The Calgary Journal
The Calgary Journal


Roped in to act out a murder mystery, all thanks to wine

nicks bar_thumbAt least there was alcohol.

There I stood in a garish tweed jacket rolled to the elbows, with my girlfriend's black beret rakishly obscuring my vision. Meanwhile, some guy named Jack accused me of writing a pre-mortem obituary for the dead guy in the bathroom, but at least I had a drink in my hand.

Blinking in the blazing fluorescence of the cavernous room, raking my semi-intoxicated brain for the hastily memorized lines, my only solace was that everybody else looked almost as ridiculous as I did.

Roped in, I thought. I was so roped in.

Parent-child interaction can't be replaced with reading devices

DSC 0570-thumb"Oh come on, please, just one more story before bed?"

This all too familiar phrase rings oh so clearly in my head as I think of the times that I stayed up begging my mom or dad before I went to sleep.

I longed to hear about the princesses, dragons and far-away lands that were in my books, so that I could relive the stories in my dreams.

But I can't imagine that it would have been the same if it wasn't my parents actually reading to me.

Children across Canada live with victimization daily

Pink Shirt Day Thumbnail





I can still remember, vividly, what it felt like — walking back to my seat after lunch.

Trying to get there as quickly as possible.

I was wearing a pink shirt — my favourite colour. I thought it looked OK, but as I felt their eyes staring into my back, and the whispers uttered through 10-year-old lips, I began to doubt my choice.

1980s rule in place to protect blood recipients, says organization

thumb kingsmith_blood2_copyIt took me about a week to work up the courage to walk into the blood clinic. The sterile smell filled my nostrils as I grabbed the clipboard from the front desk.

I sat down on one of the hard, lavender-coloured chairs and began to fill out the medical forms.

Feeling well? Yes. Taking any medication? No. Recent AIDS test? Yes. Any travel? No.

When I was done with the forms, a small, grey-haired nurse escorted me through the waiting room and to the rear of the clinic. Her orange crocs squeaked with every step on the linoleum.