We all know who The Man is

I know it. You know it. The creepy guy following you around the grocery store eating from his open bag of dog food knows it. Your mom...she knows it too. She knows who The Man is. He is the definition of cool. So cool, that he has to break down his introduction into two distinct statements.

His name is Bond. James Bond.

I mean, really, all "double-oh's" are cool. But do they make movies about 001? Nope, he was just the test model. 005? Nope. Not yet sophisticated enough. 009? Not him either. Political correctness took over and M was forced to hire a gay guy. That's cool and all, but when you won't kill a guy because "he's just too dreamy," it's just not in the same class as 007. Nobody crosses 007. Not even Chuck Norris crosses 007 and lives. That's right, I said it.

Last week, I was sitting in the barber's chair when I was asked, "Do you want to keep the sideburns?" And I thought, "James Bond doesn't have sideburns, so I don't need sideburns." THAT is how cool he is. And that is not even a made-up story. Moral of the story - I will henceforth dedicate my life (or at least a small portion of my free time) to becoming more and more like 007.

So now that we have all agree that Bond is The Man, we will have to break down in what ways I can be more like Him. Spoiler Alert - read no more if you have not seen Casino Royale. And anyway, if you haven't seen it, you are no longer welcome to read my blog.

Part I - The Car

What He Has - James Bond ALWAYS has a cool car. There was a moment in the latest movie when I thought he was going to settle for a "decent" car. But then Q (rest his soul) came through from the afterlife and a wicked radical cool 2006 Aston Martin DBS showed up. Seriously. Look at it. That is a hot car. And you can go back through any Bond film to see his other sweet rides. He doesn't take the stock model, either. Can YOUR car flip upside down, then right itself? Intentionally?

What I Have - 1996 GMC Sonoma. Regular cab. 2.2L. 120hp. A "Syclone" decal on the side, without the Syclone engine. Ok, there is a reason that this is first on my list of ways to be like Bond - because my current situation is so far from the ideal. The only way I can improve the situation anytime soon is by:
a) winning the lottery so I can buy an Aston Martin;
b) winning an Aston Martin; or, less desirable,
c) accessorizing the Sonoma extensively.
I have already begun work on option (c). With the latest in cool, I now have an in-dash CD player, rubber floor mats, a convenient matching canopy, and even high-quality mudflaps behind all four tires to prevent paint chipping. I am torn between Stinger missles behind the headlights or an AED in the glovebox for my next upgrade. I guess it depends on the threat.

Part II - The Poker Skills

What He Has - Patience. Knowledge of the game. Cool under pressure. The ability to read other players. The means to acquire impressive sums of money to play in games of the highest stakes - and from the CIA, no less. Not that the CIA is known for being cheap or only financing worthy causes, but I have never personally been approved for a CIA loan.

What I Have - I have a friend with a sweet set of poker chips that he won in a contest. He has a book on how to play poker, too. Maybe my journey to be like Bond will have to start with a gander at that book. While 007 is calculating what to have in his martini and which broad to take home after winning his hand, I will still be counting how many cards are on the table. 7 cards? But I thought there were only 5? What are these two cards you gave me over here? I just lost HOW MUCH money???




Part III - The Fitness

What He Has - I think the picture says it all. If I said I am jealous, would that make me gay? But really, how does the guy find the time to hit the gym? Whatever he does, it is working. Not because he is super-hot, but because he is able to leap from building to building without breaking his knees, withstand explosions simply by turning his back to them, run forever, and put up with a heavy rope to the...well, you know. That is some disciplined training.

What I Have - I am required, due to my physically rigorous employment, to go to the gym 8 times per month. So that is about how often I go. I don't know if you have been to the gym lately, but you don't really get to look like 007 by hitting the gym twice a week. Maybe if you pump steroids and stay at the gym for 6 hours for those two sessions, but that's about it. In any case, I don't think my body could put up with hanging from cranes and jumping from great heights and swallowing poison. Sometimes I get sore when I have to walk over the snowbanks to get to the gym. Those workouts are pretty much a write-off.

Part IV - The Job Skills

What He Has - There is only one main blanket term for what 007 does for a job, and that is "kills bad guys." But there are so many variations, that each one could have its own category. He can kill bad guys by shooting them. He can kill bad guys by throwing them around in front of himself so their buddies shoot them. He can kill bad guys by shooting the highly explosive high-pressure bottle located conveniently next them in situations when he is desperately outnumbered. He can impale them, dropkick them, electrocute them, drown them, drop them off tall buildings, push them through some variety of large spinning blades, or do the classic neck-snapping with his bare hands. That doesn't even touch on his crazy secret spy skills, explosive skills, acrobatic skills, driving skills, or seduction skills.

What I Have - Nothing. Nothing at all. I am still in training, and I am being taught by a girl even younger than me. And it is taking me this long just to learn to fly a plane. Bond already knows how to fly a plane, and he had the time to learn to do all this killing and spy stuff along the way. I don't think I will ever match him in this category, it's just not in the cards. I can't even juggle. I've tried.

Part V - The Style

What He Has - For a guy whose job demands that he be crawling through dirt and mud, hiding behind doors, and generally being sneaky, he sure does have some snazzy clothes, doesn't he? This guy has no problem fitting in at a summer resort, with his lightweight shirt and slacks, nor at a cocktail party, with his classic dinner jacket and bowtie. As for his drink, he is no slouch there either. I think it is Bond who made the martini moreso than the martini that made Bond. There is just something about a shaken martini that makes shiver inside.

What I Have - The uniform I wear everyday more closely resembles a potato sack than anything "stylish." It is bland green, shapeless, and seeing as it is one piece, quite revealing if I have to reach above my head for anything. My other clothing includes such a fine selection as homemade t-shirts from ski trips in the late 90's, jeans that were cool in grade school, and shoes that aren't even stylish enough to need polish. I didn't get my first suit until I was 24, and for every job interview I can remember I needed to borrow a shirt. And a tie. Pants. Shoes. Belt. Black socks. It's embarrassing, but true. As for a stylish drink, I stick to beer. I don't know if 007 would approve, but at least my current selections are a big step up over the Black Ice that used to fill my fridge.

Part VI - The Women. Hot ones. Everywhere.

What He Has - Like I said - hot women. He is surrounded by them. So much so, that he can easily order her champagne from room service and go off chasing after her evil husband before even taking advantage of her, knowing perfectly well that another woman will be entering in the next scene. I could say "the hot chick from Dr. No" and "the hot chick from Octopussy" and "the hot chick from..." but then I would just have to list off every Bond movie ever made. When you have all those things I talked about before (cars, skills, muscles etc.), you tend to find the women more easily. When you're Bond...it's like flies to honey.

What I Have - Oh man. I almost couldn't fill this part in, it brings me close to tears. If you can imagine whatever the opposite of being surrounded by hot chicks is, that's what I am. In addition to the fact that at least 90% of my coworkers are male, the overwhelming majority of that other 10% don't fill one of the two requirements to be a hot chick (that is, "hot" and "chick"). If I go into the thriving metropolis of Moose Jaw, I find retired farmers, and the odd blue-collar worker. Maybe there is the odd female about, but we're not allowed in the bars so I will certainly never be surrounded by them like 007. (BIG SPOILER) If there is one thing that can give me hope, it is that even Bond found just one woman with whom he hoped to spend the rest of his life.

But then, she screwed him out of millions of dollars and unwittingly lured him into a trap that killed her and nearly killed him, so now he is back to the business of knocking off bad dudes and meeting a new woman everyday. That's more like the Bond I know.

You, the racist

This article is from Michael Shermer, editor or Skeptic magazine and website. This dude makes lots of sense, you should check out the website. This editorial is about Michael Richards' racist tirade a few weeks ago. I saw it on YouTube, it was pretty bad. Check out the link in the story for some interesting tests on whether or not you are a closet racist. Apparently, I favour young people slightly over old, but I have no preference between George Bush and Thomas Jefferson...and yes, I will write a real blog again sometime soon. I'VE BEEN BUSY, OK?

Kramer’s Conundrum
What the Michael Richards Event Really Means

an opinion editorial by Michael Shermer

After a paroxysm of racial viciousness at the Laugh Factory Friday night, November 17, 2006, Michael Richards, the 57-year old comedian who played Kramer on Seinfeld, explained to David Letterman and his Late Night audience the following Monday, after a barrage of negative publicity: “I’m not a racist. That’s what’s so insane about this.”

Michael’s shattered demeanor and heartfelt repentance leaves us with what I shall call Kramer’s Conundrum: how can someone who spews racial epithets genuinely believe he is not a racist? The answer is to be found in the difference between our conscious and unconscious attitudes, and our public and private thoughts.

Consciously and publicly, Michael Richards is probably not a racist. Unconsciously and privately, however, he is. So am I. So are you.

Consciously and publicly, most of us are colorblind. And most of us, most of the time, under most conditions, believe and act on that cultural requisite. You’d have to be insane to publicly utter racist remarks in today’s society … or temporarily insane, which both science and the law recognize as being sometimes triggered by anger. And alcohol — recall Mel Gibson’s drunken eruption about Jews, or the college Frat boys slurring alcohol-induced insanities about blacks and slavery in Sacha Baron Cohen’s film Borat.

The insidiousness of racism is due to the fact that it arises out of the deep recesses of our unconscious. We may be utterly unaware of it, yet it lurks there ready to erupt under certain circumstances. How can we know this? Even without anger and alcohol, Harvard scientists have found a method in an instrument called the Implicit Association Test (IAT), which asks subjects to pair words and concepts. The more closely associated the words and concepts are, the quicker the response to them will be in the key-pressing sorting task (try it yourself at https://implicit.harvard.edu/implicit/).

The race test firsts asks you to sort black and white faces into one of two categories: European American and African American. Easy. Next you are asked to sort a list of words (Joy, Terrible, Love, Agony, Peace, Horrible, Wonderful, Nasty, Pleasure, Evil, Glorious, Awful, Laughter, Failure, Happy, Hurt) into one of two categories: Good and Bad. No problem.

The next task is a little more complicated. The words and black and white faces appear on the screen one at a time, and you sort them into one of these categories: African American/Good or European American/Bad. Again you match the words with the concepts of good or bad, and faces with national origin. So the word “joy” would go into the first category and a white face would go into the second category. This sorting goes noticeably slower, but you might expect that since the combined categories are more cognitively complex.

Unfortunately, the final sorting task puts the lie to that rationalization: This time you sort the words and faces into the categories European American/Good or African American/Bad. Tellingly (and distressingly) this sort goes much faster than the previous sort. I was much quicker to associate words like “joy,” “love,” and “pleasure” with European American/Good than I did with African American/Good.

I consider myself about as socially liberal as you can get (I’m a libertarian), and yet on a scale that includes “slight,” “moderate,” and “strong,” the program concluded: “Your data suggest a strong automatic preference for European American compared to African American.” What? “The interpretation is described as ‘automatic preference for European American’ if you responded faster when European American faces and Good words were classified with the same key than when African American faces and Good words were classified with the same key.”

But I’m not a racist. How can this be? It turns out that this subconscious association of good with European Americans is true for everyone, even African Americans, no matter how color blind we all claim to be. Such is the power of culture.

We are by nature sorters. Evolutionists theorize that we evolved in small bands of hunter-gatherers where there was a selection for within-group amity and between-group enmity. With our fellow in-group members, we are cooperative and altruistic. Unfortunately, the down side to this pro-social bonding is that we are also quite tribal and xenophobic to out-group members.

This natural tendency to sort people into Within-Group/Good and Between-Group/Bad is shaped by culture, such that all Americans, including those whose ancestry is African, implicitly inculcate the cultural association, which includes additional prejudices.

The IAT, in fact, also demonstrates that we prefer young to old, thin to fat, straight to gay, and such associations as family-females and career-males, liberal arts-females and science-males. Such associations bubble just below the surface, inhibited by cultural restraints but susceptible to eruption under extreme inebriation or duress.

Michael Richards’ sin was his deed; his thoughts are the sin of all humanity. Only when all people are considered to be members of one global in-group (in principle, if not in practice) can we begin to attenuate these out-group associations. But it won’t be easy. Vigilance is the watchword of both freedom and dignity.

We should accept Mr. Richards’ apology for losing his temper and acting out those hateful thoughts. Perhaps we also ought to thank him for having the courage to confess in public what far too many of us still harbor in private, often in the privacy of our unconscious minds. As the Russian novelist Fyodor Dostoyevsky wrote:

"Every man has reminiscences which he would not tell to everyone but only his friends. He has other matters in his mind which he would not reveal even to his friends, but only to himself, and that in secret. But there are other things which a man is afraid to tell even to himself, and every decent man has a number of such things stored away in his mind."

Just what you're looking for

What is the difference between Canada and the U.S., you ask? The two are practically the same, you exclaim! We are totally obsessed with the American media, you say. Well, we may be close, but thankfully we still have a bit of our own...culture. I wanted to say a bit of sense, but that is just too cruel (and number 8 below points to the folly in that belief). It's not great, and it certainly isn't what I'm looking for, but these are the top internet searches of 2006, according to Yahoo and Yahoo Canada (taxes are number 7!):

Canada's top 10 searches in 2006 (on Yahoo! Canada)

1. NHL
2. FIFA World Cup
3. American Idol
4. Rock Star Supernova
5. WWE
6. Neopets
7. Revenue Canada
8. Days of Our Lives
9. Environment Canada
10. Jessica Simpson

U.S. top 10 searches in 2006:

1. Britney Spears
2. WWE
3. Shakira
4. Jessica Simpson
5. Paris Hilton
6. American Idol
7. Beyoncé Knowles
   
8. Chris Brown
9. Pamela Anderson
10. Lindsay Lohan

Celerbation

Today, I am going to celebrate my 10th anniversary of something I like to do. I am not sure if it is exactly 10 years since I first started doing this, but since I have nothing else to celebrate on November 16, today will be the day.

When I first started, like any kid of that age, I wasn't quite sure what to do. I watched other people do it a bit, but I think they generally didn't like that. I tried to learn what I could from some books and magazines, but in this fluid activity you can only learn so much with still images. As I kept at it, though, I began to improve - leaps and bounds at first, before slight gains, and then no improvement at all for a while.

With the exception of a few dry spells here and there, I have been doing it pretty steadily since I first began. Sometimes I would be out in the field with the army for a week and unable to do it, but I always tried to make up for it when I got back.

I have had a few regular partners, a couple for a few months and even one for over a year. I have had some partners only once, too. For the most part, though, I have been doing it solo-style ever since the beginning.

Fridays are never a good bet for it. I usually drink way too much, and am totally physically incapable. I usually try to make up for that with Saturdays, though, when I have all day free.

It is healthy, it is natural, it is even a good thing to talk about at the office. I am considered a bit of an expert around here, and have even counselled others on improving its place in their life.

Wow. 10 years. That's a long time. You would really think I would be better at it by now. What is it?...







It's WORKING OUT! ...What else?

To Hang Hussein

Judging Saddam Hussein is a good opinion article from The Economist. Seeing as I agree with it, instead of trying to convince you of my position through half-complete thoughts and run-on sentences, I will direct you to that source and suggest you give it a read.

Remember

I bet they would have given anything for a girl and a beer and a warm summer night with their buddies. But instead they got death, death all around them and a headstone without a name. Their lives were given to their cause, even those who lived. If we remember what they gave us, then their sacrifices were not in vain. For one day, please...Let us remember them.

For The Fallen
With proud thanksgiving, a mother for her children,
England mourns for her dead across the sea.
Flesh of her flesh they were, spirit of her spirit,
Fallen in the cause of the free.

Solemn the drums thrill; Death august and royal
Sings sorrow up into immortal spheres,
There is music in the midst of desolation
And a glory that shines upon our tears.

They went with songs to the battle, they were young,
Straight of limb, true of eye, steady and aglow.
They were staunch to the end against odds uncounted;
They fell with their faces to the foe.

They shall grow not old, as we that are left grow old:
Age shall not weary them, nor the years condemn.
At the going down of the sun and in the morning
We will remember them.

They mingle not with their laughing comrades again;
They sit no more at familiar tables of home;
They have no lot in our labour of the day-time;
They sleep beyond England's foam.

But where our desires are and our hopes profound,
Felt as a well-spring that is hidden from sight,
To the innermost heart of their own land they are known
As the stars are known to the Night;

As the stars that shall be bright when we are dust,
Moving in marches upon the heavenly plain;
As the stars that are starry in the time of our darkness,
To the end, to the end, they remain.

Polling

I hate polls. Where did they all come from? Why are there so many polls these days? You can't watch CNN, you can't watch Much Music, you can't even watch TSN anymore without getting the results of a poll. Seriously, yesterday there was a poll on TSN showing which Canadian team people thought had the best chance of winning the Stanley Cup this year. The poll had Calgary and Ottawa at the bottom. 5 weeks previously, the exact same poll question had Calgary and Ottawa at the top.

So why do we care what polls say? I think it was in Men In Black when Tommy Lee Jones said, "A person is smart. People are dumb, panicky, dangerous animals and you know it."

Today I came across this poll from CBC. Look at number 6, the percentage of respondents who approve of Canada's mission in Afghanistan. Look at how it has changed. Are we skittish? Cold feet? Wary of casualties? Over-emotional after 9/11? Number 7 is not too surprising - only half of the people giving responses know why who Canada is working for over there.

Governments cannot make decisions based on opinion polls. They MUST not make decisions based on opinion polls. I am happy our government has not done so yet in this matter. We all know what Jack Layton would do about it. Then again, everyone knows he will never form the government, so he is free to say anything he likes to please his target audience.

I guess the overall message is this - research, vote, and ignore all the polls. Sure, I would give responses if they called me for a poll, but I don't know if I would even trust those answers.

Getting less fatter

A(nother) recent study from Statscan. The news? Canadians continue to get fatter...but at a slower rate. Between 2003 and 2005, men only gained an average of 0.7kg and women 0.6kg, whereas in the previous two years the numbers had been 1.1 and 1.0 respectively. Hurray!

No?

No. But I guess that is better than rates increasing. The more worrisome number actually came from a University of Rochester study that was comparing abdominal fat levels. Levels of "abdominal obesity" in 2-5 year old boys went up 84% since 1988. And even more ridiculous, it went up 126% in 18-19 year old girls.

Holy crap. There is really no excuse for that at these young ages, and it is seriously reducing any motivation I have to go hang out around high schools these days. What, too far?

Anyway, the funniest part of this whole deal was in a comment posted on the Globe and Mail article, which reads as follows:

Spicy Doc from Canada writes: So we're still getting fatter but at a slower rate?? And the Chinese are out of control?? Time for the UN to get its act together and set up a 'Bloato' Protocol. Canada and other nations must get back to 1990 weight averages or else buy 'Credits' from starving countries to comply. Naturally the US will boycott, citing huge pressure from the fatty snak lobby. China will chow through dim sum like there's no tomorrow. In Canada the libs will promise to comply, but aside from getting Rick Mercer to do a '20-lb challenge', Canada will continue to pork up. The NDP will ridicule Harper for not promising Canada will lose 20 lbs per person in 2 weeks. Rona will suggest a plan of sensible eating, combined with safe exercise, leading to a gradual but meaningful long-term improvement. The media eat her alive, screaming that she is an incompetent moron. Bloggers call for the Tories scalps (whilst chomping down Doritos and Coke). The song remains the same..,..

Stern Reports

You should check out this report on the state of the environment. Then you can read this one about how Canada is doing. The average Candian uses enough energy, consumes enough food, produces enough trash, etc, that we need 7.6 hectares to support each person. If you would like to put that in terms of an area we can better understand, try 818,056 square feet. That is the size of my house, times 800.

So yeah, World Wildlife Fund it is.

Charity Case

I work for the Government of Canada. And when one works for this government, one is made familiar with something called the Government of Canada Workplace Charitable Campaign. It is just a campaign each year in the fall where employees are encouraged to donate to a charity of their choice by payroll deduction throughout the year. We had a short presentation on this the other day, and it got me thinking - I should definitely be giving more. I didn't even come through on that promise to give my Ralphbucks to charity. So now I will be using my salary (which comes your tax dollars, of course) and redistributing to the charity that I see fit.

But...which charity to give to? There are thousands of options. There are a few basic choices on the pledge sheet - I could give to The United Way, who could redistribute it as they like. I could be more specifc, giving to The United Way specifically to fight poverty, for child and youth programs, or for victims of abuse. I could give to Healthpartners, a group including the major health associations such as The Canadian Cancer Society and The Heart & Stroke Foundation. Or I could give to any registered charity in the country.

Right now I have a sponsored child in Uganda. Maybe I should give something to stay in Canada now? Or even my local community? But I think there are places elsewhere that probably need it more. How about giving to people who do something about protecting the environment? Renewable energy? World Wildlife Fund? I don't know. There are too many choices.

It won't be much money. They won't be hiring any new scientists or building any new shelters with my donations. I just want them to mean something, though. So what do you think? Who deserves our hard-earned money?

Different Families

This letter was posted on army.ca by a Candian soldier recently wounded in Afghanistan:

Dealing with being home from Kandahar

(Oct 16, 2006)

It has been 2 month and 2 days since I deployed to Afghanistan, with 8 Platoon, Charles Company, 1 RCR. I was honored, as a reservist augmentee, to be attached to such a great group of probably the best soldiers our country has to offer.

In the three short weeks I was in Afghanistan, I learned more about commitment to my military family than most soldiers learn in a lifetime. It seemed both unfortunate and amazing that it took battle and bloodshed to forge such a strong bond.

It has been 1 month and 12 days since I was wounded and pulled from the battlefield. When I was in the hospital in KAF, I had hoped that I would stay in Afghanistan to recover. Why would I want to stay in such a horrible place that almost claimed my life? I didn't want to leave my family.

Germany and Toronto (hospitals) were a blur of Morphine, Demerol, Fentanyl, IV lines, wound packings, shrapnel removal surgeries, catheters, bad food, and good care. I think back on it and it seems dizzying. But when I close my eyes, only 2 images flash and they take me back to where I'm supposed to be.

I see Panjwayi; the fields of pot. Rockets and bullets. The smell of burning and the heat. Then all I see are the bodies of soldiers I helped carry to the CCP. 2 covered by body bags (WO. Richard Nolan, Sgt. Shane Stachnik) and 2 on stretchers; my platoon warrant (WO Frank Mellish), and a soldiers I new only casually from living in the shacks in Petawawa (Pte.Will Cushley)

While at the CCP I find out that a very close friend (from my reserve home unit) had been wounded by shrapnel from Taliban RPGs. His sections LAV had been left on the battlefield. For a long while, I didn't know how badly he was wounded. (He's still over there, thus no names) I'll never forget the feeling; the sense and fear of loss. I will never forget those who were lost that day.

I try to think of the good times I was privileged enough to have with my Platoon. WO. Mellish made me the unofficial piper of 8 Platoon, (shortly there after; Coy piper) and I played reveille as per his request (and everyone else's distain) anytime I was able. In dreams I still hear him shouting "Piper!!! Black Bear!!"... The last tune I played on my pipes... at panjwayi. (I still don't have them back)

When I close my eyes, I also see the morning after Panjwayi. Sparks, smoke, fire... then the burp of the main gun of the A-10. I remember the feeling of panic as I crawled for my Weapon and PPE, thinking we were under attack. I can still feel the burning on my legs and back, the shock of thinking my legs were gone.

I can see the faces of the injured... the twice-wounded soldiers of Charles. I see the face of the soldier who saved my life by applying tourniquets to my legs and stopping the bleeding from my back and arm... (He will remain nameless for now)

From then, everything's a blur until I'm back in KAF. I remember asking if everyone was 'ok'... Reaching from my gurney to other wounded soldiers walking by, trying to peace together what had happened... more confusion. I asked again and again...

Pte. Mark Graham. An inspirational man whom I only really started to get to know shortly before deploying, a brother in our family of warriors, was dead. My heart sank even more.

Our CSM (who was also wounded) came over to me and asked if I was going to be able to play the pipes for the ramp ceremony the following day. I held up my right hand, which was numb, and looked at my fingers. The tips of 2 of them looked like they had been chewed up in a blender. I felt tears run down my face. Not because I thought I'd never play again, but because I couldn't play for my departed brothers the next day... I would have given both of my hands and more for their lives.

I had hoped to attend the ramp ceremony the next day, even if I couldn't play, but I couldn't move my legs and they couldn't put me in a wheel chair because of the shrapnel in my back. I was sedated that day, and came to on the plane to Germany.

I couldn't attend any of the funerals of my fallen family, and I feel no closure.

It has been a month and 12 days since I lost my brothers in Panjwayi and it might as well have been yesterday.

When I close my eyes at night I not only see the ones who have paid the ultimate price, but also the ones who are still there... and I feel as though I am betraying them.

My life seems to be dragging me on. My fiancé and I are planning our wedding and future. My family and I get together often. I've been able to socialize with my friends... and yet each thing I do here makes me feel guilty, because I shouldn't be here to enjoy this.

I wake up every day and plan and plot. I think of only one thing; how can I get back to my family... How can I get back to Afghanistan? My wounds are almost healed. Only 3 holes left and they're almost closed. I can walk pretty well now, but I need to run.

My family and friends don't understand. They don't want me to go back. My fiancé has threatened to end our relationship if I chose to return... and yet this doesn't dissuade me. I have to get back to my boys. I have to get back and do my part no matter the cost to me. I love my family here in Canada, but no one's shooting at them.

Every time I see more soldiers killed over there a piece of me dies, and I feel the urge to return grow stronger. And each day I enjoy in my freedom here, I feel as though I have betrayed their memory. I need to finish my job over there. I need to go back.

I can only think of the families of those who have died, and I can only say this, and hope it provides some solace:
A warrior's sword is made from the finest steel, forged by hammer and anvil to create and edge, baptized in hot coals and flame for strength, then quenched in cold water to harden it.

Our brotherhood of Warriors, the finest of men, has been forged by Battle; Baptized by fire and Quenched by tears...

We became and will always be a fraternity of blood with a bond stronger than death.

Pro Patria

I hate to rant, but I need to vent. It's been a hard road, and I know there are a few others here who have seen it and may or may not feel the same (HoM).

To the mods... feel free to delete this post if you find it pointless.

- Piper

Brotherhood of Warriors
Forged in battle
Baptized by fire
Quenched in tears

C Coy, 1 RCR
Panjwayi

Job Satisfaction

So Statscan says that 1 in 12 Canadians are not satisfied with their jobs.

Really? Wow, I would have thought that the numbers would be much higher than that. Is that to say that 11 in 12 ARE satisfied? That's not too bad at all. The report mention that shift workers, people working irregular shifts, sales representatives, service employees and factory workers all generally have lower levels of satisfaction. But I thought that there were a lot more people than that who were unsatisfied.

If so many people are happy, why do I always hear about boredom, the terrible bosses, the lack of vacation, and all that stuff that people generally like to say about their jobs? Is it just that people find common ground there? Is a job seen as "satisfying" if it does nothing more than provide a means to an end (money)?

I don't really know. What does it take to find satisfaction in a job? If I could point to one thing, it would probably be flow, the ol' je ne sais quoi that people can find in a job of any complexity, respect, or pay level. And a related question - why do people choose the job that they do? Do they get stuck in it because "it pays the bills?" Or because their education (or lack of education) limits them to it? What does it really take to abandon what you are doing and go after the job you always dreamed about?

I have the job I have always dreamed about. I am still training for it, and unfortunately there is still the stress-causing threat of failure. I lost sight of the job for a while a few years ago, when I felt myself being limited to my field of post-secondary knowledge. Luckily, I took a few months off after university, and found myself totally without employment upon my return. I had direction - I wanted to be a firefighter - but that wouldn't be possible for quite a while. It was during this time of working in a short-term, unsatisfying job that I found again what I wanted to do. For me, it wasn't the biggest risk. I left a fairly boring job for an exciting one. I ended up leaving behind my family and friends, but that didn't really seem real at the time so it wasn't at the top of my mind.

Someone else who is training here had to give up a whole lot more. He is married and has two kids, both with Down Syndrome. His wife has to take care of the kids. He had a comfortable job with IG as a financial planner. When he was 42 years old, he decided to give up his safe life and go for his lifelong dream of being a pilot in the Air Force. Now THAT....that is quite a risk.

So which is the way to go? Are you really satisfied with your job now? I ask myself this question all the time, and I am lucky enough to always have an answer. My contentedness could even be naive, considering the high failure rate and my complete lack of a backup plan, but I just don't want anything else right now. How about your job? Perhaps it is the safety of the job which gives you satisfaction and motivates you. Perhaps it really challenges you on a daily basis. Maybe you just work to make money to blow on the weekend. In any case, I think it is healthy to ask oneself every so often...is this the job I really want?

Saving the world

Here is an interesting article on the potentially harmful effects of a well-intentioned idea to help look after the earth - biofuels.

And here is an article by Jared Diamond, the author of the Pulitzer Prize-winning book Guns, Germs, and Steel. He wants to convince you about another one of those things that is helping to destroy not the world, but the folks like us who live in it - agriculture.

Save the world. And yourself!

Apologies

I am really sorry. Yes, this blog has fallen apart lately. No deep thoughts, no ranting, not even any effort-free photos. I am sorry. The thing is, I am really busy these days. I didn't hide it when I started writing here - I was doing it because I had a lot of time on my hands. That didn't mean I didn't have anything to say, even less so now, but I just am not willing to put as much time into it anymore. I am busy with classes, flying, and way more studying than I ever had to do in University. This puts my free time at a premium. And, as you can see, I haven't put the blog at the top of the free-time priority list.

You know what IS at the top of that list? Well, apparently it is attending local parties, because I have done so every weekend, save one, since I have been here. And of what does a local party consist? Well, let me tell you of one of them, in the hopes that you can copy this party wherever you are.

In these parts, it is called a Tac Eval. Sounds very army-ish, doesn't it? It stands for "tactical evaluation," and is essentially an evaluation of a coworker's (or boss's) situational awareness, as well as hospitality. You have to make sure all of your collegues are "in the know" and willing to accompany you, or it just turns into one creepy dude hanging out on someone else's lawn. Get everyone together somewhere, ensuring you have all party ingredients on hard (beer, ice, lawn chairs, bbq, food and condiments, maybe even some sort of music production apparatus). You then move to the front lawn of the house of the person being evaluated. You set up your chairs, sit back and crack a cold beer, and start the clock. His score is amount of time it takes for him to a) realize you are there, and b) invite you into his home. Of course, he should also offer his own beer, his own food, and all the comforts of his home, since you have all been so nice as to come to his house to throw him a party.

We did this a couple of weeks ago to some guys on my course. They are Hungarian, and it almost seemed that they were a separate course. They didn't come out with us, and barely even talked with us. We sure showed them. We forced them to hang out with us. We also forced it on their girlfriends, who all came all the way from Hungary to be with these guys. So much for alone time!

So, although BBQ season is sadly coming to an end, I do believe you have at least a few more weeks to make it happen. I will be flying/learning/studying/partying from here.

New things

Well. Almost done my 3rd week of ground school. This is tiring. Simulator training started this week. Here is what I noticed so far:

-My ejection seat is way fancier and more expensive than that office chair you have been bragging about. The cost ($75k or something like that) is not necessarily proportional to comfort.
-The atmosphere around here, where most of the students live in the same building and many eat together, is something like a university dorm. Except we get paid, and we actually study.
-Flying is some combination of art and science. The science part is knowing exactly what to do at a given time or to effectuate a given manoeuvre. The art is being able to move hands, feet, and fingers to make it happen.
-I'm not much of an artist
-My days would be about an hour shorter, and way less interesting, without instructors who have thousands of war stories to tell.
-The $12M simulators we fly in are cooler than Microsoft Flight Sim. But not THAT much cooler. I will stick with flight sim myself.
-Memorize your checks, and when you screw up the instructors won't notice as much.

And I haven't even started flying yet. That is on monday. Have a good weekend.

PowerTunes

This post is inspired by Nike. Or more specifically, the new Nike+ system, where a little chip goes in your shoe and transmits info to your iPod whilst running. In this way you can always feel like you have an annoying fat coach right beside you yelling. You know, the kind that rides on his bike at a leisurely pace while you are killing yourself running. Like it always showed in Mike Tyson's PunchOut! Anyway, interesting system. I won't be buying it. But the part that is interesting is that, according to the ad I saw on the Nike website, when you are down to the last few minutes, or perhaps just the hardest portion of the run, you can cue up your "Power Song." I definitely know what they're talking about there. These are the songs that are somehow able to make your legs move faster, despite the fact that they were just ready to stop. They make your lungs heave, despite their best attempts to slow you down. They give the extra minute, or just the extra few seconds, that make the difference between a good run and just going for a jog. So I dedicate this post to my favourite power songs of all time, in order or awesomeness:

1) The First Drop - Rise Against
1) The Artist in the Ambulance - Thrice
1) Bullion - Millencolin
1) Injection - Rise Against
1) Drowning Lessons - My Chemical Romance

If you know what a power song is, and these songs are not part of your repertoire, you are making a horrible mistake. Of course, I am always open to suggestions. What is YOUR best power song?

ABBREVTN OVRLD

I am in ground school. And I have now learned why pilots make the big bucks. It's all about abbreviations and acronyms. Pilots get paid to know them all. Below is a short sampling from the classes I have taken so far:

In ACT class
- EAS is CAS corrected for PE and CE.
- It is good to have a RAT in case of BTB fail if you don't have an APU.
- JET-A with FSII is ok if JP-8 is not available.

In ADY class
- L/Dmax is the AOA where Tr and Pr are at a minimum.
- The CL can be increased by BLC.
- The FADEC is replacing MFCU these days.
- SFC is lowered by increasing TIT and lowering IOAT
- ROCmax for a jet is at L/D max

And my personal favourite,
In AOIs class
- The PMA is powered off the RGB
- The PMA powers the PMU, though the BAT BUS is backup, and if PMU fails the PIU will do it manually.
- The ADC supplies info to the EHSI, the EADI, and the EIDs.
- The EDM supplies the EIDs through the PMU
- The AHRS transfers to the AHRU, which is interpreted and displayed by the EFIS and recorded by the FRD in the IDARS.
- VOR1 and 2, ILS, as well as UHF and ModeA/C/S of the ATC transponder can be controlled through the RMU. DME too, if available.

I'm not even joking. I'm not adding anything there. This is all real. And there is a whole crapload more. But now, I know what...MOST of it means.

The source of my inspiration...

The battle over cake

There is a huge internal battle that has been going on everyday since I arrived at my new home. This battle only occurs in one building, and only at certain times. Three times per day, in fact. At the mess hall.

I pay a flat rate for food each month now. Whether or not that rate is too much...well, that is a different question. But the fact is that I do, and this entitles me to certain things at each meal of the day. I am entitled to a starch at each meal, be it hashbrowns, rice, boiled potatoes, or something of the sort. I am entitled to one main protien dish. Two vegetables at lunch and dinner, and a piece of fruit. If I have any entrée, I am not entitled to a large salad - only a small. But the thing is, I am entitled to a dessert at EVERY MEAL. Geez, just yesterday I saw a guy eating a nanaimo bar at breakfast. And these desserts are GOOD. I think they must order them in, because the food prepared in the kitchen there doesn't really compare. They have cheesecake. Pecan pie. Chocolate mousse cake. Apple crumble. Rolo cake. Cherry pie. White cake. Nanaimo bars. Ice cream. Carrot cake. Pudding. Brownies. Coconut bars. We're not talking just one thing at a meal, we're talking about a selection of five or more.

So here is where the conflict comes in: There are two parts of me, deeply ingrained in my personality, that I feel each time I see one of these desserts. First of all is the desire to be healthy. You don't have to go on my caveman diet to know that dessert is not healthy. Sugar. Saturated fat. Trans fat. It is hard to find any redeeming nutrition quality in these foods. Yeah, sure, apple pie has apples in it. That doesn't make it healthy. I have even been working extra hard lately to eat very well, and now this influence comes along.

The second part of me, in conflict with the desire to be healthy, is my need to be economical. Some people might even call me "cheap," though I would beg to differ. But really, I just feel the need to get the maximum value out of every dollar I spend. So if I can get a $4 piece of cake for nothing, don't you think I should take advantage of that? Because really, I would be cheating myself if I didn't! Think of when I am out of here and have to pay for that myself! That is just ridiculous, when I could stock up now at no extra charge. When I take that piece of fruit, that is only worth $0.65. A full size nanaimo bar is worth $3.50. And costs me nothing! And they say eating healthy is expensive.

Yes, I realize that it just might be lame to eat chocolate cake for economical reasons.

Of course, the economical part of me has a very strong ally. He is called deliciousness. Because we allllll know how delicious dessert is.

So far, I have resisted. Out of 28 meals, I have had only one dessert - an enourmous piece of moist yet rich chocolate cake. With chocolate icing. And chocolate shavings on top. Capped off with chocolate drizzle. Hey, if you're going to go, don't go half-way. But my inner beliefs continue to batter each other at every meal.

Come onnnnnnn, Healthymatt.

Motivation

Well, here I am. Moose Jaw, Saskatchewan. Everything I ever wanted, almost. I have a nice place to live, decent food to eat, lots of friends here, and I am actually advancing my career/life now. Same goes for all the other trainees. So everyone should be happy, right?

Ha.

No.

There is way too much stress here for people to be happy. The only really happy guy I have talked to, not including the other guys on my course who just got here, was someone who finished his course last week. And this is the story another guy told about him:

"Andrew wasn't like this until Friday, you know. For 8 months, he was miserable. I went into his room a few months ago to ask him how things were on the course, since I was only a couple months into it and was not having a good time with it. 'Well, man,' he said, 'prepare yourself, because it doesn't get any better.' It wasn't very inspiring. I wasn't very motivated." No kidding. And that is all I have heard since I arrived. One guy today said he told his instructor he had to get a haircut, so he didn't have to fly. Everyone, all 80 or 90 of the other people who are on the courses ahead of me, just can't wait to be finished and out of here. Yet I haven't even STARTED GROUND SCHOOL yet, never mind being close to finishing the course. Yeesh.

GAFF remains high. Motivation high. Let's see how long I can hold that.

The special ingredient

Cross your t's

I correct people's grammar. I correct spelling. I correct punctuation. I most definitely tell then when a word they are using doesn't make any sense in the way they are using it. I do it because I wouldn't want the message to be confused or misinterpreted.

This pisses people off. It REALLY pisses off some people. "You know what I mean," say some. "F*** you, you a**hole, leave me alone," say others.

I feel better about it today, however. According to this story, Rogers is going to lose over 2 million dollars due to the misuse of a comma. Yes, a comma, that most basic of punctuation marks, was placed where, apparently...something else should have been placed. They made a deal to lock in the price for using utility poles in the Maritimes to string their cable lines. Now Aliant, with whom they made the deal, has cancelled it and the rates are going up. If you read the sentence in question in the contract, it seems very obvious to me that this deal could be cancelled:

"The agreement 'shall continue in force for a period of five years from the date it is made, and thereafter for successive five year terms, unless and until terminated by one year prior notice in writing by either party.'”

When there are two commas in a sentence, the third clause refers to the first. They intended the contract to be in force for five years, with the option of a cancellation thereafter with one year's notice. Too bad, Rogers. Send those lawyers back to school.

My new home

I finally did it. I finally made it out of Winnipeg. For good. Ok, at least for a while. I am the newest resident of Moose Jaw, Saskatchewan. For those of you who don't know where that is...well, you probably don't care, either. But as far as I know, there haven't been any hate-songs written about my new home, so I will take it. My new place even has 3 rooms, instead of one. That's right, I don't have to walk down the hall to the bathroom anymore. Simple things keep me happy.

As for Winnipeg...I still detest you. I found an awesome restaurant on my last night there, and that may be the best part of the entire city. I guess I shouldn't rant too much about the city, though. In addition to the fact that I have already done that, I will more than likely be back in Manitoba within a year, and probably back in Winnipeg before too many years. But if there is one picture that makes me think of Winnipeg, it is this one. That is Blue Bombers' kicker Troy Westwood. Trying to defend Winnipeg, as Winnipeggers often have to do. Because the rest of the country knows that the place sucks.

Nice blog, no-blog

Ok ok, so I haven't updated in a while. I WAS BUSY, OK? And busy in this case means "On vacation." Here are no stories, and a few pics of good times...

Columbia Icefield

Floaties at Shushwap

Moves on the boat

Good times on the beach

A brewski at the 6km mark of the hike

Good summer times

Survived

Yes, I am alive and well, back from my survival course in the horrible swamps of eastern Manitoba. I could tell you all about it, chronilogical-like, but instead I will tell you in a different way. I will tell you all the things I realized, sitting on the bus on the way back from the course, that I should be more thankful for. In general order of importance:

1) A BUG-FREE ENVIRONMENT - Sure, there is the odd spider in the basement. I get a few mosquito bites if I hang out outside long enough in the summer, or go golfing at the crappy course by my place in Winnipeg. But that doesn't even begin to compare with the bugs I was putting up with last week. They were absolutely ridiculous. They even gave us some special spray to soak our clothes with (for which we had to sign a waiver due to health concerns), and I still got eaten alive. I had the gortex cover for my sleeping bag completely closed around me except for a breathing hole of about 3 inches across. Into that hole I put my insect headnet to block any intruders. They still made it into my sleeping bag, and bit my face enough that my lips were swollen and my right eye swelled completely shut after one night. Worst. But there were actually people in worse circumstances than me. If I hung out right next to the lake and away from the woods, there was a bit of a wind to keep the bugs away. Guys on the opposite shore were actually wearing their rain coats and rain pants all day because the bugs can't bite through them (it was 28 and sunny).

2) PEOPLE TO TALK TO - For the last 48 hours, I was all alone. The extent of my interaction was an instructor coming along, once each day for about 1 minute, to make sure my shelter was up, snares were out, that sort of thing. You can get pretty bored all alone like that, let me tell you. Kind of start to go crazy, even. Going through crappy situations, with someone else doing the same thing, and being able to talk about it...that is much preferred.

3) FOOD - That's right, I had 6 jujubes and 4 little packs of juice mix to last me 2 days. That obviously doesn't fill you up, but you sure do learn to enjoy every little morsel of food. For the first 7 days I had two meals per day, and that definitely got me started getting hungry. I would beg for the little tubes of peanut butter out of the ration packs (since it was about the only thing that wasn't all sugar), and some guys raided the garage where they stored the food and liberated a few meals. As for the final part when I was alone with my jujubes, I ate them in about 10 bites each, even though they were only about 2 inches long. The only fish I got was about 4 inches long, and supplied maybe a gram of protein. I was starting to get a bit light-headed whenever I stood up, and I was tripping over tree roots and rocks when walking around. On the way back we stopped at Chicken Chef, and the guy next to me ordered a large poutine and a pizza. Apparently he missed food, too.

4) AVAILABLE WATER - Overall, this wasn't really a big deal. We weren't given any water and there weren't any taps or anything, but we could go down to the lake to get it, and we had tabs and water pumps to filter it. However, on the day where we were doing navigation, it was 4 of us out in the middle of the crappy Manitoba swamp, and we ran out of water. We were just walking through this crap all day and it was at least 25 degrees or so, and almost 100% humidity. Lucky for that last point, because when it started to rain, we unfolded our waterproofed maps and made them all like funnels into a cup so we could have something to drink. We were getting pretty desparate there.

5) A PLACE TO SIT - All I had was a flat rock. Flat rocks aren't comfortable for sitting on. Or for laying on, for that matter. I definitely thought of this one while I was sitting on the soft cushy bus seat, it definitely struck the contrast.

But hey, I'm alive, and back to civilization. And I am sure I will soon be complaining that my food is too cold or that there is a fly in the house or that the water tastes bad or that my back hurts because this chair is so soft. How quickly I forget.

Activity

I haven't been very active in updating this blog lately. Well, that is likely to continue since I will be out in the bush for the next 9 days. I will post something about my trip when I get back.

Bad medic

In other, way more hilarious news, I was getting my annual medical done today. That includes a 10-lead EKG, which puts 2 little sticky leads on my calves, 2 on my arms, and 6 on my chest. The medic was having trouble getting a good reading because my chest hair was pushing them away from my skin. And I quote:

"Geez man, I've had geriatrics with congenital heart failure, and I've never had this much difficulty getting a reading. I don't know if I should shave you or throw you a friggin' banana."

Bad blog

Yep, you're right. This blog fell off. Two weeks without a post. As an excuse, I had my final exams for my french course. That didn't mean that I had any less free time, but it is all I have as an excuse.

On that subject, someone in The Public Service of Canada made quite the mistake in assessing my level of french. There were two paper tests, one for comprehension and the other for grammar. Then there is an intervew by telephone with some overpaid civil servant in Ottawa. Usually it lasts between 30 and 45 minutes, in which they feel they can assess the candidate's level of french comprehension and production. Well, my interview lasted 40 minutes, but apparently that is not long enough. It was not long enough for her to determine that my vocabulary is extremely limited and that I have to take way too many breaks to think of the right word to use next. Because I got as high of a score as is possible. This means that I will never - EVER - have to take another french course, nor french test, for the rest of my career. 30 years from now, I could get sent to a francophone position in Quebec or Ottawa, and they would fully expect that I am fluent in the language. Even if I hadn't used it for any of those 30 years.

The first impression was, "Awesome, I got the highest mark, now I won't have to use up career time in the future taking more courses and tests."

The second impression was, "Holy crap, they really think I know how to speak french. There is something seriously wrong with that test. Suckers."

Finally, "Uh no. They are really going to EXPECT that I can speak french now."

I guess it is now up to me to keep speaking french. I know none of YOU are going to support that; in fact, I am sure I would be the subject of much verbal and physical abuse if I tried to speak it around you. But I will have to do it somehow.

"With great power, comes great responsibility." I guess I'm kind of like Spiderman like that. A really slow, french-speaking Spiderman who can't leap tall buildings in a single bound.

On Sport

Check out this link, from the Oilers' game on Thursday. Sixteen thousand people singing O Canada together - I wonder when was the last time THAT happened. I have to say that I thoroughly enjoyed it. Ron McLean knew how I was feeling when he said, "That, like all the things we love, never gets old."

But then I reflected on it, for just a moment, from another point of view. Where these people really singing because they are proud Canadians? A number of them, probably. But I would say that most of them are singing because they are Oilers fans, and they think this shows how great of fans they are. Personally, I don't need the Stanley Cup playoffs to inspire me to show respect for my country and its anthem.

Fortunately, I didn't stop thinking about it after that. And I actually came to a conclusion, rather than my too-often fallback position of fence-sitting.

This is far from the worst example of patriotism and pride - it is, rather, one of the best examples of the power of the good in sport.

We had a rough relationship for a while there, sport and I. When I got to university, I almost totally stopped playing team sports. Instead, I had to study it. I had classes in sport physiology. Sport ethics. Sociology of sport. Psychology of sport. Sport Administration. Sport injury, sport rehabilitation, sport history, and a whole schedule of others. I got pretty pissed off with sports in general, and I would try to avoid studying them any more than I had to. I even somehow got away with writing about the potlach for my sport history class; I guess that falls under the "sport and leisure" category. Anyway, having finished my classes and done what I thought was the more honourable thing to do in the field (working with the injured in the general population, rather than spoiled athletes), I found through my horrible disappointment in that field that there may be something good to sports - namely, motivation. While not forgetting this, it was soon overshadowed by the NHL lockout, which, according to my somewhat jaded view at the time, pitted a bunch of whiny millionaires against a bunch of whiny millionaires.

Luckily for me, and for everyone as far as I'm concerned, sport keeps coming back. Though sometimes you can get some of the positive effects of sport without the organization (as I have previously written), I must admit that nothing can compare to sport. Any sport.

What else is there in the world that makes me, alone in my room, jump off my bed screaming, pumping my arms in the air? Because some guy I have never met, putting a little piece of rubber behind another guy, 1000 miles away from me, has caused that reaction. Wearing the same jersey in a sports bar makes you automatic friends. Wanting to maintain the fitness to play will motivate people to eat just about anything, and do a ridiculous amount of preparation hardly rivalled by any other professional.

Yes, Sport can sometimes motivate too much. And sometimes the fans look past the reason for the competition.

And yet, it is still athletes who have to power to unite millions (I have never met as many Oilers fans outside of Edmonton as I have in the past few weeks). Sport provides inspiration for a child. If two people meet, having never met before, and they find that they both love to golf, they might as well have been friends for years by the sudden connection they can make. Sport can make participant and fan alike cry. It can give smiles. It gives broken bones and scrapes and sprains, and the athletes love to talk of these battle scars. Two participants, or two fans, can be going at each other for hours and still have the highest respect for the other. Taking on challenges and defeats in sport prepares those who know them for challenges in all other aspects of life. And the feeling - the feeling of competition; the hard hits; the big throw; the sacrifice for the team; and maybe, if you have worked hard enough and everything falls into place, the victory - it is unbeatable.

We're ok again, sport and I.

I'm famous

The other day, I was shown this magazine:


Now, I am not normally one to read its lies and misleading stories, but apparently...someone wrote in about me. For background see this previous post, number 1. Yeah.

The best job in the world

I was walking through a park yesterday. It is one of those parks where people drive their pimped out corvettes and cruisers, as well as their '04 Sunbirds with huge spoilers, around in circles for no particular reason. And what I decided during this time was that something was missing. None of these cars were doing it for me. They all looked rather ridiculous. Big and bulky. The side mirrors looking like little underdeveloped stubs sticking out to the side. Everything pretty much rectangular. Everything so heavy. I guess that's why I don't care too much if I drive a "cute" truck with an old-man canopy, because they all generally look the same to me. I don't know why.

Then I went to a movie last night, and I realized why. Because cars ARE slow and bulky and cumbersome. Compared to fighter planes.

I went to see Fighter Pilot at IMAX. Check out a quick trailer here. It was awesome. All of those planes and helicopters look pretty cumbersome and ungainly on the ground too. With their peg-leg landing gear and strange looking control surfaces moving around, they can't do much better than a car. But put any one of those aircraft in flight, and...wow, that is how machines should move. The engines are roaring, but the moves look effortless. No longer confined to 3 dimensions. The bulkiest transport plane up there has more grace than the sleekest sports car on the road, and the slowest helicopter looks smoother than a luxury sedan. Then there were at least 7 different fighters planes, the most powerful things in the sky. I could watch those things move all day.

Until I can get in one. Three more months. I can't wait to get up there again.Note: No, I won't be flying one of those

Prairie Hot Spots

I had a free weekend. My buddy from here in Winnipeg and I decided we should go meet up with our friends that have moved away. So where would we meet? Why, in the number one party place on the Prairies - Regina, of course.

I unfortunately (or unfortunately, depending on your point of view) didn't get any pictures of our escapades. Therefore, I will have to describe them.

We took the guy's girlfriend's sweet grocery-getting Vibe at 150km/h down the Transcanada to arrive at the hotel by 8pm. The others arrived minutes later, and together we started off the festivities by dining on a few liquid barley sandwiches. Deciding to go to the "cool" Regina bar, the Pump, we set off on foot. A stop at MacDonald's was necessary, where everyone else added to their caloric intake by wolfing down a couple double cheeseburgers each. We made it to the bar to find, much to our surprise, a ridiculously long lineup. In Regina? Seriously, nobody even likes this place, why is the lineup so long? And there weren't even very many cowboy hats. How disappointing. So after waiting for an hour and moving up to a position very near the door, we decided we should go to another bar. The wait in line was highlighted by some drunk guy getting thrown out and yelling at the bouncer, "DO YOU THINK YOU'RE FAT? HUH? YOU THINK YOU'RE FAT OR SOMETHING?" Ha. Yes, I'm sure that is what he thinks.

We get to the other bar. This is more like what I had in mind for Regina. There is a hot chicken finger-eating contest, a really bad local band playing AC/DC, and some dude walking around with a Viagra skidoo jacket on. After many drinks and some of the guys wanting to fight, we took a taxi to yet another bar. The taxi ride was highlighted by the passengers giving advice to each other on various ways to avoid fathering a child. "Rusty coat hanger!" "Sex her, and then WAM punch her in the stomach!" Gross. I'm sure the taxi driver was impressed. And after all that, he yelled at ME. For closing the window.

And after that, we went back to the oringinal bar. We found it very easy to get in. Just use the "out" door. Near the end of the night, the beer-tub girl was trying to get rid of her beer, so we got 15 bottles for $25. Not bad. Leaving the bar, the seven of us approached one pair of girls. One of the guys said, "Oh man, I'm so wasted, we've been doing coke all day, man!" The girls didn't like that. They started to run. One of the guys ran after them at a full sprint. Those girls ran pretty fast in heels.

It was at this time that we decided we needed Burger King. Tried to go through the drive-thru, without car. No luck. I guess the kid working had served these guys before, and almost lost his job. He suggested we try the MacD's. So that's what we did. Can you imagine 4 grown men jumping up and down on a magnetic sensor, trying to get it to activate so an order could be placed? Believe it or not, that doesn't create a magnetic field of any sort. Anyway, we got in formation like we were in a car, and followed the other cars forward. One guy had his hands on the imaginary steering wheel. Another kept on rolling down the imaginary window and yelling at another guy who was standing on the grass. "GET IN THE CAR, KYLE! GET BACK IN HERE RIGHT NOW." A guy from a car in front of us came back and told us that he was a cop, and that there were police cars already on the way. I guess it is illegal to stand in line. He advised us to leave. We didn't listen. It was about this time that the 14 year-old kid in the window started yelling at us and telling us to leave. We claimed we just wanted food. He said he couldn't give us any. We said we had money and they had food, and we just wanted to make an exchange. He said we needed a car. We said we were drunk. He asked if we had money. We said yes. He told us we should put our money together and buy a car. Smartass. So one guy starts yelling demeaning things at him, and we know we're not getting burgers. So we start to leave.

Just then, some kids who had been watching from nearby got off their bikes. And pulled out a firecracker.

One guy put it on his shoulder and aimed. The other guy lit it.

And the firecracker went flying. Directly through the drive-thru window and into the MacDonald's.

Now THAT is more like the Regina I imagined.

America

I stole this link from Jay's blog, because it is absolutely ridiculously hilarious. It is Stephen Colbert's monologue at the White House Correspondents' Dinner. Enjoy.

Budget

Animateur: "Est-ce que Le Bloc soutiendra le budget du gouvernement conservatuer?"
Gilles Duceppe: "Oui..."

So there you have it. No summer election.

Flags

Politics can make me sick.

Not lowering the flag for every soldier's death = good thing.
Give them respect when they are alive, and you won't have to feel that there is a lack when they die.

That is all.

Myles Mansell

Well, now that makes it hit home. The first soldier that I know personally has died in Afghanistan. We went through basic training together in 1998, and worked together many times since then. I haven't seen him or talked to him in quite a while.

I konw that you will not be forgotten, Myles.

Maybe instead of immediate complaints about political decisions, war-mongering, and charges of following US policy, Canadians could stop for just one minute to appreciate life and the environment in which we live. Compare it to the life lived by the citizens of Afghanistan. And say thank you to those people who refuse to stand idly and let that continue. Personally, I say Thank you.

Keep going, boys and girls.



Here is what his Myles' family posted on his unit's website:

Bombardier Myles Stanley John Mansell was killed around 8:00pm PST Friday (April 21, 2006) while serving in Kandahar, Afghanistan.

Myles was born in Victoria on August 5, 1980 to Nancy and Alan Mansell. He has two older brothers, Michael and Matthew. He lived his entire life in the Western Communities and graduated from Belmont School in 1998.

After graduating, Myles held a variety of jobs including working for his parents in the family business, Mansell's and Ken's Environmental Services, until shortly after his parents sold the business and retired in 2003. More recently, Myles was employed by Roma Builders.

Myles joined the reserves in May 1998 and completed training in Shilo, Manitoba and Gagetown, New Brunswick. Myles had a strong belief in the work of the Reserves and the Armed Forces and felt strongly about serving his Country. The family believes this is probably not such a coincidence as Myles middle names, Stanley and John, were given to him in honour of his two grandfathers, Stanley Mansell and John Yorko. Stanley saw active duty during the Second World War and John served in the Royal Canadian Navy and both were just as passionate as Myles in serving their Country. It was this strong conviction to serve his country that led Myles to volunteer for service in Afghanastan. His family supported him in his decision to do what he loved.

Myles met Lindsay Sullivan in April, 2003 and, this past Christmas, they became engaged. They had intended to be married when Myles completed his tour of duty later this year.

In 2003, Myles participated with the Reserves in battling the Kelowna fires. This ties into Myles kind, caring and generous personality - he was always ready to lend a hand and help out in any way he could, no matter what the circumstances.

Myles is survived by his fiance, Lindsay Sullivan; his parents, Nancy and Alan Mansell; his brothers Michael (Sonja) and Matthew (Sheila); his niece, Emma; his grandmother, Shirley Yorko, his Auntie Janice & Uncle Kazi Kataoka, and cousins Emily, Midori and Marina; Uncle Mike and Auntie Leah and Chris, Luke and Theresa; Auntie Kate and Jeremy; and Auntie Dolly.

-- Mansell and Sullivan Families

The 80s

There is a reason why the 80s are never coming back:
No, those ridiculously tight pants don't quite manage to make it all the way down to my shoes. If you were wondering.

Afghanistan 2

Well, looks like there will be a debate after all. Tonight. I hope something positive comes from this. Keep up to date on Canada in Afghanistan here.

Afghanistan

Are we really still questioning why Canadians are in Afghanistan? Why is it that we must have a debate now, instead of several years ago when the troops were sent there? Maybe most Canadians don't oppose the deployment, but going over the "Readers' comments" in the Globe and Mail is enough to drive me up the wall.

I was happy to hear Liberal Leader Bill Graham state recently that his party does not want to have a debate on the issue at this point (overruling his Health Critic's claim that they do). As for the people who claim that Canadians need to know what the troops are doing there, and open debate (and a vote, no less) in Parliament is the only way to determine if they should stay - well, frankly, you are lazy. What Canadians are doing there has been stated clearly many times by politicians, top soldiers, and the media. You could probably find it in a hundred places just on the internet. Start with the Foreign Affairs website. So inform yourself, or shut up. Seriously. Sure, we can have open discussion on the issue. Perhaps Canadians will then realize that the mission has actually been approved by the UN, that Canadians aren't traditionally just "peacekeepers," and that anyone who wants to sit at the table with the big boys has to earn a seat there. But this mission has already been committed to, and we have no right to back out now. If you still think that Canada shouldn't be in Afghanistan, that's fine. At least be informed. Maybe there will be a vote before any mission extension.

This is an excerpt from commentary on The Canadian Institue of Strategic Studies website:

The intent of the Kandahar mission is identical to previous peacekeeping operations: to give a battered country time to recover and administer to the needs of its people. The difference is that, this time, the recovery process is being opposed by groups who wish to re-impose a medieval political order (a goal not shared by the vast majority of Afghans) and who see no problem in employing extreme violence to establish it. If they must slaughter aid workers, diplomats, as well as thousands of their countrymen and co-religionists in the process, then so it must be.

If Canadians, including Mr Layton, believe that the end – a peaceful, stable Afghanistan - is truly worthwhile, then they have little choice but to support appropriate means to achieve it. And the means must include not only the “stabilization” tasks that Canadian troops have performed for the last four years, but also more proactive operations that will keep the insurgents off balance. Why? Because the aim cannot be achieved by having Canadians standing on street corners or patrolling the perimeters of their base while those who would kill and maim are left to roam the countryside or infiltrate the cities and set off car bombs. Put simply, peacekeeping and counter-insurgency operations (a.k.a. “limited war”) are complementary. One cannot succeed without doing both simultaneously. Afghanistan is too far gone for blue berets to ride to the rescue.

To be sure, peace restoration is not solely a military matter. The rehabilitation of a war-torn country will require diplomatic, economic, social, and technical assistance. Troops simply provide a secure environment in which the other partners can do their vital work. They buy time for the host government regain its footing and take care of its people. This noble goal takes place in a dangerous environment. Minimizing the danger will require good intelligence on what mischief the insurgents are planning, and the will to physically subdue them.

Still, Mr. Layton’s stance is attractive. It is tempting, even preferable, to believe that Canada has no enemies, and that it is not our destiny to offer offence to anyone. It is equally tempting to that believe that our values – which we constantly trumpet but have not defended in earnest for two generations – will simply prevail on their own. And it is easy to be beguiled by the credit our troops have brought to this country when deployed abroad as peacekeepers. How fortunate we have been to have the luxury of embarking, for the most part, on low-risk missions where our forces adhere to a latter-day version of the Hippocratic Oath, and do no harm.

How unsettling, then, is Afghanistan, where harm must be visited upon the enemies of the very progressiveness that Mr. Layton champions back home. How unusual that a self-proclaimed “peacekeeper” has taken sides, throwing its lot in with - wait a second - a democratically-elected government battling the forces of regression. And how haunting are the exhortations of President Hamid Karzai after last week’s suicide bombings in which Canadians and Afghans died together. Like a voice from the past imploring us not to succumb to the isolation of the 1930s, the Afghan leader beseeched the outside world not to abandon his country to the extremists who wish to usher in a new dark age.

Read the article here. Another, newer article can be found here and is more good reading if you wish to be informed on what your country is doing in Afghanistan.

Coffee

Hey, just because they're flying a multi-million dollar helicopter doesn't mean they don't want to Rrrrrrroll up the rim.

A Soldier

Pte Robert Costall, 22, died serving his beliefs, his country, and his friends. Read here.

Seals

Seals are cute. Seals look cuddly. This year, Canadian fishermen will be authorized by the Canadian government to kill 325000 of them.

Well that sounds like a pretty big number. Must really be something, considering how much protest there is against it. Let us do a little comparison. How about fish - I mean, they are marine animals just like seals. Well, apparently 16kg of fish are caught in one year per person in the world. That's a lot of fish. 263 million kg per day according to my rough calculation, and more than ten times that weight in other marine life is sacrificed to catch these animals. But hey, I never see them swimming around here on the prairies. Besides, they have those freaky-looking eyeballs. How about something closer to home - how many chickens are killed? 23 million every day, just in the US. That's a lot. Well, chickens are just small and ugly anyway. Besides, they aren't mammals, like seals. How about a more common mammal - cows. Oh, 90 000 cows killed everyday?

If you are against the seal hunt, that is ok with me. But if you eat meat, you should take another look at what you're protesting. An animal, whose natural predators we have endangered, being killed in its natural environment. Is that worse than the chickens and cows living their lives in pens? Or fish being hauled in and dumped on the deck of a boat by the thousands? Is it because they are cute that you oppose the hunt? This doesn't make the hunt good, but maybe there is something more worthwhile to protest. And maybe you don't even have to protest, you just have to change yourself.

Masked man

Dwayne Roloson finally gets a new mask. Dwayne Roloson finally plays an outstanding game. Coincidence?

YOU BE THE JUDGE.

Nuts in your bedpost

Go HERE now to watch an awesome home music video for Fallout Boy.

If you have a really uptight boss, don't watch it at work. It might be too funny for him.

Squeaky Wheel

I'm a third wheel.

Not just any third wheel. I am a highly-experienced, well-skilled third wheel. I mean, I MUST be good at it, if I do it this much. Well, either that or I just get a lot of sympathy from couples (perhaps occasionally forced onto the male half by a sympathetic female). But I prefer to maintain my dignity and say I'm good at it.

I have been a 3W for tv shows. For movies at home and in the theatre. Breakfasts at restaurants, and beer & steak dinners. Wine and supper by candlelight. Hanging out on their bedroom floor while they are laying on the bed. Shopping at the mall. Snowboarding excursions to the mountains. Trips to the dump. 3W at the Home & Garden Show. 3W at the Sex Show.

And at the end of the day, they go home together. But hey, I know they're happier because of me. Because everyone likes a third wheel to rest on. Right?

Togas and Barbed Wire

Last Friday. Times are good. We went out for lunch for the occasion of a departure of one of my friends. Later, had some free dinner with friends, and we shared in a beer or five together. The plan for the night - Toga Party. Sweet.

After heading back to one of the guys' room, we partook in some more beer-drinking and tried to figure out how exactly to put together a Toga without any sort of training or fastening device. After accomplishing that (well enough), we had to put together some footwear. Apparently running shoes don't go with a toga, so I borrowed someone's Japanese-style bamboo flip-flops. Dressed in bedsheet and sandals, I was obviously ready to go out in the Winnipeg winter. What, we're not walking? Ok, I guess we can call a cab.

Into the cab, and off to the party. The driver had been waiting a while for us with one guy sitting in the back, so he had started the meter. It was already at $8 by the time everyone was ready to go. Some guys refused to get in if he didn't reset the meter. Which he didn't. So they went back inside. They didn't arrive at the party until about 2 hours later.

And what are you looking for at a good toga party? Why, girls in togas, of course. And what was at this party? Craploads of dudes in togas. As usual. What could one really expect?


Eventually some girls came. They wanted to talk to me, of course. And what did they have to say? They lived in my building, and they wanted to know why I never said hello to them. Sweet, I'm so smooth.


Time to go home. I call a taxi, and a few minutes later he pulls up outside. I run to the door and wave, and call back inside to the others. They don't hear me amid the dull roar in the house, so I go and grab them. I go back to the door and...the taxi is driving away. What the? Better go after it....

So I started walking after it. The other people going back to my building come too, seeing as I'm that natural leader and all. I bet they regretted that pretty quickly. It was soon apparent that the cab was long gone, so we thought we should continue walking. Unfortunately, there is a big fence with barbed wire all around it they we had to get past, so we headed for the gate. That would make a 30 or 40 min walk. In togas. And flip-flops. In Winnipeg. In the winter.

Upon approaching the gate, we were greeted by a very bad sight indeed - the gate was locked up. Fortunately, next to the brightly-lit gate there was a bit of a stone wall, the only break in the barbed wire. So I just hopped up and walked along the wall past the wire. Looking down, I saw a bit of snow, so I jumped down. CRAP. I sank in the snow up past my knees. CRAP. Trying to get out, I lost my footwear. CRAP. Soooooooo cold. I was able to help the others over without touching the snow. Now for the long part of the walk. Man, I was cold.


The others were saying, "How does nobody know we're here? Where are the cars? Why is it so cold?"

I said to them, "It is a good thing there are no cars. We don't want anyone around here."

So I got home, was able to feel my toes after about a half hour. The next day, I talked to one of the guys who was at the party. He had to get back here too. He, too, got to the locked gate. He walked up the wall. And the police were there.

Chalk up a third Superfriend of JC Brown that has been taken in by the police. Nice work.