A BoB short:

Shriya Shah-Klorfine, 33, of Toronto had dreamed of climbing to the top of Mount Everest since she was nine-years old. On Saturday, after an intense seven-week sojourn to the top, Shah-Klorfine placed a flag on the mountain’s summit, becoming the fourth Canadian woman to scale Mount Everest.

But she did not have much time to relish achieving her lifelong dream. Shah-Klorfine died later that day alongside three fellow climbers during their descent. According to some reports, the deaths were the result of exhaustion and altitude sickness.

“My wife was someone who lived life to its fullest, with irrepressible energy and vitality,” said her husband, Bruce Klorfine, in a statement to the Canadian Press. “She died in the pursuit of her dreams, and with the satisfaction of having achieved them.”

On the climb’s website, the self described “daring lady” patriotically declared, “This is my dream and passion, and [I] want to do something for my country.” Shah-Klorfine was born in Nepal but considered Canada her home. She boisterously added, “Nothing is impossible in this world, even the word ‘impossible’ says ‘I M POSSIBLE!’ ”

The main climbing season on Everest runs from March to June, providing a narrow window of opportunity for adventurers. An estimated 150 climbers took advantage of a break in the weather on Saturday to attempt to reach the top, leading to congestion and potentially lethal delays for any carrying limited oxygen supplies.

- Emily Olesen

A museum sex exhibit designed to educate teenagers has proven too racy for some Ottawa parents — and it hasn’t even opened yet.

“Sex: A Tell-all Exhibition” is due to open at The Canada Science and Technology Museum on Friday. In response to over 50 complaints from parents who feel that the exhibit is more smutty than educational, the museum has raised the age of unaccompanied admission from 12 to 16.

Certain aspects of the exhibit, such as the “Erecto-Matic,” which allows observers to watch a cross-section of a flaccid penis become erect with the press of a button, have sparked the parental concern. The museum, however, says they offer precise and accurate information that teens might not get anywhere else. “This exhibition, developed by the Montreal Science Centre, is intended for adolescents 12 years and older, parents seeking a better understanding of the subject in preparation for their children’s questions, teachers of high school and their students, health care professionals, and anyone else who wishes to learn more.”

With teenage STD rates on the rise, they might be on to something. Memo to parents: explaining sex isn’t promoting it. If anything, the “Erecto-Matic” is liable to encourage abstinence for a good few years.

“Sex: A Tell-all Exhibition” runs until January.

- Emily Olesen

London, Ontario’s Bethesda Centre announced on Saturday that Canadian-born pop star Justin Bieber will donate a portion of the sales of his new single to its Save the Bethesda campaign. The Centre is a Salvation Army-run centre for teenage mothers that provides prenatal care and daycare services. Bieber’s mother, Pattie Mallette, lived there when she was pregnant with him. The new song, “Turn to You,” was written for Mallette as a Mother’s day tribute.

The Bethesda Centre requires $1.5 million by May 31st to keep the doors open. So far it has raised a mere $108,656 from 341 donors, just 7% of the goal. The good news is that Bieber has 21,679,314 twitter followers, many of whom spread the news of his gift, and Bethesda’s campaign, over the weekend. They included Mallette herself, who tweeted, “@justinbieber wrote me a song for Mother’s day! So excited 4 #TurnToYou out 2morrow, it made me cry… Proceeds going 2 help single moms!”

Bieber may have been thinking about himself and his mother when he famously told Rolling Stone last year, “I really don’t believe in abortion, it’s like killing a baby.” Naturally, that created a ruckus. However, you don’t have to like his views on the subject — or his music — in order to think that donating to the Bethesda Centre is a good idea. To do so, click here. Or, to read more about the Centre and what it does, here.

Meantime, the new song is on youtube:

Though if you really don’t like Bieber’s music, maybe you should donate before you listen.

- Emily Olesen

About ten years ago I saw a young couple throw themselves in front of a subway train at the McGill metro station in downtown Montreal. It was all over in a flash.

All I saw was two people on the opposite platform suddenly rush forward, and then the body of one of them lying like a rag doll under the middle of the train when it came to a full stop.

But the incident haunted me for years. I couldn’t help thinking if only I had been on the other platform, I might have been able to do something to save them.

So I can’t help but note that Saturday was World Suicide Prevention Day. Because suicide is a huge problem in Canada and not enough is being done about it.

Every month about 300 Canadians take their own lives, and many more attempt it. The young and the old are particularly vulnerable, and so are the mentally ill.

In native communities, where suicide rates are many times the rate of non-native Canadians, they call Autumn the suicide season. And what’s happening in one native community is an absolute horror show.

Pikangikum, a fly-in community of 2,400 people in northwestern Ontario, is thought to have the highest suicide rate in the world . . . Of the 16 suicides examined by the coroner, four of the children were 12.

The top recommendation is for Ottawa to build a school in Pikangikum to replace the one that burned down four years ago. Aboriginal Affairs and Northern Development Canada has committed to rebuild it, but that has not yet happened.

Our failure to stop this slaughter of our suffering native youth is a gaping wound in the side of this country. Our apparent inability to talk openly about our suicide problem only makes things worse.

The good news, and the point of Suicide Prevention Day, is that we CAN do something about it. We can force governments to do more, we can help more Canadians choose life, and we can help reduce the shattering pain of those who loved them and lost them so suddenly.

We just have to educate ourselves about the problem. We have to be able to recognize the symptoms and the warnings in those we know and love, know what to say and how to help them.

But perhaps the simplest and most effective thing we can do as ordinary people is just say “TALK TO ME.”

Which just happens to be this year’s slogan of The Trevor Project, an organization that helps LGBT kids, who attempt suicide at a rate four times higher than their straight peers.

Here’s Kevin McHale from “Glee” speaking to them . . .

And here’s a flash mob in Los Angeles sending out a message that I’m dedicating to everybody, young and old, gay or straight, who are feeling sad and hopeless tonight . . .

Yup. Talk to me. Three simple words that can save a life.

Knowledge is strength.

And love can work wonders . . .

By Jodi A. Shaw

Mayor Rob Ford may have been conspicuously absent from Toronto’s Pride Parade last weekend, but 16-year old Leanne Iskander more than made up for it as parade co-Grand Marshal (along with Michael Bach of Pride at Work Canada).

Iskander made headlines in March when she was prohibited from forming a Gay-Straight Alliance at St. Joseph Catholic Secondary School in Mississauga. Not one to be stymied, she instead created a province-wide organization, Catholic Students for GSAs, and then, when told that she and other members could not promote it with posters featuring rainbows, cooked up a batch of rainbow-on-the-inside cupcakes instead.

Since then, Leanne, her cupcakes, and her message have been all over the Internet. She’s quickly become a well-known activist, youth leader, and strong, positive role model for LGBT youth. She’s also become one incredibly busy person, so I appreciated her taking the time to have an e-mail chat with me recently.

Leanne says she attends a Catholic school “because my parents chose to send me there. I think a surprising number of students in Catholic schools aren’t actually Catholic, and going to a Catholic school wasn’t exactly their first choice. For me, I wouldn’t want to switch out of my school now because I feel like that would be giving up.”

The first step in confronting her school’s refusal was to find out the reason behind it. It turned out “our school board, as well as the Halton Catholic school board, banned the formation of LGBT-specific clubs or groups, despite the fact that GSAs are strongly recommended by the Ministry of Education.”

Which wasn’t exactly surprising. “I don’t think there’s really anything in a Catholic school for LGBT students, or at least not before now. There were no GSAs or anything like that, our school had never had an anti-homophobia event or workshop before, LGBT issues were never even mentioned in the curriculum, ever.” But that was about to change.

“After we took it to the media, proposing it again, and got a lawyer, Catholic schools decided to allow LGBT-specific groups in the form of anti-bullying groups.” Which is close. Close. “They still do not allow us to use the term gay-straight alliance,” Leanne notes.

“I don’t think our school is really as hostile to queer people as it is ignorant. I really didn’t realize how much our school was lacking until I realized how much Public schools had for LGBT teens. Our school doesn’t have any of that.”

High school is a tough place. It’s cliquey, it’s complicated, and it’s full of confused teenagers trying to figure out who they are and where they’re headed in life. So to have the confidence, at 16, to stand up for herself, her identity, and her rights, makes Leanne an extraordinary person in my books. But she’s very modest about what she’s doing.

“I don’t think I’ve done much more than anyone else would have had they been put in the same situation. I do stand up for my rights. With the GSA, I knew that there were students in our school that needed it and I wasn’t going to take no for an answer. There is no excuse for denying at-risk students the support they need. Administration and the board don’t intimidate me, because I realize that on this topic, I know a lot more than they do. I don’t think that me being 16 or being a student makes me any less of a person than they are.”

But while her school has made changes, probably thanks to the media attention it received, it still has a long way to go. The way I see it, forcing a GSA to hide its identity and purpose behind the guise of an anti-bullying group is itself bullying. It’s bad enough that so many LGBT teens are in the closet; let’s not put their support groups there too.

“They’re only allowing anti-bullying groups because they had to offer some sort of support as mandated by the ministry. If we as students are asking for a certain type of support, then we should get that. We obviously need it, seeing as we’re asking for it. Banning groups with the name gay-straight alliance (or Rainbow Alliance – this name was also rejected by admin.) sends a clear message of intolerance to queer students.

“I think the board threw us a carrot with the anti-bullying groups – they want us to give up. They’ve tried to intimidate us before. It is bullying on their behalf.”

Gay or straight, Leanne and friends are just trying to be themselves, honestly and without censorship. Their brand of confidence — the confidence to say “This is who I am, I’m not afraid to say it, and I’m going to stand up for it” — is the sort of thing that might reduce the rates of depression and suicide in youths. If, that is, it’s given a chance to spread.

“Being 16, I think the board assumes that they can deny us our rights as they please. We are Canadian citizens, and we have the same rights in a Catholic school as we do anywhere else in Canada. If other students can form groups as they like and call it the name of their choosing, then we should be able to as well. Nothing about our group breaks school policy in any way.

“It’s pure discrimination.”

Probably the most bizarre attempt to deal with the Stanley Cup riots to date was the announcement of a group getting together to sing O Canada at the corner of Georgia and Hamilton. But other unusual takes abound, among them that of the bicycle-loving mayor of Vancouver who is apparently convinced that the riots were instigated by a small group of outside agitators. NBC’s Brian Williams promotes them to anarchists — a term usually honorably applied to 19th-century Russians battling the Romanov absolutism. Provincial premier Christy Clark doesn’t call them names but promises to prosecute vigorously whomever needs to be prosecuted in such a manner. Journalism teacher Nicholas Read blames it all on sports jingoism, while journalism practitioner Ian Mulgrew ties the event together with inadequate funding for our judicial system.

Yet more far-fetched advice on the riots comes via the perilously left-leaning newspaperman Stephen Hume, who counsels us to concentrate on the misery of the Downtown Eastside instead of the riots.

A prominent Vancouver churchman seems to think we’re all a bit guilty, a thoughtshared by the Vancouver Sun’s religious columnist Douglas Todd, who adds that some people identify with their team to the point of attempting suicide when it loses. It isn’t exactly clear what part original sin played in all this but one strongly suspects that the smiling girls charmingly posing in front burning police cars were not particularly upset over the loss of the Stanley Cup.

On the other hand one cannot but admire all those young people cleaning up the streets and writing encouraging messages on the plywood covered storefronts. Also the nice ladies and gentlemen who served them pancakes for breakfast, though it’s unlikely any of these were the same people who went berserk on that fateful night.

Perhaps most moving have been the front-page apologies of Camille Cacnio, Tim Kwong, and the would-be Olympic athlete Nathan Kotylak. But to be properly moved one has to be charitable and rule out any questions about them being as forthcoming had their faces not been plastered all over facebook. At least Cacnio changed the wording of her message so that it would sound more like an apology than merely an attempt at self-expiation.

But in the end despite all the identifying, labeling, threatening, and excusing of the culprits, we seem to be collectively tiptoeing around the much larger question, which is Why? And once we poke into that wasps’ nest, out come flying questions like:

What role was played by the all-pervasive electronic media? All that fateful mixing of real reality and the virtual one, of mammoth TVs and alcohol in a noisy gathering of a crowd of a hundred thousand. Did instant messaging, imaging, and the resultant instant fame have anything to do with it?

And what about the role of morality in this post-modernist world, and the absence of clearly stated retribution? Education, which used to be closely connected to consequences, nowadays largely isn’t. We are afraid to supposedly pollute the multifarious nature of Judeo-Christianity, offend the Muslims and Sikhs, misinterpret the Hindus, and misunderstand the Buddhists. Granted that decisions in this area are often difficult — each age seems to bring different challenges — but, worried lest we step on someone’s toes, much too often our solution consists of leaving this space blank.

In British Columbia we pride ourselves on preparing everyone who wants to be prepared (and some who don’t) for the technical challenges of the market, leaving out rather important subjects such as the meaning of doing the right thing, respecting the rights of others, and just plain being decent to someone else. Our emphasis is instead on young people making their own decisions, standing on their own two feet — on being individuals.

But let’s be honest with ourselves: how many times in our early youth were we tempted to engage in instant gratification, to do costly, silly things, only to be rescued at the very last moment by images of sheer terror should we be discovered, punished, and/or ridiculed? Before morality and rationality kicked in came the very present and helpful fear of retribution.

Such fears, of course, are considerably reduced by the use of alcohol, particularly in younger set, which has less experience with it. But maybe with all this virtual reality and the emphasis on instant gratification, the ability to imagine retribution is largely a lost art among our children. At least one would surmise that from some of the statements of the aforementioned trio.

Vancouver Police Chief Chu can announce criminal charges being laid against the perpetrators until he is hoarse. Unless we get rid of our complacency, and realize our youth are not always ready to handle their role in society, especially when part of large, anonymous gatherings, he will be forced to make such announcements again.

So, what are we going to do about it?

Having owned the Brock Anton story sufficiently on Thursday to crash our server for awhile — we’ve now moved to a nice big new one — it seems necessary to provide a follow-up, although much of the web has moved on to other riot tales, like the kissing couple. And even though, frankly, writing about this stuff leaves me feeling like I’ve showered in water from a septic field.

Despite various rumours on the Internetz, there’s no evidence that Anton has been arrested or, like some of the perps, turned himself in. The Vancouver Police asked the RCMP in Duncan, BC, where the B-Rock lives (or at least did once), to look into the matter, but for some reason the Mounties aren’t interested in getting their man.

Meantime, poor Brock’s father (or should that be Brock’s poor father) has washed his hands of him. “I don’t know if he was or wasn’t [at the riot],” Jim Anton told the local paper. “He’s 23 years old. He’s no responsibility of mine. It’s got nothing to do with me.” Which may provide some clue as to why Brock is as he is.

But if Anton père doesn’t know if his son was at the riot, the rest of the world does. A number more images have emerged since we constructed the side-by-side comparison contained in our first story. That’s Brock up there with an unidentified companion. Here he is giving somebody the sideways finger:

For awhile there was video on youtube showing him delivering a kick to an overturned car, but it has since been made private. (I guess not everyone is into helping to identify the offenders.) We can reconstruct the big moment, though, using images from Vancouver Riot Pics: Post Your Photos. Here’s Brock givin’ er:

And, boom:

Note, by the way, the blood on his fingers, which suggests that some part of his original facebook story (“6 broken fingers, blood everywhere, punched a fucken pig in head with riot gear on knocked him to the ground”) might actually be true.

But here’s the thing: other than these pics, there’s not much out there to hang on Brock. Could be wrong, maybe the police have more on him, but so far it appears the worst he can be charged with is kicking a car that was already a write-off, as well as various fashion offenses. So I tend to agree with the posters on the unfortunately-named “Brock Anton Sucks Dick” facebook page who have advised our boy that it’s time to man-up and turn himself in. It’s either that or move to the Antarctic, where he’d still have to change his name and wear a mask to disguise his identity from outraged penguins.

And then, if he does do the right thing, it might be time for the rest of us to take a break from posting illiterate facebook messages about what a d-bag he is and what should happen to him in jail — which is, as has been pointed out, just another form of mob mentality — and heed the advice of this guy:

Honestly I hope the best for Brock, sure he was a fucking idiot. I hope he gets charged and learns and changes in a positive way from it. I have been involved in the justice system. At first I understood why people looked so negatively at me and what I did. But after awhile I changed people still look at me even though I am different now people still look at me as a “physco”. We all fuck up we should encourage him to do better so he does not make the same mistake, and really this guy and people who started it are not terrible people they just did something terrible, I hope they learn from this experience and grow the fuck up.

See, Brock? There’s still hope. Do it.

Overnight, a certain Brock Anton became the face of the Vancouver Stanley Cup riot on the internet. Downtown for the abortive festivities yesterday, Mr. Anton apparently took time out from his busy schedule to post this on his Facebook page:

It reads:

Maced in the face, hit with a Batton, tear gassed twice, 6 broken fingers, blood everywhere, punched a fucken pig in head with riot gear on knocked him to the ground, through the jersey on a burning cop car flipped some cars, burnt some smart cars, burnt some cop cars, I’m on the news….. One word…..
History )

To which his friend Ashley replied: “brockkkk! take this down!!! its evidence!” To which one poster to a nonewbs.com forum responded, the incident having already gained traction on the web: “Ashley got that right.”

Now the internet being what it is, it’s possible Brock Anton doesn’t exist, or that this is some kind of elaborate prank (especially given that “Brock Anton” sounds like a character on a soap opera). However, an exhaustive backofthebook.ca investigation, which took all of an hour, suggests that Mr. Anton is the real thing, or a real thing.

That’s him on the left, in a cached version of his Facebook listing from a while back, and there he is again during yesterday’s trashfest. We’d recognize those sunglasses anywhere.

It’s also possible that the B-Rock didn’t actually do any of the things he said he did, as perhaps he’s explaining to the Vancouver Police Department right now. Regardless, the internet has decided he’s emblematic of all the morons who acted so disgracefully after the Canucks’ 4-0 loss to the Bruins.

That hockey has its own fair share of mouth-breathers doesn’t come as any surprise, of course. What does is the fact that the City of Vancouver thought it could somehow allow 100,000+ people to assemble in its downtown core for the final game of a fraught seven game series without running into serious problems. Win or lose, that was a bizarrely naive decision. We can assume that some number of those who looted The Bay, London Drugs, and other stores were common criminals who’d planned long ago to take advantage of the post-game chaos, whether Canucks fans were celebrating or, as it turned out, in mourning. And the City obliged by giving them the cover they needed. Just as strange is the fact that the windows of those stores hadn’t been covered with plywood hours before, given the certainty that a human hurricane was on its way. Heck, with that many people throttling Georgia Street, even if The Bay’s big display windows hadn’t had the boots put to them, somebody was likely to get pushed through one.

The mouth-breathers, then, aren’t the only ones responsible for what happened last night. Hopefully the inquiry that has now been announced will identify the moronic behaviour that went on at all levels — on the streets, and at City Hall. Brock Anton isn’t the only one with some explaining to do today.

Macho Man is dead.

Who’s next? Hulk Hogan? The Ultimate Warrior? Jake The Snake Roberts? In fact, how the hell did Jake with all his drugging and boozing outlive Randy Savage anyway?

As more of these forgotten heroes enter their 50s and even 60s (yikes!), I guess they’re going to start dropping like flies. All the ‘roids and pills and liquor and drugs. Hard to believe some more of them haven’t met the same fate as good ol’ Randy.

I have to admit I felt a bit empty when I read about Savage’s death in a car crash, after a suspected heart attack. But why the melancholy? It’s been almost 20 years since I watched or even cared about wrestling. I can’t remember the last time my brother pile-drived me into the cement in our semi-finished basement. No idea where my old hard-as-nails plastic action figures are. My ancient Wrestlemania VHS tapes were sold long ago in a garage sale.

That being said, I got a boyish thrill when Darren Aronofsky’s The Wrestler did so well a few years ago. And I was bummed when Mickey Rourke lost out to his buddy Sean Penn at the Oscars. I even found myself defending the realness of wrestling to my wife the other day. “Yeah, it’s fake, but you have to invent your character and hone your skills. You can’t just be some muscle-bound monkey off the street and be champ the next week.”

What was I saying? Who cares! It’s bloody wrestling. My wife is right. It is fake. Wrestlers are actors. Their antics rival those on the daytime soaps for absurdity. They’re just a bunch of goons in banana-hammocks, pounding each other into oblivion.

But Macho Man was always my favourite. I can still hear my dad mimicking his trademark “oooh yeah!” and “Dig it!” and me and my brother crying for more. Those were great times. Some of the best times we had.

Oh. So I guess that’s why his death hit me so hard.

Sorry for calling you a goon, Randy. Rest in peace.

A year-or-so after the Winter Olympics torch got snuffed out, community spirit is back in Vancouver, thanks to the Canucks. Where the many official attempts to reignite our sporting fervor failed, a simple hockey playoff series has done the trick. Greater Vancouver has decided it will party when it wants to, not when it’s strongly encouraged to.

And boy, were we strongly encouraged. Advertisers shoved the anniversary of the Olympics on unsuspecting BC residents like Viagra commercials, but the results were less than spectacular, especially given the many opportunities to get involved. Anniversary organizers suggested we have breakfast with John Furlong, see the cauldron relit, play street hockey in downtown Vancouver on Granville Street, check out the Olympic medals again at the Royal Canadian Mint Boutique, and skate in Robson Square. Or we could head up to Cypress Mountain to watch such things as “banner raising ceremonies.”

CTV offered the sedentary among us the “Vancouver 2010 Olympic Winter Games Anniversary Special” and the documentary 17 Days. No one I know will even admit to watching either. February 26th was the unofficial anniversary party, and while there was a definite sputter of community joy and fun, ultimately it smoldered and died.

Then Vancouver celebrated its 125th birthday, as did the Vancouver Parks Board, the Vancouver Police Department, and Coca Cola. Again, the parties fizzed.

But now the patriotic sea of red and white that once blanketed the city has been replaced by blues and greens. The Inukshuk has been succeeded by a Haida orca. Children who once toted Miga, Quatchi, and Sumi stuffies on their way to school instead clutch fuzzy whales. Walk into almost any Tim Hortons and, in place of grumbling about the Olympics’ ridiculous costs, you’ll hear fury over Luongo’s unpredictable play, the Canuck penchant for long series, and those damn Sedin twins.

But we love the Canucks a little more with every game they win. As with the Olympics, my children and I can’t afford to attend the games and so we watch them on TV. Or we enjoy the spectacle online; even kindergarteners have started broadcasting their hometown pride:

I was amazed, after the Canucks’ Game 7 win over the Blackhawks, at the size of the crowds in the streets. And this was in the suburbs! I had a meeting at work on the night the Canucks played the Nashville Predators, in what turned out to be the final game of that series (2-1 in overtime for the local boys). It was sparsely attended, and we managed to condense the whole thing into 26-and-a-half minutes before rushing out to our vehicles to catch the last period. The streets were eerily quiet — just as they were during the Olympic hockey final last year.

True celebration originates when people choose to care about something — not from forced attempts to encourage pride. And it’s more fun that way, too.