The Greatest Subbing Story Ever

With my last post fairly serious and political, I thought I’d lighten the mood some with a quick story about probably the greatest subbing ever.

As of now, I have a full year, plus a few months of subbing under my belt. I feel that I have become fairly accomplished as a substitute teacher, being able to read classrooms better and pinpoint personalities that I may need to watch for. I can improvise a lesson with little description fairly easily, and I know what to do to fill time should the issue arise. I'm still improving, of course, but I do think that I'm getting to be a pretty successful teacher. 

That wasn't always the case. 

You may recall a blog I wrote about the Joys and Also Headaches of Subbing. In it, I share some of the best stories I'd collected from my time substituting around Saskatoon. The first story was of my very first day of subbing ever, where I found myself in a kindergarten classroom for an afternoon, and the only plan was for exploration time. To entertain a few children, I decided to show them how to fold an origami bird. 

It went poorly. 

When I tell that story to teacher friends, they immediately cringe at the combination of "kindergarten" and "origami." But how was I supposed to know? I was a brand-new teacher, fresh out of internship! Ok, yes, I could have used common sense, but I decided that trial by fire was a much better way to learn. 

Thankfully, it didn't hurt my report with the school. After that school year ended and the new one booted up, I found myself subbing at that school a lot. I would be in for one teacher or another a couple times every month, and I got got to know a lot of the staff and students. Generally, I taught upper elementary and junior high, but there would be the odd time I'd be in a younger grade for a period during my spare period. That continued into the following year, where I found myself teaching a grade 7 class nearly once a week. I liked bumping into students I'd taught last year, who would then bug me, asking if I remembered teaching them in so-and-so's class (usually I did) or if I remembered their names (usually I didn't). Because I had been almost entirely with the older kids, I kind of forgot that this was the school I had subbed in a kindergarten class two school-years ago. 

Well, during one of the days I was teaching grade 7, I was placed in a grade 2 classroom for a period, so that the regular teacher could get a little extra work done with some students one-on-one. This was nothing new, and I'd been in grade 2 rooms before, so I quickly adjusted and tried my best to get to know the kids in the short time I'd have. I wandered around, supervising their writing worksheets, checking work and asking questions. They were seated in table groups, so I would usually crouch down beside one student and ask how they were doing and answer any questions they had. Of course, few of them had to do with school. 

"How old are you?"

"What's your first name?"

"Are you married?"

"Do you know how to fold an origami bird?"

Wait, what?

I looked down at the small child that had handed me his completed worksheet. I was taken aback by such a specific question. It's like...he knew me. No, that couldn't be it. I'd never taught this class before. Maybe it was just a hobby of his?

"Um, yes, I do...do you?"

"Yup, I do, because you showed me how to fold it two years ago!"

No. 

WAY.

I couldn't believe it. This kid had remembered my train-wreck of a lesson on folding origami, and now was trying to show his grade 2 teacher how to do it every chance he got. 

And I can't even remember kid's names from a week ago. 

I left that day in the best mood I'd been in in a long time. It was amazing to see the impact I had - even as a very inexperienced first year teacher - on a student. And as a sub, no less! I'm sure once I get a classroom of my own, I'll be able to see these kinds of things more often. That's the perks of the job. But I got to experience this as a substitute teacher, which feels like blind luck. And I'm pretty sure that I will never experience something that awesome in the teaching world. 

Let's Talk About Guns

Can I talk about gun stuff?

If that makes you excited, then, well, I’m sorry. This isn’t fun gun stuff, like blowing up stuff and hunting. No, this is about gun control.

I know, I know. It’s basically the opposite of fun. But lately I’ve had some weird, conflicting feelings about it, and I’d like to share them with you.

Why you? Well, I grew up in a place where gun control was looked down upon. Whenever it was brought up in the news, all I ever heard was that it was - more or less - dumb. I’ve long since forgotten why; for me, I eventually just accepted that it was bad, no questions asked. I mean, government control is bad, right? No one wants the government all up in their business. That means higher taxes, more regulation of personal rights, and just more hoops that we have to jump through to get what we want. People have to be trusted to do what’s right. When they don’t choose that, then the government steps in. They are there to regulate the country, not to micromanage our lives for us.

Right?

I know that not everyone agrees with this, but I feel that most of the people I grew up with – friends, family, etc – held this view, and therefore I had this view. I’m not saying I simply accepted the view around me blindly. Sure, the alternate view wasn’t popular, or even talked about that often, and I have found that I am strongly influenced by those close to me, but as I grew older and began to evaluate and test my beliefs away from those who had taught them to me, I found that I still believed much of what I had grown up with. I still would prefer that the government have more of a laissez-faire approach. The government deals with the world stage and national concerns, while the public deals with the stuff that affects daily life.

But maybe not with guns.

This may sound a little ironic. And I get it. I’m conflicted with these views that I hold myself, and I can’t imagine they’d be very popular among my friends and family back home. But just let me explain my reasoning, and then you can point out where I’m wrong (since my readers are primarily friends and family back home).

As you may have guessed, these thoughts are strongly influenced with the Las Vegas shooting, where a gunman opened fire from a hotel window at a concert across the street, killing 58 people, the highest death count in mass shootings in the U.S. Another 546 people were injured (according to Wikipedia). It’s crazy and sad and heartbreaking. And yet, I couldn’t help but simply shake my head when I heard.

“Really, again?” I thought.

It seems like we’re all just waiting for the yearly mass shooting to hit the States. Remember the shooting in a gay nightclub down in Orlando last year? 49 dead, over 50 injured. Or what about the white supremacist who killed 9 people in a Charleston African-American Methodist Church in 2015? The San Bernardino shootings, where 14 were killed (also 2015). The frustrated college student who killed 6 and injured 14 in Isla Vista in 2014. Sandy Hook Elementary School in 2012, where 20 kids were killed. Also in 2012, when a kid opened fire in a movie theatre screening Batman, killing 12 and injuring 58.

And those are just the ones I remember from the news filtering up from the United States to Canada. That’s 110 deaths in five years. There are countless others (nearly a literal statement) that I flipped through, trying to trigger my memory. Virginia Tech, 2007. Columbine High School, 1999. There’s too many.

For comparative sake, I looked at what the internet had to say about Canada. I know we like to pride ourselves on being “better than Americans”, but are we really? Slavery existed up here, too. And residential schools are a huge black mark on our history. So, surely, we’ve had issues with mass shootings.

Right?

Well, there was a shooting in a Quebec City mosque in January 2017, where 6 died. A year before, 4 people died (including a teacher) in La Loche, Saskatchewan. In 2014, 3 were killed in Moncton, New Brunswick, before the gunman was taken out by the RCMP. 4 died in a Claresholm, Alberta shooting in 2011.

And that’s pretty much it. In the last six years, there’s been a little less than 20 deaths in Canada related to mass shootings. The biggest mass murder in Canada’s modern history was in 1972 in Quebec, where 37 people died, but that was related to arson, not firearms. Gun related, the highest death toll is 15, coming from the Quebec school shooting in 1989. According the list I found, no other massacres hit double digits (unless you start going back to pre-1900).

What if you compare it to the world? Barring terrorist attacks, the United States sits in 6 of the top 10 deadliest mass shootings in world history. Even more upsetting is that, apart from the Norway massacre in 2011 (which was a lone-wolf terrorist action), none of the shootings that happened outside of the USA occurred after 2009. Two of the deadliest world massacres -  and probably the most talked about lately – which occurred in Australia (35 dead in 1996) and Scotland (17 in 1996), were met his very harsh gun laws. Since then, no mass shootings in either country.

So what do we do with this? That’s where I get stuck, and resort back to the old Canada vs USA comparisons. In either country, I don’t think you can buy fully auto weapons. Semi-autos are widely available, but carry higher restrictions (I think) than those that are just single shots. It also depends on the power of the weapons, probably…I feel that I’m in slightly over my head. Can you believe I’ve never bought a weapon? But in Canada, it’s a bit harder to go out and buy a gun than it is the States. You have to go to a dedicated outdoor store or gun shop. In the few times I’ve gone shopping in the States, I’ve found high powered weapons in the weirdest places. Like WalMart. I don’t know about you, but I don’t think you should be able to go to a store, get some apples, maybe a Lego set, and then, why not get a firearm.

Right?

It’s fairly obvious that gun regulation is stricter in Canada than in the United States. And, yes, it hasn’t stopped certain people from getting weapons and committing awful crimes. But there’s got to be something that can be done. Just look at the numbers I pulled, which I found in just a few minutes of googling. The United States is the only country in the world that regularly experiences mass shootings with dozens of people killed. In nearly every other instance, governments have responded to major losses in life with harsh rules. Again, this bars terrorist attacks, because I believe that those incidents, as sad as they are, are truly unpreventable. However, mass shootings resulting from lax gun laws seem to be very preventable.

Yet the United States continues to argue that nothing can be done. No, something can be done; it just sucks to do. Guns are cool. Paperwork and regulations are not. But you know what else isn’t cool? Constantly wondering whether you are going to be a victim in the next mass shooting. Because it’s no longer a “what if” question – it’s when, and how many will die this time. As Canadians, we can sit back comfortably and complain about strict gun laws and argue that we should have concealed weapons so we can protect ourselves if a shooter ever pops up. But chances are, they won’t. This is hardly a Canadian issue. We can still ask “what if”…what if a shooter shows up? What if I whipped out my gun and stopped a massacre? What if I was a hero?

…

What if I couldn’t be sure if the person behind me on the sidewalk had a gun and was also mentally stable? What if criminals had easier access to high-powered almost fully-auto weapons? What if I was just one step away from being in the wrong place at the wrong time?

I don’t want to have to ask those questions. I can’t imagine the fear that some Americans live in, or the sorrow that some experience when they lose a loved one to a crime that was preventable. I don’t have a strong stance on this. But I’m tired of seeing that another Average Joe found his way to a dozen weapons and somehow managed to kill dozens of innocent people. Criminals will always find ways to secure the tools they need for crime, but these crimes aren’t committed by criminals. They’re committed by regular dudes people don’t expect to shoot up a place, and have good records and can legally buy weapons. So maybe a few extra laws would prevent these people from having the firepower to carry out their sick thoughts. Even if that means sucking it up and going through a few extra steps to afford a firearm for shooting clay pigeons.

Right? 

The Joys of Subbing, but Sometimes the Headaches

It's been a while since I've posted anything here, due to a combination of having a bit of writer's block and being fairly busy with working as a substitute teacher. If I'm ever going to get that full-time contract, I really have to figure out how to come home and not be completely brain dead.

But the other day I found myself lamenting to my wife that I have all these teaching stories and not enough time to share them with friends. So many times I've found myself in situations that I could only laugh about afterwords, and I'd love to be able to let people into the secret behind-the-scenes world of being a teacher. However, I've now been subbing for almost a year, which has left me with far too many stories to simply tell. I'd get bored before I finished them, let alone the person listening. It might be more efficient, therefore, if I wrote my stories down for anyone to read who may want to. I may write about more fun teaching times in the future, but for this omnibus, I think I'm going to stick to the most consistently mind-numbing and regularly hilarious, Kindergarten.

Kindergarten is, nicely put, not my forte. I just don't seem to have those nurturing and patient attributes that make the great kindergarten teachers who they are. I think I'm too full of sarcasm and puns. 5-year-old's don't get puns. I've tried. Yet for some reason, I've gotten into the good books of a couple kindergarten teachers around the city. Maybe it's because I'm better at making sure the kids are having fun than actually teaching them, so they all end the day happy and tell their teacher about their new teacher and how much fun he was. Or I'm just more available than the good teachers. Whatever the case, I'll almost always take the job, since I like getting paid and I'm a glutton for punishment.

Another reason I find kindergarten so difficult is that every single kindergarten teacher organizes and teaches their classroom completely different than any other teacher. I've been to several now and no two rooms are the same, nor is the program. So it's always an adventure in figuring out how everything runs. Luckily, most kindergartners are more than happy to tell you when you're doing something wrong. There's not many feelings similar to being chastised by a 6-year-old. But enough backstory. It's time for the front of the story.

My first subbing job ever was an afternoon in a kindergarten classroom. It was in a brand new school and the foyer was designed as a huge atrium, letting in loads of sunlight. There was even a balcony on the second floor, so you could look at who was going in each room. The initial view was breath-taking. But I wasn't needed over there. I was in the kindergarten room, which was right by the front doors. When I entered, I found a room with a few tables and the rest of the space filled with experiential objects, from play sets to jars of  rocks to shelves full of books and paper and colours. On the desk, I found the brief lesson plan for the afternoon, written on a large post-it:

Thanks for coming in! It read (or something close to it), For this afternoon, the class has exploration time. Let me know how it went!. There may have been more, even a reason why she was away, but the gist was that: exploration time.

What the heck is exploration time?

I flipped through a few books and piles of paper on her very cluttered desk - if kindergarten teachers have one thing in common, it is that their desks are almost always completely covered in piles and piles of paper - until I found some semblance of an explanation. And it was exactly as I feared. Exploration time was a time for the kids to explore the toys and materials around the room. And that was all they had to do for the remaining 3 hours in the day.

As the kids returned from lunch, I introduced myself and let them know what the plan was. Of course, this was nothing new to them; it was May and they had been doing the same routine since the very beginning. I watched as they got out thing after thing until everyone was playing in a different pile of materials. This continued for about thirty minutes, at which point I became incredibly bored. I had come to realize that my being here was simply for supervision. In an effort to entertain myself, and potentially to entertain a few of the kids, I began to make origami flapping birds. Instantly, three kids were fascinated and wanted birds of their own. Then three more wanted birds. Then five more. Then six more after that. I started by trying to teach the kids some of the folds, getting them to make their own, but I soon became a drive-through window, where kindergartner's would place their orders, then go back to playing with whatever they were using before. As the recess bell rang and everyone went outside to play, I sat in a too-small chair, folding bird after bird after bird as fast as I could, so that everyone could have one. I really had overlooked the herd-mentality of six-year-olds.

Finally, the end of the day was near. 15 minutes before the bell, I called everyone's attention and said that it was time to clean up. The moment I finished speaking, the home bell rang, reminding me that since today was Thursday, it was early dismissal. 15 minutes early. I hurriedly tried to get the kids to put some stuff away, but a few began to panic about missing their buses and eventually I just shooed them out the door, leaving me in alone in the middle of Hurricane Kinder. I spent an extra 30 minutes picking up paper, markers, rocks, streamers, costumes and plastic food and throwing them wherever looked like they would fit because I had no idea where any of it was supposed to go. Then I wrote a quick note to the teacher, thanked her, and got outta dodge.

I learned a lot from that first paid teaching gig. Like, don't do origami with anyone under the age of 10, or that Thursdays mean the bell goes 15 minutes early (but I'd forget it frequently), or that doing origami for children is a way to make your head nearly explode.

Seriously, don't do origami with little kids.

From time to time since then, I've found myself back in kindergarten rooms, and each time was an adventure. Once a girl peed her pants. Another time, a girl puked her guts out it the calmest manner I've ever seen. Another little girl began to bawl when the toy phone was taken from her because, as she said, "I was talking to my MOM!" Come to think of it, I've been around a lot of screaming, sometimes with multiple offenders. But I have never wanted to curl up into the fetal position more than when I was teaching one particular child about numbers.

Recently I found myself teaching three days in a row in a kindergarten class. How the school division has decided to organize kindergarten is, where there are lots of kids, have alternating classes. So on Monday and Wednesday, the teacher would have one group, and on Tuesday and Thursday, she would have another. Fridays would then alternate between the two groups, so every other week, a group would go two days in a row. Simple, right? Anyways, I found myself teaching a group on Thursday who would be back again the Friday. Excellent, I thought, I'll actually be able to remember most of their names.

It also gave me a familiarity with the routines of the classroom, and one of the days' activities had half the class work on little games that would test their colour matching, number recognition and shape identification. A teacher or EA would then go around and check their work, giving them a sticker when they finished or corrected their errors with some guidance. Over the three days, I began to roll my eyes when a student grabbed a number word game, since most of the kids still couldn't read. One kid in particular seemed very attracted to these games, yet was potentially the weakest reader in the class. When I went over to check his finished work, it was pretty clear that he had just randomly guessed pairing the dotted clouds to the number rainbows. So I removed his errors, encouraged him to count the dots, then left to check a few more student who were finished.

When I returned, he had rearranged all of them, yet there wasn't a correct pairing in the group. I sat down beside him and decided to help him through his counting and word recognition. And by that, I mean trying to count along with him and getting him to stop on the right number. For example, I'd say, "Let's find the one with eight dots." He'd then pick one at random, and we'd count together to check if it was right. I would then say, "Does this have eight dots?" to which he would nod, yet not five seconds earlier, we had just counted 4. I'd then patiently remind him what we counted and that we should find another. We only did this little exchange eight or nine times before the EA passed by and whispered, "Most of the class can't read yet. Just pull a few words and have him find the dots." That sounded like a much easier task, so I pulled the three easiest ones: four, two and zero. And I started with the trickiest, four. I laid out all the dotted clouds, pushed away the other rainbows, and asked the child, "Alright, can you show me which cloud has four dots on it?"

He then proceeded to flip over every cloud to see if there was the answer on the other side. Which there wasn't. All that was there was the number 35, which was the number of the game he was playing. I had set all the cards right side up, dots showing. I'm not that terrible of a teacher. But after flipping so many, he'd show me the 35 and ask if this was it. "No," I responded patiently, "we don't need to flip over the cards. The dots are all on the front." I then figured I'd help him out a bit. I pointed to the four-dot cloud. "How many dots does this have?"

"1...2...3...5!" He announced proudly.

"Um...no, that's not quite right," I replied slightly less patiently. "You know what comes after 3. What comes after 3?"

"Four!"

"Right! So how many dots are here?"

"Three!"

"Oh, remember to count the dots. Let's see, 1, 2, 3..."

"...4, 5, 6..."

"No, no, there's not any extra dots there."

I was running out of ideas at this point at how to guide the kid to the number four, so I changed my strategy and went for the easiest number I could think of - zero.

"Alright, can you find me the cloud with zero dots on it? The one with no dots?"

He began to flip over every cloud and show me the number 35 again.

"No, we don't need the back side of the clouds," I said slightly more impatiently. Another classmate sitting on the other side even started trying to help, repeating what I said, but quite a bit more patiently (because he just joined the party). "Just find the cloud without any dots on it. No dots. Zero."

He again tries to flip them over. I cringe inwardly.

Then he tries counting some of the dots. I try to dissuade him, repeating, "Find the one with zero dots. The cloud that doesn't have any dots on it. No dots." This ploy fails, and he continues counting, somehow getting up to 9 on one that only has 4.

I try a few more times to guide him to zero without pointing to it, but it's no use. Even if I showed him which one, he still wouldn't get it. The background knowledge either isn't there or isn't being accessed. I...I just can't anymore. So I sit and watch him count and flip the cards, suppressing the urge to just hold my head in my hands and weep softly.

Suddenly, the lunch bell rings. I stand up and announce that it is now lunch, so all the games have to be put away. He looks up at me with disappointed eyes and says, "But we didn't get to finish."

I shrug. "Well, I guess we just ran out of time. We have to clean up now so you can go out for lunch." But inwardly, I cheered. No more numbers. No more counting. No more flipping those bloody little clouds.

So that's some of what I've experienced in kindergarten. It's always entertaining to get called for a kindergarten class. Mind-numbing, teeth-gritting, headache-inducing and eye-rolling, but also entertaining.

Welcome to My Nightmare

So you may know that I’m not a huge fan of horror.

Back in grade 10, we would usually have some time after our year end exams before the busses came, especially if they were only morning exams, so we’d often go over to a classmates’ place and hang out. One time, we decided to watch a movie. The title – The Hills Have Eyes – wasn’t one that I recognized, but what could be so bad about it?

After 5 minutes and one scene, I decided that that was all I needed to see. Forever. So I said I was hungry and was going to grab something at the restaurant. That’s been the most of any horror movie I’ve ever seen still to this day. I’ve watched the occasional thriller, like Shutter Island and Disturbia, but those had a mystery component and very minimal gore, so I found them very interesting.

It’s not just movies, either. I try to avoid all scary situations. I don’t want to be scared. Being scared is not a pleasant feeling. During my teaching practicum, I wouldn’t even go into the Haunted House with the grade 7’s and 8’s, just in case it was too much for me. It’s a kid’s haunted house, and I still wouldn’t even go in with a large group of people.

Which makes my next experience just a little inconsistent.

For my honeymoon, Janelle and I took a river cruise on the Danube from Munich, Germany, through several stops in Austria, Slovakia and the Czech Republic, ending up in Budapest, Hungary. It was about two weeks and one of the coolest vacations I had ever been on. But there was one tiny part that I’d rather not have done.

While we were in the Czech Republic, in a small, fairy-tale-esque town called Cesky Krumlov, we decided to plan out our next few hours so we wouldn’t miss anything we were interested in. It was our only day in the Czech Republic, anyways, so we wanted to get out of it as much as we could. Glancing at our tourist map, I noticed the giant castle in the centre, the armoury and mint for the castle, and the castle gardens. Then I hear some of the people talking about the torture museum and joking about going to it. I guess Janelle heard this too, because she then said, “Ooh, that sounds like fun! Let’s go to that.”

At this point, I’m fairly aware that this spot will not be my cup of tea. You want to talk about the goriest and scariest period of history? That would be torture in Medieval Europe, and it doesn’t get much more medieval that the Czech Republic. But Janelle is interested in seeing this, and really, how bad could a torture museum be? A bunch of glass cases with old, rusted instruments, with a short write-up about their usage? With this in mind, I agreed. At least I’d be there with my wife.

We saved this stop for the very end of our walk around the town, since it was close to our tour meeting spot. However, there were a few subtle signs that this museum may not have been what we were expecting when we went to go buy the tickets. The foyer was a bit on the dark and gloomy side, with a stone floor and walls; not your typical polished museum, but it could have just been a 300-year-old building, since that’s pretty normal for Europe. Then the cashier asked if we wanted to buy the joint ticket with the wax museum for a discounted price.

Dolls are creepy. Marionettes are creepier. Wax figures of very realistic people that look like they could move at any moment are deeply unsettling. No, we’ll just stick with the torture museum, thank you.

That was the first sign.

The second came almost immediately after, when the cashier directed us to go through the red curtain down a flight of stone stairs, into what looked remarkably like a dungeon.

And the third was when we heard the soundtrack, which confirmed that we were entering into a dungeon. There was the sounds of chains clinking, water dripping, metal scraping, and the moans and soft cries of prisoners. 

We haven’t even really entered the displays, and I’m already unsettled.

Then there was the first display.

It was a scene, created with wax figurines, of a prisoner sprawled over a stretching rack, while a torturer stood over him, seemingly pulling on the mechanism to stretch the guy out. I stood staring at the scene for a few minutes, picking out the details of what I was seeing while also regretting spending money on this.

We were then directed to a more typical museum room (though still very much in a stone dungeon) with glass cases that displayed some old, rusted torture instruments, paired with a short write-up on their use. I poured over every instrument in the room, reading its full description, not because I was incredibly interested in them, but I had seen that there was another room that I couldn’t see in, and was unsure if I wanted to. The creepiest ones were the tools used to pull off, or slip a needle under the fingernail. I’ve had splinters there and couldn’t conceal a shudder while reading. I then looked up to find that Janelle was long gone and I was alone in this room. I guess I’ll spend the rest of the time reading here, then.

Janelle then poked her head from the next room, asking if I was finished reading. I sighed, mentally prepared myself and followed my wife into the next room.

It was filled with wax figures. Freaking wax figures.

To my right and up some stairs was a “witch” being burnt at the stake. In front of me, another “witch” was poking her head out of the top of a pile of bricks, apparently having been built inside by her accusers. To my left were a few more instruments, but much larger than the previous room, such as the breaking wheel, the mule, the judas chair, the iron chair, and just a giant saw that could be used to cut down trees, but wasn’t.

Side note: I remembered what these looked like, but to get the names right, I googled them while writing this. Now I feel sick all over again. I just don’t seem to learn.

And finally, to my far right was some sort of scene that I couldn’t see, but could hear birds cawing and waves splashing. So I went over to the terrifying instruments to read about them. I found it somewhat interesting how many different methods were used to torture alleged witches. I might have found it more so had I not had to shudder after reading every single description. I looked up to see Janelle coming down from the mystery shoreline, and hoping that I could guarantee our passage out of this accursed room, I asked casually, “So, is there anything up there?”

“Ya, come on up!” She said, then turned around and went back up to the display.

Crap, did that ever backfire.

I again mentally prepared myself then followed my lovely wife up the stairs to the scene, which wasn’t overly terrible, except for the two or three heads that had been impaled on spikes. There may have been more, but I didn’t count. I was engrossed in trying to figure out if the tent on the side was a full tent or just half a tent reflected in a mirror.

(It was a mirror)

Janelle then took me to a part I hadn’t noticed before- a small display beside the burning witch, which was a jail cell for waiting prisoners. The soundtrack was now playing the sobs of the men who awaited their fate. By this point, I was partly convinced that one of these wax figures was actually a person dressed up in period clothes and that he was going to move at any second, in which case I would need to change my pants. There was one scene in particular that Janelle pointed out. A man sat in the foreground, uncomfortably close to the wall separating me, crouched over, but looked relatively unscathed. I turned to Janelle and asked, “What’s wrong with this guy?”

“I think he’s missing a hand,” she replied coolly, then turned to leave to the next room, once again leaving me alone. Sure enough, he was missing a hand, but I was unconvinced that this was the only thing here. I ever so slowly peered around the corner of the jail cell to see if there was anything else here. Thankfully, there was not, as I wasn’t exactly sure what I was going to do if there was something extra.

Even though I had found no extra surprises, I was still completely done. There was nothing I wanted more than to leave this dungeon, breathe the fresh air and completely forget the mental trauma I was currently experiencing. And then there it was.

The exit.

To my left at the end of a long, very tiny hallway were the stairs that ascended to a revolving door, which leaked sunlight all over the dreary corridor. It was beautiful.

But then I looked to my right to see Janelle going down a set of stairs. Into a room that I could not see what was displayed. Now, I had two options. I could ditch my wife to the unknown horrors of whatever was kept down there and ending my living nightmare, or be a supportive husband and accompany my wife wherever she went.

I guess I’ll be a good husband.

However, my body didn’t seem to want to support my decision. As I started to descend the stairs and follow my wonderful wife, I felt my knees having trouble bending. My hand also would not release its death grip on the railing at my side. I could barely hold my head up to see what was at the bottom of the stairs, instead focussing on the steps at my feet. One step after another. At long last, I finally reached the bottom step. I looked up to see a skeleton sitting in a cage, within a prison cell, and Janelle casually perusing it from a much closer distance than I was going to move. I still hadn’t stepped off the final step.

This wasn’t nearly as bad as I thought it was going to be. It’s just a fake looking skeleton (I hope). After a few seconds, Janelle turned to me and asked, “Ready to leave?”

Oh my yes. Like an hour ago.

Suddenly, my legs and hands sprang to life. I spun around and made strong, powerful strides up to the exit, making sure not to walk too quickly and reveal my hidden distress. Upon exiting, we found ourselves in a little café on the street, which I thought ironic, since who could actually eat after that tour? Funny enough, we actually found some of the people we were on tour with enjoying a light lunch here, and we joked with them about how the “museum” had been not what we expected.

No kidding. It was a living nightmare.

So if you ever find yourself in the small town of Cesky Krumlov and find that you have a bit of time to kill, DO NO go to the torture museum. You can thank me later.  

Give Me Back My Eyes

This is a year of big changes for me and my family. I graduated university with a bachelor of education. The girl I've dated for 4 years (and was engaged for one of them) is going to marry me in less than a month. However, one of the weirdest changes is that my little sister has graduated high school.

Yes, this is weirder than getting married.

It's weirder because Paige has always been my little sister. Technically, Austin is my little brother, too, but with him being only two years younger, I see him more as equal to my age. We've experienced things roughly at the same time, though I am still waiting for a nice, even beard to grow in. With Paige being seven years younger, I've been able to watch her experience things that I've already done from a varying distance. Now I'll get to watch as she starts college next fall at Briercrest, which is where I went. As I'm living in Saskatoon next year, I'm definitely coming to visit. Janelle will come, too.

Paige, you've been warned.

As you may have guessed after reading thus far, Paige and I are pretty close despite the age gap. Maybe it's because I was always good with younger kids. Maybe she didn't have the chance to get sick of me when I left for college when she was in grade 5. Austin and I are also very close, but a brotherly bond is different than one between Paige and I.

For instance, Austin has never stolen my eyes.

You see, all three of us kids have gone through 4-H raising beef animals for sale. Sadly, when Paige came around, I was practically done and Austin had only a couple years left, so she did it mostly on her own. But that also meant that when either brother came home to visit, they could be expected to help Paige out when it came to driving her to certain events when mom or dad could not, then lending a hand at whatever it is the club was involved in.

Such was the case for me a few years back with the 4-H food drive. The club sets up food donation boxes around the town of Foremost and area which they collect and then sort for the food bank. It's usually very successful, meaning that they need all the help they can get. With both parents unable to meet Paige after school at the place where the food was being sorted to take her home afterwards, I was asked to help out.

Being that meeting Paige at 3:00 in Foremost was my only responsibility of the day, I was in no particular rush to get out of bed or get ready. Heck, everyone else had already left by the time I rolled out of bed. When I'm home, I share the bathroom with Paige, but with her gone at 7, I had no one to compete with, so I could take as much time as needed to get ready. Now, a very important detail about me is that I am not a morning person. Part of this comes from being a nigh owl, but it always takes me a while to wake up. A good rule to go by is no important questions before noon. If necessary, keep the questions to a minimum.

Anyways, once I finally got out of bed, I got a coffee and did some reading, taking my time to fully wake up. Then I made some lunch, watched some TV, and then started to get ready to go into town. After showering and dealing with my hair, I went to go put my contacts in. I grabbed my case, which looks very similar to Paige's, but I made sure to remember where I put it on the counter space.

But my contacts weren't in there.

I rubbed my finger in both of the cups, making sure that the clear plastic disks weren't just being invisible, or that they weren't stuck in the lid. I remembered throwing out some contacts recently, as I change mine monthly, but there were no remnants in the garbage can, either. These were brand new contacts that I had been wearing. Did I leave them in my eyes? I've forgotten them there before, but no, everything was still blurry.

Where the heck were my contacts??

While I thought about it, I decided to brush my teeth. I went to grab my toothbrush, but then noticed that the brush was wet.

That wouldn't have been caused by the steam of the shower...

Then it clicked.

I grabbed Paige's very similar-looking contact case and opened it. Her contacts were still inside.

Paige was wearing my contacts.

Apparently, I'm not the only Reimer child who isn't good in the morning.

I met Paige in Foremost, wearing my glasses that I hardly used, with a giant grin on my face.

"You're wearing your glasses?" She asked. I hardly ever do so in public.

"Well I had to," I replied. "You're wearing my contacts."

"What? No! These are mine!"

"Nope, I checked your case," I said, shaking my head. "They were still in there."

Paige thought for a second, then laughed. "That explains why everything looks weird today."

We did establish that she hadn't used my toothbrush, only wet it before realizing the err and grabbing her own. So I guess I could have brushed my teeth before I left instead of grabbing gum.

You probably didn't need to know that.

But we made sure to use different cases when I came home and made it very clear where the other put their contact case. I even wrote my initials on them once, but they faded pretty quickly. Paige eventually switched to daily (or weekly?) contacts, primarily wearing glasses, and removing the need to have a specific counter space for her eye stuff.

So, you may be close to your siblings. Closer than anyone else you know. But I doubt your so close that you've shared your eyes with each other.

Yes, the sharing was involuntary, but it still counts.

Another Hockey Post About the Oilers

Wow, you think with the amount of writing I do about the Edmonton Oilers, I'd be a big fan.

Not exactly.

If I had to choose between the two Alberta hockey teams, I'd go Calgary all the way, much to the relief of my fiance's family (but not so much my fiance). I would thoroughly enjoy it if Calgary was always better than Edmonton, but when Edmonton is always the worst team in the league, they start to take away all the high picks and no one else gets a chance. What was once pity has become straight up frustration.

Seriously, stop sucking, Edmonton.

Now, however, Edmonton has some management in control that were never part of the 1980's Oiler dynasty, so there's going to be some changes. But what kind of changes? Who will go? Who should they get? Who should they draft? And this intrigues me. I like to think I know hockey pretty well. So how would I fix the Oilers so that they can actually start winning?

Priority number one is the draft.

The biggest mistake the Oilers have made in recent history is going to all offense and no defense. When they did go defense, they either didn't turn out or they were sent away for more draft picks, which they used to pick more offense. While that may have worked in the 1980s, it definitely has not worked today. Taylor Hall, the Oilers top pick in 2010, looked to be on the verge of superstar-dom, and Edmonton still couldn't get out of the basement.

So, with the 4th overall selection at this years' draft, what should the Oilers do?

I think they should trade down a bit.

At the 4th spot, there are some very talented and strong kids, but generally all forwards. The Oilers definitely need to get tougher, but they first need a defenseman. In a recent Hockey News article, the author suggested trading with Carolina for young defenseman Justin Faulk, or with Colorado for fellow young defenseman Tyson Barrie. The article states that the Oilers could ship out one or more of their young forwards, specifically centerman Ryan Nugent-Hopkins or winger Jordan Eberle, but that the other team may want more for their defenseman.

The author sees Carolina being reluctant to let Faulk go, since he's easily their number one defender, so that leaves Colorado as the trade target. Since Barrie will be a restricted free agent and its been slow-going getting a deal together with the Avalanche, he could be available. In order to coax the Avs to send them their defenseman, the Oilers send their 4th overall and Nugent-Hopkins in exchange for Colorado's 10th overall and Barrie, as well as a later round pick (probably 4th or lower).

Then, with the 10th overall, the Oilers could take one of the top end defensemen that could be available, those being Jakob Chychrun, Mikhail Sergachev, Olli Juolevi or reach a bit for Jake Bean. Should all those guys be gone, the Oilers could go for toughness, in either Max Jones, Logan Brown or Julien Gauthier. Jones is the smallest at 6-3 and 201 lbs. And these kids are 18.

I think that Edmonton should target St. Louis for their first. Yes, it will be a significant fall from 4 to somewhere between 26 and 30, but it won't hurt so much if it's paired with defenseman Kevin Shattenkirk. He was criticized in the early rounds of playoffs for not being as effective as he had been, so maybe he's available, which would be, in my opinion, perfect for the Oilers. He's a bit older than either Barrie of Faulk, and he does have is somewhat of a defensive liability, but that means the Oilers could get a bit more in return, in either picks or prospects, especially if the 4th + Nugent-Hopkins offer is still the deal. Maybe a goalie prospect like Jordan Binnington, or a defensive defenseman like Joel Edmundson or Jordan Schmaltz, or even a scoring winger like Ty Rattie or Dmitrij Jaskin. Then with the low pick, they either go goalie, like Carter Hart, a tough, two-way winger like Nathan Bastian or Boris Boris Katchouk, or try for defense, like Markus Niemelainen or Libor Hajek.

But if they keep their pick and try to trade player for player, which they very well might, they might try to get a power forward like Pierre-Luc Dubois or Matthew Tkachuk. Which would be alright. I just think they could do better.

After the draft, things really open up. They definitely need to trade a center, and RNH has been in the rumour mill for quite some time. He has great offensive instincts, but is quite small and has fallen down the Oiler depth chart. Send him away for defense. If they can't get a first-round pick paired with him, they should at least try for a second or third. Another player who has become a big question is Nail Yakupov, who will demand a lower asking price because of his lackluster play thus far. But, he is a former first overall, so he could get at least a decent prospect or a few picks.

One name that keeps showing up, though, is Jordan Eberle. I think trading him would hurt the Oilers' lineup more than help, as he's sort of become the heart of the team. He's a Western kid and has been with the team for the toughest years while still producing at a regular pace. Letting him go would also leave a massive hole on the right wing, with only Yakupov to take his place.

Ouch.

There are a number or other areas the Oilers need to address during this season, but with their crop of high-end talent, I think that they're fairly close to competing, or at least not sucking. They've been rebuilding for most of my adult life, and that's just too long. Just listen to me, Oilers, and all your problems will be solved.

Probably.




Quick note: I said the last post was a part one of two (if I didn't say two, I'm saying it here), but I didn't get a lot of feedback on it, so I assumed people weren't really interested in it. If you want to hear the other side of the story, let me know. I like to hear what people think about these hockey posts, because I know it's more of a niche target audience.

There's Something in the Water, pt. 1

There’s got to be something in the water.

Specifically, in Edmonton, Alberta, and Newark, New Jersey.

More specifically, the drinking water in the NHL arenas at those locations.

Why would I say such a thing?

Let’s first take a look at the more well-known case of the Edmonton Oilers. Almost 10 years ago, the Edmonton Oilers surprised many by making it all the way to the Stanley Cup Finals against the Carolina Hurricanes. Though they ended up losing, it was a miraculous run from a team that entered the post-season in 8^th place in the Western Conference. It wasn’t that surprising that they made the playoffs; with some good young players who were developing perfectly, a very good captain in Ryan Smyth, a future Hall of Fame defenseman in Chris Pronger, as well as a rag tag group of slightly above average goalies, they were a decent team that could steal the odd game. It seemed as though they were taking over as the next great team from Canada, as the Calgary Flames had impressed in years before, but fallen significantly by 2006. The Oilers were ready to compete again after several years of mediocrity.

Except that was the last time the Oilers made the playoffs.

Everything started falling apart almost immediately after losing to the Hurricanes, starting with Hall of Fame defenseman Pronger demanding to be traded, saying that it was too much pressure to be in Edmonton. Next, Smyth was traded to the shock of many fans and seemingly for Smyth as well. The combined income of those trades were 2 first round picks, a second round pick, and 4 former first round picks. For being put in a difficult situation, it could have be argued that the Oilers came out alright. I definitely thought so back when it happened.

However, I now know how everything turned out.

After Pronger left, everyone seemed to want out. Gone were all the veterans that had been signed for their playoff run. Only one stayed, that being 40 year old goalie Dwayne Roloson. He was the playoff darling, turning the 8^th place Oilers into the beast they became. Even being close to death (by NHL standards), he was thought to be the next starter in Edmonton.

He wasn’t.

They ended up finishing in the lowest position in 10 years of team history, but landed them a high pick of their own to add to the two from the trades. Of those picks from the trades, not one player made any significant impact on the roster. That’s rough luck, but explainable, since the draft is often more luck than anything. It’s incredibly lucky, then, to have 3 first round picks in one year and all of them turn into busts.

Of the players acquired in the trades, only one stuck it out for any amount of time, and he wasn’t really that good. Two turned into good players…after they were traded again to other teams. The return for those players were more picks and players that turned into busts and good players elsewhere. So if you’re keeping score, that’s 8 high-end prospects that fizzled out while in Edmonton. Some went on to figure things out later, while others shriveled up and died.

That’s an incredibly unlucky year for the Oilers. And it seems as though they never fully recovered.

2008 – Oilers do slightly better than the year before, still miss the playoffs. They land a Western sniper and Canadian World Junior hero by the name of Jordan Eberle in the 21^st pick. So far, it seems to be working out. They also steal (almost literally) a young player from Anaheim, which gains their GM much criticism. It turns out, he wasn’t worth all the trouble.

2009 – Another bad finish, leaving them to pick 10^th overall. They pick Magnus Paarjarvi-Svensson, who couldn’t crack 20 points or 50 games. They also try to acquire budding star Dany Heatley from Ottawa, but he refuses to go to Edmonton, even though he grew up in Alberta. Ouch.

2010 – The Oilers finish with their worst record in their franchise history, giving them first overall. They pick Taylor Hall over Tyler Seguin, who some thought they might take instead. Both have turned into very talented players, though Seguin has put up more points and has a Stanley Cup ring. That may have to do with his teammates, however. The Oilers officially enter into their rebuild, sending away anyone who could get them anything, including buying out one of the contracts they originally acquired in the Smyth trade in 2007. And he was originally taken 15^th overall. More ouch.

2011 – Again, the Oilers finish dead last. They go for a skinny center from Red Deer named Ryan Nugent-Hopkins over Swede Gabriel Landeskog and future Calder (best rookie) winner Jonathan Huberdeau. Though he’s performed below expectations, he’s still the most second prolific scorer of that draft year (behind Landeskog), so I guess that’s ok. They also sign a bunch of gritty veterans, offensive defensemen and former 3^rd overall pick. One of those players work out, and only for one season. And it wasn’t the high pick. We are now adding insult to injury.

2012 – Surprise, the Oilers are still the worst. They take another center with Russian Nail Yakupov instead of American defenseman Ryan Murray. Many think this is a dumb move, because the Oilers need defense. Many would still agree, as Yakupov has performed well below expectations. They then signed another former first round pick, defenseman Justin Shultz, who initially showed incredible offensive skills. However, he had few (if any) defensive skills, and he has regressed. The open would is now festering. Does somebody have any salt?

2013 – Hey, the Oilers aren’t the worst anymore! They make a big jump up to 7^th worst and finally take a defenseman with Darnell Nurse. A labour lockout scrapped the first half of the season, but Taylor Hall looked like a legit star in the second. It’s been painful, but the salt is helping. The future seems…bright.

2014 – After 41 games, or half the season, the Oilers are mathematically eliminated from the playoffs. They take German Leon Draisaitl at 3^rd overall in one of the few occasions the Oilers would not win the draft lottery. New coach Dallas Eakins (the 4^th new coach since 2009) is fired half way through the season. We told Edmonton not to pick at the scab, but did it listen? We’ve got a full-blown infection again. Hope is all but dead.

2015 – The Oilers once again win the lottery – their 4^th time in 6 years – and take prodigy Connor McDavid first overall. He’s spent 37 of the 53 games on the injured reserve so far this year. The Hockey News publishes an article that claims the Oilers could make the playoffs this year, but Oilers fan have cauterized their open sores and have forgotten what winning feels like. Even with McDavid, they are afraid to feel, for fear of breaking their sores open again.

It’s like watching Will Smith in the Pursuit of Happiness. You want to hope for the guy, you really do, but you know that no matter what, he’s not going to be happy. Pity turns to annoyance as he continually is kicked while he’s down.

“Ugh, another high pick is a bust? Didn’t see that coming.”

(I think. I’ve never seen the movie. I have the Oilers to watch, and that’s enough pain for me)

To compare to other teams who have been the worst before, it took 3 of 4 years for Chicago, Pittsburgh, Los Angeles and Tampa Bay to start becoming regular threats to take the Stanley Cup, and have all won it at least once, with Chicago winning it three times and Los Angeles winning it twice. Tampa is the exception, as they do have one cup, but it came just before they started their most recent bout of sucking, and they made it to the finals last year.

There’s got to be another reason other than the worst luck aside from the Maple Leafs.

Well, Edmonton is the farthest North of all NHL cities. With the air being much colder the further north you go, the drinking water would undoubtedly be affected. My best theory suggests that there are microscopic icicles suspended in the water. When drunk, they immediately go to the brain and restrict information channels, especially those that make good decisions possible. This explains poor play by players who then go on to play well other places, or the choices of management on draft day and through trades (if I got into all of that, this article would never end). When players leave for warmer climates, the ice melts, freeing up the decision making parts of the brain. However, if left too long, the brain will go into a perma-frozen state, unable to ever be revived.

The Oilers dynasty may have appeared to bypass these harmful effects, until you look at their post playing careers of many of them. Craig MacTavish, Keith Acton, Dave Semenko, Glen Sather, Kevin Lowe, Steve Tambellini and even Wayne Gretzky have had their management careers all but terminated because of terrible trades, bad or questionable picks, and continually icing a team that keeps losing. Only Gretzky didn’t work for the Oilers, though. He screwed up the Phoenix Coyotes for a few years, then they recovered. This year, for the first time since 1980, the Oilers have a GM who didn’t play for the Oilers. That should be a good sign for things to turn around.

I mean, on top of the 4 first overall picks they already have that have worked out so well so far. 

The Ballad of John Scott

Well isn’t this a pickle.

You may have heard, even if you’re not a big hockey fan, about the NHL All-Star Game. I mean, they have one every year. It’s a big event – or, at least, the NHL wants you to believe it’s a big event. It’s really a time for players to show off, have some fun and let lose while playing hockey, and we fans get to watch them do it.

And this year promised to be even more special, depending on your definition of the word. Well, maybe any definition would work. That’s because once again, the NHL had a fan vote to select the fan-favourite player to ensure he would be in the All-Star Game. It’s a chance, the NHL believes (there’s that word again), for fans to elect a hometown hero or a star who just might have missed the cut. Last year, the Latvians all got together and elected their only NHL star Zemgus Girgensons, which might be one of the greatest names in hockey. Though he was talented, he was young and playing on a dreadful Buffalo Sabres team. But he still got to play in the ASG.

Perfect, thought the NHL. This is exactly what we believe the fan-vote should be.

This year, however, fans wanted to outdo themselves. A few people from the popular social networking site Reddit decided that it would be hilarious to have 6’8” goon John Scott play in the ASG. Including this year, he has 11 points in 285 games, averaging about 6 minutes a game on the ice. Definitely not an all-star. In fact, Scott is barely considered good enough to be in the NHL. But when the time came for the fan vote, thousands poured in for poor John of the Arizona Coyotes. At first, we took it for what it was – a huge joke. Even Scott urged voters to pick players more deserving on his team, but his pleas were ignored. Even more votes came in for Scott, and soon, it was over, and John Scott was slated to be the captain of the Pacific Division at the ASG.

So now there was a goon attending the ASG. And, with the people speaking very loudly, Scott decided, “Why not?” and confirmed that he would participate in the game. There was even a cash reward for the winning team this year, making it a bigger draw to go. However, the NHL was freaking out. See, they still believed that the ASG was a competitive game to showcase their biggest stars and that this player would make a mockery of the game.

Wait, what?

Didn’t the NHL put in the fan vote in the first place?

It appears that they forgot to take into account the power of stupidity.

The vote allowed anyone to nominate any player to play in the game. Any player. With enough support, anyone could get in, which is exactly what happened. Most fans had stopped paying attention to the game and watched it not for the antics that their favourite stars would perform. Ovechkin wearing a costume, Malkin dressing him up, Price facing shooters backwards. No one was taking these events seriously.

Well, no one except the NHL.

So now they had a dilemma. They asked Scott to decline the invitation, along with his current team, the Coyotes. But Scott had already decided that it would be fun to be on the ice with the best players in the league. He barely got to do that while playing the regular season. And, to top it all off, he would make $90 000 if his team won. For a player on a league minimum salary, that’s a good chunk of change.

But the NHL wasn’t done. The Coyotes took matters into their own hands by orchestrating a trade with Nashville and Montreal, where they ended up sending Scott to the Canadiens. Though a minor trade, it had huge ramifications, since Montreal is in the Metropolitan division in the Eastern Conference, while Arizona is in the Pacific in the West. Then, Montreal promptly sent Scott to the minors. If changing divisions wasn’t enough, the demotion surely was. Scott was no longer allowed to play in the ASG.

This happened all of one day ago. And, as expected, fans and correspondents are furious. Sure, Scott had no place being in a game where the NHL’s best and brightest compete against each other, and note every fan thought it was a good idea he was there, but the NHL’s fan vote allowed him to be there. It was their mistake, and rather than laugh it off and fix it next year, they decided to crush the hopes of a guy just trying to stick a roster spot in the most brutal fashion. Who knows, this might all but end his NHL career for something he had absolutely no control over. Scott never asked to be voted for. He asked people to vote for other players, because he knew his skill level. You know what’s the saddest part? He even made shirts to give his teammates, and they said, “Thanks for believing in me. Love always, The Captain.”

Talk about the nice guy getting screwed.

Now the shirts are being sold to the public and proceeds will go to some charity TBA, so all is not lost, but the NHL really made a bad situation a million times worse. Maybe it’s my fault for getting my hopes up. I was curious to see how he’d fare against the best players in the league. Are they afraid he’d injure someone? He is a specialist in hitting and punching, but why do that at the ASG? No one is going full steam, and the competition level is pretty low (for a professional sport). It’s like going to the rink with a bunch of guys you’ve known forever, along with some other friends of your friends, when a big guy, struggling to skate, comes up and asks to play with you guys. Sure, you’re hesitant at first. No one knows him, and he looks a bit rough (especially with a smile missing several teeth). But you relent when no one seems opposed, and he joins up, Turns out, he’s the nicest guy on the ice and is there just to have fun. He knows he’s no good, but if that was a deterring factor, he wouldn’t have put them on in the first place. You end up having a great time, and at the end you part ways and are left with a unique experience to remember.

I remember playing in the Briercrest rec league on a team that had this one American on it. Though he was from Minnesota (the American hockey capital), he had barely ever used skates. He still wanted to play, though, so he found a bunch of used equipment and suited up. Sure, we were trying to win games and make the playoffs, but no one had issue with him playing. In fact, we cheered him on. We helped him be a better player. And in his last game, he finally got a goal. He made us a better team, I think, because the focus wasn’t on us. It was on the team, and just going out there and doing our best while having fun. Because when it comes down to it, hockey is a game, and games are fun.

But I’m sure many of you can also remember the hyper-competitive guy on the team who ruins the fun for everyone by going way too hard. I played against a few, both on my team and against. They are all about winning, which makes everyone else more stressed and a loss seems that much worse. In Scott’s case, that guy in the NHL (or Gary Bettman, if you’d prefer a name). He wants everything to be taken super seriously to the point where no one has any fun.

But, alas, what’s done is done. I’ve lost a lot of interest in the ASG after this, and I think a lot of fans are likewise disappointed in how the NHL handled this. So shame on you for giving a poor guy hope them crushing it in his face. I hope you learn from this, and remember,

It’s just a game. 

Link to the shirt here: http://www.carrawayclothing.com/product/asg-captain-scott 

Dear Rachel

Dear Rachel Noltey,

You should know that I’m not mad.

First, let me clarify – we were never going to agree on a lot of things. I’m a fairly conservative minded individual. I like it when our natural resources are developed in order to boost our economy, as that means we can do more good as a province. I like it when the government has less influence in society, and serves as more of a moderator for the big issues. The NDP is pretty much on the other side of the spectrum. And that’s fine. We don’t have to agree.

When you were elected as the Alberta premier, I was a bit disappointed. Sure, you would not have been my first choice, or second or probably even third. But you won, and there’s not much I can do if I didn’t vote. I’ve been stuck in Saskatchewan for the last year-ish, so I’ve settled as an observer. And initially, I was somewhat optimistic about Alberta’s future. I expected the NDP to implement some more liberal policies while in power, but I also figured that an NDP government wouldn’t try to upset too much of what a long standing Conservative government had previously set up. Alberta had a conservative leader for over 40 years, and the people supporting them don’t just disappear. So, a smart government would work with the conservative-minded Albertans while trying to change some things they can. I can accept that.

But we immediately got off on the wrong foot when your new cabinet was announced. Of the new leaders listed, none of them were from Alberta or represented Alberta values. Some weren’t even Canadians. It was obvious from the get-go that the NDP’s had one agenda, and that was against the oil sands. That thing that has helped Alberta become one of the most prosperous provinces in Canada. Now, I don’t want to say that what they do is perfect; everyone can improve. But when you bring in outsiders who have no real experience with Alberta’s oil sands, then I know your province’s best interests are not central to your platform. Then you went ahead and said that Alberta was the embarrassing cousin that no one wants to talk about.

That pretty much sealed the deal for me.

You’re the leader of our province. Show some pride in the fact you grew up here. Sure, we may need to improve in some areas, especially if you are of a liberal mindset, but having so much extra money that the premier gives each citizen 400 bucks is a sign of prosperity. So someone was doing something right.

Anyways, you seemed to quiet down after that. Made some big statements, then cooled down. And again, I was cautiously optimistic. Being a future teacher, I see the benefits of having an NDP government in power, as more money will go to hiring new teachers. That sounds good for me. I would like a job eventually.

But now this happened.

This, being Bill 6 and the new Carbon Tax. From what I’ve read, these things are incredibly harmful to Albertans. First, the Carbon Tax is going to put a tax on everything. Not only oil and gas, but everything you buy. Alberta has long prided itself on not having a PST, and that helps boost our economy (I’d imagine) as during the holidays, some people from neighboring provinces come to us to buy things. But if it happens, that’s not the absolute worst thing. You kinda get used to it, like I have in Saskatoon.

Bill 6 makes me mad, though. Through the implementation of union laws, the family farm, where I and thousands of other Albertans grew up, is practically ruined. On paper, the bill looks fairly good. It wants to provide health and safety to farm workers, just like every other job. That sounds alright. But under the pretty surface, you find something a little darker and scarier. To make things safer, child labour laws are implemented, meaning kids can’t legally help out with the farm. They’d need to pass certain courses to be able to operate the machinery, rather than learn from parents and grandparents. They wouldn’t learn the value of hard work because it was their responsibility. Instead, with this bill, they’d be treated as employees.

Ok, so maybe having kids not work on a farm is a good thing, you might think. There’s lots of dangerous machinery and lots of kids have gotten injured or killed in accidents. But if they are treated as employees, then farms have to pay more money to unions and other organizations in order to get the manpower they require. Young workers would receive a salary, which would come from the farm, so they would need to have money for that. Then hours per day comes into effect. Breaks, holidays, etc. Do you know how many holidays wheat or cattle take? None. So guess who else doesn’t take holidays. That would be the farmers who care for them.

Sorry cows. No food today. It’s Christmas.

Farmers learn to be safe enough for the job they’re doing. They knew the risks. Sometimes, accidents happen. But you live and learn. That’s life. And that’s what living on a farm is like. It’s not a job. It’s life. You wake up on the farm, you eat the farm, you breathe the farm, and you sleep on the farm. It doesn’t stop when the work day does.

Now, I emailed the government expressing my opposition to this bill, and they actually sent me a response. I was impressed, to say the least. They said that some amendments were being put in place to clarify that only farms with paid employees would be affected. Family farms would stay just as they are. Farmers can opt in to WCB if they choose to, just like it is now, and nothing is stopping neighbors from helping out or teaching your kids about farming or doing 4H.

Oh, well, that sounds better.

Or does it?

The first thought that I came up with is what is classified as a family farm? A company that has no paid employees? That seems to be the case according to the NDP. So where does that leave my family’s ranch? For most of the year, we don’t have paid employees. But then at harvest, we hire some neighbors to help out, and during the summer, we kids have been paid to work odd jobs around the yard and pastures. Are they considered employees? Does that negate us from being a family farm? We are by no means a large operation compared with much of Alberta. These changes would hurt us if applied, as well as many other farms and ranches that live in our area and do much of the same thing.

The email also mentioned amending the work hours to take into account the seasonal aspect of the job. But that tells me that you just don’t get it. A farmer is ALWAYS a farmer. They get holidays when someone else looks after things for a while, or its winter and they don’t have cattle. And there was no mention regarding age limits on work. Just that they would still be allowed to “teach their children” about farming and ranching. Does that include the experience gained through helping out? Or is that considered child labour now?

So there’s still holes in your Bill, Ms. Notley. But instead of stepping back and re-evaluating the piece of legislation, you’ve decided to go right on ahead despite the numerous protests and public outcry this has caused. You’ve decided to make the changes on the fly, rather than take the time to talk with people who this will affect. Do you care at all for the southern part of your province? Because it sure seems like you don’t.

Of course farming and ranching practices can be improved. We can always be improving. But this isn’t improving. This is…well, I’m not sure what you’re doing, and a lot of other Albertans share my sentiments. And you know what takes the cake? You've been so preoccupied with this and all these other huge pieces of legislation that you haven't done the one thing I expected the NDP's to do: help out the teachers. 

So I’m not mad, Mrs. Notley. I’m disappointed.  

You should know better.

But apparently, you don’t. 

What's a Cecil Worth, Anyways?

Chances are you’ve heard of this lion named Cecil and the dentist who shot him. People are up in arms about it (Ba dum tis). The people over at PETA have even called for the guy to be hanged. I swear, if PETA doesn’t overreact to one of their causes, something’s wrong. But it seems like the majority of North Americans seem to be leaning to that sort of reaction. Jail time. Public shaming. Deportation. It’s getting ridiculous.

Anyways, this got me thinking – what is this guy’s life worth? What is any human life worth? Is it worth a lion?

Well, that means it’s off to do some hasty googling while I write this. If you are the type who enjoys African trophy animals adorning your study, then you could acquire a maned head/shoulder mount for $2500 - $5000 on ebay. That’s probably what the dentist was after, since I heard that the head was cut off. Tough to make a rug then, which would be valued around $2000 - $3000. A full body mount would be closer to $10 000. And that’s not even factoring in shipping and handling.

And those are just the selling values. Trying to get an idea of what a lion shoulder mount would cost, I saw a taxidermy forum say that a guy charged twice as much on a life-size mount as he would for a cougar. Another site was charging $200/linear foot for a cougar shoulder, whatever that means.

Now, we cannot assume that a stuffed lion would be worth the same as if it were alive. It is the top of the food chain in the Saharan plains. It controls the gnus and gazelles from overrunning the continent. On top of looking pretty, the lion controls populations, anchors a food chain, and makes more lions. So let’s triple what a life-size mount would be worth, leaving us with a lion that is worth $30 000.

But is that a male or female? A lion pride can consist of up to three males, around a dozen females and whatever young are still hanging around. So if a male lion is less common than a female, then it would probably be worth more (sorry, ladies). But there’s also the fact that male lions don’t hunt all that often. They just lay around and make babies, while still looking pretty. I would add $15 000 to our first value, rather than using the 4:1 ratio seen in the prides. Basically, we’re just adding what that glorious mane would be worth. Let that be a lesson to you – never underestimate the value of a head of golden locks.

Ok, so the value for a lion like Cecil would be $45 000. Well, maybe not like Cecil, since this is the value for it alive. Too soon? I don’t care. We’re doing math here.
The dentist paid $55 000 for the trip, which is a bit more than the lion’s worth, so I’m assuming that some of the cost was for the experience and not just getting the lion, since you can literally buy them off ebay.

Now what’s the dentist worth? There’s many ways, according to google, to value the average human life. Health insurance companies have set a standard at $50 000. If that’s true, then PETA isn’t actually all that off in calling for the guy to pay the ultimate price for killing a lion. There is the $5000 difference, but I imagine that’s countered by the fact no one wants to stuff a dentist and place him in their living room.

But Time Magazine claims that researchers at Stanford U says this is too low; it should be closer to $129 000, based on cost of kidney dialysis. So a person is worth almost three lions, or two males and a female (again, sorry, ladies). If that’s the case, the dentist should be allowed to go on two more hunts before people start demanding he’s hanged. It’s only fair.

There was one more number that I found. The US Office of Management and Budget value the average human life between $7 and $9 million. They get this number from looking at job riskiness and stuff. I didn’t get it. But this is the American government’s value on the average human life.
But a dentist isn’t an average person. They went to school for way too long to not get that distinction. Their job isn’t overly risky, but they are paid heavily for their efforts. Now, it’s not that I think this person is better than, say, a coal-miner. But it would be tougher to retrain a competent dentist that it would be for a miner. So it’s the job that adds a bit more value to the dentist. I think adding an extra million to the high number is fair. I don’t think that the personality of a person comes into effect here, though. He could be a scumbag or a saint, but a life is a life.

A dentist’s life, therefore, is worth $10 million. A male lion is worth $45 000.

Something doesn’t add up here.

PETA wants the death penalty to be enacted for his hunting trip. When else is the death penalty enacted in the United States? Murder, child rape and treason are the big three in the states that still carry capital punishment. Economically speaking, those make sense. They are ruining more than just one life in that of the victim, so it’s only fair to balance the books, so to say.

There’s only two ways I see this balancing, then:

1) The price of giving an animal a name is worth $9 9550 000
2) Countless lives in Zimbabwe were permanently negatively affected.

Since the first one would raise a lot more questions and math, like what a person’s name is worth, and I’m tired of math, let’s look to Africa. I read an interesting article, written by a guy from Zimbabwe which stated that people there barely even knew that another lion was gone, let alone one was named Cecil. To them, they’re beasts that are to be feared. It reminded me of the movie The Ghost and the Darkness, which was about two man eating lions who killed and ate somewhere between 10 and 24 people, and was based on a true story. So African’s kinda don’t like them.

So it looks like the only people who were negatively affected were Americans. And really, were they actually affected? This lion was being watched by some university, and people outside came to follow its life. When we watch these giant cats on screens, we see that they’re just big kitties that want to play and cuddle, and forget that they are deadly predators. People have bought lions and tigers as pets, only to one day have them become the prey. They’re not cuddly. They’re wild animals. It takes generations upon generations to domesticate an animal species. That’s why we have house cats, and not pets that can fit our heads between their jaws.

So looking at things from an economic view, things don’t really add up. Even when you factor in that lions are listed as vulnerable, and the hunt may have been less-than-legal, a person is still far more valuable than a lion. And, really, you can’t value a human life with money. Once that person is dead, they are dead forever. They will never come back. And, yes, this is true for the lion, too, but other lions don’t care. They have no powers of reason. They’re wild animals. Sometimes a member of the pride dies, so they make new ones. A lion is a lion, no matter what name it’s been given. They are to be respected, but they will never be more valuable than a person.

The Adult Conversation

I’ve always been a fairly childish person. Not immature, but just never afraid to keep doing things that I liked as a kid, and still do to this day. Things like Lego, or looking up every time a plane flies overhead because I still think they’re cool (even though I see a dozen every day is Saskatoon). 

However, I’m also a fairly mature and responsible person, who can do things he needs to when he needs to, take care of bills, make plans with other people, and so on. Both of these sides coexist together inside me peacefully.

Until I enter into an adult conversation.

Now these are not adult-themed conversations. I’m not going to get into those (and nor should you). I’m referring to the unbelievably normal thing that happens when adults get together and end up talking. If you’re an adult, then you’ve had an adult conversation. Generally, I find that it happens with at least three people, and they sort of form themselves into a circle (standing or sitting) so everyone can be a part of the conversation. Chances are, too, that you’ve never thought anything of it when it happens, and maybe not even noticed it was happening. This may even what you think of when you hear the term “hanging out.”

Then there’s me.

You’ve probably already noticed that I’m referring to these things as “adult conversations” instead of just “conversations.” Well, look at how kids talk and be with each other. They are running around and doing things while they talk. It all happens at once. Adults take out the doing part and just talk. And that’s where I start to get problems.

For the first, say, 15-20 minutes, I’m perfectly fine with being in an adult conversation. I like getting to know people, and learning about things they’ve done, sharing stories and hearing funny stories from others. This is my adult, mature half saying, “Hey, it would be nice to see how this person is doing.”

After the first bit of the conversation, though, I start to get…antsy. It’s like I’ve suddenly decided I’m 6 years old and I don’t want to pretend to be a grown up anymore and I can’t sit still. I itch to get up and do something, but my maturity reminds me that I would look rude and kind of like an idiot.

But the feeling persists.

 So I end up forcing myself to sit and pay attention to what’s being said, but that ship has long sailed by this point. I look around. I get lost in my thoughts, then catch the last bit of a conversation that sounded interesting and want to know what happened before but can’t ask because then they’ll know that I really wasn’t listening at all and that I have the focussing capabilities of a humming bird. Is this what ADHD feels like?

Anyways, I sit silently like this, hoping I can jump into the conversation and force myself to be an adult, even though I know that the topics have departed my realm of knowledge and have no plans of returning to shore. That is, until I find a suitable distraction.

Here’s some real life examples:

1. I’m over at Janelle’s best friend’s house. We go out onto the back deck and hang out in the sunshine. Now, I know her, and we’ve talked briefly before, but I don’t really know her, and Janelle and her have a ton of history together, so I soon find myself sitting on the edge, watching them talk about old jobs and family friends and such. I’ve got nothing, so I start to look around, and let my mind wander…

"There’s a little bag on the shingles above them. Wonder how it got there? How long has it been there? I should take it down. Nope, can’t do that. That’d be weird. Man, there birds everywhere here. Ooh, they’re mentioning the birds! What is the bright orange one? An oriole maybe? I’ll suggest that (I did). Do they come around here, though? Or are they just in Baltimore?"

Suddenly, her little dog comes running out of the house to greet us. Usually, I’m not a fan of little dogs, but this one was pretty cute, and seemed really friendly to me, so I start playing with it. Soon I have it on my lap, and I’m just petting it and scratching it while it sits quietly. After 15 minutes, the dog gets up and leaves, and I realize I totally zoned out of the conversation. Whoops.

2. On that same weekend, Janelle and I went with her extended family to Dinosaur Provincial Park for a BBQ and to hang out with relatives. After the burgers, everyone starts to break off into groups and begin having conversations. Generally, in Janelle’s family, the men break off and talk about farming, while the women talk about…women things. I’m sorry, I can’t remember what they talked about. I usually think that I’m expected to be in the man group, so I listen to them talk about farming. Which I know very little about. Ranching I can get by with, but my farming knowledge ends after stooking. Which no one does anymore.

Anyways, during this picnic, I found myself torn between the two groups. First, I wanted to be with Janelle (because we’re engaged, if you didn’t already know), but I couldn’t contribute a thing to their conversation. I also wanted to hang with the guys, but I could contribute even less (especially since hockey season is over). So there I am, in the middle, listening to both side while not listening at all. Then Janelle’s (my?) nephew comes over and asks if I want to play football with him.

Heck yes, I do.

So I end up spending the rest of the time running around with a 4 year old and a 7 year old, letting them tackle me, wrestling with the younger one, and going to the park with them and hiding under a dinosaur slide, which led to pushing pebbles up through the perforated floor above us.

Now, some people may think that I was just being nice to the kids by playing with them. However, it’s more along the lines that I can’t sit still anyways and was looking for an excuse to go play with them because I freaking love it. I could escape the adult conversations and let my inner child go nuts. So really, I’m not just doing it for the kids. I’m doing it for me, too. Maybe that’s what draws me to elementary teaching.

Anyways, that’s my struggle of being in an adult conversation. One day I might be able to sit still and be all mature, but I highly doubt it. I’ll probably be the old guy playing with puppies and wrestling with his grandkids, while the adults sit around talking.