Just as Alberta passes Bill 44, there are two downy homos out there trying to boost same sex couples into a more positive light.
Bill 44 was added to the western province's Human Rights Act, giving parents the right to pull their children from classrooms in which teachers discuss sexual orientation, sexuality or religion.
As backwards as it sounds, the bill seems to fit Alberta's tough exterior.
Alberta, at first glance, is rough and rugged. But, like the cowboys in that famous movie filmed there a few years ago, Alberta is secretly gay.
Have you not heard of the Alberta Rockies Gay Rodeo Association? What about Alberta's thriving gay tourism industry?
The wild rose province has a gay/straight alliance, a pride centre in Edmonton and some gay clubs in Calgary.
So why is the government denying the queer side of the province and staying in the dark ages?
Alberta needs to step out of its cave and adopt a better mindset, showing the world it's OK to be gay — much like the male penguin couple did in Germany, recently adopted an egg from a heterosexual pair and successfully raising it thus far.
Alberta needs to embrace its pink official flower and adopt some penguin pride, because this latest move from the province makes them look like ignorant dodos.
Friday, June 05, 2009
Otters holding guns
How quickly people forget the past — and their favourite YouTube videos.
Remember "Otters holding hands," the video that caught the Internet by furry storm in 2007? The otters in the one-minute, 40-second clip drift about their watery pen at the Vancouver Aquarium holding hands until they seemingly doze off and separate, floating on their backs with paws in the air like cute teddy bears praying to the sun.
Once they float near one another again the younger otter grabs the other's paw and, once again, drift together. The video could even seem like a metaphor for a relationship: you're happy, you're together, and then you're apart. But, sometimes, the waves push you just close enough that you can forgive and rejoin — and all the world's right again.
Weird metaphors aside, no matter how you related to the video, people fawned over the clip — mainly because of the adorable, floating oversized hamsters.
Meanwhile, just across the Georgia Strait from where that video was taken, a Vancouver Island First Nations group thought the otters in that video looked better as hats.
Members of the Nuu-chah-nulth Tribal Council have reached a tentative deal with the federal Department of Fisheries and Oceans to hunt roughly one per cent of the sea otter population in their territory, reports the CBC, working out to about 20 animals a year.
In the May 20 article "Sea otter hunt planned by Vancouver Island First Nations" posted on the CBC website, Cliff Atleo, president of the Nuu-chah-nulth Tribal Council, said "For us, it's not about the numbers. It's about reconnecting with the pelts worn by our chiefs, the heads of our governments."
Atleo is also concerned about booming sea otters populations decimating sea urchins and shellfish.
"Right now the sea otters are taking more than they actually need," Atleo is quoted as saying in the story. "There's hundreds of sea otters down here that are multiplying year by year."
What are the otters doing?! Can wild animals really afford to be wasteful?
Can't say I've ever seen a sea otter take a bite of some urchin and throw it back in the water, wasting it so he could go catch and waste more... Well, not that I've seen a lot of them, but still...
How does he know this?
Sea otters were once hunted to extinction in the same area the tribal council is proposing the hunt's resurrection and had to be reintroduced from Alaska. There is something fundamentally wrong with that.
If an animal is listed as "at risk," then it should not be hunted by anyone.
This deal could open a can of endangered worms and have hunters all over the country asking why they, too, can't shoot a mountain caribou or a whooping crane.
If only those otters were holding guns instead of holding hands — then I might be on board with making them into ceremonial hats.
http://www.bcdailybuzz.com/profile_blogs/LauraK/&action=view&id=47
Remember "Otters holding hands," the video that caught the Internet by furry storm in 2007? The otters in the one-minute, 40-second clip drift about their watery pen at the Vancouver Aquarium holding hands until they seemingly doze off and separate, floating on their backs with paws in the air like cute teddy bears praying to the sun.
Once they float near one another again the younger otter grabs the other's paw and, once again, drift together. The video could even seem like a metaphor for a relationship: you're happy, you're together, and then you're apart. But, sometimes, the waves push you just close enough that you can forgive and rejoin — and all the world's right again.
Weird metaphors aside, no matter how you related to the video, people fawned over the clip — mainly because of the adorable, floating oversized hamsters.
Meanwhile, just across the Georgia Strait from where that video was taken, a Vancouver Island First Nations group thought the otters in that video looked better as hats.
Members of the Nuu-chah-nulth Tribal Council have reached a tentative deal with the federal Department of Fisheries and Oceans to hunt roughly one per cent of the sea otter population in their territory, reports the CBC, working out to about 20 animals a year.
In the May 20 article "Sea otter hunt planned by Vancouver Island First Nations" posted on the CBC website, Cliff Atleo, president of the Nuu-chah-nulth Tribal Council, said "For us, it's not about the numbers. It's about reconnecting with the pelts worn by our chiefs, the heads of our governments."
Atleo is also concerned about booming sea otters populations decimating sea urchins and shellfish.
"Right now the sea otters are taking more than they actually need," Atleo is quoted as saying in the story. "There's hundreds of sea otters down here that are multiplying year by year."
What are the otters doing?! Can wild animals really afford to be wasteful?
Can't say I've ever seen a sea otter take a bite of some urchin and throw it back in the water, wasting it so he could go catch and waste more... Well, not that I've seen a lot of them, but still...
How does he know this?
Sea otters were once hunted to extinction in the same area the tribal council is proposing the hunt's resurrection and had to be reintroduced from Alaska. There is something fundamentally wrong with that.
If an animal is listed as "at risk," then it should not be hunted by anyone.
This deal could open a can of endangered worms and have hunters all over the country asking why they, too, can't shoot a mountain caribou or a whooping crane.
If only those otters were holding guns instead of holding hands — then I might be on board with making them into ceremonial hats.
http://www.bcdailybuzz.com/profile_blogs/LauraK/&action=view&id=47
Peggy, the starving horse
I was pretty confused when I saw her, we all were.
What’s on her head, covering her eyes?
Reporter Joan Silver had just got back from the Canim Lake Band Reserve where she had photographed a herd of horses, after we received a tip from a local regarding the state of the animals.
The editorial crew and I were scrolling through the photos, checking out the emaciated animals. Dead horses, dying horses, barely standing horses. Most, as was well-described by one interviewee, looked like bags of bones wrapped in a thin layer of skin.
As we scrolled, we paused on a white horse whose ribs and hip bones were clearly visible; obviously that was distressing to me, but what I was interested in was whatever was piled on the pony’s head — it looked like a bird’s nest or a swarm of bees covering her eyes.
“It’s dreaded mane,” said one co-worker.
“It’s dirt and ice,” said another.
Whatever it was, this horse couldn’t see a thing and that mass on her head sure looked painful; I’ve had gum in my hair and this was probably 100 times worse.
The image stuck in my mind as we looked through the other photos. But none seemed as worse off as she looked.
A horse owner came in later on in the day with some blurry photos of the horses she’d taken that day and, in the midst of them, alone and almost blending in with a dirty snow bank, was that same white horse.
“Hey, there’s Peggy again,” a co-worker said, using the nickname we had given the horse — probably not a good thing to do considering the horse could either die or get put down any second.
We asked this equine-inclined gal about her unusual ‘do.
“It’s brambles,” she replied. “The horses are so hungry they are eating things they wouldn’t normally, like thistles, and the pointy plants are sticky to their hair and skin.”
This sounded even more painful than a bit of tangling.
So, now Peggy, a horse we’ve never met, has trotted into the hearts of the editorial staff of the 100 Mile Free Press and we wonder what’s going on with her.
We know she wasn’t one of the horses moved to Kamloops, as we saw photos of those horses.
Now we wonder, how can we help?
We’ve helped by getting the word out, I guess, but, personally, as someone who doesn’t have land to offer only some funds for hay, how can I help that one horse?
If someone would offer a place for her to stay I’d gladly donate money; do I just go looking on my own, round ‘er up and lead her behind my car?
I doubt she’d make it too far.
So, all we can do right now, is wait to catch another sighting of the bony, messy-maned horse and hope she’s doing all right.
http://www.bcdailybuzz.com/profile_blogs/LauraK/&action=view&id=30
What’s on her head, covering her eyes?
Reporter Joan Silver had just got back from the Canim Lake Band Reserve where she had photographed a herd of horses, after we received a tip from a local regarding the state of the animals.
The editorial crew and I were scrolling through the photos, checking out the emaciated animals. Dead horses, dying horses, barely standing horses. Most, as was well-described by one interviewee, looked like bags of bones wrapped in a thin layer of skin.
As we scrolled, we paused on a white horse whose ribs and hip bones were clearly visible; obviously that was distressing to me, but what I was interested in was whatever was piled on the pony’s head — it looked like a bird’s nest or a swarm of bees covering her eyes.
“It’s dreaded mane,” said one co-worker.
“It’s dirt and ice,” said another.
Whatever it was, this horse couldn’t see a thing and that mass on her head sure looked painful; I’ve had gum in my hair and this was probably 100 times worse.
The image stuck in my mind as we looked through the other photos. But none seemed as worse off as she looked.
A horse owner came in later on in the day with some blurry photos of the horses she’d taken that day and, in the midst of them, alone and almost blending in with a dirty snow bank, was that same white horse.
“Hey, there’s Peggy again,” a co-worker said, using the nickname we had given the horse — probably not a good thing to do considering the horse could either die or get put down any second.
We asked this equine-inclined gal about her unusual ‘do.
“It’s brambles,” she replied. “The horses are so hungry they are eating things they wouldn’t normally, like thistles, and the pointy plants are sticky to their hair and skin.”
This sounded even more painful than a bit of tangling.
So, now Peggy, a horse we’ve never met, has trotted into the hearts of the editorial staff of the 100 Mile Free Press and we wonder what’s going on with her.
We know she wasn’t one of the horses moved to Kamloops, as we saw photos of those horses.
Now we wonder, how can we help?
We’ve helped by getting the word out, I guess, but, personally, as someone who doesn’t have land to offer only some funds for hay, how can I help that one horse?
If someone would offer a place for her to stay I’d gladly donate money; do I just go looking on my own, round ‘er up and lead her behind my car?
I doubt she’d make it too far.
So, all we can do right now, is wait to catch another sighting of the bony, messy-maned horse and hope she’s doing all right.
http://www.bcdailybuzz.com/profile_blogs/LauraK/&action=view&id=30
The Fire Virgin
I had been at work in the office for half an hour when I heard the chatter over the scanner.
The 108 Volunteer Fire Department was paged to respond to a fire at the 108 Resort.
I wondered if it was big enough for 100 Mile Fire-Rescue, something I'm a member of, to be called out to as well.
That's when my pager went off.
"100 Mile Fire Department: Group page," said the familiar man's voice.
I jumped up.
Should I go? Could I go, just leave work and battle a blaze that may take two minutes to 20 hours?
I consulted my co-workers and, when we heard the urgency in the voices over the radio, I left to the fire hall.
I made it in time to jump on Engine 11.
Then the big, yellow vehicle drove from the hall, sirens wailing and horns honking through every intersection.
Upon arrival on scene, I saw various trucks already there, gathering around the front of the hotel. Flames leaped 15 feet into the hazy sky.
Nervous excitement invaded the engine's cab of five firefighters and we were driven around to the back, where we could see the full extent of the damage.
Although the front of the building looked intact, the back, by that time, was not faring as well and the interiors of the rooms were fully exposed and engulfed.
Our driver painstakingly backed the hulking vehicle down a golf cart lane and parked; we jumped out, in full gear, and started readying hundreds of metres of hoses.
No hydrants were close by; hoses shot off in all directions and I joined two men trying to pry open a small shed where a closer hydrant hid.
As one member pulled the door, I wedged a shovel between the gap and jarred the door just enough so I could fit in.
The hydrant within was old, rusted and impossible for me to work by myself.
Possibly thinking me a wuss, another member squeezed in and tried, only breaking his tools on the stuck valves.
I didn't feel so bad then.
When we did get it open I went back to the incident commander for reassignment. I was placed on a two-and-a-half inch hose, where I sat, spraying the building, for at least two hours.
After being order to rehab, I trudged through the snow to the front of the building where an ambulance waited for firefighters, to take their blood pressure and heart rate. This was no easy task, as my equipment weighs more than I do and, combined with the knee-deep snow, likely made watching me get around the scene very comical.
In the ambulance for 10 minutes, I went back to my post to take charge of a slightly smaller hose; this allowed me to be more mobile and spray vaster areas, with ease.
Although the temperature was a balmy -2 C, my soaked hands still froze in my gloves, prompting a trip to rehab again a few hours later.
Time flew by as crews steadily worked to get the fire under control and, around 3:30 p.m., officials were confident we had stopped the blaze at a breezeway between the sections of rooms. About one-third of the building was lost; but, on the bright side, that meant two-thirds of the building was saved.
It was time to clean up — no easy task.
Hose had to be collected, rolled and loaded; ladders needed to be collapsed and carried; and hot spots still needed to be tended to, something the 108 department stayed behind to look after.
Back at the hall, trucks, hoses, gear and tools needed to be organized and cleaned, something that took hours.
When it was all done, most of the crew took a few minutes to discuss the day; the chief seemed please with our performances and now the investigation into the cause of the blaze would begin.
I enjoyed the day but, I have to admit, I was a bit sore the next day; but I’ll do it all again should need be — I’d never wish for a fire but I hope to be there, ready, when it happens.
The experience gave me even greater respect for those who do the job day in and out — they must have really strong hands because I couldn’t even turn my bedroom door handle the next morning.
http://www.bcdailybuzz.com/profile_blogs/LauraK/&action=view&id=29
The 108 Volunteer Fire Department was paged to respond to a fire at the 108 Resort.
I wondered if it was big enough for 100 Mile Fire-Rescue, something I'm a member of, to be called out to as well.
That's when my pager went off.
"100 Mile Fire Department: Group page," said the familiar man's voice.
I jumped up.
Should I go? Could I go, just leave work and battle a blaze that may take two minutes to 20 hours?
I consulted my co-workers and, when we heard the urgency in the voices over the radio, I left to the fire hall.
I made it in time to jump on Engine 11.
Then the big, yellow vehicle drove from the hall, sirens wailing and horns honking through every intersection.
Upon arrival on scene, I saw various trucks already there, gathering around the front of the hotel. Flames leaped 15 feet into the hazy sky.
Nervous excitement invaded the engine's cab of five firefighters and we were driven around to the back, where we could see the full extent of the damage.
Although the front of the building looked intact, the back, by that time, was not faring as well and the interiors of the rooms were fully exposed and engulfed.
Our driver painstakingly backed the hulking vehicle down a golf cart lane and parked; we jumped out, in full gear, and started readying hundreds of metres of hoses.
No hydrants were close by; hoses shot off in all directions and I joined two men trying to pry open a small shed where a closer hydrant hid.
As one member pulled the door, I wedged a shovel between the gap and jarred the door just enough so I could fit in.
The hydrant within was old, rusted and impossible for me to work by myself.
Possibly thinking me a wuss, another member squeezed in and tried, only breaking his tools on the stuck valves.
I didn't feel so bad then.
When we did get it open I went back to the incident commander for reassignment. I was placed on a two-and-a-half inch hose, where I sat, spraying the building, for at least two hours.
After being order to rehab, I trudged through the snow to the front of the building where an ambulance waited for firefighters, to take their blood pressure and heart rate. This was no easy task, as my equipment weighs more than I do and, combined with the knee-deep snow, likely made watching me get around the scene very comical.
In the ambulance for 10 minutes, I went back to my post to take charge of a slightly smaller hose; this allowed me to be more mobile and spray vaster areas, with ease.
Although the temperature was a balmy -2 C, my soaked hands still froze in my gloves, prompting a trip to rehab again a few hours later.
Time flew by as crews steadily worked to get the fire under control and, around 3:30 p.m., officials were confident we had stopped the blaze at a breezeway between the sections of rooms. About one-third of the building was lost; but, on the bright side, that meant two-thirds of the building was saved.
It was time to clean up — no easy task.
Hose had to be collected, rolled and loaded; ladders needed to be collapsed and carried; and hot spots still needed to be tended to, something the 108 department stayed behind to look after.
Back at the hall, trucks, hoses, gear and tools needed to be organized and cleaned, something that took hours.
When it was all done, most of the crew took a few minutes to discuss the day; the chief seemed please with our performances and now the investigation into the cause of the blaze would begin.
I enjoyed the day but, I have to admit, I was a bit sore the next day; but I’ll do it all again should need be — I’d never wish for a fire but I hope to be there, ready, when it happens.
The experience gave me even greater respect for those who do the job day in and out — they must have really strong hands because I couldn’t even turn my bedroom door handle the next morning.
http://www.bcdailybuzz.com/profile_blogs/LauraK/&action=view&id=29
Rocky roads in the Cariboo
I was driving to work, 7:15 a.m. on a Monday, when I glanced down and saw the small crack in my windshield. It went from the corner, diagonally across toward the centre, about seven inches.
That’s a small crack in the Cariboo.
I’d forgotten about it.
The first chip on my glass was distressing; driving back from Vancouver in my brand-spanking new Mazda 3 only to reach the hill sloping into 100 Mile House and have a large rock fly at my face.
I remember the conflicting advice locals offered:
“If you put clear nail polish on a crack, it’ll stop it from spreading.”
“That’s only good if it’s a small chip.”
“Get them fixed as fast as possible.”
“Don’t bother fixing them; everyone has to replace their front window when you drive up here.”
My next one wasn’t as worrisome; I actually didn’t even notice it until it was two inches long, when it started to spread out of the left corner of my windshield.
As long as it doesn’t obscure my view of the road, I thought, it should be all right. And that’s the thought that again ran through my mind on Monday morning.
Then, like an invisible pen drawing a straight line across my window, the crack spread.
I tried putting my finger along its path of destruction to quell it’s speedy travel but it was no use — a streak was permanently etched across my windshield.
Looking at my car, one might think me a gangster; the front end is riddled with dents, making it look like I drove head on into machine gun fire.
For my Jan. 7 column, I spoke with representatives from the District of 100 Mile House, Interior Roads and the Ministry of Transportation.
All of them pretty much told me there was no way to get around the large “boulders” sneaking out of the “sanding” trucks, as the mixture is regulation size.
The ministry spokesperson even told me there were larger rocks in the mix to prevent it from blowing off the road.
This confused me, as the finer sand I’ve seen on snowy roads seems to stick it out quite well.
As a newcomer, I thought I was being a bit whiny about the road conditions, but, as it turns out, 99 per cent of South Cariboo residents, long-time, new or otherwise, also hate the roads. I gathered this as I receive complaint letters to the editor from drivers every week.
One woman sent me a photo of her vehicle after a rock flew up from a passing truck and shattered her rear side window — where her children usually sat.
For financial, safety and esthetic reasons, something must be done about these rocky Cariboo roads.
http://www.bcdailybuzz.com/profile_blogs/LauraK/&action=view&id=27
That’s a small crack in the Cariboo.
I’d forgotten about it.
The first chip on my glass was distressing; driving back from Vancouver in my brand-spanking new Mazda 3 only to reach the hill sloping into 100 Mile House and have a large rock fly at my face.
I remember the conflicting advice locals offered:
“If you put clear nail polish on a crack, it’ll stop it from spreading.”
“That’s only good if it’s a small chip.”
“Get them fixed as fast as possible.”
“Don’t bother fixing them; everyone has to replace their front window when you drive up here.”
My next one wasn’t as worrisome; I actually didn’t even notice it until it was two inches long, when it started to spread out of the left corner of my windshield.
As long as it doesn’t obscure my view of the road, I thought, it should be all right. And that’s the thought that again ran through my mind on Monday morning.
Then, like an invisible pen drawing a straight line across my window, the crack spread.
I tried putting my finger along its path of destruction to quell it’s speedy travel but it was no use — a streak was permanently etched across my windshield.
Looking at my car, one might think me a gangster; the front end is riddled with dents, making it look like I drove head on into machine gun fire.
For my Jan. 7 column, I spoke with representatives from the District of 100 Mile House, Interior Roads and the Ministry of Transportation.
All of them pretty much told me there was no way to get around the large “boulders” sneaking out of the “sanding” trucks, as the mixture is regulation size.
The ministry spokesperson even told me there were larger rocks in the mix to prevent it from blowing off the road.
This confused me, as the finer sand I’ve seen on snowy roads seems to stick it out quite well.
As a newcomer, I thought I was being a bit whiny about the road conditions, but, as it turns out, 99 per cent of South Cariboo residents, long-time, new or otherwise, also hate the roads. I gathered this as I receive complaint letters to the editor from drivers every week.
One woman sent me a photo of her vehicle after a rock flew up from a passing truck and shattered her rear side window — where her children usually sat.
For financial, safety and esthetic reasons, something must be done about these rocky Cariboo roads.
http://www.bcdailybuzz.com/profile_blogs/LauraK/&action=view&id=27
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