Caffeinated Post-modernistic Journalism

Saint John New Brunswick has one local daily newspaper: The Saint John Telegraph Journal. It is arguably the best local daily newspaper in this city. Arguably…

It is like a high school newsletter, posing as a reputable paper. Either that or it is an avante garde daily on the cutting edge of post-modernistic journalism. Only time will tell.

Everyone here overlooks the TJ's bad grammar and prodigious use of fun-eh-tick spelling. They are bad though, even compared to other newspapers, never mind the actual English Language. What is bizarre however, is what passes for a story with them.

We all know that a big snowstorm means a slow news day, so we understand the use of a few pictures of people shovelling out from mounds of snow. But do I really need a two paragraph mini-essay on the shovel style and shovelling technique employed by this random stranger?

Last week city council commissioned a study to examine the issue of water usage, including recommendations for and against the use of water meters. In an effort to gain the kind of credibility only enjoyed by FOX News the Journal created a debate from thin air. They dug up little old ladies who expressed fear of eviction if their water bill skyrockets because of metering. How much water can a little old lady use unless it’s for a sub-terrainean hydroponic joy garden? That might have happened on the West coast, but people in the East favour beer. Perhaps the old gal is running a micro-brewery After Hours Club in her shed.

The mayor has stated that he has no comment on the issue until the report is tabled with its recommendations. Until then, there is nothing to discuss.

Somehow, this has been turned into “The Mayor will not discuss or refute the assertion that he doesn’t know the first thing about the water meter issue”. I suppose he also won’t refute rumours that the whole project will be paid for by selling access to our ancient underground tunnel network to international drug smugglers. (Wrong Coast again, sorry…)

Meanwhile, their "what can you do" styled stories about the region's biggest polluter typically accuse government regulators of being heavy handed toward the well-intentioned, environmentally friendly management of the refinery. The fact that the same family owns the refinery and the newspaper is merely a coincidence. Everyone has had some sort of bad experience with government, so we can all relate (as we cough and wheeze).

But it seems that today’s paper set the new standard. The banner headline of the Business Section heralds the arrival of one of the region’s most anticipated annual economic events. It announced in bold print that this Monday marks the beginning of Tim Horton’s Roll Up The Rim To Win contest. I only hope to win a free coffee or a Boston Cream (always good to bring home a little something for the Missus). I don't want to win the truck. I can't afford to insure a second vehicle in this province.

Meanwhile, I’ll have a medium-black-one-sugar, with a double cup, and a honey-dipped. To go.

The Art of Flattery

Imitation is the highest form of flattery.

This is such a widely familiar axiom that I can’t find one person who can tell me where it originated. I checked. I asked everyone at the Tim Horton’s the other day. Still, it rings true, and our own children are often the best purveyors of such high praise.

It happens all the time around here. Just the other day I called my 3 year old daughter for lunch. She flattered me greatly (but not until the third time I called her) when she stomped into the kitchen, frowning, and said: “ok, ok, ok, ok, ok, I’m coming, just give me two seconds, oh-KAY?” It was heart warming. She later paid tribute to both her mother and I. She took her toy broom and swept the kitchen, just like she’s seen us both do every Tuesday or so. Then she put the broom back in the closet and flattered Mommy by telling me that “some people put things away when they finish”.

Now, Evelyn is only 10 months old. Her imitations are more subtle, but equally as flattering. I just wish she’d stop flattering her Papa by blowing raspberries while I’m feeding her apple sauce. Thankfully, her sister wasn’t in the room to “flatter” me by repeating what I said. It was neither flattering to the apple sauce, nor her grandfather.

Instead, she popped up a few minutes later, and asked for a bite of the cookie I was eating. I grumbled something about it being “just a Daddy snack”. She persisted with a sweeping flattery of her parents, grandparents and Aunties by staring me down and stating “well, you know it’s good to share. You could share it with me, couldn’t you Daddy?”

I poured the milk, while she shared the rest of my cookie.

My Introductory Post

In late 2003, when we found out my wife was expecting our second child we made the decision to relocate. We’d had enough of life in the Vancouver/Lower Mainland area and had spent considerable time researching, reviewing and selecting a destination.

We decided to move to the Maritimes, where my wife was born and raised. We also decided that we would job hunt in a few cities at once to see what came up. Carolyn won the race, and was offered a job in her home town of Saint John. So in May 2004 we packed up the two kids – Bridget was 2 and Evelyn was 2 months old, and we had a one week house hunting trip. A whirlwind excursion where we viewed 17 houses in 4 days and left with a deal in hand, the house we now live in. We returned to Burnaby to wrap things up at home and work, and began packing for our July 1st move. After some initial settling in, Carolyn began work in September, and I applied to use the remainder of her Parental Leave.

That was the beginning of my tour of duty as a stay home father.

Recently, during yet another viewing of Barnie, it occurred to me that while the girls were occupied with the brain candy, I could be doing something much more useful with my time. However, I quickly rejected the idea as being unreasonable, and decided to start a web log instead. I promise I will try to keep my tales amusing, and will try to avoid rambling in such detail that will inspire hate mail. (Present rambling notwithstanding). With a 3 year old and a 10 month old keeping me busy, I can’t predict how often I will update this site, but it sure beats doing more dishes.

Here then, are my adventures as a stay home Dad, and other tales of my new life on the East Coast.

Rick