The Life and Times of Brownie White

In 2001, I was in my second year of University and lived with my long-term boyfriend-at-the-time. We had been thinking about getting a dog for months and I insisted on adopting one from a shelter. For months I called all of the animal shelters in the London area and listened to their list of available dogs…..every single day, just waiting for that perfect apartment sized pound pup. Then one day the perfect dog was up for adoption, but he was a package deal with him and his mother. They were suspected of running away from a puppy mill outside of town and were being adopted out together. Sadly, my student loan income was too strict to adopt both dogs and so I was left for weeks listening to the voicemail message of this "well-mannered, 4 year old male black and white shih tzu" and his mother who had some expensive health issues.

Finally one morning, expecting the usual message, I heard "4 year old black and white male shih tzu available for adoption". My heart leapt. I had been thinking of this dog for so long, dreaming about him without even having met him. I figured it was too much of a burden offering the two dogs together, one holder with health problems and her son who was healthy and happy. Whatever the reason, I didn't care. The shelter opened at 1:00 p.m., and by 11:00 a.m., I was in my car on my way to adopt the dog who I didn't know at the time would be my soulmate and closest ally for the next 12 years of my life.

I was the first person to arrive at the shelter, but not by much. Soon after I arrived, several people showed up for the same dog because he was believed to be a pure bred and was not fixed. These people did not look friendly and I imagined were not much unlike the breeders he had previously run away from. The important thing was, I was the first person there. I coaxed my boyfriend into leaving work to come meet me and when the shelter opened, we had dibs. The black & white shih tzu was lying on his stomach with his legs outstretched behind him and looked at me with his huge brown eyes.

"I want him", I told the lady, "Can I take him home today?"

"Sure", she said, "We just have to fill out some paperwork and make sure you have a fit environment."

She let him out of his little room and instead of going wild, he just looked up at me and walked beside me. I clearly remember as we were walking into the office to sign the paperwork, an older angry looking gentleman passed me, looking me up and down, looking at the dog, shaking his head in disgust, and then leaving the shelter.

"That's right, asshole, he's mine", I thought to myself.

We took the dog home and the next few months were  a combination of getting to know him and being surprised at well behaved he was. My boyfriend's mother had warned us how hard it was to take care of a dog and she didn't think we were ready for it, but I remember thinking how irrational she was because it was ridiculously simple.

He wasn't like other dogs; he wasn't interested in cuddling or being touched. He seemed scared when we would lean down to his level to pet him or to pick him up. However, he never wanted to be left alone in a room and from the first day we took him home, we would follow us from room to room, as silent and independent as a shadow. I walked him without a leash and he never left my side and soon we began calling him a brown-noser, always trying to get brownie points with us for being so good. And soon enough, we settled on a name that came completely natural to us…

Brownie.

Oh little Brownie……Brownie won the hearts of everyone he met. He was calm and cool, but still got excited when you would come home from work, or when he would meet someone new. He would come sit with you for a while, but not beg you for attention. It was impossible to not like him. People quickly created nicknames for him which would stick throughout his entire life as he would affectionally become known as Browntown.

After a year long break-up and then reuniting, my boyfriend and I decided to drive across the country and start a new life in B.C. We packed up whatever we could fit into our tiny Mazda 323 hatchback and Brownie came with us on the floor in the front seat. He was such a good traveller, just so happy and content as long as he was with us.

Eventually, we ended up in Vancouver. We spent our first night on a friend's couch with all of our belongings in the car, Brownie content sleeping soundly beside us. The next morning changed the course of all our lives forever.

Our car, which was still full of all of our belongings had been broken into and everything was stolen. Everything. I was devastated. After extensive searching of a place to live that allowed dogs, we were able to find an apartment, however this didn't improve our situation much. My boyfriend and I were fighting daily and the apartment we had found was in the ghetto of New Westminster with cops at our building every night and bloody tampons strewn about in the lobby. It was a bad scene. Not surprisingly, our apartment was infested with fleas. So at this point we had no possessions save for some clothes, a mattress from the alley, and a flea infested but loyal dog. Something had to give, and it was my boyfriend. After two weeks of living in squaller, he decided to turn around and move back home to Ontario.

And I decided to stay. With Brownie. The year was 2004.

I held Brownie in my arms as we watched my boyfriend drive away, waving as tears streamed down his face, leaving the two of us to fend for ourselves in this flea infested, ghetto ass city where we didn't have a single friend. Brownie and I never saw him again. And ever since that day, I have felt that I could overcome anything because no matter how alone I was, I always had Brownie with me I knew I would be ok.

The next 7 years that followed were the most amazing and magical years of my life, filled with the most wonderful people anyone could know. Brownie quickly became the most popular dog in town as people were always mesmerized at his good behaviour and his cool, nonchalant attitude. I often took him for granted, leaving hi home alone for far too long some nights, which I will always regret. He was better than any boyfriend I could have had; never getting mad at me for coming home late or not at all, just always happy to see me. He always looked good in a sweater and I'm pretty sure he was happier when he was wearing clothing of some kind.

Brownie's teeth had been a disaster zone since the day I got him and thought his time in Vancouver he had several surgeries to remove teeth in the worst state. His bad breath from tooth decay became infamous and synonymous with the name Brownie, yet he never showed discomfort or pain so it was hard to gauge exactly how much it affected him.

I think the best years of Brownie's life were when we lived with Sarah, who became a second mother to him. Despite what it may sound like, Brownie was never a mama's boy and was happy to obsess over whoever was spending the most time in our apartment. He would indiscriminately sleep in Sarah's room, sometimes my room, sometimes switch in the middle of the night…Brownie always just wanted to chill in the most relaxing place possible. He put up with a lot of our late night shit and I can still recall looking into his eyes at an unreasonable hour and feeling like he was so much wiser than me and that I should go to bed.

Unfortunately, he developed a pretty severe separation anxiety problem which led to incessant barking throughout the day or night when he was left alone. This is when he had a heart murmur that took on a life of its own. Our tenancy was threatened on more than one occasion, but miraculously we were able to stick around for 4 years.

In 2011, the time came for me to leave the city and people that had been so good to us and move back east. And just like I did 7 years previous, I packed up my belongings and my trusty dog and we started on our 4500km journey.

I moved to Toronto to be closer to my family. Both of my grandmas weren't doing well and I felt an inexplicable need to return. My grandma on my mom's side looked after Brownie for a month while I looked for a place to live. I called her frequently for updates, worrying that I was burdening her, but all she had to say was that Brownie was great! He seems happy! Soon enough I settled into my own place and Brownie immediately acted as if this had been his home for years. His separation anxiety dissolved as life returned to somewhat normalcy.

Two months later, my grandma passed away. While it was an upsetting time, I felt comfort in the fact that we were able to share her last months bonding over Brownie. If I hadn't moved back, I may have never got to see her again. I shared a special bond with Browne with my other grandma as well, and she threatened to steal him for many years. I brought him to the nursing home where she spent the last years of her life, and he brought such a smile to her face. Then, just over a year after my first grandma passed away, so did she. In a way it was terribly tragic, but also, good timing on my part, being able to share those last moments with Brownie and the two of the people I moved here for.

As Brownie and I settled into our new city and I began a new relationship, things were going well. Brownie immediately took to my new boyfriend and made sleeping on his clothes a regular thing. Brownie never had a weird alpha complex, I feel like he just wanted me to be happy and that was his way of showing me that he approved.

Christmas 2012, I was diagnosed with MS and was blind in one eye, unable to walk, feel my legs, or use my hands. But once again, like every other tragic time in my life, I had Brownie. Brownie knew something was wrong and rarely left my side. When I'd cry at night, he would look up at me, tilt his head to the side, and then squish his little body against mine. He no longer jumped off the bed when I put him there, but instead would stay with me until I moved him. Slowly as my health improved, I vowed to spend as much time with him as I could, just as he did with me. I feel like in those darkest emotional times, I bonded with him the most.

In May of 2013 I noticed a small cyst on his side. It was a bump he always had, but recently had started growing. By mid-month it was the size of a golf ball. I took him into the vet who took samples from the lump, reassuring me it was probably something benign. And then the phone call came in the afternoon.

"I'm really sorry to have to tell you this……but the cells inside the tumour…..they appear to be cancerous", she said to me. She also told me how she had put off the phone call all day because she was so heart-broken to tell me the news because Brownie is such a sweetheart. The worst part of all of this was that he was essentially inoperable due to the strength of his heart murmur. So basically the only thing I could do is to make sure he's comfortable.

The tumour grew exponentially within weeks, days even. It grew so fast it kept bursting open and bleeding. He also started having difficulty breathing which I learned was likely from fluid beginning to fill in his lungs. The whole time Brownie still acted like nothing was wrong. I changed his dressing daily, each day was a little bit worse. Until one day I came home to the most horrifying sight.

Brownie has licked and chewed his way through the bandages and had chewed away 75% of the tumour. It was gone, right off his body, and a little raw lump remained. All still, the fucking dog acted like nothing was wrong. This was when I had to make the hardest decision of my entire life.

Brownie was probably in a lot more pain and discomfort than I knew and it quickly became obvious to me that the best decision was to put him out of his pain. A good friend of mine had said to me "They'll just keep going way longer than nature probably intended out of love and loyalty".

By now I'm sure you already know how this story ends. Brownie put up one hell of a fight through the opiates and the anaesthetic administered and the best I can hope for is that he knows why I had to let him go. I couldn't stand the thought of him suffering, of changing his bandages only to find the wound twice as bad as when I last looked. It hurts so much to know that through all the physical pain, he still put on a happy face.

I thought I'd been alone before, but when I reflect on the last 12 years of my life, I realize I was never really alone at all. I've always had this little amazing dog to help me through the worst times……and I'm so sad that he is gone.

A File and a Fee

Today is the 4 month anniversary of my MS diagnosis.

I am still legally blind in my left eye, although it appears to be improving ever so slightly. I never thought I would still be in recovery mode after 4 months. Unbelievable.

Right now, I am so thankful to not have primary progressive MS (PPMS). PPMS is when the disease quickly progresses and gets worse without periods of remission. I have the most common form of MS known as relapse-remitting MS (RRMS) which is characterized by sudden attacks or relapses, followed by periods of remission which can last days, months, or even years. Everyone's MS is not only different, but unpredictable.

Just as frustrating as being diagnosed with multiple sclerosis is dealing with the paperwork and bureaucratic nightmare on a daily basis that has followed. I've stormed out of my "family" doctor's office and vowed never to return, and sent scathing emails to my insurance company. No one treats you like a person who just received life altering diagnosis, no one gives a shit. All you are to these people are a file and a fee. It pisses me off so much to think how many companies are profiting off of me now and there's not a thing I can do about it.

I saw a documentary today called "When I Walk" by Jason Da Silva who was diagnosed with primary progressive MS in 2006 when he was 25. While I've wanted to see the film for a while, I had a hard time watching it. The first scene is just Jason's face and before anything had even happened, I was already crying a steady stream of tears. Parts of it I actually had to turn away from and it wasn't at anything gory or sappy, but the words he used to describe how his body felt. They were exactly the same things I had said at some point and suddenly everything became so real, almost tangible. The way his hands would clamp up and become useless looked identical to mine, but fortunately for me, I recovered. When he mentioned people telling him he was brave and him having the same sentiment that I did: It's not bravery! It's not like we volunteered for this or had a fucking choice! I couldn't even muster up the courage to ask questions after the film when Jason was sitting there, on stage right in front of me in his super hip scooter which he now requires to get around.

Multiple Sclerosis is terrifying and it can happen to anyone, specifically Canadian women. For reasons not yet known, Canada has one of the highest rates of MS in the world, and women are 3x more likely to get it. It hits healthy individuals between the ages of 20 and 40 and there is no known cause or cure. And for being something that is increasingly common, it is shocking how much people don't know anything about the disease. There needs to be education about common symptoms so people aren't left in the dark for so long like I was, and the gaping holes in the medical system need to be addressed asap. I'm looking forward to starting a project with a friend to change that. Stay tuned.

Thanks for everything, everyone.

ms white

This is the story about how I went from a highly functioning and independent 30 year old, working overtime every week, to being totally blind in one eye and completely numb from my chest to my toes in under 1 week; the affects of which lingered for months and still continue to present day. This is how I was diagnosed with Multiple Sclerosis.

I woke up Thursday morning on December 20 with a vague pins and needles feeling in my legs. I had spent approximately 40 hours total in the previous 3 days in my car doing long surveillance days so I attributed the sensation to poor circulation. As the day wore on, the sensation did not dissipate and lingered the following day as well. I decided to take Friday off of work and spent the day massaging my legs and feet. Saturday I woke up and went to work, although I noticed the pins and needles sensation had strengthened. Additionally, the feeling numbness had begun slowly travelling up my body. I was finished work around noon that day and as I was driving home, I realized I couldn't feel my legs and feet. I also started noticing there was something wrong with my left eye – it was uncharacteristically sensitive to light.

Luckily, I was able to see my doctor right away. By late afternoon the numbness around my ribs felt like a thick, tight belt around my body and my left eye was gradually going out of focus. After a series of physical tests, the doctor ordered an “urgent MRI” with the hospital –but don’t let the word “urgent” mislead you. Thanks to our stellar healthcare system, the soonest available appointment was January 17^th. The current date was Dec 22. I was told to keep an eye on things and to go to Emergency if things progressed.

The next day I travelled to my dad’s for Christmas and by Sunday night the loss of feeling in my legs was so extreme it was like I could tell that my legs existed but couldn’t feel the clothes on my body. My vision was rapidly declining and I couldn’t focus on anything unless the bad eye was covered and stopped from distracting the good eye. I thought back to about a year and a half prior when my right foot suddenly stopped working – I walked with a limp for about 4 weeks and then it magically went back to normal and it was as if it never happened.

Monday morning, Christmas Eve, I had trouble walking and decided I needed to go to the hospital. My dad drove me to the ER in London. Unfortunately, the most they would do for me there was a CAT scan to ensure nothing was fatally wrong with my brain. I was told by the ER doctor that the neurologist would not want to perform an MRI because I had a Toronto address. Seriously, this is what he said. It was also the first time I was explained that all these symptoms point to Multiple Sclerosis and that getting back to Toronto to have an MRI was imperative. As I sat in emerge waiting for my CAT scan results, I could actually see my vision disappearing. It started as a line across my field of vision, just a straight line across of grey which slowly expanded outwards. Despite telling the doctor this, he continued to tell me if things get worse when I leave, to go back to ER. I was like, um, I am going blind right now, as I sit here in the hospital and you’re telling me to come back if it gets worse?

After a CAT scan came back negative of any immediate fatal risk, they said there was nothing more they could do for me in London so I had no choice but to leave with a note from the hospital saying I needed to see an urgent neurologist (…in Toronto). I spent the night at my mom’s in London as I helplessly watched my vision disappear to nothing.

Christmas Day, I woke up 100% blind in my left eye. The pupil was non-responsive to light, I could barely walk, I couldn’t feel my own legs touching each other, couldn’t feel my own ass on the toilet seat and still did not have a confirmed diagnosis. I needed to get to Toronto immediately.

My boyfriend came down and drove me back to Toronto later that day. I called the MRI department where my “urgent” MRI was scheduled for late January and was told that the MRI is actually closed for Christmas and there were no neurologists around. I had no choice but to wait two more days. Blind and paralyzed and absolutely nothing I could do about it, despite seeking help long before it had reached this stage.

Thursday, December 27, exactly one week after my symptoms first appeared, I saw my family doctor again. Needing assistance to walk at this point, the look on the receptionist’s face who had seen me on the previous Saturday was nothing short of shock and only added to my already panicked state. Lights were shone into the blind eye with zero response. I waited while he called St. Michael’s Hospital and spoke in a hushed voice in the other room.  When he returned, he informed me a neurologist would be waiting for me at St. Michael’s Hospital. Today. Right now.

The next few days that followed were undeniably the worst in my life. I was admitted to the hospital after waiting in the emergency room with no idea when I would be released. I had an unconfirmed MS diagnosis and had to wait, body numb and all with no treatment yet until the MRI was available. The blindness in my eye, I had now learned was caused by optic neuritis, increased the emergency level of the situation: the longer I was blind, the less chance there was of my vision fully returning. On day 2 of my impromptu hospital visit, the MRI was ready for me. My results came back and finally the diagnosis was confirmed: several active lesions located on my brain and spine, which were concurrent with multiple sclerosis. I was hooked up to intravenous steroids for three treacherous days and the best I could hope for was to be out by New Year’s Eve.

The steroids made me feel like I was crawling out of my goddamn skin and I had no appetite since I had little to no sensation in my midsection. Alas, bless the nurses who continued to bring me milk, sugar water they called juice, and other various foods I shouldn’t be eating. I was pretty helpless but thanks to being in the modern world, I at least had the internet at my fingertips to find out as much as I possibly could about this mysterious illness that’s been hibernating inside my brain for god knows how long like a fatal Jack-In-The-Box. Surprise!! Welcome to your 30s!!

So they released me Sunday, December 30, and not because I was getting better but because I think I was visibly unimpressed with being forced to stay in the hospital. In fact, on my last day in the hospital I began experiencing brand new symptoms which were thought to be related to the lesions on my spine. I started losing dexterity and function of my hands completely until I couldn’t even write or type anymore. I had a shitload of oral steroids to continue taking for the next couple of weeks, along with a cane for walking. But I made it home for New Year’s!

What I went through in the month of January is something I wouldn’t wish upon my worst enemy. I began keeping daily notes on a voice recorder about the physical symptoms I was experiencing along with emotions, but both proved to be such a rollercoaster I stopped after only a few days. One day I would feel ok and optimistic and the next I would be thrown into a fit of spasms and depression, crying and unable to get out of bed. I would feel like I was improving and then suddenly I’d lose feeling in my feet again, or the right side of my body would feel like it disappeared. I couldn’t feel my own legs touching each other when I was lying in bed. Showering was a total nightmare as I was extremely sensitive to water. Water, specifically hot or even warm water, would make my hands curl right up into little fists making washing my hair was next to impossible – and not to mention trying to hold a brush to dry it afterwards. The whole process would take at least 2 hours. At almost exactly 8:15pm every night I would experience a shooting pain up my spine, like someone was driving two metal poles up from my tailbone, making sitting almost impossible. I couldn’t sleep at all despite the cocktail of muscle relaxers and sleeping pills I was prescribed thanks to the powerful steroids surging through my veins.

I truly don’t know what I would have done without my boyfriend to help me through it; driving me to appointments and forcing me to go to the grocery store and not be embarrassed about having to walk with a cane. Friends wanted to come over and help but I was in such a state that even carrying on a conversation was a chore and watching TV gave me a migraine. It’s not easy going from being an independent workaholic to relying on someone for even menial tasks such as using a debit keypad.

I educated myself as much as possible on the role of diet and drastically changed the way I ate and looked at food in general. I sought out alternative medicine, such as acupuncture, massage therapy, and even yoga. Yoga! I never thought I would see the day. It’s impossible to say how much, if at all, this attributed to my improvement but I felt better doing it. I distrusted the doctor’s heavy reliance on modern medicine, especially after I’ve been hearing and reading so many accounts of women who changed their lifestyle and now experience little or no symptoms at all. “Everything in moderation” was the best advice my neurologist could give.

As the end of January neared, I was able to walk on my own and slowly regained function in my hands. My left eye had little improvement; there was a bit of light coming through and I could see shapes but most of the detail was still greyed out. This was actually more difficult than being totally blind since now I had one eye with perfect vision and the other with just a tiny bit, sending a confusing message to my brain affecting my depth perception and causing debilitating migraines. Driving was still absolutely off the table.

One of the last symptoms to fade was what is known as the “ms hug”. It is this sensation around your ribcage that feels like you have a very tight belt on, almost to the point of suffocation. Apparently what it is are the little muscles between your ribs going into spasm. It’s very uncomfortable and was present 100% of the time since being in the hospital and is something I still go through regularly every morning or in extreme temperatures.

While my vision was still quite terrible come February, I was feeling much better all around, aside from not being able to sleep at night due to serious restless leg syndrome. I had occasional numbness in a few areas, but generally I thought the worst was over. That was until February 6. That was when I had my first terrifying seizure-like episode. I honestly thought I was going to die and being so scared only exacerbated the symptoms.

I was home alone standing in the bathroom bandaging a cut on my thumb. In an instant I felt an electrical shock crawling from my neck down my spine and through both of my arms - this is something that's known as L'Hermitte's Sign, which I actually experienced very lightly for several years leading up to my diagnosis through a peculiar movements of my head or neck. This time, I couldn’t move my head at all since this made the electrical shock ever stronger. All I could do was lie down on the bathroom floor as my arms and hands totally seized up, my hands clamping into tight fists once again. I was dizzy and petrified of losing consciousness and knew I had to get help. Somehow I dragged myself across the floor to my bedroom and very awkwardly called my friend with my hand clamped up. I needed to talk to someone to keep me conscious because I was certain I’d die if I lost it. I was able to get a hold of my boyfriend who was home within 15 minutes. He sat with me not really knowing what to do either, since I couldn’t even get up to get into his car to go to the hospital. We tried calling the MS help number I was given, only to repeatedly get an answering machine.

After an hour and a half of being convinced I was going to be paralyzed for life, everything slowly went back to normal until it was as if nothing had ever happened. It occurred two more times before I got a prescription, and only one time after taking the drugs (almost a month ago). Unfortunately, it was while I was out for dinner with friends and had to excuse myself from the table to go lie down on the bathroom floor until it subsided.

I haven’t been quite normal since that episode. It presented several new symptoms that now no longer go away. I get the electrical shock feeling in my arms regularly when previously my arms had been unaffected. It’s much stronger in the mornings and affects my left side noticeably more than the right. I went to Vancouver at the end of February for my birthday and got some much needed friend time. It was a good time but it was also a wake-up call that I just wasn’t the same. I was tired most of the time and I lamented the fact that my days of staying up until 5am were clearly over.

Right now, March 20, 2013, it is the first day of Spring. My left eye vision is still very bad, I periodically experience migraines, the ms hug, shocks down my arms, and tremors down my spine when I’m out in the cold. The vision in my right eye is beginning to suffer and I’m starting to see tracers and spots of blurriness. But, I can walk, have no symptoms on my lower extremities, and can write and type. My main focus right now is getting the proper medication. Most importantly, to the best of my knowledge, my mental capacity and speech hasn’t suffered, which is a known symptom.

You might be wondering why I’m not already taking the drugs I need for long term prevention of relapses. Well, you can thank our utterly disappointing healthcare system. There is a drug called Copaxone that has been proven to reduce relapses by 30% if injected daily. The problem is that it is very expensive (almost $2000/month), and while I have partial coverage through my work there is a government program called Trillium to help with the remaining amount. HOWEVER, this also has a ridiculous deductible anywhere from $1000-$3000 based on income, which I refuse to pay, and requires a lengthy application process. There is also a third program that helps to cover this deductible amount, but I have to wait for approval from Trillium first. So that is where I am. Waiting for the government to approve funding for a drug I desperately need. I didn’t ask for this illness. I’m not expecting the government to fund my decision to kick a heroin or other drug addiction that was my choice to start. I swear there is more of a support system for drug addicts than there are for people who had no choice in becoming ill, and yes, I am angry about that. My life depends on this drug because each relapse I have is more likely to become closer to permanent.

While I want to inform myself as much as possible, I find reading too much about MS on the internet can be depressing. From what I’ve researched, disability is a 100% probability and it’s very hard to not dwell on that when I just turned 31. My life now has this giant obstacle in front of me that is NEVER going to go away. I’m not sure I can ever go back to my job again and I’ve had to stop drinking almost completely.

However, I’ve become much more informed about food and just how terrible our eating habits are. I value the people around me more than ever and realize that a lot of people care. I never thought I would appreciate being able to walk, or write, but here I am. I’ve learned how to sleep in and how do to things slower. I got out of a job that was suffocating me and now I’ve got an entire summer to chill out and do things I never had the time for before – rather, I never let myself have the time for. The only way to get through this is what everyone has been saying to me over and over; to think positively. I could sit at home crying everyday about what might become of me in 10 years until it became a self-fulfilling prophecy. But eventually, you have to stop dwelling and start living.

So 90's

Remember when the internet used to be interesting? Back when there were homemade websites, chatrooms, and no real names?

The internet used to be a sea of anonymity and now it is has become the complete opposite. Instead of creating who you want to be and searching for new people out in the world, we're doing it totally backwards now people are just creating a mirror image of their real life and reconnecting with people they already know. It's like we got a new computer program here at the office and have years of back log to catch up on to be current. A program that finds everyone from your past and pulls them into present time with you. And once that's done, you just have to keep to program current by staying up to date on new people you've just met.

Why do we have this need to dig up every person from our past? What are we missing in our lives? Having everyone we've ever known at the touch of our fingertips can make it extremely difficult to have closure.

Remember the movie hackers? They sure loved their rollerblades. Do they still exist? Did they ever? I mean obviously hackers exist but what about that crazy almost rave culture that loves The Prodigy and instead of getting off on drugs they get off on "cracking the mainframe" in a secret room at the warehouse party. I imagine hackers of today to be just plain regular people in their plain regular apartments or sometimes those internet basement places with their buddies. A lot of defrauding personal accounts through fake emails and such but that's hardly glamourous.

So this is where the internet has taken us. From a chaotic and ethereal virtual world of made up identities, to a cold hard surface of reality. And I for one hate this new rehabilitated and sober internet.

Did I Ever Tell You

About the time I found some deer carcasses in a clearing in the woods?




It was weird.

shitharperdid.ca

I couldn't resist. As the election approached, I found myself increasingly engaged in the Harper vs. Us debates and like so many other educated Canadians, horrified at the things this man has gotten away with. So, I went against my own advice and commented on a Globe & Mail article about the powerful grassroots ad campaign led by shitharperdid.ca, in reply to all the baby boomers patronizing us and thinking we are a pampered, useless generation.

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Hey baby boomers, why don't you take a look in the mirror and see who is really to blame for "youth of today"?

It's your selfish and money hungry generation that has made our world uninhabitable and unaffordable. It's YOU who raised us this way, apathetic and unable to buy property or start families. Check out this article from Macleans last year "Are we raising our boys to be underachieving men?":

http://www2.macleans.ca/2010/10/18/raising-our-boys

We are criticized for not caring and not doing anything so finally we pulled together and decided that we aren't going to be talked down to anymore, and all you can do is make fun of us? Patronize us? What does combed hair have to do with anything? The people in the videos are just regular, normal people who want to make a difference. We aren't selling you with sex or celebrities - is that what you want? What would you have to say if you had only heard the videos and not seen them? You are jumping to so many illogical conclusions and it doesn't make any sense. Do you actually think that "hipsters" would do all this work just to be cool? What is wrong with you? Seriously?

Typical of the older generation, you fear the loss of control. No matter who you support, conservative or otherwise, you should be proud that youth are finally standing up for themselves, it shouldn't matter what they look like. Rock the Vote is an unsuccessful campaign because they still seem to be out of touch with the younger generation; it's founder, Jeff Ayeroff, is 64 years old. Get a bunch of bands and famous people to tell us to vote? This campaign is genius because it's not just telling us what to do, it's telling us why and it's 100% from our peers; it's not Ryan Gosling telling us to vote. It is informing us in a way that is easily accessible and relevant to our lifestyle. And you may not like it but that's too bad because the world is changing.

I'm a 29 year old female, university educated and with a successful career and yet I have been paying off my student loans for the last 7 years, making any further advances in life next to impossible. The older generations have made it very, very hard to become established in society nowadays - it's not the same as when the baby boomer generation was twenty-something and that's exactly why we need to get the right people in office who see this.

We are a lot smarter than we are given credit for. This whole debate feels like that time in your life when your parents have a hard time accepting that you're an "adult" and not a teenager anymore.

You've belittled us, made fun of us, disrespected us, and most of all, you've underestimated us. Time to wake up because we aren't going anywhere.

I Spy With My Little Eye