Poo, graffiti and the perils of online renting

I despise moving.
For those who know me, that statement would seem an oxymoron since I appear to be a chronic mover, uprooting my life about once a year.
Last August, however, I got the opportunity to make a very important move -- to Calgary. Despite the two-weeks notice and scramble to pack all of my worldly belongings into a 14-foot U-Haul and drive it, with car in tow, across the Rocky Mountains, it was a move I knew I wouldn't regret.
That, unbeknown to me at the time, was the easy part.
The challenge is finding the perfect, no scratch that, a decent place to call home that you've never seen in person in a city you've never been to.
Enter the Internet.
Like a mad woman, I scoured online postings for rentals in Calgary from my then-home in Kamloops, B.C. After myriad emails and phone calls (as well as bleary eyes and a sore neck), I found an apartment that was both close to my son's school and my work.
Perfect. Or, so I thought.
Nevermind the unease of sending a stranger money and heading to a new province with fingers crossed the guy didn't jack my security deposit and I'm left to sleep on the streets, the state of the building upon first in-person glance was jaw-dropping.
I rented a slum. 
OK, so the actual suite is decent, aside from the non-ventilated bathroom that resembles a cave due to moisture build up and the Easy Bake-sized oven and Holly Homemaker-sized fridge.
But the building itself is horrific. In the past six months, I've endured one pile of human poo, two sets of broken pipes, four days of no heat, two days of no hot water, one drug bust, piles of trash everywhere, dozens of tenant parties, less-than artistic graffiti scrawled in the elevator, one drunk guy kicking in the door beside mine and one homeless man, which turned into a hobo community, in the garbage room.
All of this on top of the fact it's always either too hot or too cold because I don't control my heat, my blinds still haven't been fixed (I had to taken them down) and my buzzer still hasn't been set up.
Maybe I'm just fussy, but I don't like to live like this. And, quite frankly, I shouldn't have to.
But, thankfully my lease (yes, I signed a lease. It was the only way to get a deal on the over-priced rent.) is up at the end of February and, no, I'm not renewing.
Lucky for me, I've found a much cleaner and hopefully quieter place in a decent neighbourhood that's both close to my son's schools and my work.
Perfect.
Well, aside from having to move — again.

A new year and new beginnings in Calgary

The past year has been full of newness: travel, cars, jobs, people, cities and provinces.
For me, this meant to moving to Calgary to start my new job as an associate web producer at the Calgary Herald.
Yay me! (I'm more than a little excited.)
In addition to all of the amazing opportunities the new gig brings, it also means I get to cross another item off my unburied life list - working for a major daily newspaper.
Things are off to sweet start in 2011. I expect it'll be a year rife with wonderful firsts and likely some spectacular failures.
And, yep, I'll be sharing 'em all.

In search of the beat in Baghdad by the Bay

I went to San Francisco in search of the beats — not those of the musical variety, but those that consequently threw the literary universe off its axis.

They were the iconic founders of the beat generation: Jack Kerouac, Allen Ginsburg, Neal Cassady and Lawrence Ferlinghetti. They were the ones who shaped the literary scene in San Francisco’s North Beach in the mid-1950s.

The beat-movement writing was unlike anything ever done.

It was non-conforming, unconstrained, highly and openly emotional, depicting gritty worldly experiences, often including abundant drug use, deviant sexuality and other forms of aberrant behaviours. 

A seeming contradiction, the beat generation was also spiritual and heavily influenced by Eastern religions, such as Buddhism.

It was Kerouac — an American novelist and poet born to French-Canadian parents — who unwittingly coined the term “beat generation” in 1948, when he said, “We are nothing but a beat generation,” describing the way the young people at that time felt — weary and beat down.

But it was the late San Francisco Chronicle columnist Herb Caen who conceived the term “beatnik” to describe the bunch.

It was the Pulitzer-Prize winner who also dubbed his city as Baghdad by the Bay.

In the early 1950s, Kerouac lived on Russell Street with Cassady — said to be the real genius behind the beat movement, despite never publishing a book — for some time while revising his seminal novel On the Road and writing parts of Visions of Cody.

The unassuming house is tucked away on a side street and is a private residence.

While taking pictures of the place, I wondered how many times the home’s owners watched as other wannabe novelists stood outside, dreaming of days gone by.

On the Road, spontaneous prose about his cross-country adventures with Cassady,

was published in 1957 and established Kerouac’s place within the beats.

During this post-war time, the city was an enclave for writers, poets and thinkers — and North Beach was the epicentre.

Attracted by low rent and myriad eateries, North Beach was the cultural heartbeat of the city.

By day, the bohemians drank cheap wine on the grass of Washington Square Park or sipped coffee at Cafe Treiste, the West Coast’s first espresso house.

By night, they frequented Vesuvio Cafe — where you can order a “Jack Kerouac” made from rum, tequila, orange, cranberry and lime juice — and jazz central The hungry i (which is now a topless strip bar).

But, no other spot was more a meeting place than City Lights Bookstore, opened in 1953 and still owned by Ferlinghetti, a poet, painter and liberal activist best known for his Coney Island of the Mind.

City Lights became a landmark after the 1956 Howl trial.

In October the previous year, Ginsberg — a poet opposed to militarism, materialism and sexual repression — wrote Howl.

He first read his poem at the famous Six Gallery reading on Filmore Street in the Pacific Heights district.

It was, perhaps, one of the most arresting openings ever heard:

“I saw the best minds of my generation destroyed by

madness, starving hysterical naked,

dragging themselves through the negro streets at dawn

looking for an angry fix . . .”

The very next day, Ferlinghetti sent the young poet a telegram: “I greet you at the beginning of a great literary career” and offered to publish his work.

However, the uncensored examination for the ugly underbelly of society was too salacious and Ferlinghetti was arrested and charged with obscenity by San Francisco police for selling the novel.

The trial garnered national attention of the beat writers and heaps of support from prestigious literary and academic figures.

It was a long battle for freedom of expression that included the government burning more than 500 copies of the poem and was eventually won in 1957, when Ferlinghetti was acquitted, setting a precedent for other First Amendment cases.

Though missing the iconic green awning today, the bookstore is still selling and publishing some of the best revolutionary and evolutionary novels.

Take a walk by the store on Columbus Avenue — right next to Kerouac Alley — and you’re likely to see a novelist giving a reading in a room packed with books and other writers. 

The beat movement was conceived in New York, but came to life in San Francisco, attracting other famous writers, such as William S. Burroughs, Gregory Corso, Peter Orlovsky — Ginsberg’s 40-year partner — Herbert Huncke and Clellon Holmes.

And, although the height of the movement was 60 years ago, if you listen closely, the beat is still audible in the streets of San Francisco.

Just me — and the toilet seat firmly down, thank you.

“Just for one?”

Seems like a harmless enough question.

But, for singles, this innocuous little phrase carries a lot of clout.

For singles, it’s saying, “Really? You’re alone? How embarrassing.”

OK, so maybe that’s a bit of an exaggeration.

Maybe, as a 31-year-old single woman, I’m a little sensitive.

Maybe.

Being single is not a new concept to me, but never have I been so acutely aware of my singledom than on a recent solo trip to San Francisco.

The most outing of examples was me standing in line with 30 other people, waiting to get in an elevator to take us up the 210- storey Coit Tower.

The elevator, not surprisingly, can only hold so many people.

So, when it was near to capacity, the kind elevator operator called out to the masses: “We have room for one more. Anybody by themselves?”

Picture me, red-faced, stepping out of the packed line and making my way to the front, all eyes on me — just me.

Awesome.

Mind you, I did jump the line and get to see the stunning 360-degree views of the city a half-hour before the others ahead of me.

However, I can’t help but feel society is geared for the couple.

Think about it.

Aside from the often awkward dinner and movie scenarios, singles have it rough, especially if you want to travel.

You can’t take an all-inclusive vacation without facing an obscene amount of tax.

You can’t stay at many hotels because the rates are based on double occupancy.

You can, however, take your chances with single-geared resorts dubbed “Temptation Resort” or the not-so-appealing “Hedonism II” and “Hedonism III.”

I bet you can take a wild guess as to what kind of vacation that would be.

No thanks.

Even single objects are given a dual classification: A pair of pants, underwear, jeans, glasses, binoculars, scissors, pliers, tweezers, tongs — the list goes on.

And society looks at men and women singles differently, too.

Especially after a certain age, men are eligible bachelors, living carefree, luxurious lives, while women are desperate spinsters, living in a basement with cats.

Ouch.

But, being single does not equal being lonely — if you let go of the stigmas of a relationship-obsessed society.

Beyond the over-squeezed toothpaste and classic seat-up toilet problems, single is an opportunity for us to have fun, learn and find out who we really are.

It forces you to be stronger, build a tight network of friends and reconnect with your family as you get older.

If you let go of the fear of singledom, that doesn’t sound so bad.

Plus, you can be totally selfish and buy too many pairs of shoes, redecorate your house in pretty colours (and keep it looking nice most of the time) and put an unnecessary number of pillows on the bed.

Did I already mention the toothpaste and toilet thing?

Despite all of the above, I’m not going to lie and say it wouldn’t be nice to meet a man who’s nice, funny, smart and handsome (know of any?) and fall in love.

But, until then, I’m perfectly content with being me — just me.

Baghdad by the Bay

Here are a few snaps of my amazing trip to San Francisco May 6 to May 10 this year. What an amazing city — no wonder why so many people leave their heart in SF!

Still hope for print

Here are some quick stats about newspapers and their readers I picked up while in Toronto at the Canadian Newspaper Association and Canadian Community Association Ink and Beyond Conference. The associations did research with pollster Ipsos Reid to understand Canadians impressions of newspapers and their ads.

Newspapers are visited multiple times daily:

— Most (63 per cent) Canadians look at a newspaper more than once over the course of a day, getting an update in the morning and more specific information, such as TV listings, movies, weather and more, later.

— Another 16 per cent come back to the paper two or more times of a course of a day.

Newspapers last more than one day:

— Despite the perception a newspaper is read and then discarded that same day, 62 per cent of newspaper

readers indicate that they often keep sections or the entire paper for more than one day, as it provides on-going information, such as sport schedules, what’s on locally (where community activities are highlighted), special topical sections, movies, ads and other information.

Canadians trust newspaper ads:

— Consumers expect and accept ads in newspapers and, compared to other media, newspapers always score high on “most trustworthy for advertising.”

— In 2010, 63 per cent of readers indicated they trust the ads in newspapers.

Newspapers ads drive to online:

— Compelling ads in newspaper are driving 70 per cent of its readers to the Internet to find out more information about an ad.

This is the end

Once again, Lady Gaga outdoes herself with her new video Telephone, Mile Cyrus is a bird, Kesha's lyrics are "blah, blah, blah," Timbaland has a song with Justin Beber, Sean Desmond has released a new single and Canadian dance legend Blake McGrath has a music video. Fucked we are.

(Life) time

Where have the last three months gone? OK, it's been awhile since my last post, so I thought I'd do a quick update on my unburied life.
Since January, I've learned to cook (much to the chagrin of my son who is a fan of KD and pizza pops), have gone to the movies by myself (saw The Serious Man by the Coen brothers during a local film festival) and will be heading south to see one of the seven modern wonders of the world, the Golden Gate Bridge.
I'm really pumped about the latter. I'll be heading down to San Francisco for three whole days of beatniks, trolleys, Chinatown, North Beach, bridges, prisons — oh my.

My unburied life

In two months I will turn 31. It's not the number that scares me, it's the number of years left to do things dreamed of. And after watching an episode of a reality TV series called The Buried Life — in which four friends from Victoria, B.C. write out their quasi bucket list and, in their travels, discover human potential and the joy of helping others — I'm starting my list. It will be a running list to be added to, changed and, hopefully, completed.

Completed:

1. Get a university degree
2. Go to Canada's capital, Ottawa
3. Experience the joy (pain/love/frustration) of having a child
4. Volunteer in my community
5. Do what I love for a living
6. Sky dive from 10,000 feet
7. Zip line through trees
8. Visit my dad in Australia

To do (in no particular order):

1. Visit at least one place on every continent (I'll start big. So far, two. Five to go)
2. See the wonders of the world
3. Swim in all five oceans (got two under my belt)
4. Work for a large daily newspaper
5. Work overseas
6. Go to a movie by myself
7. Write a novel — or two or three
8. Travel across Canada in a van
9. Help a community in a developing country
10. Stop thinking about my teeth when I smile
11. Golf in the middle of the night in Alaska during the 24-hours of daylight
12. See my son graduate from a post-secondary school
13. Complete my own "Motorcycle Diaries"
14. Get a tattoo by Chris Garver at Miami Ink
15. Speak a second language fluently
16. Tour Vancouver Island
17. Buy a house
18. Grow (some of) my own food
19. Visit my mother's grave
20. Learn to surf
21. Get out of debt
22. Buy a new couch — a real one
23. See my grandparents in Ontario before they die
24. Become a better cook
25. Read a book to a group of children
26. Finish my life-guarding requirements
27. Be spontaneous

OK, I think that's a good start. I'll post more as they come...

So, here's the question: What do you want to do before you die?

Aussie education

Since I've just returned from a fantastic two weeks in Western Australia, I want to share some Australian lingo I've picked up. The slang and rhymes are hilarious and the sayings are totally outrageous. I can't get enough. Oh, btw, Aussies never say "throw another shrimp on the barbie" and get pissed off when foreigners cry out with a fake accent "the dingo ate my baby." So, if you're heading to the Land Down Under, please avoid those terms. But, certainly slip the following lingo into your vocab:

• A few Kangaroos loose in the top paddock — this is used to describe someone who may not mentally be all there
• A over T — to fall "arse over tits"
• After dark — another word for shark
• Airy fairy — vague
• Any tic of the clock — very soon
• Apples, she'll be — every thing will be OK
• Arvo/evo — afternoon/evening
• Bathers — swimsuit
• Barney — a fight or argument
• Bathroom — has the sink, tub and/or shower. The toilet, as it's called, is in a separate room.
• Biscuit — a cookie. Novice surfers are called "shark biscuits"
• Blowy — windy
• Brekky — breakfast
• BYO — is bring your own and can be followed with booze (even to a restaurant) or meat (to a barbie)
• Chemist — a pharmacy
• Cheesed off — annoyed
• Chips — french fries. Common expression used is "cheep as chips" to imply a good price for something
• Chook — chicken
• Chuck — is used often for a number of reasons, like "chuck a leftie" to go left or "chuck a spaz" to get angry. Also, people can chuck a Uey or wobbly or up.
• Dads and Dave — is a shave
• Dogs eye — a meat pie, which Australians love to eat
• Dunny — a toilet
• Ear basher — someone who talks a lot
• Esky — a food or drink cooler. Also called a "chilly bin"
• Fag — a cigarette
• Fanny — a vagina. Note: Fanny packs is not a term used; it's called a "bum bag"
• Flat out like a lizard drinking — to be very busy or going very fast
• Franger — condom
• Galah — a kind term for a fool. It's also a really cool-looking bird
• Garbo — garbage man. In Canada, we say "throw trash in the garbage" and in Oz, they say "tip rubbish in the bin"
• Have a burl or crack or go or lash at — to try
• Heaps — is used a lot of mean a lot of something
• Hollie — holiday
• In a tic — just a minute
• In the altogether — in the nude; of which there are many beaches
• Kark it — to die
• Kip — nap
• Lay by — to put on hold at a store
• Lippie — lipstick
• Lolly — sweets
• Macca's — McDonalds
• Make a quid — earn a living
• Off one's face — really drunk
• Plonked — really drunk
• Pom, pommy — a person from England
• Poofter — a homosexual man
• Postie — a mail carrier
• Pram — a baby stroller
• Rellies — relatives
• Salvo — Salvation Army
• Sanga — sandwich
• Sauce, tomato — ketchup
• Seppo or septic tank — derogatory term for Americans (septic tank rhymes with yank)
• Servo — gas station where you buy petrol
• Sheila — common term for a nice looking Australian woman
• Sparkie — electrician
• Stickybeak — to look at
• Stubbie — small, short-necked bottle of beer
• Sunnies — sunglasses
• Tinnie — can of beer
• Torch — flashlight
• Trannie — transistor radio
• Uni — university
• Ute — utility vehicle
• Vegemite — strong spread made from yeast and eaten on toast
• Whinge — to complain

These are just the terms I heard — there are so many more. Just remember: Shorten everything, add "ie" at the end of words and make everything rhyme. Do this and you'll fit right in.

family history

Here's a poem from my great, great, great, great uncle Archibald Lampman, who was said to be the "finest 19th-century English-language poet."

I think he's pretty cool.

Winter Evening: Westward the sunset is waning slow, A far torn flame on the silent snow And dies, as the vast night waxes higher, In scattering lines of stormy fire. The piled clouds are sinking dreary and dun
On the red wild track of the setting sun Westward the fierce winds gather and fleet Mightily down the frozen street. Like the work of the painter's hand are pressed
On the pale clear brow of the yellow west, The pointed spires and the dark and still Towers of the town on the western hill. Far through the firmament, misty fair,
Veiled and dimmed with their golden hair, The moon and her chorus of sweet stars whirl In their white torn mantles of cloudy pearl. The hard snow shrieks on the beaten street —
Under the tread of the hurrying feet, Sharp and shrill, like a thing in pain, Bound in the winter's Titan chain. Westward away the wan day sinks;
I see, as I pass, through the shutter chinks The bright ruddy lips of children prate Round the red warm hearth and the blazing grate. Ah, bright bitter winter, I love thee still
For thy strong bright wine to the strong man's will: For thy stormy days of tempest and moil, And thy calm sweet peace that follows toil; For thy bright white snow and the silver chime
Of bells that gladden the bitter time; For the laughing lips and the children at play And the long mirthful hours that sweeten day For more, check out the Poems of Archibald Lampman.

winter gloves

Check out this fantastic video from the Winter Gloves.

age old question

Why does it seem men get all the breaks?

Not only do they get the better jobs, make more money, take on less home responsibility, avoid menstruation and pregnancy, are less emotionally complicated, they also stay younger longer.

OK, much of that is an oversimplification, but the latter is true, according to Eastern medicine.

A phone call with my younger sister, who is studying for her doctorate in Eastern medicine, has left me even more miffed at the seeming myriad breaks those of the opposite sex have fall into their laps.

In asking my sister if there were any ancient Chinese herbs or creams I could take to essentially speed up the onset of menopause to avoid having to think about getting pregnant (Random, I know. This is a topic for a future post), she nicely tells me no but, don't worry, because I'm getting old.

Humph. Thanks.

I think she's getting cheeky with me — after years of sibling abuse, I deserve it — but, she explains, women's and men's life cycles differ.

For women, their body's change every seven years: At age seven, they have all their primary teeth, age 14, they have started their period's and ages 21 to 28 are the prime years for having children.

After two more cycles — the seventh cycle of seven years — at age 49, is when menopause starts to kick in and, according to the East, the woman's "essence" diminishes.

Or, in other words, she's old.

However, for men, the cycle is every eight years: At age eight, he has all his teeth, at 16 is considered at man and his prime lasts two eight-year cycles.

As a woman's essence is seven, seven-year cycles, a man's is eight of eight years, which means his "essence" lasts until age 64.

Well, la-tee-da, that explains a lot.

It could be why men cheat on their spouses, remarry younger women, and are described as handsome as they age, not old.

It's not their fault — it's their essence.

on writing

Poignant and concise.

This seems to be the mantra for newspaper writing these days. Coming from a print-centric background, instinctually I thought shorter meant worse.

But, when it's done well, it's a joy to write and to read.

For a few tips, check out the succinct list by Roy Peter Clark from the Poynter Institute.

In it, Clark stresses to omit needless words, cut the weak, shorten sentences, revise, polish and focus.

He also says, "Read, study and collect great examples of short writing, everything from the diaries of Samuel Pepys to the tweets of your favourite twits."

However, a number of legacy media people — including my editor and other former editor — have deemed the 140-character social networking site the reason behind the death of the English language and the very tool that is making people stupid.

As an avid Twitterer, ouch.

Short doesn't necessarily signify rubbish — albeit, tweets about a meal or depths of sleepiness are crap.

In terms of journalism, short can be a beautiful way illustrate a moment in life that often go unnoticed.

A prime example of this is the 300 words series by Brady Dennis, who was a night cop reporter in the Tampa bureau of St. Petersburg Times.

A personal favourite is After the sky fell, which was published in January 2005.

As a reporter, it's difficult to switch out of the inverted pyramid, five Ws and how, but, once in awhile, there are stories that lend to this style of writing, like a story I did about a man who had a stroke and just wanted a hot dog.

As papers get thinner and page space gets tighter, this literary journalism approach could very well be the model for the future.

keeping on court

As some of you already know, I'm covering Kamloops court as part of my beat at Kamloops This Week. Although I've been tweeting most of the stories, I'll be posting all-things criminal on this site in the event you missed a post or the paper.

Right now, I'm covering Allan Schoenborn's murder trial. He's the man accused of killing his three children in their Merritt home 18 months ago and has pleaded not guilty to three counts of first-degree murder. Tuesday marks the third day of the trial and it's expected Darcie Clarke, the mother of the slain children, will take the stand.

growing pains

OK, so my issue can be likened to "blogging" pains — a painful time period in which one grows and develops their blog self.

The problem: Finding a look for my blog that's really cool and represents my personality at the same time.

Sounds simple enough, but five months and at least a dozen different templates, I'm about ready to throw in the webpage towel.

It's not that there aren't thousands of super graphic and and really unique templates available — for free! — on the web, it's just that none of them are representative of me.

So, I've opted for a simple, three-column layout and replaced the header image with a photograph I took while in Victoria, B.C. this summer.

Here's the full version:

It's a window front of a store in Fan Tan Alley, which is the heart of B.C.'s oldest Chinatown. The pane is plastered with original concert posters dating back decades — it was a gorgeous melange of music's past.

This image, taken by yours truly, is more telling of who I am than any other mass-downloaded, copy-and-pasted template. Plus, it will forever remind me of that trip to the island — which was my first time out there — with my younger sister.

Additionally, it's a pretty grown-up looking site that will take some tinkering — so please bear with me as I blindly fiddle with HTML codes.

Hope you like the new look.

reportedly human

All day, I've been thinking about a tweet by 20-year newspaper vet Gina Chen about journalists remaining professional while still being human.

Using social media as an example, Chen pointed to the Washington Post editor abolishing his Twitter account because he feared the social media site went against the paper's policy.

She weighed in: "Puleeeze! Why is it that journalists don't think they can manage to be both human and good at their jobs as so many people in other fields can be."

And, if there was any discrepancy in various company policies, Chen pointed to a comprehensive list of organization's rules for social media.

The question remains, where does the role and responsibility of the reporter end and the rights of the person begin? Or, are they one in the same?

As a new journalist, I know what I can and can't post on my personal social medias. But, are journalism ethics a part of who I am or am I just self-censoring to avoid getting in trouble?

This inner dilemma reminds me of what Vancouver Sun managing editor Kirk LaPointe insists: New journalists must brand themselves online by getting a website with your namesake, start blogging, consume and participate in the news.

And there are lots of sites out there with a number of tips on how to accomplish this and take over the online media world, including one from student-driven Reporter Online.

Great advice, but how do employed journos make that separation between work and personal life?

Journalists are supposed to be non-biased and objective, but this isn't always the case when it comes to personal blogs. Should journalists have the freedom to articulate their personal thoughts or should professional duties trump personal desires?

If all goes well, there's still hope for the human.

week in tweets

Tweets from @mlampy (that's me!) from court last week:

• A new week and a new shirt - white - for the man accused of murder. No eye contact as he's lead to the prisoner's box. #crime #grimtweets
• I wonder what a bag of scalp looks like. Some people have the most unique/horrifying/interesting jobs.
• I wonder how the tragically sad-looking teen felt as she talked about her dead mother in front of the man accused of murder.
• 12 sat staring at a pic of a woman. Body half sunburnt, half white and bloated, snagged on a tree in the river. Her hair was falling out.
• A female juror looked at the pic of holes in the dead woman's head. Lips pursed, brows furrowed, she glanced at the man accused of murder.
• Why are sheriff's uniforms so squeaky?
• Do you know a dead body's various stages of decomposition? I now do. Gross.
• Six years after Heather Hamill slaying, murder trial begins: http://tinyurl.com/lsyfp5 #kamloops #crime
• Roe will get second murder trial in 2010: http://tinyurl.com/ll2n2q #kamloops #crime
• Sting suspects back in court next week: http://tinyurl.com/lbogmy #kamloops #crime
• Robert Balbar sat, head left-leaning, motionless for two hours. He wore no shoes. Jury didn't look at the man accused of killing his g/f.
• Stephen Roe's new shoes squeaked as he walked by. They were auburn brown. He gets a new trial in 2010 for stabbing David Holditch to death.
• I spent the majority of my day in the company of two alleged murderers. Who's hungry? I sure am...

courting

So I've finally got a computer at home — I splurged and bought a MacBook! — so I'm back to blogging — albeit, my focus has changed a bit.

In addition to my current beats, I'm also the new court reporter and will be blogging about my experiences covering exciting trials, like the first-degree murder trial of Robert Balbar and the upcoming Allan Schoenborn, to the less-intense matters in provincial court.

Check back for more on the Kamloops crime beat.

RIVER NORTH

My head is pointing North North crosses the mighty river
Flows constant with water Swift, decisive, cold
Never a question of direction
Of which I have none
Streaming, twisting, turning, thrashing
Drowning
Cannot ride the current to stay afloat
Only one thing constant
My head is pointing North