Thursday, December 09, 2010

The Price of Being CyberSocial

Sigh. I truly despise drama and being around those who swarm in it. I usually have my crazy shields up but was caught off guard today. I made a simple request of a friend who had sent out a mass email to her friends of some silly slide show of kittens. I asked her not to forward me stuff like this, and that she should be using the bcc field instead. If you just send things out using cc field or to: everyone you send the email to gets your friend's email addresses. Simple thing. Not too much to expect and I was quite gracious about asking her, and told her I welcomed any personal emails she wished to send about how things were going with her new business, and so on. Venom came back in a barrage of spitey emails. Silly childish things meant only to lash out. Wow, all that effort because I asked you not to send me junk. I replied to her a couple of times asking her to stop contacting me and finally had tell her to dial down the crazy or I was going to report her for harassment. More messages, but I have chosen to ignore them. I'm done. She hurled the final childish insult - I'm going to give your Christmas present to someone else this year! Honestly. Did you really say that at your age? Strange because she had never sent me a gift in all the years I've known her.

I have asked this of dozens of my friends over the years and as far as I know, no one took it this personal. I'm sorry, but I just don't want another email full of headers that others were too lazy to remove, to look at some sickeningly sweet photos of kittens and puppies that have all been sent around the internet for about 10 years or more now. I don't want a slideshow of puppies. I don't want to send an email out to 20 of my friends so I can receive good wishes from some slimy toad or the princess of ponyland. I'm not 12 years old. I have underwear older than that. Give me a break. We're all adults here and this friend is a university graduate from nearly a decade ago, and old enough to know better. Simple email etiquette is to protect your friend's privacy by using the BCC field. This is not new. Unless everyone you are sending the message to already knows ALL of the people you have included in your mass email message, you should never share someone else's email address this way. It is a huge breach of trust, and any professional agency I have ever worked for had it spelled out in their email etiquette portion of orientation.

Her defense was that I seem to be okay with posting every detail of my life on Facebook, so why should I be upset about her sharing my email address. Wrong answer. I do not share my email address or phone number on Facebook. If you really knew me, you would know that. Not to mention I am related to over half o the 300 people on my friend list. Big family. So sue me. But I still don't give them all my email address. I want to know why you need it first.

It is difficult maneuvering through the social network generation. While I enjoy keeping in touch with the friends and family I connect with along my travels, it does come at a price - a loss of privacy and control over your information through social networking. Her price today was I deleted her from my friend list. I can control that. I also blocked her email. I left 8th grade drama in 8th grade. Grow up already. It was a simple request that turned you into a raving lunatic that I had to delete. Sheesh.

Want some cheese with that whine?

Friday, November 26, 2010

And Then...

Warning - offensive language...read on if you like, but don't come crying to me because you don't like me using the f-bomb.


I called Toshiba. I bought a new Toshiba laptop earlier this year and for some weird reason, my keys switch from working to not working. Let me rephrase that - it goes from letting me type some characters to only letting me type other characters. I have a multilingual keyboard (didn't really notice it and no one thought to point that out when I bought it). The keys have 5 or so different characters, and I don't know how to access them. Today it was the question mark and apostrophe. All of a sudden, I couldn't get them to work. All I would get was French letters, or characters I didn't want. So I thought, let's call Toshiba and see who can piss me off there. It didn't take long. All I wanted was to find some document or help page that explained how to use the multi-lingual keyboard. He tried to get me to find the manual on my computer. I told him it wasn't there. I had already been through THAT before. We searched anyhow, using "user manual" as the search terms as directed. It came up with about 1400 files...none of which were user manual. So how did it come up with so many things there were clearly NOT user manual. 497 of them were my photos! WTF? So then he tried to reason that it found a bunch of web pages I had visited that might have those words on the page. Um, no. You fucking idiot. They are photos. My photos. I just told you that. The words are not in the title and certainly not found cryptically within a photo of a tree...we finally determined that it brought those things up because they were in the "user" file. Sounds stupid enough to be right. 


Okay, so then he went to check online for the manual. He found it, I did not. I asked him to point me to it. He ignored this request several times. I wanted to look with him, in case he did really find something about my keyboard in there. Then he tried to explain to me that it was not actually in the manual. Okay, where can I look then? So he starts rambling on about some shit that I have no idea what he means by it, and when I tell him this, he says nothing at first, and then starts in again on the manual, wanting me to download a copy. Why? It won't fix my problem, we have already determined this. I explained to him again, I just want some sort of guide to my physical computer. How is it that I can spend over a thousand bucks on a computer that does not actually have a guide to it's physical use. I don't need help with the software, the battery pack, the charger cord, or how to clean the fucking screen. I WANT TO KNOW HOW TO USE MY KEYBOARD! Finally, I gave up and hung up on him. 


Enter idiot number 4 for the day. I called back to Toshiba, as we still had not resolved the problem. I get another immigrant who can barely speak English. Great. I explain my problem to him and he wants to go immediately to the user manual. I swear, if I was sitting near him, I would shove my computer mouse clear up his damned rectum. I painfully explained my last call and that all I wanted was a guide to my keyboard, and someone to fix the damned issue. He told me to hold down shift and control and it will switch languages. Which one, he couldn't say. I tried this, it worked. But what about all of those other functions on my keys I can't seem to access? Where can I find information about that? Well, his answer was that there is no guide. Really? Well how are people supposed to find these things out? By calling your adept call centre again and again? I fucking hope not. So then he wanted me to remove all of the languages that are not English so I can avoid this problem in the future. Um, no...I don't want to start deleting shit when you don't even have a guide to follow. Then starts a very condescending conversation about Windows. That's when I hung up the phone. Clearly this is not going to be a good "phone" day and I should just go back to bed. Fuck it. 



Friday Letdowns

warning - offensive language. If you don't like it, read someone else's blog, or skip today's posts.


Well, it`s barely 10am on a Friday morning and the day has already been shit. I checked my email and saw that I had one from Shaw, my cable-internet-phone company. My ebill is ready for viewing. So I follow the link to the website only to discover I must sign in. Fine. 7 attempts and they are all wrong. So I click on the button for accessing my password - they want me to sign up again, and ask me to locate some numbers on my phone bill. Um, WHAT????? So then I call the company, go through a zillion automated choices and finally get to talk to a person. I should have hung up and tried again. I was unfortunate enough to get someone who is brand new, and told me she doesn`t know how all the systems work. She proceeded to give me 4 different amounts when I asked what my bill was, and she could not explain why. She told me one of the amounts is past due by more than 30 days. How can that be...I have only received ONE bill so far, I haven`t been here long enough for that and I paid that bill. 


She confirmed that I did pay my bill, and that the account was at zero on the last billing date. Um, what (cannot seem to get the contractions or punctuation to work on this fucking computer today, but that is another story). So how can I be 30 days overdue on a zero amount...and I tell her I am not impressed that I now have a business who thinks I am overdue on my account, and it could show up on my credit report. No, she says, that would not happen. Sure, like you know what you are doing. We went around in circles, and finally she said she did not want to talk about it anymore because we are going around in circles. I told her the issue was quite simple - please tell me what my current fucking balance is, accurately. (no I did not swear on the phone, but I am MAD now) She then said she was going to transfer me...so I hung up. I am not in the fucking mood.



The next call was to the Pharmacy where I had left a prescription on Monday. I had been to see my doc earlier in the day and she prescribed the HP pack (box of 3 drugs) for h.pylori bacteria (what causes ulcers). I told her I had a terrible reaction to one of the drugs in that pack and I would prefer something else. She told me to just take it to the pharmacy and ask them if the HP pack has changed and no longer causes that side effect - metallic taste in the mouth. It made me so nauseous that I had to take Gravol with it, which of course, knocks you out, and still did not cure the taste. She said just get the pharmacist to call her and she would order something else instead. Great, off I go. I dropped the script off at the pharmacy on Monday afternoon and explained my issue with it. He called my doctors office and got her machine - office closed due to snow - what the hell...we had an inch or so...but that is another story for another blog. Pharmacist promises me he will try again tomorrow and will call me either way. That was on Monday. It is now Friday and NO CALL. So I call the pharmacy. Apparently the pharmacist is busy so they put me on hold. Then a pharmacist comes on the line. He is not the right pharmacist and has no idea what I am talking about. He tells me he will find the other pharmacist and have him call me back. Right, sure you will. The other pharmacist calls me back, only to tell me he has not been able to get in touch with my doctor, that he called and never received a message back. Well, you said you were going to call me either way and did not. So then he tells me he can fill the prescription now if I would like. Um, NO. I would NOT like. It is not the right fucking prescription, dumbass. Throw it in the garbage and I will call the doctor myself and take it to another pharmacy. I had gone to this small one two blocks from me for this script only because I did not want to go downtown to my regular London Drugs pharmacy on Monday, thinking this would be quicker. Apparently not.


So then I call my doctor`s office, only to find out that she isn`t in until this afternoon. They have no record of the pharmacist calling. WTF. Great. So the pharmacist is lying and I still have no medication for the rotten infection I have in my stomach. The receptionist offers to leave a note for the doctor when she gets in this afternoon but can make no promises that she will return my call. Great. That`s just fucking great. Then she tells me my doc has walk-in clinic this afternoon and I`m welcome to come to that. Great, fucking great. I have ALREADY been to the doctor and received my diagnosis and script. I don`t need another appointment. I NEED someone to do their fucking job, that`s what I need.


And THEN, as I am at my breaking point, the neighbors start up Rock Band and pound out Boogie Wonderland on the drum kit...sigh...Calgon, take me away...

Thursday, November 25, 2010

Just Who Needs Their Head Examined

So I went to the neurologist today, having asked for a referral to get another EEG to see why the twitching has increased...my friends who have seen me twitch know what I'm talking about. Apparently this was not the day to find out. Firstly, it was frigging snowing again, which I HATE and hoped to avoid on this side of the country but alas, not far. Then I had to drive all the way out of town to the Victoria General - why on earth would they build a hospital so far out of town? Must be close to some seniors homes or something. Then I had to pay for parking. I know, I know, most cities make you pay for parking at the hospital. I still mind it. Don't we pay an arm and a leg for health care as it is? Why are we also paying for parking at the hospital? Then I get inside and there is no map of the hospital, or directory. All there is when you go in the main entrance is numerous electrical panels that tell you nothing and about 20 sanitizer pumps...so I stood in line at the information desk and asked her where neurology is as I had an appointment. She had no idea. Okay, this is going to get real interesting, real quick. How do you not know where neurology is when you work at the INFORMATION desk? So then I had to tell her what I was having done, and she sent me to the electroscopy department. Not at all what was on my invite from the doc, but I figure I have nothing to lose by checking it out. First I had to stop and take off two layers of sweaters. I don't know why hospitals insist on overheating their buildings. 


So I find the electro dept, and tell the receptionist there I have an appointment for an EEG. No record of it. WTF? They don't schedule them this late, so she asked if I was scheduled for an EKG. Um, no. My heart is fine. It's my head that is about to explode if I don't get some answers. Then I was told to take a seat in the waiting room and the doctor would come and get me soon. Okay then, did I have an appointment or not? I wasn't going to ask any more questions. I went to the bare waiting room, and twiddled my thumbs, since there wasn't a scrap of paper to be read, neither poster, 10 year old magazine, or crappy newspaper. I guess they want you to be both frustrated and bored. 


It wasn't long before this older gentleman, with a very pronounced hunchback, called my name. I followed him so far, and then he just kept waving at me like we were going on an expedition to the north pole and he might lose me. 


We finally get to this hole in the wall office that he tells me he shares with 4 other doctors. He takes out the "referral" from my family doctor, and proceeds to try and decipher the terrible physician writing. He informed me that there was no request sent for an EEG and the machine is currently in the emergency department. Um, okay. So now what? He asked me to tell him about my symptoms and when they began. We went through some of it, and when I casually mentioned that I had numbness in my hands, but I think it was from tendinitis, as the doctors have told me for years it is not carpal tunnel syndrome. He was on that like a dog with a bone - we can check this electronically...and had anyone ever done this? No. The only thing doctors have ever done was bend my wrists this way and that and declared no problem. 


So Mr Science guy invites me to lay on the exam table while he attaches a few electrodes to my right arm so he can measure the stimulation of my nerves. This takes several minutes while he clicks away at the computer, adjusts electrodes, applies stickers, jelly...okay...and then came the cattle prod...no, not a real cattle prod, but worked much the same way by sending me a little jolt. Somewhat unpleasant, but I soldiered on. He printed off some stuff, said he had a diagnosis and left the room. Um...what? 


Mr Science guy came back and sat down, made a bunch of notes...I asked him, um, so what is the verdict and are we going to get to the EEG or not? Well, he informed me I had carpal tunnel syndrome, and handed me an article on it. As for the EEG, he filled out a requisition for it, and told me to expect a call from the scheduling clerk and if she didn't call, to call them. Okay, who? The clerk, you know, the clerk. Um, no I do not know, this is my first time here at this hospital and I only found you by luck. Just call the hospital and ask for the clerk...okay then. 


Then he asked me if there was anything that seemed to make the twitching worse - I told him that alcohol seems to exacerbate it some, but that I don't drink often, it is just something I noticed. I also told him about another little habit, but his answer to that was "that won't hurt you" and he rifled through his desk drawer again and left the room. When he came back, he handed me an article on the prohibition of cannabis, and said - that's how I feel about it all. It was an article supporting the legalization of cannabis, given the prohibition has not decreased use in any way, and has led to the growth of a huge criminal element. Okay doc, thanks. We also chatted about what I like to do in my spare time. I told him I like to go to music concerts, among other things. Then he asked what kind of music - so I mentioned rock music...well, that led to a very interesting discussion about the patterns he fails to see in rock music that he can see in jazz. I told him he had to stop trying so hard to explain it that he should just listen to it and enjoy it. 


Doc then asked me what I did for a living, and I told him I was a social worker. Then we ended up in a discussion about social work, his daughter was one, but she was a professional student, over achiever, unmarried, no children, and still in school for a doctorate, wants to be high in government, and he is concerned that she is an overachiever with no life for herself. I begin to wonder which doctor I really came to? Neurologist or therapist? He seemed to know what he was talking about for the most part, even if he did digress several times. After awhile though, I was beginning to think I was in the twilight zone. I went in for a head exam and came out with a wrist diagnosis...



Sunday, October 24, 2010

Horrorscope

From my horoscope today...


"A small spark in a dry field is apt to whip the hill into flames, Sagittarius. A raging wildfire may be underway by the end of the day. Know that you're one of the biggest perpetrators, but don't feel badly about it. Fire is destructive but also necessary. Clearing out brush and offering a fresh new place in which new growth can flourish is an important part of the cycle of nature.|"


WTF? This is not comforting to someone who had their apartment blow up and burn down this year...

Thursday, October 21, 2010

I Was Bullied and Survived

I apologize in advance for the length...it was something I've wanted to write about for years and haven't until now.
I was bullied in school. The first time it happened, I didn't know quite what to make of it. I was in grade 4 and this big girl named Charlene was doing her best to make my life miserable. She threatened me regularly, often by shaking her fist at me from across the classroom, squinting her eyes for emphasis. It went on until my dad was transferred to another air force base and we moved with him. I was ever so grateful. I had made some friends in that town; one really best friend with whom I'm still good friends with today. But Charlene was always lurking. Sometimes she would stop for months, and then pick it up again. She had a bully helper, Christina. These girls would follow me around sometimes, yelling obscenities at me, calling me "four eyes" because I wore glasses, and they were rather thick. It didn’t seem to matter that Christina also wore glasses. Mine were thick brown plastic frames with thicker lenses. Christina wore thin glasses in a wire frame. I was informed that my glasses were geek girls, and resembled Coke bottles. The thin lenses of today were not available back then.
The bullying of my elementary years was only a preview of what was to come in junior high. I was a base brat just like the rest of the kids I knew, so we moved often. This came in handy when wishing for a fresh start, but for shy kids, it wasn't easy to make those first friendships every couple of years faced with a brand new town and yet another new school.
When I moved to Labrador that summer, I knew no one and many families were away on summer vacation or in the middle of their own move as many happened over the summer to keep the kids in school. A few days after I moved into our first PMQ, I met a girl who lived a few doors down from me. She was pretty and sure of herself, but then I hung out with her and her friends. They were gossipy, belittling of others, and no one I was interested in being friends with. It was risky, but I backed off from hanging out with her, and found some friends of my own. 
That choice was never forgotten. Those girls made it their mission to make my life miserable at any given chance until the day I moved away. Their torture lasted for days on end sometimes, and then a merciful break as they picked on someone else. There wasn't much physically that happened, which is not uncommon when girls are being bullied. It was the leers, the dirty looks, the name calling; the threats of physical harm, the isolation from others, and spreading of rumours were all common. I can recall today just how panicked I would feel when threatened the "I'm gonna get you after school" standard. 
Sometimes I would manage to find some way to stay late after school, possibly volunteering in the primary grade classrooms, correcting papers, or more likely - hiding in the bathroom until they gave up and went home. Then I would sneak off out the back door, running into the woods to find my way home, hoping I wouldn't cross their paths in the early dark of the north. Sometimes they would push me around, into a locker, or a shove in the classroom, maybe a slur as they walked past…"sssssslllllluuuuutttt” – I didn’t even have a boyfriend. At one point, I couldn't take it and dropkicked the wind out of a girl who just wouldn't leave me alone. I was hauled up to the principal's office for that one. Sometimes I would make friends with other loners, hoping for safety in numbers. That's how I ended up at my friend Rachel's during Passover...we became good friends and loved playing the board game Life. We also ran from the same bullies...
The bullying didn't end at school. As base brats we all lived on the base, which was separated physically and with a big fence with a gate, from the outside world. We used the same recreation centre, Canex store, bowling alley, theatre, playgrounds. Our parents often were friends who spent a lot of time together. So finding a way to get about town when a threat was current sometimes became tricky. I lived in fear a good bit of the time, and there seemed to be nothing I could do about it. I don't know why they chose to continue to pick on me instead of going on with their lives. I just know it was when I learned to hate. 
The final bit of bullying was from a mixed crowd. My brother had dated a past friend of mine, and then dumped her, likely seeing the same thing I did, a damaged youth with a huge chip on her shoulder, living with severe alcoholic parents. It wasn't my fault he dumped her, as he and I rarely exchanged a word, let alone communicate about his girlfriend. It didn't seem to matter. This particular bitch made it her soul task to make my life hell. The worst was once we left the safety of the school and she would gather a pack to follow and taunt me the entire way home. I usually ended up in tears by the time I had covered the short distance to our home on the base. I felt powerless, but for the first time, my brother decided to stand up for me. I'm not sure if he did it for me or for my sister. 
My sister happened to walk home with me this one particular day, and was there when I was mercilessly bullied and taunted, yelling at them to stop. She ran into the house when I did, and helped me tell my mother what had occurred yet again. My brother fled out the door, and returned a short while later. He had confronted JoAnn and her idiot boyfriend Jimmy face to face, slapping JoAnn and punching Jimmy squarely in the jaw, breaking it. Now, I don't condone violence generally, but it sure felt good to know he stood up for me. It would be the last time he ever did, but that's another story. 
The good feeling didn't last. I had to return to school with these people, and face Jimmy's wired jaw. His mother called my mother, roaring, but my mother soundly informed her what she thought of dear Jimmy's behaviour. The bullying was stepped up from there. The final straw came when I just couldn't face it anymore. We were looking to move again in a few weeks, and my parents had flown south to buy a house off base as my father was retiring from the military. We kids were staying with friends of our parents. The taunting had been particularly exquisite that week, and I was done. I crawled into the closet of the room I was staying in, and stayed there all day long. My parent's friends both worked, but the husband worked shifts, so it was random when he was home. I pretended to go to school, and pretended to do homework, and I might have gotten away with it if the school hadn't contacted the house. I was exposed. I explained to the school again what was going on, and they promised to gain control of the bullying, but I was no fool. They couldn't see a lot of the bullying. It wasn't as overt all of the time, so how could they prevent what they could not see?
I was pretty shy and quiet girl in those days, until I got to know my real friends. Sometimes people thought I was stuck up because I had my head up a lot of the time...they didn't know I could only see out of my glasses if I tipped my head up. I know, people who know me now are thinking - quiet? shy? who is this girl? I overcame. I had to. It was either that or die. Each move gave me a chance to reinvent myself and clearly, the wallflower behind the scenes was not working for me. All it had done so far was to make me a target. 
The trauma of prolonged bullying in school took its toll on me. I was robbed so much of my early adolescence while I was cowering in fear from bullies. I was afraid to speak or move, and my self-esteem was crumpling. How I managed to continue my schoolwork and maintain respectable grades in academic classes, I'll never know. Now and again, the bullies would fake out wanting to be my friend, and then they would rip the rug out from under me and laugh at my expense, driving my spirit deeper into seclusion. When we finally moved away from that town, I breathed a sigh of relief. While I was still faced with the task of making new friends again, and of learning the social rules in yet another school, I could start fresh again, no history. Those last years of school were much more gratifying as a student. I made friends, was somewhat popular, went on a school trip to the Yukon with the other brainiacs, and maintained a busy social calendar. I began to emerge from my shell again, and vowed never to take that shit from anyone. Of course, that was easy to say with a few thousand kilometres between me and the last lot of bullies. I found my voice, and while sharing my opinion often led to a seat in the hall outside the classroom, I began to like myself again. I was going to defy everyone, test every limit, live with intention. I was a rebel. I smoked cigarettes and marijuana; I drank at every opportunity; I skipped school when I felt like it; I hitchhiked all over the west coast; I ran away from home for 3 days; I rode in cars with boys, often. I went to parties, hung out in many teenage basements with Iron Maiden posters on the walls, and fridge with beer and liquor stickers all over it. I wore lots of make-up, short skirts, tight jeans, and was generally happy with my tragic teenage role. It was also the time when I lost my beloved John Lennon. But that is a story for another day.
The other shoe dropped when my father announced that he had taken a position in that northern community again, this time working for the Federal Government, and we were moving back. It had been three years since we left, but those girls may likely still be there. I didn't think I could face it. I ranted endlessly to my parents that I couldn't do it, I couldn't go back to that environment again, and I wouldn't. They felt for me, I know they did. So they agreed for me to live with my aunt and uncle in Nova Scotia for the final year of school. They had a daughter just a year younger than me, and we would share a room in their rural home.
Now, living with relatives didn't work out so well, due to a huge conflict between our ideals. They were ultra-religious and I was an emerging agnostic/mystic. They didn't permit me to bring my Stephen King novels into the home, nor could I take my True Story magazines, and watching television was very limited. Church was 2-3 hours every Sunday. For my recovering crumpled spirit, it was not a place for me to heal. I did not wish to face those bullies again, but it became difficult to stay with relatives and I was finally willing to take that chance again, and move back home with my parents. I wasn’t the same person I was when I left there.
I did move back, and to my surprise the bullies had moved on, and only a few of them remained. I was nervous at first, waiting for someone to say something. I reconnected with former classmates, some of them friends of the former bullies. Before long, we were in the same circles, and the bullying was never brought up again. I don't know if it had to do with the change in my personality, or their growth and maturity. At first, I was infuriated that they had the power to impact my life so much, and now can act as if it were insignificant. But I too wanted to move on. Never again did I allow someone to bully me for long. If I saw the behaviour, I called the person out for it. I'm a much more confident person, and I'm not sure if I am because of the bullying or in spite of it. What I do know is it was pure hell when I was in it, and no one should have to feel that way, child or adult. No one should have that power. 
          So what causes children to bully others? I don’t recall any details about Charlene and so cannot offer any insight there. The first group of girls in Labrador to bully me came from what I knew to be average stable homes with a military parent. JoAnn came from severe alcoholic parents. I’d met them a few times. They sat around in their bathrobes most of the day, drinking at the kitchen table and smoking one cigarette after the other. I don’t know if they hit her when they were really drunk. She didn’t talk about it, but seemed to rule the show there. She smoked and drank in front of her parents…we were in grade 8 – just 12-13 years old.
          I can pose a variety of theories in hindsight with the education and experience I now have as a social worker. I’ve offered bullying workshops in the past, and talked about the bully helpers, who I see as key to unlocking the hold bullies have on our schools. Often times the bullies are more bravado than anything and caught alone in a dark alley, they may choose to act differently than when surrounded by their friends. It is rare that a bully acts alone, as that seems to detract from their power. They feed off the emotions of the bully helper, who most likely is just glad they are not the victim, and willing to play along if it means immunity from the bully. The bully helper supports the bully, cheers them on, and sanctifies the act for other onlookers. Some children choose to walk away, not wanting to draw attention to themselves and perhaps risk being the next victim of the bully. Some children may even step in and try to defend the victim, but ultimately, the bully is successful in terrorizing a number of children before something can be done.
          What scares me most about today’s age of bullying is the addition of electronic media. Now children can be bullied online, and the newest thrill game is collecting videos of incidents such as beating up someone, taunting and teasing someone, catching victims in embarrassing acts, and staging such incidents to provoke a response favourable to a popular video. The videos are then circulated via the internet, emailed around to friends, and posted on popular sights for all to exploit. Some of these groups are more underground than others; however they are all very effective in breaking down the spirit of targeted youth. The authorities are doing what they can to combat these new games, but they struggle to keep up with the newest technology, software, thrills, hampered by the evolution of a generation of hackers.
The current push is on to recognize the affect and consequences of bullying and draws attention to the recent suicides by youth who were bullied at school, often for being exposed as being lesbian or gay. At a time when youth need the most support in finding their way in the world, their peers are finding new ways to torture them. It seems some youth thrive on seeking out cracks in someone’s personality to expose, or discovering a flaw or weakness that can be exploited for personal gain and maximum embarrassment of the victim.
Why is this? What drives the bully to begin in the first place? What creates a bully? What will stop a bully? These are the questions we need answers to, and should demand from our government. Enough about the gun registry. We need real solutions, before it comes to gunfire. How many youth need to take their own lives before this issue is taken seriously? Where are the research grants for this?

Tuesday, October 05, 2010

Ugh, It Gets Worse

I checked out craigslist today for the first time. Pretty low tech but easy to use. I stumbled across the personals and checked out the local ones. Some okay, some more pretty awful ones. Such as this:"I'm a good-looking, disease-free white male seeking a woman to be my daytime lover. Any age over 20 is considered. I can host if you cannot. I will teach the shy or inexperienced." Ugh...

Monday, October 04, 2010

The Crazy World of Cyber Dating

So I've been checking out online profiles for many years with very little success. Today wasn't any better. I am continually disappointed in the men who either cannot spell or cannot type (a personal pet peeve with me. Along with that, I am continually disappointed in the lack of thought that is put into profiles, if they bother to write anything outside of the drop down menus at all. This is an excerpt of one I found today. He wrote this in his biography: "Id like to get to know you, wine n dine, see the sights, catch a flic, enjoy a cozy evening Im well endowed". Yeah, sure, good one. Here is another: "In January of this year, I was the victim of a wreckless (sic) driver, putting me in the hospital til May. Because of that, I lost my job, apartment, and a lot of my friends." Lovely, you really added to your profile with that information. Now I REALLY want to go out with you. Shall I continue? Sure...here is another:"I would like to ride my bike to keep in shape. I go swimming sometimes and hike. I like to enjoy movies in and out. I want to meet a woman is secure with her sexuality and enjoys sex. I do but i do want long term as well.

Now this guy really had a great biography: " say hi and we can talk about the rest blah blah blah if ur interested just say hi i can promise u wont be dissapointed(sic)." Or how about this guy who gets right to the point "I'm a 29 years old and I enjoy oral both give it and get it I'm new intown and i'm looking for some fun."

"Hey my name is Nick,I have six tattoos and nipple and lip peirced.I play hockey,soccer and I BMX and snowboared.Im usually shy, but unless your the right person then I open up and get all crazy and such.Toronto was my hometown till I moved, im missing it.Do you like being naked? cause i sure do, do you think thats weird? ohh yess and im prettty weird myself, but weird is the way to go, normal people are boring.Partying and hanginout with friends are deffs good times, but the best times are just cuddling on the bed and watching some movies.That reminds me, I heart movies, does anyone wanna be in one with me? Ohhhhh girls with tattoos and peircings are soo sexynness and gorgeous *DROOLS*.I love tattoos and peircings if you have any you should show me!!! Well if you want to know anything else just comment or message me, I love talking to new people." Yeah Nick, I`ll get right on that...looks like it`s back to the drawing board again...

Friday, September 24, 2010

Way Way Up She Rises

Hello there. I'm back. I will still post on the sunflowers and sunrises travel blog regarding travel and life in my temporary hometown of Victoria, but was feeling the need to vent express myself differently here, as I always have. Travel blogs are not meant for such emotion.

Okay, enough said. I'm currently living on the west coast, several thousand kilometres from where I was living this time last year in my cozy apartment Nova Scotia. The weather is definitely better here, and I am truly looking forward to a less stressful winter, with little to no snow compared to the blizzards that wreak havoc on the east coast. My nerves were near shot. So were my tires. While I didn't put my car off the road, I did come close several times and when I sold my car, I took notice of just how threadbare my tires were...wow, I must have been a pretty good driver to keep it on the road with those tires...

Anyway...Stormy is with me and seems to like the apartment. He is so adaptable, it's why I love him so much. I bought him a new kitty condo and put it in front of the large living room window. He also has a new bed, with a homemade afghan I made him, and seems to like that as well. He wants to go outside, which I don't permit, although I will take him for a walk on his leash occasionally. If you can call it walking...it's more like let's stop here while I roll around in the parking lot dust. Wait, I want to walk 5 feet. Okay, let me lay in the grass here for awhile. We don't get far...but I am never tired from our walks.

Television has become quite a distraction. I could sit in front of it all day, ignoring all other life forms. Why has this mesmerized me so? My television is on from the moment I get out of bed, until I turn it off to go to bed. It isn't always on a program, sometimes just Galaxie music stations. There are a ton of new programs out this fall, and so far my very favorite is the revamp of Hawaii Five-O. Love it! Well cast and so far has my interest.

Now, I do get out, and leave the sofa from time to time. Typically I'll walk somewhere everyday, some days much farther than others. Earlier in the week I walked for about 4 hours downtown, taking photos, doing a little shopping, sat on the grass in the sun writing for awhile at the waterfront.

My writing has not been as free flowing as I had hoped. It's still a little painful to think back to what is now lost, and I've found I just can't write about it unless I'm in a certain mood to do so. I almost feel like it's a block of sorts, but try not to make to much of it and reckon I'll be able to fill pages once I do get there. My topic notebook is slowly filling so perhaps once I fill that, I'll be ready to develop them from there. Going down memory lane on a daily basis can be very bittersweet, and I'm not always up for it. Weird how that works.

I miss my father every single day. It's just over a year now since he died. Sometimes I like to think of him as still living on the other side of the country. I have a million unanswered questions for him. I seemed to just run out of time. I moved back east in January and he died in September. It was quite a marathon to keep up with the needs of supporting someone dying at home with a blind spouse, and now it seems like just a blur in the past. I was the most tired and stressed I'd ever been in my life.

I still think about the house fire that burned through most of my belongings on New Year's Eve. I just want to throw up sometimes when I think about what I've lost. It isn't about the material things per se. It is about the memories I've lost - photos, home video, slides, my daughter's baby clothes, my childhood box of memories. It has affected me more than I have really talked about with anyone. I feel such guilt over losing so much history. I don't know how to reconcile that one. I still jump when I hear loud bangs, and it puts me right back to the night of the explosion that burned down my apartment.

So there you have it. Hibernating on the west coast to lick and heal my wounds. If some writing comes of it, groovy. If not, I will at least have had some rest.

 
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