Nostalgia of the 80s and 90s

Thank you for being a friend

2010-06-04T10:35:00.005-05:00

Yesterday, the world lost another Golden Girl. Rue McClanahan died of a stroke on Thursday morning. She is best remember for her role as a man-eating Southern belle Blanche Devereaux on the sitcom that portrayed four aging woman dealing with life’s twists and turns. In the 70s, she starred, along with the late Bea Arthur in Maude, a show that I tried to watch this past weekend, but the comedy was a little over the top, as most comedy back then was.

But what was it about the Golden Girls that struck a chord with so many of us? Why were younger people so captivated by the lives of three women in their mid-fifties to early sixties, and one in her seventies?

Golden Girls spoke about issues that mattered to the masses: politics, cheating, death, sexual orientation. With these issues, they would throw in a mix of laughter and class that no other show, in my opinion, could match.

And each of these four women were so unique when these topics would come up, adding to the hilarity. Sophia with her sarcasm; Dorothy with “the look,” Rose with her naivety and Blanche with her obsession with sex and herself – it made for dynamic television.

Everyone had their favourite Golden Girl, for some, they lost her yesterday when McClanahan died. Or maybe it was when Bea Arthur died last year, or two years ago when died.

Mine must be feeling a bit lonely today.

That was scary - Life without technology

2010-05-10T11:44:00.001-05:00

So, for the last three weeks or so, I have been without a computer. It contracted some kind of virus, despite having virus protection, but I guess it can only do so much.
If there is a bright side to this, it’s that my computer had the good sense to conk out on me after my semester was finished.
My only means of communication with the outside world has been through my BlackBerry. While helpful, it’s tough to stare at a small 2” x 2” screen for while trying to research music and find a job. Yes, very difficult. So needless to say, I am very happy that my computer is back, thanks to my little sister’s future husband in waiting (in other words…he’s part of the family).
Remember when we didn’t have computers or cell phones? We relied on paper and pens, and MTS payphones. Yes, it was a different time, but still, we survived. When we were late, we didn’t feel this compulsion to call our partner or parents on the way home to let them know. We just showed up late, and chances are, they weren’t too worried. But now, because there is a technology that enables us to call home, what do we get when we walk through the door? “Why didn’t you call?” I admit. I called my husband more at his work between classed simply because I could. If I didn’t have a Berry, I would wait until the end of my day to tell him about my marks, or to say hi. But in this day and age, things are different.
When my husband and I were driving back into Winnipeg last night, I knew it was not going to be a good night for the Chicago Blackhawks. Not because I have amazing intuition. But because I am following CBC on Twitter and I saw that Vancouver was up 1-0.
There was one thing that happened this weekend that I had a good chuckle over.
It was Mother’s Day Sunday, and it was nearing supper time. My mom asked what the time was. I had put my BlackBerry aside, after a five-minute Twitter break. My little sister consulted her iPod Touch, while my husband quietly flipped over his wrist and said, "5:40".

Alice Cooper got it wrong

2010-04-22T15:54:00.001-05:00

So unexpectedly, today was my last day of school. Tomorrow was supposed to be the day when us CreComms marched in defiantly and sat in class dutifully, listening patiently, eager to learn, until the instructors would release us into the world in a timely fashion.
Such was not the case. With disappointment in our eyes, we learned we will not have class tomorrow. Our hearts heavy, we said our good-byes, and as the dust parted, so did we.
However, I am typing this entry from school, because while we are finished the first-year of the Creative Communications program, we still have some assignments to finish. Sitting in the newsroom, looking around at empty desks, I will be leaving soon, and it’s a feeling that I’ve had before. The feeling of – “I don’t want to leave, but I know I can’t stay here.”
When I left Grade 12, it had to be the best and worst year of my life. For the worst portion, I will leave that out, because the best portion more than made up for it. The grad parties, being the co-head of the grad committee, my friends – they all made Grade 12 fantastic. Of course, what also made Grade 12 great was that I had taken Grade 12 biology the year earlier, so I didn’t have to write the final exam that year. So, finished early, I was standing in the hallway looking around with some of my friends, one who would end up being my date for grad.
We didn’t quite know what to do with ourselves. We knew if we walked out, we would be leaving a piece of ourselves behind. And maybe that was the case. But we didn’t maybe realize it until we drove nine miles east to Hnausa beach. It was just kids being kids. Kids hanging on to time. Because, when your 18 with what do I do with my life now, all you really want to do…is sing.

To all of my friends in CreComm, the best is yet to come.

The Generation Gap Revealed

2010-04-18T21:48:00.004-05:00

On Thursday, I was talking to some of my friends and we discussing some of the montages that we had made. More specifically, the one that my friend, Jenn, had made with my husband Murray and I.
“It had that Wonder Years look to it,” I said.
Amanda looked and me, and said, “I don’t think Jenn knows what The Wonder Years are.”
And that’s when it happened. The generation-gap revealed itself.
The generation gap reveals itself every now and again to remind me that I am older than my friends. It was brief, but it still happened.

But there are some benefits to being a pre-teen/teen of the 80s and 90s.
While some people may know Degrassi Junior High from reruns, I was able to watch the debut – and yes, I know, the acting. Fresh Prince of Bel Air? No need to see it again, saw all the episodes them the first time around.
Then there are the moments that stick with you forever. I remember watching the Golden Girls and the program was interrupted because the Gulf War broke out.
I remember my Grade three teacher told us something had happened, and she asked us if any of us knew. She said that she wanted us to go home that night and find out. I remember how upset she was. As it turned out, it was the 1985 Challenger accident.
In 1994, I remember driving back from Winnipeg with my parents on Highway 8, sitting in the backseat. We had the radio on, and we were shocked to learn that John Candy had died.

And I remember being in the US with my family, sitting in the parking lot of a hotel as we were leaving for lunch. We all just climbed in and we heard that Kurt Cobain had committed suicide.
OK – and happier stuff.
Cabbage Patch Kids. The first time around. Before the original company, Coleco went bankrupt, and the Kids were made to look, in my opinion, like they are stretched out and anorexic.

I remember the Wakin’ Up the Nation Tour in Bird’s Hill Park. It was pouring rain, I had mud up to my knees and all of my friends were their heading into our last year of high school. That was an awesome pre-grad party.
I remember the one-hit wonders before they were one-hit wonders. Who didn’t have a crush on Vanilla Ice? I was there for the rise, fall and demise of Milli Vanilli. The girls either wanted to be a Debbie Gibson or a Tiffany.
I was there for the first time tights and a baggy sweater were in. Suspenders? Been there...not going back.
My point is that every generation will have its gap eventually. And every decade will have its memories. The 80s and early 90s had distinctive clothing, strange hair and overuse of ozone depleting hairspray to define it.

But a generation should not be defined by a year, or a decade. A person should keep evolving.
Miss the decade for a while, but then cut the cord, man, the 80s are long gone.

Rockin' the Radio Edit Suites - In the Bowels of Red River College

2010-04-15T22:28:00.004-05:00

I handed in my first radio-demo this week, as requested transferred onto a CD from a .WAV file. Before the process started, naturally there were a few hiccups: lining up my interview, writing the newscasts, live-hit and commercial, etc.
The day before my demo was due, I was sitting outside of the Corydon Avenue Starbucks with my interviewee before class. I recorded a five-minute interview, chatted about the industry, jumped into a cab and, with 20-minutes to spare, I unloaded my interview from the recorder to the radio edit suite Mac, formatted the recorder, returned it to the library, and walked into my first class with 30-seconds to spare.
Not bad for a first-timer.
And that was the easy part.
Next came the editing. Compared to my montage, it was a breeze.
There comes a moment in every CreCommers life when bogged down by homework, and the realization that you will be getting very little sleep anyway that night, that regardless the outcome of the editing process, you just need to relax. And that’s what happened. I knew that when I left the suite, I still had my ad campaign and essay to work on, but while I was in the suite, why not have a good time.
So, I laughed, I sang, hell, I even danced. To me, it was funny when I would get tongue-tied or when I would lapse into an Elmer Fudd moment. It came to the point where I was getting so comfortable, I didn’t even need my scripts at times.
I learned so much about Pro-Tools in one night – except for that one of the SFX (sorry Garry) that I am proud of my demo.
Is radio the way I want to go? I’m not sure, but I know it’s where I would like to start out. At least for the summer, to get my feet wet as they say.
Are you hearing me QX104?

Marathon of Hope-Remembering Terry Fox

2010-04-12T23:01:00.001-05:00

Today was my birthday, and it turned out to be a great day.
On April 12, 1980, 30 years ago in Newfoundland, a story was about to develop on the eastern shores of the Atlantic. With his artificial leg dipped in the frigid ocean, Terry Fox, a young, curly haired cancer survivor, was about to run across Canada to raise money for cancer.
In 1980, Terry Fox embarked on his Marathon of Hope in St. John’s Newfoundland, now referred to as Newfoundland and Labradour. This was no small feat. His goal: $1-million dollars, and the ultimate goal of $24-million. Terry’s dream was one dollar for each Canadian.
Terry’s Marathon of Hope began to pick of coverage in Ontario. He met Prime Minister Trudeau and kicked the opening kick off at the Argonauts game. But his focus was always on the run, according to those close to him, and his biography, Terry Fox, His Story.

The cancer resurfaced and Terry’s Marathon of Hope short in Thunder Bay. During a television interview before ending his run, Terry vowed "I'm gonna do my very best. I'll fight, I promise I won't give up."

Before he died on June 28, 1981, he became the youngest person inducted into the Order of Canada.
Terry was only 21 when he had the courage to step out of the box and do something different. It was scary, and people made fun, and they had their doubts. And he may not have finished, but he made people stand up and listen.
And he was only 21 when he did all of this.
More of us should be so brave to take chances.

The Irreplaceable Barbara Frum

2010-04-05T22:09:00.003-05:00

As I am writing this, I am listening to Peter Gzowski speaking about the death of one of the greatest Canadian broadcasting pioneers, Barbara Frum. The CBC archives are loaded with Barbara Frum interviews and every once in a while I visit the site to watch snip-its. For those too young to remember Frum, she co-hosted a CBC program called The Journal in 1981 with Mary Lou Finlay. Frum’s ability to interview set her apart from Finlay, and Frum went solo on The Journal the following year.
The Journal was a hard-hitting, documentary, world-issue type of program. Think a toned down George Stroumboulopulos, add fire and estrogen, and you’ve got Barbara Frum.
The interviews Frum conducted where amazing. Even the interviews that she thought were poorly done were good. She would always finish her questions and never trail off like so many interviewer do today.
When Frum died on March 26, 1992, many of her viewers were shocked because she had hidden her leukemia from the public and the majority of her colleagues. My husband asked me if I agreed her decision, and I said yes. As the radio clip said, she did not want to be seen as a patient.

When I was accepted into CreComm, I remember talking to my mom and she asked me what I planned to do when I graduate. What kind of journalist was I going to be? And I said, I want to be on television, the radio and I want to write. Then I said, “I’m going to be the next Barbara Frum.” My mom went silent. She took a deep breath and said, “she was really good.”
I know I set the bar high. And I know the road ahead will be difficult. What gets me through is that if Frum could do it with the obstacles that she faced, that I can do it facing the obstacles that I face.
And I know that nobody could ever replace Barbara Frum: she was one of a kind.

Only with arete - The CreComm Magazine Fair

2010-04-01T21:02:00.013-05:00

Today was the Creative Communication magazine fair at Red River College for the first-year Creative Communication students. Each randomly selected group of four comes up with an original idea for a magazine, and decides on the content.

For our magazine, we came up with the concept of a magazine for girls ages 12- to-17 that promoted a healthy lifestyle through sport and healthy eating. Our magazine name, arete, pronounced ahr-i-tey, was borne from the Ancient Greeks and means excellence.

Coming up with the magazine name was the least of our worries. With a feature article to write, plus supplementary articles, and designing ads, the name of the magazine was the last thing on our minds.

There were so many impressive booths today at the magazine fair, this is far from my grade nine science fair when my partner and I did a project on the environment and the ozone layer. Yes, just like on Degrassi. But there was nothing Degrassi about this fair.

Everything about it was top of the line, and people went all out. My husband stopped by the fair on his lunch and he said he was impressed by how everything was so professional There were backdrops made out of wood, cookies with magazine’s logo, and a fondant cake with a fondant cake shoe on top.

People were giving away food samples, even if it wasn’t related to what their magazine what about, like pancakes for an IT magazine. Ours was an extremely heart-healthy muffin – oatmeal banana raisin chocolate-chip. We were also giving away free arete water, which helped us with our sales of our magazine. For $1, people could purchase a .pdf copy of arete, and all proceeds went to KidSport Manitoba. And I think having a massage therapist do free massages helped, too.

It was a fun event, and some of the second-years came by with words of inspiration. We pretty much forgot this was a competition and we were being graded.

But it was great to see the other teams' magazines. And you truly appreciate the work that goes into the magazine. And it was a good time to see what your friends magazines looked like, and win some free stuff - like shoelaces.

By the end of the day, the four of us were exhausted, but it was a good exhausted. We wearily cleaned up and parted until Tuesday.

On Tuesday, we will no longer be a group, but as I wrote in our magazine in the Letter from the Editors, “We came together as a team, and we are parting as friends.”

A Hairy Story

2010-03-29T21:54:00.018-05:00

I finally had time this weekend to get my haircut. As I was searching for some inspiration for my screenplay tonight, I found myself looking though some old photos.

As a child, I had long hair. And I don’t mean long...I mean really long. My sister Jenn and I both sported the “Cousin It” look, as I refer to it as.

But, back then, I got a lot of attention because of my hair. I was called Crystal Gayle, which back in the early 80s was a huge compliment.

My mom would braid two heads of hair each morning. On special occasions, such as picture day or funerals, my mom would French braid our hair.

For Grade 1 picture day, she went a tad overboard with the tightness of the braids and I looked like the lovechild between Leonard Nimoy and Brooke Shields.

The Evergreen Festival of the Arts was another time when I was able to let my hair down after being bound in tight braids for months on end. The festival was when the local schools in our division competed against each other in dance, choir, Orff and poetry. For five days, I was able to wear it down, on the condition that I didn’t do any activities that could get my hair tangled, such as jumping rope, which would have been difficult anyhow!

The only time I didn’t live up to the deal was when the school had removed the teeter-totters from their post, and one of my girlfriends and I spent the entire recess spinning around on it. My hair dragged on the playground sand and got so tangled, my mom threatened to cut it off as she pulled a paddle brush through it that night.

After baths, my mom would again braid both heads of hair, and somehow all of the hair ties would disappear. So, my mom thought we must have been using the ties on our Barbies. So, she would threaten to cut our hair off again, if we didn’t take the hair ties off our Barbies.
Thinking back, I should have let her cut my hair off. I used to get awful “hair-headaches” because of the weight.

My favourite though, was the ice shows. Mom used to braid our hair in tiny little braids, as she used to sometimes for the festivals, so it would be super wavy for the next day. Then she would tie a matching bow to our costumes in our hair. In 1985, we did “Children of the World,” and Jenn was from China. She was the only skater out of her group that didn’t need a fake braid!

But, as we grew up, we realized it was time to let go of our long locks. Jenn went shoulder length in 1985(ish). And the night of an ‘86 dance recital; I surprised everyone with my copycat look.

While it’s cute to look back on the pictures of us with the long hair, I know I could never have the patience for it as my mom did. Maybe she didn’t want her little girls to grow up yet and the hair was one way of keeping us young.

Trust me, if I have my way, I’ll always be my parents’ little girl, and hair has nothing to do with it.

Little People, Big Dreams

2010-03-26T15:16:00.006-05:00

In today’s Winnipeg Free Press there was a story about old Fisher-Price Little People figures sold before 1991. These Little People could be a choking hazard because their base is less than three centimetres in diameter. Health Canada is encouraging anyone to rid their homes of the little buggers to avoid mishap. There have been seven deaths and one serious injury because of the old Little People, all in the U.S.

Since 1991, Fisher-Price has sold newer, chubby forms of Little People, but in my opinion, they don’t even come close to resembling what they used to look like.
As a child, I was obsessed with Little People. I had the bus and the playground. I had the “dangerous” dog, little girl and boy, the cowboy and the grown-up lady – who was always the teacher who watched over the children as they played on the playground. I even had the really old Little People that were made from…oh dare I say it…wood!

The bus was pulled by a string, which eventually broke because of overuse. The driver was a permanent Little People whose head would stay stationary as the bus was pushed along, and his head would move, as though he were looking both ways. The bus had spaces for passengers, and I would line them up in front of the door. Even the dog was allowed to ride the bus, after the driver was convinced that the dog needed a ride to the living room from the kitchen. I had Little People cars that could fit one person, and they would drive on my parents table and jump onto the kitchen floor.

The coolest accessory that I had for my Little People was a train set! The train would cart the Little People around and stop to make pick-ups where the Little People would just kind of fall in. Then the train would make its way to an elevator and drop the Little People off. The people would make their way up, where they would either slide down a “terminal” and in the cue, or be dropped by helicopter onto the train. Very exciting! As you can imagine, this kept me busy for hours...
When my little sister moved into the Little People faze, she was given the new age Little People, so imagine my excitement. But in 1992, when I would play with Sharlynn in her toy room, now my mom’s sewing room, I was a tad disappointed. These weren’t Little People. These were chubby Little People. However, my disappointment gave way to joy. Sharlynn had an airport, and construction site. I didn’t have this as a child. I spent more time playing with her Little People than she did.

I miss my Little People, and to be honest, I’m not sure what happened to them, whether my parents still have my dog and little girl, or if they are long sold off in the garage sale of 1986 where most of my some toys were sold – including my beloved plastic horse brownie.
But as a kid in Grade 4, why would I need a plastic horse to jump around on. Just like, why would I need a Little People bus to push around.

Loophole

2010-03-23T20:41:00.004-05:00

After school today I went home and started to watch some old footage to hopefully use in my IPP documentary – pending approval by the IPP board.
The footage I watched was of Christmas 1990 my first real Christmas. When I was 14.
The reason? I was raised a Jehovah’s Witness, however, and not allowed to partake in what they perceive to be pagan rituals.
My mom who was raised a Witness, while my dad was more spiritual, rather than religious. My dad loved my mom so much that he gave up his beliefs to be with her. But someone forgot to tell my dad’s parents who were about to become grandparents for the first time.
Enter my sister Jennifer.
OK, now me.
I’ve blogged about how Gigi Karatchuk would take us to Johnson’s in Arborg to buy a toy for Christmas. It’s confusing for a six-year-old child to receive a doll from their grandparents for Christmas – not even knowing what Christmas is. And every birthday, money - usually a $20 bill – but no card.
When my grandparents died, my Baba in ’82 and my Gigi in ’84, I think my dad was trying to fill the void that my sisters and I felt, and he as well. So on Halloween, he would actually dress-up and go trick or treating around our “neighbourhood,” otherwise known as Geyser and get a pillow bag full of treats for Jenn and me. The birthday money continued...and gifts started as well – wrapped.
My mom realized that since most of our friends were not Jehovah’s Witness, they would be more lenient. I was allowed to go to a friend’s birthday sleepover; however, it had to be after the cake and gifts. I was allowed to go to the Halloween dance, only because I was on the dance committee, and I was not allowed to dress-up in costume. We always found the loophole.
Eventually, it became obvious that we no longer were JWs. I’m not sure at what point exactly it was. I don’t know the exact date. What I do know is, the first day of grade 12, I stood for O’Canada, a song I proudly sang for the Goldeyes Baseball Club and the now defunct Winnipeg Cyclone Basketball Club. It was time, I told my friends.

I was still watching the footage when my husband Murray came home. He plunked on the couch next to me, and asked, “what was going through your mind back then.”
As I watched Jenn and I poke and prod the gifts, laughing, inviting our little sister Sharlynn to see all the presents, it looked like any other Christmas home movie. But at that time, my dad was documenting history. We had the little tree, the lights, the garland, the Christmas music and the laughter.
I don’t think it’s so much what I was thinking back then, but what I thought now. And that is – it was time.

Big people choices, little people dreams

2010-03-14T21:23:00.004-05:00

From kindergarten to grade nine, every class was pretty much decided for you. Once you hit grade 10, the choice had to be made between university entrance courses, the 100s, and the general knowledge courses, the 101s.
Really, the only choices were in math and English, but the decision still could impact our lives. If we didn’t take math 300, and then decided we wanted to be an accountant, that would be life altering...and one I’m sure would not happen if that person had the right guidance councilor.
Tomorrow I am handing in my academic plan. It’s my life plan that states my intentions for my major and electives.
My major I’ve known since 1995, when I first applied to Creative Communications – but let’s not go there.
However, the other electives aren’t as simple as an English 200. This isn’t like dissecting a worm in Biology 300. This is about picking seven electives over two more semesters so I can, in June 2011, with my peers, receive my diploma from Red River College. And all that’s standing in my way is a blue sheet of paper with some notations on it. Checkmarks, circles and squiggles.
If only this were kindergarten, where it would be acceptable if I drew a big circle and said, “I want them all.”

Death of an 80s Heartthrob

2010-03-10T22:03:00.002-06:00

Today I learned the shocking news of the death of teen heartthrob Corey Haim. He starred in such 80s flicks as License to Drive and The Lost Boys.

Since the early 90s, though, Haim’s life had been spinning out of control – using drugs and abusing alcohol. He wasn’t the cute Corey that everyone had fallen in love with that had once graced the cover of Tiger Beat and Teen Beat. Roles were hard to come by for Haim, and for his close friend, Corey Feldman, who starred along side Haim numerous times, including in License to Drive.

I heard about Feldman’s life years ago going awry, but Haim’s death today at age 38 came as a shock.

As a promising actor at age 13, Haim broke into acting in his first movie called First Born, which I have on a video cassette (a video cassette is like a large DVDCAM tape, but used in a machine called a Video Cassette Recorder, or a VCR.) Haim was such a promising actor. I watched the movie this past summer while I was going through my old tapes. And I wondered what ever happened to Corey.

I guess I got my answer today.

The IPP Panels at the Park Theatre

2010-03-10T20:59:00.001-06:00

Today marked the first of three days of the IPP panels at the Park Theatre. The IPPs, or Independent Professional Project are your one chance in Red River College’s Creative Communications program (CreComm) to do almost any type of project you have ever wanted to do - within reason. As long the IPP will teach you something, benefit the College and be somewhat marketable – it is viable. The project could be a documentary film, pilot for a sitcom, a novella, a blog about movies, or you could take a trip to Bora Bora to photograph the scenery and turn it into a coffee table book.

Watching the IPPs today, there were a lot of nerves, a lot of shaking hands, and a few stammers. But there was something else.

Whenever a second-year CreComm went up to present, the rest of their group cheered, clapped and hooted. They did everything possible to support their peer because they know how hard this project was.

They know the inevitable, and hopefully not literal, blood, sweat and tears that went into the IPPs. The know the challenges, the heartache. The broken promises, the unmeet deadlines, the bands that cancelled two weeks before. They’ve heard it all.

And now us first-year CreComms know what to expect. We know what’s in store as we write our proposals this year for our IPPs, hoping to get them approved. So next year when we’re frustrated about booked editing suites or writers block, we can solace in the fact that others have been through this...and survived. And we will, too.

And when the spotlight beams down on me next year and it’s my hands that are shaking, and my fellow second-year CreComms are cheering me on, at least I’ll know...I survived.

The Resurgence of Pic-a-Pop

2010-03-09T22:08:00.002-06:00

In Advertising, my classmates and I are working on an ad campaign for Pic-a-Pop. Pic-a-Pop is marketed today as a high-end beverage and sells for just under $2 a pop, no pun intended. The Winnipeg-based company had its share of bumps, and despite disappearing in 1996, has come back stronger than ever.

But looking at the new and improved bottles brought back memories of family reunions at my grandparents in Silver, Man. In the 1980s, my Baba and Gigi would have a massive family reunions ever so often. My Mom’s cousins from the city, Ernie and Russell, would bring Pic-a-Pop by the caseloads.

Pic-a-Pop still had their standard flavours like lime, orange and root beer. But I seem to remember the most popular flavour among us kids was called Moonshine. It was Pic-a-Pop’s take on Mountain Dew. Moonshine without the effects of alcohol. Not so according to my older sister, who told me once that the flavour “makes you puke pretty colours.”

Pic-a-Pop was able to rise from the ashes and defeat the odds. While they weren’t able to salvage all of their flavours, the remaining nine will satisfy most. After all, don’t we all love to pick a pop!

Arborg, Manitoba - taking the fun ride out

2010-03-06T11:18:00.020-06:00

Yesterday, I went on a road trip for a Manitoba Travel project for Creative Communications. With three of my friends: Jenn Hanson, Sam Pitsanuk and John Rymon packed in my car, we excitedly hit Highway #7 and drove 1 ½ hours north “beyond the perimeter” to our destination: Arborg, Manitoba! My hometown!

Before we even hit the perimeter we were into a deep discussion about swear words. We all learned more about each other . Things that were shocking, things that some of us already knew, things that were not even PG13 material.

After a quick pit stop in Teulon, we continued on our way. Still discussing the “what if you” and “if you had to” and so forth.

The ride back to Winnipeg was a quieter. I had forgotten how the fresh clean country air can exhaust you. While travelling on Highway #8, with plans to cross over to #7 at Gimli, the silence was broken. “I love the trees.”

Everyone in the car burst of laughing. We all understood what she meant though. The trees, especially when they are full of leaves, look gorgeous. And I love the trees, too.

On the way home, besides almost running out of gas before Teulon, that was the best road trip I’ve been on in a while.

And as we went our separate ways, that song from the Breakfast Club came to mind. Sappy but true. I mean we see each other again on Monday. I have a blast out in Arborg, and I’m hoping Jenn, Sam and John did, too. And once we graduate in 2011, I hope we never forget Friday.

Oh, and I can never return to Chicken Chef unless I am incognito.

The Heart of a True Champion

2010-02-28T22:37:00.003-06:00

After 17 days of intense competition, and balancing school, assignments, work and sleep with watching the events, the Vancouver 2010 Olympic have come to a close.

There were many memories at these games: our first gold medal on home soil by Alex Bilodeau; the first North American ice dance gold medal won by Tessa Virtue and Scott Moir; and Melissa Hollingsworth’s tearful apology to Canada, feeling that she had let everyone down by not winning gold.

But, one moment stands out in my mind, and probably for many Canadians as well: the performance of Joannie Rochette.

Two days prior to her short program, Joannie learned her mother, Thérèse, had died of a massive heart attack at 55. Her parents had just arrived in Vancouver to watch Joannie compete when this happened.

Not even seven hours after Joannie received this news from her father, Normand, she was back on the ice practicing. She made it clear that she would not speak to the press until after the long program, a request that was respectfully granted.

On Tuesday, February 23, 2010, when Joannie stepped onto the ice to perform her short program, she was greeted with a stand ovation. You could see she was emotional, you could see she was trying to refocus. But, you felt if anyone could do it – it was Joannie.

As she took her opening pose to the music La Cumparsite, she looked determined, as though the events of the week hadn’t affected her. This was just another day. When she nailed her triple Lutz, double toe loop, you knew it would be her night.

Her performance was perfect.

And when the program came to a close, the flood gates opened. She was no longer void of emotion. She cried. I cried. People I spoke to on the streets admitted they cried.

In a way, Joannie united Canada. She showed us what the Olympics are all about. Strength, commitment, and competing against all odds under extreme circumstances.

Her long program two nights later, while not perfect, it was just as heartfelt. So in the minds and hearts of those who witnessed it – it was perfect. Joannie skated to Samson and Delilah, and to a bronze medal.

As she stood on the podium with the bronze around her neck, little did Joannie know that her bronze would be more deemed important than any gold medal that Canada won by VANOC and she would be chosen as flag barer for the closing ceremonies.

To compete under such circumstances is unimaginable. To win a medal under those circumstances - even more imaginable.

When thinks are tough, and you’re thinking about giving up, remember walking away is the easy part. Just know you will never know what could have been. Regret is harder to live with than successful loss. Or in Joannie’s case, a 3rd place class act.

Silver and Sunshine

2010-02-24T21:26:00.006-06:00

On Sunday evening I received a text from my husband at APTN, where I am an intern during the Olympics. “Call me when you get this.”

“Where are you?” he asked. After finding out I was in the coatroom and about to leave on a dinner break, he took a long breath. “Your mom called…”

Nothing good can ever come out of a statement beginning with “your mom called.”

My Auntie Geraldine had died. She was only 57. Maybe it was because I was in shock. Maybe it was because I was so tired. I collapsed in a chair and cried.

She has progressive Multiple Sclerosis and had been in palliative care for years as the disease stole her ability to walk and communicate fully.

I could say, sure my aunt had MS and now she is a peace. But at one time, she did not have MS. I could even say that we were not that close since I live in Manitoba and she lived in Medicine Hat. But there was a time when she and my uncle would come out twice a year and my mom’s entire family would get together at my Baba and Gigi’s place in Silver, Man., just outside of Arborg. My grandparents’ had seven children and they are very close.

The family reunions would always involve a large meal. The one of the best parts was always the perogies oozing in butter. My Baba, mom and aunties would make the best desserts: chocolaty brownies, gooey cinnamon buns, chewy chocolate chip cookies, tantalizing chocolate dipped strawberries and the famous pistachio sex-in-a-pan.

After dinner, we would all waddle outside and take walks along the trails that ran through Baba and Gigi’s land. They had quite a large piece of property and when the family would separate to go on walks often there would be four or five groups of people walking around and we wouldn’t see another group for at least a half hour. One of my favourite walks was down the back corral my grandparents rented out to a farmer in the area. There were never any animals there, and you could walk so far. Another was to walk along the back field that ran along their property and then through the bushes. My sisters and I would always end up back at the house by taking the trails, even though I was convinced we were lost. And somehow I would end up with a tic or two.

Once the walks were finished, usually my grandparents would make coffee and it would be round two for the desserts.

And we could not end family reunions without a photo shoot. You would think after years and years of taking family pictures my family would have learned how to take pictures in succession. Left to right or right to left. Nope. We do not have one family photo where everyone is looking the same way. I think it adds to the charm.

So once we are all blinded by the camera flashes and we would stumble around blindly for a while, we would start to say our goodbyes slowly. And we are a family of huggers. We hug when we arrive, we hug when we leave. When we leave, it can take a good half hour to find people to say goodbye. Often we’ll be saying: Bye Auntie Geraldine. Hey Uncle Garry, where’s Uncle Doug? By the garage with Dad and Gigi? OK, I’ll say goodbye to you here and then I’ll go say goodbye to Auntie Bev and Auntie Sharon by the picnic tables, and I’ll go find Auntie Shirley and Anna on the trails. Where’s Uncle Wayne? With Doug? Bye, Jenn, oh, no wait, you’re coming home with us.

As years went on, we had to modify the dinners. We would pick up large deliveries from Chicken Chef or Chinese food to make things easier. But the point was that we were all still together.

We did have one last family reunion at the place in Silver. My Auntie Geraldine had already been diagnosed with MS, and was unable to travel anymore. We would call her on the phone and put her on speakerphone. It was sort of like having her there.

The last family reunion we had was in April 2006 in my Baba and Gigi’s condo in Arborg. They had sold the land in Silver and moved to Arborg. Life was easier for them there. The condo was just like a house, although it didn’t have as many room as their other house did. And with 24 people crammed into the condo, on a warm spring day, it warmed up pretty quickly. We actually had to put the air conditioning on. And we brought in my Auntie Geraldine by speakerphone.

When my Baba died from the results of a stroke, I worried we would never get together again. But we did for the first time in October 2008 when my sister Jenn was out. It was strange to be there without my Baba. And even though it wasn’t the entire brood that was at the reunions in Silver, it was nice that we could pull together the way we did. Even if it was difficult to get through.

My best memories of Auntie Geraldine, well, actually there are two. About 10 years ago, I was singing Holly Dunn’s “Daddy’s Hands,” and Auntie Geraldine and my Gigi started crying and hugging each other. I was about to stop singing, as I looked nervously over at my mom, who motioned me to keep going.

After her diagnosis, she and my uncle came out one last time in 2000. I remember I was sitting with her in Baba and Gigi’s kitchen. She was sitting by the large window that looked out into my grandparents’ large yard. The sun, which had been shining brightly all day, had just gone behind a cloud. Auntie Geraldine closed her eyes and said, “Who took away my sunshine?”

I'm sure that's what my family is thinking, too.

The Teary-eyed Olympics

2010-02-19T13:02:00.000-06:00

I will admit it – the Olympics make me teary-eyed. Something about the passion the athletes put into their respective sport that just gets me. Although, this year I’ve had to contain myself since I’ve been interning at APTN and I don’t think it would be appropriate to start blubbering like a baby at the back of the control room.

I was lucky enough to have the night of the opening ceremonies off from APTN. And yes, there were tears.

On the first day of the games, the world learned of the tragic accident of luge athlete Nodar Kumaritashvili of Georgia. It was unknown if his fellow teammates would participate in the opening ceremonies. But later that night they did. Looking defiant in their red outfits and wearing black armbands, the small contingent marched in slowly, and then marched out of the stadium to return to the athletes’ village.

When Alexandre Bilodeau won gold, it wasn’t so much that fact that it was Canada’s first gold on home soil that mattered. It was the fact that Alexandre’s brother, Frédéric who has cerebral palsy, has been his inspiration. As Alexandre came blazing down the hill, Frédéric was at the bottom cheering him on. And when Alexandre was interviewed he was brought to tears when talking about how his brother was his inspiration.

And the figure skating has been nothing short of heart breaking. For Jessica Dubé and Bryce Davison, and Patrick Chan: my heart when out to them when they struggled. And to Vaughn Chipeur - it’s difficult for an athlete, who trains a performance over and over again, to have an entire season end 2 minutes and 40 seconds of work, it can be difficult.

Without a doubt, there will be many more moments. Many more tears. And more reasons to believe.

And I just may run out of tissue.

Poke vs. #Hashtag

2010-02-14T10:07:00.003-06:00

Facebook and Twitter have changed the face, no pun intended, of how the world communicates with each other. Instead of exchanging emails with friends, now we tell them to simply “Facebook me.” The average Facebook user has 130 friends. However, trying to say in touch with everyone can be next to impossible for most people. Facebook, though, is more of a social community, not just social media. It’s where people come together and post pictures, inviting others to comment on them. It’s interactive and fun.

Twitter, however, is the place to go if you want to find out what’s happening in the world now! An example was the premature death of Britney Murphy. I was watching CTV News and Caroline Bargout said Murphy’s death was still a rumour. I popped on Twitter where her death, sadly, was confirmed.

Twitter is where you can go to get the news, often faster than news stations can pick it up. My husband sees the value of Twitter because of how fast people can get their news, however, he doesn’t have an account. If he were to get an account, he would follow sports. Why doesn’t he have an account?

My sisters also would rather send Facebook messages rather than send Tweets over Twitter. They also don’t see the value in a social media that lacks the ability to connect with friends, share gifts and play Farmville.

When I see whom they interact with on Facebook, I see their point. They connect with the majority of their friends that they graduated, friend they grew up with. Friends they currently have and hang out with.I would imagine if they were on Twitter, there could be the chance to follow the news, sports and entertainment – I believe even Dr. Oz has a page, but Facebook, almost, has that human touch where you feel as though you are making that human connection.

When someone losing a parent, you send condolences. When someone has a baby, you see pictures.

I was asked how to use Facebook and Twitter effectively in PR. Facebook, by creating fan pages, can be useful if they are updated. Anyone can have a fan page, but it’s keeping the public informed that matters. Twitter is far more reaching. If you want your message to get out, post you 140 character message on Twitter for the world to see. Recently, I was invited via Facebook to join a fan page to send a local teacher, Wanda Sparkes to Haiti for a humanitarian effort. I reposted it on Twitter along with a bit.ly link to where people could vote.

While social media has forever changed our lives, the days of the landline phone and postage mail hopefully will hold out for years on the endangered list, rather than going the way of the dodo

White Chocolate Brownies and Laughter

2010-02-07T10:58:00.004-06:00

Last week I met a friend from high school for dinner at Moxies in Polo Park. Although we try to keep in touch as much as possible over Facebook, we hadn’t seen each other in person for a long time. There was a lot to catch up on.

We were very close in high school, and back then, I considered her my best friend. However, we went through some bumps in our friendships in our late teens. We reconciled and became inseparable once we both lived in Winnipeg. It also helped that we lived in apartments that were next to each other.

We would go shopping, out for dinner, to the bar, to Celebrations, out for dessert, out to Arborg, and did I mention shopping…She would come over for tea and we’d talk for hours. Her boyfriend, who she is now married to, would often join us on these outings.

I remember this one time when I drove with her out to Arborg: we hit black ice. To make it worse it was on a curve in the road. We recovered by eating mini Reese peanut butter cups and hoagies. How do you get ride of all that extra trash in the car? You throw it out the window! Remember this was the mid-90s – the climate change movement was not as huge).

While she and I have our own lives now; it’s reassuring to know when we get together we can go to that place where we can act a bit like we used to. We can giggle like teenagers, and yet part like adults.

We’ve grown up, but yet, a part of us will always be 14.

The Not so Naked Grammy's

2010-01-31T21:45:00.005-06:00

It’s great to see that the Grammy’s have gone back to glamour. The gowns are stunning and is there anything better than a man in a suit?

But what is with performing in next to nothing? Take Lady Gaga’s outfit for the opening performance tonight. Man, the girl can sing, but looked like an escaped striper from the set of Star Trek.

I love Pink, and tonight she really was pink. Her outfit consisted of a one-piece unitard with a white stripe woven throughout.

However, I remember a low-neckline raised eyebrows. In 1993, Reba McEntire wore a red sequence dress with a plunging neckline during her performance of “Does He Love You" with Linda Davis at the Country Music Awards (CMAs). The neckline was daring and she received a lot of flack for it, especially in being in the county music industry. Luckily, she had the PR machine that is Reba McEntire behind her, and the incident was all but forgotten. And after all: Reba is Reba.

Just like Pink is pink.

TV killed the Radio Drama

2010-01-28T21:26:00.009-06:00

This week in Creative Writing we learned about radio dramas. On Wednesday, in a freezing cold classroom, we listened to a snipped of a broadcast of War of the Worlds from October 30, 1938 - a simulation of a Martian invasion. Since this was read like a news bulletin, if the listener missed the very beginning, the hope was that they would thing the world was really under attack. While there were rumours of riots and such, these were debunked as sensationalism of the press – if there is such a thing.

Also for our listening pleasure was The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy, a drama from 1978. It was another Sci-fi, end of the world type of story, mixed in with humour and sound effect, which were considered revolutionary at the time.

It made me think back to a one of my favourite shows from the early 90s: Royal Canadian Air Farce. Of course, it still played up until late last year, however, with nearly and entire cast change and tacky writing, it was dismal, and painful, to watch.

I grew up watching the original cast of Roger Abbot, Don Ferguson, Luba Goy, John Morgan and Dave Broadfoot. Broadfoot would make cameo appearances from time to time.

They embodied what Canada was all about – along with Tim Hortons and hockey of course - political satire. Politicians wouldn’t dare prorogue parliament with the farce guys around.

The RCAF started off as a radio broadcast in 1970. Back then, the show was called The Jest Society, a play on words on then Prime Minister Pierre Trudeau’s goal of making Canada a…just society. After some personnel changes, the crew included the fabulous five, plus Martin Bronstein, and they called themselves the Royal Canadian Air Farce. Bronstein left the group in 1974 to become a journalist.

While keeping the radio show going, In 1980 the troupe tried TV, which was basically the radio program being read on-air, which did not baud well in the rating. However, in 1992, Royal Canadian Air Farce début their New Year’s Eve special, Year of the Farce, and it rated so well, they inked themselves a regular time slot on CBC program. This, however, eventually signaled the end of the radio program. With time at a premium, something had to give. In 1997, Royal Canadian Air Farce said goodbye to it’s loyal listeners.

If there were any left.

Winter Memories

2010-01-19T10:56:00.015-06:00

It's was a beautiful morning where I live - Winnipeg, Manitoba. This morning the trees were covered in hoarfrost. And it really made me pine for home and mornings when I would skate on the rink my dad made for me. I would skate almost every day on the little rink, so one might think that by age 15 I would have been quite the accomplished skater. This was not the case. Although, I never got nervous before I performed. Never freaked out – except for one occasion at a Regional competition when I was late showing up and almost eliminated from competition. But I think having that small rink at home, decorated with hoarfrost trees by day, and Christmas lights at night made me a better competitor.

It’s something I took for granted back then. None of my other friends were so lucky as to have a dad that would spend hours grooming snow and then spraying the ground with a garden hose until it was frozen. One time he even got a nosebleed from the cold. But once the bleeding stopped, he went back out into the bitter cold and continued working on the rink.

One year the rink my dad made us a rink with an attached "speed skating oval," which I think he had more fun on than us. I tended to stay on the safe rectangle of ice, as my dad raced around the oval - which he made around our hydro pole in our yard and covered most of the guest parking pad - much to the chagrin of our bus driver!

Nothing beat having my own little piece of ice to blow off some steam. I remember flinging myself into double axels with anger after I wrote, and failed, my grade 12 mid-term math exam. Bad - because I had never had a lesson on them. Good - because I almost landed it. Bad - because I had never been taught HOW to land a double axel! But, it was the fact that I could go somewhere and do something constructive with my time when I was ticked off. So, with Meatloaf blasting in the background, I flew around my little piece of paradise.

There is a rink close to where I live, but it's always reserved for hockey tournaments. I wasn't able to join a figure skating club this year, either, so my skates haven't seen much ice time.

But one day, when my husband and I have our own place, we will make sure to build our own backyard rink.

With Christmas lights and Meatloaf.

In the Chamber 2010

2010-01-17T18:54:00.005-06:00

This past Friday, the entire CreComm class crowded into the Rachel Browne Theatre to watch a two-part production called In The Chamber 2010: Last Men. It was a set of monologues, Last Man in Krakendorf and Last Man in Puntarenas, performed by Gordon Tanner and Steven Ratzlaff.

Gordon Tanner took to the stage in Last Man in Krakendorf, as Douglas Turner, who works in farm implements. The stage lights came up to Tanner pacing in his hotel room and ordering a UPS delivery to Nebraska. .He then proceeded to set up a video camera to record a message to Warren Buffet, one of the richest men on the planet. As Turner saw it, he was an employee of Buffet’s by a few degrees of separation.

Tanner’s character explains to Buffet about what he does and why he is sending him this tape – so Buffet can help Turner make changes in the industry. His concern was about the thousands of pigs that are dying each year in pig barns, most recently a pig barn fire in Crementia.

The problem with doing a play in this manner, with one person on stage (yes, I understand the concept of a monologue) is Tanner spent the entire 50 minutes talking into the video camera. He did not make eye contact with the audience, so it is easy to feel disconnected with the performance.

Another area was the swearing. It didn’t sound natural. If you’re going to swear, it has to sound genuine. There is such as thing as swearing with sincerity. And when the swears are predicable, it just becomes poor form. For example. When Tanner was talking to the camera, aka Warren Buffet, he was explaining how pig barn fires have risen. Then Tanner’s character saw the number for this year and said, “Warren Buffet, what the #%@!.” What else would he say there? “Oh, gee, Mr. Buffet, looks like this year really sucked.”

When the 50 minutes was all said and done, Tanner’s character realized that the power to change things was in him all along, and he didn’t need the help of Buffet.

I wish I could say I enjoyed this performance - I really wish I could. I am a huge fan of Gordon Tanner, he’s is one of my favourite local actors, and in my opinion he is grossly underestimated.

For Part Two, Last Man in Puntarenas, written and performed by Steven Ratzlaff, the stage was dressed as a ballroom. Ratzlaff was giving his good bye speech as he quit his job, and going to Costa Rica. He would start to read, and then stop, then read again, and then stop. As he would read, his guest, portrayed by balloons around the table, would react accordingly to his words. Alex the waiter, played by Tanner, would remove these balloons when Ratzlaff had pushed the limits.

In his speech, he began to relive the 1994 Manitoba Pediatric Cardiac Surgery Inquest, when he and his ex-wife, Wynetta lost their 16-month-old son, who had not only a malformed heart, but Down’s Syndrome as well. During her pregnancy, Wynetta had refused all prenatal care. Ratzlaff rambled on in his speech about his son’s surgery, judge Murray Sinclair who led the inquest and Dr. Odim, who performed the surgery.

Ratzlaff’s character at the beginning of the performance stuck me a creepy. Talking about going to Costa Rica, escorts – oh, of course they are legal, etc. But, as his performance wind down, I actually began to feel for him. He was just a sad man, angry with the healthcare system that let them down in Canada, angry that his marriage failed, angry that his son died and angry…well, just angry.

In the end, it was just Ratzlaff and Tanner, sitting at the table drinking. Ratzlaff never did finish his speech.

The Evolution of Life Through a Journal

2010-01-14T23:12:00.003-06:00

This past weekend I put away all of the Christmas decorations that filled my house over the holiday season. As I crept deep into the bowels of my storage closet trying to reach plastic totes, I decided this was a good time to go through my memory boxes.

Memory boxes, in case some of you don’t have one…or two in my case, are boxes of stuff that you just can’t bare to throw away because they hold meaning in your life, and you are sure upon your deathbed people will be begging for you to bestow these precious objects to them.

I can just see my sisters fighting to see who gets my recorder from grade four. My team precision jacket from 1990. My last outfit from grade 12. Surely, these will have some sentimental value.

Back to reality, I know that my value on these items is grossly overestimated. However, I did find a few items that were quite valuable. Journals!

I have been keeping a journal since the summer going into grade 5. As a good-bye gift from a friend who was moving away, she gave each of her close friends a five-year journal. Funny how I never thought it was odd that she was the one who was moving away and giving out the gifts.

Since then, I have been hooked on writing in a journal. Of course the content of my entries have changed somewhat. Here is a sample from that early journal. The names of the guys mentioned have been changed for two reasons:

1) I am Facebook friends with some of them
2) I was young…very young

September 2, 1986
Is school ever fun! I got everything right!

September 8, 1986
Went on the titter-totter with Joe. I thought he like me, but he kicked me.

September 20, 1986
I’m going to shave my legs soon and wear a bra (come on, I had to throw this priceless tidbit in).

November 5, 1986
Peter phoned me. He wanted to know my box number!

December 31, 1986
Peter phoned me again. I thought he was going to ask me something but we just talked.

February 14, 1987
No phone call or letter from Peter.

June 1, 1987
Mom had a girl! 8 pounds and 5 onces (that was how I spelled it.)

June 2, 1987
Sharlynn is cute! I saw her at the hospital (Heh heh…she knows the truth…)

April 22, 1988
Can’t wait until I see Justin next week at the festival.

December 6, 1988
Skating was pretty good. I did an excellent waltz jump. It was really high!

June 26, 1989
The Ex was pretty good. I was thinking about Rick constantly.

So, once that journal was filled, of course, I had to buy another. This, too, was filled with more drama and teenaged tragedies. In the span of one year, I “feel in love” with four different guys, wrote in detail about what they wore, thought I would “die” if I didn’t get on the honour roll and thought my life would surely end I didn’t figure skate.

As I grew older, my pile of journals grew, and the type of journals matured. Gone were the “locked” puffy padded books with the heart balloon motifs. These were replaced by mature music notes and ballet slippers; violins and gold embosses writing; and smatterings of lilacs and roses. Clearly, my nearly twenty journals showed my maturity.

While I can’t divulge what most of my journal entries are now, I can say that I no longer write about guys and what they wear; or about dying if I don’t make the honour roll. I have come to the conclusion that my life will not end if I don’t skate. I’m pretty sure I am putting my life in peril each time I step onto the ice anyhow!

I can tell you, though, the drama is still there. And I doubt that will ever change.

December 12, 1998
I just got back from my date with Murray and I can sum it up in one word: wow!

Burger King presents the Left-Handed Burger!

2010-01-09T12:01:00.003-06:00

For our assignment in PR, we were asked to come up with a pseudo-event. After some research, I found this tasty tidbit of information.

In 1998, Burger King placed an ad in USA Today presenting their new…Left-Handed Whopper. Burger King said this would benefit 32 million Americans, and detailed how the sandwich was designed specifically for lefties with better distribution of the condiments and toppings.

Well, this didn’t go over quite as well as BK planned. Most of the 32 million Americans were annoyed that they couldn’t actually order a Left-Handed Whopper since they didn’t exist.

Can you guess which what day this new burger was unveiled?

Burger King finally placed another ad admitting this had been an April Fool’s day stunt. It didn't harm the company since both ads brought people to BK and got people talking.

You will be happy to know they only have the Right-Handed Whoppers. If they could redesign their onion rings…

Two VCR tapes, One lump of Plasticine and a partridge in a pear tree

2009-12-28T16:16:00.010-06:00

Today, I found myself on the couch watching tapes from Christmases gone by. It was as close as I was going to get to my family this holiday season, who were unable to hold the traditional Christmas in the country.

So, the next best thing was to watch it on tape. My little sister in her first Christmas concert singing “Auld Lang Syne” didn’t quite do it for me. But, watching her open a hot pink table with matching chairs in 1993 made me smile. As did seeing my older sister opened gift after gift as she added to her ever-growing clown collection.

My husband joined me and we found ourselves laughing at the videos.

“Do your parents still have that answering machine?”

“Nope, it died…about three years ago.” They got it Christmas 1993 from the three of us girls. . In white, just as my mom asked.

I didn’t grow up with Christmas, and I keep saying one day I will write that book so I can fully explain that.

My family didn’t officially start celebrating Christmas until the beginning of the 1990s. We tried to ease in the season slowly. For our first tree, my dad dragged in a small one. We didn’t have any small Christmas bulbs, so he ended up putting large outdoor bulbs on the tree.

My little sister, who was almost four at the time, would stare at the tree, mesmerized by its beauty, only to be taken to the doctor because her eyes had swelled up. The doctor told my mom she had “snow blindness” and was told to keep my little sister away from anything bright. It took a few years until we got the tree decorating thing right.

Eventually, the right kind of Christmas lights found their way into and on our house. At that time, we were known in our area as the local Griswold’s because our house literally glowed. Our bi-level fireball could be seen from two miles up the road.

As we continued to watch the tapes, my husband and I laughed as my sister’s boyfriend received VCR tapes as one of his gifts in 1993, and again in 1994. Then listened as he says, desperately, “I haven’t even used the one you gave me last year!”

My mom squealed with delight at the sight of the Braun juicer she received from my dad in 1993. She then proclaimed, “We will have apple juice tomorrow.” We did not have apple juice on Christmas day. I would like to go on record by saying that I did bring this tape up with my mom when I was transferring all the Christmases to DVD and I heard this proclamation. Mom said she used the Braun juicer once, and it made such a mess she never wanted to use it again.

In 1994, my little sister excitedly pranced around in the new hot pink and purple robe I had just given her. I excitedly rip open my Jann Arden CD from my boyfriend. He tried to mask it by making it look like a piece of Toblerone.

My six-year-old sister, proudly stands above my older sister and I, holding two identical packages and says, “Tammy, Jennifer, which one do you want.” We each take the closest box to us and open it. A little ball of Plasticine plops out and Jennifer and I both laugh, as we both squish it in our hands. It is after all, Plasticine. Sharlynn, the gift-giver, is devastated. “My masterpiece, it’s broken,” she exclaims with the passion of a second-grader.

During the taping of Christmas 1994, our RCA video recorder stopped recording because the tape ran out. In the last scene though, it was seven of us by the tree - my parents, us three girls and the boyfriends – both former, but it didn’t seem to matter. At that time, we seemed happy.

After all, it was Christmas, right? Who wouldn't be happy? Even if we weren't happy with what we received, we sure hid it well.

Whether it’s a juicer, a VCR tape or a clump of Plasticine, it’s never what’s in the inside, but what was put into the inside.

Lost Together

2009-12-09T22:10:00.004-06:00

We wrote our final “tests” a.k.a. exams today in PR and Advertising. I noticed a strange trend that happened moments before our PR instructor, Melanie, entering the room, one that I am not quite used to. Yoga.

It made me reflect on what my high school friends and I use to do prior to trudging our way to the school gym to write our mid-terms and final exams.

Canadian band Blue Rodeo released a song called Lost Together. Before the exam, we would break into spontaneous song – this song began our mantra. For some it was fitting. For some, it was a superstition. For others, it was just a group exercise.

Looking back, though, maybe yoga is the more positive route!

December 6, 1989

2009-12-06T22:00:00.002-06:00

Every December 6, I when I speak to my mom, she asks me if I remember what happened that day. And I tell her: it is _ years since their house trailer burned. Today it is 34 years. I have a strange capacity for remembering things. Which in some ways my parents appreciate – they call me to find out names of people they can’t remember, places they can’t recall and times they can’t place.

Today is also 20 years since Marc Lepine walked into l'École Polytechnique, an engineering school, and in an angry rage against feminism, murdered 14 women. The victims were Geneviève Bergeron, civil engineering student; Hélène Colgan, mechanical engineering student; Nathalie Croteau, mechanical engineering student; Barbara Daigneault, mechanical engineering student; Anne-Marie Edward, chemical engineering student; Maud Haviernick, materials engineering student; Maryse Laganière, budget clerk in the École Polytechnique's finance department; Maryse Leclair, materials engineering student; Anne-Marie Lemay, mechanical engineering student; Sonia Pelletier, mechanical engineering student; Michèle Richard, materials engineering student; Annie St-Arneault, mechanical engineering student; Annie Turcotte, materials engineering student; Barbara Klucznik-Widajewicz, nursing student.
I was thirteen when the Montreal Massacre happened, and I remember watching the journalists covering this. Some of them were distraught by it, they could barely hold it together until they singed off.

But we remember 20 years later the 14 women whose lives were cut short unnecessarily. We light candles; we hold vigils. We do this for the future generation, so they never forget what happened. So the story of, not the shooter, but of the victims, live on. Because as women, we have to pick up and move on.

And rebuild from the rubble.

Gigi Karatchuk - Missed 25 years later, and 25 years ago

2009-12-02T23:03:00.005-06:00

Today has been 25 years since my Gigi Karatchuk died. Even though I was quite young, I remember a lot from that time. My view would probably be a tad different that how my parents experienced that time. After all, these views are coming from a child’s point of view.

My Gigi, a fisherman by trade turned dairy farmer, came across as a gruff and tough man, and his hard was in the right place. One time, I remember sitting on his porch steps with him watching the water spouts that were over Winnipeg Beach, I wasn’t even scared back then. (FYI-my fear of tornados spurred from the Edmonton tornados in 1987). And he always that that darn cigarette hanging out of the corner of his mouth, as if it was part of him.

Gigi, my dad’s dad, had started smoking at the age of 10, and by 67, it had taken his life. And even though it has been 25 years, it feels like yesterday some days. There’s this song by Luba, Everything I see your Picture, that’s basically how I feel when I think about my Gigi. I miss my Baba, and remember vividly bits and pieces of when she was sick, however, I think her death taught me to pay attention. When Baba died, my mom said that Gigi is going to need a lot of company for us girls now. A house full of chips, cookies and tea? (yes, we drank tea at 6 and 8). We would go visit and Gigi would make tea and those Dare cinnamon twist cookies. And I would watch my Saturday morning cartoons there, too.

Usually on Saturdays, Jennifer and I would go round up the cattle with Gigi. I never realized what a far walk it was, and with all the electric fences he would lift so us girls could go under, it’s a wonder he never complained that we were slowing him down!

One day Jennifer and I came home to the teary news from my mom that Gigi had found a lump under his arm. My parents were with him during rounds of chemo and multiple trips to the hospital, while my other Baba and Gigi fed my sister and I puffed wheat cake and cut marshmallows into our cocoa.

However, the cancer had spread to my Gigi’s bones, and there wasn’t too much they could do.

In fact, the night before Gigi died, we were just coming home after a stay at our other grandparents. We came home. My parents used to live only 100 ft from my Gigi. I remember being at my Gigi’s place that night watching Iceman. My Dad and Uncle were tucking Gigi in for the night. Little did we know that would be his last night. He insisted wanted to die at home. However, the next morning, he had taken a turn for the worse, and my parents had a glimmer of hope that my Gigi could be saved. I remember sitting with my Auntie Bev in our house – 100 ft away - packing my purse full of mandarin oranges because I was going to run away. I could see them carrying out my Gigi, and it upset me. My Auntie Bev said then my parents would have more to worry about because they would be missing me as well. Then I started to cry. Next thing I knew, Jennifer and I were at my Baba and Gigi Taraschuk’s. But this time it was silent. Then we were taken into the den, just as we had been two years earlier when my mom came to relay the news that my Baba, my dad’s mom, had died. My Baba, my mom’s mom, tried to tell us what happened in the ambulance, and at the hospital. And my sister just asked, “Did Gigi die?” and Baba said yes. I just remember crying.

As a young child, I remember vividly most of the details of the overly religious funeral Gigi never wanted. I remember glancing at the Bible perched above his head. Who was this guy presiding over my Gigi’s funeral. I remember I barely looked up, my tears hitting the ground, and shredding a tissue until it was just little bits. I overheard my sister crying because Gigi didn’t have his glasses on and he needed those to see.

Not long after the funeral, my parents were cleaning through Gigi’s things and they came across hand written Christmas cards for the two of us. The front is a snowy winter scene, and on the inside it’s signed Gigi. I still have that card.

Of course, any death is sad, but some good always comes out of the bad and tragic, as I view my Baba and Gigi Karatchuk’s death, who both incidentally died at the ages of 67.

My Baba died of a rare blood disease, while Gigi died of lung cancer. Listen to your body, even if you’re not a smoker, you can still develop lung cancer. A wise man once said that if you’re feeling fine, that’s when you should go see your doctor. That man was my gym teacher, Mr. Jacobson, who died in 1995 of skin cancer.

If I could have my grandparents – all of them back for just one day – both Baba’s and my Gigi, I’d be a happy girl. My little sister, Sharlynn never had the chance to meet Baba and Gigi Karatchuk, but I know they would have gotten a kick out of her. In a way, she reminds me a lot of Gigi. She’s tough like he was, and she has a good heart.

I’d like to think that all of us can be tough and good hearted when it counts.

Skate Canada - then and now...

2009-11-22T12:18:00.002-06:00

This weekend I have spent trying to catch the sparse coverage of Skate Canada on CBC. CBC usually has great sport coverage. Hockey Night in Canada? Who doesn’t light candles, flip on the fireplace and throw on a team jersey for that?

However, the coverage of Skate Canada has been dismal. I know it is because viewership is down substantially. Since departing from the 6.0 and going to a new points system, skating fans are less engaged. Now that figure skating can be pushed to the specialty station, BOLD and be live streamed, Skate Canada is not exactly increasing that fan base. If they starting broadcasting Hocking Night in Canada triple-headers in this manner, I think half of Canada would be up in arms, and I am not talking limbs.

Back in the late 80s and early 90s, CTV, or CKY as it was known, had the most amazing coverage of Skate Canada. It would start on the Friday evening, then have at least five hours of coverage on Saturday, and another three on Sunday - much to the chagrin of my Dad who quickly invested in another TV.

I monopolized the family room all weekend, memorized by my sport, as I watched the talents of Josée Chouinard, Lisa Sargeant, Sergei Grinkov and Ekaterina Gordeeva, and of course Kurt Browning. I tearfully watched the heartbreaking performance of Jill Trenary.

In 1989, there was an awesome competition: the fours event. Teams were couples in pairs of two. The footage I have is from 1988, but you get the idea!

To my delight, one year, there was the interpretive event, my favourite type of competition that I would enter, where I would actually medal, instead of just going for a “personal best”. Since I taped the every moment of the Skate Canada event, I would be able to go back to the interpretive event, and watch it over and over again. I was surprised the tape didn’t break I watched it so much. I would try to copy the moves on the rink my Dad made for my sister and I.

Skate Canada was always a prelude to the season that was to come: the Canadians, the Worlds, and depending on the year, the Olympics. There have been so many changes to figure skating, besides the coverage. The governing body in Canada isn’t called CFSA anymore, now it’s Skate Canada. The team sport that created those awesome group kick lines – think Rockettes off-ice - is now referred to Synchronized Skating, not a Precision Team. And as mentioned, a few years ago we said good-bye to the 6.0.

The departure of the figures though – I’m not sure how many skaters shed tears over that one though. Humorously though, Skate Canada did not broadcast that portion of the event!

The Wall, The Ice Queen and The Fallen

2009-11-09T19:34:00.007-06:00

Today is the 20th anniversary of the fall of the Berlin Wall, the great divide that came between East Germany and West Germany. It was an enclave 12ft high, that stretched for 96 miles (155 kilometres). For three decades, it marked the ‘No Man’s Land” where people were not to cross. When it fell November 9, 1989, it marked the beginning of the collapse of communism in Europe: (excerpt from the Winnipeg Sun)

“Within hours of a confused announcement that day, which declared that East Germany was lifting travel restrictions, hundreds of people streamed into the enclave that was West Berlin, marking a pivotal moment in the collapse of communism in Europe. At the end of a plodding news conference, Politburo spokesman Guenter Schabowski offhandedly said East Germany was lifting restrictions on travel across its border with West Germany. Pressed on when the regulation would take effect, he looked down at his notes and stammered: “As far as I know, this enters into force ... this is immediately, without delay.” Schabowski has said he didn’t know that the change wasn’t supposed to be announced until the following morning. East Berliners streamed toward border crossings. Facing huge crowds and lacking instructions from above, border guards opened the gates — and the wall was on its way into history. “

I find it ironic that two-time Olympic figure skating Champion Katarina Witt is the guest judge on this week's “Battle of the Blades.” Or maybe not.

Witt grew up figure skating for East Germany. According to Witt’s book, “Only with Passion,” when she would be competing internationally, she was always under heavy watch to ensure she did not defect from East Germany. Her parents were not allowed out to the country to watch Witt, even when she won both of her Olympic championships.

In fact, it was not until the 1994 Olympics in Lillehammar, Norway when Witt had reinstated as an amateur and now skated for Germany, that her parents were able to see her perform on an international stage.

Think about how much we have to be grateful for in this country. We are a society of laws and rules, but we are still a democratic society. We have freedom, but it came with a heavy price.

On November 11, we remember our anniversary of our freedom, and our fallen. Wear your poppy, and attend a Remembrance Day service.

2009-11-08T14:15:00.018-06:00

Sally, our Creative Writing instructor asked us this week to write about our first house. I remember quite a lot about my first house. We were also given an assignment, which I could expand on these memories. While one of my classmates made a valid point that as young children, some of these memories could be no more than snippets of information that our minds piece together and then free forms into memories; he noted this might not be the case with everyone. I don’t believe this is the case with me, or those in my class whose memories go back to as far as three years old, and those memories are vivid.

In any case, this is what I remember of my first house. These are the smells, the feelings and the emotions that made my first house a home. (This story has been slightly edited.)

“Writing this, it’s like I’m back there, reliving it all. That’s how I remember it. It’s so clear and vivid. My first house, our first house, we referred to as the “little house.” It was painted a crisp white with bold black trim, and was immaculate inside, yet I don’t remember my Mom ever cleaning. The house smelled so clean, even though it was only six rooms and 600 sq.ft. Our home was cozy, and warm, even though it had no fireplace and no furnace. It was all baseboard heating. Outside was spotless, too, as though my Dad has taken a sandblaster and blown off any speck of dirt visible to the naked eye.

Probably the strangest thing, to someone else, would be that we had carpet in our kitchen. It was a 1970s mix of dark browns and gold in horrible circles. The living room had deep red carpet, which my older sister Jenn and I called the red sea. We’d play this game where we would jump from our “chic” beige vinyl couches to the ottoman (later replaced by a couch, chair and ottoman - gold with red flowers - which screamed early 80s, but were hip at the time, and matched the carpet), which would serve as our boat, to avoid being touched by the dreaded red carpet. If one of us slipped, it was up to the other to save the other. In our living room was a huge coffin-like 8trak player, encased in a mahogany chest. It was replaced in ’82 with a remote control Pioneer 5’ stereo, which had numerous lights on it. So many, that Jenn and me would sometimes shut all the lights off and play music just to watch the lights move with the tune. This stereo was known for turning on by itself when planes would fly over our house.

Jenn and I shared a room with wooden boards running down the walls. One side was completely covered in felt flags from Halifax, Victoria, Dauphin, etc. It was questionable if our room met fire code: it was windowless – to a certain extent. The only window in the room led out to the hallway in the kitchen. Whenever that light would go on, Jenn and I would proclaim “party-time” and jump on the bed. If the light went on, it usually meant than my parents were up making themselves a snack. We could smell what they were making, and after the “party” was over, we would wiggle our way on our stomachs to the kitchen. We would poke our heads around the corner until our parents saw us, gave us a nibble and sent us back to bed. For some reason, there was also carpeting on our ceiling. Perhaps this was part of the charm, or perhaps part of the insulation. In any case, I remember talking to the “people” that lived in it.

This brings me to the bathroom where my imaginary friends had made themselves a comfortable home under the wooden slats. There was one slat that did not reach the ground, and they decided to move in there. I would sit in the bathroom, surrounded by blue fixtures, talking to “Pillow” and “Sandy.” I remember my Mom finding out about my “friends,” when “Sandy” was standing by the phone in the kitchen. My Mom was quite upset. So was I, I never saw Sandy again. I remember playing under the kitchen table. Our table was really old and had these tube-like steel pipes, so I would shove my Fisher Price “Little People” in them, just to see how far they could go.

Our yard was huge, and I had a sandbox to make a sandcastle town in and make sand cookies. Jenn and I would spend hours on the swings in the summer. And the ultimate had to be the winter when my Dad made a Quinzie-like fort just in front of the little house. He dug it so far back, even he’s surprised it didn’t collapse.

The little house meant a lot to me, and probably means more as time goes on. One tends to get more nostalgic as they age, I guess. My parents sold the little house in 1986 and we moved 100ft away, into the house were my paternal grandparents once lived, were my parents still live today.

We still live on the same yard where the little house was, though the foundation has grown over, and the little hill that the house was on has been flattened. But those memories are, hopefully, forever."

Stephan's store - time well spent

2009-11-02T22:30:00.002-06:00

The other day my husband Murray and I went shopping Sobey’s - just needed one thing. And you know how that always turns out. With two baskets full of groceries, we decided to go through the self-check lines, those do-it-yourself, bag-it-yourself, scan-it-yourself lines. As I was weighing and scanning items, I felt I were going back in time. Brussel sprouts: 88 cents. Garlic: 25 cents. It triggered a memory

My parents lived in the country, just a few miles from a lake called Hnausa Beach. There is a little rundown royal blue store called Stephan’s on the corner of Hnausa road, just before you turn to go to Hnausa Beach. The owner was Stephan Stephenson – I kid you not. He was kind heart and friendly, and I am not saying that just because he would give my sister and me free candy.

And he was tough. One time Stephan’s was broken into, which is strange, because Stephan lives just a few feet away from the store. The thief took a couple guitars and some cash. Stephan had a feeling the thief would return for more of what he had tasted. Sure enough, the thief tiptoed into the store the next night – and met up with Stephan, .22 caliber rifle in hand.

When Jennifer and me were put in Hnausa Day Camp over the summers, my Mom would stop there in the mornings so we could pick up a little treat. We would show up at camp with lipstick candy and lollipop rings. Stephan’s store used to have a go-cart track behind his store – but it became more of a liability than anything else. The gas tanks in the front of his store proved to be more of a hassle. He let them run dry, and then kept them up for decorative purposes.

Stephan’s store was well equiped with everything the 80s had to offer: 25-cent video games, pinball machines and a huge pool table. Of course, there were chocolate bars, chips, candies and pop. Best of all of course was my parents had a tab. I remember on cold winter nights when my older sister Jennifer and I were younger with nothing to do on a Saturday we would beg my Dad, “Please take us to Stephan’s.” We would spend hours there. Playing video games, buying 45 cent bars, and 50 cent pops. My Dad and Stephan would talk and talk…and talk, until finally my sister and I were begging him to take us home.

Mom would take Jennifer and me Stephan’s if she needed bread or 7up, and Stephan would always let Jennifer and I go behind the counter and pick out a treat – one that Mom would buy us and one that he would. That always make us feel special. And imagine how hard it was to pick out chocolate bars when you have twenty different kinds staring you in the face: Aero, Mr. Big, Five Flavours, Cherry Blossom, Wunderbar, Twix, Oh Henry, Mars, Snickers, Laura Secord French Mint, etc. Plus, the different flavours of gum. There was even chocolate flavoured Hubba Bubba; although, it didn’t last very long.

And Stephan had strange chocolate bars. Palomine; which we loved until one day my Dad found worms in one. And boxes of dusty cornflakes that never sold. Grab bags for 50 cents. I remember buying one the day of my Gigi’s funeral. It had a piece of stale Bazooka Joe gum and four leather couch buttons. Ya, that just made me even sadder.

Then of course, there was the time that my Dad did the ultimate! He bought what must have been about thirty chocolate bars (about $30 worth!) for my sister and me to set up our own “store” in my Mom’s greenhouse. As it turned out our only customers were my parents and our hired hand…and of course ourselves. We would pop in everyday before school and pick a bar. Sales was not our forte!

During summer break, Jennifer and me used to bike to Hnausa beach, and we would stop at Stephan’s. We would buy bars, chips and pop – kind of counter productive come to think of it. “Can we put it on Dad’s tab?” Of course, we could, but it was always polite to ask.

Stephan died about a decade ago, and his son kept his store open for a short time, but that did not last long. While the royal blue building still stands today, the windows are boarded up, the gas tanks long gone. The paint is faded, but I know no one will come and paint the building. But I also know, that no one will have the heart to tear it down.

City Hall here we come!

2009-10-23T13:41:00.003-05:00

Next week, the entire Creative Communications section – all 74 of us – will take a “field trip,” [across the street], to the City Council Building and cover one of their meetings. While I am sure Sam Katz is looking forward to all of us running towards him for a media scrum, I can’t wait to sit in on my very first City Council meeting.

Unlike the majority of Winnipeggers, I did not get excited when Brad Pitt came to film, “Jesse James." Nor did I raise an eyebrow when Harry Connick Jr. graced our city with his presence for “New in Town.”

It may surprise some that I am an actor/extra and had a small, small, small...small part [theatre patron in the 18th row, 22nd person in, if you look really hard, I think it's me] in the Brad Pitt movie that practically grinded the city to a halt.

I never get excited on-set for two reasons: 1) it's all about craft service, 2) the actors are just there to do their job.

Hey, just like politicians, but with one big difference: they are far more accessable than actors. That is probably the reason why, for me, it has never been about the famous folk, but rather the political folk.

In fact, I remember my first “run in” with a politician.

Picture it...Selkirk..1983 (I think) I was about seven and visiting my aunt with my parents. We decided to go to the biggest and only mall in Selkirk at that time: The Met.

All of a sudden I heard a booming voice behind me. It was Howard Pawley! The Premier of Manitoba! How exciting, even more exciting – I knew who he was.

He was talking to a little boy, who said, “You’re Howard Pawley,” and Pawley jokingly denied it, though he shook the tow-headed boy’s hand and then walked away in his long, dark tan jacket, a bucket hat perched on his head.

After that, as a young kid, I would actually keep track of the politicans I would see. One year, in the early 1980s during the Arborg Fair, Ed Schreyer was in our parade when he was Governer General.

I know many people I speak to perceive politicians to be liars or scoundrels. But, it just takes a few to spoil it for the rest.

I believe politicians do the best they can with the limited resources they have.

Maybe if we all understood the process better, we would understand just how difficult their jobs really are.

And, I am glad I will get to see that process happen, first hand.

Watch out, city hall - we're bringing our notepads! (missing from photo: Amanda Hope, Tammy Karatchuk, Tiffany Lachutta, Keith McCullough, Brietta O'Leary and Jennifer Twardowski. [picture by Tammy Karatchuk, hence not being in photo]

CBC - The ninth cents

2009-10-16T18:12:00.009-05:00

This week, I had the pleasure of attending the Canadian Club luncheon where CBC president and CEO, Hubert T. Lacroix was the guest speaker. As an invited guest from Red River College, I was one of six Creative Communications students who plead our cases to our journalism instructors, convincing them to send us to this event and have the privilege of meeting Mr. Lacroix. Next year we all will specialize in either Advertising, Public Relations, Journalism or Broadcast Production/Online Media. Mr. Lacroix was to speak to the future of broadcasting and media as a whole. As a future journalism major, and one day broadcast journalist, it was important I knew where my future was headed.

A very down-to-earth person, Mr. Lacroix introduced himself to the six of us. He spoke passionately about the future of CBC and what needs to be done for the broadcaster to survive.

Earlier this year, many were up in arms when the CBC asked for more funding from the Government of Canada. People wrote letters to newspapers, stating how the broadcaster already received too much from the taxpayer. As far as most people were concerned, they were already paying too much.

Oh, really?

The BBC in Britain, broadcasting in a single language receives $174 per British citizen. The CBC – radio and television – which offers bilingual programming, news, high-quality dramas, movies, Hockey Night in Canada, and is currently in six time zones across the nation from British Columbia to Nova Scotia to the Yukon receives…only $34 from each Canadian.

Only $34 from each Canadian. Less than nine cents a day. Less than minuscule portions of a micro-cent per episode of The Rick Mercer Report, The Border and Little Mosque on the Prairie. The Current and Information Radio being pumped out for less than most tweens monthly allowance.

Growing up on a farm in Arborg, just outside of Winnipeg, CBC was one of the few channels available to my family. I grew up on CBC. As a young child, I was entertained by Mr. Dressup and Sesame Street; Laurie Mustard and Switchback!

Later, I watched movies such as “Skate,” with Christianne Hirt and Colm Feore. “Love and Hate,” with Kenneth Welsh and Kate Nelligan. “Anne of Green Gables,” which launched the career of Megan Follows.

Hockey Night in Canada, figure skating, downhill skiing – and who can forget the 1990 Grey Cup!

Didn’t we all shed a tear when Samantha Taylor signed off from Video Hits? Dan Gallagher replaced her, but did not have her spunk…or her cool Debbie Gibson style!

And what teenager of the late 80s/early 90s does not remember Degrassi? (The first generation!) Or Kids in the Hall or CODCO?

For local news, I grew up watching Sandra Lewis and Diana Swain. It was always the local channels we could depend on, and nine times out of ten – that was the CBC.

CBC still has high-quality programs today: Heartland, Being Erica, and of course my favourite, Battle of the Blades. And Arborg probably boosted CBC’s ratings this Wednesday, when our own Scott Sigvaldason appeared on Dragon’s Den to pitch Cavena Nuda, a high protein sustainable oat product.

I find it smart marketing that Billy Parrott, “Shane,” from the original Degrassi series, is in the “Save local tv” commercials. Maybe the stations wanted to invoke some nostalgia in all of us?

The Ugly “Truth” about the Diet Industry

2009-10-14T23:00:00.011-05:00

During the past few weeks, a group of classmates and I were involved in a project called “Buyer Beware.” We chose to explore the seedy underworld of the diet industry.

Our group, which consisted of Amanda, Melissa and Tiffany and I, infiltrated Herbal Magic and LA Weight Loss to see how ethical their practices were and to see if the business is operating legitimately.

We first wanted to explore two different locations of Herbal Magic.

First out of the gate: Amanda and Melissa; who visited a Herbal Magic location in the south end of the city. The next day, they reported that the consultant told them, while they were in a healthy weight range, one of them needed to lose 9lbs and the other needed to lose 16lbs. As its turns out, the consultant wanted to get them down to the lowest number in that healthy range. (I might mention at this point that none of us girls are over weight.)

For the 52-week Herbal Magic program, a person off the street can expect to pay $900. But wait a minute, Amanda and Melissa came in together…so they should get a deal, shouldn’t they? Of course, and they did! Only $599 each! Wow! And it got even better. Hey, didn’t you mention they were are students? Boy, did they have a deal for them! $389 each! Now that’s a deal…

Then it was time for Tiffany and me to shine. We visited a southwest location. With the intake forms filled out, and our height and bone structure measured, the consultant told us we did not have anything to lose.

I will admit my utter disappointment, however, that soon disappeared as Tiffany began to ask about supplements. The consultant gladly showed us these “fantastic” supplements that would melt our fat away from our trouble spots.

Supplements such as Lean Extreme, WM-4000, Chromagic, CLA: supplements that sounded so foreign you have to wonder why people trust to put these into their bodies? Do they even know what they are taking? Some of these are still pending FDA approval.

At Herbal Magic, they claim to be strict when it comes to possible drug interactions. However, on my intake form I (truthfully) listed all of my medications. With the Lean Extreme the consultant was trying to sell me, I asked if I could see a list of ingredients because there are certain herbs I am not supposed to be on. She said she did not have one available, but that all the supplements are plant-based. When I told her it was important I see one because if I took a herb that I am not supposed to it could interfere with my medications. All of a sudden, low and behold, there was a bottle of Lean Extreme in the office that I could look at.

As it turns out, Lean Extreme contains 50mgs of Green Tea! In this amount it is no longer considered a supplement, but a drug. I have an intolerance to caffeine, which I informed the consultant. Not to worry; I could take this supplement in the morning before I work out. I was told by my pharmacist to switch multi-vitamins when Jamieson started adding 1mg of Green Tea to my regular vitamin. I can’t imagine what 50mgs would have done. (I still take the Basic Jamieson multi-vitamin, without Green Tea. In my opinion, Jamieson is the best vitamin out there.)

Our next mission was for the four of us girls to infiltrate LA Weight Loss. We began by filling out their depressing intake forms, answering the question, “How does being overweight make you feel.” We were given a choice of answers. Unattractive. Embarrassed. Depressed. Then the flip-side. How would we feel if we lost the weight? Happy. Sexy. Nothing would change.And so forth.

The experience at LA Weight Loss was different than Herbal’s because we dictated to them how much weight to lose. The consultant saw no problem with one of our group members being under 100lbs after her weight loss!

LA had a 1200 calorie diet plan, which is really the base of the program. You pay $750 to be on this diet for 52 weeks and watch as the pounds melt away! But wait, there’s more! You can lose the weight faster by going on their Rapid Results program. A supplement that revs up the metabolism; a person can lose 8lbs in a week. A WEEK!

Back to the price of the program: $750. Can’t afford that? Well, they take monthly payments so it’s only $68 a month! All you have to do is pay a (non-refundable) $200 deposit. Grand total: $950.

LA Weight Loss, in my opinion, is taking a risk by doing their own cross-referencing of medications. My medications should not be mixed with certain herbs. One of their supplements contained St. John’s Wart, which raised alarm bells for me – and my pharmacist when I told him about the appointment later. On the intake forms, I specified my medications,which, in my opinion, were clearly ignored for the sake of making money.

The consultant even told one of the girls, who inquired if she should tell her doctor if she goes on the program, that her doctor does not need to know anything.

While neither Herbal Magic or LA Weight Loss are operating illegally, it remains to be seen whether they are being ethical in their practices. Both companies are not upfront with all of the information until a person signs up for the program.

If a person wants to lose weight, please listen – okay read. I used to be chubby. I just started working out and eating right. I 86’d the chips and chocolate bars I had been inhaling after work – I was 21 and Old Dutch had these yummy Double Crunch…anyway...I stopped eating foods that had a lot of sugar and carbs, like muffins. And most importantly, I started moving. Even if it’s just taking the stairs at work or school, just move. And if you want a little treat every now and then, do it without feeling guilty. You have bigger issues in life to deal with than “why did I eat a piece of Aero bar?!”

My Dad always says scales are for fish; my Mom's mantra is "Everything in moderation.” And like they say: Mom and Dad know best!

Battle of the Blades - revisited

2009-10-10T22:48:00.004-05:00

As I flipped though the sections of Saturday’s Winnipeg Free Press, I came upon the Arts and Life pages. The front page was dedicated to CBC’s new show, “Battle of the Blades,” which matches male hockey players with female pair or dance figure skaters.

I have to admit, I was skeptical at first about seeing Tie Domi in tights, but the show is not half bad.

The best part – I get to see some of the skaters I grew up watching.

While I did not see their disastrous performance during the 1984 Sarajevo Olympics, or their gold medal winning skate later that year in Ottawa, Canada, I became a fan of Barbara Underhill and Paul Martini when I watched them skate in ’89 to “Kiss him Goodbye,” by the Nylons. Later, they became known for their passionate choreography with performances to “When a Man Loves a Woman,” and “Unchained Melody.”

Out of the “Battle of the Blades” repertoire, I would have to say, I am cheering for Christine “Tuffy” Hough-Sweeney. She used to skate with Doug Ladret, and the best and worst moment for them was their performance to “Slaughter on 10th Avenue,” during the 1991 Canadian Figure Skating Championships in Saskatoon, Saskatchewan. Ladret threw Tuffy in the air for a triple-twist and there was a mistake in the timing. She fell to the ice, and appeared to be unconscious. However, after a short break, they made a triumphant return to the ice and won the silver medal.

Isabelle Brasseur and Lloyd Eisler were the perfect match: He had about 12” and 85lbs on her. He was the giant and she a rag-doll. Eisler could have perceivably tossed Brassuer around, although he apparently treated her like a princess. Together they won two Olympic bronze medals, and one world title.

Shae-Lynn Bourne and Victor Kraatz dominated the Canadian ice dancing scene in the 90s. Thye revolutionized the way people thought the sport and made it dynamic. With exciting programs such as “Riverdance” in 1998 to their world championship performance in 2001, they were a thrill to watch. They broke up in 2003 when Kraatz decided he wanted to be a show skater rather than skate competitively, which shattered Bourne and many fans.

Jodeyne Higgins and Sean Rice were a surprise, but welcome addition to the 1993 World Team in Prague. Their “Sleeping Beauty” long program was nearly flawless, placing them 10th overall.

Ice dance Marie France Dubreuil is now married to her long-time partner, Patrice Lauzon. They are best known for their comeback in the 2006 Worlds, winning the silver medal, after a horrific accident during the 2006 Olympics in Torino during the original dance. Lauzon lost his grip on Dubreuil’s leg during a behind the back lift – which had a high degree of difficulty.

While I did not grow up watching 2002 Olympic Champions Jamie Sale and David Pelletier because their amateur competitive career was short, I was still enthralled when they won the 2001 World’s in Vancouver, BC. They had only been skating with each other since 1998. For a pairs team to mesh in such a short time is nearly unheard of.

For the next six weeks, I will be able to reminisce while watching “Battle of the Blades." And finally, figure skaters and hockey players will truly share the ice!

The demise of teenaged shopping

2009-10-04T21:15:00.007-05:00

I was sitting in advertising class last week and SAAN store came up. Remember SAAN store? They went under a few years ago. Our instructor, the fantastic Kent, asked if anyone had ever shopped there. Mine was the only hand that went up. I didn’t get a chance to explain…oh dear God, please let me explain!

Growing up in the small village of Arborg (it’s a town now) we would have the rare opportunity to shop in Winnipeg if my older sister Jenn and I had an ortho appointment, or we were getting ready for back to school, etc.

My parents liked to stay around the Garden City area since they knew the area well. One of the places we would go was SAAN store. One other thing I forgot to mention. I had no sense of style as a teen: nil. I would like to think things have changed…if they haven’t, just smile and nod.

One other favour haunt was Warehouse One, but remember this was a different time. I would walk in and be bombarded by colourful sweaters and bright, highwaisted jeans. I had a pair of flaming red jeans and though I was so cool.

Usually we would step into Garden City Shopping Centre. Remember Karuba? It was a women’s clothing store set up like a jungle. A friendly stuffed parrot would greet you at the entrance. And Suzy Creamcheese always had the coolest dresses. Suzy Shier itself was completely different – it had more conservative clothing.

And we all know Bluenotes? Well, it used to be Thrifty’s…and it was cooler.

What was a trip to Winnipeg without hitting Woolco? A pretty boring one. I remember Jenn got a killer tweed jacket from there.

Then we make a pit stop to Northgate Shopping Centre. Kmart…memories. And the best for last: Off Broadway where I got my first leather jacket. It was a bunch of abstract patches sown together, but everyone in town had one like it…again…this was a different time.
Most of the time though, I bought my clothes from the Sears catalogue. That was the ideal way to shop: no awful changing room lighting, no sales people harassing you. It was great. Or so I thought.

Remember what I said about me not having any sense of style – sometimes you need a little advice. Because when you go into a mall, and all you know is what you’ve seen in a book – you run into a little bit of trouble.

Gotta love the hair!

20 Years after Dubin - Steroids in Sports

2009-09-22T20:52:00.018-05:00

It was September 23, 1988. A calm hush took over the Karatchuk living room as Ben Johnson positioned himself in the blocks for the 100m final in the 1988 Seoul Olympics. We watched as Johnson sprinted over the finish line and raised his hand to the air to signify victory as he captured the gold medal with a record time of 9.79 seconds. History was just made before our very eyes.

Fast forward two days.

The school bus had just dropped my older sister and me off at home. As we were making our way down our driveway, she dropped the bomb, “Hey, did you hear Ben Johnson lost his medal because he was taking steroids?”

Stanozolol had been found in Ben Johnson’s urine sample and he was forced to give up his gold medal and disqualified from the Olympics. Ben Johnson denied the initial reports but later admitted, reluctantly, to using steroids. His coach, Charlie Francis, admitted to the Dubin Inquiry that Johnson, apparently, had been using steroids since 1981.

However, this was far from case closed. The Canadian government felt it necessary to make an example out of Johnson by creating the “Commission of Inquiry into the Use of Drugs and Banned Practices Intended to Increase Athletic Performance". At the helm of the inquiry was the late Charles Dubin, thus the Dubin Inquiry. Beginning in January 1989, the DI last 91 days and called upon athletes, coaches, and doctors as witnesses.

And some twenty-one years later, are steroid any less prevalent in sports? Virtually every sport from baseball to hockey and biathlon to bobsled has had its José Canseco moment. And when scandals do occur, rarely are they forgivable, save for the case of Silken Laumann circa the 1995 Pan American Games.

My husband, Murray, holds his breath whenever there is a new steroid allegation in baseball. The constant names that are dripping from the facet that is the Mitchell Report is enough to make people question if anyone – but Derek Jeter – is clean in baseball.

In 1983, Canadian weightlifter Guy Greavette lost his Pan American gold medal when he, along with 19 others, tested positive for steroids. In an interview with The Journal’s Mary Lou Finlay, she asked the question, “Didn’t you know that you would be tested for steroids?” Greavette’s answer? “No, I didn’t.”

At least he was honest – in one regard.

As with every Olympics, the inevitable excitement is mounting for next years Vancouver 2010 Games. No doubt it will be memorable for the fans and the athletes alike. And as always, we will hold our breath each time a steroid allegation is announced…

Nobody puts Baby in a corner - My tribute to Patrick Swayze

2009-09-14T21:15:00.005-05:00

My heart is heavy as I blog with the news of Patrick Swayze's untimely death at 57.

His movies defined my generation: "The Outsiders," "Youngblood," and my personal favourite, "Dirty Dancing." When he graced the screen in “Ghost” I believe he gave people the belief and hope of an afterlife with his portrayal of Sam Wheat. The final scene of this movie was so emotional it brought tears to my Dad's eyes.

I had the time of my life as watched him as Johnny in "Dirty Dancing" grab Baby, Jennifer Grey's character and say those iconic words: Nobody puts Baby in a corner. As the eldest of the Curtis boys in "The Outsiders," his character, Darrel tried to keep his orphaned brothers together.

Now, much like his song, he is like the wind. Like a wind, I may be just a fool to believe he's like the wind...but yes, Patrick is like the wind.

Next time you're at the checkout counter and you hear the beep...

2009-09-13T21:46:00.001-05:00

Yesterday my husband Murray and I rushed to get to my morning hair appointment because he had baseball playoffs. While he waited in the mists of hairspray and giggly brides getting updos at HairFX, a call came on his cell - his playoff were cancelled. Since I didn't have much in the way of homework, we thought this would clear the way for a relaxing Saturday, just the two of us. Wrong!.

We were trying to decide how to spend our time together when my Mom called on her cell. And since she calling from the cell, and not from home in Arborg, we knew she and Dad must be in Winnipeg. Yep, she and my Dad were coming over for coffee and would be here in an hour, or 30 minutes their time. I motioned to Murray to break out the Swifters and vacuum.

After I hung up, we went into a cleaning frenzy. Although our house is normally clean and organized, minus the dining area - the perpetual dumping ground for my schoolwork - my Mom can spot a speck of dust across the room.

Luckily, like a Supermarket Sweep team, Murray and I work well together. He took care of the kitchen and fluffed up the pillows, while I made sure the bathroom was spotless, clean and smelled oh-so-fresh. Shortly after Murray took out the garbage my parents arrived – early as predicted.

After the visit which included my little sister Sharlynn who lives four doors down from us, we collapsed on the couch and miracle of miracles, Supermarket Sweep was on! Oh, the hair, those glasses, the memories!

My older sister Jennifer and me would watch Supermarket Sweep every chance we had in the 90s. We thought it was hilarious. I remember Jenn even wrote a letter for she and Mom to compete in the sweep, but I don't know if the letter was ever sent.

Originally a US game show, it branched into Canada in 1992 and ran until 1995. The entire show spewed Kraft Macaroni and Canadian cheddar - it had ten-times less the budget and ten-times worse the prizes. The host Canadian was the single-dimpled, ever-smiling Tino Monté, who would probably grin though a toenail extraction.

At the start of Supermarket Sweep, three teams of two were chosen from the audience based on what products they were holding. The announcer, Dave King, would ask. “Who has the Nabob coffee?” If you had it, you and your partner had the chance to win “fabulous prizes.”

Once contestants had on the geeky Supermarket Sweep issue fanny pack, it was time to play! To gain more time for the big sweep which happened at the end of the show, teams were asked skill testing questions or to finish off famous jiggles: “The San Francisco ________.” Extra increments of ten-seconds were added for word scrabbles, too: vaxje:Javex.

Sometimes when a team would answer correctly, they would have the chance at an in-store scavenger hunt. They would race off on a time limit to find the specially marked container of Imperial Margarine or Tang. But most of the time it was Voortman cookies. Let me rephrase that:it was always Voortman cookies!

Time for the Big Sweep! This is where it got crazy. The amount of time a team accumulated determined which team started off the sweep. While only one person from each pair participated in the sweep, three people would eventually be on the floor at one time. This was the best part of the show by far – watching three people lose their minds while loading up on Obus Forms and Butcher’s Blend, while bashing into other people’s carts.

Kind reminds me of Sunday shopping at 5:58 pm in Winnipeg.

Are you reading this Greg Selinger?

Canadian game show TV at its best!

Back in the Day...

2009-09-09T22:52:00.017-05:00

While I live in the present, I love a little nostalgia every now and again. A chance to ponder the “whatever happened to” and “remember when we used to” we will all eventually ask. I consider myself lucky that as a member of Generation X, I tasted the best that the 80s and 90s had to offer. With disco about to be declared dead, I bounced in my jolly-jumper to the sounds of my parents’ 8-Traks that blasted BoneyM and the Bee Gees.

Little did I know as I galloped around a new era was about to emerge that would change the face of the world, the country, and my little hometown of Arborg, Manitoba: the 80s. It was a time of political upheaval, massive recalls and cheap gas. A time when make-up was bold, fashion appeared horrid and the mullet reigned supreme. The “Celebration” was on for Kool and the Gang, and Milli Vanilli was on the verge of blaming it on the rain. With the Ben Johnson steroid incident behind us, the 90s rolled in. Glamour Bands belted out pitch painful ballads while Mariah Carey was making her mark. The Tonya Harding scandal was silence by Nancy Kerrigan’s heroic success, and made Olympic television history in the process. The Gulf War, the Exxon Valdez and soaring prices at the pumps.

I get nostalgic for these time, along with the clothing stores: Karuba, Suzy CreamCheese, Thrifties, etc. And who can forget the now discontinued food: O’Ryans chips, Snack and a half, Push Pops, and my favourite that nobody remembers; Chipopities.

So sit back, whip out a Tab, put on some Tiffany, or Poison, and get ready for a stroll down memory lane!