9.27.2005

Run Dane run

I was leaning up against the bar waiting to purchase a beverage. I was thirsty.
The bartendress gave me a nod. It was my turn to order.
“Kokanee please,” I said under my breath so she had to lean in a little closer to hear.
I also moved forward a little. Our faces were inches apart.
“Kokanee please,” I repeated adding a wink this time.
She gave me a smile and fetched my beer. I handed her a $5 bill, gave her a thank you and told her to keep the change.
“Come back anytime,” she said which ended our exchange.
I walked back over to the table where me and my buddies were standing. It was one of those tall tables where you just lean and by the end of the night your elbows are soaked in liquor.
The bar was livening up. It was starting to get crowded.
I was having some good conversation with the friends. The topics included the local sports teams, the drunk slutty girl and who could lift the most weight over their head.
Joel always won the lifting competition. He once pressed an entire couch. It was incredible.
It was right then that something brushed up against my ass.
I turned around. It was an incredibly gorgeous girl. I gave her a quick look and immediately looked to the floor. There’s no way I could maintain eye contact with someone so pretty.
“Oops sorry,” she said with the most beautiful voice.
I mumbled something that let her know I accepted her apology.
She turned around and walked away.
I finally took a breath and turned back to where I was leaning.
“Stud,” Joel said in a mocking voice.


.....The bar was livening up. It was starting to get crowded.
I was having some good conversation with the friends. The topics included the local sports teams, the drunk slutty girl and who could lift the most weight over their head.
Joel always won the lifting competition. He once pressed an entire couch. It was incredible.
It was right then that something brushed up against my ass.
I whirled around and came face-to-face with the culprit. The rage was building.
“Did you just grab my ass?” I questioned the blond-haired girl that under regular circumstances would stop my heart.
“That’s sexual harassment lady. I should call the fucking cops and have you taken in. You can’t be just clutching and grabbing whoever the hell you want.”
I throw my bottle of beer to the floor to accentuate my disgust with the girl.
Her eyes were wide, staring at me in bewilderment.
“I know this was some sort of subtle pick up line. You gently grab me. We start talking. You get me drunk and date rape me. Well that’s not how it works in my world,” I snarled in her direction. Chucks of spittle were flying into her face. One drop was so big it left a trail down the bridge of her nose.
“Next time you try and pick up some guy, introduce yourself. Say something like ‘hi my name is ....” This was sad you should be ashamed.”
Tears started to well up in the corner of her eyes. She turned around and walked away.
I finally took a breath turned back to where I was leaning.
“Bitch,” Joel said in a disgusted voice.


.....The bar was livening up. It was starting to get crowded.
I was having some good conversation with the friends. The topics included the local sports teams, the drunk slutty girl and who could lift the most weight over their head.
Joel always won the lifting competition. He once pressed an entire couch. It was incredible.
It was right then that something brushed up against my ass.
I turned around. “Well hello, I believe you just touched my ass,” I jokingly suggested in a british accent.
“What are you going to do about it? She inquired with a coy smile on her face.
Incredible, a witty comment, good looks and she’s wearing a superman T-shirt. The game had begun. We joked flirted and I ended up purchasing a couple beers.
It was a chugging contest. If I win, I get her number. If she wins, I have to take her for ice cream. I hate ice cream. It hurts my sensitive teeth.
I tilt my head back and let the beer flow. Of course I win, only tiny trails of spillage drip down my chin.
She slaps her number down on the table. Says thanks for the beer and rejoins her friends.
I finally take a breath and turn back to where I was leaning.
“Nice,” Joel says in an impressed voice.

Fuck Yeah

Who needs hair when you've got style?

... well, me for one.

NOBODY LIKES MY STYLE

Today's post brought to you by low-grade dementia.

9.23.2005

When will the fighting stop?

Just after hurricane Katrina, one of our reporters wrote a column about the people who didn’t want to be saved were stupid.
He explained all the various ways these people could have received help but never got it.
The column was poorly timed, and quite a few people got upset by the write up, especially another reporter.
She thought the author didn’t care about the people and had no respect for human life. She was so upset the tears started flowing.
When I first read the column, I knew what the reaction was going to be. It was pretty clear, but I spurred it along.
Even the first two debates between the two reporters were brought along by me. It was fun at first, but now it won’t stop.
It’s been two weeks and they’re still bickering about the whole thing. Neither of the two will budge or just drop it.
The teary eyed reporter wants a written apology printed in the paper.
That’s were I got a little upset. People shouldn’t have to apologize for their opinions.
You should be able to think and say whatever you want as long as it’s not really hurting anyone else.
This column by no means infringed on anyone’s rights, and if it wasn’t for the timing of the opinion piece most people would have agreed with it.
Instead of saying the people remaining in the path of a hurricane, he should have said the path of a semi-truck or Joel’s wrath.
These two should just drop the whole subject.

I am one of the luckiest people in the office. The columnist is a tech geek, so I get to hear about all the different functions on the latest gadget. I don’t always mind this. It was a lot better than Joel’s lectures about HTML and what sequence of buttons would perform the supreme combo on Killer instinct. Joel had to put up with my David Spade and Superman references. He also managed to sit through hours and hours of Pulp blasting in the background. Oh the good old days living with Joel in southside Calgary.
Anyway, the other reporter is a grammar queen. About five times a story, I get a little grammar lesson. It’s nothing major except a is in the wrong spot or she thinks there’s a better way to phrase something. It’s mainly just personal preference. Our actual copy editor is fine with it, but she isn't. It gets annoying, really annoying.
Next week, since neither of them are into sports, I’m going to start spouting off stats from the weekend’s games. They rant about crap I don’t care about, so now I’m going to go on and on about stuff they could care less about.
So, I’m at the office and I’m looking up some obscure sports trivia to enhance the weekend scores.
Yes, I am evil. Ahhh Ha ha ha ha ha. That’s my evil laugh. It's not very good.

9.20.2005

Librarian: Quest for the Spear

Hey there, sexies; it's your Travelling Uncle Joel with another one of his Postcards from the Edge! I've been busy, busy, busy with schoolwork, so I figured it was time to introduce you all to the hell that is my world. Oh sure, it's one of the nicer varieties of hell, probably around the 3rd circle or wherever, where you get your feet tickled and your armpits poked. But it's HELL nonetheless! Here is my varied and awesome collection of classes.

INFM 104
Collection Development


Where we learn all about the swashbuckling derring-do involved in... acquiring books.

INFM 101
Introduction to Information Resources


Really, I have no idea what the hell this course is about yet. I suppose I could look it up, but that would involve bending down, taking my binder out of my bookbag, and looking through it. And that's too much damn work for one in the afternoon. So there. But I'm supposed to do a group presentation on Greek Libraries. One of one groupmates took minutes at our first group meeting.

MCSP 123
Web Development


Right, this is basic HTML so far and learning how to use FrontPage. The dumbest of all shits knows how to do this already. The only problem is we're expected to memorize the names for every damn thing in the window. I mean, everybody knows how to change the font. Or make it bold. But does anybody actually know the proper name for the buttons that do this? To make shit bold, you have to click the B. Who the fuck cares if it's called the Bold Formatting Button on the Formatting Toolbar? Fuck!

INFM 103
Reference Fundamentals


This course teaches the proper strangulation techniques for when you've been asked where the bathroom is for the twentieth time.

MCSP 131
Business Computing


Office 2003! No shit! Yay! Fuck, I'm done.

At least I have my fingernails.

9.16.2005

Do you smell that?

Well, the North Stars had their regular season home opener. It was an 8-2 beating of the Klippers.
I mean beating. Six fights broke out, but surprisingly no blood was shed.
Anyway, during the intermissions and during the warm-up, dedicated North Star enthusiasts always come up to me and ask me questions.
Where did this guy come from? What’s the coach like? How are they going to do this season?
I don’t mind this. I could talk hockey for days upon days.
What I do mind is that most of these avid fans have horrible breath. It’s getting to the point where I’m going to have to carry gum around and give each person a piece before they start talking to me.
I try to make sure to keep a minty fresh mouth. I know I’m going to be talking to people all throughout the day. I don’t want to be remembered as the ass-mouthed reporter.
Maybe I just naturally attract the nasty teeth people. The humans with yellow stained teeth, the inflamed gums and the severe case of the nasty gingivitis.
Maybe these people haven’t seen the Listerine commercials.

9.15.2005

It's not so bad.

Tuesday was my one year anniversary at the News-Optimist.
Wow! The year went by fast, which I’m guessing was because it was really fun or I was busy and didn’t have much time to think.
I have to say I have a good job. I bitch quite a bit about the hours and the pay, but really it’s not too bad watching sports day after day.
I don’t mind taking in three or four hockey games, a volleyball tournament and a couple of football games each week. That’s what’s going on this week.
And really, I probably would be at the games even if I wasn’t getting paid.
Plus, it’s neat to see the completed paper twice a week and admire the work done. I also get to know that my work is being archived and will be around for centuries to come.
Not many people will actually read it then, but it’s there just in case someone wants to know the outcome of the North Stars home opener against the Klippers on Friday night.
So next time I start whining about how bad I have it, smack me upside the head. Just make sure I take my glasses off. It’s not polite to hit a person with spectacles.

Oh and what other job do you get invited to take pictures of female athletes running, jumping or bouncing around?

The Truce Has Been Broken

For the longest time, the girls and women of the world and I have had an understanding. I'm scared of them, and they're creeped out by me. It's been very beneficial to both parties, as they stay away from me so I don't collapse into a shivering pile of neuroses, and they don't have to spend four hours in the tub scrubbing my stink off of them every day. However! I go to school in Edmonton, and all of a sudden SCORES of them are maddeningly attractive. I gotta say, you girls better hope your combined hotness doesn't overwhelm my fear, or THE TRUCE IS OFF.

9.09.2005

Mr. Nice Guy

I was lying at home taking in a little television, just relaxing after a hectic deadline day.
The phone rings.
“Hello, can I speak with Aaron Lutz?”
As soon as the guy on the other end said Aaron, I knew it wasn’t going to be a pleasant call. Normally I’d pretend he wasn’t in and avoid the call, but I was a little curious.
“This is Aaron,” I replied.
“This is on behalf of your CIBC Visa card. You’re $108 over you’re limit and haven’t brought your payments up to date in a while.”
I thought about it for a bit. He was right. It’s been about three months.
“I made a payment of $50 last week,” I said. I knew it wasn’t enough but I was hoping to get a good effort we’ll leave him alone for a little longer.
“Is there a reason you haven’t been making the minimum payments?” He inquires.
“I don’t have the money,” was my simple response.
“Do you have a job?”
“Yes”
“What do you do?”
“I’m the sports editor in North Battleford.”
“Really, I’m from Prince Albert. When I was a kid, there was a huge baseball tournament there.”
“Really?”
“Yeah there were teams from all over the province and we took home the gold.”
“Wow, that’s nice.” I could really care less.
“So do you like the job?”
Yeah, it’s a blast I just wish it paid more.”
“It doesn’t pay very well?”
“No, if it did I wouldn’t have creditors calling me.” If it would have been a face to face conversation, I would have given him a nice glare and with a couple of beers might have asked him to step outside. Anyone that stupid should be beat up.
My response didn’t phase him. “So do you think you’ll wind up in Saskatoon or Calgary? At a big city paper? Is that what you want to do?”
“I’d like something like that, but might try and find a job that pays more.”
“We’ll put you on three pay-period payment plan. How does that sound?
“Whatever.”
Blah, blah some stupid numbers and dates, blah blah.
Why can’t I just get a mean guy that says. “You’re late on your payments. Here’s what we’re going to do or I’m going to come break your legs.”
I might actually carry through with the payments if there was some physical harm coming my way. Right now it’s just a 10-minute inconvenience.
Well I might be a little more inclined so I won’t have to hear about anymore childhood sports stories.
I was surprised the guy didn’t want to get together for a beer after the call.

9.06.2005

Dedication

Being a journalist, I was moved by the following story of what people in the industry will do to get their product out to the public. I wanted to share it with everyone else.

Hurricane Forces New Orleans Newspaper to Face a Daunting Set of Obstacles

Published: September 5, 2005 on the New York Times website.

Jim Amoss, the editor of The Times-Picayune, faced an ugly decision on Tuesday morning. About 240 employees and some members of their families, including one 6-month-old baby, had spent the night in the corridors of the newspaper building at 3800 Howard Avenue in New Orleans, just over a mile northwest of the Superdome.

Times-Picayune delivery trucks, top, carried employees, including Kevin Spain and Marti Vogle to safety last Tuesday.

The staff produced a daily Web edition; a print edition appeared on Friday.

They seemed to have survived the hurricane: the building was still standing, though a full sheet of glass from one window had been blown out of its casing, slicing through the general manager's office.

Outside, however, the parking lot was submerged and water was rising up the steps to the entrance. And there were reports of a jail break nearby. As the water crept up another riser, he made his decision. "We needed to leave while the leaving was possible," he said.

What followed was an odyssey for Times-Picayune workers as they looked for a new home outside New Orleans while managing to publish their paper - initially online and eventually in print.

The paper, which normally has a circulation of 270,000, had to report the biggest story in its history with no electricity, no phone access and no place to work.

With its readers scattered across the South, the paper turned its affiliated Web site, www .nola .com, into a release valve for the accumulating tales of misery from the city, providing news, crucial information and a missing persons forum that now contains more than 17,000 posts.

The pilgrimage has already joined the lore of The Times-Picayune, which has served New Orleans since 1837 and whose history includes the writers William Faulkner and William Sidney Porter, better known by his pen name, O. Henry.

Other newspapers in the hurricane zone also struggled to publish. The Mississippi Press, in Pascagoula, took refuge in The Mobile Register's offices in Alabama, and used its presses. The Sun Herald, in Gulfport, Miss., managed to print a paper each day last week with the help of The Columbus Ledger-Enquirer in Georgia.

But The Times-Picayune became an example of a private business in New Orleans that was able to function, even thrive, through the disaster. At the same time, employees there were coping with the loss of their homes and relocation of their families, just like their neighbors.

And they struggled with their own deepest fears: for five days, the wife and son of a photo technician were missing (they were found on Saturday at a shelter in Houma, La., where they had been airlifted from their neighborhood). But one reporter, Leslie Williams, remains missing.

"We vacillate between utter despair at what's happened to our city and our lives and exhilaration at what we're doing and how our readers are responding to it," Mr. Amoss said.

Last Monday, after the initial blow of Katrina, the idea of evacuation was not being considered, Mr. Amoss said. The electricity was out, but the newspaper had a generator to keep some computers running in the photo studio, which was the most interior, and therefore safest, part of the building.

Staff members and their families who had chosen to stay at the building overnight, some with their spouses, had planned to hunker down and wait out the storm. But by Monday evening, as Katrina was moving on, their sense of safety was eroding.
James O'Byrne, the features editor, and Doug MacCash, the art critic, ventured out on bicycles to inspect the Lakeview neighborhood where Mr. O'Byrne lived. Already, houses were nearly submerged in more than eight feet of water. "I know for a fact my house is gone," Mr. O'Byrne said.

At 10 p.m. Monday, as other news outlets were reporting that the city had escaped destruction, Mark Schleifstein, the paper's environmental reporter, confirmed that a breach had opened in the levee near the 17th Street canal. The article was headlined: "Lakeview Levee Breach Threatens to Inundate City."

That paper was never printed. A power outage shut down the paper's presses, which are housed in the same building, so it was published only on the paper's Web site.

By midmorning on Tuesday, "you couldn't walk out the building without walking in water up to your waist at this point," said Peter Kovacs, the managing editor for news operations. As the water rose, Mr. Amoss and the publisher, Ashton Phelps Jr., devised a plan to leave from the loading docks, using the newspaper's delivery trucks.

Jim Amoss, the editor, holding a walkie-talkie, organized his staff at the paper's West Bank bureau outside of New Orleans on Tuesday.

The floodwaters were rising at the offices and printing plant of The Times-Picayune on Tuesday when the staff was told to evacuate.


"Editors were barking orders through the newsroom and cafeteria, where some were still eating breakfast, to grab what you could put on your lap and move to the loading dock," Mr. Amoss said. About six laptops were carried out. Mr. Kovacs snapped up his toothbrush, a college T-shirt and a cigar.

At 9:40 a.m., the newspaper's Web site displayed this post, clearly punched out in haste: "The Times-Picayune is evacuating it's New Orleans building. Water continues to rise around our building, as it is throughout the region. We want to evaucate our employees and families while we are still able to safely leave our building."

As the trucks were pulling out, Alex Brandon, a photographer, returned to the building with a computer storage card full of photographs. He trudged and swam through the water, handing over the card, said Doug Parker, the photography editor, then returned to work. "He's still on the streets of New Orleans, hasn't had a shower since Monday," Mr. Parker said.

The water sloshed against the grilles of the delivery trucks, some packed with as many as 25 staff members, as they moved slowly along roads leading to the Pontchartrain Expressway. From the back of the trucks, the evacuees could see toppled trees, downed power lines and residents pushing shopping carts and walking along the upper edges of the roads.

The trucks headed for the paper's West Bank bureau, about eight miles south of the Howard Avenue building and a few miles past the city line. There, the editors decided some employees would need to return to the city to continue reporting and taking pictures, and they asked for volunteers. Seven reporters and two photographers climbed into a truck to go back. In total, the newspaper has had about 15 reporters and photographers in New Orleans since the storm hit.

"I'm thinking if there had been another 15 to 30 minutes, our butts would still be in there," Mr. Kovacs said.

The evacuated employees were sent to two locations. By midafternoon Tuesday, many had arrived in Houma, La., where The Courier was offering food, computers, phone lines and, although spotty, Internet connections. Employees' families were dropped off at nearby shelters. The Courier, which is owned by The New York Times Company, had just finished work on its afternoon issue.

About 12 journalists, led by Dan Shea, a managing editor, stayed in Houma that night, posting news on the Web site and trying to put together an issue of the paper in portable document format, or pdf, which allows for a traditional newspaper layout.

The team had none of their production software and templates, and no access to any of The Times-Picayune's fonts, and was struggling with rolling blackouts. Still, Mary Chauvin, a copy editor, was able to replicate the look of the paper on the fly by cobbling together graphic elements from earlier online editions..

About 60 more Times-Picayune staff members went on to Baton Rouge, La. There, the Manship School of Mass Communication at Louisiana State University had offered banks of phones and computers.

The paper that appeared the next morning, again in pdf format on the Web site, contained 17 articles and an editorial, all written by staff members, and 12 photographs, only one of which came from The Associated Press.

Photographs taken from the air showed a city washed out; emergency crews climbing on a roof for a rescue, only to find a dead man; refugees in boats; burning buildings; a pile of floating rubble that included a half-submerged car.

A detailed article about the breach near the 17th Street canal by Mr. Schleifstein was headlined: "Flooding Will Only Get Worse."

By Wednesday, reporters were sending articles to their editors from New Orleans, Baton Rouge, Houston and several spots along the coast, some by whatever landline they could find, often from the homes of friends or relatives. Sometimes, they resorted to powering their laptops using car batteries.

Nola.com became what Mr. Phelps, the Times-Picayune's publisher, called a lifeline, with more than 72 million page views by people around the world, from Sunday to Thursday last week. Mr. Amoss said page views surpassed 30 million on Friday. Before the hurricane, the site received about six million page views a week.

The most frightening experience was still to come for one reporter, Gordon Russell, reporting from New Orleans. Last Thursday, when the streets seemed ripe for riots to break out, he and a photographer drove from the Convention Center into the aftermath of what looked like a shootout. A bloodied body lay on the ground and police officers had their weapons up.

The photographer, Marko Georgiev, a freelancer for The New York Times, said that as he slowed his car to take a photo, the police trained their weapons on the car. Ordered from the car, the two men were pushed face-first against the car and nearby walls with hands up. Police officers threw their notebooks and camera equipment to the ground and ordered them to leave.

Mr. Russell, quoted by his colleagues on the Nola.com Web site later that day, said: "I'm scared. I'm not afraid to admit it. I'm getting out of here." The headline above the report said "City Not Safe for Anyone."

Meanwhile, staff members, straining to report the disaster, were realizing the extent of the damage to their own homes. More than 30 percent of the newspaper staff members had lost their homes, one employee estimated.

Jon Donley, the editor of Nola.com, worked for two days without hearing from his adult daughter before learning she was safe. "He worked posting all that on the Internet, not knowing whether his daughter was alive or not," Mr. O'Byrne said.

Joe Graham, a photo technician, had still not heard from his wife and son by Friday afternoon. Their house was in eastern New Orleans, an area that had some of the worst flooding. On Saturday afternoon, Terry Baquet, the Page 1 editor, was almost giddy as he reported that Mr. Graham's family had been found safe.

At the Washington bureau for the Newhouse newspaper chain, which publishes The Times-Picayune and 25 other newspapers, colleagues said they felt out of touch. "We were only able to reach editors intermittently," said Bill Walsh, The Times-Picayune's Washington reporter. "Some we didn't even know where they were or whether they were all right."

By the weekend, many on the staff were realizing what they had accomplished, although their exuberance was tempered by the tremendous losses endured by the city and the unresolved disappearance of their colleague, Mr. Williams, who had been sent to the Mississippi coast last Monday to cover the storm.

"I'm trying not to let a depressing thought get into my head," Mr. Kovacs said. Mr. Williams is an experienced reporter who was born in the area and has covered many hurricanes.

"It weighs on me; it weighs on all of us," said Mr. Amoss.

Meanwhile, editors were trying to beat back a rumor that the paper would be shut down. On Thursday, Mr. Phelps called the rumor "ridiculous" in a statement. "The Times-Picayune will continue to publish. Period," he wrote.

And indeed, by Friday morning, The Times-Picayune had managed to resume its print editions again. It printed 50,000 copies at The Courier -a "seat of the pants" press run, Mr. Amoss said, its size a guess of how much of an audience the paper would have.

The paper was distributed, using the same delivery trucks that had ferried the staff to safety, to subscribers throughout Louisiana and to the habitable areas of New Orleans. And it was also delivered in bulk to shelters, where it was given away.

There's no telling when, or if, The Times-Picayune can bring its circulation back to the 270,000 that it had a little over a week ago. No one knows the condition of its presses, or how the Howard Avenue building has fared. The Courier will continue to be its printing plant for the time being.

But Mr. Amoss also took heart in the news that readers were pouncing on the paper "like hungry wolves" as soon as it was delivered, and the print run was being increased to 60,000 for today's issue .

9.05.2005

Rider Pride

Saskatchewan has one professional team: the Roughriders. Last night they won their CFL match over the Winnipeg Blue Bombers.
I’ve never seen a group of people love or hate a team so much.
When the Riders are winning, they’re the greatest team in the world. When they’re losing, everyone is jumping off the wagon.
Last night I went for a birthday/BBQ/Rider game fiesta. Everyone was cursing the Riders. They had their Rider paraphernalia, blankets, hats and beer mugs, but all the fans were cursing the television. Saskatchewan was on a five game losing skid, so no one loved their only pro team at the moment.
They uproars were even worse when the announcer informed the world that the backup QB would be starting the game.
By half time, with the Riders in the lead and Crandell having a good game, the not-so-loyal fans were back on the wagon drinking and partying away. The second-stringer QB was the new hero.
I bet tomorrow that I’ll hear nothing but great things about the amazing Riders.
The whole point to this is how quickly fans can turn on a team.
I never understood it. I’m a loyal person. I stood by the Flames for all eight of the seasons they didn’t make it to the playoffs. I hung in for the past five Blue Jays seasons and I’m still cheering for the Canadian soccer squad to make it back to the World Cup. It won’t be 2006, but 2010 is our year. We’re going to kick Trinidad and Tobegos’ ass next gold cup.

I also think there should be a lot more BBQs. They’re so much fun, drinking beer, roasting hotdogs, eating potato salad and just hanging out by a fire. I also had my very first smore. I'm no longer a smore virgin and I expect I'm about to turn into a smore slut.

9.03.2005

Dumb bastards!

It was a good night. I was getting damn drunk at the Works, Battlefords only nightclub.
I was having a good time with my buddy Mel. We had a lot to drink; beer and vodka shots. I was pretty drunk when we left.
I was walking away when two guys wanted to kick my ass. I sauntered away not thinking too much, but Mel wanted to do something. He stared them down and they came after the two of us.
I quickly removed my glasses ready for whatever was going to happen.
I wouldn’t mind fucking someone up. It’s not something I usually do, but this cunt was my size and I was pretty sure I could kick his ass.
The only problem was his five friends. My back up was nowhere to be scene. I got pushed over once before I stated the guy down. He didn’t do anything else.
He was a skinny little cunt that deserved a beating, and if I would have had someone in my corner reader to help me out, I would have done something.
I’m not a fighter at all, but some people deserve a beating and that guy was just trying to impress his friends.
It’s too bad that I didn’t have someone to watch my back because I would have loved to go head-to head with this guy.
Even if I lost it would have been worth it. My glasses were off and I was ready to go. Stupid bastard. I need to get some of my friends here that will back me up instead of starting stuff and just running away.
I’m a little pissed off about the whole thing. Next time they better watch out. I hate not being able to stick up for myself.
I would have taken a beating from one or two guys, but not five or six. That’s not fair.
I’m a little pissed off at Mel right now. He’s twice my size and was half way down the street.
I really wanted to beat the crap out of someone, and I could have. It’s too bad I think a little too much. I knew better than to take all five of them on.
Bastards! Man am I upset.

9.02.2005

Black 6 - White 1

Last night was a blast. I was behind the bench of the Black and White game as an assistant coach.
It’s one of the perks to being the sports editor of the news paper. I was teamed up with Marty from access. It was a good thing. he actually knew what to do. I basically chatted with the players, and looked like an idiot in a suit.
The only thing I did was give one of the guys a permission to go get in a fight.
“Do you want me to flip the lid cocah?”
“Sure go ahead.” I wanted to set the tone right from the beginning. It worked we won 6-1.
It gives whole different perspective of the game than just watching from the stands. You get to see the game from the players view and hear the different comments they make.
The comments are what I thought they would be. A lot of cursing, who’s going to be the victim of the next big check and blah, blah, blah.
The Black and White game consists of players trying to make the Junior A North Stars. I get to play coach while the real coaches are in the stands deciding on who makes the team and who gets sent home.
A job that would be fun except for handing down the news for anyone that gets cut. It pretty much destroys a dream.

A couple little rants, just because I like bitching:

Another problem I have is with people who put their clothes in the washing machine in the laundromat and just leave.
I waited around for about 15 minutes for a machine to open up, but no one came. I got fed up and left. Screw it, I’ll wear some dirty jeans for another day.

I’m at work on my day off, because of a surprise interview. I don’t understand how people can just come down to the office and expect someone to just stop what they’re doing and talk to them. Most of the time it’s not too bad, but on my day off. It sucks. I guess it gave me another reason to put off doing dishes.

9.01.2005

I feel like ranting, ranting, RANTING!

The other day one of our reporters went to a First Nations school board meeting. It’s newly formed and a fairly big news story as it’s the first First Nations school board in the area.
Our education beat reporter was on the scene of the first meeting. It ended with them asking for a native reporter to cover the next one.
I got upset by this. We have a native reporter, but she doesn’t cover education. I would think the school board would want the best person to do the job and not someone because of their race.
North Battleford is surrounded by reserves, so the paper tries to pick up native subscribers by having a First Nations page. We cater to them so much that it’s even one of the four colour pages and is always filled with good news. The latest pow wow, the new school and whatever else good comes our way. Anything bad goes in the regular section of the paper.
When I heard they wanted a native reporter, I went on a little racist tirade of my own. I suggested we put all the native criminal activity on to the First Nations page. They do account for 80 per cent of the crime in the city.
If you looked at Sunday’s paper the front page has three court stories on it. Two are aboriginal murders, the third is how chiefs misspent $4 million.
I don’t mind having a First Nations page, but asking for someone because of their skin colour is absolute crap.



I also wanted to rant about the looting going on in New Orleans. Isn’t the flooding of 80 per cent of the city and the deaths of more than 100 people enough? Is there people out there who actually have to take what little valuables are left.
It’s too bad these weren’t the people that drown in the flood.