Bitchin' about the boss

I launched my own writing and editing business earlier this year, and when people ask what I've learned so far, I reveal the biggest lesson by far: I'm a slavedriver. 

The greatest fear before setting out was not knowing what kind of self-employee I'd be. Turns out I'm the kind that sits at my desk in the morning and then basically doesn't move, sometimes adding a bit more word at night. It completely undermines the whole "take strolls while the sun shines" theory of working from home, until I burn out and play hooky for a day while feeling guilty for not working.

It's a cycle I plan to tackle in the coming months, but in the meantime I figured I should at least prove that my recent time hasn't just been devoted to organizing community fetes and planting gardens. 

I've been writing a blog for MSN called "On Second Thought", which has so far covered political gaffes, the upshot of the Census results, and how the massive Budget bill came down to a battle of the bladders. (The blog should be launched in its own space shortly.)

I've put together some travel and royal galleries, also for MSN (where I seem to be becoming the in-house royal specialist, which strangely gladdens my little Aussie heart).

Small business reporting has included entrepreneurs selling out and the pains of transport costs,both for The Globe and Mail.

And some other stuff that's either corporate or hush-hush right now. 


It's exciting and exhausting. And I'm loving it. 

Why Australia's Gina Rinehart could be the saviour of news

Look out, Murdoch. Australia has a new media baron on the make. Australia's richest woman, Gina Rinehart, is making a play for Fairfax, one of the country's largest media groups. It's a serious concern for a country that has waxed and waned on the topic of media control over the decades. 


Fairfax has long held its head high, thanks to its Charter of Editorial Independence stipulating that the board and owners have no input on media content. In light of Ms. Rinehart's plans, however, it has come to light that none of the current board has signed that Charter. It was understood to be a standing agreement between the board and staff, but some people now fear that a new owner could argue that the lack of current signatories renders the Charter moot.


Given that both Australia's economy and its politics is in the red hot grip of the resource and mining sector, it's a huge concern. But what does this really mean for media independence in Australia? The government is openly debating the need for stricter regulation and greater government control over media ownership. But in the current, turbulent media landscape, the Fairfax issue could in fact speed up the transition to the new future of media, without the need for government to pull the strings.


If Rinehart dismisses the Charter to push for a more conservative, mining-friendly editorial direction, she renders the Fairfax brand worthless. She robs herself by devaluing her brand. Turning Fairfax into yet another conservative mouthpiece (as if Australia needs more conservative voices in its public discourse) will attract a certain kind of reader, yes. But it will lose many more.

Of course, this has huge implications for news coverage. If yet another news outlet is having layoffs and heading to the conservative hills, that means there will be less unbiased reporting to go around, which is a tragedy for democracy. But those (huge) concerns aside, without the charter, Fairfax has a greatly reduced editorial value, and today's readers will treat it as such.

Mass media has almost always been in the hands of barons and super-elite owners. To retain a position of broad authority, a media outlet must maintain a strong editorial reputation. Without it, the outlet becomes a mouthpiece of dubious value and integrity. It always was and ever will be thus.


What is different now? Readers. While they cannot democratize media ownership, they certainly are democratizing consumption. Moves like the scrapping of the Charter actually open the door for a new kind of news provision, perhaps one that leaves the barons out of the loop entirely (think spot.us and the like). If Gina Rinehart buys Fairfax and does not sign the Charter, she might just help usher in a new future of news, a future in which she has no place at all.

Escape from Disneytraz

Forget Space Mountain and Harry Potter World. If you want a real adventure while in the clutches of Disney World in Orlando, Florida, just try using public transport.

Having submitted myself to the obligatory visit to Main Street USA at the Magic Kingdom, I decided to spend the following day visiting downtown Orlando.

I was driven largely by curiosity: While Orlando is the most visited city in the US, very few people actually go anywhere near the city, choosing to bypass it en route to the endless, flat sprawl of theme parks and hotels that surrounds Orlando like albumen around a fried egg yolk.

A friend had suggested I check out Urban ReThink, so with that as my destination, I set out to catch the bus.What follows is my notes from the adventure.

The trek: Hilton Bonnet Creek, Orlando, to Urban ReThink, 625 Central Blvd E, Orlando.

Distance: 32.7km

Driving time according to GoogleMaps: 26 minutes.

12:33pm: Get on Disney shuttle at hotel, and arrive 14 minutes later at Downtown Disney, an outdoor mall that offers more Disney than downtown. GoogleMap directions provided by the concierge say it's a 2 minute walk to the bus stop for the #50 Magic Kingdom/Orlando bus. I head around the Cirque du Soleil building and walk through the massive carpark back to the road the bus just travelled.

12:55pm: Trudging beside a four-lane road busy with Disney buses, hotel shuttles, and cars. There's no footpath, so I alternate between scratchy grass and the periphery of the parking lot. Naturally, the #50 goes past, marked "Magic Kingdom". It's hot. This isn't magical.

1:13pm: The alleged 2 minute walk actually takes 24, because the shuttle drop-off is on the opposite side of the mall. It's been 40 minutes and I haven't even started the hour long bus transit. Abort?

The bus stop on the left

1:22pm: Just realised I'm waiting on the wrong side of the road. There are no signs to indicate what direction the buses are going - the wee sign just says #50 - and the bus just went past again marked 'Magic Kingdom'. I finally realise the name of the busline is the two opposite destinations, and I need to be going the other way. Goddamn. Abort??

1:26pm: As I'm standing at the traffic lights waiting to cross the intersection to the correct bus stop, naturally, the #50 comes. If the lights change and the bus is caught on a red, I think, I'll go ahead and catch it. If the light stays green, and the bus proceeds through, then I will take is as a sign from above and decline the option of waiting another half hour in the beating sun for the next one.

The light holds. The bus leaves. I head back into Disney.

Epic fail.

Afterthought: Dare I walk back to the hotel???

* * *

Escape from DisneyTraz, Part II - The Long Walk Home

2:40pm: The return hotel shuttle leaves at 3:40. I could stay and walk around the mall, or walk home. Given the futility of the day thus far, I compound my errors and aim for adventure. Walking it is.

My feet at the start, totally ill-shod.

 2:46pm: I hit my first challenge - a massive intersection with no crosswalks - only to face the second: There are no footpaths. Or shade.

Cross-walkless gauntlet, conquered.

2:53pm: WIN! A massive blue heron is in a creek, totally unseen by passing traffic. I stop to take a pic, standing on a two-foot ledge beside rushing cars. One honks, and I jump, thankfully not into the oncoming traffic. I wait for a gap in the traffic then speed-walk/jog down the roadside to reach grass again.

That's Mr. Heron to you.

2:56pm: An overpass looms ahead. Is it too much to think they'll provide some kind of flat surface to walk on? 

 2:57pm: Apparently yes, that is too much to hope for. I'd stop and take a pic of my feet walking the 8-inch gap between the pylons and the guardrail, but I'm worried about topping into traffic. Intrepid reporting only goes so far.

3:05pm: Reach the Bonnet Creek Resort entrance, having dashed across two highway on-ramps. The entrance is decoratively designed with large rocks and such. Wearing flip-flops was not so great an idea.

3:07pm: A footpath! Only on one side of the road though: I'm guessing because that's the side the staff would walk down to be picked up. Heaven forbid they wait near the hotels.

3:16pm: A footpath begins on the other side, and I cross the street to catch some of the scant shade. 

3:18pm: WIN! Find a golf ball.

3:19pm: And another!

3:19 and a half: And another!

3:20pm: Okay, this is the last one I pick up. How bad are these golfers?

3:21pm: Hilton comes into view. Still a long way to go.

3:21 and a half: Just discovered this isn't a footpath at all. It's an access path to the golf course, made for buggies and the like. As I can't walk along the path during play hours, I have to turn around and run the gauntlet of traffic to reach the hotel. NOTE: Cars really speed along here. :(

The elusive buggy path...

...and the shitty pedestrian option.

3:31pm: FINALLY! I get to the side gate of the hotel so I can enter via the pool, and discover the hotel has bike racks. Who knew?

3:32pm: DAMMIT! Side gate is locked. To the front it is. Still, at least I beat the shuttle.

My filthy, sunburned feet at the journey's end.

Bless

I ventured onto my bestie's blog earlier and she'd posted an awesome flashback to 2007. (I can't link to it, though, because she's secret-blogging, and it would ruin the illicitness of it all. You'll just have to leave it to serendipity.) 

I'm totally going to fetch a bottle of wine now. Miss you, missy.

For reasons/excuses for my lack of blogging, please see Exhibit A, which I'm organizing, Exhibit B, which I'm co-chairing, and a little thing called starting my own business. You can blame the above fabulous miss for inspiring that. That's us in the pic, discussing business in her Aussie kitchen, while the boys were outside talking fashion. That's how we roll.

Bloomin' great

Whatcha doin' next weekend? If you're in Kitchener-Waterloo, you should totally come check out Bloomin' Earth. It's a one-day market at the Kitchener City Hall where you can pick up some hand-made, Earth-friendly goodies.

Added bonus? MeCycled is making a comeback, bringing lots of pretty, one-of-a-kind gift bows made from magazine pages! Perfect for Mother's Day, birthday presents, or popping on a bottle of bubbly in your fridge and pretending it's a surprise gift from a secret admirer. Bless such versatility.

A sneak preview:

For the literature lover

Wine, comics and print, oh my!

There'll be lots more to choose from. Come visit on the day!

Jesus V. Felix the Cat

One had wicked hair, hit his peak at 33, and then disappeared in such mysterious circumstances that we still talk about them 2000-odd years later. The other found a magic bag of tricks at the age of 34 and went on to a whole new life of amazingness.


Forget the so-called Jesus Year, during which 33-year-olds wake up, realize there is a big world around them that doesn't know they exist, and, as The Globe and Mail so condescendingly put it, publicly explore their "emerging adulthood".

I am totally going with Felix The Cat.

Felix started off in 1919 as a small, curious and inventive little feller. (Oh, and did I mention he was created by an Aussie? True.) But it wasn't until 1953 - when Felix was 34 - that he found his groove. Having already led a full and exciting life, Felix got even more awesome thanks to a magical bag o' tricks that pretty much allowed him to do anything he freaking wanted. Awesome.

So screw the Jesus Year. I take great dudgeon by any inference that I am, at 33, still emerging as an adult. No: I'm married, with a mortgage, and have a 13-years-and-counting career that spans two continents. Developing and maturing, I always hope to be. Emerging, I am not.


So it is now, after all of my years as an adult, that I feel I'm finally about to discover my own bag of tricks. I am 33, and that means:
- These grey streaks in my hair can stay. I think they look intriguing and kind of hot.
- I have mastered my work skills, which means I can seek out projects that push me in new and interesting directions.
- I am confident enough in my abilities to launch my own business, and am willing to succeed or fail on my own terms.
- Note the above: I am willing to fail.


While long-haired self-discovery and rampant sandal-wearing both have a time and place in every person's life, I'm gunning for the Cat.


New Motto: I Strut, therefore I Am. Bring on my bag o' tricks!

State Election Steeplechase!

It's a special time of year here in Queensland, Australia. It's election time. With the State election due for the end of the month, and a lacklustre attitude among the voters who see either main options as limpid at best, I hereby propose we skip the ballot box and let these two sort it out how it really should be: In a race to the finish.

 STEEPLECHASE!!

ennui

nine days to wind it down
hand it over
and walk away

that bright light
is long gone
foiled and fooled
til now unfueled

and so dusk
waning, waning, waning
and I here
waiting, waiting, waiting

T.B., Jan16, 2012.

New year, new camera

On a recent work trip to San Francisco, my delightful husband either lost our camera, or it was stolen from his person. Either way, it was a major bummer. But, on the upside, at least it came as the season of holiday shopping specials was upon us! Thus we now have a new member of the family. It doesn't have a name yet, but our new camera is a beautie, and a substantial upgrade. (For those interested in such things, it's a Canon T2i with an upgraded 18-135 IS lens.)

So we took it with us to Montreal. Here are some muckaround pics from there and back at home, taken as we got used to the new machine. (Note: If you click on one of the pics, they'll all come up in a full-size viewer. Handy!)

T. in the apartment of an actor friend who kindly let us stay there. It's an awesome studio on St. Laurent and Duluth, above Laika, if you know the area. Wickedly cool.

Close-up of cardboard artwork (blurred by light in the earlier pic)

Close up of artwork.

See what I did here with the mirror and the lanterns? Huh? Tricky, eh?

Said lanterns, cross-processed for colour boost in Aperture.

My good man, pre-coffee.

In Little Italy

At the Jean Talon market

Yum.

Our Little Italy staple.

Now, onto some of my efforts to try out the camera's manual capabilities:

Kitchen light, focused on base.

Kitchen light, focused on rim.

Souvenir from the Radio City Rockettes - Focus on left (falling) soldier.

Focus on soldiers on right.

Focus on soldiers at the front of the right-side line.

 And, for randomness:

The amazing cloak I found at Local 23, a vintage store - or friperie - in Montreal. *Love*

Ode to an iPod

O iPod, white and sleek and oblong,
Word has it that your goods are gone.
Your 1st gen wheel remains firm to steer,
Your wee screen face youthfully clear,
But Apple says your ticker's tickin'
And your battery could give me a lickin'
By bursting into spontaneous fire
That could, it seems, become quite dire.
And yet, and yet, it's hard to view
A future void of your menu,
With extras that I never filled
Figuring there'd be time for that still...
Now Apple says that chance is past.

Some things, I s'pose, weren't meant to last.

So let's remember the glory times:

The airport queues, the checkout lines,

The walks to work and dashes home

The myriad times you drowned out my phone.

Then I'll wrap you up and send you along

(After I hack your software to get my songs).

 

What's the environment worth?

The Canadian Environment Network received a brutal, although not entirely unexpected, shock last week, when the Federal Government sent a letter saying it was not going to follow through on promised funding of $547,000 for 2011/12.

The network, which links 640 environmental groups and individuals across Canada to help protect the environment and promote ecologically sound living, was forced to shut its doors nationally. (Some regional offices are continuing on provincial funding.) 

A spokesman for Environment Minister Peter Kent told CBC News that the move was designed to ensure the department was getting value for money.

So, let's take a look. What else could that that $547,000 fund?

- Almost 10 months of military travel for Peter Mackay (as averaged from his spending $2.9 million over four years*, equivalent to $13,942 per week)

- Nine days of Treasury Board-approved advertising for the Canada Revenue Agency, Parks Canada, Finance Canada, National Defence, RCMP and Veterans Affairs ($21,050,000 for the year†, equivalent to $57,671 per day)

- Eight days of security for Stephen Harper and his family (based on the $46.9-million spent from April 1, 2009 to Jan 31, 2011≠, working out to $69,938 per day)

- 5.7 hours of special tax breaks to oil companies (based on the $840-million given in 2010^, which breaks down to $95,890 per hour)

- 2.9 minutes of profit for Rogers Communications (given their $410 million net income for the second quarter of 2011~, which works out to $187,728 per minute)

Looking at that, you've really got to admire Kent and Environment Canada for saving big where it really counts. Nice work, Pete! 

Anyhoo, that pesky environment stuff will take care of itself, won't it?

* The Globe and Mail: http://www.theglobeandmail.com/news/politics/mackay-racks-up-nearly-3-million-in-flights-on-vip-jets/article2184074/

† Treasury Board of Canada: http://www.tbs-sct.gc.ca/pubs_pol/sipubs/comm/adv-pub/alloc_1112_q1-eng.asp

≠ Toronto Sun: http://www.torontosun.com/news/canada/2011/02/16/17301906.html

^ International Institute for Sustainable Development, November 2, 2010: http://www.iisd.org/media/pres.aspx?id=180

~ CBC News: http://www.cbc.ca/news/technology/story/2011/07/26/rogers-earnings-second-quarter.html

Townee Tees!

If you needed proof that Waterloo is a great town, this weekend provided plenty to convince the most skeptical of folk. Doors Open drew thousands of people to the basically brand-new corner of Erb and Caroline/Bridgeport to check out the new PI, CIGI and Knox Presbyterian buildings, while the Medieval Faire was in nearby Waterloo Park, the Terry Fox Run on Sunday morning, and the fourth Car Free Sunday of the summer to wrap things up on Sunday afternoon. Phew!

I had my second Townee Tee stand at Car Free Sunday, and had a blast chatting to people about the City of Waterloo sign that features on my tee's, magnets and postcards.

Merchandise - Tees, magnets and postcards.

On a sidenote, it turns out the City of Waterloo is currently polling people about the future of the sign. The sign was erected in 1948 - the year Waterloo became a city - and in my opinion is freaking awesome. But it does need some love. So the City's trying to find out if people want it fixed, fixed and moved, or done away with. Put your two-cents-worth in here.

The man of the hour, manning the stand

Anyhoo, back on King Street, T. and I shot the breeze about anything and everything with a wonderful array of people. We had a ball. Thanks so much to everyone who stopped by!If anyone missed out on a shirt, I still have Mens (S, M, L, XL) and Womens (S, M, XL) available. (Be mindful that the women's shirts run quite small - the 'small' is good for a teenager, or in the case of my niece, a petite woman.) Drop me a note in the comments if you'd like to know more!

Your humble hostess!

On 9/11/11

Ten years ago right now, I was in a hotel room on the Sunshine Coast of Australia breaking up with my boyfriend. We were on holiday before I started a job at a bigger newspaper. We were breaking up because I'd kissed someone else. Or rather, that was the "reason". The fact was that I'd known all along I didn't want to marry him. As an early-20-something, though, I hadn't realised that was a serious consideration. So, almost three years into our relationship, I'd forced the issue both for him and myself. (Not my highest point, granted.)

We'd just come back to our hotel room from a painful dinner at a mediocre Irish pub, trying to avoid a painful truth. In an effort to distract ourselves from what we knew was inevitable, or to find some kind of way to avoid the mess in front of us, we turned on the television. Among the usual drab late-Tuesday-night fare, Channel 10 had interrupted the broadcast to report a strange accident in New York City. One of the World Trade Center towers was on fire, and it was thought a plane had crashed into it.

Ground Zero, 2006.

As we - the newscasters, the people on those New York streets, us in our beachside hotel room in coastal Queensland - watched, a second plane came into view. It seemed to bank slightly. And then it crashed into the South Tower.

I think I uttered something like "Oh my god" as the newscasters grappled to explain what they'd seen (and, I guess, not to swear). I looked up at my boyfriend, my mind and heart racing. "This is war," I whispered. 

 We like to tell ourselves that the world before September 11 was peaceful and innocent. We could waltz onto planes. The biggest danger of leaving bags unattended was having them stolen. But the reality is, that "peace" was an anomoly made of selective blindness. The world was rife with battle. Australia had peacekeepers in some of the most wartorn places on the globe. Foreign policy had for years gone astray, led by at-times willfully ignorant US policy. It was a house of cards built on secrets and betrayal.

Black street signs were later installed in the area where the Twin Tower debris fell.

And for all that purported pre-9/11 innocence, I recognised an act of war when I saw one. While I was horrified, devastated, shocked and scared, I wasn't actually too surprised. Human history being as savage as it is, and world dynamics being as fragile as they were, something was bound to happen. I just don't think anyone expected this. 

We stayed up late that night, largely silent with bursts of worry and speculation. We watched the towers fall. We cried for the people in the towers, in the Pentagon, on Flight 93. And I fought to keep out of my mind's eye an image of my boyfriend donning fatigues to go to fight a foreign war. We reluctantly went to sleep, hoping by morning to find out who was behind it, what it all meant.

The relationship didn't end that night, but it did soon afterwards. In a world rocked to its core, we clung to each other for stability, for normalcy, maybe for a bit of blind hope. Eventually, though, we learned one of the most brutal facts about mass tragedy: Life does go on.  

On a fence covered with memorial tiles in downtown New York City, in 2007.

As for what it all meant, we're still working that out now, 10 years later. It seems that the world was forced to grow up and face ugly truths that day: That secrets and underhandedness have repercussions; that motives for terrible acts can be complicated and ugly, but they can also be based on a kernel of truth; that retaliation is a two-edged sword; that a war of attrition will scar both sides.

We've moved on, as a world, as nations, as individuals, but the battle within us all continues. Surrounded by a new world of security, fracturing government policy and rising intolerance, it is up to individuals to rise above base instincts of suspicion and blame, anger and guilt. In the wreckage of 9/11, we must strive to find a place of unified humanity so that the generations that come after us inherit something to celebrate, rather than mourn.