Gramps in his younger days

The guy with the notepad looking up is my grandfather in the day, working as a print journalist.

He's wearing a suit. I wear rubber boots to work half the year. And look, there's Diefenbaker! Diefenbaker is a bad word in the North.

Thanks to my darling aunt Pat for the photo.

Golden Sun and wireless wonders

I have chosen Golden Sun as the colour for part of my new room. My new roommate refers to accent-wall hues as an individual's "sex colour," so I guess mine is a very, happy sunny yellow. I am attempting to dampen its brilliance a bit with a grey primer, but perhaps it will inspire me to finally complete the erotic sci-fi I began many moons ago and let languish.

Besides the paint job, the other major domestic development in my life is a switch to Qiniq as my internet provider. Previously in staff housing I had Northwestel. For my southern readers, I think the creation of Qiniq is an Epic Tale. As late as 2004 there were still many communities in Nunavut without Internet. The creation of Qiniq broadband ushered in a new era in many ways, changing how business was done, communication kept and even payrolls handled. Now that I am a customer, I will likely start feeling complain-y about the speed. Presently, it is simply novel to plug into my little modem anywhere and pick up a signal.

In other news, today sucked big time.

I was harassed by a yucky man in jail, and yelled at shortly thereafter for mistakes I didn't actually make. I hate that, although I guess I would hate it more if I was the one responsible for the mistakes.

You know, I waitressed for eight years. I got out right before I started going postal and stabbing patrons with forks. It is possible I am taking a break from journalism before I start screaming at people for being jerks. I say this looking to the bright side, a golden, sunny bright side.

Meat Man Knows/Walk on the Dark-Grey Side

The Meat Man (itinerant purveyor of fine foods) stopped by the office today and sold me $100 worth of smoked fish.

"So, a few people have told me things were a little *jazz hands* and you're leaving," he said.

"Leaving? Like the city? Uh, no," I replied.

"Oh. Ohhhh. Interesting," he said, looking sheepish.

I am simply DYING to know what the inserted *jazz hands* referred to, or why people are so inspired by my day-to-day life and doings that they would feel the need to report my movements to the Meat Man. Doubtful I will ever find out, but this is pretty amusing.

I'm not leaving town, this is my home. I have, however, given my notice at work. I didn't blog about it earlier because my soon-to-be-former boss requested I keep it on the down-low, so as not to spark mass pandemonium in a newsroom far, far away, whose members sometimes consider Baffin Island to be the surface of the moon.

I gave a year and a half of myself at 150 per cent to the company I came up here with. I learned a lots, met wonderful people and was afforded some amazing opportunities. I have decided to leave for a number of reasons, which some are more familiar with than others. Next Friday will be my last day, and my lunch will be bought by a member of the rival paper because, well, that's how things roll.

And what is my next step? Well. I like to call it my Walk on the Dark-Grey Side.

I've taken a four-month contract as an outreach coordinator for a local research institute, making me a casual GN employee. I'm totally choked to be taking a break from journalism, which I consider a calling and a noble trade.

"Well it's not really the Dark Side. Like, it's not exactly communications," said the Stephenator, kindly.

"Uh, well, the Dark-Grey Side is pretty much the same thing, isn't it?" I replied.

All joking aside, I'm super excited to be jumping into a new experience. This particular contract will give me an opportunity to see/learn more about NU and build my knowledge base in a specific area. I have no idea what else lies in the future.

I do know I'm moving in with a girlfriend of mine next week. Also, I made a really cool piece in printmaking class this week, which I might post later. And I have been jamming lots, which brings me joy.

I want a life filled with art and love and people I admire, and I never want to repeat the fall of 2008 again! Thank god for the fundamental temporal certainties.

xoxo

Ookpiks at the Legislative Assembly

Bob Izumi Jr. and KOTN let the Ookpiks hang out with them in the media rooms at the Legislative Assembly while Eva was elected as premier. I was chewing my nails and taking notes while the ookpiks partied.

Ookpiks make important phone calls to their editors:



















Ookpik gets set to file:


























Ookpik chills in the print room:

Ookpik gets up close and personal with Tagak on the video monitor:

photos courtesy of Bob Izumi Jr.

I love Valery Gore

My lovely friend Valery Gore doesn't have a fairy tale. No discovery at age 12 in a mini-mall, no tap on the shoulder from a benevolent fairy-funder after college. While she's had the support and admiration of many in the cold, cold industry of music, by and large she's hacked her own path thus far. She's one of the most self-directed, prolific and committed creative people I know. She also has an unwavering sense of morality and integrity associated with her art.

Now, she has released her second album, called Avalanche to the Wandering Bear. Her music is really, really good. It's smart, funny, sad and illuminating. Years of classical iced by solid college jazz training make for technically impressive arrangements, a welcome rarity in the pop trails she traverses.

Check out some of her tunes here. I put on happy "Worried Head" this morning, and it convinced me to greet the day. Then buy her tunes here or on iTunes.

Val, I'm so proud of you! I wish I could be there for the official release!

Summer seems so far away...

This is my friend Seb from Toronto, in a random photo I just stumbled upon.

I had this weird dream the other night that I ran into him at a party, after being separated for 10 years. Dream-scape Seb had a mustache, but I didn't tell him that when I called him the next day to tell him I hope to see him in less than 10 years.

Seb never reads my blog and doesn't use email. Meanwhile, last night I simultaneously held MSN conversations with Jackie in Rankin, Billy in Eastern Passage and Ryan in China. I love technology. But I've resisted the siren song of Facebook.

PSA

sunday drive

music: "Geordie" by Maddy Prior and June Tabor