Crossroads of My Life

Utter and Complete Garbage!

2009-07-14T04:21:55Z

The last three weeks here in Toronto have been a prime example of how my US Republican roots begin to show after years of burying them with the soil of sanity, humanity and equality. They have started to show because of the winds of dillusion, ignorance and greed.

The City of Toronto is currently suffering from a strike by civic workers...most visably, the city garbage collectors, paramedics and ferry operators (the folks piloting the boats from the lake shore out to an island on Lake Ontario that is a beautiful haven from the city. The biggest impact has been the garbage with mountains of trash gathering at temporary citizen drop-off points such as recreation centre and parks parking lots. The public sidewalk trash recepticles are also not being emptied resulting in disgusting overflow from the bins. The city's decision to use cardboard signs and plastic wrap to discourage people using them has failed miserably resulting in many nearby business and residents to take matters into their own hand by screwing wood or metal over the slots with hand-written signs saying it's full.

Unions have always been a sticking point for me. I'll stand right there with my fist in the air and the other holding a picket sign if the cause is for fairness, safety, equal treatment or even fair and decent wages. But, I find in many situations, they have long out-grown their usefulness by trumping up issues for the sake of arguing to justify their existence. I think we all wish we could get paid more and when that's the battle cry, it's hard to disagree unless those demands are unrealistic. I'm almost certain that if workers safety, management bullying or unfair or unequal treatment are jepardised most of us would take to the picket lines.

The fiscal conservative in me believes that the explosion of the global, free-market system and competition are factors in reducing wage and benefit disparity. More responsive and smart-regulatory efforts by governments have nearly eliminated unsafe and discriminatory work place issues. Decades ago when monopolies ruled and government oversight consisted of back-door deals and secret cash-filled handshakes unions were vital. But, that was then during the days of men in smoky offices with ashtrays on desks and white secretaries in typing pools. Times have changed, why haven't the unions?

When unions cry that companies are forcing workers to perform in hazardous conditions I know companies just turn a deaf ear because insurance companies are the ones really holding the power. In order for businesses to operate and continue to be insured, it's going to comply with their insurance companies guidelines and more often than not they are more strict than government or union demands. Unions say they create jobs and strive for apprenticeships to train the next generation of workers and yet demand unreasonably high wages with less productive output and place a high priority on seniority that jobs end up being eliminated or companies can't succeed or grow and thus fail killing opportunities for future autoworkers or tradesmen.

So, what has left me firmly entrenched against this job action is the union's demand that 18 sick-days per year with the ability to "bank" them indefinately for payout at retirement remain. They also aren't happy with a guaranteed annual pay increase each year for four years totally about 7-8% cumulatively.

For a run-down of the contract offer, wages, benefits, etc. being offered by the city, CLICK HERE. Some key points in the contact:

Avg. hourly wages: garbage collectors $25.11 hr, meter-readers $27.45 hr and plumbers $33.14 hr.

Vacation days: three-weeks a year for your first eight years of service, four weeks at nine years, five weeks starting at year 17 and then six weeks a year after 22 years working for the city. There's even a special SEVEN WEEKS granted for your 30th year.

Additional days off:
* 18 sick (can use up to six for dependant care,)
* 5 personal
* 3-5 bereavement Leave
* and my personal favourite: the city will extend up to two additional days for any immigrant needing time to obtain their citizenship!

Add to this list a very generous pension, life, health and dental benefit plan.

To add to my complete distaste of the situation is the fact that striking workers picket the entrance to temporary drop-off locations and illegally restrict ordinary citizens from entering the area to drop off their garbage. There have been reports of picketers only allowing one car to pass every fifteen minutes, temper's flair and it becomes a Blockhead vs Granny show down.

The civic worker's union contract expired 31-December this Winter. Rather than trudge through the snow and cold of a Toronto January, February or March, the Union called for a strike the week of Pride at the end of June. City services screeched to a halt leaving hundreds of seasonal workers jobless because they couldn't access ferries to The Island. Garbage is everywhere and plug your nose if you live, walk, ride or drive past overstuffed bins or temporary drop-off zones.

The popular blogging website blogTO has been allowing comments to it's storey about the strike and boy is the debate raging on. I've taken the liberty to copy some of the comments as well as my responses below to give you an idea. (FYI - the "TTC" is our transit system.)

It was one of my "Tweets" (Twitter comment) that resulted in several R-Ts (re-twits) after one day of seemingly non-stop strike gripes:

#strikeTO yeah, I'm fired up. There's liberal and then there's lunacy. Note to union leaders - you're no Norma Ray, you're Cliff from Cheers

I can't wait until I get the priviledge of driving our bags of shredded-by-raccoons and maggot-filled garbage to one of the drop-off areas. If you think this entry is long, I can't wait for the moron who decides to illegally block me from entering or pleads his case. He'll be wishing for more hearing benefits in the next contract after enduring the wrath of The Mason.

I'm just sayin'

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Charles on July 11, 2009 at 5:26 PM

We the 18 thousand inside workers of Local 79 and the 600 garbage men and women are not to blame for the shape the economy is in.Remember,it was the C.e.o's and the Management that brought their companies down.
The Mayor and his people are employed by the city as we are.We are all under the same Rules and Laws.The difference is.They have the money,they have a budget,they run things.It is very unfair for people to say it is the workers who are to blame.We got these jobs on our own merits.Nothing was handed to us.Yes it is one of the most dangerous jobs in the world.Remember,it is garbage.It will always be there and it will grow as we grow.We are all to blame for garbage.But only a chosen few are willing to sweat and bust their balls making an honest living.God Bless us all and say a special prayer for us that no one dies from this.
Reply

Mason on July 11, 2009 at 6:53 PM

"But only a chosen few are willing to sweat and bust their balls making an honest living.God Bless us all and say a special prayer for us that no one dies from this"

You're joking, right? I'm certainly not one to pray, but if I did I'd be praying for the mothers who are burdened with less money having to find alternative day care, or the seasonal workers left jobless due to no access to the island or the children bitten by rats or rodents over-populated by neglected garbage or....

Part of the blame for this economy's shape DOES lie with you, the unions and others who think they DO deserve handouts and unreasonable expectations of unlimited, bankable "sick" days and guaranteed jobs. Save the sob storeys for the Union Hall Job Fair...oh, wait, you all still have yours while 350,000 of us continue looking for work we want, respect and earn.

Get back to work.

Cynalis on July 13, 2009 at 6:34 PM

I have to side with the union on this one.. tell me anyone out there who wouldn't fight for their wages/sick days/pension when they have it good. Yes the economy is bad right now but they are signing a 4 yr contract and what happens when the economy rebounds? It starts with a little off here and then each year a little bit more. I think it is sad that the union who are city employees are treated so badly when TTC seems to get everything they ask for everytime...by the way they have the best benefits and sick days etc out there and they are not even City employees. The city has been working without a contract since Jan.. nice to see how Miller treats his own...what happened to his Campaign "Keep our City Clean" I know the Police, Fire and TTC are watching this very closely because they know if the city employees are shafted they are next! Why isn't Miller opening garbage sites in High Park where he lives or the RICH neighbourhoods....amazing the City has no $$ to spend yet can pay for survellance cameras, found extra $$ for the TTC, and paying Manager's overtime etc. You would think that after H1N1 and SARS Miller would be worried about a pandemic breaking out. I guess not as long as it's not in his neighbourhood. That's right just keep freezing your dog poop. You won't find me eating out in Toronto with Health Inspectors on strike and rats running rampant....Interesting how Miller makes this a Garbage strike....I feel sorry for all the people who rely on daycare etc. Miller won't be getting my vote! Let's open the dump in High Park and see how fast the garbage stink forces Miller to take this seriously!

Mason on July 13, 2009 at 9:56 PM

The more this strike continues, the more it becomes obvious that CUPE, other unions and those that support them are losing a grasp on reality.

ARGUMENT: "Manager's make more money" "TTC employees make more money" yadda yadda yadda. What's next "Doctors make more money."

REALITY. Yes, they do. Stop bitching about it and do something to earn/qualify for that job so you can brag to your buddies that "you make more money than a garbage collector."

ARGUMENT: The contract ended 31-Dec. Why has the City dragged it's feet?

REALITY: Why didn't the union exercise it's right to strike on 1-Jan. I'm sure piles of Christmas wrap and New Years Eve trash could send a message. Oh, wait, it's January. It's cold. Let's wait until summer.

ARGUMENT: Police, Fire and the TTC are watching closely...they're next!

REALITY: The same TTC workers you say are overpaid? No one is "next" unless they are demanding unreasonable and irrational conditions for their contract.

ARGUMENT: They're signing a four-year contract and what if the economy improves?

REALITY: Sounds like a good clause for a contract. Base wages, benefits, etc. on a set, neutral economic factor. Times are good everyone benefits, times are bad, the hit is manageable and fair. Almost sounds like performance-based wages. What's the union's stance on this concept. And while we're at it, city taxi companies were given a $1 hike in the sitting fee due to the "enormous" increase in fuel costs. When the prices went down, did they give back the hike? Um, no.

ARGUMENT: You'd think Mayor Miller would be worried about a pandemic like, wait for it, SARS and N1H1 to hit because of rotting garbage.

REALITY: Might want to check something more than your union newsletter...those aren't germinated or caused by selfish city workers holding us hostage.

ARGUMENT: I feel sorry for all the people who rely on daycare!

REALITY: Really? Hundreds if not thousands of families are now experiencing a true hardship scrambling for care for their children. Why? Because civic workers want 18 sick days per year to equate to wages not their intended purpose. Oh, and the ability to "bank" those until retirement.

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Fabic of Life Today

2009-07-08T05:38:36Z

Feelings and emotions swirling around in my head have written this entry over a dozen times, but it was the phone call from Nick this morning that bored a hole in my skull causing this anxiety to spill out on the screens we have before us. The disappointment and pain in his voice was masked by his professionalism and strength, but after 13 years with this man I have developed the hearing ability of a bat when it comes to his emotions.

The subject of that phone call is not for me to share or expand on and I will leave that to the decision of my husband on which to share or not, but it has become part of the threads of discontent that have woven themselves into my fabric. This is a scarf I didn't want or even ask for, but unfortunately it's one wrapped tightly around my neck.

Since immigrating to Canada in September of 2006, I have lightheartedly shared what I believe is the prevailing response of most Canadians when they discover we moved here from the US: "you moved here?! Why?" with a bold, stronger emphasis on the "here" and a tone of disbelief questioning on the "why." The underlying current of self-deprecation by Canadians is as clear to me as is tall as the CN Tower, but yet is ignored or honestly invisible to those same Canadians as is the accent "ooo" in out and about.

The responses to our disclosing that we immigrated here without jobs and of our own, voluntary choice leaves a trail of comments including such phrases as "you're joking, right?" or "what were you thinking?" or even worse "why in the world would you do that?!" We expected those from Americans, but were flabbergasted when they came from our new neighbours and colleagues.

The reactions Nick and I received when we proudly displayed the Maple Leaf flag on our home surprised us. "(Pointing to the Canadian flag) What is that?" and "we don't do THAT here" were, and still are, the norm. One of my most memorable moments was while sitting in meeting with my colleagues at the network, halfway through it one of them turned to me and said, "wait a minute, you're an American, aren't you?" I responded in my standard, pact response "well, I'm a Canadian now, but yes, I immigrated from the US" and she said "you don't have the accent anymore!" which triggered a chorus of agreement and a discussion about this so-called accent I apparently had when I started the job and it's evaporation six-months into it.

When Nick and I made the conscience, and quite frankly expensive, decision to come here we did so embracing the premise that we needed and wanted to immerse ourselves into a culture and country that supports our core beliefs and desires. Today the Canadian spelling of colour, neighbour and theatre don't look misspelled to us despite what our spell-checker tells us. We order lunch meat from the deli in grams, travel 70 kilometers to Hamilton and know we can wear shorts when the temperature hits the mid-teens. We understand that the Prime Minister runs our country, not a President, yet it's head of state is the Queen Elizabeth represented by our Governor General.

The old guys on our money used to be Prime Ministers, The Queen gets her place on the green one and yes, those really are hockey players on the $5. We realize that when we have a pocket full of change, there's a good chance we could buy our lunch from a restaurant and not just a vending machine. We also know that even if we did buy something from that vending machine, it's going to be healthier and if the meal was served to us, the waiter wouldn't need his entire forearm to carry the plate. I've been called loonie too many times to count, but today I spend them and feel like I hit a jackpot when the coin I grab from my pocket has a gold centre surrounded by silver.

We have an incredible sense of peace knowing that if we ever needed medical attention for anything from a hang nail to heart replacement we'd get it never once worrying that we'd lose our house or savings or even worse have to walk away from treatment if we couldn't pay. We don't have to turn to a friend or Google when we'd hear "Timbits and a double-double," "pick up a two-four" or "what's your postal code." It's taken some time for it to sink in, but we've accepted the fact that we no longer have the First Amendment right to speak our minds or take The Fifth should be ever be questioned for a crime, but you can be rest assured we will defend to the death the The Canadian Charter of Rights and Freedoms even if it doesn't have catchy headlined paragraphs. We can walk the entire length of Queen Street from Yonge to Jones never once worried that we'd be injured, murdered or mugged with a gun, but yet smart enough to know that it could still happen albeit at the tip of a knife rather than the barrel of a gun.

So, you must be asking yourself after reading these last several paragraphs what exactly is this thread of discontent? It's taken me an entire day to write this entry. As it is, I'm laying in bed watching the clock tick closer to midnight knowing that these first words were typed at just after nine in the morning. I don't know if I'm finding this next part difficult to write or more honestly worried at the reaction it’s most likely to elicit. Just as with all of my blog entries, this is an outpouring of my own feelings, emotions and observations - not shared in anger or disgust, but rather honestly, openness and a need for understanding.

I feel Nick and I are being subjected to a deep and stinging pattern of discrimination. There, I said it. And I feel like I want to vomit and run and hide.

As a white male, of mixed Irish, English and who-knows-what heritage, born into a large middle-class American family with both blue-collar and blue-blooded roots I will never claim to be a victim of racial discrimination. Although there was that one day as a 17-year-old when my friend and I traveled deep into the inner core of Los Angeles' Watts neighbourhood and felt the piercing stare of every black man and woman in his Uncle Sonny's diner. I joke today that I don't think they even had salt on the tables, just peppershakers.

As a homosexual, I can expand on the discrimination directed at me, but that is something I believe doesn't need explaining to those of you who know me or have taken the time to read this far. I can't say for certain, but I'm sure there have been other acts of discrimination levied against me either as a Catholic, a Baptist or even agnostic. Probably because of my chromosomes, my political beliefs or even hair colour. But, the discrimination I’m sharing with you now is based on the fact that I was born in the United States or as so many people inaccurately say: “America.”

I have never been ashamed to be from the US because I never had a choice in that matter. I have, and continue to be, ashamed and disappointed with my birth country for reasons to many to espouse on here. Prior to immigrating to Canada, Nick and I visited the UK, France, Greece and Mexico masquerading as Canucks. Within a year we plan to travel honorably as passport-carrying Canadians.

As I began my search for a chance to begin rebuilding a career here in Canada I heard the whisper-delivered advice over and over “Canadian-ize your CV” which meant make sure it used the proper spelling and verbiage I was told to emphasis as best I could that I never plan to leave this country and that it truly is my permanent home. All advice I heeded willingly and without hesitation.

When I first began looking for a job I couldn’t even get hired by Starbucks as a barista. I haven’t applied there this time around honestly because I’m almost certain the response will be the same: you’re way over qualified. My first career job required three interviews at three different levels from a Director to the Executive Vice-President, each one of them echoing the chorus “you are over-qualified for this position.” I’m thankful they overlooked that fact and hired me nevertheless.

Today’s disappointing news from Nick was coupled with yet another automated email appearing in my inbox that “…although your application is of great interest to us, we are unable to consider it for the above posting as this position is no longer available.” I’m also still stinging from missing out on an opportunity with another company despite several interviews and a glimmer of hope, someone else was hired instead of me.

I had a hunch that for that last job, the interview was just a formality and that someone was most likely already earmarked for the position most likely from within. Being asked only three questions should have tipped me off as well as the last one that continues to reverberate in my mind: “why Canada?”

As with nearly every instance of discrimination, it’s the subtle and hidden forms that are the worse. I’ve often found myself in the middle of civil rights debates wondering if they really do help equal the playing field or just drive bias and discrimination even deeper making it nearly impossible to find.

My heart aches when my head begins wondering if I’m being overlooked for jobs because I’m not a natural-borne Canadian. I get angry when I envision hiring managers quickly scanning my resume and slipping it quickly, but quietly into the reject stack feeling justified saying “he doesn’t have enough Canadian experience.” I begin questioning my abilities and skills when a job posting appears for a company, position and duties exactly matching the one I just left and I’m not even considered for an interview.

I “tweeted” and Facebook-status-ed my frustration earlier today with two posts:

”Note to Canadians: we willingly & openly became one of you to embrace & respect this country, not threaten or change it. Please let us in”

and

”this pains me to write, but I can't hide that anti-American discrimination is hurting us deeper than any other bias/hate we've ever had :-(“

I want to be wrong. Please tell me this is all just in my head and that I’m jumping to conclusions based on distorted facts or observations. Explain to me how despite incredible talent, glowing recommendations and deep experience I can’t seem to get a chance to interview. If you’re a Canadian, tell me it’s not discrimination because of where I was born or the selfish and irresponsible attitudes and leadership of that country. I left that country because I was tired of having to fight for my rights and defend my beliefs.

I stand tall and proud as a decent and loving friend to many, as a man who is attracted to and married another man and as a social liberal and fiscal conservative wanting fair, equal and just treatment for all. Please don’t make me start fighting these battles again – that’s not why we came here, we came to lend a hand making what you’ve created and developed even stronger, if only we could have the chance.

Life Support for a Life Without Borders.

2009-06-22T16:53:16Z

I wrote the following for Nick's and my other blog Life Without Borders. I couldn't believe that either of us hadn't update it since January. L.W.B was one of the most important items in our life these last five years. It opened up to a new life in Canada, brought us friends that no doubt will be with us for the rest of our lives and hopefully has helped the lives of others through it's words and advice. I share it here today because this personal blog is also experiencing neglect just as it's sister so hopefully this plants the seed of new growth as I hope it does a few computer servers next door.

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IT'S JUNE ALREADY?

How ironic that we became stuck on 20-January 2009. Inauguration Day for a new President of the United States. On a blog that began after the (rigged) election of the previous man to hold that position.

There comes a time in your life when things become just so overwhelming that one-by-one, elements of that life begin to shut down in an effort to conserve energy or sanity when all else seems to be whizzing out of control. I'd have to say I'm almost certain that this is what happened to Nick and me these last six months. When I share our experiences, therapists and shrinks form a line, business card in hand saying that it's only a matter of time before you crack. Crack we have, but thankfully our foundation has developed 13 years of thickness which means a crack may form, but it quickly flecks away stopped by the iron rebars of experience, understanding and respect.

The the thaw and freeze moments creating the crack started in November when our dear friend decided he didn't want to wait for his next life, so he ventured there prematurely from the balcony of his 15th floor home. The holidays in December are usually filled with Santas and stress for most, but it seemed like a month-worth of non-stop gifts from life - each package beautifully wrapped in paper and ribbons, but containing nothing on our wish lists, but rather challenges, heartache and confusion. As if the last month of the year wasn't bad enough, Winter decided to one-up life's month of gift giving with its own marathon of misery.

February begins the series of Hallmark holidays, obligating millions to prove their love through through the words of a stranger spread out on paper and emphasized with chocolates and over-priced flowers. But, it wouldn't be Valentine's Day Nick and I would celebrate this year, it would be reflecting on the life of a woman who had given me life and breathed the same into my husband just by calling him her other son. The sun has come out tomorrow, Mom. Sometimes it's blocked by clouds, but yes, it's always there.

Just a few weeks after we laid her to rest another end came into my life. The laughs were silenced at Comedy and Lost in Space isn't just an old television series for me anymore as my employment with my first full-time company in Canada came to an end, but at least I can admit that yes, you can buy my silence although those closest to me will doubt that anything can silence The Mason.

I've often described for others the most painful moments in my life. The first being that 26th day of May in 1986 when on his second shot on the second hole of a golf course in Estes Park my father's last words became: "I think we're in trouble." Those five words ripping through my mother as Dad collapsed from a heart attack, his soul escaping from him body moments before he hit the ground, yet blasting through my heart 120Km away on it's way to its next destination. The pain of that experience equals the one I would feel a few years later as I sat on the cold cement floor of a kennel as my first best friend pain and suffering would end by the stick of a needle. I said at that moment, I couldn't bare another one like it.

I lied.

The 8th of March is now included on that regretful page of dates indelibly marked in my brain. 26-March, 11-Sept, 20-April, 13-Feb.... The only canine crazy that could match the loony tunes and loyalty of The Mason was shockingly felled by a tumor or stroke. Our Doof Dog is still with us, but now in a cedar box wrapped tightly with his tagless-collar. Tagless only because one is on my keychain and the other on Nick's.

Living up to its reputation, March was indeed a lion, but instead of bring April showers, what continued to fall this year was tears. A Craigs List murder flooded the headlines of papers and triggered reunions of friends and collegues not scene for what seems like eternity. A man whose talent and vision I envied as a colleagued transformed into a close, but distant friendship, became the very subject of what would be fodder for the career he led. George Weber, the radio DJ, journalist, documentarian, storeyteller, smartass and host was pierced over 50-times - ironically, a physical representation of what could be a perfect description of his talents: sharp, deep and cutting.

The rest of this absence seems like a blur...except one date in May. The third was a first, yet also a 6th. When all's said and done, in reality it's one: the one-year moment since Nick's and my new home and country honoured us with the right of survivorship, benefits and living as one just some of those one-thousand-plus rewards for publically announcing a loving bond started 13 years previously on the computer screens declaring "America On Line."

So, as this 22nd day of June is just getting underway and a week of celebrations begin, I remember that moment when a timid and paniced man stepped out from behind a tree in Denver's Cheesman Park and marched in his very first parade called Pride. Back then, I held my head high and marched down America's longest street, past bars and bums, cameras and cat callers to the steps of the state Capitol proud of who I am and not letting anyone or anything get in my way. That happened 17 years ago this week and lately, blame it on time, fear or fatigue, my head has been slumped, my resolve dampened - the direct opposite of The Mason of '92.

I'm better than that - my friends and family deserve better. I'm growing wiery and teary of comparisons of The Old Mason to the New Mason. I deserve to be happy amidst the mayhem, but I can't do this alone. I just want The Mason.

It's time. It's needed. It's back.

My Entourage is waiting.

Seems Like Yesterday

2009-05-26T14:50:21Z

Twenty-three years ago, Memorial Day took on an all new meaning for my family and me. It no longer became a moment to pause and remember those who gave their lives in the service of their country - it became a moment to pause and remember a man who's body gave way to decades of tilting windmills...both real and imaginary.

My father lived a hard life for 60 years. Born into a poor, Irish family, Dad's father was no where to be found while his mother (my Grandma) was left to raise him and his two older brothers alone. It was the classic tale of "picking yourself up by the bootstraps" and overcoming adversity never looking back to lay blame on situations of the past to justify actions of the present or future. Dad grew up to serve his country during World War II in the Navy and for nearly a third of his life as a public servant serving the citizens of the City and County of Denver. At the time of his death, he was barely six months into his position as President Ronald Reagan's appointment to the Small Business Administration.

In 1986, Mom and Dad were still living in my sister and brother-in-law's basement in Estes Park, Colorado - a mountain resort town at the entrance of Rocky Mountain National Park. Things were just beginning to turn around for them. After years of despair, setbacks and attacks on core beliefs that chivalry is rewarded and respected, the future started to look better. The entire family had gathered that Memorial Day weekend celebrating Dad's new job and the hope for better times ahead. For the first time in probably a decade, I played football with my father - throwing the ball in the yard and running circles around this 60-year-old man as his new-found energy and playfulness attempted to tackle his 21-year-old son. It was a day that has been burned into my mind never to be forgotten. That day was 25-May 1986.

"I think we're in trouble!"

Those words are nearly the only memory of the next day that I was able to glean from my mother as she described that moment, now 23 years ago, when my father, her husband and the grandfather to dozens breathed his last breath - one doctors say escaped his mouth before he collapsed in a heap on a golf course surrounded by acres of Colorado beauty. The entire family had scattered by then - headed back to their everyday lives. I was on the highway between Denver and Greeley heading back to University. I didn't know it then, but those few seconds as I was driving where I seemed to lose focus and spin out of control in a mental vertigo was the moment my father died. I can only imagine it was his soul whisking through me on its way to its next destination. Another day and moment burned into the memory of my being.

I've always believed that the mark of a man is not the experiences they've had or endured, but rather how they learned from those experiences and use them to better themselves and others. I'd like to believe that this is a trait I emulated from my father - I just know that 21 years wasn't enough time to truly understand and appreciate the man who along with my mother gave me life. Oddly enough, as I am writing this, it dawned on me that I have now lived more years without my father than I did with him around.

I also am realizing that the pain I feel today seems a little deeper because I guess I would always reserve some emotional strength for my mother because this was a day that destroyed her world - even more than it did to my siblings and me. Today, she doesn't need that emotional support from me because she's getting it from another man finally. The one that unintentionally left her 23 years ago today. It was a very long time coming, but I can only imagine that for both of them it was worth the wait. I can still feel those strong, warm, loving arms of my father embracing me in unforgettable hugs. While I miss them both terribly, I can't help but muster a smile today knowing that those two are sharing in something that I can only imagine in my head right now.

Today - I remember and honour my father and do my best to live up to his dream and make him proud.

It is the mission of each true knight...
His duty... nay, his privilege!
To dream the impossible dream,
To fight the unbeatable foe,
To bear with unbearable sorrow
To run where the brave dare not go;
To right the unrightable wrong.

To love, pure and chaste, from afar,
To try, when your arms are too weary,
To reach the unreachable star!

This is my Quest to follow that star,
No matter how hopeless, no matter how far,
To fight for the right
Without question or pause,
To be willing to march into hell
For a heavenly cause!

And I know, if I'll only be true
To this glorious Quest,
That my heart will lie peaceful and calm
When I'm laid to my rest.

And the world will be better for this,
That one man, scorned and covered with scars,
Still strove, with his last ounce of courage,
To reach the unreachable stars!

One Week

2009-05-18T04:41:39Z

Strive. Seek. Find. Never yield.

2009-05-18T03:55:47Z

"What would you do if you had one day to live? One week? One month?"

This is the premise of a movie Nick and I watched tonight in Toronto's version of an "indie/art movie theatre." For those in Denver, imagine The Esquire or brilliantly managed* Mayan Theatre.

The movie is One Week and stars Canuck Joshua Jackson. The official synopsis reads:

When a young man is confronted with his mortality, he takes a cross-country road trip on a vintage motorcycle. One Week tells the story of Ben Tyler (Joshua Jackson), in his mid-twenties, who flees from the confines of his life—an impending marriage, a job he’s not entirely happy with and a recent diagnosis—in order to attempt to live more fully. What starts off as an ill-defined venture soon morphs into a quest for the West Coast.

It's playing throughout Canada and hopefully in your city if you're in the US. Bring tissues because the tears flowed several times. One of those times happened as Ben was treking through the Canadian Rockies near Banff in Alberta. My heart ached for mountainous terrain - so much so, that my nostrils filled with that tell-tale wet mountain aroma.

What I haven't answered in my mind is whether my tears came from the emotions projected onto the screen or rather those bottled up inside me just aching for a reason to release. One by one, correlations between the main character and myself materialized in my mind - thankfully not Ben's grim health diagnosis. I also know that many of my friends and family also find themselves in similar situations and this movie will touch your heart, your mind and hopefully your soul.

As the movie ends, the final line (in bold below) from Lord Alfred Tennyson's poem Ulysses appears on the screen. I've included several lines prior to the one quoted to give you more context. It summed up the film very well.

Tho' much is taken, much abides; and tho'
We are not now that strength which in old days
Moved earth and heaven; that which we are, we are;
One equal temper of heroic hearts,
Made weak by time and fate, but strong in will
To strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield.

And thus my wish for you and me is simple: Strive for something. Seek it out and find it and if anything gets in the way, stay the course. Now if I can just follow my own advice.

* = brilliantly managed by our dear friend Jessica!

Absence

2009-05-14T15:21:41Z

There is a phrase that is bantered back and forth incessantly:

Absence makes the heart grow fonder!

I am guilty as are many of repeating this quote repeatedly - mostly when trying to justify my own or console those responsible for lengthy periods of silence, neglect or ignoring others.

Bullshit.

In reality, absence only creates more distance and deeper cavities that eat into your heart and soul like tarter and decay attacking your teeth. Left untreated or unabated, just as with your teeth, the condition gets worse.

I understand the premise of ones desire to re-connect with someone you love that you are apart from may seem to grow the longer you are apart, but it's my contention that your level of desire you have for someone is a constant. The two of you have earned and worked hard in your relationship to attain that level through experiences and interactions. How can you legitimately declare that less interactions or fewer experiences with someone can actually make you closer to them - they can't. In reality, just as with everything neglected, deterioration naturally happens. The only remedy is frequent and regular maintenance and attention.

On 25-February of this year, I declared a 28-day hiatus from Live Journal, Facebook and the other electronic and online avenues that were the pathways of my daily life. The intent of this hiatus was an attempt to re-charge and shift the focus on my life at the time away from what I felt were the unproductive and distracting roads I traveled each day. My detour from Facebook Lane and the expressways of other websites didn't last very long - some less than a week or two probably because traveling the unknown is scary. And that is very odd for The Mason - the Sagittarius with "wondering" as his middle name and "shiny objects" the nom de la journée.

But, it's my absence here from Live Journal that troubles me most and I don't know why. I imagine it has to do with my dedication to this blog/journal since it began that New Years Eve over six years ago. This jumble of 1s and 0s has documented so much of my life from the highest of highs to the unbearable of lows. It's the electronic hug I've embraced when a real one wasn't within reach. It's been the brisk, sharp slap in the face when no one had the guts to physically place their hand squarely against my jaw.

I guess in some odd way that last paragraph just became the spotlight on these last 78 days. Just weeks after the death of my mother came another series of blows that rocked us to the core. The first weeks of March I was deemed unworthy of continued employment at my place of work - a position that received my loyalty, dedication and profitable efforts despite the clouded views of another. The unexpected collapse and deeply painful decision of having to euthanize our boy and best friend Cian. Knowing that things always come in "threes" I wonder if I subconsciously waited for it to come. That happened on 22-March when my buddy and former colleague in Denver George Weber was found murdered in New York City.

Add to all of these events, strenuous conflicts at home between Nick and myself - conflicts that for many would probably be just water under the marital bridge, but in our heightened state of hurt no doubt have been amplified into a torrent of floodwater soaking us almost daily. We've discovered that our "baby" girl (baby until you consider she's 10, or 53 in 'human' years) Athena has a heart condition that was discovered as we prepared to have a tumor removed from her tail. A tumor that remains unfortunately because we're not sure she could survive the surgery. My family in Denver seems to be continually dealing with hardships as are many of my friends here in Toronto and elsewhere. Financially things are tight as you can imagine and that is something The Mason has never been good at dealing with - ever. This winter in Toronto has been described by many as the dreariest, coldest and most miserable in a long time and while The Mason loves snow and cold and winter, even I was crying "enough!" So as we look back at this calendar of crap, we have:

12-Sept. - Rush to Denver, Mom's health-(our reconnection after two years and final goodbye)
22-Nov. - Steve's death
--Winter blues--
13-Feb - Mom's death
5-Mar - Work dismissal
8-Mar - Cian death
22-Mar - George's death

It's time for me to admit that I've fallen into a depression...quite frankly a deep depression that I've found has been effecting so many areas of my life. Things I've never done keep happening: I avoid friends and family. I find myself sleeping almost entire days. My normal, upbeat and cheerful demeanor has been replaced with pessimism, snap-anger and lethargy. I'm unmotivated. I feel disconnected and lost. I need help (which I'm working on getting) and right now I need your patience and understanding. I'm hoping that by returning to my journal here, this is a step in the right direction.

It gives me motivation.
It gives me an outlet.
It give me hugs and sharp slaps against the face.
It gives me hope.

Absence didn't make my heart grow fonder, it turned it colder and bluer and faint. I'm just glad it hasn't died.

Thanks for being part of my recovery.
Mase

P.S. If you really need to know my motivation: it's daytime TV! Seriously.
It's enough to snap anyone out of a coma.

28 Days

2009-02-26T00:47:55Z

Let me begin by saying that the actions outlined in these next few lines are in no way in reverence or a result of a new found affinity for the faith of my youth, but rather a coincidence of timing.

I have played out this scenario in my mind hundreds of times, mostly triggered at the time by drama unfolding on the screens of computers that ends up spilling into the reality of my life. The problem today is the delineation between what's on-line and off-line has become so blurred it's practically disappeared. Unfortunately, reality is still clear as glass, but rather than concentrate my attention on what I can see, I turn my back on it in an attempt to find what amounts to nothing leaving me empty handed.

I've asked myself these questions so many times I almost have them memorized and I ask them of you my friends as well.

With a few exceptions, do you mostly write in blogs, journals or Facebook status' with the goal of: a) processing the jumbled menagerie of your mind or b) to solicit response from others?

What did you do before TypePad, Live Journal, Twitter and My Space?

If you answered "A" in my first question, did writing out your thoughts indeed help you process them? Did you block the ability for people to comment? Why not? If you did, did you pause before clicking on the controls to make that happen? After you did, was there a spark of regret or apprehension in doing so?

Have you nobly told yourself that your personal thoughts, ideas and impressions are valid and worthy and your own despite what others may think or how they respond, and yet agonize over outlining them all to see right here on the Internet? If you didn't block comments how many times have you found yourself checking back in to see if anyone has commented or responded to what you wrote?

I guess you could say that for me, I'm attempting to gain control of the massive mash-up of thoughts consuming my conscientiousness right now. A very dear friend and I have found ourselves at a crossroad right now and I don't know about him, but I'm stuck not really knowing which why to go. One of the things that I believe attracted us to each other was our incessant questioning of each other. Neither of us really have wanted the others opinion or advice because to be bluntly honest, we are both to damn stubborn to listen to it much less implement them into our lives. What we are good at though is listening to ourselves and that healthy narcissism is fed by the other through questions we'd ask each when one of us was in turmoil.

It almost became a challenge once it dawned on us a dozen or so questions into a conversation, to keep pushing it a step further looking for the ultimate stumper that would render the other speechless. What we fail to admit is that it's impossible to reach that goal because while we may give up answering right then either out of boredom or exhaustion, the litany continues even stronger in our brains; a causal, perpetual loop jumped started by our friend and fueled by the desire for explanation or direction we desperately need. This same friend and I have told ourselves over and over again that we would delete our online profiles to the myriad of websites that have consumed our waking hours. Many times, it's almost happened, but I for one quickly fall back into the trap kicking myself for doing so while looking at the same people, the same entries, the same disappointment on each and every site.

These last 28 months, I have experienced intense levels of stress, soul-searching, doubt, intimacy, wonderment, exploration, vision, disappointment, joy, immaturity, growth, confusion, clarity and change. I've ended a 20+ year career and started it up once again from nearly the beginning. I picked up and moved over 2500km away from an area that had been my home for over 40 years and began building the foundation for a new one, in a new city and new country. I was blindsided by the tragic death of a dear friend at his own hand and devastated by another that was inevitable, but yet never prepared myself to handle.

These last 28 months, I've met people whom I call friends. Some lasting minutes, others hours, many of them for months and years and continue today, but I can think of maybe only one or two that I expect will last for the rest of my life. This isn't to say that I have regrets or disappointment because quite frankly, I don't think I'd want it any other way. What's important to me is that my interaction with others has been as positive for them as it has been in return for me because even if that contact was negative, it should still be enriching.

These last 28 months, I've experienced the highs and lows of health issues, drugs (legal and illegal,) finances, food and fun. I've traveled to new and exciting locations that I never even knew existed before stepping foot on its soil. I've stood loud and proud at my accomplishments and yet crawled deep inside a virtual cave hiding in shame for my actions.

I honestly think I've shed more tears in these last 28 months than I had in the nearly 500 months previously. Thankfully, I can say that in between those episodes of crying, there has been plenty of genuine and hearty laughter enough to create tears of their own as well as aching in my belly that you'll never hear me complain about.

Within these last 28 months I realized that I had been sabotaging one of the most cherished elements of my life, the love of a man that I am certain is my soul mate, this lifetime and in all past. I came within a hair's width of destroying what has taken 13 years this lifetime and centuries before it, to nurture and grow. This sabotage was neither intentional or planned, but rather crept up slowly like fog enveloping the land just before dawn. Thankfully though, what in my heart I believe was triggered by the intervention a spirit recently set free, my eyes were opened through the ability to be loving, authentic, honest and trusting and receiving the same in return.

Where does that leave The Mason now? This weekend, I was blessed to receive a spiritual reading that answered the questions that remain spinning in my head and confirmed a direction that is critical for my survival. The words that are resonating with me are clear: "it's time for a change in your life, Mason - one that turns the focus on yourself instead of everyone else. You're exhausted and despite all your natural instincts to do everything you can for others, you're finding that isn't happening and it's because it's time for you to rest and turn that energy to yourself."

It's said that habits can be broken in 28 days, so today marks the day that I begin a self-imposed hiatus from the very public world of Facebook, Live Journal and all the other influences and distractions that are consuming my life. I plan to take a step backwards (as best I can) and return to a simpler time before voice mail, Twitter and poking. Expect more phone calls and less text messages. Printed pictures from a camera, not glaring images neatly organized in electronic albums. Don't be surprised if a letter, card or invitation shows up in your mailbox instead of a link or e-vite flashing on a computer screen. I won't be cutting out emails, texts or the Internet - they are vital elements of our lives now, but I am cutting out how they consume my life limiting them to truly vital or necessary incidents.

I'm not going anywhere my friends, except to a mental state that I hope is calming, energizing and enriching. I want you there side-by-side with Nick and me because you are all part of my life and together you can make it better not only for me, but for you as well.

It just so happens that 24-March is my father's birthday and it will mark day 28 of this life experiment that starts tonight. Hopefully we can celebrate another birth on this date next month, the birth of a stronger, healthier and re-energized Mason ready to take on the next 44 years of his lifetime!

It all starts in 5, 4, 3, 2, 1....

Goodbye

2009-02-13T23:58:08Z

Over the last several weeks, I've gained an intense awareness of lyrics to songs. Instead of being consumed and overwhelmed with the beat, tempo and rhythm of a song, the lyrics are now what capture my attention, burrowing themselves deep within my mind all the way to my soul. Anyone reading my Facebook status updates could probably have figured this out.

I have been incredibly down and emotional lately as well. In reality, I've slipped into what I can only imagine is a true, deep depression. For a litany of reasons, I've spent the last several weeks on the verge of tears every waking moment. My emotions have fluctuated more than temperatures in Spring. Things didn't get any better when the phone rang jarring Nick and I out of bed just after Midnight. On the other end of the line was my Mom. It was time for her to say goodbye.

One by one she was calling or talking to her children and we were last on the list. She, too, seemed to be going through the gamut of emotions and mental capacities, but the last thing that she said to me that will remain forever in my mind and heart. Out of the blue, she began singing a song to me:

The sun'll come out
Tomorrow
Bet your bottom dollar
That tomorrow
There'll be sun!

Just thinkin' about
Tomorrow
Clears away the cobwebs,
And the sorrow
'Til there's none!

When I'm stuck with a day
That's gray,
And lonely,
I just stick out my chin
And Grin,
And Say,
Oh!

The sun'll come out
Tomorrow
So ya gotta hang on
'Til tomorrow
Come what may
Tomorrow! Tomorrow!
I love ya Tomorrow!
You're always
A day
A way!

As the tears streamed down my face and Nick's calming touch overwhelmed me, all I could muster from my lips was suggesting to this strong, pioneer Colorado woman that maybe it was time for her to lie down, close her eyes and rest knowing that I loved her so very much and that we would see each other once again someday. I told her "sweet dreams" and listened as see fumbled with the phone handing it to my sister.

Mom died just after Noon today.

DOROTHY LOUISE LEWIS BYRNE
30 April 1929 - 13 February 2009

MIZPAH Mom - may Dad give you the hugs you desire until we meet again.

Noon | 20-January, 2009

2009-01-20T04:42:32Z

For those that didn't make "the big move" such as Alan, Laura, Matt, John, Tom, Emilio, Adam, Eric, Nick and myself...I leave you with this perfect graphic from someecards.com!

Mr. Bush, please do us a favour and go quietly into the night and stick to your ranch there in Texas where you can bring no more harm to the world.

Mr. Obama, Game On!

An Open Letter to Humanity and My Family.

2009-01-06T16:18:08Z

As I was getting ready to go to work today, a flood of emotions was racing through my mind causing a chemical build-up within my blood stream which in turned fueled the physical response associated with anger: a fast heartbeat, raised voice, hostility directed at our loyal and loving Athena and Cian and a frantic pace as I quickly went through my morning routine to get ready for the day. This level of irritability continued to rise as I began composing an email in my head…mentally re-reading not only the recent emails that have been bantered back and forth, but the many in the past that unfortunately haven’t escaped my mind.

I found myself getting sucked into, and ultimately participating in, the very selfish act that triggered the initial tidal wave drowning my body. The more I rush, the more I had to re-trace steps and do things I had forgotten. The intensity of the morning riled up “the kids” causing them to get in the way resulting in pushing them to the side with my knee and barking at them when all they wanted was a loving touch before I abandoned them for the next nine hours. I look at the clock and my heartbeat notches up as I realize that I must now run down the block and hope the Queen street car isn’t it’s usual self and way behind schedule making me even later for work.

All morning the TV has been blaring about -10C (14F) temperatures and even lower wind chill with snow beginning and at least 10cm (4”) of snow ready to greet me as I make my way home tonight. So the bundling begins, heavy jacket, scarf, hat and gloves. The clumsiness of the situation causing numerous dropped items: keys, phone, Blackberry, backpack, keys and phone again.

With Cian and Athena by my side, as they are nearly every morning for that final pat before I walk out the door, they heard instead an angry “MOVE!” and felt my knee against their side and the wall of the house against their other as I marched out the door – dropping my keys once more as if the first several times just weren’t enough of an exclamation on the morning. As I fumbled with the important key at the moment, the one to secure our household from the hostile outside world I heard something.

A bird chirping.

There…in the freezing cold of winter…in a neighbourhood with the constant hum of the inner city enveloping it…my mind racing, focused, already mentally composing a hostile email to be fired off to every member of my family, the sound pierces right through crisp moist air and lands squarely in my ear vibrating all the way to the core of my body.

A bird…hidden away in the beautiful century-old beautiful maple standing strong outside our home…chirping.

I stopped instantly as if she was telling me to do so, my eyes darting from branch to branch trying to figure out where she perched. But, it didn’t matter because the message I was being given was not meant to be seen, it was meant for me to hear - and feel, deep in my body to the heart and soul of a man poisoned that morning with hostility.

I swear to you at that moment, I felt as if someone had injected me with an antidote – and instant life-saving drug releasing tension, quieting my brain and cleansing my blood of body and mind-wrenching chemicals. With all this came clarity. Clarity as simple and innocent as the chirp of a bird.

No one in this family, or anyone else on this planet…

…has suffered more,
…given more time,
…shared more wealth,
…obtained greater knowledge,
…endured more pain,
…loved more or
…hated less

than anyone else. To do so or claim that right means that the act itself has become an asset to be used as a way of measuring ourselves in comparison to others. One person’s suffering from Cancer becomes greater than someone’s affliction with mental unstablility. A gift of thousands of dollars achieves higher stature than the 50-cents donated by the man who remains with nothing in his pocket except the space where those coins once occupied.

Have we already fallen into the depths of darkness never to find our way out and back into the light because our entire life is focused on comparisons and competition?

I’m asking you all to take a moment to listen for the chirp of a bird. Stop. Clear your mind. I hold hope in my heart that you will all be able to find the way out of that darkness we seem to have fallen into and realize that if we give of ourselves for the betterment of others it brings us life. Life is so incredibly fragile and short, why are we wasting precious moments bickering and fighting and defending ourselves when this time should be spent bringing happiness and joy to others just as a simple bird did for me this morning.

In all these emails, there is one image and description that she described that has rocked me to the core as strong as an earthquake destroying a city. I picture my mother laying in her bed, alone in her room when she hears what has become a familiar sound to her now. Not the gentle laughter of children visiting their grandparent. Not the rustling of the staff whipping up warm meals on a cold, winter day. Not the rattling of commentators on the television sharing the news of the day to thousands.

The sound she hears is that of the wheels of a gurney rolling down the hallway. As she turns her head to look towards the door and sees the pitch black plastic bag containing the body of someone that just days ago was having a cigarette in the garden with her, or brought her coffee in the morning, or shared tales of dancing in the Trocadero Ballroom, she wonders if that will be her tomorrow.

I, for one, can’t begin to comprehend having to process that emotion and when I read what she said and the description of that experience,I physically got sick to my stomach just imagining the overwhelming fear and impact that has had on her.

While it doesn't even come close to what floats forever in the mind of this woman who is facing her own death, I can only to say that when I envision myself looking towards the door, I can't help but see that what’s being wheeled down the hall in that body bag is my family – cold, lifeless and forgotten – lost in the darkness that has enveloped it.

I’m not sure how much longer I can hold out hope that this vision is just a nightmare to be erased in an instant. Unfortunately, I think I'm going to have to admit to myself that it’s a reality that will stay with me until I am the one being wheeled down the hallway.

No Change, Just More of the Same

2009-01-05T23:38:48Z

Our dear friends (Tom and Emilio) made a posting on their blog Canadian Hope recently reacting to President-elect Obama's choice for an invocation speaker at his upcoming inauguration. I feel badly because what started as a regular, short comment erupted into an overwhelming tsunami of emotions that I feel compelled to share with you here.

When I first heard about the news of Mr. Obama's choice for inauguration invocation, I instinctively I began my defence of the President-elect saying I understand how he needs to reach out to a broad spectrum, but I quickly caught myself and the disappointment and anger began rising again.

Make a mental image of this man (Rick Warren) standing on the very same platform, at the very same microphone and is one of the very first to shake the hand of the 44th President of the United States of America.

If that's not enough to cause bile and acid to churn within your stomach, put that man in the outfit of a Nazi concentration camp guard, the Ku Klux Klan, a Taliban terrorist or any of the other representatives of a group of people that call for the in humane and discriminatory treatment of another group of humans.

I for one shudder at both thoughts and in my heart thought President-elect Obama would do the right thing. Unfortunately, he and thousands of politicians before him, prove that they are not leaders, but rather glorified followers and the Hope I yearned for in the years and days leading up to 4-November has been extinguished.

For those of you reading this right now and mentally running to Mr. Obama's defense saying "it's not that big a deal" or "give him a break" or "you can't compare being gay to the plight of Jews and blacks" I ask you to stop that knee-jerk reaction triggered by hope, political correctness and a promise of something better. Is what you're thinking acceptable if you found yourself the subject of any form of discrimination, less than humane treatment or worse: subject to violence or hatred of any kind? Ask yourself:

Are there levels of hate?

Is a little violence okay in your eyes?

Maybe we should keep everyone who doesn't identify as heterosexual Christians grouped as one and treat them all unequally as compared to the others.

Is one target/form/method of discrimination worse than another or is it an absolute?

How sad that my friends and I need to utter the words "the lesser of two evils" when talking about using one of the most powerful acts we can perform: voting in the country of our birth.

I've said it until I'm blue in the face and now I'm shouting it from as high a mountain I can find based in a country that I am confident respects me and remembers that we are all one, together on this planet. The teams may change. One wins, the other loses. And then another one is played.

Until the money and accumulation of wealth-focused game called US politics changes, the United States of America will continue to slide into the abyss of greed and corruption.

Now ask us if we plan to move back or regret turning our backs and moving North to Canada.

If you don't know the answer to that by now, it's time YOU stopped playing the game.

I'm a Husband

2009-01-01T22:08:32Z

My daily Google Alert search found this today:

Canadian Emigration an Alternative for Gay U.S. Couples Seeking Marriage

Good Riddence

2009-01-01T17:48:16Z

While there were a few wonderful things that happened in 2008, most notably Nick's and my real-life, no one can take it away, non-political football marriage to each other and discovering wonderful and life-enriching friends and strengthening of others, there were many many more events that made 2008 probably one of the worst years of my lifetime.

So, it's with a swift and hard kick from my boot that I send 2008 into the past and welcome the new year with open arms. I hope it will treat me as welcoming as I am to it.

Happy New Year my friends. May 2009 bring us all

more happiness than sorrow,
...More life than death,
...More light than darkness,
...more peace than hostility,
...more honesty than deception,
...more friends than enemies,
...more stars than black holes,
...more laughs than groans,
...more smiles than frowns,
...more hope than despair,
...more wins than loses,
...more dreams than nightmares,
...more cuddle time than yearning time,
...more satisfaction than disappointments,
...more love and never hate.

525,600 minutes. Let's make sure everyone of them counts, shall we?

Customer Relations

2008-12-31T19:02:08Z

So....I have several "bear" types on my friend's list here and other areas and while usually I would just let things like this go by and chalk it up to the fact that this world is full of assholes and deadbeats, but with the mood I'm in, the extremely low empathy tank I have and the disdain for those who are taking advantage of others, this is one case where I won't let a sleeping pig lie.

Out of pure curiosity I joined a website called www.woofhunt.com. My initial impression of the site was less than impressive - low-rate graphics, simple construction, terrible colours and overall it looked like it was put together by a Grade One student for a class project. I now know that I just defamed an entire generation of kids and for that I'm sorry. Even those in Grade One would do better and probably with customer service too.

After only two days with an account on the site, I was bombarded with emails from the website offering a special rate for becoming a paid member. When what seemed like the 50th email in two days arrived, I'd decided I'd had enough of woofhunt and finding no way to delete my account on line (or even edit my profile) I sent a short email to the "contact us" email listed. Imagine my surprise when less than an hour later this response came back:

I don't work for you, or any other freeloading scumbag.

Get off the internet.

The world needs another freetard loser using it for free gay porn, and endangering children in the process, like it needs another George Bush.

Free porn sites endanger children. For proof Google the recent story in which Manhunt.net was directly responsible for a 15 child being sexually abused by another Manhunt user, who was an adult. That happened because sites like Manhunt, BigMuscle and Recon are socially irresponsible anda refuse to adhere to Federal Law and age verify their members. Personally, we hope YOU use those sites so that the Justice Department can keep tabs on you. The lametards at ManHunt donated $10,000 in hard currency in an attempt to get out of their responsibility to protecting kids online, and now they, and the other freetard sites are being monitored (and that means all the freeloading losers who frequent and support them are being scoped out too).

And don't even get us started on the fact that Manhunt, and Recon, charge a whopping $100 a year (actually, those losers at Manhunt just raised their price to $120!) for their lackluster, lame assed, profile sites when you do subscribe. If you weren't such a lecherous dog, you'd see that our site comes out to around $3 a month, and there's tons more to do than view stale profiles of other freetard losers like yourself.

Your email has been forwarded to the United States Department of Justice for further investigation in their ongoing efforts to enforce section 2257 of the United States Code and the Adam Walsh Child Protection Act.

Now, be a good boy, and use the URL located at the bottom of the email you're whining about to inactivate your account, then stay off my sites.....ALL OF THEM.

So...if by any chance you consider or are currently a member of this website (and the others associated with them - which I have no clue, but will find out shortly,) in my personal opinion I suggest you avoid them, never join them, certainly don't pay to use them and if happen to know the Rhodes Scholar that runs the thing, pass along this message to him for me if you wouldn't mind:

It's a good thing you don't work for me, because you'd be unemployed. Something I'm sure you're used to living in your parents basement creating money-grabbing websites and developing your writing talents. I do indeed plan to stay off your sites and make sure everyone I know, oh, and those companies you suckered into advertising on them, to stay away as well. Give your Mom my best when you go upstairs for dinner (assuming you haven't filled yourself full of those chips, Twinkies, pork rinds and "diet' soda you have spread all around yourself.) - she must be so proud of this big Internet tycoon she brought into this world.

Oh, one more thing, Internet is spelled correctly with a capital I. But, then again, what do I know, I'm a scumbag, freetard and one of the lametards.

2008 can't end fast enough if you ask me.

The Longest and Coldest Night

2008-12-22T06:40:56Z

So with today being the Winter Solstice, the ecclectic market/area of Toronto called Kensington Market holds an annual tradition called the Festival of Lights. It's such a fun time and this year it ended up with me going down alone (Nick had other plans, others weren't feeling well, and the cold didn't help matters.)

So, in typical The Mason fashion, I was running late...way late. I thought it started at six...it really started at 5. What time did I get there? Oh, about 7:30pm. The city of Toronto is in the middle of a deep freeze after nearly 40cm (16") of snow fell and the winds coming off the lake were intense today. Knowing I was late, I had figured I probably missed the parade, but at least the big bonfire in the park must be going on. There were plenty of crowds, but it all seemed so "Kensington" (in other words, discombobulated and confusing.)

As more and more groups of people kept mingling, word got out that the Festival had officially been cancelled due to high winds, but you sure wouldn't have known it by the crowds or activity. Which brings me to this entry.

One of the things I cherish about Toronto is it's ability to be a major, international city, but still have the heart and soul of an every-day town. There were grumblings about the cancellation (which rumour has it will be moved to the Spring Solstice in March,) but that didn't let people get down. There were spontaneous gatherings of those that had brought lanterns and who sang songs (that I had no clue of what the words were) and even a trash can or two was set ablaze. Sure there weren't the oversized costumes, the art and performance displays around the market and the other things that make the festival fun, but it was spontaneity of the city and those out tonight that make Toronto my home and an awesome city.

It was so friggin cold though, so I spent most of my time bouncing in and out of places that were open. Caught updates on the Denver Broncos game - there was actually coverage here because Buffalo is pretty much Toronto's team since they're so close (and, um, Toronto's team won - the bastards) :-( I went to my very first "open mic/jam" kinda thing at The Supermarket...the bar/restaurant place where I saw Jay Brannan play here this summer. Grabbed a bite to eat at the restaurant we went to last year (and I can never remember the name) and generally had fun having "Mason-time" tonight.

I met some fun groups of people - they all seemed to like my hand-made lantern and were impressed with my make-shift backback holder-arm. Me...not so much because wax would splatter when I walked and would hit my neck. (Make note to enclose the entire bottom next year.

I will say I missed sharing the experience with Nick and other friends here in Toronto, but I guess you could say I wasn't friendless tonight...I was with Toronto.

What Does It Mean To Be "Christian?"

2008-12-18T18:15:30Z

I discovered this news item during my morning check of industry newsletters today and it really piqued my interest.

Lights up for AIDS Awareness

Those who know me, know that I have a very pessimistic, if not strong disdain for organized religion. But, I also have an internal conflict because I respect and honour those that have faith in whatever religion or belief they hold in their hearts and support those that use religion to better themselves rather than a weapon or mandate to change others.

That outlook on faith and religion is just one of the many things I adore about my new home, Canada. While there are the fanatic and less-than-authentic believers, for the most part religion here is truly treated as an individual tenet in one's life, not a license to force compliance of others to your beliefs.

So, with that said, when I read the first line of the article "The Christian Reformed World Relief Committee (CRWRC) is trying to shed some light..." I immediately went into attack mode ready to find the flaw, pounce on the pontificating and mince the morality I was expecting, but as I dug deeper and read more, I realized that there is hope...that like my dear friend's devotion to Christianity and his United Church of Canada, there really are those out there that embrace what I believe should always be the entire scope of organized religion...bettering your life and those of others without judgment or expectations of conversion in return.

I was further heartened by this AIDS speech (clicking link will open a Word document) by Karl Westerhof which is posted on the website. This section in particular:

Unfortunately, until recently the Christian churches in Africa were unable and unwilling to deal with the AIDS crisis. The disease was too tied up with sex, sin, and immorality. Cultural norms prevented people from talking about sex openly, especially in church. Instead, people associated AIDS with unfaithfulness, prostitution, homosexuality, and sin. As a result, churches treated those who were sick as if they had brought the disease upon themselves. The very suggestion of HIV/AIDS brought shame, separation, and shunning. So, AIDS spread and spread – using the silence as an opportunity to grow.

While Mr. Westerhof's focus is on Africa (as is the entire "Embrace AIDS" program,) I think it speaks to a fundamental flaw with Christianity as a whole, especially in the United States. My wish in this coming year is that people of all faiths look at this example in Africa and experience a wake up call.

It's a call that I believe will save humanity.

Let’s Talk About The Next Disaster: AIDS
By Karl Westerhof

In December 2004, a wave of water generated by an undersea earthquake washed away homes half-way around the world. Some 250,000 were killed, and tens of thousands more lost their homes and livelihoods. Entire communities were smashed out of existence. Local governments disappeared. Police departments were literally washed off the map. Schools, jobs, churches, synagogues, mosques…everything was wiped away. Many children were playing by the ocean’s edge. When the water suddenly disappeared towards the horizon, they rushed in to gather fish. When the wave returned, these children drowned.

How many people died that day? Experts estimate the number to be around 250,000. But, since most of the affected people lived in poor communities in developing countries, we don’t have access to exact information.

What we do know is that the Christian Reformed Church responded quickly. The outpouring of financial donations from CRC members to CRWRC more than doubled CRWRC’s regular annual budget. For weeks, CRWRC’s phones were tied up with calls from people who wanted to volunteer their time, give financial gifts, or hear about the most recent need that they could lift up in prayer.

This support enabled CRWRC to rush into action. Within hours, CRWRC’s partner organizations in Indonesia, Sri Lanka, and India were on the move, heading toward disaster sites with emergency aid. Now, years later, CRWRC is able to continue building homes and providing long-term assistance to those affected thanks to the generous gifts it originally received for its response.

This is a great example of how God’s people can share love with in need during times of crisis. But what if a tsunami struck every month? Would we still be able to respond?

That is exactly what is happening today. Every year, more than 3 million people die of AIDS. This means that over 250,000 people are dying every month. That’s equivalent to the devastation of the 2004 tsunami happening every single month.

Like the tsunami, HIV/AIDS is wiping out infrastructure in developing countries. Entire generations of doctors, teachers, farmers, and pastors have been killed by the disease. This is leaving the young and elderly to fend for themselves without the middle generation to earn incomes, grow food, and forge a way for the future.

Like the tsunami, innocent children are being killed. In 2005, 12 million children were orphaned by the disease and half a million children died. Those still living, face a future without an education, without access to adequate health care, and without hope of overcoming the horrors of this disease.

This ugly situation is true across the continent of Africa, but it is also a growing concern in India, China, Haiti, and many other developing countries.

Yes, a tsunami is happening every month in our world. So, what are we doing about it?

Unlike the 2004 tsunami, AIDS isn’t getting a lot of attention in the media. Most of us don’t see images of AIDS orphans on our tvs every day. As a result, we don’t feel the call to action as much as we did in December 2004.

Yet, we are responding. The United States government has committed to spend $15 billion on HIV/AIDS programs around the world. This will be spent in many countries over many years and will take the cooperation of governments, universities, businesses, hospitals, and researchers, but will eventually make a difference in the fight against AIDS.

Christians, too, have a role to play. It is up to us to hold our governments accountable to live up to their promises about supporting HIV/AIDS work. It is also up to us to be God’s hands and feet in this time of need.

Consider Leon in the Central African Republic. When Leon found out that he had AIDS, he decided to leave his family and commit suicide. On his way, he happened to hear a Christian radio program put out by the Back to God Hour. He felt that the program was speaking to him. Instead of committing suicide, Leon decided to commit his life to Christ. Today he is back with his family and has so far been symptom free of his HIV.

It is stories like this that remind us that Christians have a unique role to play in offering love and encouragement to those who are suffering. Whether it is reducing the stigma associated with HIV, providing hospice care to those infected, or helping communities and grandparents care for AIDS orphans, Christians can and should be leading the way.

Why Christians? I’m going to mention four things that I think, taken together, make us uniquely suited to make a major contribution to addressing HIV/AIDS.

First, Christians have a different perspective on Africa and on the poor. Unlike some people, we don’t look at a continent as being cursed place, evil, godforsaken, or hopeless. Africa is not without God’s presence. In fact, Africa is filled with millions of Christians. It is a continent that God loves. It’s a part of his world that he made – beautiful, rich in resources, rich with people he created in his image - people he loves! Christians know that God is present throughout Africa, so we also know that we can’t despair or be hopeless about the situation there. We know what God is capable of.

Second, Christians focus on the whole community. We understand that families and communities are places of human relationship – groups that mirror God’s passionate care for us. In the beginning, God said it wasn’t good for a person to be alone! We need community. Africans understand that better than we do! They live in communion with each other in a much larger way than we do in North America.
Christians also understand the relationship between humanity and creation. Nature, agriculture, business, humanity, health, religion – it all hangs together as part of God’s intended creation. As a result, Christians recognize that you can’t attack the problems of poverty, injustice, and AIDS without understanding how everything fits together!

Reformed Christians talk about a worldview – the deepest, broadest values and perspectives we have about life itself. Because we understand this wholistic way of seeing the world, and because we strive to reflect this approach in the way we work with communities, we are perfectly positioned to fight AIDS. You can’t get at poverty or sickness or despair unless you are addressing the deepest realities – how people see the world.

Here’s a little story for you to think about: Volunteer development workers came to a community in Africa where drought was a problem. Environmental degradation had worsened the problem and the fields were yielding less and less. The rains were less dependable as climate changes became more and more significant. The volunteers brought in a huge well drilling rig. They did some studies of the land. They selected a site, and they drilled a deep well. Beautiful clean water! “Wow,” said the community. “How did you know there was water? How did you know where to dig? The spirits of this place were angry, and they were withholding our water. But now you have released the water to you!” Do you know what the volunteers’ response to this was? “Science. Science told us where the water was.”

There is truth in their comment, but it also tells us something about the worldview of those missionaries. In times of need, they looked to academics for help, and when good things happened they gave academics the credit. Their worldview worked to find the community some water, but how would it hold up under all the complexities of HIV/AIDS?

That brings me to the third reason that Christians are uniquely placed to fight AIDS. Our worldview is shaped by God’s Word. We are still able to talk about how science fits in and can benefit a community, but we can also address questions of morality, provide love for our neighbors, and introduce people to Jesus Christ when the time is right.

The fourth reason that Christians should be on the frontline against AIDS is that we have the best network in the world to work with – the body of Christ. Africa is quickly becoming the heartland of the Christian faith. In the last 100 years, the number of Christians in Africa has tripled, then tripled again, and then tripled once more! Today, there are more Christians in Africa than there are in North America…and the African church is continuing to grow. These churches have a huge role to play as salt in light in a time of AIDS.

The Christian Reformed World Relief Committee works with local churches across Africa. They’ve seen church leaders take a stand against government officials and hold people accountable for integrity and accountability. They’ve also seen the central role that churches can play in identifying the needs of people in their communities, and carrying out programs to meet those needs. That’s why CRWRC believes these churches are key in the fight against AIDS.

Unfortunately, until recently the Christian churches in Africa were unable and unwilling to deal with the AIDS crisis. The disease was too tied up with sex, sin, and immorality. Cultural norms prevented people from talking about sex openly, especially in church. Instead, people associated AIDS with unfaithfulness, prostitution, homosexuality, and sin. As a result, churches treated those who were sick as if they had brought the disease upon themselves. The very suggestion of HIV/AIDS brought shame, separation, and shunning. So, AIDS spread and spread – using the silence as an opportunity to grow.

Today, all of that is changing. The African church is beginning to understand that there is much more to AIDS than shame and hopelessness. Pastors are beginning to talk openly about biblical sexuality and the need to be faithful. Young people are being treated with respect as parents recognize that they are maturing and will be making choices about sex. With proper education, these young people are now making better choices. Moreover, pastors and deacons are reminding people that those infected by HIV are still image bearers of God. This has helped churches start programs to care for AIDS orphans, provide support for caregivers, and reach out in love to those who are infected.

The huge networks of churches across Africa are beginning to reach into cities, towns and villages. This access combined with a strong biblical worldview is a recipe for success in the fight against AIDS. We need to pray for the church in Africa and around the world as never before.

Consider this story from CRWRC’s staff members in Uganda.

“Last week, we sat under a mango tree with a group of groups who will be receiving a loan – not money, but oxen and plows. Some of the women are nursing babies or carrying toddlers, other are chatting about grandchildren. ALL are widows whose husbands have died of HIVAIDS. Every one is caring for at least six dependent children. These women are the vulnerable of society.”

“CRWRC is working with the Pentecostal Assemblies of God Church to help those infected and affected by HIVAIDS. The ox and plough project will build community, group cohesion, income, hope. An animated and high spirited discussion takes place over how the groups will manage the loan… how will they share the use of the team and plow, who will care for it, how will they use the training they’ve received. ….Next week the team arrives, and the loan will be repaid over coming years.”

“Oxen and plows are vital labor saving devices for people already weak and with low immunity. In addition – more land can be in use. Food for the family, and a bit of extra income for clothing, bedding, school supplies.”

“As the dust blows by, I pray that the coming rainy season will be a good one. I pray for these women and their families, and the flame of hope that has begun to burn for them. The women pray together. They ink their fingers so they can sign their agreements to repay the loan. What a privilege for us to work with these women of strength, and hope.”

In this story, the African Church has recognized its need to reach out to those who are hurting. Women, widowed by AIDS, have recognized their need to care for orphaned children by working together and working hard. CRWRC is supporting this with advice, financial help, and lots of prayer support.

What’s your role? As a Christian in North America, how will you join the fight against AIDS? Will you sit idly by as your brothers and sisters are struggling? Or will you respond, as you did to the 2004 tsunami, with a generous outpouring of love, volunteerism, and support? The answer is up to you. What will you decide?

Goodbyes

2008-12-05T18:34:07Z

As I look back on this year, I've realized that 2008 can pretty much be summed up as the Year of Goodbyes.

Quite frankly, while some were positive or fun, way too many of them were of the shitty variety. I guess it's a product of getting older, but there were way to many goodbyes brought up by death or near-death.

My Bear411 Profile

The Polaroid Camera

My arrogance about coping with the cold

Bobby's "I don't need a cell phone" Stubbornness

Death of an Ape

My job with Toronto FC

The Single Life

Gus

Shit, piss, fuck, cunt, cocksucker, motherfucker, tits!

Wayne

Mom

My two-year separation with family

Republican Death Grip

Steve

And while it technically and officially happens next year, I'd like to think that I'm ending 2008's goodbyes with the beginning of a positive one!

Paul Waldman, with The American Prospect sums it up very nicely in this online article today:

Goodbye and Good Riddance

Just over two years into George W. Bush’s presidency, The American Prospect featured Bush on its cover under the headline, "The Most Dangerous President Ever." At the time, some probably thought it a bit over the top. But nearly six years later, it's worth taking a moment to reflect on the multifaceted burden that will soon be lifted from our collective shoulders.

Since last week, I have stopped short and shaken my head in amazement every time I have heard the words "President-elect Obama." But it is equally extraordinary to consider that in just a few weeks, George W. Bush will no longer be our president. Let me repeat that: In just a few weeks, George W. Bush will no longer be our president. So though our long national ordeal isn't quite over, it's never too early to say goodbye.

Goodbye, we can say at last, to the most powerful man in the world being such a ridiculous buffoon, incapable of stringing together two coherent sentences.

Goodbye to cringing with dread every time our president steps onto the world stage, sure he'll say or do something to embarrass us all.

Goodbye to being represented by a man who embodies everything our enemies want the people of the world to believe about America -- that we are ignorant, cruel, and only care about foreign countries when we decide to stomp on them.

Goodbye to his giggle, and his shoulder shake, and his nicknames.

Goodbye to a president who talks to us like we're a nation of fourth-graders.

And goodbye, of course, to Dick Cheney.

Goodbye to the man whose naked contempt for democracy contorted his face to a permanent sneer, who spent his days in his undisclosed location with his man-sized safe. And while we're at it, goodbye to Cheney's consigliore David Addington, as malevolent a force as has ever left his trail of slime across our federal institutions.

Goodbye, indeed, to the entire band of liars and crooks and thieves who have so sullied the federal government that belongs to us all. We can even say goodbye to those who have already gone, to Rummy and Scooter, to Fredo and Rove, tornados of misery left in their wake.

Goodbye to the rotating cast of butchers manning the White House's legal abattoir, where the Constitution has been sliced and bled and gutted since September 11.

Goodbye to the "unitary executive" theory and its claims that the president can do whatever he wants -- even snatch an American citizen off the street and lock him up for life without charge, without legal representation, and without trial.

Goodbye to the promiscuous use of "signing statements" (1,100 at last count) to declare that the law is whatever the president says it is, and that he'll enforce only those laws he likes.

Goodbye to an executive branch that treats lawfully issued subpoenas like suggestions that can be ignored.

Goodbye to thinking of John Ashcroft as the liberal attorney general.

Goodbye to the culture of incompetence, where rebuilding a country we destroyed could be turned over to a bunch of clueless 20-somethings with no qualifications save an internship at the Heritage Foundation and an opposition to abortion.

Goodbye to the "Brownie, you're doin' a heckuva job" philosophy, where vital agencies are turned over to incompetent boobs to rot and decay.

Goodbye to handing out the Medal of Freedom as an award for engineering one of the greatest screw-ups of our time.

Goodbye to an administration that welcomed gluttonous war profiteering, that was only too happy to outsource every government function it could to well-connected contractors who would do a worse job for more money.

Goodbye to the Bush Doctrine of preemptive war.

Goodbye to the lust for sending off other people's sons and daughters to fight and kill and die just to show your daddy you're a real man. Goodbye to playing dress-up in flight suits, goodbye to strutting and posing and desperate sexual insecurity as a driver of American foreign policy.

Goodbye to the neocons, so sinister and deluded they beg us all to become fevered conspiracy theorists.

Goodbye to Guantanamo and its kangaroo courts.

Goodbye to the use of torture as official U.S. government policy, and goodbye to the immoral ghouls who think you can rename it "enhanced interrogation techniques" and render it any less monstrous.

Goodbye to the accusation that if you disagree with what the president wants to do, you don't "support the troops."

Goodbye to stocking government agencies with people who are opposed to the very missions those agencies are charged with carrying out.

Goodbye to putting industry lobbyists in charge of the agencies that are supposed to regulate those very industries.

Goodbye to madly giving away public lands to private interests.

Goodbye to a Food and Drug Administration that acts like a wholly owned subsidiary of the pharmaceutical industry, except when it acts like a wholly owned subsidiary of the fundamentalist puritans who believe that sex is dirty and birth control will turn girls into sluts.

Goodbye to the "global gag rule," which prohibits any entity receiving American funds from even telling women where they can get an abortion if they need it.

Goodbye to vetoing health insurance for poor children but rushing back to Washington to sign a bill to keep alive a woman whose cerebral cortex had liquefied. Goodbye to the ban on federal funding of embryonic stem-cell research.

Goodbye to the philosophy that says that if we give tax cuts to the rich and keep the government from any oversight of the economy, prosperity will eventually trickle down.

Goodbye to the thirst for privatizing Social Security and to the belief that the success of a social safety-net program is what makes it a threat and should mark it for destruction.

Goodbye to the war on unions and to a National Labor Relations Board devoted to crushing them.

Goodbye to the principle of loyalty above all else, that nominates Harriet Miers to the Supreme Court and puts Alberto Gonzales in charge of the Justice Department.

And goodbye to that Justice Department, the one where U.S. attorneys keep their jobs only if they are willing to undertake bogus investigations of Democrats timed to hit the papers just before Election Day.

Goodbye to a Justice Department where graduates of Pat Robertson's law school roam the halls by the dozens, where "justice" is a joke.

Goodbye to James Dobson and a host of radical clerics picking up the phone and hearing someone in the White House on the other end.

Goodbye to the most consequential decisions being made on the basis of one man's "gut," a gut that proved so wrong so often.

Goodbye to the contempt for evidence, to the scorn for intellect and book learnin', to the relentless war on science itself as a means of understanding the world.

Goodbye, goodbye, goodbye to it all.

Though President Obama will be spending most of his time cleaning up the mess George Bush made, we probably won't have Dubya to kick around anymore. It's hard to imagine Bush undertaking some grand philanthropic effort on the scale of the Clinton Global Initiative, or hopping around to international trouble spots like Jimmy Carter. Republicans won't be asking him to speak on their behalf, and publishers are reportedly uninterested in the prospect of a Bush memoir. His reign of destruction complete, Bush will return to Texas and fill his days with the mundane activities of a retiree -- puttering around the yard, reading some magazines, maybe enjoying that new Xbox Jenna gave him for Christmas ("I'm the Decider, and I decide to spend this afternoon playing Call of Duty 4").

This presidency is finally over. We can say goodbye to an administration whose misdeeds have piled so high that the size of the mountain no longer shocks us. In our lifetimes, we will see administrations of varying degrees of competence and integrity, some we'll agree with and some we won't. But we will probably never see another quite like the one now finally reaching its end, so mind-boggling a parade of incompetence and malice, dishonesty, and immorality. So at last -- at long, long last -- we can say goodbye.

And good riddance.

Or you can go right to the website:
GOODBYE AND GOOD RIDDANCE - Online Article

A Second Look

2008-12-03T01:58:59Z

A few entries back, I posted a picture of my friend Steve who had passed away that week. Another dear friend of mine saw the photograph I posted and sent back to me a version he felt gave it more depth and meaning. In his note to me with his heartfelt revision of the photo, he offered this explanation:

I didn't do that much, i just thought it needed a more somber feeling to it, like when you look into the eyes in the photo, you know that all of his hurt, and every little thing that was made important is now done. Ended, Finished and Lived.

Wes may feel like he didn't do much, but I disagree. His vision and talents go beyond clicks of a mouse in a graphics computer program - they speak volumes about his ability to see much deeper than the surface and bring what's important and honest to the surface. Thank you so much for this Wes - and more importantly helping us, too look beyond the surface of life.

THE SURFACE

A SECOND LOOK

1-December

2008-12-01T12:52:44Z

For those blessing me with your presence - both in spirit and in person, you are never forgotten. Not just on this day, but every day of my life.

Until We Meet Again

2008-11-18T23:24:50Z

Peace my friend. I'm so sorry.

We Shall Never Forget

2008-11-11T13:45:34Z

In honour and memory of those who are currently serving and have served and for those that have given their lives in the performance of duties please know that we will never forget.

Flander's Field

In Flanders fields the poppies blow
Between the crosses, row on row,
That mark our place; and in the sky
The larks, still bravely singing, fly
Scarce heard amid the guns below.

We are the Dead. Short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
Loved, and were loved, and now we lie
In Flanders Fields.

Take up our quarrel with the foe:
To you from failing hands we throw
The torch; be yours to hold it high.
If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
In Flanders Fields.
- John McCrae

REMEMBERANCE DAY - Canada
VETERANS DAY - United States

An Open Letter to radiochris

2008-11-10T13:09:21Z

Hey Chris - long time. no chat, but I've been keeping up-to-date on your path here and haven't been commenting much, but figured now is a good time where I can give you some insight that hopefully will help.

1) RADIO - I hate to say this because I know clearly the power the medium has one someone. You will most likely never make the amount of money you need/want to sustain your life in your profession. This isn't a reflection of your talents or commitment to the job, but reality. In the world of voice-tracking, "wanna be a star" dreams and "radio schools" churning out "talent" by the hundreds there will always be up and comers backed-up in line by the hundreds waiting to take your job for less money. You won't see sustainable, liveable radio wages unless you're doing a drive show in a top 10-20 market. Work the numbers. One or maybe two stations in your desired format times the markets mean there are only, at max, 40 jobs available and tens of thousands of people who would climb over their mother to escape a fire to get to them. If you want to make money - in radio - there's only one way: sales. I'm sorry to be blunt, but I think you already know this, the lure of it makes it tough to cut. To make money and stay in radio on-air you will always be working 2 and 3 jobs, pestering sales people for endorsements and hoping friends buy rounds or drinks. It won't change I'm sorry to say.

2) SCHOOL - Yes - go - another career path is possible. I never finished my university degree and while I have been very fortunate to be successful in my careers I wonder how many opportunities I've missed by not having that degree. In these economic times the person with diverse and wide-ranging skills is more valuable. And it may not need to be going back to school...it could be as easy (and cheaper) to find experience in other ways - volunteering, taking free classes and then work your way into jobs. You're talented and bright and can really turn things into your favour...just trust yourself and go!

3) CAREER - After labouring 17 years in the radio business (from age 17 to 33, I found myself out of a radio job - again - and was suggested that I apply for a sales marketing job in cable television. I thought to myself "cable?" I know nothing about it and asked a radio veteran's advice. He asked me at what age do I expect to retire. I said 65-70. He then said "when you hear about a company giving someone a "gold watch" to honour their service and retirement, how long do they usually say that person was working. Answer: 20 years. Take 65 (retirement age,) minus 20 (yrs) that equals 45 - the age you START that job. So at 25 years old (you) that means you won't start your final career for 20 MORE years.

4) GAY DEATH=30 - Fuck you! (Ok, now that I have that off my chest) :-) In reality, my young, naive budding homo, like wine the gay life gets better with age. I met my husband at 31 (he was 21 at the time btw) and I have had the best sex, the most incredible experiences and make the most genuine and authentic friends these last three years. Don't get fooled by the twinks and the non-stop stream of smooth skin, fashionably dress (and piss poor because of it) bois that a following close behind you pushing you towards your grave. Trust me - keep a positive outlook on yourself and towards others and your life will bloom. Seriously.

5) FAITH: I have been relatively quiet on this topic because to be honest I believe as strongly in my heart as you do with your faith in Christianity, that organized religion is responsible for more death, destruction and societal collapse than any weapon, dictator or natural disaster. Keep in mind that one of my dearest and most respected friends is a deeply Christian man and minister in the United Church of Canada. I just ask that instead of putting blind faith and trust into something or someone that has been conceived in the mind of people before us that you look inside yourself for that trust. Know that the basic tenet of life should be treating others as you want yourself treated - with care, compassion, understanding and concern. You don't need a deity or ministers to tell you that - you already know it. You don't need to be handed a rule book on life - you write it and the synopsis are those four words above. Whatever god you believe in doesn't give you the answers - you find them within yourself. That's where you need to place your attention - you. That's just my opinion and please know that as I am caring, compassionate, understanding and concerned for you, I respect your decision to follow a Christian faith even if it doesn't match my beliefs or faith.

I wish you nothing by clear paths my friend - you'll have rocky roads and smooth - just keep on the path and you'll get to your destination.

Eight Years

2008-11-05T05:55:01Z

For the first time in eight years, I watched a night of election returns and had an overwhelming sense of peace and hope and the tears just wouldn't be held back. Despite all the politics and debates and theories and pundits, this election boiled down to one thing: humanity.

We needed this change!

In the words of the next President of the United States of America...

"...Put their hand on the arc of this country and bend it towards peace!"

Thank you Mr. President-elect. Thank you America.

Why?

2008-09-25T18:07:08Z

This song seems to pop up on my iPod when I least expect it - or should I?

HIDE AND SEEK

where are we?
what the hell is going on?
the dust has only just begun to form
crop circles in the carpet
sinking feeling

spin me round again
and rub my eyes,
this can't be happening
when busy streets amass with people
would stop to hold their heads heavy

hide and seek
trains and sewing machines
all those years
they were here first

oily marks appear on walls
where pleasure moments hung before the takeover,
the sweeping insensitivity of this still life

hide and seek
trains and sewing machines
blood and tears
they were here first

Mmmm whatcha say,
Mmm that you only meant well?
well of course you did
Mmmm whatcha say,
Mmmm that it's all for the best?
Of course it is
Mmmm whatcha say?
Mmmm that it's just what we need
you decided this
whatcha say?
Mmmm what did you say?

ransom notes keep falling out your mouth
mid-sweet talk, newspaper word cut outs
speak no feeling no I don't believe you
you don't care a bit,
you don't care a bit

(hide and seek)
ransom notes keep falling out your mouth
mid-sweet talk, newspaper word cut outs