If the technology world ever had a Hail Mary pass, this was it.

Research in Motion is betting everything on this new phone. Everything — including their name itself, changing it from Research in Motion to just Blackberry. For years, Blackberry was pretty much the global standard for accessing your email when you were out of the office. Some people felt so addicted to the little boxes, they started calling them Crackberries. And when times were good, Blackberry controlled about 44 per cent of the smartphone market in the U.S. But, despite the folklore, it never was easy sailing for the company.

In 2000, a firm named NTP sued Research in Motion, saying the Blackberry had infringed on its wireless email patents. A judge agreed. And ordered RIM to stop using the technology. Which would have shut down operations in the U.S. Ouch. What ended up saving the company was its very ubiquity. The U.S. government intervened saying shutting down Blackberry could harm the government, as too many federal employees relied on it. Six years later, RIM agreed to pay more than $600 million dollars to settle the case. And, for a while, it looked like Blackberry could recover.

And then… just months later, along came another company named after a fruit.

It was early 2007. And Steve Jobs had just bet the farm on a new gadget aimed squarely at the smartphone market. In no time, Apple’s iPhone became the tech darling, and started steadily eroding Blackberry’s market share.

But that erosion wasn’t entirely Apple’s fault. During this critical period, Research in Motion itself seemed directionless, with TWO CEOs sharing the same job, and rushing out flawed products, like a tablet that couldn’t independently check email. In time, even the most loyal Blackberry fans held their noses and switched to iPhone or a competing Android device. And Blackberry ended up with just one per cent of the American smartphone market.

I used to own a Blackberry, but since I switched to the iPhone, I’ve bought iPhone apps, signed up for iCloud — spent real money on APPLE’s platform. Like a lot of people, I’m not so certain I want to abandon all that money I’ve spent setting my mobile life to start fresh again on another platform. Even if the Blackberry IS nice. And it is. It’s got slick new software — with some nice tricks up its sleeve, like being able to gather all your emails, text messages, and social media alerts in one place. Blackberry calls it The Hub.

Little wonder Canada’s cell phone companies are positively giddy about the new phones. Because what those companies are beginning to understand is that they’re selling a culture, more than just a gadget. These devices are deeply embedded in our day-to-day lives. That’s partly why Telus is offering one-on-one training sessions on the new phones. Based not around the technology, but around the user.

“I don’t teach phones, I teach people,” said Telus product manager Christian Newman “We’re customizing that session for you. We talk to you. We ask questions…. It’s not like ‘Here’s the ten things we’re going to touch and have a nice day,’ it’s ‘Hey, what apps are you interested in? Are you familiar with email?”

And that more friendly approach — the human touch — could make a big difference in sales.

Industry watcher Steve Dotto says he wrote Blackberry off even as recently as eight months ago. But now, Dotto thinks one of Blackberry’s biggest assets could be, well, warm fuzzies. “We have an emotional attachment to Blackberry because it was the first phone most of us had in our hands that gave us true mobility and communications…. I think a lot of people want to see Blackberry succeed, not just for Canadian and economic reasons, but because we’ve got a soft spot for the company,” said Dotto.

Soft spot or not, one thing IS clear — the smartphone market is now a multi-billion dollar gamble. And Blackberry will take all the help it can get.

For CBC Radio, I’m Tod Maffin.

HOST EXTRO: Most carriers are selling the Blackberry for about $150 dollars, as long as you sign up for a three-year plan. You can get it on just a two-year plan with Fido, but it’ll cost $350 dollars. The price without a monthly contract is about $650 bucks.

From there, unfortunately, this hotel didn’t meet my expectations of a Westin hotel at all.

Right from check-in, a bunch of things were missed. Didn’t get a key for the minibar… things that I’d asked to be in the room were ignored… the Internet was supposed to be free but their system prompted us to pay, etc.

There’s no hotel concierge, but the affable front desk clerk said he could help — wanted to know what plays or musicals or shows were in town. He only knew one show in town (the big one) and in the end just had someone bring up the local entertainment newspaper to the room. Granted, he wasn’t a dedicated concierge, but I sort of expected a Westin front desk person would be able to do more than get me a newspaper. Hell, I could have done that myself.

The room had no desk phone, only a wireless phone which could only hold a charge for about 10 minutes before going dead (once, right in the middle of a critical call with my bank).

And then dinner. Ordered room service and there was a 22% service charge. I’m used to there being a small delivery fee, but 22% is quite hugh. And then, there was a $2.95 surcharge on the service charge. Huh?! Reading the fine print on the bill, it said that 16% of the 22% service charge would go to the server (so… 16% of 22%, meaning only 1/5th of the fee goes to her? or did they mean the majority of the 22%?) and yet there was an ADDITIONAL line reading “Tip.”

I wanted to be sure that I tipped the server, so I asked her if the 22% WAS her tip, but she didn’t even seem to understand English well enough to know what I was asking.

Worst of all, housekeeping seemed to be a pretty lazy job. A newspaper that I left on the floor remained on the floor — and the vacuum marks on the floor showed that the housekeeper actually just vacuumed AROUND the newspaper instead of picking it up! Socks that were by the bed were also left there and vacuumed around. All in all, there wasn’t a lot of evidence that they had cleaned the room at all.

The flat sheets on the bed weren’t tucked in — they were just placed on top of the mattress. So within minutes of lying down, the sheet was all bunched up and you were sleeping right on the raw mattress itself all night. I mentioned it to the front desk person on the way out, in time for them to, you know, tuck the sheet in, but upon returning to the room at the end of the day, the sheet still wasn’t tucked in.

Of course, none of these are dealbreakers. You might call them “first-world problems” — and no hotel is going to get everything right. But it seemed like there were so many of these little things that it really made me wonder why I just didn’t stay at the Holiday Inn where the service quality would have been about the same and the price one-quarter of what the Westin charged me.

UPDATE: The manager was very polite and apologetic and comp’ed our entire stay. Still not sure if I’d try them again, but it’s nice to know they listen.

AT THE STATION
I didn’t have any paper tickets (this IS 2011, after all) — I only had a confirmation number. The station is charming, but it’s not particularly clear where you go to “check in.” The only booth that was open read “Tickets” (which, at least to me, implied that they SOLD tickets there). I stood in line and, indeed, that was the right line. They weren’t able to pull my reservation up by my last name (um, huh?) but were able to with the confirmation number. That seemed odd. I mean, how many “Maffin”s do they have in their system?

BOARDING THE TRAIN
The process of getting on the train is a bit of a clusterfuck. Everyone stands around outside in a pen, then a nice man yells: “Okay, if you’re economy class go right; if you’re sleeper class go left.” (Then, he repeats it in Canada’s other official language: Louder-for-the-Old-People.) And they open the gates. And I mean that literally. It’s one big gate and everyone en masse pours out of it. Don’t get me wrong, people are well behaved and all, but I guess I was expecting people to go by car number or something? There wasn’t even a snooty gate agent checking my ID. (Now that I think of it, I haven’t ONCE been asked for my ID yet. I guess there’s not a lot of business crashing trains into skyscrapers.)

My car was second to the end. These are long trains. It took me five minutes to walk to the end. The train left at 2:30 p.m., more or less on time. It’s scheduled to pull into Vancouver about 9:45 a.m. the next day, but we were about an hour early.

THERE’S WI-FI OR 3G, RIGHT?
It’s very, very spotty. And if you’re with Rogers or Fido, it’s non-existent except for Kamloops (that’s about eight hours after you leave). If you’re with Telus or Bell, you get these small windows of about ten minutes each every 90 minutes or so as you pass through little townships. I’m not on either network, so I can’t vouch for data ability or speed. They may be analog networks for all I know. So basically, be sure you sync up all your devices before you leave. I wish I’d have printed out a Fido wireless coverage map so I wasn’t guessing when I’d come into range. There is no wi-fi, obviously. There is, for the record, two AC outlets.

DID YOU MISS THE WIRELESS DATA ACCESS?
I suppose it was probably a good thing that there wasn’t any wireless. I got some writing done for my Professional Speaking Tips newsletter, and I use the Interwebz too much as it is. But, that said, I do wish it were an option. A satellite link distributed train-wide via wifi would have been great. It’s funny, you don’t know how much your computer as a whole just assumes you’re connected. There’s no help in applications, for one thing, if you’re offline. Crazy.

WHAT’S THE LITTLE CABIN LIKE?
I booked a private one-bedroom cabin. It’s totally cute any tiny. But it’s really all the space you need — and designed very efficiently. It’s literally as small as they could make it and still give you a daytime sitting bench, a toilet (a second smaller bench acts as the cover), your own sink (with a little plastic thing that sits over it to act as a shelf, and the bed pulls down like a Murphy Bed. It was obvious that Swedes were somehow behind the design. There was a curtain that you could pin back or zip together so nobody could see in, and there was a thick door you could close and lock as well. (Each car has its own attendant. Mine was a very nice young woman. It looked like a kind of summer job that they all just stuck around for after the summer. There is an “Attendant Call” button in my cabin, but I’m too Canadian to want to bug her. I mean, what if she’s on a break?)

SOUNDS A LITTLE DARK AND STUFFY
Actually, it’s neither. Remember, you have a huge window, and three big lights: One in the ceiling, one above the mirror on a wall up high, and one mounted by the bed which you can make dim like a reading light or bright like a regular light. The window itself doesn’t open, but you have a knob that lets outside air pump through AND a small fan you can turn on and off. I was totally comfortable the whole way. (That said, if you want to make your cabin totally pitch dark, you can — even in the day. Your big door is air-tight and you have a thick blackout blind that totally covers the window.)

WAIT, THERE’S NO SHOWER?
There is. A shared one in every car. It’s a little change room in front then a shower. You get it to yourself — you lock the door behind you. There was plenty of hot water and to get the water you push a button which then autostops after about 45 seconds, so you have to keep pushing it. I actually thought it was a smart way to conserve water and prevent floods. They supply each cabin with two bathtowels, a couple of handtowels and a facecloth, a bar of soap and shampoo. I brought my own shampoo because, well, I’m a bit of a bath/shower princess.

SO THAT’S IT? YOUR ROOM, THE DINING CAR, AND A SHOWER?
No, at the very back of the train (one car away from where I was) there was a fun little lounge car. (Well, as much “fun” as watching chain-smoking grannies behind plexiglass playing Bridge can be.) There’s seating that faces each other, they put coffee out, and when you first leave the station, they serve complimentary champagne (in the Sleeper/Business class). In the same car, you climb up stairs (like on a 747 plane) and now you’re in a dome with about 40 other seats and you can see ALL around you. Windows top, left, right, and ahead. It’s pretty nice.

THE VIEW MUST BE AMAZING.
The scenery is, of course, spectacular. You slow down a couple of times to give you a better view and photo of some huge falls. The kind that look like they were designed by some huge theme park. This one waterfall in particular had so much water charging through it and it must have been 300 feet high. It was like a mini Niagara Falls. I mean, where do they get all the water for that? They must have to pipe it in or something.

IS IT BUMPY?
Ever been on a commuter rail train? It’s like that, but slower. So yeah, you’ll stumble around a bit on your way down the very small corridors, but you never feel like you’ll get knocked off your feet or anything. No sudden stops, at least on our route. The hallways outside the sleeper cars are impossibly thin. You can pass another person if you both suck in your gut and apologize in advance for any inappropriate brushes on the way past.

IS IT LOUD?
Well, it is a rumbling train you’re on, so there’s that noise. But I actually love that sound. I’m sure some genius has made a “Fall Asleep to the Continental” CD and sells it for $20 somewhere. But as for between cabins, it’s remarkably quiet. I was worried that, given there’s a little toilet in every room, I’d be hearing all manner of disturbing sounds but no. The only toilet-related noise I ever heard was whenever the person next to me flushed. Never heard any other cabins’ toilets (and I was right across from two cabins). They also give you earplugs if you want them for sleeping.

SO, YOU ALL HAVE TO EAT TOGETHER, RIGHT?
There are a couple of sittings of dinner and you need to stand in a line at the station to reserve which seating you wanted. The two dinner servings at at 5:00 p.m. and 6:45 p.m. They serve it “train seating,” which is a polite way of saying “We’re going to make you sit down and have small talk with strangers for your entire meal!”

In Via Rail’s defence, this is part of the selling point for a whole lot of their customers (I seemed to be the youngest by about 20 years). The dining car looks like a small, elegant restaurant — white linens, servers, wine, etc.

I picked the latter serving but, as you might be able to judge from my bad attitude regarding strangers, I asked for the dinner to be brought to my little room. (I admit, I’m a little anti-social when I travel. It comes with having to make small-talk and being “on” as part of my regular job I guess.)

HOW WAS THE FOOD?
My dinner came on a plate with tin foil covering it. The soup I selected never arrived, but who cares. I picked stuffed chicken and scalloped potatoes. And it was, um, satisfactory. There was nothing wrong with it but it certainly didn’t taste or look like the promised photos on the web site and brochures. It kind of looked like something I’d cook, then eat in front of the TV. Which, with my laptop replacing my TV, I basically did. I bought a little food in town before leaving, so I had some chips, powered, and Mr. Noodle available for my usual midnight carb cravings.

THE BED
I was actually really, really impressed with the bed! The mattress was quite comfortable — thick and firm and there was a fluffy duvet-like cover. It even had the corner tucked down like they do at hotels. The only drawback to the bed is that, when down, it covers the toilet. So you either have to use the common bathroom (not a big deal) or raise your bed. Side note: It’s a little unnerving taking a leak standing in front of a huge window in the middle of the day. I mean, only the deer saw me, but it was still eerie. There were a couple of times we passed slowly by level crossings — the kind where bells ring, a bar comes down, and little kids stand and wave. I thanked Chronos, the god of good timing, that a field trip to the train didn’t coincide with my requirement to get rid of those four coffees I had earlier.

WAS IT BUSY?
Not at all. I saw more than a few cabins empty. It felt like a healthy number of people, but not completely full.

OKAY, HOW MUCH DID IT COST
It cost about $800 I think for a one-way ticket from Jasper to Vancouver, all taxes in. But remember, that’s for my own room with a door and private toilet. And in business class, where you get access to special cars (like the lounge car and the dining car) that people in economy can’t even get to. I booked it as a non-refundable fare (Air Canada would have called it a Tango Plus, if you speak that language). A fully refundable ticket was going to be about $1200 (a “Latitude” ticket).

WHAT DIDN’T YOU LIKE ABOUT IT?
It’s hard to complain about taking the train. Getting from Jasper to home OTHER than the train was a 4.5 hour bumpy and loud shuttle bus, followed by 90 minutes in your average inhumane airport, then a 90 minute flight, then a 20 minute cab ride. The train might take longer, but it feels way more human.

The whole checking-in and boarding process was a little unnecessarily vague. It could be easily fixed with a couple of signs over the desk. There wasn’t a single sign reading “Check-In,” for instance.

The dinner, obviously, didn’t match my expectation. They really sold it as a gourmet experience. Then again, I did ask them to put it on a plate and bring it to me in my room, so I probably was last on the chef’s ticket list.

Overall, though, it was an entirely positive experience. If I had a trip to Toronto and had a few days extra to get there, I absolutely would take the train. I guess I’d have to leave the safety of my cabin, though, and make new friends. I hear that’s what the normal people do.

And that’s my review for the Via Rail train trip from Jasper to Vancouver.

He was right. Even today, you’d be hard-pressed to find the media report that a death was a suicide, unless the individual was famous or the suicide was undeniably public.

In the days following Rick Rypien‘s suicide, reporters bent themselves into etymological pretzels trying to come as close as saying as much, without actually using “the S word”:

• “died suddenly, and lived with depression”
• “his family was stunned by the news, but police don’t suspect foul play”
• “unexpected, but non-violent death”

There is some logic to not reporting suicides — studies show that people with existing suicidal ideations are at higher risk of killing themselves when exposed to news about the suicides of “others, such as family members, peers, or media figures.”1 

But I wonder if, in our attempt to protect those at higher risk of suicide, we do a disservice to the wider community in making it seem that suicides are not common. They are — a lot more than you think. Ask any police officer.

The media, for better or worse, are the glasses through which we understand what happens around us and what it means. If we continue to pretend suicides don’t happen as frequently as they do, then how can we blame governments for underfunding research and services for people with mental illness? Worse, the stigma will live on and be reinforced.

(It is changing, slowly — just this month, Australia media lifted the self-imposed veil of secrecy, saying people are finding out about suicides through social media anyway.)

We keep things on the hush-hush when we’re embarrassed about them.
Mental illness should not be one of those things.

1 http://www.nimh.nih.gov/health/publications/suicide-in-the-us-statistics-and-prevention/index.shtml

UPDATE: As I was writing this post, the CBC reported that it had confirmed from multiple sources that Wade Belak, who died today in Toronto, did so at his own hand. He was the sixth hockey player to do so since 1978.

Dear City of Vancouver and all its residents,

Yes, this is me in the picture above.

I am not proud of my actions and have made a visit to the Vancouver Police Department over the weekend to turn myself in. This blog will serve as a public apology to those that I have offended with my actions, to clarify certain issues, and to address a few peripheral issues that I take as a concern.

My Apologies

I apologize to all Shreddies lovers around the world I apologize to the City of Vancouver for participating in this riot and stealing cereal. I apologize to The Bay for smashing their lovely cereal display. It was, really, quite lovely. I apologize to the Canucks for not eating their official cereal supplier

My Story

I know a lot of you don’t believe me, but the truth is that I take full responsibility for my cereal thieving actions and am sincerely apologetic for what I did.  What I did was completely out of character for me, but I did it because I was influenced by the huge cereal mob that descended on downtown.

Why don’t I think I deserve all this treatment?

Because for one, I’ve admitted to my mistakes, two, I am ready to deal with the consequences in a judicial manner, and three, because (may I remind you that) I am responsible for cereal theft – a fairly minor action compared to things like pasta theft or soy milk abuse. I mean, I’m not a soy milk abuser!!!!!

• I did not vandalize any cereal ads on bus shelters
• I did not set fire to that huge Raisin Bran billboard on Georgia
• I did not break any laws (other than those applying to cereal theft)
• I did not physically harm any boxes of cereals
• I did not jump on any cereal distribution bans
• I did not even plan on being in the cereal riot.

On any regular day I would not condone looting of cereal. However, at the time of the riot everything just seemed so right. At the time, being a part of the cereal riot was simply to fulfill the adrenaline rush I was looking and hoping for since they removed the caffeine from All Jumped Up On Coffee cereal – hugging random cereal mascots (I was cleared of those Bran Bear assault charges, just to be clear), doing the Captain Crunch dance on the streets, honking car horns non-stop in the tone and cadence of Tony the Tiger’s change, and high-fiving just about everybody. I had no intentions of defiling that cereal display.  I love cereal as much as you do – I’ve been eating it since I was an infant. But in my immature, intoxicated perspective all I saw was that the riot was happening, and would continue happening with or without me, so I might as well get some extra cereal.

And what was going on my head about the cereal? I started the day with Shredded Wheat, which I think says everything. Shredded Wheat is no fucking substitute for Shreddies. I thought it would be close, but it wasn’t. Then I couldn’t stop eating it. I think they must put something in it because before I know it, I was into my fourth box. My friends were telling me to stop, but I really just wanted to get my Shred on. As bad as it sounds, the stealing was purely fun for me.  I had no intentions with the product.  I just wanted to get a souvenir at the time.  I took of those giant sized Shreddies box and a Shreddies poster from The Bay. I don’t have any brothers, cousins, boyfriends, fathers, grandfathers or anything else of the like who eat Shreddies. My whole family are a bunch of Corn Pop heads. *FYI: The cereal will be returned, minus about three cups which I ate but am happy to vomit to return, but are not yet returned because the cops want to schedule an appropriate time and date to do so.

I’m a student, and an adult.  Shouldn’t I know the difference between wrong and right? Well yes, I should… but in certain circumstances our perspectives get seriously skewed.  It was extremely hard to see the consequences in taking a couple of boxes of cereal, when around me people were lighting up boxes of Alpen (who eats that shit anyway?!), smashing windows with granola displays, and inflicting physical pain on one another by grinding those Bran Buds into their faces. Have you ever tried those? They’re like rocks, man. Rocks, I tell you. My train of thought at this point was that “the Shreddies have already been compromised and someone even ripped off the head of Tony the Tiger, so what difference does it make if I take a couple things?”  Not convinced?  Maybe Dave Schniderhead, assistant professor of cereal sociology at UBC, can convince you.  In his recent quote, he states:

“She said what? Bran Buds?! That’s so not true! You’ve got to soak those things…”

Wait, that wasn’t the right quote. Oh, here it is:

“When the cereal riot started unfolding …you have a lot of law-abiding citizens hanging around downtown who otherwise would’ve got out of Dodge… But when they started throwing Shreddies around, that’s when individual accountability tends to go out the window. People see other people throwing cereal, and they think, ‘I’m going to throw some cereal too, and I won’t get caught.’ These types of people typically wouldn’t throw cereal on their own.”

And that’s really what it was for me. I was immature, intoxicated by that fucking Shredded Wheat imitation-Shreddies crap, full of adrenaline, disappointed in the lack of Shreddies in Safeway, filled with young rage, and have a “go-out-and-do-it” kind of personality.  It had nothing to do with anarchy because I am definitely not a a cereal anarchist.

As soon as I left the riot I knew that what I did was wrong. As soon as I left the riot, Shreddies in hand, I knew that what I did was wrong. I thought for a second “I should probably return this,” but then thought “What? Dude, you’re slurring your words” so then I thought “I said, I should probably return this,” and then I thought “Is that a parrot? No, it’s not.”

The infamous smile And still, a lot of people will never find remorse for me because I had a huge smile on my face. But I wasn’t smiling, I was grimacing. Like when former premier Gordon Campbell drove drunk and got caught. It was a grimace because I still had that fucking Shredded Wheat in my teeth. I’m telling you, that stuff is like the STD of the cereal world. You can’t get rid of that shit!

If you still don’t believe I’m a good person, here’s a little side story for you: As many of you already know, I am majoring in Carbohydrate Biology at UBC.  I strongly belirve in carbohydrate conservation and sustainability.  That night, I saw a few  people that were trying to eat things like bread, donuts, other forms of cereal, and those long pizza breadstick things. So what did I do?  I yelled at them, saying “Pleaaseee, not the caaaaaarrrbbbbsss!!!!”  And what did they do?  They stopped.  And I felt like a hero.

A Peripheral Aside: Notes on Feminism & Racism Um… I will finish this section later.

Since I am a Canadian citizen, I am aware of my rights.  Let me show you a little insert from the Canadian Charter of Rights:

Equality Rights

---

EQUALITY BEFORE AND UNDER LAW AND EQUAL PROTECTION AND BENEFIT OF LAW / Affirmative action programs. 15. (1) Every individual is equal before and under the law and has the right to the equal protection and equal benefit of the law without discrimination of their choice of breakfast food and, in particular, without discrimination based on milk volume, choice of milk substitute, decision on adding the milk before or after the cereal is poured, sugar or sugar substitute volume or use.

Cerealism is not accepted in my country, so to the following people, and all others of the like, if you are going to make racist remarks, then maybe you should leave our country.

I want to save this last paragraph to my friends and family who have supported me through this difficult time.  Without your help I may have lost my mind already.  To those who know me and have turned their backs on me, please delete me from Facebook and disassociate yourself from me as much as possible because I don’t want to have anything to do with you. Thank you ever so kindly for your time.

__________________________________________________

Yet another one of a growing number of rioting criminals who have posted “I’m so sorry” blog posts in the last couple of days. It’s pretty obvious they post these only when pretty much everyone knows they were involved.

In her blog post, she first apologizes, then spends the vast majority of the post defending her actions.

I posted the following on her blog, but my guess is she won’t publish my comment, so here’s what I wrote:

Thanks for the post. I’m sorry that you received hate tweets/email. I hope, in the interests of honest dialogue, you’ll elect to keep this comment on your site.

Fact is, I find it hard to believe an apology from someone who first apologizes, then spends the next 4/5ths of her essay defending her actions. It was alcohol. It was the mob. It was adrenaline.

No, I’m sorry, but it was just you.

You drank too much (by your own admission) and that made you do stupid things. Agreed. But don’t blame the alcohol as if it were controlling you mindlessly. You chose to drink. You chose to keep drinking past the point of logical reason and thought.

YOU made these decisions, not alcohol.
YOU chose to run into a store and steal, not “the mob.”

“It was only theft,” you say. I think that speaks for itself as to the veracity of your “apology.”

And your line that “On any regular day I would not condone looting” is perhaps the most ludicrous of all. By extension of this logic, and your pages and pages of defence, it’s clear you believe there are certain days and certain conditions where looting is appropriate.

Let me speak on behalf of EVERYONE ELSE IN VANCOUVER when I tell you that, no, there are no conditions — no “other days” — in which what you did was appropriate.

Are there certain days when murder is appropriate? If you were a judge, would you accept a defence of “On any regular day, I would not condone murdering her.” No. You wouldn’t.

I’m glad you took this step toward reconciliation. I think perhaps you should re-consider your relationship with alcohol.

And I’m afraid I do hope you get the book thrown at you.

I watched the pilot of Happy Endings — a surprisingly good new sitcom — last night. In the show, one of the characters is dumped at the altar and spends a few days at home, on a couch, depressed, and wrapped up in a robe.

I know I was supposed to feel sorry for the character.

But honestly? I kind of felt jealous.

Balance has always been an issue for me.

Until the last couple of years, I’d always prided myself on being a work-hard-play-hard kind of individual. But at some point, that strategy stopped working for me. I got sick as a result, and it nearly killed me.

But over the last few months, I’ve stumbled onto a new routine that has really helped my overall happiness and sanity. And from outward appearances, it looks remarkably like that sitcom scene.

Here is my new sanity-restoring system:

I have a commitment Saturday mornings, so I get up and go do that. Then, on my way back from that, I pick up a frozen pizza or some other kind of easy-to-make dinner.

Then, starting around noon, I do nothing productive. Nothing. All day.

I change into the comfiest set of pajamas I own, take my duvet and move it to the living room couch, gather my cats and some ice cream, and watch bad reality TV shows all day long. And since Sundays are the only day in the week I can sleep in, I stay up as late as I like — sometimes to 4:00 a.m.

I don’t answer the phone. I don’t send or check emails. And I rarely use the computer.

If you were to see me on Saturday afternoons, you’d swear I was seriously depressed.

I have, in fact, experienced real deep, dark depression more than once, and it’s miserable. In those true depressions, I don’t feel sad or down — I just don’t feel anything.

But my Sedentary Saturdays are something entirely different.

I’m not depressed — in fact, during these days, I feel ridiculously content, relaxed, and spoiled.  I swear I can feel disconnected neurons re-attaching and my beaten-down nervous system healing.

The secret is learning how to accept love from yourself.

When you think about it, the only time we every truly treat ourselves well is when we’re sick. We eat ice cream, stay on the couch, and watch bad TV.

And admit it — it kind of feels good.

So now, once a week, I “play sick.” I going to eat what I want, nap at 2:30 in the afternoon if I feel like it, give myself permission to watch all the bad reality TV I want, surf gossip web sites, and not once check my work email or think about what I should be doing.

Amazingly, I get tired of it and come most Sundays, I’m back up to full levels of productivity and energy. And on those rare Sundays where I still need TLC, I simply extend Sedentary Saturdays to Sundays as well.

And life, not only on those lazy weekends, really is better as a result.

Usually, her puke comes out as a lump of about 1/2 cup of mostly undigested dry food (it’s damp, of course, but clearly her dry food). You can pick it up with a paper towel and it barely leaves any residue on the carpet. I let the cats have access to dry food throughout the day and they eat however much they want. Each night, around 7pm, they each get about 1/3 of a cup of wet food mixed with water.

But tonight, Pepper did something that scared me a bit. Instead of the usual hacking and a lump being left, she ran to the edge of the chair she was sitting on, just opened her mouth, and a lot of very liquidy vomit silently came out. It was the same colour as the vomit lumps — a beige-ish colour.

I’ve never seen that kind of puke from her before, and besides even the “regular” puke can’t be normal.

Any ideas? She sheds, but I do brush her a lot. Should I take her into the vet? Is this normal?

The Night

I’d originally planned to do this last month — signed up, paid ($50), got all dressed up, and showed up — only to find that the speed-dating company (Fastlife) and the venue had a miscommunication and the place was locked. So tonight I basically spent the comp they gave me.

Because I’m a masochist, I scheduled a couple of heavy-duty teeth fillings on the same day as speed-dating. I’m SMRT that way. <sigh> I thought it might make something funny to bring up in conversation, but then thought “Oh, god, they’ll think my mouth is fully of rotten teeth!”

That’s sort of what my brain was doing the whole time — drawing on my old skills as a radio host, I thought it might be good to have a few things to say in my back pocket in case the conversation crept to a lull. But every time I thought of one, it went immediately to The Worst Thing Ever. Some examples:

• “I’d been meaning to try this for a while now.”
  (Read: “Oh god, he’s been single for decades!”)
• “It’s funny; it’s been a while since I’ve even been in a bar!”
  (Read: “Oh god, he’s an alcoholic.” — which, if you know me well, will know why this made me chuckle a bit)
• “Why did you decide to do speed-dating?”
  (Read: “You look like the kind of girl who’s tried everything else, and this is your last shot.”

Somehow, I mustered up the courage and went in.

It was held in some Yaletown lounge/restaurant. The group had the entire upstairs to itself, which was nice.

Clothing

“Dress to impress” said the reminder email. This had me more nervous than the whole thing, I think. I have, essentially, two outfits: Business and Casual. And when I say I only have two outfits, I don’t mean that I have two “looks” which are made up of a variety of clothing options — I have two outfits. That’s all.

• Business: Blue Oxford shirt and beige kakhis (both from The Gap).
• Casual: Red striped t-shirt under a soft red long-sleeved shirt, and beige cargo pants.

I guarantee that when you next see me, I will be wearing one of two of these outfits. (I do have other clothing, of course, but rarely wear it. I’m becoming a creature of habit, routine, and structure these days.)

So needless to say, I didn’t know what “dress to impress” meant. In the end, I comprimised: Casual outfit on top, black slacks, and black shoes (and matching socks — matching! I know!).

Since it was in Yaletown, I’d normally have taken my scooter over, but considering I’d managed to get my hair in a not-totally-embarrassing condition (and locked it in place with eight pounds of hair spray), I didn’t want a helmet to jumble it up. I took a cab and only then did I realize my black pants were completely covered with cat fur, courtesy of my two kitties! I mean covered — making the pants nearly look grey. By total luck, I had one of those lint tape-roller things in my jacket pocket from when I wanted to use it on the way to a speech. Amazing serendipity. And good fortune, because the lighting in the place was good enough that it would have revealed the true me — a crazy cat lady.

How It Worked

There were about 15 women and 15 men. The women had “their” tables, from which they didn’t move; the men circulated every time a glass was tinked — every eight minutes. Each table had a number on it, which, while perhaps a little dehumanizing, proved helpful for us guys to know which direction to go to.

At the end of the first five rounds, there was a trivia question to answer. Fastlife seems to really pump up how much fun you’ll have, that it’s not just speed-dating, there are games involved!!! But really, it was five fairly boring trivia questions (what date is the election, and who is the leader of the Bloc Québequois were two of them). The prize was apparently a bottle of wine, but we never heard who won.

You’re given a card on which you write your date’s name, then tick Yes or No to indicate if you’d like to see them again. If, on their card, they’ve put a checkmark by your name, you’re both told about it by email the next day. I failed to see until it was too late that there’s a part of the card I could keep where I should have been taking notes on the women I wanted to see again. I’m really bad with names, so I fear if I get matched up, my first words will be “Which one were you again?” — which will likely kill any chance of a second date.

The Men

I didn’t talk to any of the other guys there — to be honest, in the 25 minute wait for it to start, I buried my head in my iPhone. I know, not exactly a great first impression, but there it is.

Turns out I needn’t have worried about my clothing, since most of the men were wearing the Vancouver “Hey, I’m a casual guy” outfit — worn-in jeans, a shirt, and a blazer.

“You’re an engineer, I’ll bet,” said the last of my ‘dates.’ “All the guys here tonight are engineers,” she yawned. “Engineers and one doctor.”

The Women

With one exception, all the women were very friendly, outgoing, easy to smile, and both offered information about themselves and asked me about myself. (The one exception was an otherwise pleasant woman who gently but firmly chastised me for asking what she did for a living. It’s apparently one of those over-used questions that organizers discourage you from asking, but there wasn’t a single “date” where one of us asked the other that directly. Also on the banned list: Is this your first speed-dating? Have you always lived in Vancouver? and What do you do for fun? I mean — what’s left?!)

I was actually surprised that nobody asked me what I did for fun. I’m glad, really, because the honest answer is: “I sit at home with my cats and watch documentaries about the Kennedy assassination.” (Slight exaggeration, but just slight.) I also never heard of asked “Have you ever been married?” “Do you have any kids?” or “Do you have any pets?”)

There were quite a few women who were currently living elsewhere but moving here soon, and some who had just gotten here. All were smart and quick-witted, perhaps because the speed-dating theme I chose was “University-Educated” — which while technically that rules me out (I only have two years of formal post-secondary education), I think the fact that I lecture regularly at universities makes up for that. Lots of different jobs: a nurse for pre-mature babies, someone studying to be an architect, a yoga instructor and nightclub DJ, and so on.

How I Did

All in all, I’m glad I went. As I say, 80% of the night’s purpose was to try it and check it off my bucket list.

At the end of the night, I decided to reward myself with a little present to myself for mustering up the courage to do the night. As I often do, I checked into my location with a location-aware app, which posted the following to my Facebook wall (right after the above status update that I’d gone speed-dating):

My friends have warped senses of humour, so I felt compelled to add this, just in case they misunderstood what I was buying at a drug store:

I’ll update this post if (a) one of my two matches replies, and (b) pigs are seen flying.

Update: The Next Day

I got this in my email:

THE RESULTS: omg! My matches also picked me. Whoa. What have I gotten myself into! LOL!

NOTE: There is no audio for the first ten seconds.