Sleepless in quinzee

My first attempt to spend a night sleeping in a quinzee failed miserably. The only worst thing that could’ve happenned to me would’ve been to have the actual thing collapse on my face while sleeping.

Ok. To put you into context : a quinzee is kinda like a cheap version of an igloo. You make a node of snow, wait a few hours for it to harden, and then you dig the interior, leaving about a foot thick of snow for walls. And then, you sleep in it. Yes.

My friends had prepared the quinzees the weekend before and last Friday, we decided to test them out. They were nice and solid by the time we got there and we could just relax by the fire and have a good time.

I followed all the rules and dressed warmly, brought an extra pair of everything and rented a super extreme sleeping bag supposed to go to minus 20 degrees. I thought this would be a fun activity to do with my friends before I leave for my two-week journalism internship at the CBC radio in Quebec City !

But apparently, you need to be in good shape and well-rested if you want to survive a night in a quinzee. Being a journalism student, I was at the other end of that spectrum !

I had been sleeping an average of 6 hours a night for the past 2 weeks and spent my whole Friday running around in our radio class, trying to put together our broadcast and current affairs show. By 6:00 pm, I was ready for bed.

But instead, I drove to Gatineau, near the airport where my boyfriend’s dad owns a farm (that’s were our quinzees were waiting for us). After twenty minutes of cross-country skiing in the dark – my first attempt at cross-country skiing since I completely destroyed my elbow last winter under very similar conditions – we got to the camp ground. I managed to fall only, hum, a couple of times but luckily there were no dislocation of any body parts this time.

My friends and I crowded over the fire for a couple of hours, trying with all our might to remain alive. At around midnight, we called it a night, whished everyone good luck, crawled into our respective quinzees and curled up in the foetal position.

My boyfriend and I actually had the best looking quinzee. It was high enough to stand on our knees and just wide enough for us and our luggage. I slipped into my super extreme sleeping bag, which was suprisingly pretty warm. A couple of minutes later, my boyfriend was already snorring and I managed to fall asleep a couple of hours later !

Everything was going according to plan.

And then, at around 3:30 a.m., I woke up in a panic. There was a big dark figure standing on top of me, breathing in my face. My first thought was "Oh God, my boyfriend is sleepwalking, again !"

Upon further inspection, I realized the hairy beast walking on my stomach was not my boyfriend but his big labrador, Bosco.

The poor thing had been freezing outside and thought he could brake into our quinzee and curl up between my boyfriend and I. We were too tired to try to get him out and allowed Bosco to stay.

The problem is that Bosco brought in a lot of heat with him (he is that kind of dog) and after a few minutes, I started shivering from the change of temperature. I thought I could tough it out and that the shakes would go away, but then I started almost convulsing and had to tell my boyfriend something was wrong. I was having a panick attack, could barely breath and had to get out as fast as possible. I guess I suffered mild hypothermia mixed with exhaustion and lack of oxygen !

(I think I’m just not cut out for extreme winter sports. At least, not until my master is done)

Defeated, we abandonned our quinzee and headed for our car. We drove back to our apartment in downtown Ottawa and by 5:00, we were in our warm bed.

I’m alive. But I’m still trying to recover from it.

While starting my internship at the CBC in Quebec.

(It was my first day at work yesterday and I think it will be great ! The crew is fun and the show I work on is pretty cool. You can check it out by streaming it live)

There will be more coming !! Stay tuned

About those strikes...

So a majority of Carleton's teaching assistants did not support their Union's Bargaining Committee in last week's referendum. 

CUPE 4600, who's currently in the process of negotiating its collective agreement with the University's administration, asked the TAs they represent whether they were in support with their Bargaining Committee's strike mandate. 

51.6% voted AGAINST the strike mandate, thus further weakening their Union's stance in the negociations. 

This is a shameful example of apathy, selfishness and spinelessness that currently plague this country's university population. 

In the weeks that have led to the referendum, I've heard things such as ''like TAs don't make enough money already!'', or ''I don't want to picket 20 hours a week during the strike'', or ''look at York University. Do you really want to end up in a similar situation?''

Yes, at first glance, it does look like graduate TAs are being paid a fortune. In fact, they make $34 an hour. But the problem is that they are only allowed to work a maximum of 10 hours a week. Therefore, TAs working during their fall and winter terms will make a little less than $9,000 a year. And when you're a TA, you're also a registered student paying tuition fees that are constantly increasing! 

So. Taking all of this into consideration, my take-home pay this year from my TA work will have been of about $3,500. 

Unless you've got a scholarship that helps you ease the burden of tuition fees or you have a second job, you're basically earning well below this country's low-income cut-off.  

With the increase in tuition fees, this take-home pay further erodes. 

Fortunately, in the past CUPE 4600 has been able to negociate an important clause that has allowed TAs to keep their take-home pay from decreasing due to raising tuition. 

This clause enabled TAs to keep paying the 2005 tuitions fees, no matter how much they increased throughout the years. Employees would pay the current tuition fees but would get a refund at the end of each term. This refund would represent the difference between what they had paid in tuition fees and what they would've paid in 2005.

Fabulous!

But it's this same clause that Carleton University wants to take away from CUPE 4600's collective agreement. 

They want to replace it with something called a rolling index. New TAs would pay the normal tuitions fees during their first year of work. No rebate. Then, during their second year of work, if the tuition fees increased from the previous year, TAs would get that difference refunded. 

The 2005 benchmark disapears. The new benchmark is whatever year you start to work as a TA. 

We're in a situation where the employer wants to take away a right that has been won by our Union in the past. 

It's similar to the City of Ottawa that wants to take away from the OC Transpo drivers their right to make their own schedules. We all know the consequences of this move...

A union simply can't stand back and allow an employer to take away a concession they've made in the past! And union members should stay united, if only to show respect to our previous members that were able to win us this clause. 

Yes, it would suck to go on strike. No, I don't want to do 20 hours of picketing in order to get a strike pay that would represent half of my normal pay. I already sleep an average of 5 hours a night in order to get all my school work done.

But that's the whole point of unions. We take a hit for all the others. TAs are currently being used by the university as CHEAP labour. Cheap labour without which the University could not function. 

And if the University succeeds in taking this clause away from us, it could also harm TAs that work for other universities. 

For example, the branch of CUPE that represents TAs and lab assistants at the University of Ottawa has been wanting to negociate a similar tuition rebate clause. They were counting on using the example of Carleton University as ammunition when they will be negociating their collective agreement in 1010. 

But by voting no in last week's strike referendum, we showed our employer that we don't really care about our rights nor about the future of the TAs that will inherit this new collective agreement. We showed them that we accept our role as cheap labour, while weakening our colleagues's rights around the country.

It's funny, but I have the feeling that if such a situation happenned in Quebec, nobody would've thought twice before voting yes!

Dans quelle langue veux-tu ton Noël?

Alors que je roulais en voiture en mission de magasinage mercredi dernier (et oui, avec OC Transpo toujours en grève, je dois recourir à la bonne vieille voiture polluante), j’écoutais le poste de radio 104.7, le FM parlé de l’Outaouais. Il y avait une tribune téléphonique et la question du jour était la suivante :

Est-ce que la langue française est un critère pour vous quand vous faites votre magasinage de Noël?

En autres mots, est-ce que vous faites l’effort d’acheter des cadeaux en français, dans des boutiques ou l’on peut vous répondre dans votre langue maternelle?

J’ai été surprise par le nombre de personnes (surtout des Québécois) qui ont répondu ne pas considérer le français comme un critère important dans l’achat de leurs cadeaux. C’était le même discours qui revenait sans cesse : « Si je vais magasiner dans une boutique et qu’un vendeur parle seulement l’anglais, je ne vais pas perdre mon temps à essayer de m’exprimer en français. Je vais simplement lui parler en anglais parce qu’après tout, je ne suis pas handicapé. »

Je suis restée un peu troublée par cette réponse, d’abord parce que je me suis reconnue dans cette façon de faire. Étant une francophone bilingue vivant à Ottawa, j’ai tendance à rapidement abandonner la bataille et à passer à l’anglais aussitôt que je vois que mon interlocuteur est anglophone. Pis encore, il m’arrive de tout simplement aborder les gens en anglais en premier. Parfois, on détecte mon accent francophone et on me répond en français, ce qui me rapelle mon absurdité!

Ce qui est troublant, c’est qu’on ose s’affirmer en français, mais seulement quand ça ne dérange personne. Aussitôt qu’on rencontre un petit obstacle, que ce soit un jeu de société qu’on aimerait acheter mais qui est seulement offert en anglais ou bien un employé d’une boutique qui ne parle pas français, on s’excuse d’avoir osé espérer mieux et on rentre dans le rang. Pourquoi? Parce qu’on en a la capacité. Parce qu’on est un francophone qui vit au Canada alors après tout, on est bilingue.

Mais j’en ai assez de toujours devoir être la personne qui fait l’effort. Il y a quelque chose de hautement frustrant que d’être avec un groupe de francophones mais de devoir passer à l’anglais parce qu’il y a un anglophone dans la salle, ou de devoir suivre une formation en anglais parce qu’un seul employé ne parle pas français.

Je ne pense pas qu’il faille pour autant piquer une crise à chaque fois qu’on entre dans une boutique à Ottawa et qu’un vendeur ne nous adresse pas dans notre langue. Toutefois, si l’on a encore une once d’estime pour notre culture, notre histoire et notre avenir, on peut au moins exprimer notre fierté d’être francophone en abordant les gens en français et en exigeant que les produits qu’on achète soient, au strict minimum, bilingues.

Parce qu’après tout, c’est le marchand de produits unilingues anglais ou la boutique aux employés non-bilingues qui, en 2008, devrait être « handicapé », et non les gens qui osent s’exprimer dans leur langue maternelle. Et ce, pas seulement durant le temps des Fêtes!

Pourquoi les physiciens font-ils de bons amoureux?

J’ai 24 ans et presque tous mes ami(e)s sont en couples, certains mariés, d’autres en processus de le devenir. C’est en aillant cette réflexion aujourd’hui que j’en suis arrivée à une autre observation troublante : un nombre anormalement élevé de mes amies (ainsi que moi-même) sortent avec des physiciens. Même ma mère est tombée pour un physicien, il y a de ça plusieurs années (évènement qui a éventuellement mené à ma naissance).

Pourquoi sommes nous donc toutes tombées sous l’emprise de ces créatures, stéréotypées par la société comme des intellectuels, sociallement maladroits, un peu obsessifs et perdus quelque part dans un monde de formules, de simulations d’ordinateur et d’innombrables heures passées au laboratoire?

Quand on est toute petite, on rêve d’épouser un joueur de hockey ou un acteur... peut être même un Européen, mais pas un physicien! L’image qu’on se fait d’un physicien ressemble au professeur Wayne Szalinski, au cheveux ébouriffés et aux grosse lunettes rondes, qui invente une machine qui fini par ratrécire ses enfants dans le film “Chérie, j’ai réduit les enfants” (Honey, I Shrunk the Kids).

Mais remarquez que le professeur Szalinski est père de famille et a comme épouse Diane Szalinski, jouée par la jolie Marcia Strassman. Mais qu’est-ce qu’une femme comme Diane peut-elle bien trouver à ce Wayne?

C’est que contrairement à ce qu’on pourrait s’imaginer, les physiciens sont en fin de compte les amoureux parfaits. Ils sont comme des pierres précieuses mais qui ont besoin d’un peu de polissage. Avec de la curiosité et un peu de patiente, on n’a qu’à creuser, enlever un peu de poussière et BAM, on a découvert un joyau. C’est le même principe qu’avec un Rock Tumbler! J’en avais un quand j’étais petite et en quelques jours, je pouvais transformer une poignée de roches à l’apparence plutôt banale en brillants petits cailloux, que je pouvais ensuite porter à mon cou (aucune métaphore ici).

Donc si vous êtes une femme, présentement célibataire et à la recherche d’un candidat potentiel, je vous encourage fortement à considérer un physicien. Pourquoi?

D’abord, parce que les physiciens sont facilement approchables et séduisables. Ils aiment essayer d’expliquer leurs recherches et sont tellement habitués à ce que leur interlocuteur n’y comprenne rien que vous n’avez qu’à démontrer un intérêt et la partie est presque jouée. Ils opèrent également dans un monde principalement composé d’hommes alors la présence féminine est pour eux une occasion à ne pas refuser.

Ils sont rationnels, simples, généralement stables et plutôt prévisibles, les rendant faciles à lire et à décoder. Si un physicien s’intéresse à vous, vous le saurez presque automatiquement.

En général, les hommes qui poursuivent une carrière en physique sont des gens qui ont su conserver leur côté enfantin, leur curiosité, originalité et naїveté de jeune garçon. C’est pourquoi les physiciens ont ce côté un peu farceur, parfois un peu bébé, qui font d’eux des personnes si attachantes.

Les physiciens sont également des êtres passionnés qui savent faire la fête. Dans le fond, il n’est pas surprenant qu’après de longues heures passées dans un laboratoire à regarder un écran d’oscilloscope, on aille besoin d’un verre.

Et bon, avouons-le, les physiciens peuvent aussi être plutôt séduisants! Tiens, prenez João Magueijo par exemple (ci-bas), ce cosmologue portugais qui enseigne la physique au Imperial College à Londres et qui croit en la variabilité de la vitesse de la lumière. Il parraîtrait que lorsqu’il a pensé à cette théorie pour la première fois, il marchait sous la pluie dans un champ de soccer de l’Université Cambridge, et ce alors qu’il souffrait d’une gueule de bois (preuve à l’appuie de mon argument précédent).

(http://discovermagazine.com/2003/apr/cover)

Bon, je pourrais continuer ainsi, mais je ne peux tout de même pas tout dévoiler. Parce qu’un physicien doit son charme d’abord et avant tout au fait même que ce charme demeure un secret bien gardé.

Going crazy over bus strike

It's been five days since the OC Transpo bus strike has started in Ottawa and quite frankly, I'm going a little crazy. I've been walking in circles in my apartment, neurotically adding more and more tinsel to my Christmas tree. We can barely see the green anymore.

The strike has got to end. I need to get out of the house and ride the bus again. I need to get to the places where I can consume, buy stuff I don't need, spend money on gifts people will never use. I need to see the familiar sight of parents trying to fit their baby's stroller in overcrowded bus; I need to read over someone's shoulder to see what they're typing on their Blackberry and hear the comforting sound of squealing tires and bus drivers shouting at the traffic.

No. Really, I want to get out of the house so that I can go to the Carleton University library and finaly take out a book I've been wanting to read for too long now: Disciplined Minds, by Jeff Schmidt. This book talks about how graduate schools turn their students from independent-thinkers to endoctrinated, employable workers. But I should be immuned to all this in journalism school right?

Anyways. I can't get to Carleton University and read Schmidt's book until the buses are back and running. So for now, I'm stuck in my over-heated, dry apartment, obsessing over my Christmas tree, checking every two hours if it needs more water. Yesterday, I hit a new low and watched Independence Day on Fox. I also cought up on three months of mail, which mainly consisted of letters from various charities asking me for money.

I gave money ONCE to the Breakfast Clubs of Canada last year and now, every charity in the country has my address. They even send you 'gifts' now, like Christmas cards and calendars, so you feel like a cheap bastard if you don't send them a check. And yes, I fell for it.

So today, while I was watching the fourth episode in a row of Family Guy, (which will always be second-best to the Simpsons) I decided to get off my ass and start this blog, which I've been meaning to do for a while now.

Why a bilingual blog? Because it's easier. Because for five years, I was immersed in the bilingual oasis that was the University of Ottawa, 'Canada's University' (I realize you might not know me enough yet to sense the irony in that last sentence, but we will get there). But most of all, because I'm a francophone studying journalism in English and sometimes, after a rough day, j'ai juste envie d'écrire en français tabarnac.