With All Due Respect

There was a point this week when my past indiscretions managed to surface in casual conversation. Now, I'm not talking about leaving the milk out on the counter the other day, or paying the power bill a week late - I'm talking about events several years removed from the present day. Though this particular conversation was not confrontational or condescending in any way, it did serve to stir up memories of past, less hospitable situations.

It's no secret that I've experienced a time in my life where I indulged in drugs. When such a topic arises unexpectedly, and especially if it's attached to judgments of character or empathy (re: I'm so sorry to hear that!), my initial reaction is one of, "Just who the fuck do you think you are?" It's instantaneous, lasting mere microseconds, before settling down to a more reconciliatory impression of, "I suppose you're curious to understand/gain insight into something which you don't understand."

There's this general misconception that who you are is explicitly decipherable from who you were, or even where you came from. It's an arcane logic which presupposes a small degree of change in the human condition. Your physical body, even your thoughts, experiences, sensory inputs, etc., are in a constant state of change, dissimilar from one moment to the next. With the progression of time and experience, memories are formed, forgotten, and irrevocably altered. What this quick foray into philosophical interpretation is supposed to be making clear is that you are not the same person you were last week, last year, and especially, not several years ago.

When confronted with probing and personal questions such as, "Why did you do *insert whatever*?" or "What were you thinking?" the truthful response is that you do not, in fact, know what was going through your mind at the time. The best you can hope for is a reverse-engineered explanation of your past behaviour, based on your present knowledge.

I can no longer conceive of an attitude or lifestyle, presently, where I desire or could possibly enjoy the use of cocaine, or methamphetamines, or any other manner of chemical concoctions. Three years ago, however, I'm quite aware that I immersed myself in such an environment. Why did I do such a thing? To a certain degree, I can suppose that I was in need of stimulation. Perhaps I was incapable of coping with the realities (both imagined or factual) of my social circumstances? Perhaps it was something different which often felt really good?

One of the most difficult aspects of describing past behaviour, especially when it carries negative or taboo social connotations/feelings, is that it becomes quite easy to fall into the trap of over-simplification. My drug use was a period neither as harmless or disastrous as one might like to imagine. The very reason it was so endurable, was that it was rather ordinary and devoid of those polar extremes. "Hey guys, let's pop a pill instead of buying beer at the bar." Not exactly a depraved situation which has the force to disjoin your comprehension of the sensible universe.

I carry no remorse for my past actions, and certainly no shame. I'm not a bad person for having gained those experiences, nor am I accepting of being congratulated for "persevering" through them. Please keep your socially fabricated judgments of the "right" and "wrong" ways to develop and grow, during your life, to yourself. We're not the same people we once were, and who we are is not the sum of our imperfect choices. If such an equation is integral to your core beliefs, I'm positive I've made more "wrong" choices than "right" and experienced far more "failures" than "victories."

With all due respect, I don't believe a single person can truthfully say otherwise of themselves.

Currently listening to: Matthew Good - Blue Skies Over Bad Lands

"The Madman"

I can't believe this fact escaped me throughout an entire semester of postmodernist theory - I share a birthday with Friedrich Nietzsche. Yup, both born October 15, though 136 years removed.

Cool.

Currently listening to: The Killers - Everything Will Be Alright

Cubicle Insights

It is quite interesting how certain, simple, revelations can take on such an exponential importance in the corporate office setting. Lo and behold, my fellow co-workers and I have insidiously discovered how to maximize our interaction with the coffee machine!

First of all, I believe having to pay for every cup of java, while at work, is some form of crime which borders on cruel and unusual punishment - I'm sure there's something written about it in the Charter. A cup of coffee from the machine, regardless of size or strength, is $0.60. As the coffee itself (though Columbian and French roasts are selectable) is nearly undrinkable, I often opt for a Mochaccino. I assume it's hot chocolate mixed with coffee. Well, this caffeine cocktail will cost $0.70, despite the fact that coffee or hot chocolate alone do not cost this exorbitant amount.

It was discovered yesterday, however, that if one selects a Mochaccino based in a 50/50 blend of Colombian and French Roast, the infernal roasting machine will charge a mere $0.50! Who would have known such a complicated combination of buttons would have yielded such a wondrous winfall!?

Currently: Floored that I can now enjoy 4 cups for the old price of 3.

Blue Balls

It's been almost two months...

Burning off excess energy at the gym no longer helps...

I need a release so bad it hurts...


Something must be done! The weather is absolutely beautiful, and we should make every effort to play some ball hockey this Sunday.

Transfer of Power

The time has finally come for me to relinquish all formal responsibilities to good ol' Lambda Chi Alpha fraternity, and enjoy the secular lifestyle of an alumnus at large. Though I haven't been an active member for quite some time, I've been more than happy to lend assistance in times of need.

The boys had elections last night, and though I was able to predict many of the victories ahead of time, I was pleasantly surprised to see one of their newest members, Kyle Zwarich, win the race for High Gamma (secretary). Not only have I held this position twice (first and last elected positions), but the kid is also from Vegreville. Here's the congratulatory letter I recently sent him.

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Hey, hey!

What can I say, us boys from Vegreville can't resist a good secretarial position.

Though Kyle is a young pup and I'm confident I don't remember him from either Vegreville or the Comp, not only does he keep the town's streak alive and well in Lambda Chi Alpha (Flounder, Natron, myself, George, those damn Hosseiny's...) but his "totally reeking of awesomeness" is inherent.

My initial advice to you, Kyle, is thus:

1. YOU ARE THE MOST POWERFUL officer in the High Zeta, and the Dick Cheney to Adam's George W. I believe the word "omnipotent" is suitable. You're really the one pulling the strings, so don't be afraid to flex that muscle behind the scenes. Also, all coupons and free handouts which arrive in the mail for Lambda Chi are now yours.

2. Though he may insist it's buried somewhere in the Chapter by-laws (which are lost and hopelessly out of date - you should get on fixing that), you are not required to service Dictator Adam orally, as per the adult classic "Cum-Chugging Pantyhose Secretary Sluts 4." The reverse is true, however, if he wishes to get the roster sent in before HQ fines us.

3. Deadlines! Deadlines! Deadlines! When you inevitably fail to submit forms into HQ in time, the blame is to be placed squarely on Canada Post, and the unexplainable mailing delays we're plagued with. When this is not enough, I've found it helpful to also blame all previous High Gammas. Merely mentioning Welke or Tim to HQ will buy you both time and sympathy.

4. Kelly Stockwell must never get his Letters repaired and returned to him. Reasons for ensuring so are chronicled in detail within our secret tome, the Magna Gammatis.

5. The transition of power from outgoing High Gamma to the new High Gamma must be initiated over a Team Pitcher at Boston Pizza, and transfer of power is ONLY complete at the successful killing of said pitcher.

In ZAX!
Kristopher "The Best Gamma Ever, in Perpetuity" Skinner

PS: Actually, Stockwell's Letters should be retuned to him post-haste. I hear those Alpha Chi Lambdas are nothing but drunkards and fornicators. God forbid people get that confused with us Lambda Chi Alphas.
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That sounds like some fine advice to me! If only I'd had such a steady hand to guide me when I first started out.

Currently listening to: Sloan - She Says What She Means

So Many Ways...

...to begrudgingly love AMA. Since the moment I first stepped behind the wheel, at the tender age of 14, the Alberta Motor Association has perpetually found ways to extract large sums of money first from my parents and then from myself. My insurance rates hit an all-time high last year, where the combination of a new-ish car and Edmonton residency pushed my monthly cost to nearly $225.

Let's be honest, $2700 for a year of coverage is outrageous, not to mention more than I actually make for car payments. It would appear, though, that the Alberta governments auto insurance reforms have managed, though only slightly, to impact my pocketbook.

AMA has graciously conceded $45/month on my coverage, which amounts to a reasonable $540 in savings over the course of the year. I still think insurance rates are unjustifiably high, and the reforms have been largely superficial and ineffective, but I'll appreciate what I've saved and run with it.

Currently: Enjoying day #2 of waking up @ 6:00am

Roughneck Hell

Who would have figured Northern Alberta could be so damn cold?

So I call up the Tri-City office to enquire about a few days of work before hitting the books, and they gladly agree to send me off to ol' Rig 13. "Oh, it's near Slave Lake" they initially say. Hey, that doesn't sound so bad, doesn't it? Only a few hours north of Edmonton. "Yeah, from Slave Lake head north to Caddote Lake and you're there!" I check the map...that's an additional 3 hours north of Slave Lake.

I left Edmonton at around 1am, and the roads were absolutely treacherous. Wind, snow drifts/ice, flurries, and speeding logging trucks literally made me fear for my life. For almost 200km I was only going about 60km/h! Upon arriving at Caddote Lake, I then turned 50km into the bush, on a meandering, hilly, lease road. At the end of the road was the Tri-City camp - my "Fortress of Solitude" for the next 10 cold days.

I've never stayed in a camp before, and it was basically like being in some sort of isolated, minimum security prison. Sure, you were free to leave whenever you wanted, but civilization was hundreds of kilometers away. In an ironic twist of fate, they had satellite TV out there, yet no working phones. The only positive aspect was that the beds were warm, we got our own rooms, and the cooks fed us like kings. Ten days out there and they didn't make the same meal twice.

I hear it was cold here in Edmonton while I was gone, but the warmest it got up north was -36C...before the wind chill. I was so cold, it was retarded. I wore 7-8 layers just to keep from losing precious body parts.

But I'm home now, and God forbid that I'll need to head back out there for a while. I'm back in my own bed and in the arms of the one I love. Believe me, I've never appreciated it more.

Currently: Fiddling around with my digital camera