SLC 2k17

Okay, what do you want me to say this time?

I’ve done four of these, and I know that there are certain things I am expected to say. I’m supposed to talk about things I could improve, and things I’m doing well at. I’m supposed to tell you my goals and how I am going to go about achieving them. I can’t do that again because it wouldn’t be real, but I can’t defend myself because I know I can be better. I know that I technically could do better. That’s something that goes for everything.

The difference is that part of me can’t do any better. I don’t know how to describe it, but I can try really hard and still fail really badly and a lot of the time it seems like I’m the only person that happens to. Everybody I know seems to have so much talent and intelligence that they always just know what to do to succeed and I’m just not there. Which sucks.
If I’m being honest, I feel like I’m the only person I know who can try my hardest and still fail. Statistically, I know that’s obviously stupid and cannot be true, but to me, it seems like when anyone else tries really hard, they always do well. That doesn’t always happen for me. Sometimes it feels like the only solution to this is to

This song actually really represents my feelings a lot of the time, especially the line “it’s not really failure if you’re not even trying”, because although a lot of the stuff I do is like, fine, that’s all it ever seems to be. It’s especially discouraging when I try really hard on something and it still doesn’t show. It’s discouraging when all I can say about my work is that I handed in it.

I don’t want it to sound like I’m defending myself, because I’m really not. I think that if I slept less and stayed home more that I might start making stuff that was better, but I’m worried that if I did that I would sacrifice my happiness because I need sleep. I think I tend to get sick when I don’t get as much of it. Except I don’t know what to do at this point because all of a sudden my grades matter and I know that they’re not good enough, and all of a sudden I have to care about my grades. I’ve always said that grades won’t define my life but all of a sudden it feels like they will, which I think is stupid. I think they shouldn’t. And the fact that I have to stress myself out over these numbers and then pay people to learn the things I’m actually interested in makes me equally angry and terrified.

So I’m at a crossroad here. I would sell my soul if I was able to get good grades and still take regular naps, but I don’t think that’s possible anymore. Which sucks, but I think that I can do it. I worked at a place that caused me emotional stress for two years because I cared about being a good employee and I needed to prove to myself I could do it. If I could do that, I can do this.

I can do this. So I’ll set some goals. Whatever. There are some goals I have that I think will actually improve my work a lot without being weird and deep personal goals.

I want to get better at video editing. I’ve found that this is something that is holding me back by an insane amount. I can put my heart and soul into something and still not have it look as good as some people in this class spending half an hour on stuff. I also always manage to somehow screw up my video projects in multiple ways simply because I don’t have the technical skills. I know that it kind of looks like I’m not trying very hard on these things because they really do look half-assed, but it’s really just that I am lacking the skills needed to make them look good. It’s a huge knowledge gap for me that I’ve realized isn’t going to come naturally. Because I know that it will actually help, a lot, it’s something that I am willing to commit more time to.

I want to have better ideas, and be more creative. It seems to me like part of the reason that my work is never very great is that it’s not interesting or funny and it doesn’t always have personality. Of course, I find this hard to do because I don’t find all of the same stuff funny as a lot of my classmates. I have a lot of different opinions on what’s good and what’s not, but since everybody else’s seems to always work better, maybe I should stop trusting my instincts.

I hope that wasn’t too depressing. Soz.

OUR ULTIMATE BRO, THE NETHERLANDS

I literally had no idea that Canada was friends with the Netherlands. It turns out, though, we are. And for pretty good reason. They helped us out quite a bit during WWII, with housing their royal family and liberating them from German rule in 1945. Due to that, we have developed a very good relationship with the Dutch. It’s easy to see why we have a such a good relationship with each other due to just that information alone. We even have a special work visa program for youth in both countries.

Because of all of this, I was curious about how exactly we helped out the country before and after we freed them from the Germans. The actual steps I found that were necessary for rehabilitating a country were lengthy and detailed.

First of all, we had to fight.

It’s no secret that over 7,000 Canadian lives were lost while liberating the Netherlands. Though many of the stories told of the Canadians coming in with big tanks, rolling into towns and saving them, that’s just the happy part of the story. There were thousands of lives lost before we could get to that point. A good example of this kind of fighting would be The Battle of the Scheldt. This was a task that was left mainly to the Canadians to accomplish, and we fought whole-heartedly for five weeks to chase the Germans away. In this battle, we lost over 12 thousand allied men, with over half of those men being Canadian soldiers. This battle, and other smaller ones like it, were incredibly important on the road to rehabilitating The Netherlands.

Although we didn’t go straight from those rough battles to heading in and freeing the people. After we won battles, we had to hold the land. It was months before we could say that the Germans weren’t just going to turn around and start fighting to get back into the area. We had to show that we weren’t going to forget how dangerous this was was just because we were starting to win, we kept our ground, cautious as ever. This was extremely important in ensuring the safety of ourselves and the civilians of those areas.

As soon as we decided to take action, the rest of it went by very quickly. We moved forward as quickly as possible and secured Northeastern Europe. As soon as we had done that, we had the land, and we were on our way to liberating the people and driving the Germans out.

This is when we finally began driving into towns and taking over. Although, this didn’t happen all at once. It was slow, it was steady, and it was still tough. But we were doing it, and that was what was making all the difference. This article has videos of Canadian Soldiers sharing their experiences with coming into the Netherlands. For years afterward, we would work with the Netherlands to help rebuild their communities, and they would honour us by burying our soldiers on their land and caring for their graves. To this day, the military graveyards are kept. This is a respect that could not be described in any other way than their actions.

It takes a lot to fight in a war, and even more to win one. Luckily, these countries that were directly affected had countries that were not come and help them, on the basis of human decency. These acts of kindness make the world go round and build mutual respect in countries that might otherwise not have a lot in common.

And to that, I saulte…uh..us all?

 

A High School Sargent

Throughout my entire childhood, I have been reminded of World War II. When you’re a child, you tend to think that these wars happened a lot longer ago than they did. In my mind, World War II has always been a lifetime ago. The soldiers that died in that war didn’t have any weight in my mind until recently. I was, for the longest time, under the impression that war no longer existed anywhere near my life. I didn’t realize that soldiers death’s affected me at all. I understood the weight of the holocaust long before I understood the weight of our own soldiers. I never thought about how in the time of wars past, putting your life on the line was often something that was expected of you, not a personal choice. War affects me, and it affects all of us. Every single soldier’s life or death shapes our country, and it shapes our world. I never thought about it. I think about it now as we enter a state of unrest, all across the globe. It’s easy to think  you are safe, and you are in a bubble that cannot be touched. Now, we are all forced to think about the realities of war, and how it was possible and real. And people before us bravely experienced it. I am aware that at least two of my great-grandfathers were in the second world war. If one of them were to have died in combat instead of the thousands of men and women who did, I could have never been born. I am affected by every soldier, and so is every single one of us. With that being said, I want to recognize that the soldier I cover in this post, I hold to the upmost respect. I do not mean to put words in the mouth of a soldier, but use this assignment as educational experience where I do my best to understand life in those times.

With that out of the way, I am going to tell you about Norman Andrews Ash.

Norman was born in Edmonton, Alberta on June 2nd, 1922. At the time of his enlistment, he was 18 years old and living in Peace River, Alberta. He had two younger brothers, and one older sister. He had just graduated from high school. He was an athlete, doing exceptionally well in hockey and skiing, but had tried nearly every sport under the sun. He was a leader at his local church. Norman was highly regarded by the figures of authority in his life, saying he had “initiative and an unusual ability in leadership”. He got good grades in school, and enjoyed photography. He also loved model airplanes, which is perhaps what got him interested in becoming a pilot in the war.

In the forces, he was well liked by his peers. Norman was said to be “very popular with everyone on the squadron”. Although some reports called him “slightly irresponsible”, his superiors seemed to like him as well. I’d like to think that was linked to how young he was. By the time he would die in a night flying practicing incident in England, he was 20 years old. In his personal affects sent back home, included was a camera, photo album, and book of poems. He was said to be confident, likeable, and from what I can see pretty well-rounded.

I’ve tried my best to bring Norman to light in the fake letter I have written to his family from him. This is Norman Ash, from my perspective.

Dear Father,

Thank you for your last letter. It’s good to know that everyone is doing well. I wish I could be home to see Sidney Jr. graduate from school. I am so happy to hear that he is going off the university. I am sure whatever he decides to do, he will do it well. He has always been smarter than I am, even though I am two years older than him.

Learning to fly is just as exciting as I thought it would be. I always imagined flying an airplane, and here I am, really doing it! I feel like a bird up in the air, like nobody can stop me. I must admit that I am but an average pilot, though I am doing quite well. My superiors seem to like me, and are surprisingly patient when I make a mistake. Which isn’t very often, don’t worry about that.

I am getting along well with my entire squadron. Everyone seem stop like me here. I wasn’t sure if anyone was going to take me seriously, though there are lots of guys my age out here. I was especially worried about the older men, but they seem to all respect us for enlisting in the first place. I didn’t expect things to go so well for me, but I feel confident and at ease. I’m sure if I keep that demeanour I will come back home without a scratch.

In this letter, I am enclosed one of the photographs I have taken with my bullet camera of some men doing repair work on some planes. Please give everyone my regards.

Your son,

Norman

 

RUM, FORREST, RUM!!

This week we finally started to go over whatever happened after WWI finally ended. The 1920’s were defined by a few things, but most of them were sad and not very interesting, so I’m just going to ignore most of it and be happy that I wasn’t alive in that pathetic time period (I can say this because nobody who remembers the 1920s knows how to use a computer).

Canada sucked pretty badly back then. In the whole lesson, I only found one interesting thing about us. We profited from American prohibition in a YUGE way.

Two years ago, in the summer of 2015, I went to Washington DC. When I went to the National Museum of Archives, there was an entire exhibit about prohibition. I spent a lot of time in that exhibit because I found it pretty interesting. However, I don’t remember it ever mentioning Canada’s part in their prohibition. So when I found out how big a part Canada had in America having alcohol in the 1920s and 30s, I was pretty impressed with us. I was also slightly annoyed that America tends to erase our history, but I don’t have time to be pissed off about that right now.

The point is, Canadians had a huge part in helping our Yankee neighbors attain alcohol when it was illegal in the United States. This was called “rum-running“, and it was pretty much exactly what it sounds like. They ran….booze. Across the border. It was one of the only good ways to make money after the stock market crashed in 1929, although people still did it much earlier than that. The biggest output for this was in Windsor, Ontario. It’s the southmost city in Canada and had actually been smuggling alcohol into the US since 1916, as that’s when it’s neighbours in Michigan got their booze taken away. They invented a culture of smuggling that would be followed across Canada as more and more places started to band alcohol.

When you ban things, people get better at hiding them. The black market for booze was complex, and had its own set of rules. If someone came into a speakeasy declaring “Joe sent them”, that meant they brought you the goods. Quietly, they would unload a truck full of liquid into your building, you would pay them the money, and everyone would be on their merry way.

Okay- maybe it wasn’t that simple. But that was essentially how it would go. It most likely wasn’t nearly as monitored as we would have thought. If you think about it, it may be even less monitored than marijuana has been nowadays (or, up until very recently). It can be hard to get even a little bit of drugs across the borders, and in the 1920s and 30s, hundreds of people were bringing truckloads of illegal alcohol across the borders, and most people didn’t get caught. You can boil that down to lack of technology or stupidity as they didn’t check people at the border as much back then, but it also shows that prohibition was only a huge deal because a majority of the population drank alcohol. The people fighting against it were in the minority, and they still are, which is why we laugh at posters like these:

But take very seriously posters like these (again, lesser in the past few years):

There may have been less problems rum-running because there weren’t too many people opposing it. Chances are, the guy running the post at the border would head to the speakeasy as soon as his shift was over. If the American people looked the other way, and the Canadian government looked the other way, it made for a very easy arrangement on both sides. That’s how this whole situation would be able to work. It’s something that we could never accomplish today because of screens and everything, but without the screens, it’s pretty easy to get past the big guy when you’re all on the same side.

Anyways, while I was busy researching this, I found out something even more interesting. Well, to me. Eh, maybe to other people as well, we’ll see.

I found out that my great-grandfather WAS rum-runner! He was also a cowboy, professional hockey player, fought in WWI, and built a ferry or something. I think when I was talking to my grandfather about this he also mentioned something about an ice-cream truck, but I honestly cannot be certain.

Speaking of, I did phone my grandfather after my mom told me about this, and he gave me some information on what he knows about what his dad did.

This all happened before my grandfather was born. From approx. 1931 to 1933, my great-grandfather Bill McKinley had a job as a truck driver, and part of what he did was run alcohol down to the United States from Alberta. He took a lot of other stuff places as well, but the rum running was very much there. He did this during the off-season of hockey, which he played professionally for a team located in Edmonton. However, the pay wasn’t very good. Luckily, one of the deals of being on the hockey team was that they arranged jobs for players during the off-season. Although my grandfather can’t know for sure, he’s pretty convinced that this truck driver job was what was arranged for his father. He did it for so long wearing long boot up to his knees that he actually stopped growing hair under his knees. That’s the story, anyways.

My grandfather isn’t sure whether or not his dad took the booze all the way down to the speakeasies or just passed them off to someone else for that part. In fact, my grandfather didn’t have a lot of information past the fact that he did this job and that he was a “badass”.

Though my mom did have some pictures of him.

Here’s Bill McKinley when he was in uniform for when he was in the military. This would be around 1940 I’m guessing? I’m pretty sure he was in the Air Force due to the wings.

Also, his eyes creep me out.

Here he is as an older man, carrying my mom on his shoulders. This would be around 1973. He died in 1986. I think he was about 70-something when he passed away.

Here he is with my grandfather, Martin McKinley, at the ocean or a lake or something. This would be approx. 1940. I also can’t help but notice the cigarette in his mouth, and I am happy that it is no longer socially acceptable to smoke near your child’s head.

I’m pretty certain this is my grandfather with my newborn mother. If that is the case, this would be in October 1971.

Here he is again with his wife, Norma McKinley. They were together their whole lives. Of course, you couldn’t really divorce people easily until the 1970s that’s no suprise.

The RAWRIN’ XD Twenties

On December 14th,  our class transformed the gym into 5 different time periods, and it actually went….well?

I still can’t believe we managed to pull this off. None of us even really started THINKING about it until 10 days before the date. I 100% expected us to bomb hard, but somehow, every single group pulled it together (then again, usually at least most of us pull it together). Although, that doesn’t mean it went perfectly. At least twice I forgot one of my lines and just shouted “NO!” in its place. That’s okay though, it worked.

The groups were split like this:

  1. Pre-WWI Canada
  2. The Trenches (1916)
  3. Conscription Crisis (1917)
  4. Post-WWI Canada (1920’s)
  5. The Depression (1930’s)

I was part of the 1920’s group, along with Chloe, Maria, Luciano, and Michael S. At first, we figured that there was a clear path cut out for us. The 20’s were great! There was no war, and people listened to jazz, and started watching movies, and uhh… flappers? Are flappers softcore strippers?

We knew nothing about the 1920’s. We didn’t actually get taught about the 20’s and 30’s  like we were the war and pre-war time stuff. We’re actually finally going over the 20’s and 30’s now (Woohoo for having a headstart!). So pretty much, the first thing we had to do was spend a few days arguing over what the most important parts of the 1920’s were. We eventually settled on (white) women earning the right to vote, racism (just like, in general), workers rights/unions, and the economy beginning to suck. This way, we were able to lay out our path and write our script pretty easily.

We would start in a voting station (ironically enough we were already in a modern voting station: a public school gym) for the 1921 election, and a white woman (Chloe) would be there and talk to people about women voting and the stance of the country. People would vote. Then an aboriginal soldier (Maria) would try and vote and a powerful white dude (Michael) would throw her out. She would bring people out to the “street” where I would rally everyone together and they would join my worker’s strike. Michael would show up again and break up the strike. Finally, a busker with a sax (Luciano) would talk to the people about how bad things are getting. That leads us right into the depression.

Although, by the time we had the script done, we had like 2 days left to pull it all together.

Luckily we seemed to be the group that needed the least actual props. We were able to get the school voting stations and box that we use for our school-wide fake elections we have whenever there’s a real election. We put up a divider, some signs about the parties, a potted plant, BAM we’re done.

It was all good until we realized our outside wasn’t going to really look like outside at all. We actually ended up dumping dirt on the floor to fix this problem in the end, but before the day of the exhibition, we created a backdrop that had houses and trees and a sky and stuff to show that we were in fact, outside. The houses even had cute little signs out front supporting the candidates for the election!! Just like nowadays!! Except back then neither of the candidates was a moldy orange!

Sorry. I shouldn’t be talking about our downstairs neighbours right now.

When we were working on it in the hall, people walking by kept on asking if it was for Santa’s Breakfast, which I don’t get. Unless the elves were really supportive of William Lyon Mackenzie King.

Anyways, the day of we basically just had to put everything together and then memorize our scripts (luckily not too hard). I think we managed to pull it off pretty well.

Except the gym was freezing cold and I lost my voice from shouting all night. I got super sick the day after. I. Am. Still. Sick. 24 DAYS LATER!!!!!

So, on a personal level, this exhibition was not a success.

Here’s some photo’s from my part of the exhibition, and below you can watch our 4-minute presentation:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ueWKBtdHXR0&feature=youtu.be

BREAKING NEWS: Halifax got ANNIHILATED in 1917

I didn’t think anything interesting ever happened in Nova Scotia. Like, it’s one of those provinces (50% of the provinces) that I mostly forget exists because nothing has ever happened there that seemed interesting. Also, the world revolves around me and where’s I live which is Vancouver so Vancouver is obviously the most important Canadian city.

Well, I must have been wrong because holy crudshack did Halifax get crazy in 1917. Things really BLEW UP there. Heh.

No, but like 2000 people died it was pretty bad. And 2000 people dying is like, a HUGE deal back then. If I heard an explosion caused 2000 deaths today I would probably just be like “another awful day in 2016”. Unless it was in Canada because as I said before, I live in Canada and the world revolves around me.

I don’t really want to just regurgitate information to you, so if you’re interested in all the exact details of what happened with the Halifax explosion. Here are a few links:

Also here’s a song someone wrote about it:

For our assignment, we had to work in groups to create a news report about what happened in Halifax that day. Since my group was just me and Matthew, we did a breaking news report. We didn’t have a whole bunch of people so we weren’t able to a newsroom-esque video.

https://youtu.be/HkhzVwNS_zM

 

 

A Canadian Solider in Europe

One of our assingments this week was to create a te a journal entry from someone who fought in World War One. At first, I wanted to try and find someone related to me, but that turned out to be a no go, as my mom didn’t know and my dad just started talking  about the Boher war as if I would have no idea what it was and pretending it was a lot more interesting than it actually is.

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So then it came time to find a solider of my own, so I scowered Canada’s war memorial sites for a good solid man with lots of information. It was really difficult to find a good one, and it actually took a couple of days to do. Eventually, I found George Ashton. I was able to look at his birth and baptism records along with his registration forms for the military.

He didn’t have a very exciting story from when he wa sin the war that I could see, so I decided to use what I knew about him to write a journal entry from before the war began.

I knew his parents names, that they were farmers, that George was a baker, and that they lived in Warden, Quebec. There were a couple things I took creative license with, like the fact that I really didn’t have any confirmation that he had siblings. I just kind of assumed that farmers from the 1800’s would have more than one kid…

Anyways, I hope this is readable, cause I put it on fancy paper.

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The Ultimate Holiday Playlist

I will not be making a November/December playlist because since November began I’ve only been listening to Christmas music. November is when Christmas starts, tbh.

I will post my Ultimate Holiday Playlist, though I’m not going through every song because there’s like 50, and holiday music is pretty self-explanatory. I will add the one song that is missing, though, because it is not on Spotify. I;m not even Jewish, but this is probably one of the only good things that Adam Sandler has ever done.

Here’s the actual playlist: