Attitude, communication, and human relations are the key to surviving in the ever-changing world of advertising. This course helps you prepare for workplace success by providing practical expectations and useful tools to make a successful transition from school to workplace. The course discusses self-management, workplace politics and etiquette, building relationships, and tools for the future.

To date, the students have covered all the basics such as resumes and interviewing skills. Now the professor has reached out to the community and a number of guest speakers have given their time.

I’m billed as a “freelancer.” While only a small portion of these students may be interested in pursuing a writing-related career in advertising, many may consider working freelance now or in the future. The idea of bringing in guests is to simply expose students to as many different career paths as possible so that they can be aware of the multitude of options, as well as to provide a safe space for asking questions of people already in the workforce.

So, my question to you is: if you were to start over again in the workforce, what would you like to know now that you didn’t know then? What valuable tips do you have that I can share? Lessons learned the hard way? Any “reality check” issues that I should bring up?

Your help is really appreciated! Thanks.

Me: So, Stella. Anything in particular you want to get up to on March Break?

Stella: Yes. I want to smash a toilet!

Me: [blank stare]

Hubby: I told her I’d make it happen.

Me: [more blank staring]

Stella: Yeah, it’s going to be great!

I entered everyone’s name into random.org to come up with a winner’s name (and no, Kaitlin, you weren’t too late!) and the winner is: STEPHAN.

Congrats! I am sure you’ll have a wonderful night out. I will be in touch with you directly to organize the details.

If you are still planning on attending the show:  Matinees are price-reduced and if you buy tickets to the show on Tuesday, March 16th, $20 of your ticket fee will go to Haiti Relief.

Check out this review of blood.claat in the Ottawa Citizen.
This is a follow-on post; the first post can be read here.

The two types of parties still shared some commonalities — no parents, underage drinking and police showing up. The last item on the list being why the location of the bush party was to be a secret, passed by word of mouth on to friends. (Imagine how twitter has changed the world of teenage parties?!)

Last night, I feel like I stumbled upon the adult version of a bush party.

At about 4:40 in the afternoon, we headed out on the same trail I told you about here to have a cross-country ski outing. And in case this post makes you think that I’ve magically overturned years of winter hate in one season, such is not my life. Although I went out, I went out grudgingly.

As we started the ski, the sun was setting. It was beautiful and the outline of the trees against the shadow of the lake was a peaceful sight. But I couldn’t concentrate long enough to feel peaceful. My right knee was aching (old rugby injury), my neck was stiff (old car accident injury) and my dear daughter did not stop talking the entire time. It’s not that she was being annoying, it’s just that, for me the feeling of peace generally comes with quiet instead of knock-knock jokes. 

We finally did reach the turn-off for the Shilly Shally. But instead, we decided to have our Saturday-night meal at a cabin called Keogan. The stars were out, but the path there was still dark.

Keogan cabin, Gatineau Park

We arrive to see that we are not alone here in the forest. Stacks of skiis and snow-shoes were outside. And through the windows, we could see candle-light and hear laughter.

As we enter, I see rows of wooden tables and smiles and cheer all around. On the tables were no peanut-butter and jam sandwiches, but fondue pots of cheese and chocolate, beautiful fresh breads and bottles of wine.  In the middle of a dark forest, a Saturday night bush party!

We unpacked our goodies and enjoyed a delicious picnic that hubby had packed, complete with red wine that’d been stowed in a Sigg bottle. The kids were in heaven. And so was I.

Catching a quiet moment (despite the non-stop movement of my toddler in the corner of the shot!)

So, dear friends:  Bush party at Keogan! shhh… pass it on ….

In today’s Travel Section, I have two articles for your morning coffee:

#1: What a woman wants: how hotels can cater better to women business travellers and a list of hotels going all out to do so. Women entrepreneurs interviewed for this piece are Penelope Trunk of Brazen Careerist, Kelly Fallis of The Remote Sylist, and Ottawa’s own Annie Crombie of Re-Think Strategic Consulting.

#2. Five worth the drive for a March Break getaway: If you haven’t organized anything for March Break, fear not, it’s not too late. Here are five ideas for you that are easy to get to and offer lots of fun for the whole family. You’ll probably recognize some of the places immediately because I’ve blogged about visiting them recently (tried, tested and true!)

This is a cycle that’s fairly common in Jamaica, according to a 2006 Unicef report:

Approximately 20% of births are given by adolescents. In other words a child gives birth to a child in one out of 5 births. Had all teenage pregnancies been brought to terms the rate would be even higher.

This is attributable to a number of factors including high rate of forced sex, transactional sex, low rate of contraceptive use, early sexual initiation, and poor access to information and skills on safe and responsible sex.

A birth by a child puts two children at risk, as teenage pregnancy often leads to complication in pregnancy and delivery, lack of care and support for the newborn, and too often exclusion from educational and professional opportunities for the young mother.

About one-third (32.8 percent) of women experiencing pregnancy between the ages of 15 and 24 years first conceived while still in school and only 34 percent of adolescent mothers return to school after giving birth (up from 16 percent in 1993) (Friedman 1999).

Once they leave school, they are not prepared for parenting, and poverty often pushes young mothers into transactional sexual relationships with multiple partners to obtain the resources necessary to support their children and themselves. This further increases the mother’s vulnerability to exploitation and domestic violence, as well as child abuse.

Have things changed since this report was published? Has any progress been made in breaking this destructive cycle? I don’t have the answer to that.

And no easy answer is presented in blood.claat either,  a play which opened at the Great Canadian Theatre Company (GCTC) this week. I saw this play last night*. And now, reeling through my head, are the layers upon layers of symbolism and blood metaphors and cycles of both celebration and scorn.

But it’s only now that I’m thinking about all of these things. Because last night, during the performance, I was far too captivated by the actor and her awe-inspiring story-telling.

d’by.young anitafrika single-handedly plays the roles of the main character Mudgu SanKofa, a 15 year-old in Kingston, Jamaica, as well as her cleanliness-obsessed granny, a machete-wielding stranger, her reggae-playing boyfriend and church-lovin’ auntie. In a split-second, you literally see this woman transform from one character to another before your eyes. With no props, wearing just a simple white cotton dress – she makes us believe. As the audience, we can’t help but listen to her story.

And that’s what the unique format of this production is all about — storytelling. Everyone knows a story is only as good as its teller. And you won’t want to miss this teller.

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blood.claat is playing from March 2-21 @ Ottawa’s GCTC theatre. Tickets are $42/adult, $32/senior/student. Matinee prices are $33/adult.

*Disclosure: I was given two free tickets to the show by GCTC  (monetary value of $84). Then I asked for two more tickets so that one of my blog readers could go too (also a monetary value of $84) — thank you GCTC!

*****************

YOUR CHANCE TO TAKE-IN SOME OF OTTAWA’S THEATRE! To win free tickets, simply:

1. Be sure you’re available to attend! In Ottawa, during one of the show times.

2. Leave a comment. (No real name required & the only person who will know your email address is me.)

3. I’ll do a random draw from all the comments on Monday morning at 9am (March 8).

I don’t ever remember a time when I did not feel proud to be a Canadian. It’s similar in fierceness to the pride I’ve always felt for my family. It runs right to the core.

I drink my Double-double’s at Timmys, I buy my backpack from MEC and I bite my nails to the quick when Canada’s hockey team is in the Olympic finals. But these are just outward expressions of pride. They are not actually the things I am proud of.

What I’m actually proud of is Canada’s long-standing history as a peace-keeping nation, the enormous natural beauty found in each of our provinces, the multi-cultures that fill our streets and the respect granted for all human rights.

But Minister Kenney, you stepped on my Canadian pride when you stripped gay rights from the guides that Canada provides to its new immigrants. Gay rights cannot be taken for granted; gay rights need to be in this guide. In dozens of countries around the world, homosexuality is illegal. So criminal, in fact, that some countries enact the death penalty.

Don’t you think that a newcomer to Canada would like to know that Canada is a forerunner in the protection of gay rights? That homosexuality was decriminalized in 1969. That the Charter of Rights and Freedoms forbids discrimination based on sexual orientation. That same-sex marriage was legalized nationally in 2005.

Kind of important information, don’t you think? That here, in our country, it is not acceptable to discriminate based on race, gender, age, national origin, religion OR sexual orientation. Immigrants need to know their rights and the rights of their fellow citizens. It’s pretty basic, I would think.

And I would also think that without this information, the $400,000 spent on this guide will be a waste. Because if a guide to a new country doesn’t tell you what your basic human rights are, then it’s not much of a guide.

I’m not so much as disappointed about this arguably shameful waste of taxpayer money as I am disappointed that you stepped on my Canadian pride.

Sincerely,

Julie Harrison

She grieved. And then her grieving turned into a guilt-inducing campaign for a new puppy [...more!]

It certainly seemed a lofty goal for a book-worm gal like me, but hey, I put it out there in writing on my blog and while I don’t mind being a private wimp, I don’t like being a public wimp. So off we went to Lake Placid this weekend!

I’d had the weekend booked with the grandparents for months but somehow it crept up on me. Friday was a whirlwind of work and packing and lugging stuff over to Nan and Grampy’s (if you’re a parent, you know how much stuff I’m talking! A truck-full … seriously … play pen, high chair, toys, diapers, bottles, blankets and even bedtime music — by the time we were done, our house was half-empty!). I started to think we might not ever leave. But we managed to set out before dark.

I had never been to Lake Placid before, so I was finally going to see this place where hubby spends so much time. It was clear from the moment we arrived, that I too would start spending a lot of time there as well! Oh, the place is like a magical postcard – an enormous snow-covered lake, surrounded by majestic mountains for as far you can see.

Now, unlike hubby and his mates who stay in a lean-to on a mountain side, I had booked us into a hotel. As soon as we got there,  I got right into my jammies because I was so excited to lounge on the enormous bed and watch a movie on the flat screen television with a good red wine in hand. And so we did just that. Except that I fell asleep within the first 15 minutes with half a glass of wine still in hand.

The next morning was the day to do the deed. I was going to hike Cascade Mountain, which is described on the Adirondack Mountain Hiking site as follows: 

One of the most popular summits of the Adirondacks with Algonquin Peak and Giant Mt.. It’s the easiest hike among the 4,000 feet summit. Cascade Mt. has a 360 degree view from its large rocky top. There is a magnificent view to the North of the entire Lake Placid Valley. The entire hike is in a wooden trail except for the last km, which is on bare rock.

Did you notice it was the “easiest”? Yeah, me too. I was counting on that. Hubby told me that this is a hike that he and his friends do on the Sunday morning before they come home because it can be done before lunch. I really hoped that I could get it done before dark.

I needed no new gear, just a pair of borrowed snowshoes and poles. I had never used snowshoes before, but they are a pretty darn amazing invention really. They allow you to walk in spots where you never normally could. To get right in amongst the fluffy snow and trees. It made me feel like a kid again. So much so that I couldn’t resist eating some snow and staring up under the canopy of the pine trees like a sheltered winter rabbit.

My worries about being cold were needless. Here, I've already removed my hat and one of my layers.

Once you start moving, you really get warmed up. Also, because the trees are so thick, you are completely protected from the wind.  This is what the trip was like for most of the two and half hours it took to climb to the top. Just trees and snow, trees and snow. A real winter wonderland.

As you get to the top though, you get above the tree line and the wind starts to whip. Despite the wind, I was so happy to see the trees disappear because that meant we were almost at the peak.

Arriving to the mountain's tree-line signaled that the peak was close

I was looking forward to a glory shot of me on the peak of the mountain — amazing view in the background — arms raised in victory. But instead, I got this.

The not-quite "glory shot"

That’s right — no view. The clouds were so thick at the top that we couldn’t see anything. Bit of a bummer. But you know what? I enjoyed it so much that I am going to come back another time and get that view — if it kills me!

And in the meantime, this is my glory shot. Standing at the top of my very first mountain.

The actual "glory shot," with victory in a smile

Then I promptly hiked my ass down that mountain and sat in my hotel room’s jacuzzi and read a trashy magazine.

The end.

Although I find myself unable to believe in a God or the church, my husband is a strong believer and we have decided to raise our children in the Catholic faith. Despite my ambivalence about this decision, it has given me a number of opportunities for reflective thought on important topics. Like forgiveness.

I’m not so good at forgetting, but I have learned the value of forgiveness and try to offer it whenever it is asked. I’m also not so good at being perfect, and as a result spend quite a bit of time kicking myself over my mistakes. It is much easier for me to forgive others than to forgive myself. (Do you find that too?)

This week I made a mistake. It was a mistake because my words hurt someone. It was inadvertent on my part. But with some basic forethought, I could have avoided the whole situation. I’ve made my apology and received its acceptance. But still. I’m kicking myself.

All this brings me to this video. It was shown at my daughter’s reconcillation and I had never seen it before. Not only does it make me miss my dog, who passes away last year, but it also makes me miss that faith I had as a child that God existed.

Regardless of your own beliefs, I think you’ll enjoy this beautiful little video by Wendy Francisco.

Not only does it sound dippy and stereotypical, but it’s not true. Sure, I’m no math genius. But I’m also not completely inept either. In fact, I’d hazard a guess to say that I’m just as competent with numbers as most of the men I work with. Yet, I have never — ever — heard a man say, “I’m so bad at math!” It just seems more acceptable for women to make this kind of proclamation, like it’s a key into the girls’ club.

Vermond’s column in the Chatelaine’s March issue makes this thought-provoking comparison:

Maybe you’ve been out for dinner with friends and someone at the table passes the restaurant bill off, saying, “I hope I’m leaving the right amount. I can’t do numbers!” And here’s what happens next: The other women laugh and admit to their own arithmetic atrophy.

Now imagine the same group of friends looking over their menus and someone saying, “I’m such a poor reader. Honestly, if you were to put a book in front of me, I wouldn’t be able to get past the first sentence! Will you help me order?”

As they say, arithmetic and reading are basic skills. So why would I consider it acceptable to publicly pronounce that I’m hopeless at one of them? But I have. And it never really bothered me.

Until I had a daughter.

Now, it’s a whole new world. What I say, she may model. If I say that my butt is too big, she will think that a normal size woman’s butt is too big. I don’t want her to absorb this distorted perception. Or worse, apply it to herself. So since she has been born, I try to be sooo careful with what I say around body image. I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to fully transform my own perceptions built over 38 years and layered with a decade of ballet. So I fake it.

And I do the same with math. As the expression goes, “Fake it till you make it.” And so far, so good. Just yesterday afternoon, Stella wanted me to play a card game she had created. It involved subtracting numbers until a player ended up at zero. For grade 2, it was fairly heady stuff. But it didn’t even occur to her that she should feel less capable at math than at reading. When she struggled with an answer, I didn’t dare mention that I was struggling too. I simply provided her with a tip on how to get to the right number. I was faking the confidence. But she didn’t know. On the next turn, she got the answer correct using my tip, and I could hear her exclaim under her breath, “Yeah! I’m good at this.” Oh, my heart smiled.

I may never make it. But I’m going to keep faking it.

Did I ask her permission if I can quote her on my blog? No. Why would I? It was a Twitter post — publicly available for anyone’s consumption.

Why is Dani feeling indignant? Because a 2008 Canadian Master of Arts thesis examined eight Canadian “mommybloggers” and she was one of them. Or perhaps she is feeling indignant because she does not like to be referred to as a “mommyblogger” and would prefer the more generic title of “blogger”? Or wait, maybe I got that wrong. Maybe she is feeling indignant because she feels she is a “mommyblogger” but disagrees with the student’s definition of “mommyblogger.” No, actually, I think she is feeling indignant because her blog was not featured as prominently as the others in the thesis. Scratch that. The real reason she is feeling indignant is because the student examined her life as an academic subject. No, that’s not even it. I can make a more accurate explanation of her indignation now because this morning her blog says that the paper makes “egregious assumptions and inferences about [the bloggers'] income, their marriages, and their children, among other things.”  

And as I hope I’ve shown in the above paragraph, not only is material in a public space available for anyone’s consumption, but it’s also available for anyone’s interpretation.

Of course, this is all fine and easy for me to look at objectively because I am not the person whose blog posts have been analysed. But to even say that I can be objective is probably pushing it. Dani’s blog was the first blog I ever started reading. I’ve been following her life — or at least how it appears via blog posts — for years. It’s safe to say that I’ve been a lurker, a supportive commentor and even a “snarker” (a term the thesis uses to describe those who don’t agree with the blogger and post comments as such). It’s also safe to say that even though this is not Dani in “real life,” I have become attached to the person writing the posts and her family. I can vividly remember sobbing by myself in front of the computer after reading her post that stated simply “It’s over.” My heart stopped. I knew in an instant what that meant — that the pregnancy that she was so excited for had ended in miscarriage. (I was not the only one saddenly by this news. 130 comments were received on this post.)

Which probably brings us closer to the real reason for Dani’s indignation — that her personal details and posts are viewed through the lens of another. But as Susan, a commentor on today’s post notes: “you don’t control the narrative.” As a student myself, I analyzed a group of women’s memoirs. I never contacted any of the others to ask if my assumptions about their life were correct. Why? Because it doesn’t matter — I was an academic, not a journalist. I was intrepreting text as a reader, and as such, the only proof you need is what can be found in the text itself. That’s the narrartive. That’s the way it works.

And you know what? If I was a student today, I could see myself selecting this very topic. I think blogging is fascinating. I think it’s an emerging form of communication that is still under definition — and thus, academic discussion. Instead of viewing her blog’s inclusion as a point of honour, Dani feels “violated” and ”offended.” 

Dani has a right to her feelings of course, but I have yet to see how this student has taken any ethical misteps. And instead of explaining this to me, Dani says, “my first impulse was to include her name along with a long list of accusations of ethical wrong-doings.” But she doesn’t. This was a let-down because (a) she does include a link to the student’s paper so she has in fact already publicly named her, and (b) she has already accused her of ethical wrong-doing, so she might as well back-up the accusations with explanation.

And you know what? I’m going to tell her that I’d like to read her accusations of ethical wrong-doing. Why? Because unlike an academic thesis which aims solely to analyze, we bloggers like to move from analysis into engagement. In this regard, blogs are a new, exciting and constantly evolving form of communication.

Finally, Dani, to answer your question — yes –  as a reader of your blog, I do think you should feel flattered that your writing has garnered this kind of attention. But as a person who now knows you in “real life” and considers you a friend, I’ll buy the red wine so that we can drown out that distaste of feeling like a “bug on a microscope slide.”

Edited to add: I’m including below, for anyone further interested in this subject, the links to posts that have now been written by bloggers featured in the thesis:

Postcards from the Mothership: In which the internet finally freaks her out once and for all
Cheaty Monkey ”Me.” the Subject of a Master’s Thesis …?
Hypergraffiti Creepy Thesis?

Edited to add: Here are further links on this same subject.

Media Souffle: Blogging & Ethics, the so-called “creepy thesis” (An academic examination of the ethics)
Postcards from the Mothership: The Creepy Thesis Hangover (Dani’s after-thoughts)
The Remainder Table: #creepythesis (the author of thesis states her awareness over the reaction)
The Remainder Table: Someone is wrong on the internet (a follow-up paper?)

So much so that when K.D. Lang launched into crooning her melancholy lyrics:

Your faith was strong but you needed proof
You saw her bathing on the roof
Her beauty and the moonlight overthrew you
She tied you
To a kitchen chair
She broke your throne, and she cut your hair
And from your lips she drew the Hallelujah

Stella broke out in frustrated, over-tired tears: “MORE singing?!! Why are they doing more singing! Isn’t this a sporting event!”

Technical errors can happen to even the most well-planned event, but meticulously planning to bore the world with a series of extended songs by artists most people don’t recognize is inexcusable. (Oh, and scaring them to death with the demonic, over-tatooed fiddlers – that was a special touch.)

By the time poor, embarrassed Gretzy finished the lightening ceremony, I don’t think I was alone in sighing my own Hallelujah!

For these reasons alone, I thought that this training program might feel like a vacation for me. But only now is it sinking in that this is not how it’s going to play out. We were “released” at 8 pm tonight. And tomorrow? Midnight. I asked if this was a typo. I mean, let’s be clear: I don’t even stay up until midnight on New Year’s Eve! Is this a joke? Apparently not. (Thankfully there is caffeine a-plenty here.)

As for the sleeping … well, I can hear the woman in the hotel room next door sawing logs. Not just that regular kind of snoring that you can eventually tune out like white noise. Rather, a sort of intermittant loud snorting that sounds like a large dog is sleeping on the rug beside my bed. But the worse part of trying to sleep in my fit-for-a-queen bed is that I don’t have my hubby to share it with. It’s a darn big bed.

The final topping on my “vacation” cake? There’s an exam on the last day.  Wow, I missed that on the fine print.

No cake-walk here. So, on that note — nighty-nighty!