Learn to Drive!

People on the road who seemingly don't know how to drive infuriate me.

For example, four-way stops. Not that hard to figure out, really. Everyone must come to a full and complete stop. Then, you get to go in the order in which you stopped. First guy who stopped goes first, second guy goes second, and so on and so forth.

Basically a good rule of thumb is this - think of four-way stops as following kindergarten rules. Just like lineups for slides or swings on the playground, you go in the order in which you arrived. You have to put on your big-girl panties, grow up, and wait your turn.

Note to incompetent drivers: if you stopped third, just because you don't want to wait for guy number two, doesn't mean you can just go when it's actually his turn. He stopped second so he gets to go second. Wait your turn! The rules were put in place for a reason.

It's really not that difficult ... so why can't people [who have to be a minimum of 16 years old in order to have a license] seem to figure it out?

Grrrrr.

"I don't want to hit the other kids in anger"

- Zeus

Song of the day: Kindergarten by Zeus

When You Least Expect It

It's happened to the best of us.

Maybe you're getting on the bus, shopping at the mall, or walking into a coffee shop and you see her. She's a little older, her hair is white and [probably] permed, and she looks just like your grandmother: sweet, gentle, and kind. You're walking in opposite directions, just about to pass one another. She smiles at you as you get closer together, and you return the smile, thinking about your own grandma. Then, just as she glides past you, you make a huge mistake - you inhale through your nose.

*Wha-BAM!*

Your nostrils are assaulted by the brick wall that is the scent of her perfume. It's following her like a cloud and it clogs your nose, grates against your eyeballs, and clings to your clothing. You need to cough, your eyes are watering, and your nose is running as your body fights valiantly and desperately to rid itself of the abrading particles. You forget about your own sweet grammy in the aftermath of the brutal attack on your senses and can only wonder, "Why?! Why, oh why?!"

You have been violated by the age-old problem of old-lady perfume. Each time it happens the perfume smells exactly the same. It is brutal and merciless and we've all experienced it. But you will live another day, and there are just enough sweet-looking senior-aged women who don't wear perfume to settle your nerves until you've dropped your guard completely - and that's when you're most vulnerable to another sneak-attack.

In case you're wondering, this did indeed happen to me just the other day. I was at work, walking from my office to the main building and that's when I was blasted by this pungent phenomenon. This was not my first experience with this, it's happened many times before and I'm sure it will happen again.

Cheers.



Song of the day: The Chorus by Donora

Screwed by Virgin

The title sounds a lot more fun than the story.

I have been a customer of Virgin Mobile for 10.5 months. And let me tell you, they have been sad, frustrating, infuriating, make-you-want-to-scream-and-set-fires kind of months. My phone stopped working reliably about six weeks after I got it and it took eight months after that to figure out what the problem was: my actual phone.

And even now that they know what the problem is, Virgin is refusing to do anything about it except give me a $60 credit towards a new phone, which won't really buy me a new phone at all so I'll be on the hook for the overage there. They don't care that I've been paying for 10 months for a phone that doesn't work so they're not going to do anything about it. I've gotten to the point where I'm so mad that I'm not even angry anymore - just quietly pissed and ready to pay the astronomical early termination fee because there's nothing else I can do.

All I'm saying is, how ironic is it that Virgin screws their customers?


Song of the day: Take Me to the Riot by Stars

A Bad Master

I attend a church that is probably 75% [or more] young people. Lots of high school aged, university, young working, newly married people. There are a few kids and a few older couples [I say older, and I mean my parents age and older] but for the most part, we're all young and we're all poor. Poor, of course, in the relative sense that we have to budget carefully, save faithfully, spend wisely, and that many of us have debt.

All of this makes it ironic that yesterday at church we were talking about having a lot of money. The book of Ecclesiastes, which is most often attributed to King Solomon [David's son], is essentially a lament about the fruitlessness of life. If you know much about the Old Testament you'll know that Solomon had it all: a gargantuan palace, a prosperous kingdom, a LOT of wives [and let's face it - women can cost a pretty penny to keep happy], treasure, wealth, fame, and wisdom. But he wrote Ecclesiastes to say that having everything on earth still wouldn't make you happy. Chapter 5 talks specifically about the woes of having money.

The main point was: Money is a good servant, but a bad master.

Now, you may not believe in God or the Bible, but read these next points and tell me if you disagree. Because even as much as I wish that I had so much money that I would never have to worry about it, these points sadly seem to ring true.

Solomon starts by stating that "The more money that we have:

1. The more money that we want - we always think "Well, if I just had $_____ more, then I'd be happy and content." [Yepp. I say that all the time]. But that's a vicious cycle. Even ridiculously paid professional athletes or celebrities always want more, and they already make more each year than many of us will save in a lifetime. The human heart is never content - we always want more.

2. The more money that we spend - there will always be more places to put our money. Bigger house, nicer cars, exclusive club memberships, secure investments, extravagant vacations, and on, and on! The lists of things we'd buy, if we could, are always increasing because there will always be something 'better.'

3. The more that we'll worry - if you have nothing, then there's nothing to worry about. But if you have a car, and a house, and a lot of nice things, then you need insurance, and security systems and secure savings' accounts. You will also be asked for 'favours' more often. Lottery winners are often hounded by their family, friends, acquaintances, and many others for a piece of the pie! As it is written in The Message: "The more loot you get, the more looters show up."

4. The more that we will hoard - this goes hand in hand with number one. Once we have money, we want to be sure that we continue to have money. People get used to the comfort and 'security' and focus on staying rich instead of on enjoying the life they have. It's hard to be generous with what we have when we're terrified of losing it.

5. The more that we will leave behind - it's stated right in Ecclesiastes: we come into this world naked, and we leave it in exactly the same state. All the worldly possessions we gather in this life have to be left behind when we die. We can't take anything with us. All that we gain in this life is like the breath that we exhale - gone in an instant.

Solomon's point is that hoarding and storing up wealth here on earth is like trying to hold onto sand or water. If you keep a cupped hand, you can hold a fair amount. But tighten your hand into a fist and it spills between your fingers, onto the ground, and is gone.

After his lamentations about money, Solomon goes on to describe two life-lessons. Firstly, that God has given us work as His gift and that we can invest in something that will last beyond this world - other people. Enjoy your work, because if we go to 'the office' to get ahead, we will get lost, caught up chasing something we will never catch. If we enjoy our jobs and work hard, we can go home satisfied and content at the end of the day.

Solomon's second lesson is that money is also a gift from God. If we view our work as a gift from God, we will work hard, and earn an income. This income is a gift to be enjoyed. Instead of pursuing more, enjoy and love what you have. Solomon says to eat and drink and find satisfaction in your 'toil,' or work. Be satisfied and grateful for what you have because the pursuit of money will only leave you chasing and running after something you will never have and that will never satisfy you.

The message that Solomon gives is not that money can't buy you happiness, but that we don't need money to be happy.


Song of the day: Twenty-Two by Wakey! Wakey!

I Hate Mondays

Dear Monday,

I realize that you are the fresh start to a new week and that's great, but you welcome in five days of sitting in an office and thinking of everything else I would rather be doing. I know you get a bad rap from a lot of people, but look at it from our perspective. We're all "Lalala ... I love the weekend. Sleeping in is so nice! I love not having to go to work!" and then all of a sudden BAM, just as we are settling into relaxation, there you are, hitting us full in the face after only two short days off.

All I'm saying, is if you could please just hold off for a few days while I catch up on my sleep, that would be greatly appreciated. Thanks.

Sincerely,

Jocelyn

Song of the day: Clap Your Hands! by Clap Your Hands Say Yeah

Big Bird in a Small Cage

How many hipsters does it take to screw in a lightbulb?

... it's a really obscure number. I doubt you've heard of it.

That little joke pretty much summarizes my weekend. I spent Wednesday, Thursday, and Friday evenings, as well as all of Saturday and Sunday at Gallagher Park in for Edmonton's 31st annual Folk Festival. It was my first Folk Fest and, I have to say, it was phenomenal!

For starters, Edmonton boasts the largest folk music festival in North America [followed closely by Winnipeg's, which, unexpectedly, has an amazing music scene] and is hosted at a ski hill right near downtown Edmonton. Mainstage is at the bottom of the main hill, and from the top of the hill all the way down to the bottom, you can see the entire crowd sitting on a patchwork of tarps and blankets. As the sky darkens in the evening during the mainstage performances, people hold candles and the entire hill is lit up. If you've ever flown at night - you know those pockets of lights you can see far below you, representing a town or city that you're flying over? That's what the hill looks like, only you're right in the middle of it.

The lineup this year was incredible! Van Morrison, Ben Harper, Sarah Harmer, Brandi Carlile, John Prine, Patrick Watson & The Wooden Arms, and Colin Hay, not to mention the dozens of equally talented, if less known, other artists. The side stages were an array of acts from all over Canada and the world. Probably the coolest session I saw was with Tony McManus, a classical celtic guitar player, and Bassekou Kouyate & Ngoni Ba, a group from Mali, Africa. An ngoni is a traditional West African instrument and the group has a West African sound with an American twist. You would never think think that such a group would be able to successfully collaborate with Tony McManus or that they would produce something so interesting and amazing together, but it was incredible! They were jumping in on each other's pieces and ended with a completely improvised song, complete with a verse made up on the spot by the singer from Mali. It was fascinating to watch them watching each other, figuring out where they were all going without ever saying a word. If they had been recording, that piece would definitely have made it on an album!

Edmonton Folk Fest sells 10,000 four-day passes, plus 1,000 evening passes [for each evening] and were completely sold out within four hours of the box office opening on June 1 of this year. [This does not include the kids ages 11 and under who attend for free with their families.] 2,400 volunteers are required to help with set up, take down, first aid, dealing with garbage, selling raffle tickets, monitoring the entrances, ferry-ing performers to and from the park, and countless other jobs.

The event is huge, and the people who like this festival love it. This weekend was unforgivingly hot during the days and chilly [and even rainy] in the evenings. During one session we were informed by festival volunteers that a severe thunderstorm watch was in effect and to expect rain within 20 minutes, and nobody moved. We zipped up our jackets, threw our bags into garbage bags or under tarps, and kept listening. I had no idea that Edmonton had so many folk/indie/bluesy-music lovers that were so dedicated to and passionate about participating in the event. I now count myself as a passionate festival attendee - I will go every year that I possibly can.

It was an enormous relief to me to hear so many talented musicians who have not lost the art of music. So many music "stars" these days are not so much musicians as they are performers - they may not be able to replicate their music onstage without a back track or lip syncing, but they can look great in interesting outifts and they can shake it, so who cares, right? Wrong! I care. And apparently so do thousands of Edmontonians. I want to listen to artists, who craft their music with all the talent, precision, hard work, love, and beauty of Michelangelo painting in the Sistine Chapel. People who can improvise onstage or collaborate live with another group with no planning, who write their own music, who try to communicate a message, who interact with their audience through their music, who love listening to other artists' work, who believe in music - those are the kind of musicians I want to see. Those are the kind of musicians I got to see at Folk Fest this past weekend. My soul feels restored.

Edmonton takes a lot of flak from a lot of people. Edmontonians themselves love to hate their city, and we trash talk it all the time [but that doesn't make it okay for others to do so]. Hating Edmonton is one of the things we love most about living here. And sometimes we are a part of something that reminds us WHY we live here: Folk Fest or Heritage Days or Fringe or a million other festivals, for example. We may not look like much from the outside, but there's really something here, if you take the time to see it. Maybe that's why Edmonton Folk Festival has such a terrific reputation among performers : we'll surprise you.

"Open up your ears and heart

You put a big bird in a small cage it'll sing you a song"

Song of the Day: Big Bird In A Small Cage by Patrick Watson

Tend Toward Hoarding

Do you remember cleaning your room when you were a kid?

Tidiness has never been my strong suit. My mother would have to cry, yell, command, threaten, bribe and beg before I would actually do anything about the disorganization of my room. By the time I finally got around to it, the small task I had initially been asked to tidy would have proliferated into a gargantuan fusion of toys, clothing, papers, and books large enough to devour a medium-sized child. Because of my procrastination, the mess would have evolved from a ten-minute-tidy to a weekend-consuming, decluttering event worthy of commercial sponsors that had to be supervised by a parent to enforce the safety precautions necessary to avoid disappearance into the abyss of chaos, and to prevent the cleaner (me) from dissolving in tears of despair.

I hated those weekends with a passion. I wasn't allowed out with my friends or to watch movies or TV because my mother knew that would lead to further procrastination. My focus was cleaning my room - the whole of it, and usually my closet was the biggest offender. I'm certain that over the years my mom must have thrown out entire garbage bags of toys, crafts, knick knacks, etc. (a.k.a. junk) without me having any idea. A full cleansweep of my room usually took hours (and hours and hours) and produced bags of garbage, recycling, and clothing that I hadn't seen in ages.

Of the three children in my family, I am by far the one with the greatest aptitude for collecting stuff. I wouldn't describe myself as a hoarder, but I definitely have tendencies in that direction sometimes. The problems start when I'm trying to purge unnecessary items. When it comes down to deciding whether or not to throw something out or give it away, my sister or brother will toss it without second thoughts. I, however, wonder: "What if I ever do need this? If (insert far-fetched scenario on par with the imminent apocalypse heralded by baby unicorns and tiny fire-breathing dragons) happens, then I will regret throwing it away and will have to buy a new one." These internal dilemmas occur frequently and cause concern when storage space < stuff I want to keep, which is almost always. (Please pause for a minute to note that I have finally mastered the greater-than/less-than crap we learned in math).

I'm trying to remember where I was going with this ... Oh! Right! I started cleaning my room yesterday! I have been whining and complaining (to myself ... and a few other people) about what a mess it is. I promised myself at the beginning of the summer that as soon as my spring course ended (May 27th) that I would do a full clean, declutter and organization of my room because I knew that the minute fall classes start, I will have eight months worth of excuses as to why I don't have time. I finally started yesterday, August 2. See what I mean about procrastinating?

A few weeks ago I started collecting clothing I don't wear anymore to give away and I ended up with a blue recycling bag full. Yesterday I found an entire garbage bag full of random junk to be thrown out and another half bag full of recycling (mostly papers, and a little cardboard). But my room is still full of stuff! I could easily throw away another few bags of trash and donate several more bags of clothes and my room would still announce, with fanfare, that I am a very lucky girl from an upper-middle class family in North America.

It does serve as a reminder, however, of just how lucky I am. How fortunate that my aversion to throwing things away is a vice that I have time to be annoyed by. Most of the world survives on an income that is far less than what you could net from selling stuff from only my room. Humbling. Very humbling.

My room still has a long way to go. I have a giant box of CDs that have been living at the end of my bed since we moved (in July 2008) that I need to burn onto my computer and then give away. I should probably donate at least another bag of clothing and garbage another bagful. It's amazing how much more peaceful my room seems when it's clean. It's as if the space heaves a sigh of relief. It will be a good start to what I'm determined will be an awesome school year!

Song of the day: Take It From Me by The Weepies

Come Back, Lungs!

I went running yesterday morning. Every once in awhile I get inspired to put my hair in a pony tail, lace up my runners and go for a run - sometimes this even happens regularly for a period of weeks. But inevitably, my inspirations fizzles out and I realize that I haven't been running in awhile.

After a certain number of blissfull, running-free months (*cough* ... this time it had been more than a year!!), I start to feel guilty about not exercising. As the daughter of a nurse and a student nurse in my own right, I know the importance of a healthy lifestyle, which includes both a healthy diet and regular exercise. The healthy eating part is pretty easy for me and I do try to walk fairly regularly and I almost always take the stairs instead of an elevator when there's a choice. I used to dance competitively, play soccer, and, when I lived in dorms, work out in the fitness centre but recently have done none of these things. It seems a little terrible that I would not comply with the components of a healthy lifestyle despite the fact that I know what they are, and - even beyond that - encourage my patients to maintain healthy lifestyles, including regular exercise. Hypocritical, no?

So, eventually the guilt becomes so great that I start thinking about it. I remember the runners that are sitting in my mudroom on the shelf and the head bands I bought for keeping my hair out of my face. I think about the 'health promotion' goals that student nurses write for their clients in their careplans. The hypocrisy of it bugs me in increasing amounts. This period generally lasts for days to weeks before I finally feel ashamed enough to drag myself out for a run.

It starts out not too badly. The first little bit is easy: my breathing is still smooth and regular, my body is at a good temperature, nothing is hurting and I start to wonder: "What is it about running that I hate so much?"

This is my downfall because almost immediately afterwards the physical discomfort begins. After an embarassingly short distance, my muscles start to tingle, my respiration rate increases, and I feel my face start to flush. Before long, my leg muscles are a screaming inferno of rage, my lungs are aching as I gulp for oxygen in short, desperate, ragged breaths, and I can feel that my cheeks are tomato-red from exertion and that there is sweat on my face, neck, back, chest and stomach. At this point I am forced to admit defeat and slow my plodding pace to the humilated stumble of an exhausted 'runner.' Nothing about the experience is pleasant or rewarding.

[As I was walking along the remainder of the loop back to my house, I walked past a house that was emanating a scent of pancakes. All I could think about was how much I wished I was at home, sitting in my dining room, the activity of running far from my mind, eating pancakes. Om nom nom!]

Perhaps if I were running a respectable distance (like five kilometers, or, heck, even two or three), I could justify the fact that I am so physically spent, but I'm not running very far at all. I can't even bring myself to write down the pathetically small number, which is an illuminating fact for me: this all comes down to wounded pride. Okay, well it comes down to wounded pride plus lungs that feel like there is an inflated balloon inside each of them. My sore pride is not helped by the fact that, even when I do commit to the running and keep at it regularly for several consecutive weeks, I never improve. My distance does not get any longer and by the end I'm hot and red and sweaty and I still feel like my lungs are going to crawl up my trachea, out of my mouth and mutiny.

So I'm back where I started. I hate running, but I need to find some sort of exercise to participate in to keep me active. I have yet to find anything that I like. My dancing years are over, I don't want to play soccer, and jogging clearly makes me angry while simultaneously kicking my pride's butt. What is the solution? Je ne sais pas.

Song of the Day: Mr. Pitiful by Matt Costa