This is Masey.

She’s cute.

And this is where we hung out:

Did I mention I like where I live?

Dealing with Vancouver weather is like living with a particularly attractive manic-depressive guy.

Things always look great, but then the clouds! The rain! The angst!

You start to wonder if you can take it any more… hell, you might even consider moving on.

But when the sun rises bright in the sky?

Oooh. Wow.

You know you’ll never actually leave.

If you live anywhere near Vancouver, you’ve been inundated with coverage of the Robert Pickton murder trial.

It’s on the newsstands.

It’s on the television.

It’s on the radio.

It’s on the Internet.

And it’s not just “trial coverage” in the generic sense — this person testified, this person will be called to the stand, the accused looked remorseful, etc. — but coverage in graphic detail. So much so, in fact, that most news agencies are forced to offer “viewer discretion” notices before their pieces.

I have friends who won’t touch the top section of their paper or listen to the top of the news or check their usual internet journalism sites right now, simply because they don’t want to be subjected to the images and descriptions that are accompanying the reports.

The reality is this: the things this man is accused of doing are heinous beyond belief. There’s no other way to say it. If you disappear too far into the details, you end up with a churning stomach and an aching heart. I’m not sure how anyone can read about the events and not feel a serious level of disgust, even in this world of slasher films and true crime dramas and sensationalist media.

We’re jaded, but we’re not this jaded.

And if we are… well, that’s a problem. Sure, we have to be able to deal with horror capably enough to continue functioning. People in war zones have to live their lives under the constant pall of death and mayhem. But there’s a difference between coping and becoming numb. Between survival and acceptance.

At least I think so. Which may be naive, or perhaps just idealistic. I can live with either.

I know violence on this level is not new to the planet. People have yet to run out of methods of abusing or torturing one another, or to grow sick of seizing power over others’ lives. And these things happen daily, all over the world, at every societal level, to people who run headlong into it, and people who never see it coming.

But where does the line exist between exposing these nightmares and celebrating them? Between veracity and prurience?

We want to know what happens to people like Robert Pickton because the idea that he could face consequences for his alleged actions allows us to sleep better at night.

If one of these women was a sister or friend of mine, though, I’m not certain I’d want her experiences splashed across the front page for strangers to read during their coffee breaks. I’d want her agony avenged, but could I stand to watch people take in all the details?

When does coverage cross the line?

How much do we need to know?

And when does notoriety become exploitation?

Where do you stop reading/watching and why?