without collecting. Would it have been left uncollected if he had lived for another five years?
Since he has died, the issue has to be dealt with. It only seems right to swallow the outstanding balance and move on.
But are they instead going to force Mrs. Anderson to pay the outstanding taxes and take the property from her if she can’t pay?
I understand the village council has to collect its taxes. Councillor Myers didn’t seem to like having to vote against it but he said if they didn’t, it would set a precedent, opening the door for future cases like this.
Well, I agree with him. It would set a precedent.
But if they collect property taxes in a timely fashion in future, this could still be a one-time-only deal.
-30-

My editorial - October 2, 2008.

Headline: My first bison experience

The Issue: Animal encounters
We Say: Not for the uninitiated

So a bison almost killed me. It’s a funny thing to say, especially from someone born in Eastern Canada where we only see bison when we pay our admission fee to the city zoo, or in the form of a $30 steak at the local eatery. So instead of gazing in amazement of the glorious bison, or dousing it in A1 steak sauce, I was watching my life flash before my eyes, albeit slow, due to the fact I was going 30 clicks.
From the side of a house it streaked out in front of me as I hit a small turn in the road. Bison seem like slow, stupid animals, but man, they can really move when they want to, probably faster than myself. Actually, if I were a betting man, I’d be putting my money down on the hairy beast (for those that might be thinking otherwise, I meant the bison). I cursed at the burly mammal as it gave me a blank stare. Talking to locals afterwards however, I learned they couldn’t see you when they are
looking straight ahead but can only see you from the side. The Creator must have had an error message pop up during the bison-making process and had to restart the animal
design system.

It was my first encounter with a bison and I can tell you now, if I lived around them for a long period of time, I would dislike them just as much as people in Fort Providence do. I was at the local saloon having a ‘sarsaparilla’ that evening and the
barkeep told me they had actually thought about putting them all on trucks and shipping them out of town. Seems like a good idea to me, I thought, I would get quite
tired of stepping in their conveniently placed steamy piles of – well – you get the
point, every time I took my dogs out.

It’s odd being an East Coast boy and seeing a large animal, a wild one at that, somewhat domesticated. They’re like big, ugly cows that just roam the streets, pooping where they please and going where they want – hence the high number of broken
fences in the hamlet, two for every normal one by my guess. If I had a fence around my yard, it would be electrically charged, not a deathly big charge but enough to make there eyes bulge. I’m not promoting cruelty towards the bison, but an example
has to be set. Hopefully they aren’t really stupid, like the lemming and copy what their counterpart has done. My power bill that month would make my bank account cry a little.
Or maybe, I would just train them to do my every bidding, the first point of order being to stop eating my lawn. I wonder if they could produce a paper for me?
-30-

I think i'm sick in the head...

Sitting at my desk this morning just before noon I remembered it was Wednesday. Wednesdays are great for me in Fort Simpson. One, It's the day after deadline day, which means the weight of the paper is at it's lowest. Having endured three 12 or more hour days consecutively to put the jigsaw puzzle known as the Deh Cho Drum to bed for the week, I look forward to sleeping in a bit on Wednesday. The sad thing is, since I'm up at 6:45 a.m. regularly, sleeping in usually lets me roll out from the warmth of my blanket cocoon at 7:30 a.m. wide-eyed and ready for the day. Two, I get to sit and prepare my week leading up to the next deadline day and focus on light duties and preparation...and maybe catch three or four episodes of Seinfeld.

I like having some form of structure to build my day on. It's a lot different than being in my regular newsroom back in the Knife. The newsroom there is a two-story a day environment for me, for all the general news reporters, a quota hard to attain some days, depending on numerous factors. The big one being if the unprofessional world of Yk communication people decides to do their job properly. It blows my mind how many times in an issue we might print 'someone or so and so didn't return calls'. It's pathetic, but, I'm straying off topic here...

So I was cruising through the latest Wednesday edition of Yellowknifer and to the surprise of my eyes, this headline - 'Syphillis outbreak reaches Yk' caught my attention. The first thing that popped into my head wasn't the fact 10 new cases had been found, two in the 'metropolis' of Yellwoknife, and the territory-wide total was up to 18 - no, it was the fact I didn't get to report on it. Health, Social Services and the Environment are my regular beats at the Yker and politics when needed. I broke the original story of the first eight cases. I was glad the story was written, people need to know about something like this - but dammit, It would've been mine. I don't know if it's sad I am angry to not have been able to report on such a terrible infectious outbreak - or a good thing because I am passionate about telling informing people. Should I be concerned about my mental health? For some reason, I think I should be.

Reading on through the story I came to a small quote from MLA Wendy Bisaro. She said the GNWT wasn't doing enough to inform people. In the first published story of the syphilis outbreak, CMO Dr. Andre Corriveau wouldn't tell me where the cases were. Damien Healy, Communications for Health and Social Services said they generally don't tell where the cases are with something like this because of how easy it is for people in small communities to figure out who has it. Bisaro went on to say the only thing she'd heard on it was in the newspaper and my article. Sad really. I was in the restaurant the other day here in Fort Simpson and saw a small poster warning people of syphilis. Big efforts on the health system in the NWT. H and SS didn't put much effort into educating people about it. They didn't seem to take up much of a media campaign to spread the word. I know we were the only news organization to report on it (Kudos to CBC for not reporting on important news, AGAIN).

Now we sit at 18 cases and it's finally hit the 'big city' where now that it is here, it has potential to spread like wildfire. Instead of nipping it in the bud like it should have been, the biggest outbreak of syphilis in the territory in 14 years continues to snowball - with no end in sight.

So what is more important - stopping the spread of embarrassment for having contracted the sexually-transmitted infection, or stopping the actual spread of the infection? Seems as though they have already answered that question for us.

It'd probably be cheaper to own my own cow...

I find it funny how the cost of a bag of MacIntosh apples is the same price as a 16 pack of clog-your-artery-lard-covered donuts. It's a tough choice when sugary treats are the same price as the healthy alternative. I mean, I wouldn't buy the donuts, I've got enough extra weight from my love for gummy bears, ketchup chips and the occasional pizza. I usually end up eating the whole thing and encountering some form of breathing difficulties., but that's besides the point.

My point is, something needs to be done to lower the cost of food in the North. The GNWT finally decided to subsidize the cost of milk in some of the remote communities. It costs, for a one-litre carton of milk in Yellowknife, about $1.59. That compares to an estimated $4.49 in Paulatuk, $4.29 in Norman Wells, $3.99 in Wrigley, $3.35 in Inuvik and $2.65 in Fort Simpson. I purchased a four-litre carton today. I drink a lot of milk, skim though, because if I didn't I'd be the cow. It cost me somewhere in the vicinity of $8.50. Atrocious, yep it certainly is. At least they are taking steps towards alleviating some of the pressures of living.

People shouldn't have to pay so much for the necessities in life. Fruit, vegetables, meats, milk products, it's not right to be paying $9.00 for a brick of cheese that would cost $4.50 in a larger city. It's not the residences fault they live in a small community. It's like they're being punished for it and in no way is it right. The government, whether territorially or federally, needs to start looking at ways to make it more affordable for people to eat. It's plain and simple. In some cases, it's cheaper to buy the unhealthy, nutrient-deficient foods than it is to buy healthy...and when it comes down to the almighty dollar and maintaining a budget, the unhealthy food is likely to win.

People who can't afford to get milk for their nursing babies, what do they give them so they get their proper daily nutrients? Tang? Fuckin' Kool-Aid? The obvious perfect replacements for milk. Protein? Calcium? Who needs that garbage when I've got sweet Tang crystals and nutrient-filled sugar to make me strong. This doesn't just apply to nursing babies, but children, youth and adults. Why buy two-litres of milk when you can buy two-litres of Pepsi for 60 per cent less the price?

Welcome to the world of sugar dependent 'hook it to my veins, I'm gonna be grumpy if I don't get my sugar fix' addicts.

Something needs to be done. Milk is just the tip of the iceberg with the cost of living in the north.

Day 14 in Fort Simpson

So the stress of putting to bed my first ever issue of the Deh Cho Drum was at a severe maximum this morning, actually, it was at a peak last evening, er, early this morning, I stand corrected. I laid in bed, wide-eyed, marathon-running thoughts of how my Monday could possibly crumble at the hands of people never returning phone calls (a seemingly normal trend in the North - the land of the unprofessional communications people) kicking up brain dust on my mind. Will I get my three stories remaining done? This was the biggest question (see previous parentheses) on my mind, while making my lack of a good photo spread the next concerning thing keeping me awake.

As my day started it became apparent to me the stress was the cause of my mind having a mind of it's own. I tend to have this problem where I make a mountain out of a molehill and play with the worst case scenarios in my head over and over until I give myself a proper bout of anxiety and subsequent stomach problems. It's a vicious cycle of personal torment. Things slowly came together for me. Loose ends were tied, interviews locked, photos submitted and almost all my content for this weeks paper sitting in the ftp site for my editors back in The Knife to go through. It's about 3:30 p.m. Monday afternoon and I'm still waiting on two interviews to get back to me.

I feel it's going to come to me calling every 15 minutes until I get what I want. I don't like doing it but hell people, your job is to 'communicate' information to me so I can 'communicate' it to the people who want to know. It's this terrible trend of under-qualified and possibly, more than likely, lazy people just not doing their jobs. Ironically, the people I'm struggling to get in touch with work with government organizations. Surprised by this? I would hope not. The funny thing is it's not like I'm writing something where I get to rake them over the coals for doing something stupid (although I do wish I was, it's kinda fun holding people accountable for their actions...ok, I get off on it). I'm just writing an article to show people an event took place. But, without this chasing my job would be too easy and I would never get irritated enough to care about my job. I guess the lack of co-operation sometimes is a fuel for my journalistic fire. Go figure.

Fort Simpson is a really interesting community full of concerned and, for the most part, helpful people. I've been here a few days shy of two weeks and I've met some wonderful characters who have been more than helpful at keeping me informed about the going-ons in the community. It's a very different environment for me to be working in. People approach me all the time with story ideas, information on events going on. They truly want to see the news in their community reported on...but I feel I'm going to have a rude awakening when I cover the sexual assault trial of one community member next week...I think maybe, and if I'm wrong well then I stand corrected, but it's going to anger some people to see me covering this well-known member of the community's case in the paper.

Small towns are very accepting to new additions, but I think they are also quick to protect their own from outsiders who seem like they may tarnish the perception and cohesiveness of the community. A trial like this creates two sides and it could ultimately faction the village of 1200 very quickly. It's going to be an interesting remaining 24-ish days...

Until the next.

A.

On that first night...

We walked home in the cold, dark fall night. The rain slanted against us from the northern sky above. We cut across the empty streets, leaves blowing in the cutting wind, twirling and trying to escape like we were the weather. We were both tipsy, our steps out of touch, arms interlocked to create balance.

I stopped you in the rain and looked into your eyes and I saw what caring looked like. The weather didn't exist anymore. We stood in our own world, away from the ugliness and it felt like time stood still. The sound of the wind faded. The rain hitting our faces disappeared and the cold no longer there. When our lips connected, it ignited a passion in me thought to have been lost forever. A strong energy pulsate through our tangled lips. It gave comfort and hope to life, it resurrected the feeling of being able to care for someone again.

As we stood in the rain and kissed, nothing in the world mattered. At that moment, I felt at peace. With your arms passionately wrapped around me and your warm, luscious lips pressed against mine, nothing could take away the perfect moment that was born.