So, you'll have to indulge me for the duration of the Detroit Red Wings' playoffs run, I will be a little preoccupied.
We're mere minutes from the first game of the series in Anaheim, and I'm nervous as hell. The Wings have been on a hot streak over the final games of the regular season, and they needed it, being so very dangerously close to missing the playoffs for the first time in 22 years. That's how much they needed the streak.
Let's go Red Wings!
...Wish you were here.
Tuesday, April 30, 2013
Monday, April 29, 2013
April 29/13
I think it's far too easy to stop thinking of those around us as human beings with hearts, feelings, and rights. Whenever some inconvenience stands in the way of getting our way, some of us are capable of dehumanizing those deemed responsible, thus making it easier to do whatever it takes to do away with the inconvenience. We, as a supposedly civilized species, are capable of great cruelty and evil.
Recently, there have been reports coming out of South America, and Argentina in particular, about the release of new evidence related to the brutal tortures, murders and "forced disappearances" of the 1970s and 1980s under the Argentine Military Junta and Augusto Pinochet. It's timely of course, as Margaret Thatcher's recent death shone a spotlight on her pathologically sick defense of and admiration for Pinochet.
So tonight, when the last song of U2's The Joshua Tree cued on the record player, I was immediately given over to it: Mothers of the Disappeared. If you haven't heard it, take five minutes and fourteen seconds out of your life to listen. It's an absolutely, breathtakingly haunting and heartbreaking song. It's dangerous and pleading and demanding. Try as you might, you just can't will those words out of your head..."Hear their heartbeat...We hear their heartbeat." Distraction is the only cure. I'm not a mother, but it just tears my heart apart to think of the mothers whose sons and daughters were stolen from them in such brutal and horrific fashions, and for what? A difference in political visions. For the crime of believing in political systems that promoted different values.
Answers for the Mothers and Grandmothers of Los Desaparecidos...
...Wish you were here.
Recently, there have been reports coming out of South America, and Argentina in particular, about the release of new evidence related to the brutal tortures, murders and "forced disappearances" of the 1970s and 1980s under the Argentine Military Junta and Augusto Pinochet. It's timely of course, as Margaret Thatcher's recent death shone a spotlight on her pathologically sick defense of and admiration for Pinochet.
So tonight, when the last song of U2's The Joshua Tree cued on the record player, I was immediately given over to it: Mothers of the Disappeared. If you haven't heard it, take five minutes and fourteen seconds out of your life to listen. It's an absolutely, breathtakingly haunting and heartbreaking song. It's dangerous and pleading and demanding. Try as you might, you just can't will those words out of your head..."Hear their heartbeat...We hear their heartbeat." Distraction is the only cure. I'm not a mother, but it just tears my heart apart to think of the mothers whose sons and daughters were stolen from them in such brutal and horrific fashions, and for what? A difference in political visions. For the crime of believing in political systems that promoted different values.
Answers for the Mothers and Grandmothers of Los Desaparecidos...
...Wish you were here.
Sunday, April 28, 2013
April 28/13
It looks like Nature decided to skip early spring and go straight to late spring, because today it was mere hours ago that there was still a chill in the air, particularly if you weren't in the sunshine, and today, it's a spectacular day.
After catching the under 18 World Championship game, we pulled on our summer attire and took the canal like seemingly all of Ottawa, and headed into the Market. We had no particular plans, it was just about being outside and taking advantage of the first nice day of 2013. I couldn't help but note all the deathly-pale people out biking, jogging, blading...if you didn't get out of town and head south for spring break, it really showed. At one point, a man jogged by without a shirt on, and I could swear his pale skin was actually reflecting sunlight. Not that we were in any position to judge...
Here's to a summer of sun and warmth...
...Wish you were here.
After catching the under 18 World Championship game, we pulled on our summer attire and took the canal like seemingly all of Ottawa, and headed into the Market. We had no particular plans, it was just about being outside and taking advantage of the first nice day of 2013. I couldn't help but note all the deathly-pale people out biking, jogging, blading...if you didn't get out of town and head south for spring break, it really showed. At one point, a man jogged by without a shirt on, and I could swear his pale skin was actually reflecting sunlight. Not that we were in any position to judge...
Here's to a summer of sun and warmth...
...Wish you were here.
Saturday, April 27, 2013
April 27/13
Who knew Guns N' Roses could be great music to write to?
After sketching out the story I'm creating, there are of course questions that need to be answered in order to keep the story flowing, help with plot or character development, and maintain the integrity surrounding real places, people, and circumstances. Today was about tackling some of those questions and finding a way to make this story happen.
While I worked, I put on some of the many gigabytes of music I need to sift through and keep or discard, and I got a bit lazy and just chose a random folder to go through so I wouldn't have to be flipping around. That folder contained GNR's Use Your Illusion I, which you might not consider when you are looking for music to help stimulate the creative process. I know I certainly wouldn't think of it first. Typically when I am writing something (unless it's poetry), be it a briefing note or a school paper, the music that provides the most stimulates the brain and helps the writing flow smoother is Classical, electronic, or certain rock albums. I would not consider Axl Rose's nasal caterwauling in any way soothing, but something about that music just had me thinking and writing up a storm.
Moments of unexpected delight...
...Wish you were here.
After sketching out the story I'm creating, there are of course questions that need to be answered in order to keep the story flowing, help with plot or character development, and maintain the integrity surrounding real places, people, and circumstances. Today was about tackling some of those questions and finding a way to make this story happen.
While I worked, I put on some of the many gigabytes of music I need to sift through and keep or discard, and I got a bit lazy and just chose a random folder to go through so I wouldn't have to be flipping around. That folder contained GNR's Use Your Illusion I, which you might not consider when you are looking for music to help stimulate the creative process. I know I certainly wouldn't think of it first. Typically when I am writing something (unless it's poetry), be it a briefing note or a school paper, the music that provides the most stimulates the brain and helps the writing flow smoother is Classical, electronic, or certain rock albums. I would not consider Axl Rose's nasal caterwauling in any way soothing, but something about that music just had me thinking and writing up a storm.
Moments of unexpected delight...
...Wish you were here.
Friday, April 26, 2013
April 26/13
I am not Rehtaeh Parson. But I can't help but wonder if I would have been her.
I don't talk about this much, but I'm compelled to by the disgraceful "journalism" of the ever-obstinate Christie Blatchford. This awful woman used her column in the National Post to victim blame and cherry-pick the facts of the case Rehtaeh had tried to bring against the four boys who raped her, took pictures, and sent those pictures around their community of Cole Harbor, NS. Blatchford went all in, defending the boys and taking any and all opportunities to point the finger in the direction of Rehtaeh as being the perpetrator of an unprovable case. Her opinion piece is so offensive, I refuse to even link to it here--If you want to read that trash, you'll have to seek it out yourself.
Rehtaeh's father took the high road in his response to Blatchford; it's kinder in tone than I would produce, had this woman, who knew nothing about my daughter or her life, decided to play judge and jury on a case she didn't have the first clue about.
Blatchford accuses Rehtaeh of flirting, giving consent, not being drunk enough, and being foolish enough to be partially photographed with one of the four accused. She argues that there's no way this would stand up in court.
Well. She would be surprised what can actually stand up in a court room in a sexual assault case.
More than 16 years ago, I was sexually assaulted while being close to black-out drunk. The assailant fed me drinks all night as I lost track (at one point, my water was replaced with another drink somehow), and when I was good and blacking out, he separated me from my friends as closing time chaos ensued, and carried me to a couple of locations in the building to carry out the assault. I had no interest in sex with him, and he knew it. I wouldn't have consented, even if I wasn't so drunk that I could no longer legally give consent.
I said he had to carry me to a couple of locations--that's because he got caught at the first site. He was determined to have his way. I sort of could feel sensations, like being carried up some stairs, but then I'd black out before I could figure out what was going on. I came to in the middle of the assault, and scared, he rushed me down those stairs and tossed me out into the snow, where an acquaintance found me and helped me reach my residence, where the police were called.
I went through the whole experience: the questions, the rape kit, the humiliating call to my parents. The investigation turned up evidence that I had been where I said I was, and that witnesses could place my actions throughout the night, up to and including him getting caught by a staff member at the first location, but not much more than that. The rest of it would be my word against his.
At the preliminary hearing, I spent about four hours on the stand while his lawyer went into full attack mode, trying to get me to slip up (up the stairs, down the stairs, up the stairs, down the stairs...), but I didn't back down. There were several other witnesses to be called, but my testimony took so long to get through, court was adjourned without having heard from them.
The assailant changed his plea from 'not guilty' to 'guilty'.
At the end of the day, he knew he stood no chance. He'd bet on me not knowing or remembering enough to make a case. And he lost.
Rehtaeh wasn't as lucky. She didn't have a dedicated officer investigating her case, she didn't have a crown attorney who could be confident in moving forward, and worse still, she had actual photographic evidence and the bragging confessions of at least one of the assailants that was used to defile and hurt her among her peers and friends. In many ways, on the face of it, her case seems stronger than mine did. And she actually suffered for it. She did a brave thing by going to the police, as so many never do, and yet she was punished for it.
I wonder...if pictures had been involved in my assault, would I have been in her position? Would my friends and acquaintances have reacted the same way as her so-called friends and acquaintances? If I hadn't had the right legal and social supports, would I too have ended my life? We'll never know. In the end, I was strong because I had great support, not judgment, nastiness or victim-blaming.
If you want to be stupid and judge me for being that drunk, I suggest you hit the road, because the law is on the side of the victim: when he or she is that impaired, consent can no longer be given or assumed. I'm not to blame for being drunk. He's to blame for breaking the law and committing a felony assault.
Rehtaeh...
...I wish you were here.
I don't talk about this much, but I'm compelled to by the disgraceful "journalism" of the ever-obstinate Christie Blatchford. This awful woman used her column in the National Post to victim blame and cherry-pick the facts of the case Rehtaeh had tried to bring against the four boys who raped her, took pictures, and sent those pictures around their community of Cole Harbor, NS. Blatchford went all in, defending the boys and taking any and all opportunities to point the finger in the direction of Rehtaeh as being the perpetrator of an unprovable case. Her opinion piece is so offensive, I refuse to even link to it here--If you want to read that trash, you'll have to seek it out yourself.
Rehtaeh's father took the high road in his response to Blatchford; it's kinder in tone than I would produce, had this woman, who knew nothing about my daughter or her life, decided to play judge and jury on a case she didn't have the first clue about.
Blatchford accuses Rehtaeh of flirting, giving consent, not being drunk enough, and being foolish enough to be partially photographed with one of the four accused. She argues that there's no way this would stand up in court.
Well. She would be surprised what can actually stand up in a court room in a sexual assault case.
More than 16 years ago, I was sexually assaulted while being close to black-out drunk. The assailant fed me drinks all night as I lost track (at one point, my water was replaced with another drink somehow), and when I was good and blacking out, he separated me from my friends as closing time chaos ensued, and carried me to a couple of locations in the building to carry out the assault. I had no interest in sex with him, and he knew it. I wouldn't have consented, even if I wasn't so drunk that I could no longer legally give consent.
I said he had to carry me to a couple of locations--that's because he got caught at the first site. He was determined to have his way. I sort of could feel sensations, like being carried up some stairs, but then I'd black out before I could figure out what was going on. I came to in the middle of the assault, and scared, he rushed me down those stairs and tossed me out into the snow, where an acquaintance found me and helped me reach my residence, where the police were called.
I went through the whole experience: the questions, the rape kit, the humiliating call to my parents. The investigation turned up evidence that I had been where I said I was, and that witnesses could place my actions throughout the night, up to and including him getting caught by a staff member at the first location, but not much more than that. The rest of it would be my word against his.
At the preliminary hearing, I spent about four hours on the stand while his lawyer went into full attack mode, trying to get me to slip up (up the stairs, down the stairs, up the stairs, down the stairs...), but I didn't back down. There were several other witnesses to be called, but my testimony took so long to get through, court was adjourned without having heard from them.
The assailant changed his plea from 'not guilty' to 'guilty'.
At the end of the day, he knew he stood no chance. He'd bet on me not knowing or remembering enough to make a case. And he lost.
Rehtaeh wasn't as lucky. She didn't have a dedicated officer investigating her case, she didn't have a crown attorney who could be confident in moving forward, and worse still, she had actual photographic evidence and the bragging confessions of at least one of the assailants that was used to defile and hurt her among her peers and friends. In many ways, on the face of it, her case seems stronger than mine did. And she actually suffered for it. She did a brave thing by going to the police, as so many never do, and yet she was punished for it.
I wonder...if pictures had been involved in my assault, would I have been in her position? Would my friends and acquaintances have reacted the same way as her so-called friends and acquaintances? If I hadn't had the right legal and social supports, would I too have ended my life? We'll never know. In the end, I was strong because I had great support, not judgment, nastiness or victim-blaming.
If you want to be stupid and judge me for being that drunk, I suggest you hit the road, because the law is on the side of the victim: when he or she is that impaired, consent can no longer be given or assumed. I'm not to blame for being drunk. He's to blame for breaking the law and committing a felony assault.
Rehtaeh...
...I wish you were here.
Thursday, April 25, 2013
April 25/13
This morning, the news broke. Susan Griffiths has died a peaceful death.
Susan was an active Winnipeg senior, very lively and sociable, but she was diagnosed with Multiple Systems Atrophy recently, and it's virtually a sentence for a very slow, agonizing death. There's no cure, and no hope even of remission.
Susan would have just been another unfortunate story amongst her friends and family if she hadn't made the heartbreaking decision to leave her home before she wanted to and fly to Zurich in order to seek a legal assisted suicide. As she was leaving Canada, she spoke with the media, and suddenly this articulate, warm woman became the face of injustice in Canada. She would have preferred to die at home at a later time, when she felt that she was at her end, but she had to fly more than 7000 km while she could still travel, spend an extraordinary amount of money, and seek assistance in ending her life in a pain-free, dignified way while she was still able enough.
It's so barbaric to think of. And this government remains steadfast in the face of legal losses and a growing majority public opinion that it's time to change the laws and allow able-minded individuals the right to choose a dignified death: this obstinate government will not do it.
Please, if you believe that an individual should have the right to choose, contact your MP and urge them to make the right decision to support changing the law.
The right to a dignified death in Canada...
...Wish you were here.
Susan was an active Winnipeg senior, very lively and sociable, but she was diagnosed with Multiple Systems Atrophy recently, and it's virtually a sentence for a very slow, agonizing death. There's no cure, and no hope even of remission.
Susan would have just been another unfortunate story amongst her friends and family if she hadn't made the heartbreaking decision to leave her home before she wanted to and fly to Zurich in order to seek a legal assisted suicide. As she was leaving Canada, she spoke with the media, and suddenly this articulate, warm woman became the face of injustice in Canada. She would have preferred to die at home at a later time, when she felt that she was at her end, but she had to fly more than 7000 km while she could still travel, spend an extraordinary amount of money, and seek assistance in ending her life in a pain-free, dignified way while she was still able enough.
It's so barbaric to think of. And this government remains steadfast in the face of legal losses and a growing majority public opinion that it's time to change the laws and allow able-minded individuals the right to choose a dignified death: this obstinate government will not do it.
Please, if you believe that an individual should have the right to choose, contact your MP and urge them to make the right decision to support changing the law.
The right to a dignified death in Canada...
...Wish you were here.
Wednesday, April 24, 2013
April 24/13
Ah crap.
I had hoped that the Champions League Final this year would be a showdown between FC Barcalona and Real Madrid, but yesterday, Barca was eliminated by Bayern Munich, and today Real fell to Dortmund, thus setting up an all-German final. BOOOORRRRRRRIIIIIINNNGGG.
German football doesn't exactly thrill, if you know what I mean. It's technically excellent, but so bland. And I have to say, there's a serious lack of eye candy.
This year, I will be busy on May 25th.
Better luck next year, Real....
...Wish you were here.
I had hoped that the Champions League Final this year would be a showdown between FC Barcalona and Real Madrid, but yesterday, Barca was eliminated by Bayern Munich, and today Real fell to Dortmund, thus setting up an all-German final. BOOOORRRRRRRIIIIIINNNGGG.
German football doesn't exactly thrill, if you know what I mean. It's technically excellent, but so bland. And I have to say, there's a serious lack of eye candy.
This year, I will be busy on May 25th.
Better luck next year, Real....
...Wish you were here.
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