End Of A Season

     The planting season this year wrapped up in a usual crazed-melee. Planters beginning to drop like flies. The weight of the planting deadline making It's impression on the Hardcores who were there to stay to the end. The sun emanating it's blaze of heat only to be sheathed and hidden by the clouds.
     At the beginning of the season, there were thirteen people on my crew. Now, with the last day before us, we were reduced to seven. As the beastly Ford F350 growled and began to creep towards our final block, I wondered what happened to the phrase, "no one likes a quitter." Once the coffee passed through my lips and my awareness was whipped to reality, I realised that every word in that phrase still held true.
     No one likes a quitter.
    That being said, the bitterness wares off and the grudges evaporate but that is after a couple of days and a couple of beers.
    Our final day was blessed by the help of another camp, full of seasoned and speedy veteran planters. They all put in three boxes of trees before they continued onward to finish their own camps' trees. I sent an appreciative vibe and hope for perfect weather their way.
    Despite the unwillingness I felt to plant inside, my legs plunged forth and my shovel struck the soil. The trees were planted and, all in all, the day passed relatively quick. The weather was a bit shy of desirable but fair weather is rare and a stranger in Whitecourt, AB.
    We finished all of the trees around half passed four and laughter rang out among the relieved. Quads were loaded and garbage boxes were stacked inside the truck canopies. One after the other planters climbed into the trucks. The only challenge left was conquering the freshly rained on logging road that meandered up a steep hill.
    Planters made bets on which truck would get stuck. How many trucks would be towed out of the insidious mud? What other carnage could be spewed out of the season? All eyes on the action ahead, but, no truck would be stuck in that final hour. There were a few moments where breathes were held and apprehension grew. A pin could be dropped, only to be drowned out by the thumping hearts of the hopeful...
    Okay...let's cut through the melodrama.
    We made it out alive and well after all. Remember all you prospective rookies: tree planting won't kill you, but wanking will!

Dry Patches

It has been quite sometime since I last posted. The reason? I had set out to tree plant, and as anyone who has had a job in a bush camp, it can be a challenge to contact the outside world. The season, as we had anticipated, looked promising and very inviting from the perspective of Prince George, BC. We crossed our fingers for perfect weather conditions only to secretly admit what we knew was to greet us at the threshold of Vanderhoof. There were subtle signs at first, heavy rain and cool gusts of wind, but as we plunged deeper into the woods down the logging roads, the snow revealed itself in a silent laughter. Peeking around corners and distant blocks, and then threateningly close to our location where we were destined to set up camp. It was a Deja Vu for some and a surprise to others. Such is the life of planting, and I'm sure, to most Oil field workers and Forestry workers alike. I can't promise a steady update through the season but I'll do what I can. It's my sixth season out here, planting for Folklore Contracting Ltd., and I won't go as far to say it will be my last because it's those famous last words for every Vet who again returns.

Cheers!

Coming Election

  I listened to the debate over CBC radio 1 or 2, I am not sure. It was...stimulating, sure to say the least about it. Afterwords, I thought I would try the Vote Compass off CBC's website just for fun. Turns out the needle points Liberal for me. But does it really?
  I find it really hard to have a firm believe in any of the party's websites, because I really feel like they're all saying their piece so they can get in. High school student council all over again. Kidding, it's more important than that. Trust is a hard thing to place, even harder when you never actually meet the candidate and know who they are. All their websites look the same as well, I guess that just means politics and politicians have no originality.
  I'm not an expert on politics or democracy. There's the phrase, Go with the Evil you know, that comes to mind. I think I would like to try a new one. Honestly. A while ago, about two and a half weeks, I read this review in the 24 Hour News Paper criticizing Elizabeth May. It practically said, "nobody wants to hear it, May." The article was written by a Conservative writer (surprising?). The hilarious part about the writer's rant was that she was predicting May's speech, which outlined discontinuing use of nuclear energy. I agree with ending nuclear energy use. I believe Japan is turning out to be the next Chernobyl, so is that a bad suggestion? No. Are there alternatives? There has to be. There is no way that Nuclear is the one and only.
  Anyways, I'm getting off track. What I'm trying to say is, if I was to go off the debate alone, I still wouldn't have a decision. I feel like the debate was a poorly written drama. Harper is trying to play the viewers and audience, He was trying to be like Kennedy in the past, by addressing the camera as well as his adversary. Sadly, he can't portray the image. Meanwhile, the other party leaders don't have quite the solid ground they appear to promise. Either way, I am interested in seeing a new face for Canada. Yes, I am not a fan of Harper. I want somebody else to be in Parliament! I feel that he has a slimy way of lying to the public and has no agenda for Canada, other than his own personal means, which isn't democracy.

  Cross your fingers for Canada, people!

Get REAL Satire Here!

  I really do feel bad for all those artists who draw satire comics. It's like they are right on the money and nobody listens. People laugh, but they don't listen. It's funny because it's true, and that is the strange paradox about satire comic strips and the artists that write or draw them. I would be willing to believe that the only people who don't like them are the politicians that the sketches are about.

~Peace

Tuesday, March 29 - The Identity

   That morning I was pulled into consciencesness by the electronic ringtone of my phone. I opened it up and answered. Purolator was on the other side, telling me I had a package to pick up down on Cambie street and 12th Avenue. I closed the phone and rolled around for a moment, then decided it was time seize the day.
  My head was a little cloudy, the night before was quite an idol of excitement. None the less, now I had an objective to meet and a growing to-do list in my mind. I showered, and I will always be grateful for the luxury a shower gives. My apartment was a little messy and I felt a slight twitch of O.C.D. beginning to resonate through me. Before too long, I was cleaning up and thinking scattered thoughts as I organized. A half hour passed and my apartment was clean enough. I got dressed and headed out the door.
  An albino sky hung over the city. Small hints of the mystery that was beguiled behind it struggled to be heard. I ran my fingers up and down the straps of my backpack as I walked towards Broadway. There weren't a lot of pedestrians down on Fourth and Macdonald, but with every step I drew closer to scurrying life. People bustling impatiently in the anxious streets of Vancouver.
  I turned down Broadway swiftly and darted in Safeway to grab a coffee. After all, the day would never begin if I hadn't had some of the dark brew. I dug deep into the dungeons of my pockets to pay the Starbucks attendant. Pocket lint and coins surfaced. I slid the due change into her hands and then added cream and sugar to my cup. The bronze tinge signified satisfaction and I left Safeway for good. I looked west down Broadway and saw the Ninety-Nine B-Line, my chariot.
  In that bus, I bobbed back and forth like a pint of booze in a drunkard's hand. It's always an interesting ride. People become sandwiched togethor with no room for comfort. Lucky for me, Cambie came quick and before I had time think, I was walking passed the Canada Line Skytrain Station. I approached the doors of Purolator after figuring out which side of the mall it was on.
  The parcel was almost in my hands but first I had to sign my name. The electronic state-of-the-art machines they used were a little mindboggling at first glance. The part I had to sign was facing me while the rest of the screen was upside down, intended for the employee to use. It was all about efficiency, no time to waste. My first attempt at signing was sloppy, so I gave it another go and left something a little more presentable. It's only a signature, but that's not the point! There is more to what you write then a lot of people care to know, but if you think about it, are you sure you want to meet someone who carelessly scribbles their own name on a piece paper? Maybe, maybe not.
  I emptied the parcel and withdrew my birth certificate. My last copy had looked half as glorious and was also half the size of this one. I was holding some kind of modern art. This paper was a legal document, and sometimes when I think of the law I think of black and white, not technicolor or high definition. Bland is at the hand of the judge who speaks the rules. You could expect every speck of the rainbow flowing out of the hand of a painter or poet but to a much surprised face, you could see adorned art on a little paper like the one I held. I suppose I forgot, that in itself, Security and Law did have their eccentricities.
  With my birth certificate in my hands, a door had opened. That door led down to Commercial Drive, where I went to get BC driver's license. Still feeling some of the effects of yesterday, all my thoughts weren't exactly in order and they came out of my mouth in that way. The lady at the ICBC was slightly perplexed, but after some poking and prodding we had found the direction we intended to take. After a vision test, a quick knowledge assessment of the rules of the road, and the surrendering my old Saskatchewan license, I was given a tempory BC driver's license at the cost of thirty dollars.
  I really liked my Saskatchewan license, not just because it had a decent picture (which I knew my BC one wasn't going to have), it was because it was one of the last symbols I owned that showed that's where I was from. What can I say, I'm proud to be from Saskatchewan. My roots are deep within that prairie soil and will always remain there, in a metaphorical sense, of course.  I've long since left the province and as much as I would like to return, it is not the time to do so.

Feudal Thoughts In A Modern Mind

  I had this crazy thought today about how society is still in the Feudal Era, trapped in a transformed type of Monarchy, and that we are all too afraid to admit it. To admit the fact that we changed the name and therefore, made it different and new.
  The impoverished  fought for their freedom and freedom was the prize they received. Or did they? The powers at be, a.k.a The Kings and Queens, were changed into the members of Parliament, a.k.a President or Prime Minister. Maybe the presence of power had changed hands, but the fact that the power was transferred to somewhere or someone else doesn't change the type of ruling. Laws were made, they don't really exist in a tangible sense, they are just suggestions. I was given my rights as a human being by some one who defined what my rights are, so am I actually getting all the rights I deserve or only so many rights that some one has allowed?
  In the same way that I was taught my rights, I was also taught to want things instead of need things. As I walk down the sidewalk smelling the air, observing whatever else is happening around me, I notice that not everything is as fundamental in life. All these signs and street names and shops are not necessities. Humankind developed some kind of unique sense of belief, trying so hard to say that we are not like animals, but does the ability to form syllables into a language we interpret any more different then what a bird does when it sings? What about when one dog barks to another and playfully jousts the other? The dogs understand what they mean; birds communicate with each other perfectly. We all have courtship dances of our own, and from my perspective, we're not really that different from animals. We dance, display, and make noise, and if everything is right, life goes on. Bah dum chink!

OCB and Pedal Power

  Over the past couple of days, I have been doing some volunteering at Pedal Power and Our Community Bikes, in Vancouver. It's amazing, after so many years of riding a bike and feeling familiar with a bike, I am learning so much.
  I have only learned basic maintenance so far; I have learned how to over-haul (OVH) and true a wheel. Over-hauling a tire means cleaning and inspecting the tire's axel and ball bearings, then replacing and regreasing them. It is a tedious task and I was surprised by how much attention I had to administer when doing the procedure. I spent an hour and a half doing an over-haul one day and then another two hours the next day!
  Truing the tire is making sure there is equal tension within the spokes to ensure the wheel spins without curving to one side. It's a lot easier to do, believe me! When you tighten a spoke it pulls the wheel in the direction that the spoke is facing. If you tighten one spoke a half-turn on one side of the wheel, you have to give the spokes beside it a quarter-turn each (keeping a balance of tension). I don't recall what the device is that holds the wheel, but it pretty much looks like a combination of arms that work like vices. One set of arms holds the wheel, acting like the part that holds the wheel on a bike, and the other set of arms comes together towards the rim of the tire (so you can easily identify which direction the wheel is curving and make the appropriate changes).
  After I had volunteered myself for a couple of hours, the shop let me use their equipment to fix my bike at a lower cost! I took advantage and fixed my brakes. A couple days earlier, I was biking to the gym and was just about hit by a Porsche 911 Carrera (probably my favorite car type, definitely my favorite car manufacturer). I knew I was taking a risk because I virtually had no experience stopping without brakes and I almost paid for it. Schieza! At least it wasn't soccer mom driving a Volvo, that wouldn't sound as good saying it to somebody in Purgatory or Limbo. Here's to another day!

Speed: The Fast Lane To Pain

I was at the gym today working out and another member of the gym watched me do a set of one of my exercises and decided to help me out. He was an older man, slowly balding, but he was actually in good shape. He was a personal trainer.
  "I'm sorry," he said, "when I see some one doing something wrong I just have to tell them. Do you mind?"
  "No, not at all," I reply, stepping back from the bench to let him show me.
  He shows me the proper way to do the workout, which was some kind of tricep-pull-up with a dumb bell. There were a couple of subtle mistakes in my form and my speed was too fast. He told me that using to much speed potentially increases the risk of injury and "cheating," during your exercise (cheating, as in you're not isolating and working the specific muscle group correctly). I tell him that I do it as though I'd be doing it in real life situations, to which he said, "yes, well this will help you out during your real life situations, and it will make it a lot easier. It will also help you gain muscle faster too."
  I nodded. I finished my last set of the exercise and he watched me as I did it. Afterward, I looked up and said thanks. He was happy to see the change and continued his own work out routine.
During the rest of my workout and the bike ride home, I was thinking about his advice. After all, he was a personal trainer. I had been doing the same kind of work out for years and it has worked for me. Changing how I exercise is not too big of a deal, however, taking on new advice and discarding the old doesn't sit well with me.
  I had read a workout still that was made by a criminal serving time in the U.S.A. and it actually made a lot of sense, not just in the gym but outside as well. I also read about another trainer's regimen that he makes his clients use. The criminal said, "Do all your exercises quick and with little break time." (Maybe a minute break.) The trainer had almost the same idea, do all your exercises with little break time with a get-in, get-out mentality. The idea behind these workout mentalities is that with little break time, you give your muscles less time to cool down and result in injury. It also is the idea that strong muscles are made through continues use and work; you don't work hard for a little bit and take a 5 minute or 10 minute break in between.
  Control is a major concern when working out. Control your speed, form and safety of your exercises and you'll have a steady progression and improvement. Ultimately, I believe that is what the personal trainer was trying to say and I agree, although, I wasn't consciously practicing the element of control. After having done the same type of exercises or tasks sometimes you don't recognize that your form or technique get's sloppy. I'm glad that personal trainer pointed it out so I will know for next time!

Dreams 1 of Many

  Last night I had a couple of dreams. The one that was the most interesting was where I was in a room of people. Among them there were band members. What band in specific? I have no clue, but in the dream I did. At first we were talking, and then in what felt like seconds I was at a venue watching them perform. It was amazing! They played some kind of punk/rock/indie music that sounded really awesome, I recall watching their fingers move to the various chord positions as they strummed.
  When I awoke I wished I could've remembered what it sounded like, I tried but couldn't. I was stuck in that feeling of it being just out-of-arms-reach in my mind. Too bad! It's frustrating to know I can't repeat the dream-made music to others. It was great! You'll just have to take my word for it.

On another note, I was looking up some Peru travel blogs/websites and came accross this photo of a cub:

La Tigra!

Cheers!

Don't be so dramatic!

  I can't speak for everybody but I think I put to much thought into this. Before writing what I was thinking I was asked what to call what I was about to write. Silly isn't it? A person never says, "breaking the ice," when talking to somebody else for the first time, and maybe they don't call it that either. Likewise, you don't name your child before you make it, do you? I don't. Haven't yet and probably won't when the time comes. I'll make it first. So I suppose before I get the ball rolling, I'll just get that thought out of the way. I now have a mental note, "write now, name later."
 
 Okay, so, I still have that blank stare filled with confusion as to what to write next. It's actually the same stare I have sometimes when people say, "what have you been up to?" It's not that I haven't done anything; it's just that I routinely draw a blank and then draw on the environment around me, searching for conversation topics. Maybe that's I was taking Ritalin all those years...I'm kidding. I don't take Ritalin, but I do draw a blank from time to time.
  Memory is a funny thing. It's also a fascinating phenomenon. I read quite a bit about the mind and its ability to store information or what the best technique to use to remember that information is. The root of the problem is not using that knowledge wisely or even putting it into practice. Remembering somebody else's name is actually quite easy if, say, you're paying attention, you have a special need or connection, or you try to remember. Weird, hey?
  The key word in the last two sentences was connection. The reason being is that if you have a special connection to something you'll remember it better. For example, you need to know where you parked your car in a place you've never been. Hopefully, you look for some landmarks (street signs, a business close by, a post office, liquor store, etc). When your brain creates a memory, it takes all the data from your senses and includes it into a cell, and then a connection will be fastened to it. The more important the memory is, the greater the connection is in your mind, enabling you to recall it quickly.
  When you go to sleep, your brain sorts all the experiences and information. If you have a poor sleep that night, the harder it will be to remember what you have done earlier that day. While the brain is sorting your memories, you are dreaming. I hear people say all the time, "I don't dream," but they are actually dreaming even though they don't recall. Reasons for being unable to remember your dreams are: the conscience desire to recall dreams, lack of sleep, and poor sleep caused by the bed, intoxicants or the environment. By improving any one of these reasons, a person will be able to remember their dreams. Dreams and memories, I believe, are closely linked.
  I believe there are multiple reasons as to the link between memories and dreams. I also believe that there is so much useful information to be learned about an individual from their dreams. In many cases, dreams seem to be random or pure fantasy, but in others, they are so realistic and powerful. If you are paying attention in your dream, which is pretty hard to begin, you can notice the feeling of objects, the texture and other aspects inside your dream.
  People are also able to remember a feeling of objects, emotions, sounds and any other way we interpret the world. True enough, we all visually recall things easier, which is why feeling objects in dreams is harder to do than it is to see them. Have you ever had a dream where you felt like you couldn't run? Some force was compelling you to do the exact opposite of what you intended. Your limbs move clumsily as you thrust yourself in a vain attempt to run. Maybe it's because you haven't run in a while? You can run, you know the feeling and you can remember other times when you have ran but in your dream you can't. Maybe it is just your body stopping you from actually running while you're asleep? I can't tell you because I'm not a scientist and I don't have proof, but if I was to take a stab at it, I would say it is your body stopping you from moving in your sleep and acting out what you're dreaming about.


Okay, I'll shut up now. Tomorrow will be a more chill topic.