Holiday Tips and Tricks Redux

Gather ‘round, my frazzled festive friends, for my sort-of-annual word-to-the-wise guide to not-so-useful holiday tips and tricks.

As is usual at this time of year, those pithy bits of advice are everywhere – little nuggets of knowledge-y goodness that are so generously offered up, unsolicited, to all hopeless holidayers, in the interest of making life that much simpler and more quaint amid the merry madness.

What I love most about these ideas, which are intended to take the stress out of holiday preparations, is how utterly obvious most of them are, or how utterly out of left field, or how un-simple they are in the execution.

Herewith, a few strange seasonal suggestions that have passed under my gaze in the past few weeks.

First, on the subject of celebratory carousing: “Search for great wines under $10,” is the advice. The great thing about this is the word “search.” With just a few easy hours of internet digging, reading magazines, asking friends, and then making numerous experimental purchases until you finally hit on the one that you deem “great,” you can look forward to one evening of eventually sitting back and enjoying your cheap but tasty bottle of stress-free Christmas cheer. That’s made life easier, huh?

“If you’re making a personalized holiday gift basket, remember to customize it for the person who’s receiving it rather than yourself.” Seriously, this was an actual piece of advice. “This means considering what the recipient might need in terms of lifestyle as well as their hobbies and tastes,” advises our sage advisor. Apparently someone has written a whole book on this radical new concept in gift-giving.

“When your guests walk in, have them write a holiday haiku on an index card.” Excellent idea, especially for most of my guests who will have no clue what a haiku is. Here’s mine: “Welcome to my house! Sit down and shut the heck up. Write a haiku now.” Or maybe: “Good to see you, friend. Do you know what haiku is? If not, you can leave.” Or: “Don’t take those shoes off. Unless you think you can write. Haiku, no pressure.”

“Use an old baby-change table to create a wrapping nook.” Just one word: “Ew.” I can hear my nephew now. “Uh…Auntie Ang? Something seems a little off with those chocolate macaroons you stuffed in my stocking.”

“Glaze your ham in Dr. Pepper.” This bit of epicurean advice will be especially helpful if you never want to host any of your guests for dinner again. “No, I think we’re busy that night,” will be the reply to all future dinner invitations. “But we’re having roast beef glazed with Red Bull!” you’ll insist. “Gosh, is that the doorbell? Gotta run,” your guests will reply.

And finally – and this would probably not have occurred to you without seeing it in print first: “Have a glass of wine or eggnog, but don’t overdo it.” Without these words to the wise, you would almost certainly have “overdone it.” Now you’re safe. Happy holidaying.

Public Patsies in the Cable Propaganda War

Are you as sick as I am of all the so-called “Save local TV / Stop the TV tax” noise that’s being drilled at us repeatedly in television and newspaper ads?

Obviously, somebody’s got a lot of money at stake, because the rhetoric that’s flying from both sides of this debate is enough to make the head spin.

Both factions have reduced their arguments to pithy little catch-phrases, but you can be sure that there’s a whole lot more going on here than what these simple slogans would suggest.

The cable companies’ campaign is called “Stop the TV Tax”, while the broadcasters’ mantra is “Local TV Matters.”

The point of contention is that cable and satellite providers like BellAliant and Eastlink don’t have to pay Canadian broadcasters to distribute the TV programming that would otherwise go out via over-the-air signals (in other words, the TV stations that you could receive with just an antenna).

The broadcasters – which include CTV, Global, and CBC – are rather broadly referring to this as “local TV,” but I would suggest that there’s very little “local” content in those signals, since virtually all local TV stations are part of a network, and the networks’ schedules are heavily weighted with American or nationally-broadcast programming. Anyway, the networks’ argument is that it’s not fair for cable companies to profit from selling their programming without returning some revenue back to them.

But the cable companies say that if they have to pay for the signals, they will be “forced” to pass that cost on to the consumers.

It seems to me there’s a lot of misdirection going on from both sides here. First, the cable companies are throwing around the word “tax” pretty loosely - arguing that if they have to pay for signals that have previously been free to them, then any cost they choose to pass on to the consumer (as opposed to taking it out of their huge profits) amounts to a “tax.” What this really means is: “If we get dinged, you will pay.”

And the broadcasters are throwing around the word “local” as if their schedules are jam-packed with locally-produced content. Come on. We’re talking about news here (and perhaps the odd special), of which local news makes up, at most, a few hours a day on all of these stations’ schedules. Local news is extremely important, I totally grant that. But given the continual glutting of resources for local news production at CTV, CBC and Global, it’s clear that local content is not high on the networks’ priority lists. You and I are being used as pawns in an argument of semantics about who should foot the bill to keep these TV stations alive. Perhaps their slogan should be: “Desperately seeking a way to keep ourselves afloat.”

Both sides are seeking the public’s input at upcoming hearings before the CRTC, which they will then use as fodder to make their cases before the regulator. Surely the problems here are much more complicated than a simple “I support local TV” or “No TV Tax” vote can address.

This is a problem of an outdated business model, and a battle over who’s going to get their hands on the big bucks generated by the TV industry in Canada, and it should be up to the broadcasters, cable providers and regulators to sort it out. Manipulating the public into being patsies on both sides of this propaganda war simply isn’t appropriate.

No Pizza Night for the UnVaccinated

There appears to be no shortage of people (many of my friends and acquaintances included) who say they have no intention of getting the H1N1 flu vaccination this season.

This just makes me sigh and roll my eyes. You know, I can appreciate healthy skepticism. It’s kind of what I do for a living. But this whole business of refusing to get inoculated is just ill-informed, and based on some vague notion that “The Government” isn’t telling people everything they need to know.

That is, without question, “The Government” ’s fault, because, as a general rule, they don’t tell us everything we need to know.

Unfortunately, that long history of less-than-honesty means that a lot of people who could easily avoid getting sick are going to get sick. And if that just involved those other people, I’d be fine with it.

But I’m not worried about them. I’m worried about the people who can’t afford to be infected by the people who don’t think they need to protect themselves from the virus. People like – I’ll say it – me. Not everyone has cushy jobs with sick pay, you know.

So listen: I am putting this out there. There will be no dinner invitations to my house for friends who refuse to get immunized. It’s as simple as that. I’ll see you next spring, and you can let me know how your whole “influenza libertarian” strategy worked out for you.

In the meantime, I’ll try to explode a few myths for you:

1. “I think the “pandemic” is overblown and it’s not going to affect me.” The reality is that, unlike all the other flu viruses you’ve been in constant contact with over the years, this is a flu strain that most people under 65 have never been exposed to, so people in this age group have no innate immunity. The Public Health Agency of Canada predicts that without interventions like vaccines and antivirals, close to 25 to 35 per cent of the population could become ill.

2. “Even if I do get sick, I’m young and healthy, so no big deal.” A study released a few weeks ago by the Journal of the American Medical Association reported that, among those Canadian patients who ended up hospitalized with H1N1 (and these were predominantly young patients with few major health issues), critical illness occurred rapidly, with 81 percent of those studied going into shock and multi-organ failure. Those patients received mechanical ventilation for a median duration of 12 days.

3. “Because the vaccine is new, I don’t believe it’s safe.” The requirements for vaccines approved for sale in Canada are strict and every vaccine lot is safety-tested by Health Canada. We’re not living in Bora Bora, here. If it’s the adjuvant you’re worried about, the PHAC website points out that the use of an adjuvanted vaccine is not new. The adjuvant used in the H1N1 flu vaccine has been widely used in Europe in other vaccines for over 12 years. The dangers posed by this preventable influenza are much greater than the risk of a serious reaction to the vaccine – which is about one for every million shots administered.

So if you’re not worried about yourself, try to think about all the other people you might infect when you do get sick, and imagine the social impact that illness in one third of the population would have.
If you’re not part of the solution here, you’re part of the problem.

And there will be no pizza night at my house for you.

No No Rodeo

I’m not exactly a “radical” when it comes to issues of animal rights (I still eat them, after all), but I firmly believe that animals deserve to be treated with the same dignity and respect that we human animals owe one another.

That’s why I was surprised and a little dismayed when I saw that this year’s Maritime Fall Fair was going to include an “Extreme Rodeo Competition,” featuring bronc and bull riding, events where success is measured largely by a rider’s ability not to get kicked off a bucking beast. From where I sit, that looks like nothing more than a cruel display of empty macho mastery over unwilling animals who appear to be struggling or, at the very least, extremely unhappy.

But what do I know? I’ve only ridden a horse maybe twice in my life, and the only bull I’m familiar with is the type that issues regularly from the mouths of government PR hacks.

In search of someone who knows more about horses than I do, I looked up Dan Isner, owner of Isner Stables in Harrietsfield. His family has operated a working farm for over sixty years, and he put it to me this way: “You've almost got to grow up with animals to know (whether or not it’s cruel). It's hard to explain to outsiders. These animals don't work any more than five or ten minutes a year, and they are well taken care of. There are a lot worse places they could end up – like being shipped off for meat. They get a longer life this way.”

Perhaps that’s true, but it still feels to me like the whole ethos of rodeo is off-kilter. It may be that the way people feel about the issue reflects the urban/rural divide – a culture clash of sorts. But I also think there has to be more to it than that.

A few weeks ago, Scott Millar, chair of the Nova Scotia SPCA’s Advocacy Committee, wrote an impassioned letter to the Chronicle Herald, making the case that rodeos are dangerous and cruel, and citing the fact that three horses and a steer were killed at this year’s Calgary Stampede. Those horses had all been involved in chuckwagon racing, which, it’s worth noting, was not an event at the Maritime Fall Fair. But two of those horses died of heart attacks following the races, and one suffered a broken leg and was euthanized on the track in front of thousands of spectators. The steer was euthanized after it suffered a spinal injury while being wrestled to the ground.

“Perhaps the worst aspect of rodeos,” Millar wrote, “is that they are billed as family events. Children, most of whom have a natural affection for animals, learn at the rodeo that this is an acceptable way to treat them. I, for one, would prefer that my children learn respect and kindness for all living beings.”

I have to agree with that, and I don’t even have children. Besides, in what other spectator sport would it be considered acceptable to have the athletes die as a direct result of the competition? If football players were routinely dropping dead after a particularly spirited game, would we accept that as just an unfortunate consequence of the sport?

My gut says that this exercise in dominance isn’t sporting at all, because ultimately, displaying superiority over animals isn’t the way we should be gauging our success as a species, anyway.

No Hockey Heroes

This is going to tick a lot of people off, but I’m going to say it anyway: I’m sick of hearing Sidney Crosby referred to as a “hero.”

The straw that broke the camel’s back for me was the sight of a banner that was recently raised at the Halifax Stanfield International Airport, congratulating Sidney Crosby for his part in winning the Stanley Cup. The banner reads: “Congratulations, Sidney! Our Hometown Hero.”

Listen, I get that the guy is an extremely talented athlete. I get that he has worked really hard and achieved his dream, something not a lot of people ever have the skills or opportunity to do. I get that he’s a classy guy, very generous and giving of his time, especially with kids. He really seems to be an authentic and inspiring role model. And I admire and respect him for all those things.

But in my mind, a hero is someone who sacrifices him- or herself for others. Who puts his or her life on the line. Who performs selfless acts for the greater good. And as important as hockey is to many people, it’s not life and death, folks. So unless Sidney Crosby has rushed headlong into a burning building lately and stick-handled some sleepy smoker to safety, his many laudable achievements just don’t add up to “heroism,” in my eyes.

And I would suggest that this is a rule which could be applied to all so-called sports “heroes.”

I can almost feel the indignation directed toward me as I write this, knowing full well that sport in general, and hockey in particular, are sacred subjects to many Haligonians.

But don’t leap to conclusions. I’m not suggesting that being involved in sport doesn’t offer a great deal of social good. At risk of stating the obvious, sport is clearly a good way to learn leadership, confidence, and teamwork. Crosby’s a great example of that. Certainly, the lessons learned through sport have spurred many people on to become productive and involved citizens. My own grandfather was a multi-talented athlete – a baseball player, hockey player, boxer – and a marathoner who ran with Johnny Miles. My uncle was a skilled boxer, who won the Silver Gloves in 1948. Both great men, charitable, engaged and active citizens. Their many sporting achievements are admirable, for sure. But heroic? No.

My gut feeling is that when people start throwing the word “hero” around in reference to someone who’s particularly good at smacking a lump of cold rubber around with a stick, or someone who can run really fast or punch really hard, or who can hit a baseball really far, it just diminishes its impact when we apply it to the people who truly deserve it.

We can all be proud of “Sid the Kid” and his spectacular achievements, and I’m as pleased as anyone else that he’s a local boy who has made good in the big, bad world of professional sport.

But I’ll say it again – he’s not my hero.

The Dirtiest Dirt

I’ll tell you a little-known fact about myself: when I was a toddler, I used to eat dirt.

You know how most children like to make mud pies?

Well, I guess I took that concept to the next level.

On a fairly regular basis, I would sit at the end of our driveway, or wherever my mother had plunked me down, and just chow down – or so I’m told. No harm every came to me because of my filthy habit, although my mother was concerned enough to have me examined by a doctor, who more or less shrugged it off, speculating that perhaps I was “missing something” in my diet.

Apparently, there’s a medical term for this particular propensity, but back then I think the word most commonly applied to my behaviour was simply, “weird.”

I tell you all this disturbing and deeply personal information to make the point that, even today, in my mind there’s “dirt” and then there’s “dirt.” And a nice, sandy beach has usually represented, for me, the good kind of dirt. You know – relatively harmless and probably delicious. If, uh, I still did that sort of thing.

But the Halifax Regional Municipality’s harbour beaches are obviously a different story, and that’s what I really wanted to talk about – because throughout the summer, I’ve seen a number of people beachcombing in the sand at Black Rock Beach in Point Pleasant Park.

I’m going to assume that these people are tourists, and therefore ignorant of the sorry state of our fetid harbour. Maybe their sense of smell has somehow become disabled, and they’re just not able to pick up on the signals that this may not be the ideal beach for picking up a periwinkle to bring back for the grandchildren.

When I see these folks walking, sometimes barefoot, on the soiled sand, and leaning over to pick up something with – argh! – their bare hands, I’m always tempted to scream “No!!” and run dramatically over to them, knocking whatever bacteria-laden object they’ve just discovered from their now-contaminated hands.

I don’t, of course. But recent research suggests that maybe I should. A study published last month by the United States Geological Survey showed that concentrations of E. coli bacteria are often much higher in beach sand than in the nearby water. It also showed that if 1,000 people played with beach sand for just one minute and then ingested what was on their fingertips, 11 would develop gastrointestinal illness.

And that’s just on a normal beach. Surely any shoreline that touches the waters of Halifax Harbour is considerably worse. The problem is, there’s no signage warning folks not to pick up objects or let their kids play in the sand at Black Rock Beach. The only indication that there’s any issue at all is a single small sign suggesting that the water “may” have bacterial contamination.

That hardly seems fair to unsuspecting visitors. A warning regarding the risk of contact with that sand might go a long way toward preventing a few days in the sick bay for the many cruise-ship passengers who think they’re just enjoying an innocent stroll on the beach.

I know my dirt, after all, and Halifax beach sand is some really dirty dirt.

One Dog, Twelve Years, One Grand Total

Dog owners: I know there are millions of you out there.

But did you really know what you were getting into – financially – when you fell for those big puppy-dog eyes?

Have you ever added up what your dog has actually cost you in the course of his or her carefree, Frisbee-loving life? Well, I have.

The final number might shock you. But can you really put a price on love?

VET BILL is an animated history of my big, dumb Labrador Retriever – and the proof that she's loved: the grand total of all the money I've spent on her in the 12 years she’s been on this earth - so far.

You can watch Vet Bill on the website of the National Screen Institute Film Festival:

http://www.nsi-canada.ca/vet_bill.aspx

And, hear an audio interview with me:

http://www.nsi-canada.ca/audio_interview_with_angela_mombourquette.aspx

The grammar cop in me

Perhaps I, of all people, really have no right to position myself as any kind of “grammar cop,” especially given that my writing style could best be described as “chatty casual” or perhaps, “purposely plebian.”

Still, a few irritating words keep cropping up repeatedly on the local TV news, and they are really starting to get under my skin. (The words, not the news people. See how imperfect my command of English is, already?)

First of all, I’ve been following, with a certain amount of sadness and more than a bit of outrage, the inquiry into the death of Howard Hyde, the mentally ill man who died while in police custody after being repeatedly jolted with a Taser.

I’m not insensitive to the gravity of that case. But allow me to be superficial and point out that there’s something annoying about the coverage. Night after night, I keep hearing reporters refer to the fact that Mr. Hyde was repeatedly ‘tased.’

Here’s the thing. The noun “Taser” began as an acronym. According to the company’s website, the product’s inventor was supposedly a fan of a book called “Tom Swift and his Electric Rifle” and therefore, rather ridiculously in my opinion, chose to create the acronym “TASER” to name his invention. First of all, shouldn’t the name have become “TSAHER” if that story is even remotely true?

But besides that, my feeling is that it makes no sense to “verbify” the word, as if to say that a Taser is a “doer of tasing.” Unfortunately, that doofus who interrupted John Kerry’s speech a couple of years ago screamed “Don’t tase me, bro!” in such a hilariously melodramatic way that we were all forced to watch it repeatedly on YouTube. So really, I blame him for the ubiquitousness of the verb “tase” now.

Regrettably, there’s no clear right or wrong here. Canadian Press style appears to come down on the side of “Tasered.” But my online go-to grammar guru, Grammar Girl, actually comes down on the side of “tase.” We both think the parallel argument is the use of the word “laser,” (since it was originally an acronym as well) but both she and the Oxford English dictionary suggest it’s OK to use the verb “lase,” and I would argue that I would never go out and get my eyes “lased.”

I guess my other beef about the “Taser” thing is that there’s just no consistency. The same reporter will say “tased” and “Tasered” in the same report, seconds apart. Shouldn’t a reporter be obliged to at least pick one?

Ok, moving on...

I’ve also noticed an awful lot of TV news stories lately on the topic of “infastructure” (sic). I guess that’s like “infrastructure,” but maybe it’s for babies. Those little infants obviously do need their own roads, schools and prisons. Definitely, prisons. I mean, some of those babies are just so bad.

And my other little grammatical gripe is not for reporters, but for people who like to post comments about the news online. If you, dear poster, are suggesting that something just wasn’t done right, the phrase is “could have” or “would have” or “should have,” which can be shortened to “should’ve,” etc. Not “should of.” Not “could of.” Not “would of.”

It’s worth paying attention to, because if our infastructure included real grammar police, you might of got tased for that, bro.

Floatable Flushables

One day when I was about 11 years old, my mother and sister cornered me in my bedroom, handed me a little booklet, and said, “Read this.”

“If you have any questions,” said my mother, tossing her head back as she glided out of the room, “ask your sister.”

The booklet was entitled “You’re a Young Lady Now,” and in a few short minutes of reading I was transported from the innocence of youth to abject fear of what, it appeared, would be a rather troublesome and technically challenging womanhood.

Oh, I had questions. This was, of course, the ‘70s, and at that time, the products that were available for girls entering womanhood mostly involved a complicated system of straps, belts, hinges, hoists, and winches, all of which hinted at the possibility that hydraulic lifts and a healthy supply of duct tape might be involved in daintily maintaining one’s dignity.

The reason I bring up my personal trauma is this: one of the first things I learned, before I even really needed to know it, was that most of this stuff was not meant to be disposed of down the toilet. It was to be delicately wrapped, and gently placed into the nearest trash receptacle, in a most demure and ladylike way.

Clearly, this is a message that bears repeating. Especially here. And especially now. I mean, now that Haligonians know that the screens are off and the solids that are going down the drains are ending up directly in the harbour again – can we really complain about some of these “floatables,” when we’re the ones doing the flushing?

I really think it’s up to us to think a little harder about what’s appropriate, and what’s inappropriate to flush – whether our sewage is being “screened” or not.

But the products I’m trying to discreetly refer to – OK, sanitary napkins and tampon applicators – may just be the tip of the iceberg when it comes to inappropriate flushing habits, and not just in our little ‘burg.

A UK website devoted to raising awareness about “Sewage Related Debris” claims that “over half the population admitted to flushing items down the toilet instead of putting them in the bin last year.”

Whether the stats would be comparable over here, I can’t say, but I think it’s fair to use this British survey as an example. And the site does offer some interesting insight into people’s reasons for tossing their trash in the toilet. It says, “17% of people are embarrassed about putting things like sanitary products and condoms in a bin, hygiene was an issue for 47% of people, 22% are concerned about the smell of 'messy' items such as (diapers).” But interestingly, most said they don’t feel guilty about their flushing habits and just see it as a convenient way to dispose of difficult items.

Convenience now, floatables later. Some of those frequently-inappropriately-flushed items included: sanitary products (including backing strips), cigarette butts, cotton balls, facial cleansing wipes, band-aids, medicines, toilet paper tubes, and string.

Less frequent, but more bizarre, items included bandages, polystyrene, plastic cups, incontinence pads, fast food containers, razor blades, colostomy bags, cloth, rope, metal, foam/sponge, glass, and pieces of wood.

I would submit that all of those things are also inappropriate to flush into our delightful harbour, although part of me thinks that if people are flushing glass, wood, and rope and getting away with it, that’s kind of impressive. But the other part of me still wants to smack people like that upside the head.

But, no, I wouldn’t - because that that would obviously be terribly unladylike.

I Wrote a Fridge Magnet!

I wrote this slogan and sold it to an American company (Ephemera) that sells kitschy and sarcastic buttons, mugs and magnets.



Perhaps I should mention that I collect fridge magnets, so this is uber-exciting for me.

Also, that sarcasm, is uh, a strength of mine.

Good fit, that's all I'm saying.

Crotch-Rock Curmudgeon

A good friend of mine has taken to calling me a curmudgeon. I suppose I should be offended, but part of me takes some perverse pride in the label.

I looked it up. A curmudgeon is a “bad-tempered, difficult, cantankerous person.” Synonyms include “grouch”, “crank” and “sourpuss.” And I have to admit, every time some massive new “music event” is announced for this summer in the Maritimes, all those labels apply to me.

“Virgin Festival?” Bah. “Halifax Rocks?” Puh-lease. “Bon Jovi?” You’ve got to be kidding me. As I’m sure you know, some of the “big names” coming to Moncton and Halifax this summer include AC/DC, KISS, The Tragically Hip, and, of course, Sir Paul McCartney.

I guess my main complaint is that curmudgeons of my ilk are SO not into tired crotch rock. Also, we are not fans of kitschy makeup or boys with big hair. The “hair rule” alone means that we are not likely to be fans of any of the members of Kiss (wigs count), most of the boys in Bon Jovi, or that one dude in the Tragically Hip who still has his hair.

Also, curmudgeons like me are not big on dredging up the past. Can you say “so yesterday?” Age-wise, I guess I am the demographic that most of these shows are meant to appeal to (class of ’81, go Greyhounds), but I wasn’t even into these bands back when they were real bands, and not just novelty acts. It’s like a bad dream that KISS and AC/DC keep popping up as the world draws deeper into the new millennium. When will I be free of screaming boys who elevate tongue-wagging and cheesy guitar distortion to a high art? It’s truly grade ten all over again.

Okay, sure this McCartney fellow falls into a different category, and apparently he was once in some band that made girls scream a lot and occasionally faint (way before my time), but the curmudgeon in me feels the need to remind you that, since, oh, 1970 or so, he hasn’t really written a decent piece of music. Remember “Silly Love Songs?” I totally rest my case.

And it’s not just an aversion to re-living my ill-spent youth that will keep me away from all these shows. Simply on principle, we curmudgeons are not fans of large crowds. We are, after all, probably all control freaks, and big groups are notoriously hard to control. We like to have easy access to food and drink. And we are very fussy about our toilets. Curmudgeons do not like porta-potties. Lining up for hours only to suffer the filthy indignities left by the thousands who have gone before us qualifies for the list of “things curmudgeons enjoy less than a hot poker in the eye.”

And although we are not particularly athletic, curmudgeons still find it kind of painful to witness the mess that concerts on the Halifax Common leave behind. Must the fans’ love of the Beatles override their love of the baseball?

We’re picky, we curmudgeons. By definition, hard to please. Still, I think we could be placated if the promoters in this region would simply book some shows that had a bit of appeal to a more eclectic audience than just perpetual adolescents. Maybe they could even bring in some “new” music – you know, bands that have formed within the last decade – so the rest of us could enjoy a bit of music without having to be quite so crotchety all the time.

Twitter: My Office Water Cooler

For the past three nights in a row, I’ve been having Twitter dreams.

Seriously, in my sleep, I have been reading and sending “tweets” all night long. And the weird thing is, I have been waking up feeling really contented and happy.

In general, I’ve noticed that there’s something about Twitter that has me weirdly excited, and I haven’t been able to put my finger on it until now.

But I think it’s this: Twitter has become my personal “office culture.”

The thing is, I work alone, in a home office, and my only interactions all day long are with an ancient and gassy Labrador Retriever, and an equally old Maine Coon cat who occasionally wakes up just long enough to hork up a hairball and then fall contentedly back to sleep on the dog’s bed.

Sure, they’re a lot of fun, but I’m not ashamed to tell you: it gets pretty lonely here at times.

But now, thanks to Twitter, I’m feeling a lot less alone. All day long, I can eavesdrop on, and even take part in, conversations on just about any subject I’m interested in. And interestingly, the conversations don’t all have that trite “I’m doing my laundry” quality that Facebook status updates often have. In fact, there’s an unofficial culture among Twitterers that suggests tweets should be informative and heartfelt.

So instead of heading down to the cafeteria to chat with my co-workers about a cool video they saw on YouTube yesterday, I can hit the link that Rainn Wilson (who plays Dwight Schrute on “The Office”) sent me, and watch a clip of the most awesome trick-cyclist he’s ever seen.

And as you may have guessed, my new office friends are really interesting people – probably way more interesting than any actual people I might ever get to work with. Around the Twitter “water cooler”, I get direct access to what seems like privileged information right from the fingertips of celebrities. Ellen Degeneres tweets pictures of herself from backstage just before she goes out to do her show. Oprah tweets about how she’s enjoying her Sunday off. Martha Stewart tweets where she’s going to dinner and who she’s dining with (the other day she posted, “Dinner at the Resnick's was unbelievable - great guests: Arianna Huffington, Dustin Hoffman, Joel Silver and many others.”) First of all, who would have thought I’d be so interested in who Martha Stewart was having dinner with, and second of all, who were the fortunate “many others”?

But I am interested, and I’m totally excited when Martha tweets that she’s bored because she’s on hold with Jay Leno’s producer, or that Ryan Seacrest’s green room is actually gray. It’s just like the harmless office gossip about “So-and-So’s” new corner office… except that it’s famous people gossiping, and there’s no risk of getting caught spreading this gossip around. In fact, the spreading of these rumours, in the form of an “RT” or “Re-Tweet” is fully encouraged.

My office “clique” also includes people who work in the same profession that I do (freelance writing), people who live in the same city as I do (Halifax), and people who, oh yes – lead the country responsible for the world’s current economic woes. Yes, US President Barack Obama is on Twitter, and not only am I (and almost a million others) following him, but Barack Obama is also following ME. So who knows? Maybe he has checked out the tweets that link to my blog. Unlikely, I know; I guess he’s pretty busy and everything. Still, I have a direct connection to the President of the United States. Tell me you don’t think that’s totally cool.

And now that I have this little community of “co-workers”, I worry about them if I don’t hear from them in a while. Last week, for example, author Augusten Burroughs told us his boyfriend, Dennis, was angry at him for a late-night tweet to a doctor to get help when Dennis was sick. Then, four days passed with, well … not a tweet from Augusten. I sent him a personal note, lamenting his absence. Turns out he’d caught Dennis’ cold. I had been concerned – had the argument gotten out of hand? Was Dennis ticked off about how often (and how intimately) Augusten was tweeting? I felt a bit responsible, like you might with a cubicle-mate you’d goaded into standing up to her boyfriend’s obsessive calling. It’s not that you’re really friends, it’s just that you’ve listened to every personal encounter, and you kind of want to help. I wanted to be sure Augusten’s tweeting hadn’t gotten him into trouble. But no, he was more or less just on “sick leave” from the office.

Perhaps you’re wondering, with all this twittering, how am I actually getting any work done anymore? And you’d be right, it is a bit of a concern, especially now that there’s the TweetDeck – one big streaming screen full of tweets and Facebook status updates, in addition to columns listing any postings with the words “Halifax” or “Freelance Writing” in them. But I equate dealing with this challenge to working in an open-concept office. Sometimes you just have to tune out the conversations around you, and sometimes you need a break from work, so you join in.

Water cooler or no water cooler, at least I finally have someone besides the pets to talk to at work.

Twitter is the New Radio

It was about 4 o’clock on the last day of April. I had just spent two hours in virtual isolation with my hairdresser, chatting about vet bills and dating (her, not me) and, you know, hair. I came out feeling very good and looking very blonde, got into my car and cranked up the music, and drove off toward home.

When I got to the corner of Young and Agricola, I noticed a huge, dense cloud that appeared to be hanging over Quinpool Road. When I got to Young and Robie, I could see that this was clearly smoke from some kind of fire.

From where I was, it looked like something might have exploded. I thought back to my high school years in Saint John NB, when an Irving Station had blown up and actually moved the Reversing Falls Bridge several inches to one side. My inner pessimist was speculating wildly about what might have caused this massive smoke cloud.

I had no idea what was going on, or where, but clearly it was something big. I turned on the radio. Nothing. Halifax appeared to have exploded but CBC was running an item about the closing of a downtown candy store. All of the other stations programmed into my car radio were playing music.

But I knew where I could find out right away what had happened: Twitter.

Oh, I know there are plenty of you out there who just don’t “get” Twitter (including many of my “Facebook friends”). But let me put it to you this way: something happens - someone “tweets” information about what has happened. That’s how long it takes. Back in university, we used to talk about how radio was the medium with the advantage of immediacy. Those days are long gone.

So I came home and searched Twitter for “Halifax” and “Halifax fire” and I found out pretty quickly that the fire was in Spryfield. (Also, my sister-in-law had emailed me minutes earlier from her workplace on Herring Cove Road, saying, “As I look out my office window I can see the forest fire smoke billowing into the air!”)

Then I phoned my sister (who has a bird’s-eye view of most of the city from her apartment window) and she could identify right away that the fire was near York Redoubt. She even took pictures from her window and sent them to me so I could tweet them.

I guess my point is that, by the time most of the “conventional” media had figured out that something important was happening and had started getting the word out, I already had my answers.

So, while I’m not suggesting that everyone has to run out and embrace Twitter, I would suggest that it shouldn’t be dismissed it out of hand. And just as with any information medium, it’s important to separate the wheat from the chaff when it comes to reliable sources and accuracy. But the preconceived notion that Twitter is vacuous just because the posts are short is simply wrong. In fact, many posts link to websites that are brimming with good information.

Ultimately, regardless of how I got the information, it was distressing news, to say the least. It was frightening to watch the progress of the fire, and heartbreaking to hear the stories of those who lost their homes and belongings. My heart goes out to all of those folks, and my gratitude to all of the firefighters and volunteers.

Pulling the Plastic Bags Over Our Eyes

Let me be perfectly clear about this: diverting as many plastic bags as possible from our landfills is the right thing to do for the planet.

And as you certainly know by now, Atlantic Superstore grocery stores (owned by Loblaw Companies Ltd. of Ontario) have recently begun charging customers 5 cents (plus tax) for every plastic shopping bag they take from the store. The charge is part of a corporate initiative on the part of Loblaw to supposedly divert 1 billion shopping bags from landfills by the end of 2009.

But while I agree with the “stated” goal, I’m skeptical of the essential premise that shoppers taking home fewer plastic grocery bags will equal fewer plastic bags in the landfills. And I’m even more skeptical that charging for grocery bags has anything to do with environmental protection, given that the company has conveniently eliminated an operating cost and simultaneously created a brand-new income source in one fell swoop.

A Loblaw press release says that “partial proceeds” from the charge on plastic bags will go to conservation organization WWF-Canada. It goes on to say, “The remainder of the proceeds from the charge on plastic bags will be used to cover the cost of the Loblaw plastic shopping bag reduction program and invested back in the business in price and customer service.”

That glaring insult aside, the initiative appears to assume that because a grocery bag goes out the door of a retailer, it necessarily ends up in one of our landfills because customers are simply throwing them in the garbage. Plastic grocery bags are recyclable, aren’t they? I asked Inge van den Berg, VP of Public Affairs and Investor Relations for the Loblaw Company about this assumption. “There are unfortunately many that end up in landfills, with people not having the opportunity to recycle them. Therefore it is the goal to reduce the amount of plastic bags within circulation,” she told me, repeatedly. But does she have any figures which suggest what proportion of bags end up in landfills, or why? “I don't have any of that research handy,” she said.

So I called Jim Bauld, Manager of Solid Waste Resources for HRM and asked him what proportion of grocery bags is ending up in the landfill. “It's really tough to determine,” he admitted. “I know that annually through our curbside recycling program, newspapers, magazines, telephone books, and envelopes can all go in any plastic grocery bag, and we recycle about 400 tonnes a year of plastic bags through that program.” Bauld explained that all other plastic bags should be put into one bag, which should be tied and placed in your blue bag. Loose bags can gum up the sorting machinery, and dirty bags can’t be recovered.

So the big question in my mind is, “Why are plastic grocery bags ending up in landfills at all?” Since the Loblaw Company is unable to explain this, my theory is that a large proportion are simply bags that have been used for kitchen garbage – in which case they’ll only be replaced by other plastic bags manufactured specifically for garbage – with a potentially larger environmental impact.

I would suggest that the best way to keep plastic bags stay out of the landfills is to ensure that they get recycled, and I would also suggest that if the Loblaw company truly cared about the environment, they would have put more effort into communicating that fact to their customers in the first place. We may end up with fewer grocery bags with one of their logos on it in the landfill, but I doubt we’ll end up with fewer plastic bags overall.

Finding Humour in the Harbour

I’m trying hard to find some humour in, or at least an upside to, the ongoing failure of the Halifax “Harbour Solutions” project.

It’s not easy, especially after you separate out all the obvious toilet humour.

“Separate out.” I kill me.

Anyway, there must be somebody who’s happy that the majority of Halifax’s solid waste is once again flowing directly into the bowl of our primary tourist attraction.

Gulls, for example. The seagulls of HRM must be ecstatic that they can once again simply plop themselves in the middle of a nice warm outflow and dine like royalty. There must have been slim pickin’s out there for a while, but now – situation normal, all fouled up. Literally.

Maybe there are some business opportunities to be found in our city’s failure to keep the system working properly. We could publish a guide for other waterside municipalities: “How Not to Build and Operate a Municipal Waste Treatment Facility.” We don’t even have to figure out what caused the failure, we just have to show them how our system was designed and put a big red circle with a line through it on the instructions. Very educational, and a service to others.

People who clean the hulls of boats for a living must be quite pleased. No doubt there will be lots of extra business being funneled their way now, if there are any boat owners who can actually bear the thought of once again floating their massive investment through the murky headwaters of Halifax harbour. (I know “headwaters” actually refer to rivers, but honestly, I just could not resist the pun. Purists, forgive me.)

And I suppose one upside is that it will be really easy to find a choice spot to lay your blanket at Black Rock Beach or the Dingle this summer. No jockeying for the best location near the shore! No municipal officials kicking sand in your face as they sprint anxiously from the chilly water. Just the sun and the sand and a bottle of bleach on standby for the laundry later.

I was also thinking that perhaps folks in the tourist trade could learn to embrace the sorry state of the water and exploit it in some way. And I may have just the thing: a sweet little story I found on Slate.com. Apparently, back in 2004, heavy rains had overloaded a sewage treatment operation near London, England, and excess sludge was allowed to flow directly into the Thames. (Hey, this sounds kinda familiar…) One rower was so shocked after rowing his shell through the disgusting brown “soup” that he went on to organize something he called the “Thames Turd Race,” where rowers sporting gas masks competed in towing giant inflatable feces up and down the river.

I think this is something that Halifax could definitely get behind. We could call it “The Chebucto Head Feculence Float,” or “The Halifax Regional Runoff Regatta,” – something to that effect. Our tourism catch-phrase could be “More Fun with Every Flush!” and prizes could include a year’s supply of hand sanitizer and a renewable prescription for amoxicillin.

Back me up here. Perhaps this forward-flowing approach is just what we need to get us over our embarrassment issues, so we can finally feel regular again.

What Not to Do When Google Street View is Around

You can run, but you can’t hide from the Google Street View camera.

Well, actually, you probably CAN hide, if you see it coming soon enough, but that means you’ll miss your chance to be immortalized forever as a prototypical citizen of this fabulous metropolis.

Google Street View is a feature of Google Maps and Google Earth which offers street-level panoramic photographic views of city streets all over the world. The views are usually shot from a rather bizarrely-mounted multi-lensed camera which sits on the roof of a rather nondescript car. That car then drives around selected cities taking point-of view pictures of the streets - and whoever happens to be on those streets at that moment.

And it’s been out capturing the streets of Halifax lately. A friend of mine spotted it on Quinpool road the other day. That means there’s a pretty good chance that the camera spotted him, too. Fortunately, he wasn’t doing anything immoral or illegal, so he was, in fact, quite tickled that folks in Upper East Estonia might soon be seeing an image of him walking into his favourite diner for breakfast.

But of course, there are legitimate privacy concerns raised by this technology and its permission-less application. There are serious reasons that you may not want your image randomly captured and posted online. To counter those objections, officials from Google have promised that Canadian faces and licence plates will be blurred. That’s probably a good idea, because the camera has already notoriously captured awkward situations in other cities such as people entering or leaving “adult” stores, people urinating or vomiting in public and even one fellow apparently in the midst of committing a break-in.

But I bet there are plenty of more trivial moments when one might not want the ol’ Google Camera to be following them around town, either. Perhaps if you are one of the following people, you should take note. For example: if you are in the midst of an extramarital affair, and occasionally enjoy an indiscreet stroll down Spring Garden Road, arm-in-arm with your lover. Now is perhaps not the best time for this, which, I might add, is generally not the greatest idea, anyway. You think your spouse wouldn’t recognize your cheating butt just because they blur your face a little? This is one time when the cliché, “get a room” might really be a good idea.

Or maybe you’re not looking your best lately - you’ve gained a little weight over the winter, or you haven’t touched up those graying roots in a few weeks. Perhaps you’re in desperate need of a good pedicure. At any rate, you might want to get right on those personal maintenance issues, unless you plan to stay confined to the indoor malls for a few weeks. They may blur faces, but nasty toenails are forever.

Also, if you’re playing hooky from work, you may want to invest in a hat and some dark glasses. Ditto if you’re a closet smoker, chronic nose-picker, or if you haven’t told your spouse you got laid off from work and have been spending your days sadly scouring the want-ads as you wander the lonely streets until you can “clock out” at 5.

On the upside, if you do get caught, uh, with your pants down, you can request that your image be removed from the site. But until we know that the Google car is gone, I think it’s best to be a little extra discreet – and remember that your mother probably knows how to use Google, too.

The Death of the Turn Signal

I am officially declaring it: the turn signal, as we know it, is dead.

I’ve been witnessing its slow decline in Halifax over the past several years, and I think it’s now safe to say that consistent use of car blinkers when turning has transitioned from palliative to terminal.

I mean, why would anyone use one anyway? It’s completely for the benefit of others. It doesn’t do you any good if you’re driving – you know you’re turning. And, really, who cares about making sure other people know why you’ve stopped dead in the middle of the road?

I see this epidemic of failure to signal when driving as emblematic of a deeper social ill. It’s hugely symbolic of our growing social isolation and our increasing lack of empathy for our fellow human beings.

Or maybe there are just more crappy drivers out there – I don’t really know. What am I, a sociologist?

My personal theory about what’s happening is that certain models of cars are now being manufactured without blinkers. Jettas, in particular, don’t seem to have them at all. But perhaps that’s just an issue of driver demographics.

Alright, so it’s time to offer solutions. Just complaining about it probably isn’t going to solve the problem, so I’ve taken to the interweb for help.

I’ve found a website called useyourblinker.com, which is simply a single page that says nothing but, “Use your blinker. It’s free. Bee-Otch.” Instructive, but not particularly helpful, I guess.

Coolpeoplecare.org (“Saving the world, 5 minutes at a time”) has lots to say about signaling. “From time to time,” the website chirps cheerfully, “we like to remind folks of the regular things they can do that make everyone happy. …It's time to add your blinker to that list. For some of you, it may be the least-used part of your vehicle. You can change that by employing its signaling features whenever you want to turn or change lanes. Make sure you don't pull the trigger too soon, and always turn it off once you turn. Feel free to send this along to a friend who you know could use a reminder.”

There, how proactive is that? You can use your turn signal as a way to make people happy and to spread peace and joy throughout the universe. Wow.

But my favourite signaling site is ehow.com, which lists a full set of instructions called “How to use your turn signal.” The complex instructions are, as follows: “(1) Locate the lever on the left side of the steering column. (2) Push down to turn left. (3) To signal a right turn, push the lever up. (4) Once you have moved the lever up or down, an arrow light will begin blinking on the dashboard. (5) The signal will automatically turn off after you have made the turn, in most cases, but if it doesn't, move the lever back to its central, neutral position.”

For real! Consider yourself informed.

And now that there’s no question about it’s proper operation, perhaps we can all resurrect the humble turn signal from its resting place on the great dashboard in the sky.
Blink on, my newly-educated friends. Blink on.

Emergency Preparation in Case of Alien Invasion

Every once in a while, when I was a kid, my father used to walk the family through whatever house we were living in at the time, and talk about how we would get out in case of a fire. He showed us which windows had screens and which had none, and he’d make sure we could open the windows all the way and climb out. I think we were supposed to tie sheets together or something to get down from the second floor.

When we eventually moved into a bungalow, jumping out a window became less of a big deal, from a “distance to the ground” point of view. From a “your house appears to be burning to the ground” point of view, yes, I suppose, that would still have been a fairly big deal.

My father, you may have guessed, was in the military, and he was a Libra, so making plans for unpredictable eventualities came quite naturally to him.

And I am my father’s daughter. I don’t like being caught unprepared, and I know from experience that, sometimes, uh, stuff happens. I have my crank radio and my battery-powered lantern and my cans of beans in the basement. You know, in case there’s a snowstorm or a hurricane or (as is sadly true in most of Nova Scotia) a teensy bit of wind, and the power goes out.

But, apparently, I am woefully under-prepared. Perhaps you’ve seen the PSAs on TV: A fully geared-up firefighter enters a darkened home and nods grimly to the frightened group within. “Will you be ready to take care of your family for 72 hours in an emergency?” the voice of the Government of Canada intones. Apparently I will not, judging by the Emergency Preparedness Guide I immediately ran and printed off (at getprepared.gc.ca) after seeing that commercial.

It’s not that my preparations aren’t good, it’s that they’re not nearly enough, and they’re not for the right things. Public Safety Canada advises that in Nova Scotia, citizens are supposed to be prepared for floods, hazardous material spills, hurricanes, infectious disease outbreaks, landslides, power outages, storm surges, tsunamis and wildfires.

I think they also meant to put “alien invasions” on the list, because, apart from the usual preparations – which they suggest you keep in a wheeled suitcase in a closet by the door – they “recommend” that you pack a few extras: a change of clothing and a sleeping bag for each family member; garbage bags and toilet paper for personal sanitation; safety gloves; basic tools, such as a hammer, pliers, wrench, screwdrivers, and fasteners; a small cooking stove and fuel; and, disturbingly, duct tape “to tape up windows, doors, air vents, etc.”

Now, I don’t know how you feel about all this, but I’ve read “The Road” by Cormac McCarthy, and seriously, if the situation is that bad, I hope to get blown up or swept away or sucked into the spaceship with everybody else. I don’t want to be the last one left wandering the blackened planet with my shopping cart, looking for unspoiled tins of tuna and loaded pistols.

But, hey, just in case that nightmare scenario does come to pass, the Emergency Preparedness Guide has kindly provided me with several convenient “non-perishable food recipe ideas.” After all, who wouldn’t be craving something sweet once the immediate crisis is over? With no irony whatsoever, the guide’s Peanut Butter Balls recipe cheerfully advises, “This recipe can easily be doubled if you are feeding a crowd.”

Or fending off cannibals. I guess it’s up to you what you use them for. Just remember to make enough to last 72 hours. That’s when help from the Government of Canada will officially arrive.

Official Signs of Spring

The calendar on my desk says it’s officially Spring.

Outside my window, on the other hand, it’s snowing. In a lovely, Christmassy kind of way.

Not that there’s anything wrong with that. But yesterday (not today’s yesterday, but the day before I wrote this, which are two entirely different “yesterdays”) - yesterday, it was 10 degrees out. And sunny. And you, I, and everyone else who ventured outdoors on that day were certain that Spring had finally, truly, Sprung.

Everywhere I looked, I saw the Official Signs of Spring.

First of all, there were the “shorts” sightings. I don’t know who you people are who keep your short pants handy all winter long, so that the moment the sky clears and the sun peeks out just a wee bit, you can whip them on and head jauntily out the door, regardless of the actual air temperature – but there are a lot of you out there.

Have your calves simply been withering, all pent-up in long pants and confined in high boots for so long? Have you been dying to air those ashen legs out, dust them off, give them that little bit of freedom they have been so desperately craving since August? Perhaps we should keep in mind that this was the first nice-ish day in, oh, four months of sub-zero temperatures and miserable weather. So yeah, relatively-speaking it was warm out. Relative to Tuktoyaktuk.

Hand-in-hand (or, I guess, foot-in-foot) with the short pants went the flip-flops. Flip-flops! In the month of March, in Canada. I applaud your optimism, and, again, the wealth of storage space which allows you to keep your flip-flops at the ready position near the front door, poised for a frisky frolic on the first day the temperature rises above freezing. “Socks are for wimps,” you assert, regardless of the several centimeters of slush that persist just a flop away from where you’re flipping. “Bare feet are cool,” scream your naked toes. Yes, you’ve got that right, my chilly friends.

But the flip-floppers were not the bravest of all on this particular day. No. On this day in March, while it was still, I remind you, Winter, I saw a runner in shorts and sneakers and …uh…nothing else. This runner was a man, but still, I was shocked to see his bare nipples all over the path where I was about to walk my dog. Seriously, bare man-chest is something you don’t necessarily want to see even on the sweatiest of days (or, perhaps, particularly on the sweatiest of days). I had to adjust my reality-meter as I shivered and zipped up my fleece hoodie.

Perhaps he was simply concerned with aerodynamics and didn’t want to create drag with a bunch of unnecessary fabric. Perhaps he had chafing issues. Perhaps he was just extremely proud of his pasty pecs. Whatever his reasons, I wasn’t able to eat lunch for several hours.

And on this, the first sunny day in months, I also witnessed: four Chihuahuas in the park (I believe they keep this model of dog indoors all winter, for the same reasons you keep your Miata in the garage: low suspension and susceptibility to internal freezing), several hot dog vendors, and, oh yes, potholes on Bell Road big enough to lose a Miata filled with Chihuahuas in. More proof that Spring had actually arrived in Halifax.

Not that I’m complaining. The potholes, I guess, are inevitable, and I’m in awe of the early-adopters. And it’s understandable that we might jump the gun a bit when we see the sun in Halifax. Heaven knows, it could be September before we see it again.

Conversion Confusion

To hear my mother-in-law tell it, there’s an awful lot of confusion over at the seniors' residence about the analog-to-digital TV conversion that’s under way now in the U.S. “You should write a column about that,” Marguerite instructed me, “because nobody here seems to understand what’s going on.”

So this one’s for the seniors, and for anybody else who’s confused about the issue. Because to be honest, it is pretty confusing.

The cause of all the confusion is the fact that Canadian and American broadcasters are working toward changing the nature of the TV signals they transmit – from analog to digital. The upshot of that is that some people – particularly those who don’t have cable or sattelite and who receive their TV channels via an antenna – eventually won’t be able to get the new signals unless they buy a digital converter box.

But the first thing you need to know is that we Canadians need not panic. The changeover has already begun in the USA and will be complete there by June 12th of this year. But unless you are receiving U.S. stations over an antenna (which is unlikely unless you live close to the U.S. border), you will not be affected by those changes. And if you have cable or a sattelite service, you should see no change, even when the transition in the U.S. is complete. So, Northwood residents and anyone else who’s concerned – no worries. You won’t notice any change in your American programming at all.

Canadian broadcasters have a completely separate deadline of August 31, 2011 to make the digital transition, and in this case, there’s a greater chance that it could affect you. Again, if you have cable or receive a sattelite service, you won’t be affected by any of these changes.

But if you don’t, you’ll need to figure out whether your TV set has an analog or a digital tuner. The tuner is essentially the part of your TV that receives the signals. Figuring this out could be a bit tricky, but you can begin by checking your owner’s manual. Better yet, go to a website called dtvtransition.org. That site (even though it’s American) has a really convenient list of most TV models that have digital tuners. If your TV set is a bit older, there’s a pretty good chance that it’s analog, and it won’t be on the list.

So here is the only scenario in which you might be affected by the transition: if you’ve determined that your TV set has an analog tuner, and you’re using an antenna to receive your TV channels, you will eventually have to buy a converter box when the Canadian deadline kicks in. That’s it. You won’t need a new TV, you’ll just attach this box to your set, and off you go. Already the local electronics stores are stocking them, and they run about $80.

And if it turns out that your set has a digital tuner, and you get your TV signals over an antenna, you will continue to receive the channels you’ve always received, even after the Canadian transition.

Clear as mud? Any confusion is completely understandable, whether you live in Northwood or Goodwood, Melville or Beechville. But hopefully this will help clear things up a bit, so we can all focus on the real issue: whether there’s actually anything worth watching on television in the first place.

No God on this Bus

Against my own better judgment, I can’t keep myself from wading in to this debate. I mean, who could stop themselves? It involves buses, and we all have an opinion about buses. And advertising – people feel really strongly about advertising. Oh, and, I guess, there’s one other wee factor in this discussion.

“There’s probably no God. Now stop worrying and enjoy your life.”

Oh, right.

It’s pretty hard to raise questions about the existence of God without creating controversy, but a group called the Freethought Association of Canada is diving headlong into these waters by implementing a nationwide transit advertising campaign that states directly: “You can be good without God.” (There’s also a second group, the Humanist Association of Canada, which is waging a similar campaign.)

According to the website atheistbus.ca, the Canadian Atheist Bus Campaign was modeled on a campaign which began in the UK, and which had its Canadian launch recently in Toronto.

The atheistbus website says the campaign was created as “a rebuttal to the multitude of religious advertisements on city buses, subways, and roadsides,” and that “there is currently a terrible lack of dialogue between people of faith, and those of non-faith. …We want to open up communication between faith communities and secular organizations. Only through these discussions will we come to know one another better.”

Proactively, the United Church of Canada has responded with a counter campaign which states, “There's probably a God. Now stop worrying and enjoy your life.” There’s even a poll on the church’s wondercafe.ca site where folks can vote for either side of the argument. When I last checked, votes were 71% on the “no God” side.

The Freethought Association’s plan was to bring their campaign to other Canadian cities, including Halifax.

But in an interview with the Chronicle Herald last week, a Metro Transit spokeswoman said they have rejected the ads on the grounds that they are too “controversial” and could “upset a number of people.”

I get upset when I see ads for Hummers and fad diet products and the Conservative Party, but nobody appears to be prepared to pull those just to prevent offending me. Should Metro Transit and their advertising agency be the arbiters of free speech in Halifax? The atheistbus website suggests that Halifax and the Vatican are “the only two organizations in the western world still in the dark ages when it comes to allowing non-believers the right to free speech in public spaces. That’s quite an accomplishment!”

When it comes to the existence of God, we have to agree that there’s simply no single thing to agree on. A quick wiki search yields a list of worldwide religions and spiritual traditions that’s over sixteen pages long, including everything from Bábism to Restorationism to Gnosticism to Sufism to Hindu Revivialism. Clearly, everyone has a right to his or her own beliefs, and informed debate can only be good.

Besides, the campaign doesn’t appear to be mean-spirited in intent. Wouldn’t those upset by the ads be more justified if the posters suggested “There’s probably no God. Now go out there and wreck everything”?

Surely Haligonans of all faiths (and lack thereof) are sophisticated enough to acknowlege that there’s room for free, open discussion on this subject, and that we need not be protected from a controversial slogan simply because Metro Transit and their ad agency fear raising the question.

Dropped by his Doctor

If you’re lucky enough to have been in good health for a while, you may want to check in with your family doctor after you hear Wayne Perrin’s tale.

Perrin admits that he’s always been a “typical guy” who doesn’t like to run to the doctor for every little thing. “If I get a cold, I go get some medication, and it goes away in a few days. If I get a sore shoulder, I take a pill and it goes away. But when it's something I know I can't handle, I go see the doctor. And I always thought that was what they were there for.”

So did I. But back in late October, the 57-year-old began to have some health problems that he knew were serious enough to warrant a trip to his family physician. He called the office of the practitioner who had been his G.P. for over a decade.

“The receptionist looked at my file and said, ‘Gee, you haven't been here in quite a while,’” he told me. “According to their records, it had been almost six years since I went to see her last. And I said, ‘Well, lucky me, I haven't been sick in almost six years!”

The receptionist gave Perrin an appointment for a Monday, a little over two weeks later.

On the Friday before that appointment, he came home to find a message on his answering machine that left him stunned. “The message said, ‘The doctor has decided that, where you haven't been in to see her in quite a while, there's no room for you in her practice anymore. So she won't be able to honor your appointment.’”

Perrin says he was completely taken aback. “I thought that was absolutely disgraceful,” he says. “I didn't understand it. I was never a bad patient. I was just there when I needed to go. They always tell you, ‘Don't be running back and forth to the doctor and the hospital over every little thing.’ Well, I don't. And look where it's gotten me.”

Where it got him was scrambling to get care for his worsening illness through a local clinic, which left him feeling just as poorly. Finally, after weeks of medications and two trips to the emergency room, Perrin was admitted to hospital for minor surgery.

I can’t give you Perrin’s doctor’s side of the story because she declined to speak with me.
And Capital Health Spokesperson Peter Graham told me that there is no official policy regarding the appropriate way to terminate a relationship between physician and patient. He said it’s up to physicians to be guided by their professional code, as provided by the College of Physicians and Surgeons of Nova Scotia

That voluntary code – the Canadian Medical Association Code of Ethics – specifies that physicians should “continue to provide services until they are no longer required or wanted; until another suitable physician has assumed responsibility for the patient; or until the patient has been given reasonable notice that you intend to terminate the relationship.”

Perrin feels that those guidelines were not followed in his case. “I never told her I didn't want to have her as my doctor. She never sent me notice saying we don't have any room for you and we're going to have to terminate. And I never had another doctor.”

It’s a cautionary tale, at the least. Should we be making up excuses to visit the doctor? Because really, the last thing anyone wants is to be turned away when they finally do need their doctor’s help.

HaliFacebook

Facebook has its “LVRs” and its “h8ters,” and I guess you would have to count me as one of the lovers. I confess that I use it to keep up with (and, occasionally, spy on) my friends and acquaintances. I’m not above updating my status from “Ang is bummed that it’s raining” to “Ang is trying to get ahead of her deadlines” on an almost daily basis.

And, clearly, I’m not the only Haligonian who’s into it. Aside from all the individual profiles, a quick scan of the “groups” list reveals that there are over 500 Facebook groups with a Halifax connection. These groups are places where people with common interests can get together and LOL to their hearts’ content.

Perhaps not surprisingly, oddities and niche interests abound. Check out this sampling of groups you can join if you’re seeking like-minded souls in Halifax.

There are several groups devoted to the quirks and joys of living here, my favourite being “Satan's Ploy: the new Roundabout in Halifax.” There is also a place for those who fondly recall a tire that used to hang mysteriously from the highest limbs of a tree at the side of Highway 102, called “for the tire in the tree.” To quote the group’s creator, “the tire was a good tire but some idotes (sic) took it out.” Amen, brother.

There are lots of food-related groups, from “donairs of Halifax”, to “rubber-band-wearing-no more fast food eater people”, to “so what if I’m a vegan, your mom is still ugly.” The constant lack of donairs and other fast food is probably making some of these last folks cranky.

Local restaurant-loyalty groups are numerous. I personally enjoy “to me, look ho ho has it’s (sic) own food group.” The site’s creators proudly proclaim “Look Ho Ho has the BEST china (sic) food ever!!!!!” Tellingly, this group is categorized under “Religion and Spirituality.”

Again, not surprisingly, Halifax is host to many groups dedicated to honoring members’ tendencies to overindulge in alcohol. There is “ohhhh look at me I’m drunk again!!!” (198 members), “I don’t drink to socialize, I drink to get drunk” (61 members), “Former Underage Commons Drinkers” (47 members), and “FADDTM (Friends Against Drunk Dialing, Texting and Messaging)” (87 members). There’s also “Beer” (Description: “Beer is good.”), and “I love Beer!!” There are actually two different local groups called “I love beer,” the difference being the number of exclamation points they employ to express their love.

And there are random groups like “people who want animals and there (sic) parents wont (sic) let them”, “I work in an office and I steal food out of people's desks....”, the “black eyeliner appreciation club”, and, alarmingly, “sex in point pleasant park” for – you guessed it – people who like to do the nasty in an area which, I would suggest, holds a significant risk of standing, sitting, kneeling or otherwise frolicking in dog doody. Perhaps these same folks also belong to “I secretly adore the smell of the Halifax Harbour.”

I’m considering joining the “Halifax Association of Classy karaoke Singers”, and, if it weren’t already closed, I might have joined “Word Hearders (sic) and Button Monkeys .....Halifax Journalists”. Unfortunately, I think they meant “herders,” so, actually, I guess I probably wouldn’t have joined, especially since I am already a member of “I judge you when you use poor grammar.”
This is just the tip of the iceberg! Who says it’s hard to meet people you have something in common with? And if you’re not into any of these, feel free to join the other 41 members of the “Stop it with the groups. group” group.