As per my post about my newspaper route that I had as a preteen, I couldn’t resist this Tyee story featuring excerpts from the book Wages by John Armstrong.

This story describes the pain and suffering of his preteen experience of enduring a newspaper route forced upon him by his mother. I can totally relate to awakening each morning after a night of fearful sleep in anticipation of what lay ahead at the crack of dawn: travelling through rain, wind, biting cold, sludging through muddy pathways, slipping on icy patches, wading through knee-high snowfalls and rushing home to get ready for school, all before 7 a.m..  I was not one of the lucky children who had parents chauffeur them in a cozy, heated car to and along their route. No, I had to do it all on foot with a noisy metal cart dragging behind me. The sparks ignited by the wheels as they scraped the cement provided no extra warmth or speed to get home faster. And being a 15-year-old girl in the 80s, I needed sufficient time to blow-dry my feathered hair and apply blue shadow up to my eyebrows. This was more important than quality newspaper delivery service, but it was enough stress to cause fortuitous panic attacks. I have recurring nightmares to this day that I awake late and miss deliveries.

Now Armstrong understands my pain. Unlike him though, I did manage to get fired. I guess the slave drivers at The London Free Press took their customer service more seriously, and also because the very last customer on my long, winding route was one of their managers waiting with his stopwatch timed for 7 a.m. sharp for the precious paper to be placed gently on his doormat while I bowed down to his arrogance. If it came one minute later, he was on the phone complaining to my supervisor. I had his paper delivered no later than 7:04 a.m.

Although Armstrong’s tale captures all of the gloom and anxiety involved in a carrier’s career including mid-route fear-induced bowel attacks (which thankfully did not happen to me), he didn’t mention the creepy homeless people and staggering drunks coming home from partying the night before that would try to steal your papers or make bumbling conversation with you. And there were people who would run out of their homes across the street from where your bundles lay and steal a paper before you got there, which of course, you’d get blamed for not delivering. I’d have to choose which unlucky customer would not receive his paper that day – it had to be a different one each time. There was no way I’d leave it for the stop-watching bitter employee who had to get his paper dry and pre-warmed, his favourite sections cornered, ready to read.

Ah, the joys of teenage jobs. How they play on your naivety and eagerness to make your own cash and have your own career. How they exploit the fact that your parents cut off your allowance because you’re old enough to become gainfully employed, but too young to get a job with the benefits of indoor dignity.  And I could empathize with Armstrong when he describes his parents’ work ethic:

“Not that I ever said so: my personal philosophy didn’t matter a damn. You got a job and you kept it, until you died or the company fired you…. In their experience, everything other than a bad job was too good to be true and so by definition didn’t exist, or was at the least criminal. The working life and the example of their own parents had warped them to the extent they couldn’t imagine anything other than a rotten deal; if a situation was truly lousy, then it must be solid, honourable employment.”

 The Catholic system still lives on: if you’re suffering, it’s all good. More points in heaven that way.

Randy Boswell, CanWest News Service

Canada geese are routinely targeted the world over (their namesake nation included) for abatement or culling by frustrated municipal officials and wildlife authorities, who try everything — barking dog teams, egg-addling birth-control blitzes, bitter-tasting “goose-be-gone” grass spray, even buckshot — to rid themselves of the nuisance.

All of which makes the extraordinary efforts in Britain to save the life of a single, conspicuously wounded Canada goose so remarkable.

The heart-rending saga has gone on for nearly four months, since the residents of Northampton first caught sight of a handsome gander swimming in a pond with a mate at its side — and a poacher’s arrow sunk straight through its chest.

To the general amazement of a would-be animal rescue unit — which, despite numerous attempts, has been unable to capture the bird and give it veterinary care — the goose has survived not only the initial piercing of its breast but also the infections that must surely have taken hold at times during the ordeal.

Yet it lives, a testament to the hardiness of the creature and the twist of fate that has all of Britain pulling for this one pitiable bird even as it casually curses the species in general.

“I have no idea how it has survived,” Roy Marriott, the bird’s chief pursuer, told CanWest News Service on Wednesday. “The arrow has obviously missed all the vital organs and somehow gone through muscle.”

This week, Marriott and other volunteers from the charitable group Animals in Need will try again to gently snare the injured goose, last seen a few days ago in a city pond with the arrow lodged just below its neck but now bent at an awkward angle, presumably causing even more trouble and soreness.

The crooked arrow is likely causing the bird “a bit of pain,” Marriott said, but he added that at the latest sighting the goose “was still swimming around with its mate and protecting her against the swans — he’s obviously still getting around all right and seems to be doing fine.”

Officials with the Royal Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals have advised Marriott’s group that if the goose is captured, the arrow should be trimmed rather than pulled out.

“It’s been in him now for so long,” he said. “So we’re not going to try to remove it because more infections could take place with it out.”

Marriott said: “I can’t understand the mentality of anybody firing [an arrow] at an animal like that.”

© The Vancouver Sun 2007

After being inspired by Da Koch’s blog about “the spiritual gift of flossing,” I have started to floss daily. After reading how satisfying it was for her, her words somehow stuck to my brain, and I wanted that squeaky-clean-mouth feeling and pride of hygenic discipline for myself.  I was tired of making excuses not to.

For the first-time routine flosser (well, it’s not the first time, but it’s been a long time!),  it’s kind of like that feeling when you’re a kid with a loose tooth and it feels really good to wiggle the shit out of it. My virgin gums bleed each night as the wiry, taut string penetrates. I also enjoy how clean my teeth feel each day; there are no leftover grits and they feel super smooth, almost like I just got back from the dentist. Now I notice when there is the slightest bit of food stuck between them and I want to floss right away. But I won’t. I’ll wait until tonight. 

Apparently flossing can become a serious addiction. According to The Bouncing Molar, “When you start flossing instead of eating, doing your job, while you’re holding the steering wheel of your semi-trailer, it could become a problem.

Flossing addiction has lead to many a marriage breakup and can even in severe cases lead to death (usually from starvation). A 30-year-old woman was found dead with her cats in an apartment with a piece of floss in between her teeth and fingers. It is suspected that it was a flossing addiction that lead to this fateful end.

I suggest joining Flossaholics Anonymous; they have a great support network. Just remember, the first stage to recovery is recognizing you have a problem and that it can be fixed.” 

Who knew FA existed?

So, like every habit/drug/pleasure in life, moderation is key. After three days of getting between the teeth, I started to get obsessed with my plaque. I wondered, should you do it before or after brushing? Like every question I have about life in general,  I Googled it. I am realizing that almost everything can be answered on Google – how wonderful and how sad. The modern era of library halls remain empty, their shelves holding the Encyclopedia Britannicas lay dusty.  But I obviously don’t care. I’m not gonna travel fifty-blocks when I can look it up in seconds free of charge. The results of the floss question were fifty-fifty. Some people say to floss before brushing as brushing will remove the plaque and gunk that gets pushed out  from the floss once and for all.  Some say to floss after brushing as it’s better to get rid of the big stuff first and then get at the little stuff left over, and also that brushing first  loosens up what’s in between the chompers at hand. 

Then I found some articles saying dentists and periodonists say it doesn’t matter, as long as you do it. And not to overbrush, as too much brushing erodes the teeth and can lead to tooth decay.

So, if I haven’t already bored you to death about the mundane routines of good oral hygiene, especially for those of you who actually practice it, let me try to impress you with the proper technique, thanks to Google and copy and paste :

Floss Time

       Tear off about 10 to 12 cm of dental floss and wrap it around your middle or forefinger of each hand. Gently work it back and forth between two teeth till it slides past the tight spot. Be careful not to be too rough or your may slice your gum. Next, wrap the floss around your tooth and scrape it up and down. This removes stubborn plaque and polishes the surface. Repeat the process on each tooth till they are well and truly flossed. Rinse your mouth. You could brush your teeth before or after flossing, it does not matter. Some people prefer flossing first and then brushing the loose ends away.