Snow day!

The week just keeps getting better!

We were forecast to have a blizzard both yesterday and today, and although it never really materialized we still got today off; the wind may not have arrived but the snow most certainly did! Never in my entire time in the North - or, for that matter, in my entire life - have I ever seen so much snow fall in a 24 hour period.

There's meant to be a phone tree in place in case the school is ever closed, but it didn't work this morning, which is understandable as trees don't grow this far north. Consequently I tried to get into school, but the snow at the back of my house was literally up to my waist! Having extricated myself I then saw a colleague of mine who had just found out that there was no school, so it was back home for an unexpected day off, which of course I filled with important work of a school-related nature.

Not.

It's the most wonderful time of the year

I like December 1st.

It's my mum's birthday - happy birthday mater! - and it's also the day when I allow myself to start playing Christmas music. Now, I know most Christmas hits are full of throwaway cheesiness, but I've loved them ever since I was small; when I was much younger I probably liked them simply because they were associated with holidays and presents, but nowadays I find they help evoke happy memories of the days of Christmas past.

It's around Christmas time that I most miss my family back in the UK, and I guess that wrapping myself in my festive music helps create a sort of mental pathway back to the Christmases we used to have together. It's also easier and more practical than wrapping myself in actual wrapping paper, which would be messy, difficult, wasteful and just plain bizarre.

If I get around to it I might give you a rundown of my 'Festive Top 10' or something like that over the next few posts, but in the meantime I shall bid you adieu and wish you, dear reader, an early and nostalgia-filled Happy Christmas.

But there's a flag on the play...

The Grey Cup final yesterday was an exciting affair, and it was heartbreak for Saskatchewan when Montreal stole victory with literally the last kick of the game. The Roughriders had never been behind until that final, fateful play, and the Alouettes actually missed their first attempt at kicking what would have been the winning field goal, sparking off what turned out to be scenes of premature celebration within the Rider Nation.

There was a flag on the play though - red flags in the CFL, as opposed to the yellow dusters used in the States - and the Alouettes would be given a second chance at the kick, a second chance which we now know won them the cup. And just what was the Roughriders' indiscretion that cost them the championship? Having too many players on the field. Of all the things! You just know somebody's going to lose their job over this.

And speaking of flags on the play, I'm reminded of my one and only attempt at refereeing a game of American football. It was in my college days back in the late 80s, when 'gridiron' was all the rage in the UK thanks to Channel 4's coverage - these were the days before the Premier League and Sky Sports combined to make soccer the uberbeast that it is today. Some fellow students had organized a game for some charity or another and they asked me to referee as I, apparently, knew more about the rules than anyone else. Looking back this was probably just a polite way of telling me that I wasn't good enough to play, but suitably flattered I agreed to their request, and I even borrowed a Newcastle United shirt so that I looked the part.

Not long after my first whistle it was readily apparent that I was the only participant who was going to take the game anything like seriously, but I maintained my standards, and a few plays into the game I noticed a flag-worthy misdemeanor by one of the teams and diligently threw my yellow duster onto the field to mark the offence. The play continued, but instead of the teams then waiting to hear my verdict before restarting, one of the players came over to me in order to point that that I'd 'dropped my hankie' before getting on with the game.

Needless to say, I didn't bother picking it up.

Not such a grey day

I am now in a much better mood.

Since my last post my flight home for Christmas has been moved forward two days, Monday has been made a ped day (just this particular Monday alas, not every Monday), and yesterday Queen's University won the Vanier Cup, the Canadian college equivalent of the Grey Cup which is, in turn, the Canadian Football equivalent of the Superbowl. For those of you not in the know, Queen's is based in my adopted home town of Kingston, and yesterday's 33-31 victory over the University of Calgary saw the Golden Gaels mount the biggest second half comeback in Vanier Cup history after trailing 27-7 at the break.

The Queen's football team is known as the 'Golden Gaels' because of their garish yellow - sorry, golden - jerseys and the fact that all the players speak fluent Gaelic. I actually made that last part up; the 'Gaels' part of the name is apparently in reference to the University's Scottish heritage, and although I was jesting earlier the team's fight song is partly sung in Gaelic. It is known as 'Oil Thigh' after a phrase that is sung repeatedly - to the tune of 'The Battle Hymn of the Republic,' or 'Glory, Glory Hallelujah' to common folk like us - in the chorus: Oil thigh na Banrighinn a'Banrighinn gu brath, or 'College of the Queen forever.'

Speaking of the Grey Cup, which we were earlier, it's the Grey Cup final tonight, with the Montreal Allouettes, last year's beaten finalists, taking on the Saskatchewan Roughriders. I have no real affiliation with either team, but as Corner Gas is set in Saskatchewan I guess I'll be cheering for the latter.

Go Riders!

Thanks for what?

It's not without irony - proper irony too, none of your Morissettian misunderstanding here - that on Thanksgiving Day (for Americans, anyway) I'm feeling somewhat down and decidedly unthankful. I've been ill for the last couple of days which hasn't helped (although I've still managed to make it into school), and in that time a number of problems and challenges have presented themselves which have led me to question whether where I am at the moment is actually where I want to be.

I won't burden you with the details of my travails - after all, a problem shared is a problem doubled - save to say that none of them are life-threatening and, compared to all the troubles that exist in the rest of the world, none of them are probably worth fretting and fussing over at all. However, one doesn't live in 'the rest of the world,' and in the part of it that forms my own personal little bubble there are a great many frustrations to be dealt with at the moment. Any one in isolation could be manageable but problems, like buses, never seem to arrive on their own and their effect on each other tends to be exponential rather than summative.

The fact that I've started to use words like exponential and summative is probably a sign that I should sign off now. The working man's tonic, otherwise known as the weekend, is almost upon us, and a couple of day's R&R is probably just what I need right now. Thanks for reading, and I promise to make the next post a little more light-hearted!

What's mine is yours

We had an unexpected visit from representatives of the Raglan Mine yesterday, which eased the boredom of what would otherwise have been a mundane, regulation (but far from manic) Monday. Raglan is a huge nickel mine northwest of here, and as one of the larger employers in Nunavik they regularly send teams around the schools to pass on information about the work opportunities there. At the moment only 17% of the workforce is Inuit, but the aim of the mine's owners is to increase this figure to 20% in the near future.

The mine operates a profit-sharing initiative with Nunavimmiut (people of Nunavik), and last year $6.8 million was distributed amongst the 14 communities here. This sounds like a lot of money - and it is - but it is only about a fifth of the $32.4 million that was handed out in 2007. It seems that the bottom has fallen out of the nickel market in the past twelve months, a state of affairs that wasn't mentioned in the presentation at school, but despite this drop in profitability there is still a great deal of money floating around, and each community has its own method of using their share of the pie.

Salluit and Kangiqsujuaq receive the lion's share, being the nearest communities to the mine geographically, and here in Kangiqsujuaq much of the money is pooled and we now have a beautiful new community gym (the building where the Bowhead Feast was held earlier in the year) as a result. Some communities simply distribute their entire share on a purely individual basis though, and as a result, in the words of one of my students, it is often drunk away in a very short period of time. Many Inuit travel to Montreal in order to spend their windfall, and they are increasingly being targeted by local thieves who know that they have money to spend; the results are sometimes tragic, and you can read more here.

Consequently, the role of Raglan is a matter for constant debate in these parts, centering mainly on the level of Inuit employment there and the use of its profits, and with the mine having around fifty further years of potential use left in it, the debate is unlikely to be concluded any time soon.

An evening with Father Dion

One of the attractions of living and working in the North is the variety of people that you get to meet, and over the last couple of days I have been fortunate enough to spend some time with Father Jules Dion, Kangiqsujuaq's long-time resident priest and, as I was to find out later, champion Scrabble player.

Last night I was invited to have supper with Roland and his wife Hannah - Roland is in charge of the student residence here - and also joining us was Father Dion, who I had read a little bit about before I first came to Kangiqsujuaq back in August. Pere Dion, who is now around 80 years old, is originally from Belgium and first came to the North as a Catholic missionary in 1955. He worked in Quaqtaq then, and in 1964 the Bishop moved him to Kangiqsujuaq - "because a change is good for you" - where he has resided ever since. The Catholic mission where Father Dion lives and works is the oldest building still standing in the village, having been originally built by the army in 1927, and when he first arrived here it was just about the only building, with the locals still living in igloos.

Having enjoyed the wonderful hospitality of Roland and Hannah last night, I visited Father Dion at the mission tonight, where we exchanged stories for a couple of hours as he gently and graciously gave me a sound hiding at Scrabble, 351 points to 225. Whilst we were playing I commented that he must be getting help from above with his letters; he responded by quietly playing the word 'exile,' which scored 67 points and proved my theory in the process. I didn't care though, for it was a wonderful way to spend an evening, and a rematch is already on the cards.

You can read more about Father Dion here and here, and I urge you to take the time to do so as he is one of life's true pioneers and has an incredible story to tell. I look forward my next visit to the mission, and if I am ever to beat Father Dion at Scrabble I clearly need either to pray a lot or to commit my dictionary to memory, because otherwise I fear it will be a case of mission impossible.

Here in my car

A recent edition of the excellent CBC news programme As It Happens included a report on the Russian car manufacturer Dartz and their proposed new luxury car. I say 'car' but, in the words of Chris Howden, the show's presenter, it's more of a "steroidal Humvee-slash-Transformer," and would come with diamond-encrusted white gold speed gauges, gold-plated windows, pure tungsten exhaust pipes and three gold flasks containing some unbelievably expensive vodka. Oh, and the seats would be made of whale penis leather.

The seats would be made of whale penis leather.

There has been an understandable backlash since Dartz's announcement in October - why would anyone want gold plated windows after all? - and consequently the company issued a press release from which I present an excerpt here:

One month ago DARTZ presented uberluxury armored car with whale penis interior. As the world's resonance was very huge and DARTZ got lot of angry e-mails from Greenpeace, WWF and also Pamela Anderson, DARTZ make strong decision to stop their plans regarding such interior.

We just looking for most expensive products for this car -- and that's why we choosed whale penis leathure when we checked it is most of most. After wave of protest we realised our mistake and make a decision not to use natural leathure at all. We will focus on world most advanced nanotechnologies to achieve interior highest quality using artificial materials which also was never used for cars. We want to tell our hello to all whales: 'Our Sea Brothers! We all know that earth are stand on three whales - we will keep You live! We don't Earth fall down to Ocean!

One of my students' current assignments is to correct the grammar and spelling of this press release, an exercise that should keep them busy for a while, and in the meantime I'm sure that our "Sea Brothers" will, to quote Chris Howden again, appreciate the company's circum...spection!

Czech mate

I've just been watching Ghost Hunters, which I must admit is a show I frequently tune in to, not because I necessarily believe in ghosts and the paranormal but simply because it's often just good entertainment. The use of Electronic Voice Phenomena (EVP) on the show always makes me smile; they will make tape recordings in the buildings that they investigate, play them back later in the hope of finding disembodied voices or unexplained noises amongst the static, and then present their findings to the owner of the building in question.

On the show we see night vision footage of the team moving around the building and making their recordings - it's always at night, with all the lights switched off - and asking questions like "if you are here, make a sign," "are you trapped in this place?" or "do you resent these people living in your house?" Most editions of the show are set in the USA - once they visited Ireland but they found no ghosts, only spirits - but today the team was investigating an old castle in the Czech Republic. They wandered around the castle - at night, of course - shooting copious amounts of video footage and posing the usual questions to the ghosts for their EVP work, and then we were shown their analysis of the footage which, to their frustration and disappointment, revealed far fewer anomalies than normal.

A thought then struck me. They were in the Czech Republic, trying to converse with ghosts...in English.

Do you want me to tell them or will you?

Buffering...

It's been a relatively relaxing last few days, and in exactly five weeks time I shall be back home for Christmas (weather and flights permitting, of course). Our holiday on Wednesday was followed up by two ped days, so I should feel refreshed when I return to school on Monday. Or at least that's the plan, as I've spent most of today being driven to despair by my internet connection.

I'm online and I can use Skype with no problems, but accessing any web pages is next to impossible. I think half the town's population must be downloading movies today, slowing everything to a crawl; it's as if the internet is being filtered through a giant piece of muslin. The visiting computer technician at school has informed me that Kangiqsujuaq has one of the quickest connections in the North though, so I guess I should be thankful for small mercies.

And for the chocolate cake I made earlier.