Employment Insurance Reforms help no one

So King Stephen is gutting Employment Insurance. Surprise, surprise. Another slap in the face for maritimers who make their living working at seasonal jobs. Phooey on him! At least we’re a resiliant bunch and I’m quite sure we’ll survive. Let’s face it, we made it through the collapse of the cod fishery, The CN shops closure in Moncton and everything else that’s been tossed at us. We’ll get through this as well. It looks like we have no choice. Repeat users of EI are going to be “forced” to go to work at jobs that pay less than they normally make. It’s pure genius!

For one thing, no one will work at seasonal jobs anymore. Example, if an employee works for six months at a peat moss plant, then gets laid off, they will have no choice but to find another job. No employer is going to hire them if they state on their application that they will be quitting as soon as the Peat Moss Plant re-opens, so they’ll have no choice but to give up their seasonal job. The employees will find year round work in the cities and either commute or move. Problem solved. Or is it?

My concern will be what happens to the employers who own these

disgruntled fish plant worker

businesses that only operate seasonally. Fish canneries, Fishermen, peat moss plants, farms etc. These are just a few that employ thousands of people in the maritime provinces. So what will they do when they aren’t able to hire any locals anymore? Simple, they’ll just import workers from other countries. Oh wait a minute. That’s what the Harper government is complaining about. They think it’s unacceptable that businesses should import foreigners to do jobs in communities where there are people who are collecting EI.

Let me spell this out so you brain-dead feds can understand

disgruntled peat moss employee

something. If jobs at McDonalds and Burger King paid more than minimum wage, you wouldn’t be importing foreign workers. They can afford to come here because they don’t pay property taxes and mortgages. Not to mention ten bucks an hour looks like a fortune compared to the wages they get in their own country. Meanwhile, a person collecting the top EI benefit (that they paid into) can make more than that staying home. Do you need a degree in rocket science to put this together? Who wants to go to work slinging fries for less money than they make collecting EI? No one I can think of.

To sum things up, seasonal businesses will now be hiring foreign workers who will no doubt go back home once the season is over and spend their money there, while the seasonal workers from Canada who’ve been kicked off EI will have to work for a smaller wages and have less disposable income. Great thinking King Stephen! The few bucks you save on EI payments will look like a drop in the bucket once you start bailing out businesses that fail due to lack of skilled help. And how bout the restaurants and bars that’ll close when people can’t afford to go to them? Will you be bailing them out too? Whoever came up with the quote “if it ain’t broke, don’t fix it” sure doesn’t have anything to do with federal politics.

Commando Trout Fishing

When you have a problem, it’s best to talk to someone who knows the answer. So that’s what I did. For those of you who read my blog religiously, you know the problem I speak of. I’d been outsmarted on my last fishing trip by a school of brook trout. An aquatic college that had been educated in the dangers of ingesting rubberized hors d’oeuvres. If these finned einsteins were capable of laughing, no doubt they were having a great chuckle at my expense. With my ears still burning, I sought out the only person I knew in the area capable of retaliating against this gilled gestapo, my father.

After talking to him I learned that I was the problem. No surprise there really. According to my Dad, (who’s name makes most fish shudder in terror, so I’ll just call him Dad in case any are reading this) I needed to hide or blend in with scenery if I was going to be successful fishing a beaver dam. This led to a whole multitude of problems. I’d seen lots of people wearing camoflauge and was in no mood to start wearing it myself. As a matter of fact I’d made fun of it on lots of occasions. Whenever I saw burly hunters heading into the bush decked to the hilt in various shades of forest colours, I would wonder if a moose could wear a sofa and big screen tv sweater and sneak into a house unnoticed.

Now it looked like I would have to get disguised. But there was no way I was shelling out a bunch of dough on camoflauge duds. I’d have to improvise. At first I contemplated dressing in brown pants, green shirt and a green hat complete with branches stuck in it so I’d look like a tree. I soon realized that was a horrible idea. There were beavers in the area, what if one of them decided to have me for lunch and bit my leg? Ouch! Of course a moving tree would never fool a beaver. Then again I suppose it wouldn’t fool the fish either, unless they thought there was an earthquake which would probably kill their appetite. This was getting more complicated by the minute.

Finally, I decided on dark clothing and made my way to the combat zone. I carried my fishing rod like an ak-47, ducked and dodged behind bushes and trees, terrified that someone might see me and call the nut house. As I approached the beaver dam guarded by trout with hawk-like vision, I crawled on my stomach, my eyes darting about nervously in case I was spotting by some swimming sentries. When I knew I was in range, I lobbed my line like a grenade and caught a dead spruce tree, as it’s hard to cast when you’re lying face down in the dirt.

To my horror, the worm stayed up on the branch. I knew if the trout saw it, I was finished. Certainly they’d know that worms don’t climb trees. With the speed of a marine, I rebaited my hook and cast into the center of the pond. Moments passed. Bubbles rose from the bottom near to where my bobber was floating patiently. I imagined the bubbles were coming from the trout squadron, discussing the pro’s and con’s of trying the free lunch in case it might be a trojan horse. Suddenly, the bobber went south! I reeled in my line and viola; a beautiful trout fit for the frying pan. Too bad it was such a chore catching it. I’m so exhausted that I don’t have the energy to cook it…

　

　

　

　

Oil and Gas, stewards of the earth?

If anyone ever wonders why I am so against shale gas exploration and fracking in this province, wonder no more.  The bottom line is Big Oil and gas aren’t to be trusted, no matter what.  I’ve been involved in the debate for some time now and the yes side’s arguments are hilarious at times.  I’ve heard people say, “the industry is more heavily regulated than any other”, “there’s only been a few problems”.  More often than not, they also dodge the questions put to them and talk about how terrible some other industry is.  Just like politicians.

The article I’ve added below is an older one, but should be looked at. Closely.  Do you want these types of corporations running amuck in your province?  I don’t.  It’s time for us to stand up and make ourselves very clear on this issue before it’s too late.  And for those of you who think fracking is a good idea;  why don’t you head on down to the gulf, get yourself a plate of crusty corexit covered crab and wash it down with a frosty glass of frack fluid.  Wake up people!

http://prof77.wordpress.com/2010/06/10/in-defiance-of-epa-orders-bp-pumps-over1-million-gallons-of-corexit-a-neurotoxin-pesticide-into-the-gulf-of-mexico/

Queen Victoria Day!

Don’t you just love the royal family? Okay, that’s a crappy starting line. I don’t like them at all. Regardless, without them we wouldn’t be having this wonderful long weekend. Maybe that’s a stretch too. I mean, we could always change the holiday to something like Premier Alward day, or the Stephen Harper long weekend. Yeah…sounds really festive doesn’t it. Truth be told I have about as much use for politicians as I do for the royals, but if it gets us a day off I’m all for it. So let’s enjoy the beautiful sunny weather, an extra day off and have a laugh at some royal saps.

Queen Victoria- Her royal majesty’s stunning looks could’ve no doubt scared a starving dog off of a meat wagon. Maybe that’s why she married her first cousin Albert (yuck!). They probably couldn’t find any people of blue blood who weren’t vision-impaired at the time, so poor Albert got the short straw. Apparently he must’ve liked her a little bit as they had nine kids who, lucky for them, didn’t have 2 heads or three eyes. Queen Victoria stayed on the throne for 63 years and 7 months and now we have a holiday named in her honour, which is pretty fitting when you think about it. Take a day off and do nothing in honour of someone who didn’t do much for over 6 decades.

Queen Elizabeth II- Good old Elizabeth is working hard at beating Victoria’s record of being on the throne for the longest. I guess being in a position of wealth with not much to do increases longevity. Or maybe it’s marrying your cousin, as Elizabeth did as well. At least her husband Phillip is her 2nd cousin once removed (they both should be removed!). Marrying your 2nd cousin is legal in most places and didn’t cause any alarming birth defects in her children except maybe for Charles’ Dumbo ears. This year mark’s her 60′th year as an almighty do-little and her diamond jubilee will no doubt be celebrated all over the commonwealth. Be still my beating heart…

King Edward VIII- When I first read about this shmuck I actually felt bad for him. Instead of marrying one of his half sisters twice removed, he decided to get hitched to a socialite who’d already been down the aisle enough times to give Elizabeth Taylor a run for her money. The commonwealth would not approve the union as his bride-to-be’s ex-husbands were still living. Unwilling to pull a Henry VIII and have her ex’s junked up like firewood, Edward decided to abdicate and gave up his crown. I felt sorry for him until I found out he made himself Duke of Windsor and lived foot-loose and fancy free for the rest of his life on the taxpayers’ dime. Figures.

Prince Harry- Now why should I add Harry to this list? He’s not King and probably won’t ever be unless he goes postal and has the rest of his family taken out. That’s exactly why I’m including him. If anyone could pull such a stunt, it’s Harry. Already famous for smoking reefers, clubbing underage, dressing like a nazi and making racial slurs, he’s the face of today’s royalty. Out-of-touch, spoiled, a powder keg ready to explode with the cash to do it on a grand scale. A product of generations and centuries of excesses. That being said, one can only wonder what the next generation of royals will be like. I shudder at the thought!

　

TROUT FISHING FAIL!!

The beavers were gone, that much I was sure of. No goodbye letter, no forwarding address, they’d just up and left at some point. Beavers don’t make very good tenants. They show up uninvited, re-decorate, then leave without paying their rent when the snacks run out. Kind of reminds me of some people I know. Many a time I’d visited the brook turned swimming pool over the years, catching a glimpse of my deliquent renters, fixing their dam and going about their business.

Since they’d left, their luxurious lake had gone downhill. The dam itself had a big hole in it, causing the water level to drop lower and lower, year after year. At different times I’d tried the trout fishing there, always with the same results. Not even a single, solitary bite, which left me a bit bewildered. I’d fished beaver dams in other places and managed to catch brook trout, nice ones. Could it be possible that these beavers were sub-letting the pond to the fish? And then evicted them at some point? It was more than my simple mind could fathom.

So on this particular day, I had a plan. Different anglers over the years had told me the fish must be there, it had to be my bait. An earlier trip to a local hardware store fixed that. I picked up a package of red, rubbery worms guaranteed to cause a “feeding frenzy”. When I got to the pond, my fingers trembled as I baited my line while I imagined a whole school of brook trout leaping at my hook. Crashing into each other like mad boaters, getting concussions as they jockeyed for position to feast on the fantasic, fraudulent fish food.

After a little while I came to the realization that my bait was worthless. As it hung uselessly from the end of the hook, I thought about how naive I’d been. If I went to a buffet, I highly doubt I’d be fooled into eating a rubber steak. My dogs don’t even like rubber toys that much. As a matter of fact, if you set a steaming plate of rubber hot dogs in front of starving man who’d been lost in the bush for three weeks, he’d still ask you for something else. Feeling foolish, I rebaited my hook with a real worm and waited.

Time passed. The warm, May sun put me in a trance. Skater bugs sailed around like stars on ice, birds chirped and a hawk flew by a few yards from me. It was so relaxing, I started to doze. Suddenly, my bobber went to the bottom like it was attached to the Titantic. I leaped to my feet, could it be possible? The bobber resurfaced, then dove again. In a panic I yanked my line, only to snag a tree, no doubt used as a chesterfield by my long gone, deliquent renters. I lost my hooks and weights while the bobber went sailing to the end of the pond, then exited out the back through the gaping hole. As I collected the bobber and fixed my line, I grumbled to myself. Had I imagined the whole thing?

With dogged determination like a starving man with a gut full of rubber hot dogs, I tried again. I cast my line and waited. Within five minutes I had my answer. The bobber sank quicker than a Millie Vanillie come-back tour. Feverishly, I reeled in my line, wondering what was putting up such a good fight. A brook trout! And a nice one at that. I couldn’t believe it. After so many years of nothing, I’d caught a lovely fish that was on a one way trip to my frying pan. All I needed was another one to go with it.

As I rebaited my hook, I heard a noise beside me. My soon-to-be-sauteed friend had no intention of being a dinner guest and was flopping around wildly. Before I could lay my hands on him, he fell down the hole in the dam and escaped. Like a fool who’d just tossed his money in a wishing well and recanted, I drove my arm into the hole, hoping to catch him. I would’ve been better off lighting a fire and then trying to catch the smoke. My trout was gone and no doubt warning his friends because I didn’t manage to catch another. Sadly, I made my home with nothing except my rubber worms which were now on a collision course with my trash can. That is, unless they’re good with butter and onions.

 

　

　

Book Deals, Gertie Killam’s Shale gas play

My latest novel is just about finished. I would imagine the first draft will be done within the week. It’s almost bittersweet, a relief to complete something I’ve been working on for months, yet almost sad as the adventures of a group of characters I’ve invented comes to a close. There’s also a feeling of pride as I’ve crested once again what seems like an insurmountable mountain. For many people, the scariest part of writing a novel is starting it. For me, the fear begins when the writing ends.

I’ve written six or seven full length stories now, and this year I got my first book deal. I guess that’s pretty good considering some people write their entire lives without getting signed, while others struggle to get one story completed. This doesn’t make me an expert. Far from it. In fact, that’s where the fear comes in. Now I have to present my work to publishers and hope someone will accept it for printing. Truth be told, I already have enough rejection letters to wallpaper a room in my house, I really don’t enjoy the prospect of receiving more. It’s tough being told my work doesn’t measure up to publisher’s standards but that doesn’t mean the work is bad. It’s more a question of the publisher’s personal taste. For this book I just need to find one that has an appetite for foolishness…

Speaking of foolishness and all things funny, I took in “Mrs. Killam’s

“gertie”

Shale Gas Play” this weekend. It was a pleasure to be entertained by great actors, singers and musicians, making light of a subject that is really quite serious. The entire event was well organized and enjoyed by all who attended. everyone involved deserves a huge clap on the back. Way to go folks!

The “easy” oil is gone, and Ethan’s breakfast

Let’s face it. It’s common knowledge that the oil that is easy to get at is gone. The other night I was watching a science program and was unimpressed to learn that scientists are now working on methods to extract oil and minerals from areas like Northern Greenland and the artic. Frozen environments require new techniques to work in these areas, the more obstacles, the higher the risks. Do we really need another disaster like the BP’s recent mess in the Gulf where millions of gallons of crude spilled into the ocean?

Unfortunately, when oil prices hover around the 100 dollars a

TAA - Tax addicts anonymous...

barrel mark, oil companies start falling all over each other in their race to find the ever increasingly scarce black gold. Their frenzied quest to suck petroleum from the ends of the earth spawns images of a drunken, office cleaner, recklessly vaccumming at a high speed as if they were being paid by the carpet, oblivious of the mess they leave behind. It’s a nightmare at best. Now New Brunswick is about to be the latest victim, as natural gas exploration threatens to destroy our properties and our water. I realize the need for petroleum is there, we’re all guilty of this problem. We drive cars, burn up electricity and create the demand. There are lots of inventors out there coming up with great ideas to break our oil addiction, but their progress has been slow due to the fact that the governments are the biggest oil junkies there is. I’d guess it would be easier to kick heroin than to get them off of the tax revenue.

Luckily, the trend is slowly changing. Some companies have sprung

no gas for this baby!

up lately that will change the way we do a lot of things. Entrepeneurs are realizing that green products and practices can be profitable. Tata motors from india is one such company. Their air-powered car that is nearing the production stage could be a game changer. I say it was just a matter of time before the oil companies price themselves out of the market. If innovations like this continue to appear, the decreased demand for petroleum could stabilize and drop, and hopefully slow the race for new drilling locations until safer extraction methods are developped. Here’s a couple of green links that are worth taking a look at…     http://johnharding.com/2011/01/26/minicat-the-air-powered-car/                     http://heronwood.info/   

What an amazing turnout for Ethan Glendenning and his family! I stopped in at the breakfast and bake sale and was blown away by the amount of people that came to show their support. It certainly is a comfort knowing that in a time of need a person can always count on their friends and neighbors. A big thank you to all that attended and to all that volunteered to make the event such a success. Ethan’s battle with CF is going to be an extended ordeal, and the family can rest assured that when they need help we’ll all be there. Way to go folks!