Der’s gonna be trouble in JMac’s session today, I know it. Maro, look what he turned in to Jo: Ill Communication
These days, everyone is up in arms over decisions made by the CRTC regarding Canadian content. However, there is a much larger issue at stake here, namely access to the very infrastructures over which Canadian content is transmitted. Generally, people seem to feel that more competition can only be a good thing for the Canadian consumer. According to major telecommunications companies like Telus, opening up the Canadian marketplace will result in better services at lower rates. However, it’s likely that the average Canadian consumer will end up paying more for a basic level of service.
The former monopoly telecommunications companies no longer have an interest in maintaining a basic level of service for individual consumers. When these companies compete for marketshare in a particular location, they do so by offering an initially low rate that does not last for the duration of the contract that a consumer must sign in order to receive service. This is bad enough in cities that can support a variety of options for telecommunications services. The consumer must be vigilant and read the fine print whenever a contract is signed, all the while remaining aware of the fact that the company with whom the contract is being signed will not have the consumer’s best interests at heart. In the end, a city-dweller could simply refuse to sign-up for any internet or phone connection. Living and working in a city without these services certainly isn’t fun, but it probably won’t endanger your life. When it comes to the great number of sparsely populated communities that make up Canada, it’s not safe to live and work without telecommunications. In fact, it’s pretty risky to live in isolation without immediate contact with other members of one’s community. There are many small communities in Canada that have yet to receive the capacity to serve cell phones; but this will change in May of 2008 when Canadian wireless spectrum will again be auctioned-off. These are isolated areas, where people have greater need for cell phones than those who live in cities. Originally, these areas were serviced by the former monopoly companies who ran landline telecommunications in Canada on behalf of Canadian citizens. It used to be the case that any Canadian who wanted phone service could have it by paying a fee that was in keeping with the cost of living at the time. The infrastructure of this system of telecommunication was sponsored by the Canadian government because it was in the best interest of the average, tax-paying citizen. Times have certainly changed, but for isolated communities throughout Canada telecommunications are still akin to an essential service.
It might seem as though today’s fast-paced technological developments would create potential for new modes of telecommunication, however, most of the technology being developed is already owned by the largest corporations in Canadian telecommunications. The Canadian Association of Voice Over IP Providers is a not-for-profit group formed in 2005 by voice over IP providers who felt they needed a means to lobby for their concerns with the telecommunications industry. Leslie Bester, a CAVP board member, maintains that VOIP could not exist without access to competition networks. “Somehow, someone feels that it is possible to build the same infrastructure and compete, trenching fiber, conduits and building a parallel network... It’s simply impossible.” He believes that because it is dominated by a only a few carriers “there is effectively no competition in the wireless arena in Canada”. Even if an up-and-coming new wireless company manages to do well against Canada’s big three (Bell, Rogers, and Telus), chances are that one of these corporations will buy that company out. One example of this occurrence is Fido. Somehow Microcell Connexions, Inc. was able to launch Fido in 1996. They had won a bid for wireless spectrum in the auction that took place in 1995. Yet, by 2002 Microcell was struggling. Andre Tremblay, then President and Chief Executive Officer of Microcell Telecommunications cited “the currently unfavourable market conditions in the wireless telecommunications and mobile internet sector” as the reason for discontinuing its efforts to externally market a new mobile commerce platform. This decision resulted in the elimination of 18 positions in their Montreal office, including the Chief Operating Officer of the project. By 2003, Microcell was filing for bankruptcy protection and by 2004 they had accepted an offer from Rogers Communications for $1.4-billion. Another example of this occurence is Clearnet Communications. Telus chose not to fight for wireless spectrum in the auction of 1995. Instead, they waited and watched while Clearnet Communications, another company that had won a wireless spectrum bid, slowly went under. As the year 2000 rolled in, Telus took control of Clearnet Communications for $6.6-billion. Granted, this was the largest deal in the history of Canadian telecommunications, which might have been wonderful for the people of Clearnet Communications but not so great for the Canadian consumer. At the time of the merger, Clearnet had the maximum amount of bandwidth allowed by Ottawa. Now, Telus has more wireless spectrum allocated to them than any other wireless company in Canada. And they want more.


Everyone knows dat shit was written by C. Gibson, way back at de beginnin o’de millenium, fer fuck’sake. Does JMac think we’re idiots? Maybe he’s tryin to tell us somethin. What de fuck is he doin? Plus, his evaluation is comin up. Time to find out whether he ready to mix wid real society yet. Maybe da’s why he actin up. Alright, den. Lets find JMac an do some sorta simulation, already. This issue is pertinent to nonconditioning paradigms in which awareness of experimental contingencies is measured.
“But at that point it was concluded that the crime itself could only have been committed in a state of some temporary disturbance of the mind, as it were, under the influence of some dangerous monomania...”
“If I may interrupt you for a moment, I’d like to tell you more about the awareness measure used in JMac’s, uh sorry, #060997’s case.”
“You have the floor, now, Dr. X.”
“This awareness measure is directed toward a different set of hypotheses, one other than what was originally recorded.”
“You mean you changed the scope of this particular experiment?”
“It has more to do with the subject’s knowledge of what behavioral outcome is predicted. Here, let me just show you this’imulation. I think you’ll get a better understanding of what I’m trying to explain.”



To learn more about your opportunities and career choices the Townsend College of Counsellor Training invites you to attend an Information Session on available courses and programs.

Counselling Career Aptitude Assessment
Confidentiality: Because the field of cousellor training and practice involves personal qualities needed by the applicant, a proper assessment of individual potential requires an exploration of areas related to the personal life experiences of the applicant. The information provided on this form is kept strictly confidential and is used only for admission and advising purposes for the applicant.

Submit this completed assessment to reception at your earliest convenience.
1. Discuss the statement: “Everyone can benefit from counselling.”


“This is fuckin bullshit, man. Why do I gotta even think about this shit?”
“Well, JMac, I dunno what else to say to you. Want an entry level position?”
“You know what that sounds like to me, man?”
“Yeah, I know, but we gotta start you off somewhere. You gotta have goals. Whether you like it or not, you gotta have goals.”
“You mean, I gotta have gaols.”
“Wha?”
Where did’at fuckin vocabulary come from? JMac been playin a lotta Scrabulous lately or what? Or, could be dis ain JMac at all. Better turn on de Turing test. Ha ha ha.
“Listen, JMac. At least one or two members o’de panel (especially de psychologists) are gonna be askin you dese kinda questions. If you were actually to admit de possibility dat you were at fault... You need to acknowledge de part dat you play in dis whole process, JMac. For your own good.”
“Good? What does any of you mothafuckers know about good!”
His levels are shootin outta control. He’s gonna get reprimanded if he don’t watch it. Certainly SEEMS like JMac.
“I’m fuckin public property, man! They don’t care about MY good.”
“Speakin as a person who is also public property, I can tell you dat dey care very much about YOUR good. If you self-destruct, or take someone else down wid you somehow, den they’ll lose der investment. It’s as simple as dat JMac. Everyone wants you healthy. We ain’t an SB clinic.”
At least, as far as I know we ain’t.

“It was in A Dorm. I was beginnin to sharpen my senses to a very fine point. I taught myself to sleep soundly. But I can wake up totally alert if anyone comes within a metre of my bed. I can sense stares when my back is turned. And I know never to sleep with my bedding tucked in.”
Well, dis definitely sounds like JMac.
“So, dis all before you came to Townsend, right? In one o’dem SB facilities down south?”
“Yeah.”
“I think you should tell dis’hit to de committee when you meet wid’em, y’know? Jus’tell’em like it is. Don’t hold back.”
“When I went into highschool the fuckin guidance counselor steered me. He said,
‘You’re industrial arts.’ Y’know, latex shops, synthetic binding, makin boxes, glass, all o’that fuckin toxic shit.”
“Yeah, I know.”
“The whole point was you were assigned to that because you were disposable. Nobody cared what happened to me, like ever, man. So how am I s’posed to care? I don’t even need to be alive until twenty-five. What’s the point? All the good shit’s over by then, if there was ever any in the first place.”
“JMac, I can’t really give you a good reason to stay alive. In and of itself, that’s just the thing: there is no good reason to live. That’s the absurdity of it all. I do know that if you were to die, I would miss you -”
“Yeah, but you’re just a-”
“Shutup, man. I’m tryna tell you somethin. The only thing that makes life worth living is the people around you.”
“Yeah, but they’re all shit.”
“Who you callin shit?”
“You know what I mean.”
“Oh, so I ain’t a real person. Is dat it?”
“When the committee asks me about the riot, I say nothing. You say, ‘Why?’ I say, ‘Why bother?’”
Dis kid gettin as bad as Randt wid’e goddam movie quotes. I wonder if even he knows where he gets dem from.
“JMac dis’erious, man. Dis meetin can change yer life. Don’t you wanna go somewhere OUT of Townsend one day?”

“Yeah, I know. After the interview, send a thankyou note, etc., etc.”
After the interview, send a Thank-You Note. When you call back say, “I have now met with many people in the industry and have now targeted some companies I would like to work for. I was very impressed with your organization so I wanted to let you know I am very interested in your company and would like the opportunity to work there. Is it okay if I forward my resume to you? (only if you have not yet given it to them). If you know of any position for which I might be qualified will you please let me know? I will keep in touch and let you know how it is going?”
After your initial follow up call, call back in two or three weeks and say: “I just wanted to let you know I am still open to work for your company and wanted to check in with you to see if you had any leads or heard of anything coming up.”

Keep accurate records of each call and what was said.

Remember that these contacts may be useful even when you are working so make sure you maintain the relationship you have developed with them by staying in touch. Lastly... follow up, follow up, follow up!!!
“It sounds to me, JMac, dat you gotta start somewhere, eh?”
“An entry level position? You know what that sounds like to me? To me, it sounds like pushin a fuckin broom around for the next 20 fuckin years, man.”
“I know what you’re scared of -”
“SCARED? Scared? I’ve been turning upside down. SCARED? There are guys in the Field who done a lot of reading on these kinda jobs. You know, like, there’s running a lathe, and it’s gonna take an hour to go from here to there with the cutting tool. My dad used to read on that kinda job. I remember when me an my dad would wander down to the rocks along Lake Michigan. We’d talk the whole night - about baseball, about family, about his union. So, when he got me my first job it was in the South plant machine shop. The guys called it ‘Happy Valley’ because compared to places like the blast furnace, it was a pretty great place to work. Real fuckin work, man.”
Where de fuck is he gettin dis’hit from? His dad. Oh well, one cliche deserves another.
“A workin class hero is somethin to be.”
“Most of the time, people are hardly ever doing the tasks assigned to them in their job description. It’s like those things take up a fragment of their day and they just spend the rest of their time wanking-off, or figuring out how to climb up the ladder to their next promotion. And then because...”
This session is goin downhill fast. Wait. What’s that? Jo is openin the door to Kretschmar’s office.
“Shhshshh, JMac. Be quiet for a second, ok? I gotta listen.”
The man behind the mask is underneath the fan now.
“LISTEN? You gotta LISTEN? You supposed to be listenin to me, man!”
“I want to listen to someone other dan you for a minute, ok? Gawd, JMac, sometimes you’re so self-centered.”
“What the fuck, man? This is MY fuckin session!”
“Shhhshhh!”

Jo is inside Kretschmar's office. Why?
"Hey there, Dr. Kretschmar?"
"Hmm?"
She barely looks up from her paperwork.
"I was uh, wondering, do you think that you could, like turn Dr. X down or something?"
Kretschmar looks up, confusion on her face.
"What do you mean, turn her down? Is there something wrong?"
"Well, it's just that, well. She seems kinda hyper lately, almost, y'know, like manic or something."
"Hmmm. I'll look into it. Monitor her behaviour over the next week and get back to me. I'll see what I can do."
"Ok. Thanks. See ya later."
Kretschmar's already gone back to her paperwork.

Prin tried living on her own once, for a whole summer. In fact, I got to bear witness to this attempt because it was me wid whom she shared a place. Dis where d’irony is. You gotta know what Pane an Pinch is really like in order to appreciate it. When I first moved into da neighbourhood... Actually, da’s how me an Prin met. Both of us got into Dork U. And we both needed a roommate. So, we enlisted online and each other is what we found. Together we went out in search of an apartment.

So mosta d'houses we looked at were pretty run-down. Der was one place where once d'agent (‘cuz de landlord couldn be bothered to show us de place hisself, of course) had finished givin us de tour an accompanyin spiel we happened upon de tenants o’d'apartment below ours. Dey were comin down de stairs de same time as us. Dey musta recognized d’agent-guy or somethin ‘cause when dey saw us comin dey stopped on de landin an waited for us. Den dey started bawlin out d’agent cuz dey couldn believe de landlord was showin de place when it was practically fallin apart. Chunks o’der ceilin were fallin down into der bathtub. But dese were d’only kindsa places dat I could afford. I had to be saving up for med school, yo. Prin stuck wid me cuz she felt like me and her would make good roommates, and’at was one thing dat she wanted to be able to count on. Eventually we found a place an got all our shit moved right into d’heart o’de Pain and Pinch neighbourhood cuz da’s pretty much what surrounds Dork U. In some ways i’s good cuz i’s like exposin a lotta bourgeois suburbanites (like Prin) to shit dat dey wouldn’t normally experience. On d’other hand... De very next week after we got ourselves moved in d’apartment above ours got all busted up, not only were dey robbed but all der windows were smashed an all de shit dat wasn stolen got fuct up an ruined somehow by de robbers. Later on me ‘n Prin actually discovered dat de robbers had gotten into our place somehow, dey jus hadn gotten around to takin anythin dat was o’much value. But das another story. I was worried dat our neighbours might be a bit suspicious of us because we had no idea dat de whole ting had happened. You know, like, why didn we hear all dat shit gettin busted upstairs an what-not. But we all were talkin about it an it turned out dat me ‘n Prin were out shakin our asses til late de nite dat it happened, so we weren’t around to hear a thing. Anyway, just a week after dat whole thing happened, Prin got mugged at knifepoint.

See, how it went down was Prin was carryin a video camera dat she got from de media library at school. De media centre der does everythin dey can to keep dis sorta ting from happenin. Dey put stickers on d’outside o’de cases for d’equipment dat say, “Biohazard”, “Toxic Chemicals”, etc., but I guess maybe some crooks done figured mosta dat shit out by now. So, here’s Prin carryin a video camera in a case dat advertises rotten chemicals, and all of a sudden she hears some guy walkin behind her and his pace is increasin. She thinks dat he’s jus goin to pass her by, but instead he grabs her roun de neck an holds a knife to her face. He says real close up in her ear dat if she don hand over de case he’s gonna fuckin slit her throat. She drops de case. He jus kinda laughs, still in her ear. He says, “Now lets see what else you can give me.” At which point a car comes ‘roun de corner wid headlights bright to illuminate de scene. De fuckin shitass coward thief grabs de case an takes off. De car wasn goin so fast, an it stops an’ a man jumps out to see what de hell is goin on. Prin is standin frozen in de spot where she was accosted. She can’t speak, she can’t get any sound to come out at all. Dis man is tryin to communicate wid her. He’s tryin to piece together what happened, but she’s all in shock. Der’s a spot on her neck where a little bit o’blood is comin out now, a spot where de coward fuckhead thief was holdin his stupid knife.
Prin drops to the ground. This freaks the man out, and he tries to pick her up, but as soon as he touches her she screams an just runs into dese trees dat are nearby. She keeps runnin an’ runnin til she finds a spot under a bush where she hides an sits an tries to compose herself for bout an hour. Den eventually she gets up again an runs de rest o’de way home. She stays up de rest o’de nite sittin on de couch cross-legged watchin some jesus infomercials on de christian channel. Dis is where I find her de next mornin, an man, she’s a fuckin mess. I’m tryin to tell her dat she needs to inform de cops an whatnot an she’s all like, what fuckin good is dat gonna do. She wants to kill dat fuckin creep. She wans to get a vigilante crew together an take down his ass herself.
“Yeah, ok. We can do dat but, maybe first to make it look all official we should at least tell de media centre what happened an dey’ll help us fill out a police report an’ stuff.”
“Ok, but you don’t understand. If we do that they’ll know that I’m out to catch his ass an then they’ll be on to me an’ then they’ll try to stop me or somethin.”
“Hmmm... But maybe dey could help somehow.”
“No way. I’s gotta be me an I’m gonna get Jess and Lisa Tai... YOU know how tough Lisa Tai is. And Olivia, an Christine.”

“Oh my gawed.”
We stop and stare at one another.
“We could get Christine and all of her freakin sisters together, y’know how incredible that would be. They’re practically like a gang in and of themselves.”
She definitely had a point there. I was beginning to understand her position, though I had noticed dat she had yet to mention de names of any men. But I didn’t wanna press it at dis point cuz I didn’t know how she was gonna react to me questioning her on somethin like dat.
“You an I both know that the legal system don’t do shit anymore. It’s my duty as a good, tax-payin citizen o’this city to take matters into my own hands. We gotta make sure that this don’t happen again. Hey, ya wanna join us?”
She’s got my arm in her grip an the grip is gettin tighter as she speaks. She’s lookin me straight in d’eye an what I see in her face scares me to death. I’s like der’s a demon comin outta her. Her face has been taken over by somethin completely beyond her.

“Now, to understand what had me so frightened you gotta know a bit about Prin...”
Jo is looking at me kinda strangely. Had’is look for mosta my narrative.
“What’s wrong?”
“You’re really taking this memory shit to heart, aren’t you?”
“Well, i’s my job to...”
“Yeah, but X, I think you’re taking some of this a little too personally. YOU know that these aren’t YOUR memories, right?”
“What? Yeah, of course. Of course I know dat. What’dya think I am... What?”
...
“Well, I should be goin anyway. Maro’s calling me. I done stayed here too long anyway. Talkin yer ear off an shit.”
“That’s why I’m here.”
“Yeah, and I appreciate it, Jo. I really do. I’ll see ya later.”
Granted I didn know Prin too well at dat point, but still de little I did know was enough to tell me dat she might have gone over d’edge there. Why does Jo hafta be such a prick sometimes. Ha, oh dat was good. Funny. Gawd, not my memories. Fuck. Maro, pull up dat fuckin email. You know d’one. I’ve looked at it like 1000 times. Yeah, da’s de shit.

August 16
I have included the list of things that I can remember that I have, I probably have more in terms of stuff for the kitchen but as you can see I do not have alot of furniture. Perhaps we can go shopping after we’ve moved in if we need more.
Anyway.
I am not a big television watcher, but I am addicted to movies. I saw Super Cop with Jackie Chan and Michelle Khan last night, it was awesome. I am really impartial in musical taste - the only music I can’t stand to listen to is Phish. In terms of my living habits - my bedrooms are notoriously trashed - mostly with clothing or books - I love books. You mentioned that you were a fan of the ‘stacking’ cleaning technique - I am also. I am much better at keeping the other areas of the house clean (as opposed to my bedroom). I love to cook - I love food basically - especially food from other cultures.
I was really excited when I saw that your favourite tv show is Northern Exposure - mine is too. I also can’t believe you love water - I do too. Every time I get near water it ends up all over me or me in it.
I can’t think of much else. I think (I hope) that I’ll be pretty easy to live with, but at any time if you have any problem with anything that I do please tell me - I’ll do the same.
The first person to move into the apartment needs to call the landlady and tell her what day we need the keys by (and ask her where to get the keys, also).
Anyway, I’ll see you soon. Sincerely, Prin (that’s my nickname, in case you were wondering)

Maro, let me get yer opinion on something.

Ok, dis vigilante madness stuff was not yer normal Prin behaviour. She’s from dis suburb way d’hell north o’de city, an accordin to her she’s always been a bit of a weirdo. One o’de first courses she took here was English lit. or some shit. So, she had to write dis essay about how she ended up at Dork U. She wrote dis really cool piece. She gave me a copy of it to read over for her an everythin. I think I even have a copy somewhere. Yeah, yeah, da’s it. In my opinion, i’s kinda shitty writing, but who am I, Dostoevsky?

Justifiably an ARTIST
I come from a small town. People in small towns tend to view life rather simply. Judgments are made without hesitation and without much thought of the consequences that ensue. Judging people according to their surface appearance keeps life simple. Things that can be placed in a defined category are easily sized-up and filed away in some corner of the mind.
When it comes to choosing a profession in a small town there is one rule and one rule only: You are what you do. Heaven forbid anyone have the audacity to change his or her profession midway through life, thereby forcing the alteration
of a community’s perceptions regarding that person. Small town citizens will be damned if they'll give up their convenient definitions of what a person is or isn't. Thus when it came time for me to choose a profession I discovered that according to my outward appearance and mannerisms I had very little choice indeed.
From an early age on it was apparent that I was to become something peculiar. One sign of this peculiarity was unmistakable: more often than not I would be off "in my own little world". Being a dreamer and having little desire to verbally communicate the dreams I indulged in led to ridicule from my peers. Once cast aside from the games of the playground, my only solace was the security I found in independence. This independent attitude led to further isolation from my small town community. I became suspicious of anyone accepted by the society with which I had become familiar. Furthermore, having virtually no friends made me withdrawn and moody.
A virtual recluse at age 11, I would sometimes catch snippets of conversations concerning "what was to become of" me. One that all the overheard descriptions of me included was "artist's temperament". This phrase germinated and took root when I began to exhibit interest in various areas of the fine arts. It was at this point that I suddenly realized my options for the future had without my knowledge or consent, been limited.
My aptitudes in math and science were of little significance to teachers who had me pegged as one of those "creative types". When I began highschool and shared with our guidance counselor my ambition to enter into the field of medicine he, while making little effort to hide his shock and dismay, suggested that I aim for something more in line with my obvious proclivities. He hinted that trespassers in fields like that of medicine were shot on sight. The "types" of fields to which he was referring were those of a no-nonsense, serious nature (i.e., science, business, etc.). Social deviants were not encouraged to immerse themselves in studies that would land them in positions of power within the community (i.e., Who would have any respect for a doctor dressed like some sort of circus performer?). Instead, my guidance counselor steered me towards a career in an area that was a little closer to what he assumed were my tastes: the fine arts.
Of course I was angry. Flagrant discrimination on the basis of appearance and social behavior seemed like a burning injustice to my adolescent mind. From that point on I walked around with a chip on my shoulder and preoccupied myself with thoughts of proving everyone wrong. This earned me the reputation of a scatter-brained, absent-minded girl with a bad temper. Lacking the wherewithal to verbally express my anger, I took to using visual media to express myself. I painted, drew and sculpted my opinions of those around me, thereby fulfilling the artist’s stereotype completely. I did not conform. I did not fit in. I was angry with my peers and society at large. I did not communicate in a normal fashion. I looked like an artist, and now I had truly come to behave like one.
I will admit to you that I am the embodiment of my small town's concept of an artist. On the surface I am prone to moodiness and impulsive behavior. I express myself using unconventional means. Furthermore I may seem flighty, immature and unreliable. This is the persona that has been shaped for me and I can offer no excuses for it other than the circumstances in which I was brought up. It may seem as though I ended up in the fine arts by default, that art is the only salvation left for a social deviant such as myself.
The persona created for me by my environment may fit me like a glove but, in the end it is my choice to don such a glove. I choose whether or not to embrace this destiny. Should I choose to accept this destiny, I will be in a position to portray my impressions of all other professions. It is the artist more than any other professional, who has the opportunity to draw upon all the resources that human civilization has to offer. When the language, the currency, and the members of any given culture have died, their art will still live on. So, be careful about what you say to me. It may just be kept for posterity’s sake.