2. Alan Thicke? He's ours. Howie Mandel? He's ours too!
3. Former Prime Minister Jean Chretien wanders the countryside seeking his half-brother Caine, armed only with his cool Ray-Bans and and wicked kung-fu grip.
4. Degrassi reruns whenever you turn on the TV.
5. Can rip off Letterman's Top 10 List, and he can't do a damn thing about it.
6. The largest selection of skin-tight Speedos with a maple leaf on the crotch on the planet.
7. The 20 per cent discount at participating Tim Hortons when you show your Social Insurance Number.
8. Molson Canadian empties on the road are eyesores, many say. But at night, reflecting bright, they safely guide the way.
9. We only ever riot when we have to - like when the Vancouver Canucks lose or something.
Journalism is exciting - just ask Kenneth H. Dahlberg!
When I was a kid, I wanted to be Woodward and Bernstein.
That's right: I wanted to grow up to be not one, but two, Washington Post journalists.
After seeing All the President's Men, I knew that it was the only job for me; I couldn't wait to start meeting sources in parkades, trapping interviewees on the phone, and bringing down presidents on a daily basis, before I even ate lunch.
It was an exciting time for journalism, because the film's clear message is that you, young person, without any training or formal education whatsoever, can turn the world on its ass, and all you need is a shirt and tie, notepad, and gumption.
Hey, I've got gumption. And a tie. They're talking about me!
Delivering the news, old school
Don't let anyone tell you differently: delivering newspapers was, and still is, the fastest track to bringing down presidents.
So, I showed up at the Winnipeg Tribune, a young kid with a dream, and signed up to be a substitute newspaper deliveryman for my friend, Darren Campbell, who did the gig full time.
The Winnipeg Tribune folded shortly thereafter - something to do with shitty home delivery - but my dream stayed alive when I saw my friend, now-famous CBC journalist Pat Kaniuga, get a byline on the front page of the Winnipeg Free Press.
To me, he was better than Woodward or Bernstein, because he was breaking stories on the cover of the city's biggest daily newspaper at the same time he handled a full course load - the equivalent of having one hand tied behind your back.
With him as my success model, I enrolled in Creative Communications, majored in journalism, and promptly went to work for the local media as a "freelance journalist," where I wrote articles about how much it snowed yesterday (the editor wrote the headline, reaching deep inside himself to find the term, "The White Stuff" - ugh), the touring World Series trophy at Polo Park Mall, and an art exhibit in the Exchange District.
Maybe the only story I ever sniffed out was a secret rethinking of the Mental Health Act, but it withered before my very eyes when I got a key contact on the phone, and he yelled at me for "not asking the right questions." Where was Kenneth H. Dahlberg when I needed him?
Things perked up a bit when I started covering the Winnipeg Police news conferences for a local radio station, but I quickly realized that the cops owned the information, and I was just some poor schlub they had to deal with in order to get their message to the masses (these were the early days of the Internet, remember).
Me: "Why haven't you done an autopsy on the body you pulled from the river yesterday?" Police spokesperson: "How long does it take you to defrost a turkey?!"
Information is power. But keeping that information secret from someone who really wants it? That's real power, as I learned each day anew.
Fort boredom
After awhile, I felt deflated and bored with the whole inverted-pyramid thing. I was also pretty broke, since the only real full-time entry-level J gigs at the time were in towns with exotic names, like Flin Flon, Slave Lake, and five or six places with the word "Fort" in their names; as stand-up comedy taught me, where there's a "Fort," there's a chance that you won't live to see tomorrow.
So, I made the jump to the light side of the Force (see what I did there?) by applying for my first corporate gig in advertising and PR. Long story short: I got the job and surprised myself by enjoying it immensely, from a creative, professional, and - yes - financial perspective.
Here, I not only owned the information, but I tripled my salary, was appreciated for being a good writer of creative (as opposed to "creative writer") and never again had to utter "scrum" or "meat before attribution" in mixed company.
Better yet, I never had to chase a story, and my job had me home before 5 p.m. (I love you flex time!), watching Degrassi and drinking margaritas, when my journalist friends were just starting to write their articles, having spent another sleepless night next to their police scanner.
I am looking at it through rose-colored glasses, of course, because the proverbial "cushy" corporate gig gets more intense with each promotion and responsibility, and learning how to deal with management, the legal department, and red tape is a skill set unto itself.
And that's probably the biggest misconception about making the leap from J to PR: that "it's easier for a journalist to do it, because he or she understands how to get into a journalist's mind." The equivalent of that argument is "You'd better jog every day, so you can compete in the triathlon." Well, yeah, it won't hurt, but there's more to the triathlon than running.
That wacky ol' Internet
I have to admit to feeling much smugness with my decision to work in PR when journalism slowly stopped being something that people wanted to pay for, and started becoming something that everyone could do as a hobby.
How was it that my 15-year-old nieces could post a concert video on YouTube and get more views then the Saskatchewan Leader-Post's coverage of the same event? Who was the real journalist anyway?
And I couldn't help but notice that each, new PR posting saw a flood of resumes from well-known local journalists, whose Woodward and Bernstein dreams had also been replaced with more practical considerations involving lifestyle and pay.
In Public Speaking, HBO's recent documentary about writer Fran Lebowitz, she knocks the New York Times itself by making fun of its writers in general ("Writers need to know stuff") and delayed leads in particular.
"I thought the news was supposed to just be information," she says.
But here's the thing: I still love great journalism, the New York Times, and the Washington Post - even if they are shadows of their former selves.
So, like everyone, I've been waiting to see what would save these great institutions. With WikiLeaks, I think we may be seeing the first, real exciting journalism model we've seen in some time, even if a good chunk of the traditional news media doesn't get or like it.
"Julian Assange has created a model that will be replicated, as long as the Digital Commons demands transparency and as long as juicy secrets are left around unguarded. WikiLeaks is not a business. It is a volunteer organization, based on donations, and its site is fed from servers scattered around the world. Lacking assets to seize or sue, it falls through the jurisdictional cracks and legal attempts to curb its site, based on privacy concerns, have gone nowhere in the US and other democracies."
That's a pretty great place to start. True, you have to do time in prison and be ostracized by your peers, but - hey - even Woodward and Bernstein took some hits back in the day.
Has a year gone by already? Seems like just yesterday I put on that skin-tight Speedo with the Canadian maple leaf on the crotch and marched down Portage Avenue, proudly waving my flag at passersby.
"Hey, everyone, is my patriotism showing?"
It was and it is.
So, once again, it's worth pausing on Canada Day to lean on the moisture vaporator, look up at the setting twin suns, and give thanks for being lucky enough to be born in a country with all of this great stuff in it:
1. Our bad-ass prime minister:
2. Canada's first lady, Celine Dion, is finally having the twins that her husband has been waiting patiently for ever since she was 11.
3. Canadian Cask Innis & Gunn is available at MLCC for a limited time, so get yours today! Innis & Gunn: It's All in the Taste. Can I have some free beer now?!
4. I have it on good authority that the beaver is making a comeback.
5. Canada is the only place on Earth where a hooker's come-on is, "Blow ya for some smokes, eh?"
6. Crossing the Canadian border: "Got any guns?" Crossing the American border: "Got any citrus fruits?"
7. Blog on Canada Day and get time and a half!
8. Air Canada is the only airline on Earth so technically advanced that it has actually found a way to also lose your emotional baggage.
9. If it's good enough for Burton Cummings, it's good enough for me! It's not good enough for Burton Cummings? OK, well, it's still good enough for me.
If you don't drink this can of Dr. Pepper, the terrorists have won!
I like to use the above Dr. Pepper packaging as an example in one of the first PR classes of the year.
"Anyone notice anything weird with the can?" I ask the class. Usually no one does, being Canadians and all.
Then, I pass around this letter from Dr. Pepper, which was posted on its website in response to the can.
The letter says that the can was intended "to show the world that we are a united nation of people who place a high value upon freedom," and outlines "the facts" without ever really clarifying what caused the controversy in the first place.
It's an interesting letter - not really a clarification, not really an apology.
"So, what's this letter all about?" I ask. Again, a perfect question for a classroom of Canadians.
After we discuss possible theories, I ask the class, "Is anyone here familiar with the U.S. Pledge of Allegiance?" Again, usually not.
So, I recite it:
"I pledge allegiance to the flag of the United States of America, and to the republic for which it stands, one nation under God, indivisible, with liberty and justice for all."
Ahhhh, so it's all about "God," then. Good old God, always showing up to complicate things when you least expect it!
A perfect springboard to talk about "target publics" and to figure out exactly who Dr. Pepper was targeting with its commemorative can, and who it was targeting with its vague letter.
American flag T-shirt controversy
I thought of this earlier this week when the controversy about the Californian kids wearing American flags on Cinco de Mayo hit the news; long story short: the school sent the kids home to douse their "incendiary" garb.
Of course, all hell broke loose in the media. Film critic Roger Ebert has an interesting discussion about it here - and leaves very few stones unturned in dissecting of the issue.
The flag issue always seems like such a waste of time to me, especially when you consider that there's 5,000 barrels of oil (or more) being spewed into the Gulf of Mexico as we speak.
Besides, I think I have the answer to this one, having attended M.E. Fitzgerald School in Cambridge, Massachusetts, circa 1980.
Here's the deal I made with my teacher, Mr. Harrington: I stood for the pledge of allegiance when everyone else did, but didn't put my hand on my heart or say the pledge, being a Canadian. That seemed to work for everyone.
Mr. Harrington, however, felt that I was being left out, and he hated it when students couldn't recite the pledge in perfect unison, so I got the permanent job of saying, "One, two, three..." so that everyone would start (and finish) the pledge at the same time.
The lesson: if you want the Pledge of Allegiance done right: get a Canadian to count you in.
Dear California: a crate of maple leaf T-shirts is on its way.
Photo from the Chicago Tribune. Swing batta batta batta batta!
One of the great things about going to Chicago last year was that it was fresh on the heels of Barack Obama becoming the first African American president of the U.S.
The guy's picture was everywhere, like he was famous or something. Go figure!
As a result, I gave our students a blogging assignment to visit at least three of the following Chicago destinations related to Barack Obama, which I compiled from a wide variety of sources - though I think most of the heavy lifting was from the Chicago Tribune and New York Times.
In fact, the Chicago Tribune has an awesome Obama map companion piece right here.
A shout out to these sources - and the forgotten ones!
I'm not going to give the same assignment this year, but it might make a fun afternoon out for someone looking for something presidential to do on their travels:
Obama family home 5046 S. Greenwood Ave Chicago, IL 60615 The Obamas bought the house for $1.7 million in 2005. (Warning - Secret Service is blocking access to the area.)
Former condo 5450 SE View Park Chicago, IL 60615 A condo where the family lived for 12 years.
Trinity United Church of Christ 400 W. 95th St. The church the Obamas left because of controversial remarks by the Rev. Jeremiah Wright.
Barber shop 1464 E 53rd St Chicago, IL 60615 The now-defunct barbershop where, for 20 years, Obama got his hair cut.
Hyde Park Hair Salon 5234 S. Blackstone Ave. 773-493-6028 Where Obama gets his hair cut now.
Old Baskin Robbins 1400 E 53rd St Chicago, IL 60615 A red brick building with green awnings housed the now-closed Baskin-Robbins where he and Michelle had their first kiss.
57th Street Books 1301 E 57th St Chicago, IL 60637 Obama held launch parties here for his books, "Dreams" and "The Audacity of Hope," and has reportedly called it his favorite bookstore. Students who went there last year agreed.
Valois 1518 E 53rd St Chicago, IL 60615 Where Obama ate before heading to D.C. for his Senate job. The cafeteria-style restaurant does breakfasts and, on Thursdays and Sundays, chicken pot pie.
University of Chicago Law School 1111 E 60th St Chicago, IL 60637 Obama taught here from 1993 to 2003. Designed by Eero Saarinen, the man who gave us the St. Louis Gateway Arch, it was another favorite of students who visited last year.
Basketball Courts S Lake Shore Dr (at Hayes) Chicago, IL Where Obama and his brother-in-law, Craig Robinson (now a coach at Oregon State University), shot hoops.
South Shore Cultural Center -- Wedding reception 7059 S South Shore Dr Chicago, IL 60649 Michelle and Barack were married on Oct. 3, 1992, and held their reception here.
Holy Rosary Catholic Church rectory 351 E 113th St Chicago, IL 60628 Where Obama worked as a community organizer in the '80s, a job slammed by Republican vice-presidential candidate and future TV queen Sarah Palin at the GOP convention.
Grant Park's Hutchinson Field E Congress Pkwy Chicago, IL 60605 Grant Park's Hutchinson Field (just south of Congress Parkway, east of Michigan Avenue), is where Obama gave his victory speech on Election Night in front of 250,000 people.
Pre-election campaign headquarters 233 N Michigan Ave Chicago, IL 60601
Hyatt Regency Chicago 151 E Wacker Dr Chicago, IL 60601 Obama watched the election returns with his family and close campaign aides here.
Sidley & Austin Chase Tower 10 S Dearborn St Chicago, IL 60603 Where Barack and Michelle met in 1989 while he was a summer associate. She was an associate mentor.
Federal Plaza 50 W Adams St Chicago, IL 60603 Where Obama, as a state senator, gave a speech denouncing the Iraq war during a small 2002 anti-war rally.
Maria Pinto 135 N Jefferson St Chicago, IL 60661 Maria Pinto, in the city's Market District, is the shop featuring silk scarves, cashmere scarves, ties and clothing designed by the person who dressed Michelle Obama for the Democratic National Convention.
Topolobampo 445 N Clark St Chicago, IL 60610 A favorite dinner spot. Barack and Michelle are regulars, at one of the booths lining the restaurant's south side. They apparently order the guacamole and sopa Azteca.
MacArthur's Restaurant 5412 W Madison St Chicago, IL 60644 If it's on the menu that day, order Obama's turkey legs and dressing.
Spiaggia 980 N Michigan Ave Chicago, IL 60611 Barack and Michelle dined here on the Saturday after Election Day. Obama apparently loves the wood-roasted scallops."
Roy's 720 N State St Chicago, IL 60610 Obama's Hawaiian cuisine connection.
East Bank Club 500 N. Kingsbury St. The gym where Obama works out.
In the age of the mangled-beyond-all-recognition text message, it looks like typos still matter.
In the above video clip, British PM Gordon Brown apologizes after the mother of a dead UK soldier took offense at Brown's handwritten letter of condolence, where he misspells a slew of words, including her last name ("James" instead of "Janes") and "cumfort" instead of "comfort," even scribbling over her deceased son's name, Jamie.
The original story:
Brown has sent a handwritten letter to the survivors of every soldier killed in action, which is the minimum gesture one might expect from a country's leader, but Brown is also known for his notoriously bad handwriting, grammatical, and spelling skills. Recipe for disaster.
Some are defending Brown, saying that the typos are a result of his being blind in one eye from a teenage rugby accident, but I've never heard of a link between being blind in one eye and being a poor speller. As an instructor, I have to say, "I'll need to see a doctor's note on this one."
Regardless of political posturing from either side, it's pretty clear that Brown should have simply taken some time to write the letter, had someone read it over - hello, PR department? - and then taken some more time to rewrite it again properly. Hey, even Wikipedia has a volunteer typo team!
"There are no good writers, just good rewriters," right? Write!
On Remembrance Day, I always think of Roger Waters' "When the Tigers Broke Free," a moving song about a soldier's sacrifice and the pitiful scroll his family gets from King George in return for his life:
"And kind old King George Sent mother a note When he heard that father was gone. It was, I recall, in the form of a scroll, With gold leaf and all. And I found it one day In a drawer of old photographs, hidden away. And my eyes still grow damp To remember his majesty signed with his own rubber stamp."
We've taken care of the rubber stamp, now let's take care of the typos.
Here's how it works: errr...there are these congressmen and women and...er...ummm...they wanna public option...er...because...umm...the committee's CBO numbers....Harry Reid....reform...Nobel Peace Prize...Michael Moore...veto...take it away, Schoolhouse Rock!
So that's why a broken arm costs $10,000 in the U.S. Thanks, Bill!
Photo from the Chicago Tribune.
I like to use the above Dr. Pepper packaging as an example in one of the first PR classes of the year.
"Anyone notice anything weird with the can?" I ask the class. Usually no one does, being Canadians and all.Then, I pass around this letter from Dr. Pepper, which was posted on its website in response to the can.
The letter says that the can was intended "to show the world that we are a united nation of people who place a high value upon freedom," and outlines "the facts" without ever really clarifying what caused the controversy in the first place.
It's an interesting letter - not really a clarification, not really an apology.
"So, what's this letter all about?" I ask. Again, a perfect question for a classroom of Canadians.After we discuss possible theories, I ask the class, "Is anyone here familiar with the U.S. Pledge of Allegiance?" Again, usually not.
So, I recite it:
Ahhhh, so it's all about "God," then. Good old God, always showing up to complicate things when you least expect it!
A perfect springboard to talk about "target publics" and to figure out exactly who Dr. Pepper was targeting with its commemorative can, and who it was targeting with its vague letter.
American flag T-shirt controversy
I thought of this earlier this week when the controversy about the Californian kids wearing American flags on Cinco de Mayo hit the news; long story short: the school sent the kids home to douse their "incendiary" garb.
Of course, all hell broke loose in the media. Film critic Roger Ebert has an interesting discussion about it here - and leaves very few stones unturned in dissecting of the issue.
The flag issue always seems like such a waste of time to me, especially when you consider that there's 5,000 barrels of oil (or more) being spewed into the Gulf of Mexico as we speak.
Besides, I think I have the answer to this one, having attended M.E. Fitzgerald School in Cambridge, Massachusetts, circa 1980.
Here's the deal I made with my teacher, Mr. Harrington: I stood for the pledge of allegiance when everyone else did, but didn't put my hand on my heart or say the pledge, being a Canadian. That seemed to work for everyone.
Mr. Harrington, however, felt that I was being left out, and he hated it when students couldn't recite the pledge in perfect unison, so I got the permanent job of saying, "One, two, three..." so that everyone would start (and finish) the pledge at the same time.
The lesson: if you want the Pledge of Allegiance done right: get a Canadian to count you in.
Dear California: a crate of maple leaf T-shirts is on its way.