But, with the release of Dictionary.com’s, and Cambridge’s words of the year, I am starting to view it more as being blissfully out of touch.

In fact, this year I was not completely blindsided like I was last year with Oxford’s ‘brain rot.’

I had heard the term 6-7 by virtue of living with teenagers. Dictionary.com has been the brunt of a lot of jokes for choosing a word that it says cannot be defined.

Really, Dictionary.com? You literally have one job.

But that seems to be the whole point of 6-7. It is an absurd interjection that appears to be used primarily to frustrate adults and is often accompanied by a juggling motion with the hands.

I think I’ll go back to being blissfully out of touch.

Cambridge’s choice is kind of disturbing.

Parasocial is defined as a one-sided relationship with another person (often a celebrity) or a fictional character in which a person feels an intimate connection to someone they have never met (or something they can never meet).

Um, delusional much?

This term has actually been used in academia for decades. It was coined by two American sociologists to describe the “illusion of intimacy” some viewers felt with television personalities during the burgeoning of that world-changing technology in the 1950s.

It came into popular use over the past year with the burgeoning of another technology, artificial intelligence, specifically AI companions.

Sorry, that’s just really creepy. Now I really want to be blissfully out of touch.

It has also been linked to the Taylor Swift phenomenon, although she is certainly not the first singer to inspire stalkers.

Normally, I wait for Oxford (arguably the definitive definer of words) to release its word of the year to write this column, but I decided to devote another column to that once it is chosen.

Oxford’s short list includes aura farming (nonsense), biohack (silly), and rage bait (disturbingly relevant).

Voting ends today. I voted for rage bait.

The tallest known tree on planet Earth today is a coast redwood (Sequoia sempervirens) known as “Hyperion” which has been measured as reaching 116 metres.

Redwoods grow in a humid, maritime climate and are often bathed in fog clouds coming off the Pacific Ocean along the west coast of southern Oregon and northern California. Obtaining enough water is not a big problem for them.

Studies on tree heights suggest that really tall trees peak at between 100 and 130 metres (330 to 426 feet). The maximum height possible is largely determined by gravity and the availability of water.

When we visited friends in Tasmania, we were very surprised to learn that the second-tallest tree then known in the world was in Tasmania – a spectacular individual of Eucalyptus regnans (mountain ash) known as “Centurion.” 

We think of Australia as being hot and dry, but Tassie can be wet and cool – the right conditions for tall trees to live in. Centurion is no longer the second-tallest because it lost 4 metres in a forest canopy wildfire and is now listed as the seventh tallest.

The second tallest is a South Tibetan cypress (Cupressus austrotibetica) growing in Tibet measuring 102.3 metres tall and the 3rd tallest tree is a Sitka Spruce (Picea sitchensis) growing in California that measures 100.2 metres tall.

Number 4 is a Coast Douglas fir (Pseudotsuga menziesii var. menziesii) at 99.5 metres tall growing in Oregon. Some people believe that there used to be taller Douglas fir trees growing in B.C. in Lynn Valley and in Washington, but they were cut down.

A noble fir (Abies procera) near Mt. St. Helens was 99 m tall but was levelled by the 1980 explosive eruption.

Note: The information on tree heights is from Wikipedia, but I could not find the date the trees were measured, so it is possible the list may have changed.

Should Canada mine and process the critical minerals needed for modern high-tech industries? Sure.

Can we build new hydroelectric, nuclear, and wind-power plants? Certainly, especially where we can displace fossil fuels.

Do we need new port facilities to expand our access to markets outside of North America? Undoubtedly.

But the list of projects so far reveals a limited view of what Canada has to offer the world, and its own citizens, when it comes to jobs and industry.

They suggest that Canada’s future is the same as its past – that we are to be a nation whose main export is raw materials drawn from our vast landscape. We are still to be the “hewers of wood and drawers of water” that we have been since Canada was founded.

There’s no shame in an economy founded on natural resources, but it tends to be one that suffers severe booms and busts. If the world economy is riding high, Canada can provide oil and gas, grains and legumes and beef, fish and timber. But when the world economy contracts, resource-based economies take a beating.

We’ve seen this many times in Canada. Ask any Albertan who’s worked in the oil patch for 20 years or more.

There are some hopeful signs in the new federal budget that this isn’t the current government’s entire plan for Canada’s economic future.

One of the best ideas is the $1.7 billion allocated to recruit more scientists, researchers, and doctoral students to Canada. Eliminating years of brain drain is one of the best ways possible of boosting our long-term competitiveness.

Canada has industries that don’t rely on natural resources, from film and television production to video game and software development, from robotics to a nascent nuclear industry. We still have, despite the battering it’s taken in recent years, a vital cultural sector, too.

The Carney government seems to be hedging its bets right now. In the near future, we mine and drill and ship it offshore. In the future, maybe, we innovate.

Hopefully, the next round of major projects will consider the Canada we could be, not just the one we have been.

Like many well-meaning pet parents, they landed on YouTube trainers who promised fast fixes. They watched videos of chain pops—quick, forceful jerks on a metal collar meant to startle the dog and alpha rolls, where a dog is forcibly pinned onto their back to assert dominance.

These techniques were framed as the only way to “put the dog in its place.” Desperate to help Winston, they tried these methods.

That’s when everything went sideways.

Winston, a dog who had never bitten before, suddenly began biting both his guardians. The more they corrected him, the more fearful and unpredictable he became.

His guardians were shocked and heartbroken. They weren’t trying to hurt him, they were trying to stop the reactivity. But instead of helping, the punishment-based techniques intensified the very behaviour they were hoping to eliminate.

That’s when they called me.

When I arrived to assess Winston, it was clear he wasn’t a dangerous dog. He was a frightened one. And the corrections he’d been receiving weren’t teaching him to feel safe, they were teaching him that seeing other dogs predict pain, conflict, and uncertainty. His reactivity wasn’t going away. It was escalating.

So, we started over.

We traded the chain for treats, pressure for patience, and intimidation for understanding. Together, we introduced positive reinforcement methods designed to help Winston feel safe, supported, and understood. Instead of punishing the reaction, we focused on changing the emotion driving the reaction.

That meant keeping Winston below his threshold so he could still think, slowly and carefully teaching him that the appearance of another dog wasn’t a threat.

Was it fast? No. Real behaviour change never is.

Over the next several months, something beautiful began to happen. His guardians reported softer eyes, looser body language, and a dog who was no longer bracing for conflict. Winston started looking to his guardians for guidance instead of reacting out of fear. He began to trust again. Trust them, trust the process, and trust that the world wasn’t out to hurt him.

This is the part many people don’t see when they compare quick-fix punishment videos to positive reinforcement training. Punishment can silence behaviour in the moment, but it doesn’t erase the underlying emotion. It simply buries it. And buried fear doesn’t disappear—it waits. It grows. And eventually, like in Winston, it erupts.

Positive training methods work differently. They don’t suppress the dog’s feelings; they reshape them. They teach the dog that the thing they fear isn’t actually dangerous. That shift takes time, repetition, and a commitment to empathy. But the results are real, lasting, and far safer for both the dog and the guardians who love them.

Winston didn’t need to be dominated. He needed to be supported. And once he got that support, he finally had room to change.

In the end, that’s the power of positive reinforcement—not just better behaviour, but a deeper bond in which your dog feels safe with you. If you’re finding the journey tough, get help from a positive-reinforcement trainer who understands your dog’s emotions and walks beside you every step of the way.

A young woman, probably in her 20s, was calling to a man of around the same age who was slumped on the sidewalk.

“Wake up. Can you hear me?”

The man was not responding.

This happened recently, at the end of the workday, as I was leaving work. It was less than 100 steps from the door to the office building.

“Do you want me to call 911 for you?” I asked.

“No. He’ll be fine,” the woman said.

“Are you sure?” I asked. “I can get them right now.”

“We’ve got a phone and we’ll call if we need,” said another woman just behind the couple on the sidewalk.

I do not know exactly what had happened to this young man, other than that he had collapsed and was not conscious. However, this location, in downtown Penticton, has a lot of substance use. I see it happening in the green space near my office. First responders are often called to the downtown because of toxic drugs. Sometimes there are serious consequences.

At times, I have noticed people in the area — not medical responders — with Naloxone kits. These kits are used to reverse or reduce the effects of opioids and to restore breathing after an overdose.

The two women with the young man had both declined my offer to call for help, and they had said they would call if they needed care. I don’t know if they did.

All three were young, and they were at a point where life should have been ripe with hope and opportunities. What I was seeing instead was something different. It’s a story that plays out far too often.

What mattered was that a young man was down and needed help. That was all.

In April 2016, British Columbia declared the toxic drug crisis a public health emergency. Since that time, more than 16,000 deaths have been attributed to this ongoing crisis. That is far too many tragedies.

In September 2025, the latest month for which statistics are available, there were 158 toxic drug deaths in British Columbia, or an average of 5.3 deaths each day. Fentanyl was found in around 70 per cent of these cases.

Overdose deaths occur in large urban centres such as Vancouver and also in smaller centres. Information from the British Columbia Coroners Service lists Terrace and Campbell River – both smaller communities – as places with a significant number of drug-related deaths.

Then, my thoughts turned to others who have also been affected by this ongoing health crisis.

At least two families I know in Summerland have lost family members to toxic drug overdoses. One of my relatives who lived elsewhere in the Okanagan was dealing with his own substance use disorder. He is clean now , and his life is good, but not everyone has the same outcome.

He’s one of the fortunate ones.

I do not know what happened to the three people I saw near my office.

Since that evening, I have not been able to stop thinking about them – especially the young man who was collapsed on the sidewalk.

Something needs to be done to put an end to the toxic drug crisis we are experiencing in British Columbia.

It is easy for armchair critics to respond with simplistic generalizations and pithy platitudes, but such responses help nobody and do nothing to end what is happening around us.

I don’t know the best approach to take. And I don’t know how to respond when – not if – I see something like this happening again.

The next time, the outcome could be fatal.

John Arendt is the editor of the Summerland Review.

I’ve been active on some form of social media or other for around 20 years, which is pretty typical of people my age. Most of us heard about MySpace or Facebook and eventually created an account, collected a few “friends” there, and maybe moved on.

Since then, we’ve spread out widely. X (formerly Twitter), Instagram, and TikTok, along with Facebook are what we usually think of when we say “social media.” Beyond that there’s a swathe of platforms that have some combination of user generated content, commenting, sharing, and algorithmic feeds, from YouTube to Twitch to Reddit.

And I’m hoping to be done with them forever, at least in a personal capacity.

No more accounts, no more posting, commenting, liking, sharing. I’m done.

It’s well known that social media is a two-edged sword.

The early days of Facebook were filled with stories of people reconnecting with old friends and even family members they hadn’t seen in years.

But there were also obvious downsides. Harassment and bullying thrived, and misinformation and conspiracy theories spread through the platforms like wildfire.

Even if you avoided those pitfalls, social media had an effect all its own.

The cumulative impacts have been widely studied – social media can exacerbate anxiety, depression, poor body image, and pervasive fear of missing out. The algorithms, the likes and shares notifications, they’re all designed to keep us scrolling and posting, giving more and more of our time to the screen, whether it makes us feel worse or not.

Like a lot of reporters, I gravitated towards Twitter early on. The steady stream of news and commentary and jokes was borderline addictive.

But over time, I noticed that it had a tendency to ratchet up my anxiety. Not too much, but it was a constant background element in my life. I tried a number of ways to push back on this, including taking the app off my phone, unfollowing or blocking aggravating accounts. This helped, but wasn’t a complete solution.

For the past couple of years, I’ve been on Bluesky, the Elon-Musk-free Twitter clone, and I followed a lot of smart, funny people. For social media, it’s relatively non-toxic. So why leave?

The last straw was noticing how many times in a day I would read an article, or see something interesting, or have a funny thought, and my first reaction was always “How could I make that into a post?”

Social media had trained me to post, and posting-brain wouldn’t leave me alone. I hated the way it forced my thoughts into a Twitter-shaped box.

So I deleted my account.

It’s only been a little while, but my attention span seems to be a little bit better. I’m reading more (novels, not posts).

I still catch myself thinking “That would make a great post!” but less often.

How little I miss it has been a pleasant surprise. Social media worked hard to make me stay, but the truth is, as with many products pushed on us, we can get along just fine without it.

I don’t usually sign petitions, as a member of the press. But since I was diagnosed with celiac disease more than 20 years ago, I have spent likely a few thousand dollars more for my groceries than I would have if my immune system could just act normal.

Instead, when I want to eat a single cookie from a bakery the average cost is just under $5. A box of spaghetti (which is always significantly smaller than a standard box) is sitting at the same price, and a loaf of bread is running about $10, if it’s on sale. I’ve almost been priced right out of my favourite bag of corn flakes, which is now edging near $15.

A lot of the best, healthiest options are not even available in our grocery stores, and I resort to shopping on Amazon and driving to other cities (even Bellingham) to purchase gluten-free options.

Ordering a burger comes with a $5 surcharge — and heaping gobs of faith in the kitchen’s ability to understand what it means to be celiac.

Most restaurants don’t really inspire the level of confidence I require to settle in enough to enjoy my meal, and oftentimes, it feels like a child’s game of telephone, sending questions back to the kitchen staff via the server, and back again to me, while the rest of the table patiently waits for me to either choose a salad or die of starvation.

It’s just really hard to find something to eat, and when that something has been found, it’s a matter of choking on the cost.

Thankfully, I’ve always been able to afford my specialized diet. But one in six Canadians with celiac disease are experiencing food insecurity. Celiac Canada recently quoted a study that found nearly 50 per cent of households with a child who has celiac disease are food insecure.

That’s why they’re supporting the House of Commons petition for a $1,000 tax credit to offset the high costs of gluten-free food, and frankly, I do, too.

This isn’t a fad for us. This isn’t a trend.

Celiac disease is a serious autoimmune disorder in which the ingestion of gluten damages the small intestine and negatively impacts many other organ systems in the body. One per cent of Canadians are diagnosed with it.

The more gluten someone with celiac ingests, either accidentally or because that’s all that’s available, the more inflammation they experience. And that inflammation is a serious concern that can lead to even more medical issues.

Gluten-free food can cost anywhere from 15-500 per cent more than their gluten-containing counterparts including staples like cereal, breads, pastas, and baked goods. I like to explain to people that I can eat only about 20 per cent of the product in any given grocery store. It used to be more like five per cent.

Things are improving for us those of us with celiac. The food is more palatable than 20 years ago. The awareness is at an all-time high.

A tax credit, similar to other countries, would be the cherry on top of that gluten-free pie.

The petition is open for signatures until December 6, 2025 and can be found online at ourcommons.ca/petitions.

-Jessica Peters is an editor with Black Press Media

The idea was that, by 2025, 95% of people with HIV should know their status, 95% of those diagnosed should be on treatment, and 95% of those on treatment should achieve viral suppression. Scientists projected that achieving all three of these targets would reduce transmission so significantly that the epidemic would end by 2030.

As we near the end of 2025, and with World AIDS Day on December 1, it’s time for a frank assessment. Are we on track?

The report card is mixed. Thanks to the efforts of community-based health organizations, researchers and healthcare providers, Canada has seen some progress:

Most provinces have introduced or expanded programs to provide access to medications for prevention or treatment, both of which prevent the transmission of HIV.

The previous federal government rolled out a time-limited HIV self-testing project, offering testing kits so Canadians could learn their HIV status in the privacy and comfort of their own homes.

By 2022, we had met our target of achieving viral suppression among 95% of people on HIV treatment. This is important because individuals who are virally suppressed can’t pass it on to their sexual partners.

We have also seen challenges. Canada saw a 25% increase in HIV diagnoses in 2022, and a further 35% increase in 2023. Each new diagnosis represents a lifetime of treatment, medical care and support from our healthcare and social service systems, but we haven’t seen commensurate funding increases for the community-based organizations that provide this support.

You might be thinking, with governments tightening their purse strings, can we afford to provide this support? I would argue that we can’t afford to not provide it. Economists estimate that each new HIV diagnosis in Canada costs $1.44 million over a lifetime. New cases in 2021 alone are expected to generate $2.1 billion in costs. By giving HIV-negative and HIV-positive people access to the tools they need to protect their health and prevent transmission, we are reducing healthcare costs and supporting quality of life and economic productivity.

A cautionary tale south of the border

As we take stock of our progress, we watch an impending catastrophe unfold south of the border, where an administration is actively dismantling its public health infrastructure and retreating from global cooperation. Canada faces a choice: will we reaffirm our commitment to evidence-based public health and strive to meet our obligations, or will we follow the path of the U.S. administration?

This choice is not about international optics. It is not about charity. It is about our national interest. Failing to meet our own HIV targets has dire consequences at home. It means more new preventable infections. It means more people in Canada acquiring a condition that requires treatment and care for life. It means a greater long-term burden on our healthcare system and higher costs for taxpayers.

Investing in a comprehensive, well-funded domestic HIV strategy is an investment in the strength of our public health system. The contact tracing, lab networks and community trust built by Canada’s HIV response are the very same tools we leveraged to combat COVID-19, and will be leveraged to combat the next pandemic. To neglect this fight is to weaken our overall health security.

We made a promise to ourselves a decade ago. It’s a promise we must keep – not for our reputation, but for our health. It’s time for all levels of government to reject fragmentation and distraction and deliver the funded, equitable and urgent response that Canadians deserve. Our health, and our country’s resilience, depend on it.

Jody Jollimore is executive director of CATIE, Canada’s source for HIV and hepatitis C information.

Another mill closure is not a statistic. It's a family in B.C. wondering what tomorrow looks like.

Doug’s story echoes from the island to the interior— among working families who built the industrial spine of this province. They all share the same quiet fear: that the next round of tariffs, next dip in the markets or a long fire season could erase decades of employment.

These workers aren’t looking for sympathy; they’re asking for stability—for a plan from governments that keep them in mind when big decisions get made. The recent announcement that West Fraser will permanently close its mill in 100 Mile House is a devastating reminder of what happens when that stability fails.

B.C. has all the resources, the skill, and the will to build an economy that works for working people. What’s missing is a coordinated strategy that treats our industrial sectors as one ecosystem and a politics that views workers as partners, not props.

For too long, economic debates have forced a narrative that pits sector against sector, between fiscal pressures and fairness. False choices.

In mining, productive industrial planning by governments means building worker informed training systems that increase retention, strengthen safety and grow local expertise for the next generation. For forestry, it means securing a sustainable fibre supply so mills can operate long enough to invest and hire. And it means ensuring every public dollar spent on infrastructure, clean energy, shipbuilding and manufacturing directly supports stable, family supporting unionized employment in communities across B.C.

Good industrial policy is about the millwright who wants to see her apprentice stay in town; the miners that need equitable safety standards; the single parent who can finally plan their work week knowing childcare is secure. A strong economy delivers: predictability, dignity, and the ability for working people to build their lives where they are.

Governments are rediscovering this idea.

The recent federal budget provides B.C. a once-in-a-generation chance to rebuild our industrial base—if we align those federal dollars with an intentional provincial plan rooted in the realities of our communities.

Workers from Surrey to Vernon, from Chemainus to Cranbrook want to know that when they put in the work, the province will back them with sector-specific planning that includes training, safety, and stability— nitiatives grounded in skill and solidarity.

Early signs are hopeful.

David Eby is serious about economic growth. The government is explicitly tying family-supporting job creation to major project advancement. Ministers are bringing workers, industry, and First Nations to the same table. The BC NDP is signalling investments in workforce development and retention. Eby talks about clean economic growth and resource stability in the same breath–something we have not heard in a while.

This shift deserves credit. It’s good for workers; it’s good for business.

None of this will happen overnight. It takes time, resolve and a strong mandate.

As delegates gather for the upcoming BC NDP convention, workers have reasons to stand together, look forward, and use our power to keep all governments accountable. The conversations in our movement are about how to keep building, not whether to. In the legislative halls in Victoria, we hear a growing understanding of this. An understanding that domestic procurement, health and safety, expert training by workers, and stronger collective bargaining are not obstacles to prosperity—they are what make prosperity a lived reality for everyday families.

We can choose a politics that prioritizes workers and builds resiliency for our sectors, or we can hand the microphone back to those who profit from chaos and tell people to be angry instead of organized. One path builds, the other blames; one creates stability, the other feeds uncertainty.

In a time when frustration is easy to exploit, choosing steadiness over outrage is the real test of our movement. And as working people, we know which side we’re on—the side that builds.

Scott Lunny is the Director of USW District 3, representing over 30,000 members in British Columbia’s forestry, mining, telecommunications, industrial, warehouse, service sectors and more. He is a longtime labour, social justice and political activist who has led major organizing, bargaining and political action initiatives across Western Canada.

As I have now been doing for far longer than I want to remember, I searched in every possible section of the store for the best deal.

I used to love grocery shopping, but now, it’s just so depressing and even angering sometimes because everything is so ludicrously expensive. And there is really no good explanation for it except greed.

Normally, the best deal is usually plain old ground beef in the packaged meat section. However, on that particular day, the best deal I could find was a box of frozen “smashburgers” that were on sale.

I quickly did the math, and, gram for gram, with the markdown, it was the cheapest burger meat in the store.

So, I bought them.

This is not a product I would normally buy because calling these things “smashburgers” is flat-out marketing nonsense.

The smashburger was ostensibly invented in Ashland, Kentucky, in the 1950s or 1960s, when a fry cook at a restaurant called Dairy Cheer smashed a ball of beef onto a very hot griddle with a bean can. Of course, there are plenty of dissenters to this origin story.

In any event, the result was a very thin patty with flavourful crispy edges. Some “burger historians” credit something called a Maillard reaction for the appeal of making burgers this way.

A Maillard reaction occurs when reducing sugars interact with amino acids to create melanoids – compounds that give browned foods their unique, rich flavour. Using the aforementioned technique creates more surface area for browning.

Anyway, smashburgers became much more trendy when the Denver, Colorado-based, Smashburger restaurant chain was founded in 2007. In more recent years, they became ultra-chic when they started appearing in upscale gastropubs everywhere.

The thing is, whether you are a fan of them or not, simply making a very thin raw burger patty with jagged edges and freezing it does not a smashburger make.

A burger is a smashburger because of the griddling technique. Of course, you no longer have to use a can of beans to smash them. Pretty much every kitchenware company makes griddle presses, which are often marketed as smashburger presses.

So, to make these things that I bought into smashburgers, I would have had to thaw them, roll them back into balls, put them on a very hot griddle (or cast iron pan), and smash them with a griddle press.

I didn’t, I threw them on the barbecue.

They were OK, but not smashburgers, and, despite the relative price, still depressingly expensive.