The good, the bad and the ugly...of peanuts.

Peanuts have their ups and downs. On the one hand, they're tasty, travel-sized and hit people just hard enough to hurt. On the other hand, they are nothing without the words "-butter and jelly" after them, they make for the most annoying packing material in the world and they refer, in the right context, to a distinct lack of something. I'm annoyed at that last one right now.

So, anywho, I should probably explain my annoyance. I, being awesome and bearded, decided that if I had to move back to Alberta for the summer, I better make a good show of it and try to be productive and have a good time. So far, epic fail on both fronts. Two days back, and I was miserable. But, in keeping with the aforementioned mantra, I ran across something mildly interesting/informative: the visit of a high-profile-yet-largely-useless Liberal MP, a Mr. Justin Trudeau.

Now, I think we all know Justin as the son of the late Pierre Elliot Trudeau, head honcho of our frozen wasteland circa before I was born. That's about it. He's a pretty face with a fine pedigree who's being groomed for the leadership of the liberal party, circa after I'm dead. He has done just about nothing of note beyond that. And he's in Alberta. Blue, blue Alberta.

So, I go to this box-social, organized by one of my favorite teachers from high school, without any kind of agenda beyond watching and listening. And apparently having old women mistake me for the aforementioned-19-years-older-than-I-am-Trudeau. But, given my journalismness, I bring my notebook, camera and tape recorder, and proceed to nail down about 20 minutes of tape, some fun quotes and some decent pictures just for shits and giggles. To the point that, as the guy in the room with the scruffy beard, messy hair, big camera and lack of any discernable fashion sense, I was asked by Trudeau's PR guy to fire him some pictures of the event and a link to the story I was writing for my publication (which he evidently didn't know wasn't real). Cool.

So I go into the Advocate to talk internship that same day, all gung-ho to try to snag a paid position, and they tell me that I might not even have an unpaid internship. Shit. So that's up in the air, but here's the part that you read the last bagillion paragraphs for: the Advocate, the big Central Alberta newspaper, didn't have anyone at that event. My crappy hometown newspaper, the Lacombe Globe, was going to scoop them. So I pitched my story to them, was given 400 words to work with, and hammered out a pretty solid story. (http://www.albertalocalnews.com/reddeeradvocate/news/local/Justin_Trudeau_comes_to_visit_43791677.html)
(Just cause I know you're curious)

For which they paid me peanuts.

WARNING: THE FORTHCOMING PARAGRAPHS WILL CONTAIN PROFANE LANGUAGE, ADULT THEMES AND NUDITY. VIEWER DISCRETION IS ADVISED.

7.5 cents per word. OH YES, 7.5. I feel impressed. Not like I saved them from being scooped in a highly embarrassing manner. Not like they had just told me that the one bright spot of my summer may go and disappear. NOT LIKE THEY PAID ME LESS THAN A QUARTER OF WHAT A STAFF WRITER WOULD HAVE GOTTEN FOR THE SAME STORY AND PICTURE! FuckShitDamnCuntMotherFuckerCockSuckerAssWhoreSlutBitch. Those assholes paid me fuck all for this shit, and hit me in the one place that actually hurts; my professionalism. I'm damn good at what I do, and I begrudgingly came home for them to apparently step all over me. Ass-clowns.

So, I officially hate peanuts. Until further notice, I will be eating J sandwiches, no PB involved. I will throw popcorn at people during sporting events. And I will probably continue to work for very little in order to scrape together enough bylines that I never have to come back to this shithole again. God I love summertime.

Van