I’ve begun to reflect upon the course my life is taking lately, with mixed opinions. On one hand, my writing is improving lately thanks to my editors (Bill and Erik), I’m almost half-way done the Journalism program, and I’ve been making some big decisions regarding my future. On the other hand, I haven’t had much spare time to read or write for enjoyment alone, I’ve been burning myself out lately by taking on too much, and I’ve been struggling emotionally lately (which some of my poems may indicate).
In terms of long-term goals, my opinion has changed drastically in the past couple of months. I had convinced myself that I would go into the Journalism program, learn journalism, and become a journalist, but the plan has changed. I would accept a job in journalism when my program ends probably, but it no longer seems like my primary career choice. So what happens next year?
Well, there are several other options, and they involve more schooling. The number one option is a master’s degree in history, with a specialization in Northern Ontario history most likely. The other options involve college graduate programs, and maybe even a few different master’s program. Most likely, I will find myself out of town, studying history.
My first option for next year is Lakehead University, situated in Thunder Bay. Beyond that, I am looking at Guelph’s MA history also, moreso for a friend’s sake, who wishes to apply there as a potential destination for school. It is even a possibility that I will remain in Sudbury and study at Laurentian University for my MA in history.
I find myself optimistic about my future, but curious about where my life will take me. At this point, things will either swing upward or downward, and I can only hope it is upward.
-Andy

I’ve been to far too many funerals over the years for my liking. I had debated the purpose of them for some time, and I feel I’ve finally come to a solid conclusion over the significance of them. It’s generally said that they are meant as a way to honour those who have passed on, and I think that is true, but it just needs to be defined more clearly.
I was thinking about this topic aggressively during the trip up to Hearst in February when we buried my grandfather Ernest Veilleux in February. I had the personal honour of being a pall bearer at the funeral, and that helped me to understand the reasons for funerals. Like most relationships, personal connections, or cases involving love, it all comes down to sacrifice.
We sacrifice our time by interrupting our lives, in a dedication to their honour, as a way of saying that the day-to-day activities we engage in are not of more importance than the person we have lost.
Simply put, they are a tribute to the life of somebody who has had an impact on our lives. It is more important that we carry on the positive legacy of the deceased.

It saddens me greatly to announce the passing of Rick Grimard, my condolences go out to the Grimard family.
To say that Rick Grimard was a caring man, would be a complete understatement. He was the embodiment of caring. He was always generous, and would give you the shirt off of his back if you asked him for it.
Rick was a member of the Buckeye hunt club, situated on Manitoulin Island. Rick was one of the fundamental members of the club, oftentimes the voice of reason and empathy within the camp. As Ed put it, Rick was “the biggest heart in the Buckeye hunt club.” He had a way of touching the heart of anyone he met, making them feel accepted and cared for. Ask any of the next generation in the Buckeye hunt club, and you will certainly here about how much he cared about making us feel welcome, and helping us with anything we needed.
There are few people like Rick. His friendly attitude, and help-at-all-costs attitude is going to be sorely missed in a world where the speed of life seems to move faster by the day, causing people to feel lost and on their own.
You can’t replace a man like Rick, no matter how hard you try. Genuine people such as Rick are one in a million.
Rick was one of many of the hunt club members who helped me grow, and guided me in the right direction with my life. I can not explain what he meant to myself, my father, or the rest of our family. I couldn’t think of a better place to pass away for someone who meant so much to the camp, and loved the camp so much, then at the camp.
It is the job of everyone to carry empathy and compassion in their hearts, in memory of Rick.
Thank you for everything you’ve given us Rick, we love you. May you rest in peace.

School’s been in session over two months, and the varsity soccer season has risen, and been laid to rest once more. Soccer was an experience both negative and positive. I won’t dive too far into it, as I will be writing an in-depth article about it, but it was a worthwhile endeavor.
School has been a mixed experience as well. My Journalism course has been some of what I was expecting upon entering, but vastly different in some ways as well. Sadly, most of the differences have been negative ones. I was expecting a bit higher-level learning in many cases so far, and the program has not delivered. The program itself should not be crucified for that, as it is aimed at people coming right out of high school. My time at university has made me over-educated for some areas of the program, although there is a lot of value to be gained from the writing component of the course for sure.
Overall, time has found a way to crawl at a slow pace lately. It’s probably related to the rocky week I had at school, and the lingering effects of illness I’m still feeling. Either way, I am looking forward to increasing my writing output next week, and trying to pull out of this nose-dive. Wish me luck!

I Rolled out of bed after laying awake for hours, before any sleepy dreams called my mind home.
Something was picking at my brain, mixing together with my anxiety over Cambrian’s soccer camp opening tomorrow afternoon. I retraced my night to pin-point the issue. I hadn’t felt quite right after hanging out with the boys this evening.
This weekend saw one of my all-time-favourite trips take place, a short stop-over in the little town of Blind River. The traveling team I assembled was flawless, if only because all of their flaws countered another member’s flaws perfectly. It was well-balanced, to put it simply.
I tried to explain the trip to a group of my other friends this evening, and failed. We spoke about the funny stories, and drunken memories, but never seemed to hit the core of the experience at all. We barely made contact with the head of the nail.
What was it that made that trip such a success, and this night out so different?
Maybe it was the people invited. The trip to Blind River boasted Andre, Kyle, Jason, aside from Ed and myself who were at both outings. All three are well-rounded individuals, while Andre brings an unexplainable aura of fun when he is around. The difference couldn’t be that simple however.
Tonight’s cast was comprised of the Justins, and John, a group of people that can be quite fun no doubt. I’ve shared many great memories with all of these gentlemen, so what was different? It would be easy to say that the element of going on a trip, and attending a party while on said trip, would be the deciding factors. This would be a grave mistake, despite stereotypes about how 20-somethings have fun. I realized tonight that the most enjoyable part of the entire trip was the conversation on the way up, and on the way home, which is not to say the rest of the trip was poor, because it wasn’t in the least.
In both cases, the success of the event pended on the conversation. It is worth noting that I’ve had solid conversations with every person who attended the events. Conversation was an overwhelming success on the Blind River trip, why did it feel so forced and poor tonight?
The main focuses of the Blind River conversation were sex, relationships, party stories, each individual’s hoped-for future (including school, which city to live in, and which profession to work in), and films. The conversation at the Buddha centered around careers (journalism, credit-managing mainly), what-we’ve-been-up-to-lately, films, which cities would be interesting to live in, and whether or not Sudbury is a good place to live. Neither conversation was particularly deep or thoughtful, but a sense of fulfillment was gained from the BR conversation.
Both atmospheres were conducive to conversation, so why did the conversation at the Buddha stagnate? I believe it was the conversations about work. Granted, the topic of work came up on the BR drive, but the tone was mightily different. The Buddha conversation included in-depth conversations about the processes involved in one’s work, the sacrifices one had to make at work, and whether or not one’s job was enjoyable. The BR conversation involved none of these work-related topics, because work was covered in a brief fashion. Is the long, drawn-out conversation about work them reason the Buddha conversation died? Not fully.
The main reason I can grasp why the conversation at the Buddha failed was simple: it represented a giving-away of the freedom that comes with working and living as separate entities, rather than living to work.
It would be far too easy to declare that being in a career automatically involves sacrifices your freedom to live your life, and enjoy your life. The soul-draining explanations of careers was enough to make me second guess the whole careers thing, like those drunk driving commercials where mangled brains are hanging from the windshield. How could anything beat down someone’s soul so much, especially without them noticing? Whereas one of my corporate friends had told me ‘he hated his job, but it was a pay-cheque,’ a few short months ago, tonight he declared ‘he actually likes his job,” just after explaining how it has a tendency to gauge the ordinary man in order to turn a profit.
My friend was quite content to tell us he hit his sales quota last month, for the first time, just before dropping that bomb, which brings me to a related story. It was also mentioned tonight that Vale Inco will be using ‘scab’ labour during the strike, which we all agreed was a bad thing. I recently had a conversation with a Vale executive and his wife. His wife was asking him about what he was going to do when he had to cross the picket line, and he replied, with a grin on his face, ‘I’m just going to smile and walk through.’
The journalist who brought up the Vale news was content with his job, but lamented that he had to work 40 hours a week anywhere, which is an understandable complaint. When you think about it, 40 hours a week is a long time to sacrifice out of one week. You figure you should sleep 8 hours a night, which automatically takes away 40 hours out of your week for sleep. Tack on another 45 for work and travel time to and from work, and you’ve already removed 85 hours from your week. You are left with a mere 35 hours a week for enjoyment. That’s a staggering statistic, especially if you consider most people aren’t as happy about their jobs as some of the people mentioned in this article.
I’m not trying to lecture anybody about how to life their lives, or what to make of themselves. I’m not trying to tell everybody to read the Situationalists and their ‘never work’ themed works, or to drop out of life and become a hippie. I just want to draw attention to the reality of wage slavery, as it’s been called. With that settled, I have an important question to ask: is it necessary for us to march on a road of human bones, in order for us to enjoy our careers?