Monthly Archives: September 2011

Online/Offline: This is Your Friendship on Social Media

Bluntly, I have the birthday kinda-blues. There’s nothing like a birthday to make you rethink relationships and other aspects of life. I’ve subconsciously nixed birthday celebrations and now I can’t stop thinking about stuff.
It’s a good/bad thing, the birthday reflections. I like the goals and plans I’ve set of late. I’m optimistic of where things are going. But I’m not particularly wowed by the relationships in my life right now. Let’s just say it’s been a long year, and I’ve had a lot of time to think.
A month ago, there was a big social media suicide, when Trey Pennington, with 100,000+ followers, killed himself during a messy divorce, and it gave me a lot of pause for thought.*
When famous people commit suicide, the thinking usually is that it’s caused by pressures, no outlet for expression, mental illness, substance abuse, right?
When someone “popular” on social media killed himself, the reaction was, “But he was so popular! And likeable! He had an outlet!”
It’s funny, you know, how we kid ourselves about how much this online shit matters. It’s why I laugh at bloggers who aren’t professional and who obsess about traffic, or Twitter people who care about their numbers, and so forth.
There’s this delusion that the more followers you have, the more of a voice you have, or that you can be so much more yourself.
The opposite is actually true.
Be careful of what you wish for. When people start actually reading your stuff, merely venting gets complicated.
I feel I’m less able to express myself on this blog now. I feel like I have to “watch” what I say. Do I, though? Feels like it. Maybe it’s me. Maybe I WANT to express myself less.
It’s a constant battle to remind myself that there’s never been a better time to be myself — because if you don’t like me for being myself, then who the fuck are you to me? Not much, and rightly so. This is me.
Then the irony is, I’m not being myself anyhow. This shit’s edited. Twitter is soundbites. Facebook is selective. Google is me just tryin’.
That’s not ME. That’s a part of me I’m willing to share. But the more of me I’ve shared, the less I feel there is — sometimes. I’m not faking shit, but I’m not releasing the floodgates of truth either.
Welcome to the digital paradox.
You can be “yourself” to a bigger audience than ever before, but how true is it?
You can’t say a fucking thing anymore without realizing a) someone actually heard it and b) half of them are gonna misunderstand it. I don’t care what your grasp on articulation and clarity is, you cannot control how your message is received.
And that’s, again, another paradox. We want to be heard — we just don’t want to be nagged about it. But if you don’t comment or speak to our expressions, then we feel ignored and invisible.
It’s Catch-22, social media style.
We’re reaching that point where the simplest solution is to say nothing.
Say nothing. Somehow I don’t think that would’ve been a good Cameron Crowe movie. “Say Nothing.”
Ahh. Sigh.
So, this year I’m left with an approaching birthday in which I’m really questioning the authenticity of a lot of relationships in my life. Now and then we have those times in our lives that really test our measure of friends. I’m realizing I’ve had that year. What it’s taught me is, well, a lot and I’ve been silent on too much.
And, the irony is, I have “oodles” of people in my life, supposedly. And yet. It’s been a long year.
The simple truth is, emails and texts aren’t enough. Words aren’t enough. Actions are what counts.
And therein lies the trouble of being in a digital society. Having a sentiment “liked” on Facebook doesn’t measure up much, in the scheme of things. A shout-out on Twitter means shit.
I’m pretty sure there’ll be a new cliche in a decade or two: “No one ever said “I wish I could’ve had more Twitter followers” on their deathbed.”
So, having been of this billowing state of mind for a few weeks, I’ve been really taking stock of my life and trying to solve the things that are important to me.
Writing, it’s important to me. I’ve avoided this topic but it’s been eating at me, so it’s best to put it out there, because otherwise I avoid writing in its entirety. Well, that’s not been helpful.
Other things that are important? Cycling, freedom, little things. I’ve been working on whittling my domestic life, getting my back on track, starting a new work sched, and slowly building an exercise routine. I even have plans for meeting people through non-social media events, ‘cos I’m so tired “networking”.
So, life balance. Real people. Honest moments. Personal accomplishments. Those are priorities.
But I wonder how many people feel like I do — more stifled on speech than ever before? To overshare or not to overshare, that is the question. Someone gimme a Magic 8-Ball, I need me some prognosticatin’. I’m not sure what the answer is.
It’s not an earth-shattering revelation that there’s a lack of tangibility in online relationships. It’s just disappointing when one realizes that, even locally, it’s more in platitudes than in practice. It feels like my words or thoughts go out there into space but do little for me. It’s a vacuum, creatively. Or is it?
But, when communicating starts feeling like work, then what can you expect? Staying “on top” of online relationships feels as much a chore as checking my voicemail or email. And where do you draw the lines? Who’s “online” and who’s not?
In the Facebook age, it’s an interesting dilemma. One I’m sure will grow murkier and more complicated in the future. We’re an ADD digital society who thinks and comments more than we act, and it shows.
Whether it’s throwing a “twibbon” on one’s avatar to show political or protesting sympathies, or just doing online commentary, there’s a lot less meaning behind our online lives than the social media marketers want you to think. Being one of a number online kinda means shit, and it’s a good fact to wake up to.
Getting followers and likes ain’t gonna translate much in your soul, and if it does, you might be doing things wrong.
After a year of injuries and other things that, for a while, made social media a more attractive way of engaging for me, it’s safe to say it ain’t so attractive now.
I don’t have a conclusion. Online/offline socializing is a Pandora’s Box that’s officially opened, and staying that way. There’ll be no simple solutions. Yet.
*No, I’m not suicidal. It’s all good. I might need a stiff drink, though.

Righting the Wrongs at Casa de Steff

Hi there, readers. I’m just popping in for a boo. How are y’all?
It’s been a slog of a few weeks. I just haven’t been sleeping well.
I’m the postergirl for cunty-when-sleep-deprived. Creatively, I evaporate. My life becomes a little chaotic on all fronts, and my writing has nothing to show for all the frenetic energy that abounds.
Finances have also been thin after a number of little issues dragged on for weeks and weeks. It’s gotten stressful in a “I just want this over with” kind of way, and I think it hasn’t helped the sleep, or the ability to focus. I was slowly unhinging.
Still, while around the homestead, I’ve been picking away at life in an effort to unravel the sleep issues and get back to happy nights.
Lately, I’ve done everything from writing life goals, fitness plans, and cleaning house, all in an effort to generate momentum in a better direction.
I finally slept well last night, so my “solve the life and sleep will come” approach is starting to work. Upon waking this morning, I realized the solution for my stupid money woes is staring me in the face. Thus, problem solved.

Perspective helps

Those periods where the money gets all tied up can be a gift, and I chose to use this past month as one. When you can’t control your life externally, take control internally. Hence the housecleaning and cooking of late.
This month, I’ve finally done that thing I’ve always wished I had the focus and preparedness to do — I’m taking healthy smart lunches to work daily. I haven’t been spending money on coffee. I’ve worked through all my lunches so I get out  of the office earlier. I think I’ve not bought lunch in nearly 3 weeks. That’s a record. Shit, that was a record 10 days ago.
Also because I’ve been strapped for cash, I’ve been spending weekends at home trying to get my house back to the place it was at last summer before I got sick all fall then blew out my back. I’m spreading it out on weekends so it’s not too taxing. I take lots of breaks and rest when I need to. My cupboards are getting cleaned up, my floors, everything’s slowly coming together after three weeks of picking slowly at it.
The further along I get, the less frustrated I’m feeling. It’s only been the last two days that I’ve started to feel like I have a little more control in life, so it’s nice that I feel this way at all, and I know there’s more to come.

It’s not over… thinking ahead

I’ll be picking through my life for the foreseeable future. I’m hoping I have the opportunity to move this winter, and I want my life pared down before I do, as I suspect I’ll have to downsize — they just don’t make modern apartments as big as these ’50s places, and I’ll likely have to have 10-15% less square footage, so I’m planning ahead.
I’ve also been exploring cooking, and my freezer’s full of good food for lunches for a while to come. The master plan is coming together, and I like the direction it’s going in.
Housework is not the kind of thing someone with a back injury tends to spend a lot of time being able to do, so the fact that I’m finally at the point where I can spend a few hours each weekend undoing the chaos of the last several months is a big, big deal. I cannot stress enough how much the chaos interferes with my writing brain and my ability to rest mentally/physically/spiritually.
I figure one more weekend of less strenous, little finicky things and order should be fully restored to Casa de Steff.

Ready for the season, maybe

Last weekend I redid my kitchen and really took the time to think “What’s not working, where does the mess start from, and how can I fix it?” and then I made organizational changes. Then I spent a whole day doing end-of-season cooking, from jam and bruschetta to pesto and butters, all frozen for fall bounty eatin’ now.
Yep. Fall is coming. A season of cocooning, cooking, writing, and resting lies ahead as the reward of all this work.
For today, though, my home’s as clean as it needs to be. I’ve already prepared my day’s work at the office, so I can get right at it when I arrive. Tomorrow, an early start and a long day. But today? Shorter, and bike rides before and after, to enjoy the end-of-season sunshine.
Ahh, autumn. I’m ready. Almost.
So glad I’ve begun recharging. Last year, I never got to enjoy fall. This year’s looking great. Onward and upward.

Morning After a Heatwave, Summer Comes to a Close

I have not been writing. Noticed this, have you?
That’s the end of summer for you. Seizing the day, carpe diem Vancouver-style.
We’re probably losing about 4 minutes of daylight a day right now. That’s more than 25 minutes a week. On June 21, it was light from about 4am to 10pm. Now? 6:30 to 7:30. December? 8:15 to 4.
There’s almost a panic to enjoy as much daylight as we can in Vancouver. It’s 8:45am, I have my desk lamp on because I actually need it. Cloudy days are dark in Vancouver, I’m expecting many of these in months to come.
Soon comes the dread and doldrums of autumn — within a month. Today, I’m in slippers, and my legs feel cold. If it sounds like the season officially changed last night… it did.
Soon, sweaters, slippers, soup, and battened down hatches as storm season rolls in off the Pacific. Cue the howling winds and repressive rain, along with never-good-enough outerwear. It’s best to lower one’s expectations for the dark days of the winter months in this town.
But with that comes the routine of basic survival, and the built-in excuses for being anti-social. What, leave my house when there’s puddles everywhere, relentless rain, a steady wind, and it’s barely double-digit temperatures, let alone near-freezing? Hah! I have SLIPPERS and wine, fucker. Good luck with that.
And with that also comes the opportunity to read more, write more, and sleep more. It’s when routine gets you through the day. Get up, work out, drink coffee, write, go to work, get it done, go home, eat hearty food, rest, rinse, and repeat.
So, that’s coming, and I know this. Half of me is ready, half of me is kicking and screaming against it.
My back, however, is a main part of me really anxious for fall and winter to come. I’ve been forgoing rehab workouts for cycling and the outdoors, but I can’t do that for much longer. But I have a plan, Stan! Yes, yes, I do.
And part of it will include many, many walks in these leaf-strewn streets. Taking a deep breath is fantastic this morning — always is, after a heatwave breaks, but when it breaks in September and that lush musty sweet autumn air follows, well, that’s just heaven.
Hello/goodbye, summer/fall — it’s practically a Beatles song, this time of season.

Riot Report? Fuck the Report. Charge Someone.

This riot report business, man, I don’t know.
You want to know what it says? Go ask someone who cares.

Important facts are pretty simple: Here in Vancouver, we had us a little hockey riot. Everyone made a big deal about it, ‘cos it IS a big deal. We’re civil Canadians, we don’t do that shit. Want to do that shit? Hand in your Canadian passport at the door. You ain’t Canadian enough.
Well, cue the UK riots. That brought a lot of perspective to Vancouver folk.
All our hockey-riot hullabaloo passed — millions of dollars in damages, people injured, and all those things that come with mass destruction unleashed by drunk assholes — and not one charge has been laid. Not one.
In the Queen’s realm, not only have charges been laid, but people are already doing HARD time for their actions! Our riot was a couple months before theirs, and much easier to dissect, being all of 3.5 hours in Vancouver, versus four DAYS in the UK.
What happened in Canuckistan?
The same thing that always happens in North America, but that BC politicians have perfected.
The relevant happenstances get forgotten. All the players turned the riot chaos into a political free-for-all ‘cos there’s an election in five months. Next thing, everyone’s pointing fingers about whose fault the thing was.

Maybe these guys didn't burn this car, but they're celebrating it, so that makes them assholes too.


“I didn’t do it. You did it! It’s your fault! Hey, people, blame him! And, psst… vote for me!”
No. You know who fucking did it?
Assholes who got loaded and trashed our city. Young, angry, stupid people who deserve to be in jail, on probation, or doing civic service to atone.
It’s not THE MAYOR’S fault. The city wanted public parties and viewing in the streets. We were longing for the communal bliss of the Olympics, and a little recreating didn’t hurt.
More than 150,000 or so folks convened downtown to watch the games. They thought it was a good idea. Those who didn’t go down mumbled thoughts that Vancouver would riot no matter how the game transpired, because some folks just look for the excuse, but I didn’t hear many of them saying “don’t do the public showings,” because they figured riots would happen with or without public events.
Still, there were plenty of politicians and would-be candidates in the mix, wearing their jerseys, cheering like it was the best thing since Oprah handed out hams.
Public parties are an awesome photo op, it would seem. “I’m a good citizen! I like hockey too. Look, I bought a jersey!”
The riot ain’t the chief of police’s fault. Our fine officers stopped the riot without firing a weapon, without using rubber bullets, and when it was all said and done, the citizens were so impressed they literally wallpapered a department squad car with THANK-YOU notes.

When you cover your face, you know you're a thieving fuck and should be ashamed of yourself, so that makes these guys fucktards.


In 3.5 hours the riot was done and dusted, honey, ‘cos our boys & girls in blue ate their Wheaties before the shift.
The fault of the great Hockey Riot was simply people who wanted to kick the shit out of things because… who the fuck knows why, “BECAUSE”? Because they did.
Why doesn’t matter.
The problem we have here is, the citizens don’t CARE about the mayor or the cops, and antagonistic media DOESN’T GET IT. We don’t care about the politics! SHUT THE HELL UP. Stop sensationalizing! Contribute to the solution! PLEASE.
We understood what happened THAT DAY. We didn’t need any fucking inquiry. The increase in cops wasn’t enough, the confiscation of liquor wasn’t consistent enough, the ability to get alcohol downtown on the day of the game was a part of the problem, even with sales ending at noon. The sunny weather brought out even more people. We got it. It was booze, numbers, and shitheads. Pretty simple.
How do we prevent the next riot? Well, we don’t. It’s always a possibility. Our riot response just needs to improve even more. The response improvement from 1994 to 2011 was impressive. Continue that.
In the meantime, we want justice. We want these punk-ass bitches, many of whom were caught IN ACTION, to be punished!
And if they’re NOT punished, FIX THE GODDAMNED LAW so they can be charged NEXT time. Get us some fucking politicians in chambers who execute new legislation that makes it possible to prosecute for incitement and agitation when it’s not related to a political protests. Those get a different measuring stick.
Seriously, write a law that escalates punishment if in conjunction with civic celebrations. If a riot happens within a day of a sporting finals or major sporting event, or public celebration like The Symphony of Fire, have it be a charge of hooliganism.
Or something. My University of Phoenix correspondence law degree ain’t done yet, so let’s not make me think so hard. Write somethin’, lawmakers.
But stop the fucking finger-pointing. If leaders weren’t so damned afraid to bust out a dance in this province’s political scene, we might actually have progress happen and effect some real change. God knows we need it.
That’s fantasy thinking, there. Here, in Lotus Land, everyone’s prepared to play the blame game before the record even starts to spin.
I’m tired of it. Guess what? Most taxpayers are tired of it.
Assholes that are “the future” went out there and tore my city apart, assaulted my police officers, broke our hearts, AND THEY’RE GETTING AWAY WITH IT.
They’re on TAPE! We have photos! There are witnesses!
AND THEY’RE GETTING AWAY WITH IT.
I’ve never considered politics in British Columbia to be more pathetic than it is now, and any politician campaigning with “riot speak and blaming” as a major part of their platform will not get one damned bit of support, or a vote, from me.
It’s time to grow up, BC politicians. And grow a pair.
Shut up and solve some problems that need solving. Get these punk-asses charged and answering to society.
If these jerks can’t be prosecuted, then I want laws in place by June 1, 2012, that make it simple to lay charges and have them stick, when it comes to wanton sports-hooligan violence like this.
Because right now the legal system and political system in British Columbia is an embarrassment. An EMBARRASSMENT.
People wrecked our city. We know who to blame. Prosecuting them is just not brimming with enough political cachet.
Well, we, the people, we don’t need politics.
We want justice.
Now give it to us.