Oh god. I've been Technorati-ed

I like feeling smart

Not that anyone would know, because cbc.ca doesn't do bylines (why, I have no idea.)

But I'm a teensy bit proud of this story. I dug it out of nowhere... or almost nowhere. And there are a couple follow-ups I'll be doing too.

I miss science writing. I did a science journalism concentration in my final year of j-school... and it feels nice to do it again. I find it really challenging, and I have to make sure I get the details ultra-straight, because other people (i.e. editors) are less likely to notice my errors.

The web writer on this story is a woman by the name of Donna Lee. And I give her some serious props for turning my script into a very understandable (at least I think so) print/online story.


I'm a wanderer...

I am thinking of starting a health card collection.
I've used all three of these health cards in the past year.

I would have more to add... if I had of been old enough to get one/hold on to one (in the case of New Brunswick and Nova Scotia) ... or if I hadn't been a student in Ontario... because I just kept my PEI one then.

Maybe my new life goal should be to accumulate as many as possible. Hmm.


Oh Revlon...

WHAT the HELL Revlon?


And this time the little rubber thingies were ON THE BLOODY THING.
I'm going to write a very nasty letter to Revlon for leaving me deformed.


You ask, I oblige

only me...

So I went to curl my eyelashes this morning... and whipped the little do-dad out of my carry-on, not noticing that it was missing its little rubber pad.

So I lean in over my bathroom counter, clamp down, and hear a little metal "cling!" I look at it, then shake my head for being such a dumbass... and reach down into my bag to get its rubber counterpart.

As I reunite the two... I notice a gaggle of little black hairs.... eyelashes....

I look at myself in the mirror and lo and behold, right above my right iris, I am now missing a clump of eyelashes.

Or at least, they have been given a nice little brush cut, and are now quite stubby.

Thank got I use lengthening mascara.


North vs. South take 2

Things I like best about visiting "down south":

  • The food. I ate at some awesome restaurants over the Easter holidays... The Keg, Mexicali Rosa's, House Budda... and of course the mandatory Wendy's stop.
  • The selection. While Square One can be a bit overwhelming... and Walmart almost sent me into a panic attack... it sure is nice to hem and haw over the different styles of carpet steamer, rather than throw up your arms in frustration because the Northern doesn't even SELL vacuums.
  • The anonymity. Yes. I actually like being anonymous at times. While the north does specialize in people greeting you by name... sometimes you just want to fade into the background. Something that's near impossible when you are a very visible minority.
Things that the north can brag about:
  • No slush. I hate hate hate hate slush. I'll be the first to admit I'm somewhat vertically challenged. And I also have this funny little habit of always tucking my legs up underneath me when I sit down. Be it on a couch, kitchen table chair... or at my desk at work. So short-Jackie + slush = wet bottoms of pants. Wet bottoms of pants + leg-tucking habits = soggy bottom Jackie. Not fun. But because it's so damn cold up here... I've not seen slush since... um... ok. I don't ever remember seeing slush in Rankin. I'm sure we'll get it come end of April or May or something... but I've got some rockin rain boots for when that happens.
  • Pay phones: not only are they easier to find (though that may change, now that cell phone service exists) but it only costs 25 cents to make a call. It's 50 cents at the Toronto airport.
  • Phone numbers: With the exception of Iqaluit... each community basically has its own mini-area code. 867 for the territory... then 645 for Rankin 857 for Arviat 793 for Baker... the list goes on. It just means you only have to remember four numbers instead of seven. Or ten in Ottawa/Quebec City/Toronto... etc.
Ok that's it for now. I decided not to include the more "obvious" ones like the northern lights etc. And I also just realized I sort of copied one of the Nunavut Nonsense contests... oh well.


North vs. South


Intervention hurts my soul


I just watched two hours of people tearing their families apart, and having every intent of leaving them in shreds on the ground.

And the episode I just watched had this dude who denied his alcoholism (he drank something like 1.5 litres of straight vodka a day... not even watered down. Just vodka in a glass) to the point where it literally killed him.

Even after the intervention, he went to the treatment center, and was kicked out because he denied having a problem.

He died less than a month ago.

Every shot I saw of this man... this thirty year old man... made me think of a child. A really misbehaved child.

I don't think I'll watch that show again. Reality TV where people try to be prettier than one other is one thing. People destroying themselves is another. It just hurts too much.

Damn my bleeding heart.



I just made/ate the world's tastiest omelette.

Onion and mushroom in the food processor. Mix with eggmar. Cover with pot lid in frying pan. Sprinkle some old cheddar. Re-cover with pot lid until cooked. Flip ontop of self.


Remind me again why I don't always have mushrooms in the house????

PS I would have taken a picture, but I ate it too fast, that's how yummie it was!

Condiment* reunion 2008


Once upon a two weekends ago, in a frozen land far far away... your semi-dedicated blogger was lonely.

All of her friends had departed for southern climates, and she was incredibly jealous.

And lonely. Did I mention she was lonely?

One weepy phone call to her mother planted the seed that she would leave her frozen land for Easter.

On a whim, she called Aeroplan. Booked tickets out to Winnipeg.

Went online. Booked tickets to Toronto.

To spend the grand Easter holidays with her two best friends, hereby known as the great condiment* reunion.

The End.

So. There you have it. I'm going TO GEORGETOWN for Easter, and I couldn't be more excited. It's going to be a bit of a whirlwind trip. And I only got the days off approved as of Friday (thank you sooooo much Mr. Station Manager.... I reallllllly appreciate it. You have no idea). I'm not joking when I say I booked these tickets on a whim. I booked them fully knowing there was a chance I wouldn't be able to use them. But I can, and I will. And I'm just ecstatic.

OH and Rent just happens to be touring Toronto when I'm there, and we are SO going. We booked our tickets last night. Caaan't wait.

I haven't seen my girls since we graduated last June. And that was just long enough to get some pictures taken, and go out to our Ottawa haunt, Fat Tuesdays. So we are way over due. And me living up here doesn't make reunions very easy, or likely.

So condiment reunion 2008.... here I come!

* Okay, so I realize the word "condiment" only has one meaning to most of the world... and you probably think of some sort of sandwich topping. Oh but it goes so much farther than that. In Ottawa the girls and I lived in a townhouse that was TECHNICALLY a condo. Room mates... nah, condo-mates. Which quickly became condiments. Now you get it.


The Walrus beat me to it...

I was on The Northern Chirp's blog and they had linked to a story about...

Cabs in the north!

Well it's not exactly my experience (though I have taken cabs in Iqaluit, and believe me the house-number system actually works much better than the "grey house with the stripe next to the Northern House etc." fiasco I have to list)... it's pretty much on the mark.

Here it is: Arctic Cabaret

Certifiably awesome

Yesterday was a big day.

Yesterday, I successfully completed CBC/Radio-Canada's Hazard Prevention Program.

I passed with flying colours.

And learned two very important things too.

First: The following clipart/photo was found as an illustration for the "typical hazards" I might find at work. No joke.Also: do people charged with handling biological contaminants usually wear the same rubber gloves I do when washing the floor/dishes? Maybe they do. I'm just puttin' that out there.

Second. This is how CBC feels about cell phones and driving:Just FYI. Also I'm pretty sure the mothercorp had this logo fashioned just for them. How cool! I only hope they start making stickers of these...

So. If you ever have any questions about "hazardous occurrences - - otherwise known as accidents" you know who to call. :D


I heart mail

I got a special delivery from my family in PEI today... this is a sampling of what was inside. Roger's coffee chocolate... Reese's peanut butter Easter candy... and of course a smattering of magazines to make me oh-so-nostalgic.

Thanks mom/dad!



...I love ellipses...

Yes, I help the environment...

By taking public transportation.

And by that, I mean Silu Taxi.

Rankin Inlet has ... to the best of my knowledge... two taxi companies.

And they must make a killing. One keeps adding "new" cars to the fleet... affixing magnetic "Silu Taxi" signs to the hoods...

It's a different person every time I call. Sometimes they know where I live, sometimes they have no clue. Sometimes they pick me up. Sometimes they don't.

Today, they didn't. So I was a tough little Northerner and walked home sans snow pants in -25 (-35 with windchill). It was okay for the first 10 minutes. Then I became a chilly little toaster.

Sorry mom. I'll wear them next time. Promise.

But back to my point. The taxi service in Rankin Inlet is unlike anything else I've ever seen... save Iqaluit. But even Iqualit's taxi service is a little more refined.

First of all, even though we have cell phone service in town these days, all communication is done via radio-thingie. I don't know how I'm able to CALL a walkie-talkie, but it happens.

Then (if they show up) sometimes they come into my building and wander around calling 'taxi!' until I run out, half a bagel in hand... boot laces flying, clumping down the stairs.

If you are the first one in the cab (more on this later) its a bit of an insult to pull the "you are my chauffeur" routine, like we do back home. You sit up front.

Unless of course, the driver doesn't have one of his buddies along for the ride/company.

Then it could either be a direct ride (VERY RARE) or you could then be taken for the grand tour of the hamlet. If you are in the smaller vehicles, this isn't a big deal, but one of the taxi co's have this GIANT 10 (?) passenger van. And they cram it full of people, picking up and dropping off at random intervals.

And the fare is a flat 5 dollars. Which works out to your benefit (probably) if you are like me, going from one end of town to the other (really only a 7 min drive - direct)... but not so much if you are trying to cram a bunch of your folkies in post-friday night soiree.

Not that we really do that here anyways haha, so it doesn't matter.

And that my friends is the art of taxi-driving/riding in the north.

La Fin.


Mildly surprising

I woke up this morning to cbc.ca/news to find this.

I was shocked at first... but then as I thought about it, not all that GENUINELY surprised.

I can't pretend like I know the woman, I only spoke to her once. But over the past couple months Shelagh Rogers and Sounds Like Canada has become one of the things I listen to on a daily basis. And I have noticed Kevin Sylvester has been hosting more and more.

And she has discussed some ongoing health issues as well.

But I have to admit, I do have a little pang of sadness when I think about this. Maybe it's just a selfish "don't want my routine to be interrupted"... but mornings will be weird without SLC.

Looks like the mothercorp has some decision-making to do.


Pleasantly surprised

Ok, so on today's edition of "found at the Northern"... we have a special segment.

It's called "things I thought would be gross but really aren't"

Seriously. I remember once seeing this in Quebec and was like GROSS. Why would anyone do that!??!! (Much the same opinion I have of Clamato juice... don't get me started)

Many moons later... and millions of kilometres away from a good smoked salmon... my opinion has changed.

There is no smoked char left in town.

And so I bought this.

And you know what. It is delish. Absolutely wonderful. And just think... I save so much money eating Philly's smoked salmon cream cheese...

Because otherwise I'd be buying the cream cheese, the salmon/char AND the cracker paraphernalia...

I'm a genius. Oh and I'll give some of the credit to Kraft too.


Murphy's law of klutziness

I don't know what's gotten into me as of late... but I think I may have caught some sort of klutz-virus. It's getting out of control. I seriously need to seek professional help.

I think it all started back on Christmas vacay, when Danielle (sister) showed me this You Tube sketch of Dane Cook imitating when girls leave the car after a date... and how they have the distinct inability to find the car door handle to let themselves out...

Well ever since I saw that, I've noticed I do the exact same thing. NOT when on a date, but ANY TIME I AM LEAVING A CAR. It's mortifying. And my reaction is always the same, to laugh and make fun of myself. And then to bat playfully at the handle, do a little pathetic "wwhaaaat" and generally look like an ass.

Sometimes I can't even FIND the handle. And I have to turn my head sideways, and look for it. As though I'm reaaaaalllly painfully far-sighted.


Why is it so hard to get out of the passenger side of a car??

Then there was the other day when the town's fire chief came into work with a guy that's doing army recruitment. I casually know the fire chief. And I get up to shake the army fellow's hand and IN THE PROCESS DUMP MY ENTIRE GLASS OF WATER ALL OVER MYSELF AND MY DESK. So smooth. I try to make a joke of it... saying something like "Hi, I'm Jackie, and I'm very smooth" but I think I just came off flustered... which I was... but not because of the army guy, but because I was standing there with WET PANTS.

Then TODAY I went to the Sugar Rush for lunch. And got myself a bottle of cranberry juice... sat down while my lasagna was being heated up... and went for the latest issue of WIRED. Of course, it was in that plastic magazine-wrap, which as I tried to open it, the magazine escaped from my hands...

JUICE EVERYWHERE. Red juice EVERYWHERE. So I ask the girl at the cash if she has a cloth I can use to wipe it up (off myself, the table, the chair, the floor...) and as I go to the washroom to wring out the cloth, I notice, there is army boy again, front and centre as witness to my humiliation. Again.

Oh no, that's not all though. As I return from the washroom, paper towels and clean cloth in hand... I bend down to sop up the juice that had made its way to the floor and MY PANTS SPLIT RIGHT UP THE ASS.

Yes. I kid you not.

Luckily they were just wind pants that I had put on over my jeans... because I don't know what I would have done if it were my lime green underwear on display...

But that riiiipp noise just about killed me.

I swear I hope this wave of killer klutziness wears off. Because it's getting old. Though, it has given me something to write about on the blog :P


Who woulda guessed....

That Ms. Martha Stewart had a dog named "Sharkey"????