December 1st is World AIDS Day. So take a moment to tie on a red ribbon and remember the impact that HIV/AIDS is having on your community and your globe.
I thought it would be appropriate to share the video that brought many of us to tears at the Toronto International AIDS Conference this summer. Feel free to read back on some of the reports that I sent out from the conference (August 2006 archives).
Thursday, November 30, 2006
Sunday, November 26, 2006
Of mice and men...
I don’t eat meat for many reasons; one of them being that I do not enjoy the thought of any animal being subjected to cruel conditions. Yet, I recently psychologically damaged, then mutilated, suffocated, and froze two defenseless creatures until they slowly died from their inflicted torture.
And I swear to god, it was all unintentional.
In late October my apartment was abandoned for two days. Outside the weather was turning chilly, making the living room an attractive living space for a rodent. In this case, it was two field mice looking for a warmer place to past the winter.
When the first mouse scurry across my foot, there was a very specific sensation - it was a raw feeling of being invaded. My primal instincts exploded in a need to guard my territory from vermin invaders. This was after I stopped screaming like a drag queen on a roller coaster, and got down from the chair I had jumped on.
I immediately began to rationalize with myself, “It’s just a little mouse. The poor guy is probably scared shitless”. A day later, I found out he was not scared shitless as I discovered little brown nuggets of “hey jerkwad, I’m eating your food and checking my email while you’re trudging to class” dribbled around my bowl of almonds and peppering my dish-drying rack.
That’s right, Mr. & Mrs. Mouse were munching on my nuts and pooing in my apartment.
And so the war began. At first I had idealized notions of an ethical “catch n’ release” intervention, where the little cheeky bastards could be displaced to a new, happy home deep within Parc Mont-Royal. But sightings began to occur at an alarming frequency; time became of the essence. I became motivated by rodent rage.
I obtained some spring-loaded snap traps, and with utmost delicacy (to avoid losing a finger), I laced them with peanut butter and loaded the hinges. I waited with “baited” breath. A day later, the peanut butter was skillfully snacked without activating the trap.
I shook my fist in the air, “Foiled!”
Upon consultation with my landlord, I was recommended a second type of trap. This time it was a little sticky mat, where the mouse would walk and get stuck in a small pit of goop. “Perfect,” I thought, now I can catch them, gently coax them off the mat, and take them to the mountain where they can spend their lives eating fresh maple leaves, watching hazy sunsets, and laughing at the medieval Sunday swordsmen.
I put the traps out and within ten minutes I had caught two mice.
And this is where it got ugly. I discovered quickly that these great little “sticky mats” were actually vats of extra strength crazy-glue, and coaxing them off turned into a feat of limb-dislocating persecution. The instructions on the box told me to apply a bit of vegetable oil to aid in the processes. I did. It didn’t help. The emotional agony of prying the mice off the cement mats, which I experienced, was minimal compared to the squeaks of suffering expressed by my fellow creatures. A wave of nausea came over me.
After separating the mice from the mats, I placed them in a bucket with a plate on top (to prevent escapes), and put them on my porch; they were jumping around, trying to escape. I saw this as a good sign. I gave myself an hour to recover emotionally and attempt to convince myself that I wasn’t a monster.
But when I returned, I found was two cold, oil-covered, rodent corpses – I had killed them.
Perhaps I should have thought about the cold autumn temperatures, or that the plate was blocking any fresh air into the bucket. Perhaps I could have researched more ethical ways to catch mice. Perhaps I could have borrowed my neighbor’s cat. But, unfortunately, these little gems of wisdom never crossed my mind.
Now, I am not especially proud of my actions. My ideal was simply to catch the mice and release them in a more “mouse-friendly” space, yet what ensued was a mouse holocaust. I guess sometimes the purest of intentions can lead us to unintentional results. But, as the saying goes, "The road to hell is paved with good intentions".
Unfortunately in this case it was paved with intense crazy-glue.
Trust me, there are better options out there...
And I swear to god, it was all unintentional.
In late October my apartment was abandoned for two days. Outside the weather was turning chilly, making the living room an attractive living space for a rodent. In this case, it was two field mice looking for a warmer place to past the winter.
When the first mouse scurry across my foot, there was a very specific sensation - it was a raw feeling of being invaded. My primal instincts exploded in a need to guard my territory from vermin invaders. This was after I stopped screaming like a drag queen on a roller coaster, and got down from the chair I had jumped on.
I immediately began to rationalize with myself, “It’s just a little mouse. The poor guy is probably scared shitless”. A day later, I found out he was not scared shitless as I discovered little brown nuggets of “hey jerkwad, I’m eating your food and checking my email while you’re trudging to class” dribbled around my bowl of almonds and peppering my dish-drying rack.
That’s right, Mr. & Mrs. Mouse were munching on my nuts and pooing in my apartment.
And so the war began. At first I had idealized notions of an ethical “catch n’ release” intervention, where the little cheeky bastards could be displaced to a new, happy home deep within Parc Mont-Royal. But sightings began to occur at an alarming frequency; time became of the essence. I became motivated by rodent rage.
I obtained some spring-loaded snap traps, and with utmost delicacy (to avoid losing a finger), I laced them with peanut butter and loaded the hinges. I waited with “baited” breath. A day later, the peanut butter was skillfully snacked without activating the trap.
I shook my fist in the air, “Foiled!”
Upon consultation with my landlord, I was recommended a second type of trap. This time it was a little sticky mat, where the mouse would walk and get stuck in a small pit of goop. “Perfect,” I thought, now I can catch them, gently coax them off the mat, and take them to the mountain where they can spend their lives eating fresh maple leaves, watching hazy sunsets, and laughing at the medieval Sunday swordsmen.
I put the traps out and within ten minutes I had caught two mice.
And this is where it got ugly. I discovered quickly that these great little “sticky mats” were actually vats of extra strength crazy-glue, and coaxing them off turned into a feat of limb-dislocating persecution. The instructions on the box told me to apply a bit of vegetable oil to aid in the processes. I did. It didn’t help. The emotional agony of prying the mice off the cement mats, which I experienced, was minimal compared to the squeaks of suffering expressed by my fellow creatures. A wave of nausea came over me.After separating the mice from the mats, I placed them in a bucket with a plate on top (to prevent escapes), and put them on my porch; they were jumping around, trying to escape. I saw this as a good sign. I gave myself an hour to recover emotionally and attempt to convince myself that I wasn’t a monster.
But when I returned, I found was two cold, oil-covered, rodent corpses – I had killed them.
Perhaps I should have thought about the cold autumn temperatures, or that the plate was blocking any fresh air into the bucket. Perhaps I could have researched more ethical ways to catch mice. Perhaps I could have borrowed my neighbor’s cat. But, unfortunately, these little gems of wisdom never crossed my mind.
Now, I am not especially proud of my actions. My ideal was simply to catch the mice and release them in a more “mouse-friendly” space, yet what ensued was a mouse holocaust. I guess sometimes the purest of intentions can lead us to unintentional results. But, as the saying goes, "The road to hell is paved with good intentions".
Unfortunately in this case it was paved with intense crazy-glue.
Trust me, there are better options out there...
Wednesday, November 22, 2006
November 24th - Thou Shall Not Buy
"Buy Nothing Day is an informal day of protest against consumerism observed by social activists. It was founded by Vancouver artist Ted Dave and subsequently promoted by the Canadian Adbusters magazine. Participants refrain from purchasing anything for 24 hours in a concentrated display of consumer power. The event is intended to raise awareness of what some see as the wasteful consumption habits of First World countries. Activists may also participate in culture jamming activities like the Whirl-Mart and other forms of radical expression. It is also used to protest materialism and bandwagon appeals."
-Wikipedia
Click Here to find out more!
Sunday, November 19, 2006
The Little Spruce Tree (a column)
Yee-haw! It's official. I am the newest columnist for "The Link", which is the student paper at Concordia University. It is read by at least 13 people worldwide. Next stop, "The Globe and Mail"... eat my dust Leah McLaren!
So here's my first column. It is simply an introduction to how The Little Spruce Tree started to grow. Hope you like it!
* * * *
By Dan Baylis
Welcome to the first entry of The Little Spruce Tree.
Actually, that’s a lie. Ten words into my first column and I’m already lying… shit. The truth is that The Little Spruce Tree originated almost a year ago on a chilly winter’s morning. I had a huge assignment due and I desperately needed something to help me procrastinate...
keep reading...
Saturday, November 11, 2006
A day to remember
This week saw some specific events in regards to one of the world's largest conflicts. In a matter of 4 days, one the most famous dictators was sentenced to death, the most powerful nation in the world witnessed its own power shift, and the man who planned the American attack on Iraq was sacked. Some may say that the tide has shifted. Has it?
On the home front, Canada continues to send soldiers to Afghanistan. We hear on a weekly basis of soldiers "fallen" in the line of duty, yet how does this affect us? Personally, I find that my reaction is becoming more and more blasé... and that is somewhat disheartening.
What is your experience? Are you angry, supportive, or apathetic? Are we helping or hindering in Afghanistan?
Please Comment.
Sunday, November 05, 2006
Let us pray...
Today is Sunday, also known as "God's Day"... so in honour of a poor evangelical Priest being exposed for drug-fueled sexual exploits with a male sex worker (oh the beautiful irony), I have summoned the help of my good friend J-Chris. It's a sad day when a man of God can't get some crystal meth and a blow job without losing his job.
But fret not dear Mr. Haggard, you will survive...
But fret not dear Mr. Haggard, you will survive...
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