| I'm delayed in cross-posting this from Facebook... |
[18 Dec 2008|09:05pm] |
It's been a nine days since my original post http://bryn-rocks.livejournal.com/20978.html
I'm blown away by the response; by the diversity and generosity of the donors, and from the amount of people the realised that $5 contributions are important and really do add up.
After some reflection, and realizing that there's still a week until Christmas, I've updated my wish site to a new goal of $2000. And with that goal, I hope that in the end over 50 people will help invest in this project (so far, 48 already have). Seeing some people who are in rough financial situations themselves find a little bit to give has been really inspiring, as has the incredible generosity of those in more comfortable circumstances. And together, everyone has made this wish (which I originally thought was too ambitious) something that has given me a lot of hope.
http://www.giftofopportunity.ca/bryn
If you haven't donated yet, please give it some consideration. Any little bit helps, and it's a great investment.
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| My Christmas Wish |
[09 Dec 2008|01:54am] |
After thinking that there wasn't really anything I wanted for Christmas, I decided that the best way to celebrate the holidays was to give something back to people who really need it. I'm asking you to help me raise money for Engineers Without Borders.
My page is at http://www.giftofopportunity.ca/Bryn
There you can see what's on my holiday wish list, and if you support any or all of my wishes, please contribute what you can. 30% of your donation will go to the UNB chapter (where my involvement with EWB began and where I was given the opportunity to work in Ghana), and 70% will go to the national programs, which coordinate Canadian engagement and implement real, effective projects on the ground in Africa. Less than 10% of the organisation's funds go to overhead and all money fundraised is taken very seriously -- I know that with my entry level job in Saint John, I'm already making more money than either of EWB's CEOs (and they live in downtown Toronto)!
I've set a personal goal to raise $1000.00, which is really ambitious, but I hope can be made through a wide variety of small donations; even just $5, $10. Every little bit counts, and from my experience with EWB in Ghana, even just small amounts of money as inputs for farmers can catalyze great change.
Your donations can be anonymous if you want, and as a registered charity your gifts can be given charitable receipts. If you have any questions at all, please don't hesitate to ask. As you probably all know, EWB and the farmers I met in Ghana are dear to my heart, and nothing could be a better gift for me this year than to invest in them and the work they are doing.
Take care,
Bryn
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| I can't believe this actually happened |
[14 May 2007|12:19pm] |
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 frustrated |
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Teachers stage fake gun attack during school tripAssociated Press
May 13, 2007 at 5:58 PM EDT Murfreesboro, Tenn. — Staff members of an elementary school staged a fictitious gun attack on students during a class trip, telling them it was not a drill as the children cried and hid under tables.
The mock attack Thursday night was intended as a learning experience and lasted five minutes during the week-long trip to a state park, said Scales Elementary School assistant principal Don Bartch, who led the trip.
“We got together and discussed what we would have done in a real situation,” he said.
But parents of the sixth-grade students were outraged.“The children were in that room in the dark, begging for their lives, because they thought there was someone with a gun after them,” said Brandy Cole, whose son went on the trip.
Some parents said they were upset by the staff's poor judgment in light of the April 16 shootings at Virginia Tech that left 33 students and professors dead, including the gunman.
During the last night of the trip, staff members convinced the 69 students that there was a gunman on the loose. They were told to lie on the floor or hide underneath tables and stay quiet. A teacher, disguised in a hooded sweat shirt, even pulled on the locked door.
After the lights went out, about 20 kids started to cry, 11-year-old Shay Naylor said. “I was like, 'Oh My God,'” she said. “At first I thought I was going to die. We flipped out.”
Principal Catherine Stephens declined to say whether the staff members involved would face disciplinary action, but said the situation “involved poor judgment.”
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| Teh online interactions!!!!1 |
[01 Apr 2007|12:32pm] |
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mood |
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 intruiged |
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I just read an article in this weekend's Globe and Mail, and I don't know what to make of everything in it. So much of it hits the core of my thoughts lately. The reasoning for my deleting facebook, the encounters and stalking within exes, potentials, and friends. The fights over the avoidance that happens online, as emails are simply not actively replied to. The persona I have online, the wit and research that can be crafted into each line--a standard I can't hope to live up to in person.
LJ, Emails, MSN, GChat, Facebook... they've all become a seemingly unquestioned aspect of my life. Funny that I've never stopped to think about how that affects my interactions, my self-image, my relationships. How many close friends do you hardly ever see? Can they live up to online standards and expectations? How can they when everything can be researched, planned, ambiguous and interpreted.
I guess it's ironic, then, that I post this to a network of virtual friends...
( Cut for length...enjoy! )
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| Today I witnessed a robbery... |
[12 Mar 2007|01:16am] |
... and after giving my witness report at the police station the officer asked if I knew how to listen to music online. I spent the rest of my time there teaching him how to use bittorrent to get ripped or pirated versions of music and movies.
Also, Wood and I didn't even show ID while crossing the border back into Canada yesterday. We just answered random questions and then went back to the Nordstrom's house and ate candy from billigual packages while watching hockey and listening to the youngest sister rant about the Leafs. (I counted 12 "eh's" in our first 15 minutes.)
I fucking love this country.
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| Hate me if you want, this is how I feel |
[25 Dec 2006|12:17am] |
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mood |
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 annoyed |
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I've been trying to avoid writing this for some time now, but I think I really need to come out and say it: I fucking hate the Christmas season.
The moment Hallowe'en ended the stores started rolling out the Chirstmas decorations. Slowly but surely, months in advance, Christmas lights were going up all over town. (I wonder how much fossil fuels North America has burned to keep their Christmas lights lit each year?) Every radio station in the goddamn city has been infested with Christmas music for at least a month. You'd think at least one radio station might hold off the Christmas songs until they're appropriate but no station will take that 'risk.' You just don't have a choice as to whether or not you get to celebrate Christmas here; the best you can do is to be indifferent to a holiday you're forced to be thoroughly immersed in.
It's all, apparently, a festivity to honour Jesus of Nazareth. Christians beleive he is the son of God. Muslims believe that he was an important prophet. I don't really believe in any of the religious connotations. I think he was a great man who taught good morals and laid the foundation for a society that loves and respects itself. His teachings are valuable and have considerable merit; I do not for a second criticize those who follow them closely. He is an undoubtedly an important figure in world history.
But what the hell does shopping have to do with his birth?
It's some sort of sick obsession we have; so ingrained we don't step back and ask why we all have to shop so much. To refuse to immerse yourself in the holiday is to be a downer; someone who doesn't believe in the Christmas spirit; someone who is probably inherently selfish anyway. It's some sort of ultimatum; a sort of "you're either with us or you're with the terrorists" imperative that frightens away potential dissent. Meanwhile you know the whole thing is twisted and wrong but you play along anyway.
I'm sick and tired of people asking if I'm done my Christmas shopping. Why is Christmas shopping mandatory? Hell, why is it even the norm? It doesn't make any sense to me. I haven't bought a single gift this year and I don't plan on it. I can not, for the life of me, understand what Christmas has to do with relentless consumerism. And I hate feeling like an idiot for writing that last sentence. It's like criticising the current meaning of Christmas is taboo or, at best, old news. You're just supposed to shut your mouth, be pleasant, enjoy the season, and quietly watch society display its dementia as people pack the malls and cause stores to stay open throughout the night.
I have gifts for none of you and I expect none in return. All I really plan to do is send emails and notes to people over the break. If this upsets you in some way, I'm sorry. I donated money anonymously to MSF, EWB, and Oxfam. If you're upset that you'll get nothing from me, consider it a donation on your behalf. They won't know as there's no paper trail; no charitable receipt to keep. (As if tax deductibility is the reason to give charitable donations. I'd rather the government use the money on more effective things than repaying me for being a 'good person.' The HIV/AIDS fund is startlingly underfunded. Or how about addressing the issue of child poverty in Canada?)
I can't stand watching the news and seeing reports on how sales are down so consumers will have to pick it up in the final days. I can't bear the thought of what Champlain Place will look like during the Boxing Day sales, when the instincts to shop hit a frenzied pitch. Going to the mall just fills me with this overwhelming feeling that there is something deeply, deeply wrong with our society. This mad panic as people race to pay tribute to the great Meccas of Future Shop and Wal-Mart. Some sort of religious frenzy as doors are thrown open and people trample each other to get the latest video consoles.
Some people retort with that it's the season for giving; it's time to show appreciation for each other and to help those in need. Well you know what? I certainly won't be working any soup kitchens or donating any food this Chirstmas. They're innundated by good Samaritans showing their Christmas spirit. I'll check back in at the end of January, when immediate food stocks and volunteers are running low while society is still patting its collective back for being so virtuous in December. It's like society tries to atone for its sins for a month and then lets it all get worse in the aftermath. Charitable acts are not and never should be a seasonal thing. If you truly care, make it a sustained commitment; or at the very least make it a commitment whenever you can.
But I'm digressing.
For those of you who truly celebrate Christmas: I hope you enjoy it as it was meant to be enjoyed. Reflect on Matthew and Luke chapters 1 and 2, on how Jesus began his life so poor he slept in a manger, with no access to a proper bed. Reflect on the significance of his birth and his teachings and how your relationship with him has impacted your search for meaning and purpose in life. Reflect on how his teachings have helped shape who you have become. Enjoy a season where you can rest with relatives and enjoy their company, attend mass in full spirit and celebrate together. Appreciate the great life you were lucky enough to be born into. Essentially, have a Merry Christmas and do not be afraid to wish the same to others if it's what you believe.
For the rest of us: let's take a good long look in the mirror and figure out what the hell we're doing. Something's wrong.
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| Sounds Like Sunday |
[22 Oct 2006|05:50pm] |
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mood |
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 indescribable |
] |
time doesn't always heal:
it just breathes and swallows memories
like the seasons change -
sending showers;
beating flowers into the mud.
and nothing is
forever in this place.
nothing but the way my heart fits in your hands;
the held breath of hope;
and the sweet lingering taste of grace.
("how blessed we are for crying now,
for we will laugh someday…and how.")
Tres cliche, but I guess posting song lyrics is cliche for a reason...
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| Reality rears its ugly head |
[19 Oct 2006|01:10am] |
I'm sitting in my kitchen drinking pulp-free orange juice and listening to Alanis' Acoustic Jagged Little Pill album. I'm not sure if that makes me lame or cool; all I'm sure about is that I'm not ok.
I have no idea what, specifically, is wrong, nor do I know how to go about fixing a seemingly inherent sense of wrongness.
Gimmicky introductions spawning from stray thoughts rarely lead to full entries.
Fast forward to two days later. It's midnight and I can't get back to sleep after being woken up by the phone. For some reason I felt the urge to reach behind me and grab my Ghanaian cell phone, turn it on, and browse through all the text messages that I kept over the course of the summer. It was an obscenely nostalgic feeling to look through old texts while lying on a bed, completely unsure of what to make of my life and where I was. Yet at the same time it was oddly comforting in an indescribable way.
This summer set off an intense internal process that may never be resolved. The people I worked with and for have had more of an impact on me than I could ever have on them. Everything about the last 5 months has made me question the very foundation of who I am and has left me feeling exceedingly lost and alone. I'm in constant need of hugs and physical affection; the thought of being without it leaves me feeling vulnerable to the core in the most deeply unsettling of ways. However, the process of redefining myself has stagnated over the past month because I'm too readily ignoring the internal conflicts in order to get through the days with a smile on my face.
I'm always worrying about whether or not I'm being one of those people who comes back from living in poverty and judges people. Fuck that. You judge people anyway, and internalising that judgment just rips you apart inside, leaving you feeling empty.
I hate this society. I hate the way I live my life. I hate that I had to drive two hours with colleagues, listening to them drone on about different stores they shop at and how much they can buy for how cheap. I hate that no-one researches where the food comes from and what policies the companies have in place and their effect on populations. I hate that I don't do this research either. I hate idiotic neo-colonial trade policies that are completely unjustifiable but yet remain in place indefinitely. I hate picking up the Irving owned NB newspapers and reading about how a second major Irving refinery is in any way a good idea for the province. I hate the fact that no-one seems to care or question this. I hate how no-one questions the impact of hitting peak oil and of the complete stupidity of suburbia that must and will change. I hate the entire concept of suburbia; the disconnect from the roots in your life; the necessary and unsustainable material waste to keep this system running. I hate the amount of money we spend on cars and road and highways and this bloody excessive infrastructure. I hate the amount of money that we spend and waste in general. I hate the fact that North America blows over a trillion dollars on trinkets at Christmas time but cries bloody hell when a billion dollars is proposed to help those deprived of basic human needs.
I hate the importance we put on stupid things. I really fucking hate resumes. I particularly hated today, when a fellow presenter related everything in our high school presentation to their resume and occupational/social climbing. "Volunteering looks great on a resume!" You know what? I don't fucking care and neither should you. The day that volunteering becomes about padding my resume is the day I move back to Ghana and re-learn how to live my life.
People here are so fucking selfish. Hell, I'm so fucking selfish. It's all about your internal thoughts, processes, and desires; where you compare to those around you. There's rarely a sense of community anywhere; and when there is it's ruined by busy schedules and this obscene need to constantly be distracted from the world around us and our true feelings for it. To take time out of your day to enjoy yourself is to fall behind in the rat race, which for some reason is the most important thing in our lives. Who bothers to spend hours walking around town, talking to strangers, or idly chatting with friends after the essential agenda items have been covered? How often do we sit around reading and sharing interesting quotes and ideas? How often do we take time to breathe and nap and stretch and lay down in green grass fields? How many days have you had where you truly had nothing that needed to be accomplished?
How can you change yourself when the world around you undermines those changes? How do you deal with seemingly endless questions that leave you smacking your head and wiping your eyes?
We have no fucking clue what's important in our lives. All we know is the to-do list in front of us and the pile of bills that are or will be overdue. Do we realise or acknowledge how deeply the philosophies of consumerism and capitalism have been ingrained into our collective mentality? Who questions the stories of their youth; recognizes the subtle capitalist propaganda; bothers to reflect on why issues make them react, or why they blindly believe things about Cuba, criminals, natives, or any issue they read about? Do you question the snap decisions you make on people and issues? Do you ever consider why they're portrayed in a certain light? Some look at other countries and laugh at how they've been tricked into believing obvious ploys. Few look around and realise their whole life at home is no different.
How able are you to re-shape your own views, to admit to yourself that you've been duped since birth? Better yet, how can you re-shape an entire society, convincing it to adopt more humane values? How can you convince yourself to adopt a more conscientious and humane approach? Who has an interest in change when familiar self-destruction is so readily available? We're creatures of habit; we're the reason the bad situations are getting worse. We're so afraid to upset our individual compromises, to acknowledge the things we ignore in order to stay content. We live inside our individual bubbles, knowing on some level that everything around us is wrong but ignoring just enough of it in order to stay happy.
Well, it turns out that the amount I'm able to ignore has been significantly reduced.
Now what?
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| This too shall pass... |
[18 Sep 2006|09:05pm] |
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mood |
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 listless |
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It’s 4:36AM and I still haven’t gotten back to sleep since being woken up at midnight. I’ve spent the past couple hours re-organising all of the music on Rissy’s MP3 player, trying to sort through and salvage the pictures from this summer, and lying in bed staring at the ceiling and wondering were to channel my restlessness before finally deciding to open up Word.
Being home is hard. I don’t even know why; I’m just overwhelmed with indifference and usually don’t know what to do with myself. I don’t think the fact that I have no computer and that our house doesn’t have internet has helped, nor does the fact that I have essentially stopped expressing myself and spend most of my days internalising and avoiding work. I miss so much that I was immediately overwhelmed upon typing “I miss.” You don’t want to be here in the future so you say the present’s just a pleasant interruption to the past. I finally started to clean and set up my room today. It took 3 weeks before I felt even a hint of motivation to do so, but now that I have I’m feeling a lot better about the coming year and living in this strange house. The next step is to create some collages to put on my wall like I’ve always wanted to.I’m amazed that in twenty years I’ve never taken the time to create a space that is truly my own. We don’t have much room to live. About once a day or so I’ll catch myself in the middle of a hardcore flashback to some aspect of this summer. The streets, the people, the lifestyle all seem so disconnected from my existence here that I find it hard to believe they’re real. If it weren’t for the unshakable feeling of unsettledness and feeling hopelessly lost for most of the day, I could likely convince myself that I never left the continent. 
I always worry about being eloquent and intelligence in whatever I write. That’s why I have these raw outbursts like this; though even now I’m almost refraining from writing out thoughts that I desperately need to document. I used to devote hours of my time to writing huge soul-cleansing emails… I miss that. Without music life would not be fair. At what point is constantly quoting things an intellectual crutch rather than stimulant? I love quotes because they inspire so much inner thought, but it seems like once I’m into them I lose all ability for creative, unique expression. Writing rambles to myself as the sun rises is my way of trying to reclaim that empowering artistic feeling, I guess. If I didn’t have roommates I would turn my speaker on full blast and dance around like an idiot until I collapsed. Dance Mix 95 is the greatest pick-me-up album in the history of life. All I want to do is be close to you! Words are inert, frustrating things. I’ll talk and write until there’s nothing more to say, but still I feel like not enough is expressed, not enough meaning makes it to whoever I’m sending my thoughts to. Frustrating moments like this that truly make me appreciate those close friends who share some indescribable link with me. 
I spent my last weeks in Ghana fearing that I’d just fall into the rat-race again once I got home. I only wish those fears had been unfounded.I don’t want to be back in school doing a thousand things. I want to lay myself down in green grass fields where my soul can rejoice. There’s nothing worse than living a life full of regrets, yet it seems that I’m constantly selling myself out to a lifestyle I hate and goals that I can’t define. I don’t know how to instantly re-invent how to live life, but if I could I definitely would. I don’t know where my food comes from; I don’t know who was oppressed to make my clothes; I don’t know how many people in Hain have died in the past month because of outrageously unjust trade policies. It’s something so much more than simple ignorance, though. Most of the time I don’t even want to take the time and effort to change; it’s just so much easier to be a hypocrite. I don’t know what it will take to calm everything down, to feel stable and in control again. Going to the gym with Wood every weekday has helped, but I usually don’t even have the energy to put into a good day’s workout. Staying physically active doesn’t seem to be enough, it feels like all the negativity is reinforcing itself; I need to figure out the critical point in all this, what I can change to let everything else fall into place. I feel like I’m missing something important. Countless hours of introspection don’t seem to get me anywhere. Life is beautiful, as it always is, and I’m certainly not miserable and hating it all. Yet, somehow, I feel like I’m in the middle of some twisted depression. Can you be depressed without hardly ever being sad?
A small pause in writing gives a rush; a sense that everything will come together in the end and that my only job in life is to be grateful and to experience everything that I can. Countless adventures await me in years to come and I can’t wait to find out who I’m going to share them all with. I find it so hard to believe that a few years ago I was a pessimist convinced that the world was miserable and forsaken. Every part of my being revolts at the thought of not savouring every moment of this beautiful existence. It’s not yet 5:30 but already everything is right in the world. Hours of frustration seem childish and juvenile in light of an undisputable fact: 
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| Now THIS is a poem! |
[25 Jun 2006|05:12pm] |
| [ |
mood |
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 Very impressed |
] |
yes, yes, yes, us people are just poems
we're 90% metaphor
with a leanness of meaning
bordering upon hyper distillation
and once upon a time
we were moonshine
rushing down the throat of a giraffe
yes, rushing down the long hallway despite what the PA announcement said
yes, rushing down the long stairs
with the whiskey of eternity fermented
and distilled to eighteen minutes
burning down our throats
down the hall
down the stairs
in a building so tall
that it will always be there
yes it's part of a pair there
on the bow of Noah's Ark
the most prestigious couple just kicking back
parked against a perfectly blue sky
on a morning beatific in its Indian Summer breeze
on the day that America fell to its knees
after strutting around for a century
without saying thank you
or please
the shock was subsonic
and the smoke was deafening
between the setup and the punch line
because we were all on time
for work that day
we all boarded that plane for to fly
and then when the fires were raging
we all climbed up on the windowsill
and then we all held hands
and jumped into the sky
and every borough looked up when it heard the first blast
and then every dumb action movie was summarily surpassed
and the exodus uptown by foot and motorcar
looked more like war than anything i've seen so far
so far
so far
so fierce and ingenious
a poetic specter so far gone
that every jackass newscaster was struck dumb and stumbling
over 'oh my god' and 'this is unbelievable' and on and on
and I'll tell you what, while we're at it,
you can keep the Pentagon,
you can keep the propaganda
and each and every tv
that's been trying to convince me
to participate in some prep school punk's plan
to perpetuate retribution
perpetuate retribution
even as the blue toxic smoke
of our lesson in retribution
is still hanging in the air
and there's ash on our shoes
and there's ash in our hair
and there's a fine silt on every mantle
from Hell's Kitchen to Brooklyn
and the streets are full of stories sudden twists and near misses
and soon every open bar is crammed to the rafters
with tales of narrowly averted disasters
and the whiskey is flowing like never before
as all over the country folks just shake their heads, and pour
so here's a toast to all the folks who live in Palestine
Afghanistan
Iraq
El Salvador
here's a toast to the folks living on the Pine Ridge Reservation
under the stone cold gaze of Mt. Rushmore
here's a toast to all those nurses and doctors
who daily provide women with a choice
who stand down a threat the size of Oklahoma City
just to listen to a young woman's voice
here's a toast to all the folks on death row right now
awaiting hot oil or guillotine
who are shackled there with dread and can only escape into their heads
to find peace in the form of a dream
cause take away our Playstations
and we are a 3rd world nation
under the thumb of some blue blood royal son
who bought the Oval Office in that phony election
and I'll tell you while we're at it, let me state unequivocally,
he is not President of Me, he is not President of me
cuz I, I am a poem heeding hyper distillation
I've got no room for a lie so verbose
I'm looking out over my whole human family
and I'm raising my glass in a toast
here's to our last drink of fossil fuels
let us vow to get off of this sauce
shoo away the swarms of commuter planes
and find that train ticket we lost
cuz once upon a time the line followed the river
and peeked into all the backyards
and the laundry was waving
the graffiti was teasing us
from brick walls and bridges
we were rolling over ridges
through valleys
under stars
i dream of touring like duke ellington
in my own railroad car
i dream of waiting on the tall blonde wooden benches
in a grand station aglow with grace
and then standing out on the platform
and feeling the air on my face
give back the night its distant whistle
give the darkness back its soul
give the big oil companies the finger finally
and relearn how to rock-n-roll
yes, the lessons are all around us and a change is waiting there
so it's time to pick through the rubble, clean the streets
and clear the air
get our government to pull its big dick out of the sand of someone else's desert
put it back in its pants
and quit the hypocritical chants of
“freedom forever!”
‘cause when one lone phone rang
in two thousand and one
at ten after nine
on nine-one-one
which is the number we all called
when that lone phone rang right off the wall
right off our desk and down the long hall
down the long stairs
in a building so tall
that the whole world turned
just to watch it fall
look, another window to see through
way up here
on the 104th floor
look
another key
another door
10% literal
90% metaphor
3000 some poems disguised as people
on an almost too perfect day
should be more than pawns
in some asshole's passion play
so now it's your job
and it's my job
to make it that way
to make sure they didn't die in vain
sshhhhhh....
baby listen
hear the train?
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(3 comments | leave a comment)
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| "Culture Shock" (alternatively titled "Larium Fucks With Your Mind at 3 in the Morning") |
[14 Jun 2006|01:23pm] |
| [ |
mood |
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 delirious |
] |
Your captivating stories
And brilliantly witty characters are nice.
Really.
But I don’t want an ‘escape.’
I want to get the fuck out of here.
Novels are great for the imagination
But they make poor substitutes for reality.
When the book ends,
I’m hungry.
And I’m not quite sure what to make of that.
Are the times I’m addicted to text
My happiest or my most lonely?
Depends if you ask me now
Or in retrospect.
I guess.
All I know is that I hate where I am
And September is a long way away.
I’ll manage it fine and get out alive
(I always do)
But I’m looking for more in life than to simply cope.
If my life is literature then I’m a forced metaphor:
Straining to connect the concepts
that are out of reach at both ends;
Wholly unnecessary
and completely aware of it;
Devoid of rhythm, meaning, or rhyme
an eyesore to the rest of the text;
Lacking any eloquence
and sounding as forced as this poem.
I wish I was a soliloquy.
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| Copy/paste from my mass email... please pass the word along! |
[30 Apr 2006|05:00pm] |
| [ |
mood |
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ecstatic |
] |
Hello everyone!!
I hope you're all keeping well!
As you all may or may not know, I'm off to Ghana this summer with Engineers Without Borders. I'm currently in a pre-departure training session in Toronto for a 4-month internship with Engineers Without Borders Canada/Ingenieurs Sans Frontieres Canada in Ghana, west Africa. I'll be living in the Upper West region of the country for the summer working with OXFAM on their Rural Aid Action Programme (RAAP).
I've set up a journal, where I'll be posting pictures and updates as often as electricity/internet permit. This blog will be the main way that I keep in touch with everyone, so please comment often and share your thoughts.
http://ghanabryn.blogspot.com
So, what does EWB do? EWB believes in driving human development through access to appropriate technologies. In the field, we work innovatively with people (not "to" them or "for" them..) to help enable them to better their lives. We work primarily in four sectors: Water and Sanitation, Information and Communication Technology, Agri-processing and Agriculture, and Rural Energy. EWB was founded by two Canadian students in 2000, and what was just a small dream has become an awesome student-based organization that is growing like crazy, with over 17 000 member going strong! In addition to our "overseas" work, EWB believes in working hard, in Canada, promoting the cause of international development and the issues surrounding it, such as trade justice, aid expenditures and making Canada take a stand as a leader in global communication and action. And, contrary to what the name suggests, it's not just for engineers, which helps, since I'm no longer in engineering!
Please spread the word about my journal, as I've discovered that my address book is lacking... If you need to get in touch with me you can direct all emails to brynferris@ewb.ca
Hope you all have a great summer!
Take care,
Bryn
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(1 comment | leave a comment)
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[19 Mar 2006|12:38am] |
I feel thoroughly miserable and I don't know why. I can't describe or express it, nor can I kick this damn feeling. Friends who try to help just get shit on. I owe emails, letters, lunches, favours, and apologies. I'm truly sorry...
I think that I hate who I am.
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| Let's do it! And by "it" I mean "each other"... |
[25 Feb 2006|03:33pm] |
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mood |
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 Still in love with my music |
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Various things that make me happy: - Six (6) wicked awesome people from my first year RC class came to the last EWB Exec meeting with me, and have secured the materials to make and drop a 4-5 story Make Poverty History banner at UNB next week... very exciting.
- These same people then sang the entire Elephant Love Medley with me to (and in) meal hall.
- Halleluia, the sun is in my eyes; on my face.
- In class a couple weeks ago someone said the word "dog" and Andi broke into "Brian Wilson."
- Joni, Claire Kelly, Tiff, and various others are having a Moulin Rouge & Dance Mix 95 party tonight.
- Simone was familiar with the song "Good Morning, Providence", the song that first got me hooked on Chris Simpson.
- I now own a Mineral t-shirt, thanks to the wonderful dizygotic twin that is Rissy.
- My sister is on the RHS improv team and is doing amazingly well. (They made the finals, which are tonight.) She seems super happy and is really coming into her own, which is both wonderous and sad, since I can't be there with her through it.
- Apoorva and I are going to Ghana! (Nothing more really needs to be said here.)
- I have four Zookeeper songs in my possession and LOVE them... can't wait for an album.
- Next year (January 17-19... ish) Barenaked Ladies will be hosting a cruise for all interested fans. I MUST find a way to afford/attend this.
- Last week I wrote a reflection paper on this article, ranting about the how it's a cleverly disguised spin column and that you can't refute its condescending attitude and out-of-context quotes without attacking it from the other extreme and cutting off all intelligent debate. Gerry (the prof) came up to me last class and said that he had planned to discuss the article in class, but that I had done a better job in my response than he could ever have, and asked me to read my response to the class. Slightly flattering...
- Hawksley Workman is coming back to UNB March 16th... you better believe that I already have my ticket!
- Barenaked Ladies are recording a new album and have been making podcasts almost daily about the process. They're mostly just Ed talking and telling funny stories, though there's also some annoucements, song samples, and snippets of the other guys. I'm starting to realize the Ed talking (much in the way of Steve Page or Chris Simpson singing) is extremely soothing for me... I can't really explain it.
- I also got my hands on four (4) new BNL tracks. One of them, "Beautiful," is a ridiculously amazing song that I can't wait to hear recorded. It'll very likely be one of my all-time favourite BNL songs at this rate.
- Parking Lot
- Pictures of Walls
- Two people on my MSN list have had subnames that read "Everything is Grace" and "Hug Harder"
- Life
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