Meep

Meep.

Quick! I Think I Smell Phosgene

This picture from the Time Magazine website shows a bra that doubles as a gas mask. And I use the word "doubles" advisedly.

Not being overly creative, my mind is pondering just how the inventor of this hazmat protective device made the leap from the concept "mammary support garment" to the thought "poison gas attack". Perhaps his lady friend had too much beer and pickled eggs one night.

I guess I will never understand inventors.

Eleven-Eleven-Eleven-Eighteen

Canadian Parliamentarians Repeal Gun Registry

Time for me to enter the skirmish on the long gun registry issue.

I register for a lot of things. My car is registered, my retirement savings plan is registered, I registered this year at university, my dogs are registered, I register every time I go into a health care institution, I am on my municipal, provincial and federal electoral lists, I am a registered user on countless Internet sites, and my bank has more private information about me than CSIS.

Land possession is registered, and my children and wife are registered as beneficiaries of an aboriginal land claims agreement. In some places you have to register your bicycle. Certainly boats above a certain length are registered, private and commercial aircraft are registered, and you even have to register before taking books out of your local public library. My birth has been registered, and doubtless my death will be as well.

So what is the big freakin' deal about registering rifles and shotguns?

The most common complaint is "I'm a law-abiding citizen - why are you coming after me?" This misses the point. I don't stuff ballot boxes, fail to return library books, or have a secret puppy mill in my backyard. I don't jack cars, nor do I steal identities. So why should these gunowners feel "accused" or "singled-out" by joining in an effort to assert some sort of order on possessions which are potentially dangerous? We have a social contract by virtue of sharing the same space - we have to assure each other's well-being, and sometimes this means being transparent about our interests and assets.

Doubtless - the rifle and shotgun registry has been a shambles, with egregious cost overruns in its implementation. But that should not detract from the intentions - to inform police having to enter a house about any potential agent of harm they mught encounter, and to provide a way of tracing back stolen weapons.

My sneaking suspicion is that for the cretins who oppose gun registration, coming clean about their firearms is hitting too close to home. We all know the sexual association that guns have - maybe these assholes are too afraid of their short comings becoming public.

Stephen Harper, he has a very short wick
Hoeppner's got nothing, but then she is a chick
Layton, for his implant's awaitin'
And poor Ignatieff's is as thin as a Bic.

The Effect Of Northern Living Upon Circadian Rhythm

My post of yesterday led me to research the term circadian rhythm, and I chanced to come upon the graphic above. I thought "Cool. Let's see how I stack up against the average man when comparing the timings and sequences of my physical inner goings-on". So, here goes.

00:00 - Blood pressure skyrockets as I realize I will get no sleep once again this night because of the snowmobiles and ATVs racing around the town. Since I live on a "straightaway", the mufflers exude their most high pitched roar right by my bedroom window - imagine a mosquito buzzing around your bedroom raised to the 25th power.

00:05 - Parasympathetic nervous system activity accelerates. Trigger finger begins to twitch uncontrollably.

00:10 - Liver kicks into high gear as I try to drink myself to sleep.

03:00 - Olfactory nerves stimulated by the smell of an overflowing sewage tank. Gag reflex initiates.

06:30 - Entering Sleep Stage 2 (light sleep) - the noise has finally died down and the alcohol as finally kicked in.

08:45 - Entering Sleep Stage 4 (deep sleep).

08:50 - Sharp rise in blood pressure as alarm rings and I race to the office. Physical coordination most acute as I concentrate to do battle with the front door key for the office

09:10 - Entering Sleep Stage 1 (REM "dream" sleep). The floors are kind of bouncy, and my coffee mug seems to teleport all around my desktop.

10:00 - Bowel movement likely.

10:45 - Bowel movement likely.

11:30 - Bowel movement likely.

11:55 - Intellectual activity reaches its pinnacle. I finally finish that Sudoku that I've been working whilst on the throne all morning.

12:00 - Appetite peaks. Prostate leaks.

12:10 - Entering Sleep Stage 4 (deep hibernation).

13:45 - Adrenal glands begin to stir. Could that phone call which woke me up be the boss wondering why I was not in the office? Deviousness gene expressed, as I ponder excuses. Honesty gene suppressed, as I come up with a corker.

15:00 - Spatial relationship capacity developing, as I shift papers at my desk from one pile to another.

16:30 - Visual acuity diminishes - the clock on my office wall seems to indicate it is 17:00h. Already? My, how time flies when you work hard! Who needs glasses anyways?

16:40 - Lacrimal glands shift into overdrive. Upon visiting the post office and the airport I realize once again my liquor order would not be coming into town. Hyperventilation ensues.

17:10 - Physical strength maximized as I hoist my bloated carcass onto the couch. Breathing rhythm regularizes and endorphins released - Aaaahhhhh (drool), SpongeBob and Patrick!

18:30 - Peptic acids secreted. Whale meat again . . . . ♪ ♫ don't know where, don't know when ♪ ♫ . . . .

19:00 - Bowel movements suppressed. Anal sphincter surprised.

19:45 - Slowest reaction time: severe sleep deprivation results in dull dentrites, apathetic axons and gloopy ganglia. It takes a full ten seconds to retch after the fumes seep in from the sewage truck finally emptying my tank. No, wait, he's skipped over my house and is doing the neighbour's.

22:00 - Blood pressure rises precipitously - my heart grows three sizes smaller as I mull over, chew my cud, and reflect upon my continued prospects in this burg. Bile forms in mouth. No, wait, that's just regurgitated whale meat.

22:30 - Total collapse of all corporeal systems. I look down and picture my body lying inert in bed and there's some bright light burning off in the distance, getting larger and brighter with every passing moment. And I now hear a sound beginning to swell, emanating from that sweet light. Could it be the heavenly choir come to welcome me to the promised land? No, wait, that's just the first skidoo of night set out on its first nocturnal circuit of auditory assault in the perpetual Armageddon of my existing.

Hell.

Back in Synch

Welcome back to standard time.

As I grow older it is quickly dawning on me that I am getting increasingly obsessive-compulsive, and it has always irked me that during daylight savings time high noon in Salluit was somewhat closer to 1:00 PM. This has screwed with my circadian rhythms and sense of diurnal symmetry and made me a decidedly grumpy bear. During daylight savings I seem to spend all my time sitting on the porch screaming "Hey kids! Get off my snowdrift!!!" at the top of my lungs.

But as of today, you will notice a much kinder, gentler Nanuk. That is, until the municipal election results are known this Wednesday evening. Then I fear I will have to set my watch back to 1940. Dang!

Politics In A Small Town

It is municipal election time in Salluit, the time we get a (hopefully) new mayor and 6-member council to suffer under for the next three years.

Now in southern climes, the indicators of a municipal election are lawn signs, pamphlets stuffed through the letter box, an occasional knock on the door from a candidate's representative or the candidate him/herself. Television interviews, radio call-in shows, public debates and numerous polls are other means to whip up some whooplah and encourage an otherwise disinterested electorate to drag themselves into the polling station.

But in Salluit, NO. None of the standard means of involving the public in policy-forming debate is used, EVAR. Instead, we are forced to witness the same old podunck political practices of misdirection, backstabbing and utter cynicism.

Here are some examples.

Fresh off the ship, a brand spanking new road sander has been driving all over town, a symbol of the current administration's newfound commitment to public service. So much sand has been put down on the streets that I saw camel footprints going up the hill towards the airport. At this rate, by the time the election comes next week I expect to see palms and oases dotting the roadside - but then, this would be entirely consistent with Salluit's mirage-like quality.

There will probably be an open mike at the local FM station, with candidates limited to 10 minutes, though few of them have enough hot air (or ideas) to last that long. I predict we will hear the same old crap - preservation of language, beluga whale quotas, a heated swimming pool, and a seal in every pot. No one will propose policy that the town is sinking as our permafrost is melting away, that our region has the highest rate of suicide in the world, child neglect is rampant, alcohol and drug abuse is rife, and so on. It's just an exercise in burying the village's collective head in the snow drift and ignoring the serious problems we face.

Basic municipal services have been deplorable this year. I was unable to flush my toilet, wash dishes or take a shower for days on end since the regular complement of 3 sewage trucks went down to one due to mechanical breakdowns. And when you share your house with another adult and five teens, this situation fast became dire. Long-time readers of this blog are familiar with my frequent wailings about the lack of water or the surplus of sewage in my house.

Guess what? In honour of the election, extra truck drivers were hired a couple of weeks back to work weekends and to fill in for those too hungover to drive. Now I get sewage pickup and water delivery daily, sometimes many times a day. For sure, the day after the election they'll all be laid off and we'll be back up to our eyeballs in shit.

I vote in an early poll tomorrow since I am heading out of town this week. I really wonder if it is worth my while showing up.

Lotta Zeroes In A Yotta

Twenty-four, in fact.

I'm glad the US judicial system is so unfettered by frivolous law suits that they have to to consider hearing this one.

The Dime Store Theory of Monetary Policy

Please don't get scared off by the title. I just want to ventilate about those feeble-minded Canadians who are "proud" our humble loonie is close to catching up to the almighty American greenback.

Let me first say that I don't travel to the US - not because I wouldn't go there, but I just have no compelling reason right now. Also, Mrs. Nanuk would have serious difficulties in crossing the border, but I will say no more about that. The only American products I buy (besides pr0n and eBay retail goods) are fruits and vegetables - mighty fine edibles, but more and more Mexico and Chile are becoming major suppliers of these commodities.

I support a seriously under-par Canadian dollar. Our greatest prosperity in recent times has been when our currency was wallowing in the low 80¢ range vis à vis the American dollar. Everyone was buying Canadian and our balance of trade was ponderously weighted in our favour. Americans (and many other nationalities) were flocking to our poutine stands, maple syrup megamalls, and butter tart bakeries here north of the 49th. Things were good and there was a chicken in our pot every Sunday.

But it didn't last. The prevalent banking insanity south of the border devalued the US buck and made ours rise proportionately. And it has been hard on the domestic economy. Why, a bottle of Jack Daniels actually rose about 20¢ and don't get me started on that fiasco of a citrus fruit retirement plan I dreamed up - the juice fast dried up in the proverbial pamplemousse.

All this in way of saying I am glad our central bank refused to raise its overnight rate today, and maintains that a high dollar is more detrimental to our economy than inflation.

You know, there are some comforting things to being the bargain basement store of the western world: you get lots of foot traffic, you don't have to dress up, and hell, they have cute underpaid high school students manning the registers.

Mediocrity has its advantages.

Sidenote: The heavily-regulated Quebec economy actually grew during the so-called recession. Actually, the bad economic times as experienced in the US were hardly felt up here in general, save for the oil patch and the rust belt. Time to step in and put some heavy-duty rules on your banking/securities sectors, my red, white and blue friends!

Short Medical Visit to Montréal

I am presently sojourning in Montreal while waiting for a string of medical appointments to play itself out. This has involved hopping a Dash-8, flying south for 6 plus hours, and moving into a hotel for my 5-day stay. I'd rate my current health as very good, and I have the constitution of a, well, polar bear; but there are a few recurring issues which need to be hashed out.

We have all heard the term medical tourism - the recent trend of booking surgeries and other procedures in inexpensive countries such as Mexico and India. However, while the term may be new, the concept is not. For the past half century and more Inuit from all over the Arctic have boarded ships and airplanes and travelled vast distances to get medical care in Montreal, Moosenee, Quebec City, Hamilton ON and probably a few other sites.

In the old days, this often meant being away from home for half a year or more, especially when there were outbreaks of tuberculosis. Many did not return, and their remains are interred in hospital graveyards, often with a name.

The distance in terms of culture must have been equally vast in these pre-television days of ethnic isolation. It must have been particularly hard: they knew no English or French, the food was very foreign, and they rarely if ever had the presence of a relative for company and consolation.

This very melancholy situation has been the subject of the recent award-winning film The Necessities of Life (Ce qu'il faut pour vivre). Although I have not seen it yet (no theatres where I live and it has not been shown on television), I hear it is well worth the look. Take a chance on it the next time you're in Blockbusters or rent it through Netflix. And as they say, preparez vos mouchoirs (get the Kleenex ready).

This photo was found on the Listening to our Past website of Heritage Canada. It shows Inuit in transit on the Coast Guard ship C. D. Howe for medical treatment. By the looks of the clothing this could be from the 1950s, 60s or 70s.

Justice Prevails!

The following is my imagined transcript of a real hearing between a Federal Court judge and a petitioner.

Judge: So you are seeking damages for a work-related incident?

Plaintiff: Yes, sir.

Judge: And this damage occured 37 years ago?

Plaintiff: Yes, sir, and it causes me such pain to this very day.

Judge: Why didn't you seek Workman's Compensation when it happened?

Plaintiff: I was a Mountie in training, and we in the RCMP have a culture of never letting physical or emotional distress get in the way of duty. But now that I am retired from the force, it is only right that I receive compensation for the grievous injury I have had to endure.

Judge: Could you describe your current quality of life for the court?

Plaintiff: Certainly. I cannot sleep at night as a result of the pain eminating from this injury. I have a severe loss of mobility and am hobbled. Then there is the psychological and emotional distress caused by an unfeeling and uncaring employer who refuses to compensate me although I gave them 37 years of service. . . Sorry, your honour, but I get distraught everytime I talk about it.

Judge: There, there, my good man. Take a deep breath and we'll proceed, unless you feel a recess is in order?

Plaintiff: No sir, I'll soldier on.

Judge: So what was the root cause of this injury which has played such a pivotal role in your life?

Plaintiff: It started with a nose bleed . . .

Judge: Excuse me, did you say "nose bleed"?

Plaintiff: Yes. In the middle of the night. In the Mountie barracks.

Judge: Continue.

Plaintiff: Alright. Since I didn't want to get blood over my sheets and risk incurring the wrath of the Superintendant, I went to the washroom. It was en route to the washroom when the calamity befell me.

Judge: Let me get this straight - you were sleeping in the barracks at night when you got a nosebleed, and you injured yourself getting to the lavatory to clean up?.

Plaintiff: That's it exactly, sir.

Judge: And you put up with the consequences of this injury for nearly 4 decades without complaint until you retired?

Plaintiff: Yes.

Judge: Did you slip over some clothing and herniate a disk in your back?

Plaintiff: No.

Judge: Then, did you fall down the stairs of some improperly indicated stairwell and break your leg?

Plaintiff: No.

Judge: Perhaps someone left a sharp object on the floor, you cut yourself, and got blood poisoning resulting in some form of amputation?

Plaintiff: No.

Judge: Well, then, what sort of dire injury did you have?

Plaintiff: I stubbed my toe.

Judge: You stubbed your toe?

Plaintiff: Yes, sir, the big one.

Judge: Why didn't you say so in the first place? If any case I have ever heard over the course of my career, this is without a doubt the most heart-wrenching. I find your case has merit, and will allow it to proceed.

When You Lose Your Engine

Residents of Salluit had an unexpected visitor show up under tow last week. The MV Avataq, owned by Nunavut Eastern Arctic Shipping, apparently lost the power of propulsion somewhere out in Hudson Strait en route to Repulse Bay. Fortunately, there was an ocean-going tug in the general vicinity, and the MV Avataq was dragged into our sheltered bay with no smoke from her stack.

Doubly fortunate, since there was a very strong gale two days later, with winds topping out over 110 kilometers an hour from the south. Despite being on the leeward side of the bay, she broke away from her anchorage on the south side of Sugluk Fiord and drifted powerless to do anything towards the north shore. Luckily, a short distance before it would have grounded out its anchor managed to snag something on the bottom. People in town were very concerned about the crew during the gale and there was a very rare feeling of caring for others that day amongst the town folk.

The next day, the Canadian Coast Guard icebreaker Des Groseillier came into our fiord to keep an eye on the Avataq, pictured in the foreground to the right. The winds have died down, and mechanics have arrived to repair the engine: apparently some problem with the camshaft was the cause of the stoppage. NEAS reports on its schedule that she is expected to continue on her voyage tonight.

But I'm hedging my bets. It has not been an auspicious season for the annual summer northern sealift, so vital for supplying fuel, equipment, dry goods, vehicles and other important items to communities cut off from the southern road network. Earlier this month rival Desgagnés Transarctik's brand new vessel the MV Sedna Desgagnes ran aground on the east coast of Hudsons Bay and is out of commission for the balance of the season.

Thus endeth the Salluit Shipping News dispatch for today.


This is more of a panoramic shot from this morning showing most of Salluit, with the MV Avataq barely visible in the distance. And yes, that is snow on the roof tops. It's a very short shipping season.

A Cure at Last!

After 22 years here in Salluit, I grown tired of constantly hitting my head against a stone wall. This self-abusive nervous tic has gotten so bad that I am now frequently dizzy, nauseated and seeing double.

I have long despaired of ever finding a way to treat my condition before irreparable cerebral damage sets in. Little did I suspect that the cure was here all along!

I think I'll dose myself right now!!!

Revised Post, but no apologies to Environment Canada

I'm calling "shenanigans" on Environment Canada.

Today, September 22 2009, is the autumnal equinox - the first day of autumn. Now when I attended grade school, we were all told that equinox means "equal night", i.e. when daytime and nighttime are equal 12 hour segments everywhere in the world, a consequence of the sun passing the celestial equator on a southbound swing.

But Environment Canada's meteorological website for Salluit today clearly shows 12:15 minutes of daylight and 11:45 minutes of darkness. Is Salluit such an anomaly that it gets to tack on 30 minutes more light than anywhere else in the world? We do things differently up here, but isn't this taking things a bit too far? I know this town is warped, but could we be living in a place which bends the rules of time and space?

Update Update Update

It seems that day and night are unequal at the equinoxes. Apparently, we only achieve diurnal synchronicity sometime after the fall equinox and before the vernal one. Here's the science (along with a really cool flash movie).

Salluit - Awash with the spirits of capitalism

This past week Salluit's finest summarily drained 160 seized mickeys of vodka, presumably Smirnoffs, the preferred stock in trade for the town's burgeoning bootleggers. Purchased in Montreal for under $12, its street value up here averages $15o, and has gone for as high as $500 when the town's citizenery received their individual $15K "profit sharing" from the mine last year. The illicit liquor was seized either at the airport or in residences, and represents a miniscule proportion of the booze shipped into this community.

The police were inforcing a local bylaw (about the only bylaw they actually do enforce - don't get me started about mufflerless vehicles cruising the streets at 3:00AM) which allows residents to bring in a maximum $75/month of alcohol/person. Moreover, only 10 orders are approved by municipal employees on Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays if they are not too busy figuring out other ways to screw up the town. Predictably, this severe measure has resulted in perhaps has been the most successful job creation program ever up here, bootlegging.

I should mention that alcohol is not retailed legally in Salluit. However, with a population of only 1,200, Salluit has 15 - 30 bootleggers by my reckoning. These entrepreneurs range from the full-time vendor with regular supply lines to the south to the occasional dabbler, who takes advantage of being down south on vacation or medical leave to ship a box of mickeys northward and make a little money on the side. But with market prices so high, there is plenty of money to go around for all concerned. No need yet to get greedy and resort to the Roaring 20's style of highjacking and turf wars.

In my shack I have over 400 empty mickeys which I collected over a 3-week period around town this spring. I don't know what prompted me to do so - perhaps it was a reaction to the collosal stupidity of our municipal council who feel, despite all the evidence gathered around the world over history, that limiting or prohibiting consumption of alcohol is the answer to all the societal ills which alcohol can engender and does not actually promote criminal activity. Also, being more than a little on the Obsessive/Compulsive side, once I started picking them up I found it hard to stop.

Dear reader, I need your help. There is a municipal election coming this November, and I would like to create some mischief with the empty bottles while at the same time making a pertinent and noble socio-political statement. Any ideas?