I’ve taken a position with the Ontario Ministry of Health and Long-Term Care as a communications project manager. Many of my previous comms and marketing work has been government adjacent, including my health-care clients at Bright Blue Wave and a whole season on Stornoway’s #FAQMP. I’m looking forward to applying that experience at the source.
Steel Rails is Kitchener-Waterloo’s super secret culture festival on a train. This year, I’ll be on-site, telling stories under the Raconteurs banner. Join me on June 24th for food and art and probably a lot of weird stuff things that you won’t know how you feel about until the next day.
“That Time I…” posts are true stories that am I retiring from my social repertoire. To honour them, I am committing them to text for the first time. Read stories about sound torture, abortion, my awesome tattoo, and the infamous Tragic Hand Button.
I awoke at one o’clock in the morning with a sharp and intense pain in my abdomen. Guessing that I had food poisoning, I sat on the toilet for a while expecting something to come out of either end. Nothing did. But I had dealt with this kind of thing before and, in my experience, it operates on its own schedule. I went back to bed to wait for instructions from my body.
“That Time I…” posts are true stories that am I retiring from my social repertoire. To honour them, I am committing them to text for the first time. Read stories about abortion, my awesome tattoo, and the infamous Tragic Hand Button.
The first time I noticed the song was playing, I didn’t hear it, I felt it. My bedroom floor began to rumble so I took off my headphones to determine the cause. I didn’t recognize the song blasting from the apartment below me – some aggressively bassy, chugging black metal – so I shrugged and put my headphones back on. I wasn’t phased. After all, it was the middle of the day and my downstairs neighbor hadn’t made a peep since I moved in. He was entitled to some noise-making. An hour later, as I left my room, his music was still going. I thought to myself, ‘Man, this music sucks. It all sounds the same.’
“That Time I…” posts are true stories that am I retiring from my social repertoire. To honour them, I am committing them to text for the first time. Read stories about sound torture, my awesome tattoo, and the infamous Tragic Hand Button.
As I drove down a forested back road, I kept an eye out for moose lurking near the treeline. John promised that he was not exaggerating. He said that a moose is a mountain on legs and there were many of them in northern New Brunswick. If my car collided with one, the mountain would crush me to death and then get up and walk away. So yes, I was being diligent but the local wildlife was not the concern foremost on my mind. I was really worried about meeting John’s mother.
“That Time I…” posts are true stories that am I retiring from my social repertoire. To honour them, I am committing them to text for the first time. Read stories about sound torture, abortion, and the infamous Tragic Hand Button.
My friend Matt quietly sipped his coffee while I talked about my character-building adventures in Europe. I told him about walking through St. Peter’s just after the death of John Paul. I told him about the Lutheran Bible I bought in Berlin and the perpetual bookfair that takes place on the site where Nazis burned them. I also told him about an idea I had, but didn’t follow though on, to have a freckle tattooed on my arm. His response to all of that was, “Let’s do it right now. My friend works in a tattoo parlour on Yonge Street.”
“That Time I…” posts are true stories that am I retiring from my social repertoire. To honour them, I am committing them to text for the first time. Read stories about sound torture, abortion, and my awesome tattoo.
I graduated university with a degree in Theatre. When I considered, after the fact, what this qualified me to do, I didn’t think about moving to Los Angeles or writing the great Canadian screenplay. I thought that maybe – just maybe – this qualified me to be an usher.
Working against me was the fact that I had not taken a single course called Intro To Never Saying Anything Offensive or Being Nice To Old People, 1990 – Present. However, I would absolutely be able to deliver if a patron needed clarification on the proper definition of dramatic irony (the boring kind of irony). A posh downtown theatre agreed and gave me the job.
I have started a new job. As of June 2nd, I am an online editor at Zoomer Media. My responsibilities will include updating and publishing digital content for the company’s four television stations and social media platforms. I will be researching and writing original articles, reviews and synopses to complement the stations’ programming. I am also looking forward to getting involved in ideacity, the annual ideas conference that attracts thinkers, writers, and scientists from all over the world.
A while back, Dorkshelf.com published a little internet review show I created called Fan V Fan. Designing a simple aesthetic was a fun challenge and I’d like to share my thought process..
Two nights ago I had a dream. In that dream I was sitting at a table brainstorming something that I knew only in concept as The Thanksgiving Burger.
I woke up and fell back to sleep several times that night. Each time, I found myself back at the table, working on the burger. I struggled with the analogy: Do I make stuffing and put it on the burger? Do I make the bun out of potato? How would this be accomplished!?
But now I know. Here it is, The Thanksgiving Burger brought to life.
Stuffing = Thyme and rosemary grilled buns
Roast Turkey = Ground turkey patty
Mashed potato = Potato hashbrown
Cranberry sauce = Cranberry mayo