The in crowd/the thin crowd

I feel like I should be upset by the exclusionary tactics of the Abercrombie and Fitch CEO that were recently publicized, but I'm not.
I've linked to the article that seems to have gone viral, but to sum it up, CEO Mike Jeffries says he only wants beautiful (read: thin) girls shopping in his stores and supporting his products.
Jeffries is not the first, nor will he be the last, clothing line CEO who excludes sects of he population. Whether it be price point, size or store location, 'popular' clothes are exclusionary by nature - yet walk into any high school and everyone has them.  How exclusive.
When I was in high school, the American Eagle (which is definitely more inclusive in its sizing) opened at McAllister Place in Saint John. Students at KVHS (and other schools I'm sure) flocked there like lemmings.  In the coming weeks, nearly everyone sported these American Eagle striped rugby shirts.
One of the things that struck me about what Jeffries said is that he wants people wearing his clothes to feel like one of the 'cool' kids. When I think back to the halls of my high school, I'm pretty my peers adorned in American Eagle were definitely the cool kids. But I thought everyone was cooler than me. And I'm pretty sure I'm not the only one who felt that way because that is the nature of being a teenager.
If not fitting into Abercrombie and Fitch clothing is the thing that makes you feel alienated in high school, thank heavens it's not something worse. In an era where not even changing schools can stop cyber bullying, let those overpriced pieces of fabric inflict some pain. It will heal.
And then we'll all chuckle about the proverbial overpriced rugby shirts in the future. For those who felt like they were better in high school, they've really had nothing else to strive for.
Quite frankly, many of the kids who peak in high school often become adults who I don't have much interest in spending time with.
It's the collective struggle of adolescence that at least made me (and I'm sure I'm not alone) work hard, learn how to handle disappointment, and most importantly, laugh at myself.
Which brings me to Jeffries most striking point - thin is in. Duh. I've seen the outrage over this comment, but it's not like this is a new sentiment in fashion or in society.
I can't shop where many people shop, and of course that bothers me. I'm not immune to self-doubt; however, I still try to dress with flare (most of the time). More importantly, I'm a good friend, and I'm pretty sure I'm fun to be around. I don't wear Abercrombie and Fitch clothes, but now - at 30 years old - I feel like I'm in the in crowd. And even if I'm not - I still have a blast!

10 years

It is incredible how time flies. I'm certainly not the first, nor will I be the last to come to this not so shocking revelation. 

Ten years ago today I was having lunch at a restaurant - it was the first and last time I would ever eat there. The food wasn't bad - in all honesty I couldn't tell you what I had even ordered. I was there with my younger sister and my fantastically flamboyant friend Garrett. 

Though hard to imagine, this was a time before Facebook and even before texting - the information highway was fast, but not the lightening speed that it is today. 

Now my sister, Kelsey, and Garrett were still high school students, while I had just finished my first year of university. As commonly happens, my friend circle had changed in the many months leading up to this fateful day. Not for any reason other than natural ebbs and flows of life and friendship, I had fallen out of touch with the friends I had spent time with in high school. 

Those days of playing cards in the cafeteria and eating lunch on a window ledge just inside the front doors of kennebecasis valley high had faded into driving adventures throughout saint John featuring the Cecelia car dance and exploring the city in which we lived, also known as stalking our crushes. 

It wasn't as though I had forgotten about singing American Pie and having our moms take us to the mall, or even the basement parties. I occasionally even thought about calling, but I never did. 

I used to beat myself up about this, but I don't anymore. As I age, I understand more and more that these things happen. 

Back to Aug. 11, 2002. 

Now Garrett was (and likely still is) the king of all things fun and social. He had a large cross section of friends, but had this innate ability to make you feel like you were the most important when you were together. He also has this ability to make the mundane magical. With all of his sparkle, he also occasionally lacked tact at the time. 

As we ate, he remarked about something he had seen on msn messenger earlier that morning. 

"Oh my god! Did. You hear about Amanda Dobson?! I think she's dead."

He had no idea that she and I had once been close friends.

I felt my heart sink and the world stop and felt myself get short of breath and all of the colour drain from my face. 

I mustered all of my strength to respond. 

"How do you know? What happened?!"

He didn't know any more details. 

I couldn't simply text a friend or check Facebook - it really was a different time. 

The only phone number I had memorized was richard's. 

He was once one of my best friends - he even accompanied me to my high school prom. 

His mom directed a choir I once sang in. 

When his dad answered the call, I asked for Richard - he was with the rest of the old gang because they had been keeping vigil since the accident had occurred. 

Mr. Clark told me that Amanda had been registering for courses at st. Thomas university and she and her boyfriend struck a moose on their way home. She was on life support for two full days before the plug was pulled. She had just passed away within the hour. 

His dad told me where everyone was. Without thinking, I got up from the table and all but ran to my little blue Toyota corolla. My sister ended up paying my bill and they managed to catch up to me before I inadvertently left them behind. 

I probably shouldn't have been driving - I honestly have no recollection of dropping Kelsey and Garrett off. I only vaguely remember sitting silently with a group of people I had lost touch with. 

It was truly heartbreaking...in so many ways. People were crying but I couldn't. 

I felt too guilty to even let tears flow because I had dropped the ball on our friendship; I didn't deserve to mourn.

I felt like what I imagine a zombie feels like. I was just going through the motions. 

Feel free to interpret this next part in whichever way you choose. I may have manifested it in my mind, or it may have been something more profound. The night before her wake, she came to me in a dream. 

She basically released me from my guilt. 

"it's ok kate; it's not like I called you either. I know you cared."

And then she smiled and I woke up. 

I went to the wake and felt myself becoming a little bit overcome with emotion. Just as I started to feel the tears swell, her little sister looked up at me and grinned. 

"it's ok to cry katelin."

This 12 year old vision of strength was making an effort to comfort me?! No, that was not acceptable. I pulled myself together and gave her a hug. 

I then spoke with her mom. 

"we can't sing American pie again," she said.  

I gave her a hug and then quickly left. I sobbed and wailed and released everything that I had been holding inside. I finally let myself mourn the loss of this amazing young lady - this amazing friend. 

Now, it's been 10 years. Through the magic of Facebook, I passively keep up with old friends and I'm sure they do the same. 

I'm much more willing to accept the natural ebbs and flows of friendship, but because of Amanda, I try to express how much people mean to me in the moment. 

Sometimes it's a little silly and can make conversations a little awkward, but I'm quick to compliment someone and I'm quick to express my gratitude for friendship. 

And if you're reading this and we have fallen out of touch - I can guarantee that you cross my mind and that I wish nothing but the best for you. 

Love, katelin 

Apparently I'm a bad blogger

My parents always say that if they haven't heard from me in awhile, it probably means I'm fitting in - well they're right.When I first moved, I was in touch with them almost every single day, then it was every weekend, now it's whenever the stars align. 
It's not that I don't think about them; I'm just busy. I've made some great friends, have found the music and arts scene and I adore my job. How I love being a reporter; I can't even count the ways. I don't know if there's a job better suited to me than this one. It's busy and exciting (most of the time) and I get to meet new people daily. 
It's not all sunshine and roses though. I mean, it does take bad days to truly appreciate the wonderful ones, but overall, I'm a happy camper. I use the term camper because my furniture quotient consists of a futon (most recent acquisition), an air mattress and a camp chair.
More than that, I feel more like myself than I have in quite some time.
Don't get me wrong, I miss ole New Brunswick. I'm pretty sure I've developed an east coast accent that I never had when I lived on the east coast. I also fawn over anyone who says they're from, or even been to the maritimes, and every time someone posts a photo of an article in the Bugle-Observer, I read whatever I can. I also drool over Fusion/Bistro 610 menu items as they're posted on Facebook. I also check cbc.ca/nb regularly and good god, I'd kill for a Picaroon's Dooryard or Covered Bridge Potato Chips. 
Speaking of Dooryard, as those dates edge closer, I long to be a part of that family again. Or at least to visit for the week, but alas, it's not in the cards this year.
I also wish I could be home for Rock the Farm. What an amazing lineup!  If only I could teleport to Carleton County for a couple of days at a time. 
What I am pumped about is my dear parents coming to visit at the end of August.
It'll be great! Just me and mommy and daddy, like the golden years when I was an only child - pre 1987 when the little attention thief came along. I'm totally kidding; I would love nothing more than to see Kelsey and Alex and the most adorable little man in the world, my nephew Dominic.
Anyway, when my folks are here, we have a trip to Whitehorse planned!  It's pretty cool that Whitehorse and Vancouver are equidistant from where I live. I still haven't seen the northern lights though, but I know I will.
If you're reading this from back east, I miss you, and if you're reading this in FSJ because I posted it on Facebook, thank you for making me feel like part of this amazing community.

nearly a month in

It's hard to believe that a month ago today I was on the train, somewhere in Northern Ontario. It definitely feels like that part of the journey took a month. 

Work is amazing. It feels so good to be a reporter again. It's not always an easy job, but that's what makes it amazing to me. 

It's a pretty steep learning curve in a new city when you're the only reporter at a daily paper. Luckily (perhaps a poor choice of words based on the implications), teachers have been on strike. I'm in no way happy about this as a member of society; it's just made news relatively easy to cover. 

My social life had been pretty much non-existent until recently. It's such a departure of character for me to spend a lot of time in my own apartment, but that's what I've been doing. Though the weather has been great (especially for here so I'm told), it's not quite the season to go exploring and adventuring. I'll save that for when there are only three hours of darkness at night. 

A lovely woman who resides in Woodstock told me something after I had made the decision to leave. She shared with me that she had been in a rather similar situation in her late 20s - in a town, with great friends, where she may have been content the rest of her life - but content is not happy. She said she reflects on that time and still thinks of her years there as the time she had the most fun with the most friends, and she'll remember it fondly.

The longer I'm away from Woodstock, the more I feel like that is the truth. I know I'll make some good friends here, but it will never be like it was at home, and that's ok. 

I'm finding that I don't have the desire to be involved in a gazillion committees here, or go to every party that happens. It's strange, I once needed to do those things to feel like I belonged, but now, I know that I belong somewhere, and I'm happy to spend time on my own. That's kind of a big deal for me. 

I do miss going to Fusion (now Bistro 610), not because of the food (though I'm craving caliente soup like nobody's business), or the coffee, or the ability to simply say to anybody working (much to Brendan's chagrin) 'mix me a drink,' but because every time I walked into that cafe, I felt like I belonged, and I always knew I would have a great conversation when I was there. Whether it was with the friends I was meeting there, the regulars, who became the friends I was meeting there, or one of the amazing staff members, who  also became the friends I was meeting there. Though I don't love the comparison to Norm, it really was like cheers, where everybody knew my name...unlike the Cheers here in Fort St. John, which happens to be a strip club, where I hope to god nobody will ever know my name.

it's been a long time comin'

I am here in my new room, on my new bed (air mattress), in my new apartment, after getting home from my new job, and with all of these new things, I find I'm missing New Brunswick.

I'm not missing it in the way that I regret my decision, or even want to come back right now. I'm missing it because it's home. I met a lady from Miramichi today, and I almost hugged her.

The people in Fort St. John have been quite lovely so far. Within my first 24 hours here, I made my way to the arts centre to see the one and only Matt Andersen. I realize I had never met him before, but as someone who has spent the past few years in Western New Brunswick, I feel quite proud to say we're from the same place. And to hear the crowd erupt for the talent that is he made me feel quite proud to say he was from my home.

Now, for the fun stuff: I truly love being a reporter. I love the long hours; I love being on the go; I love being in the know; I love being in the newsroom; I love the coffee; I love being busy.

I wouldn't be me without some catastrophe happening on my first day. I had just completed my first story on Tuesday (Monday I was basically shadowing the lovely lady I'm replacing), and I snapped a photo with my iPhone for posterity. And thank heavens I did. It wasn't two minutes later that the spinning wheel of death (yes, if you've ever used a mac you know what that colourful wheel of misfortune is) made his appearance. I tried turning it off and on again. I tried everything, but that computer was definitely written off, along with my story.

Because The Alaska Highway News  is a daily paper, I needed that story to help fill the pages. In a fit of brilliance, I remembered the photo I had taken, and found myself retyping the story from the tiny print of an iPhone photo. I felt pretty proud that my own vanity saved the day.

In the next couple of days, I will post some photos from my amazing train trip across the country and share some stories from that. If any of you ever have the opportunity to ride VIA rail across Canada, please do it.It's worth the trip. Heed this advice, do not take coach if you do.

On my way

As I write this post on my iPhone, I'm on the train just past Belleville Ontario. The train has been a mostly positive experience, barring the throwing up at the Montreal station this morning and the near breakdown I had before leaving Moncton when a couple of my bags were too heavy. I may have said something like, if I wanted this kind of service, I would've taken an airplane. The attendant then did All he could to help after that. My dear friend Emily stopped by to see me in Montreal, which was super sweet of her. . I'll detail much more coherent accounts of my trip upon my arrival. Thanks for reading!

getting close now

This is my last week in Woodstock. 

I've resigned from all of my commitments. 

I've sold most of my furniture (including my bed). 

I've booked my train ticket (with a 50% off seat sale). 

I'm tying up loose ends.

I've secured an actual place to live...and it seems legitimate. 

And now the hard part...

...saying goodbye. I keep saying it's not goodbye, it's simply a so long. And that's true. It's hard to express just how important people are in my life right now!  I went from having three really great friends and a number of acquaintances in Saint John to falling in love with an entire community of people. Through the powers of the internet tubes, I will stay in touch with people, but it won't be the same. A tweet, blog post or text message is not the same as sitting for hours on end over a cup of coffee (or four). I'm one hundred per cent sure of my decision to take this next step, but that certainty doesn't make this week of goodbyes any less sad.

Since I've made the decision to leave, I've come to terms with the impact of leaving family and close friends, but I also know that they're the people I'll definitely stay in touch with. What is really starting to set in this week is how much I'm going to miss the people who've become big parts of my life on a daily basis.

The graphic designer I work with has become one of my closest confidantes; the handsome bartender at my favourite watering hole has become one of my favourite people to have conversations with as of late; the coffee crew I have quaint chats with each day 'round 10; the waves and friendly smiles of a community that I love, and a community that's welcomed me. Change is inevitable, and I'm excited to take on a new challenge. I'm also truly looking forward to a journey across the country on a train. It is most definitely with a heavy heart that I bid my farewell to Woodstock. Mark my words, I will be back to visit. (Take that as a threat or as a promise depending on what your opinion of me is).