Now I am over there

I have had a blog for a short while over here:

http://lmiall.wordpress.com

Initially started for my studies, it increasingly seems the best place to go on blogging.

As for more psychogeography-related stuff, there is another new site that I've been maintaining in collaboration with others over here:

http://montrealrevolt.wordpress.com

Why does this keep happening to me?

You know when you have a few days that are so amazingly good that you almost shake your head with disbelief afterwards? You say to yourself, "I'm going to remember this for months -- maybe years -- to come." Your senses are heightened to the pleasures of simply living, to your connectedness to others, to the seemingly infinite potential of your own life?

I keep having weekends like that. Over and over again. Last weekend was like that. And I am starting to think that this is going to be a pattern. Meet friends, have drinks, explore the city... Equals recipe for life-affirming and transformative experience.

I went to two gargantuan parties on Saturday night. One was a fancy 20's style ball. The other was a large rockabilly loft party. Both were teeming and heaving and shaking with good people and good music. I danced. I drank. I laughed. I should not go on any more because words almost devalue these kinds of experiences. I took the night bus home at 3:30 in the morning -- it was also teeming with people -- winding through the southern and the western environs of central Montreal, flanked by dark brick buildings, and I had a smile on my face. I have a smile on my face often. I've gone from such a miserable wretch to someone almost POSITIVE a lot of the time. Dare I say it? Positive!

The grass is greener on the other side. Sometimes the change you need is not INSIDE you, it is OUTSIDE you.

Although it is still very, very early in my tenure here in Montreal, I feel more and more like I might flourish here. I dare to dream of future happiness. I dare to plan sinking long-term roots here. I love -- above all -- living somewhere that I love.

I love the way people line up in an orderly fashion for the bus, waiting patiently and courteously. I love how -- in stark contrast -- people then become crazy impatient maniacs the second they are behind the wheel of a car. Why? No matter! Another thriller is the completely daredevil nature of pedestrians. They will jaywalk across the road within centimetres of a truck plummeting towards them... like it is a sport.

I love the music in Guy Concordia metro. Every time. Even when it's music I don't really like. I love that the musicians play with such spiritedness.

I love the way the pigeons gather at the statue of Norman Bethune and erupt into the sky when you approach, flying around in a bewildering pattern. And shit on the very same statue of Norman Bethune.

I love the late crowds on the Verdun bus. They look so scary when you get on. And yet everybody is completely calm.

I love how much the staff at the express Altaib hate their customers! They look at you with such hate that it is almost absurdly funny!

I love that you can walk into a wonderfully classy cafe on one side of Sherbrooke and be treated like royalty by French speaking servers, and go into a bar on the other side of Sherbrooke, still be served in French, but be surrounded by neon and Budweiser signs and trashy women and think, Jesus, this could be Argyll Road, Edmonton! AC/DC forever!

I love that people love people -- genuinely seem to want to be with people -- here. They act like people, talk like people, live life to the fullest as people, just as you would expect from rational people. They do not see you as a means to their own end. They are happy that you just be you.

I love that the future of my life in this city fills me with anxiety/excitement/hope instead of anxiety/dread/pessimism.

It's not always good here... but when it's good, by God, it is very, very good. Joie de vivre? Holy shit yes. That is exactly what it is.

Jesus left, are the spires next?

Down the road from where I live is a church called Notre-Dame des Sept Douleurs. Outside the church is a statue of Jesus, arm outstretched with two fingers poised to anoint somebody's forehead. At least I think that is what he is doing. I've not had a chance to further consider his actions for reasons I'm about to reveal.

Just over a week ago, the statue of Jesus disappeared. All that is left is the stone plinth upon which he once stood. Although I rarely give much thought to Jesus these days, I do think about that missing statue. Where has he gone? Will he come back? It's been over three days now!

Over the weekend, I had a dream in which my parents had visited me at my home in Verdun. We were walking out of the metro station and on the verge of beholding the magnificent sight of Notre-Dame des Sept Douleurs. But something terrible had happened. I looked up and saw that the spires were gone. The twin spires -- those beautiful white, gleaming fingers of stone in the sky -- gone.

I was shocked and slightly traumatized.

It must mean a lot to me, that church. I think it has come to symbolize the beauty of Montreal and my love for it. The idea of my own parents not being to see it in the state that I have come to know it -- this, apparently, is horrifying to my dreaming self.

Fortunately, when I woke up and finally stepped out of my front door, I could see that the spires were, in fact, still standing tall. Jesus, however, is AWOL to this very day. Any leads as to his whereabouts would be much appreciated.

Montreal's moment

Was forced to consider why I would not live in London, or Paris for that matter. Not that any actual opportunity exists for me in those cities, but I started to wonder why I so intuitively reject the prospect of living elsewhere.

In Paris this August I was reminded how the town feels like a museum. Then my girlfriend pointed out how crowded with expensive shops the streets were. Then I became overwhelmed by the sameness of the Hausmannian planning. I have been looking through photos of old Paris by Eugene Atget. It is striking how much has changed. How varied and messy were the streets of Vieux Paris. It is striking also to consider how different is Paris' role in the world today compared to back in the nineteenth century. Back then, the City of Light was arguably the most important city in the world. London was not far behind, or maybe a little way in front -- I suppose it would depend if you ask that of the French or the English.

Since then it has been an inexorable decline. For sure, London is once again a financial giant, and the streets are hustling and bustling with an urgency that would be alien in Montreal... this is a much sleepier town. And yet, the urgency in the big European capitals is now intensely about making money. The progress that London makes is in becoming more like America.

Montreal also has suffered a decline. It has gone from being Canada's number one city to being squarely relegated to number two behind Toronto. Relics of the industrial past are everywhere. The factories are fenced off and crumbling. The warehouses have broken windows and weeds growing over the bricks.

Can I pause for a second to say how much I love those parts of town? How much I love to see the corpse of a moment in history right in front of me. We should let some of that crumbling splendour stick around. Industrialization was a remarkable and violent process for much of the world. I, for one, don't think we should forget it.

So there we have Montreal's former moment... and now... now where are we? There has been a justice served, of sorts, in restoring French to its rightful place as the dominant language of the city and indeed the province. Is that enough? Is that struggle over? The Parti Quebecois would say no. They have abandoned separatism for now. The new fight is cultural. But it is a fight that seems to have a dwindling army to fight it.

Personally, I have a quiet optimism that the contribution Montreal might make to the world is in expanding the role of the "public sphere" -- a place of conflict between the corporate elite and the rest of us. I hope Montreal will find a way to make the quality of life the main fight, rather than the quantity of economic output. I hope we will have more bike paths, more galleries, more parks, more meeting places. I hope we will show that millions of people with different languages and different races can live happily on one island. And that they can do so sustainably, on modest means, and that they can be less greedy and competitive than their contemporaries.

And I say "we" now consciously. I thought to myself today as I walked on the outskirts of Hochelaga that no matter what, I will stick it out here. I will stick it out here even if when I finish my diploma the only job on offer is down at the depanneur.

Coup de foudre

Another fine weekend. With surprising frequency, I have experiences in town that fill me with such gladness that I feel my chest will break. Sharing dinner with some good people yesterday -- including new Quebecois friends (well, I hope in time they will become friends) -- and discussing the coup de foudre that is common to newcomers to Montreal, then walking outside into the cold night, looking up the length of la rue Beaudoin in the neighbourhood of St. Henri, and in the distance, St. Joseph's Oratory, shining faintly with mellow green light, nestled into the mountain... it was all so beautiful, so beautiful. London and Paris and Vancouver and many other cities I've never seen -- they're all beautiful -- but I don't know if there is any city more beautiful than Montreal. It is achingly beautiful. There is a robustness yet fragility to the quality of life here, and the quality of the architecture, that makes me want to throw my arms around everything and say, You are wonderful, I love you, let's never be apart. It's exactly the same way I feel about my girlfriend. Fate willing, when we make a happy threesome: me, her, Montreal, life will finally come into focus, I will be able to sink roots here, and finally find the stability and contentment that has so long eluded me.

Two months

Has it only been two months since I arrived in Montreal? That hardly seems possible. When I think back to August 6, the last day I was in Edmonton, and all the traveling in between in France, it is a fast-paced blur.

I still hardly know myself. In fact, I wonder sometimes if I am unknowing myself. Is that even a verb?

It is remarkable the extent to which I feel a new city shaping me. I think Montreal is radicalizing me. One of the first things I did shortly after arriving here was stop eating meat. I just didn't see the point in meat. I had increasingly lost my taste for it; moreover, I couldn't really justify it. Factory farming is one of North America's biggest environmental blemishes.

Then I started to think of psychogeography in a different way. Not merely a stroll around the city and a reflection on its effect on us, but more importantly, maybe, a rejection of the very economic forces that come to shape cities. I want to push my own wanderings to the point where they no longer become an observation: they become a participation. They become an attempt to live differently. Instead of hurrying around our cities like ants, transporting consumer goods hither and yon, we should be moving about them with creative purpose -- seeking our identities and those of others, trying to make new situations that have maybe not existed before. Let there be more spontaneous gatherings in our cities. The tamtams in Montreal is one such gathering. I so much enjoyed celebrating my birthday that way: sitting in the park with the tamstams' rhythm in the background, eating with friends, basking in the sunlight. Last weekend was one of the best of my life.

What an autumn it has been.

Now it has returned to a more typical autumn grey and grizzle, the streets are slick and sinuous, and everywhere you can hear the hiss and rush of wheels on wet cement. But still I love it. It was perfect weather for a short afternoon nap. Now, slightly re-energized, I hope to be able to accomplish something before a fresh round of celebrations begin: Halloween!

Up the mountain

It was time for a break, and the sun came out, so I walked up Mont Royal. From the top, there was a striking view of St. Joseph's Oratory. I took a photo and later doctored it quick-and-dirty in iPhoto. If this particular computer had Photoshop, I would've spent longer on it.



I am soon starting a new project, with friends, whereby we will extensively "blog" on Montreal and include photos and film. It is a psychogeographic tribute to the city. I am really looking forward to it.

Home

One day I would like to conduct some research into how people feel about where they are from. Where is home? What do they like about it? What do they not like? Why do they stay? Why do they leave?

A benefit of my studies at Concordia is meeting people from many different places: Newfoundland, Germany, France, Los Angeles, Pittsburgh, etc. Most people, to varying degrees, have an attachment to their place of origin. Often, you can simply see it in their eyes when they discuss it. The enthusiasm and feeling of pride in describing the place.

Me, I become rather emotionally on edge when I must talk about where I am from. I find myself intermittently becoming angry or defensive. Or just laughing in a way that attempts to make light of past hurt.

For one, I am not even sure how to say where I am from anymore. I can say, Edmonton Alberta, but then people go, yes, but where are you REALLY from? Then I will say England. But what am I supposed to say about England? Its influence on me becomes increasingly irrelevant with time. I do not feel English.

I do not feel Albertan. Never did.

I certainly feel Canadian. I made a conscious choice to obtain my citizenship because I do feel an attachment to the country.

But then, beyond that, what does one say? I am reluctant to speak of England as if I were speaking FOR the English, or to speak of Alberta or Edmonton on behalf of those who live there. It is unfair to do so. If I speak negatively of Edmonton I try to explain that this is only my personal impression. For many people, Edmonton must be THE place to be. Right now.

I suppose I must admit to a bit of jealousy towards those who would willingly "go home" after their time in Montreal. Because for me, that just does not seem like an option. It would feel like defeat. It is not home. It never became home. I already feel more attachment and pride in Montreal than I ever felt in Edmonton.

And I take comfort that I am not alone in this. I have two good friends who are ex-Edmontonians. Talking of Edmonton reduces us to rage or other forms of emotional distress. It is as if the city has scarred us. It is very odd. I don't know of any people so adversely affected by their "home" town. How did this happen?

Montreal is grey and gloomy right now -- has been for days. Still I love it, I love it, I cannot get enough of it. I looked at my circle of new friends yesterday gathered together and thought "I wish this could continue forever. All of us in Montreal until we get old."

I felt sentimental and went home. I missed my girlfriend intensely. If she were here, life would be perfect.

What people do for entertainment

Yesterday I was on Crescent Street for a short while, long enough to realize that this is the arse end of Montreal. I saw the spectacle of young toughs swinging punches and wrestling each other on the ground. Both sides had sought out such an adventure. I saw the episode from its very inception to its very end.

It was about two in the morning. My friend and I were sitting in a quiet cafe. There was a group of very drunk youngsters mere paces away -- girls and boys. We went outside so my friend could smoke. Some minor disturbance happened on the street right in front of us. I think it had something to do with somebody puking and falling over. All I know is that people were standing around making fun of the scene. Tough #1 detached himself from the group in the cafe and stormed out and immediately started verbally sparring with Tough #2. It was something to do with respect.

"Don't you have any respect, you fucking faggot?" he said.

He was obviously not looking to diffuse the situation. Nor was Tough #2. So the fight was on. The battle headed to the pavement fairly quickly, neither combatant being too steady on his feet. They rolled around for quite some time. The apparent girlfriend of Tough #1 stepped in gingerly at one point and tried to kick the head of Tough #2 with her pointy shoe. A friend wisely pulled her away and told her to stay out of it. Then a friend of Tough #2 tried to get involved but found himself thrown against a car by a friend of Tough #1.

When at last the fight was over, Tough #1 had no shirt. This displeased him. "Where's my fucking shirt?" he yelled. Likeminded toughs from across the street were jeering and taunting him but no further fighting ensued. Not that we saw. The spectacle having reached its end, we decided to leave.

What a seedy, sketchy walk it was up Ste Catherine. Nothing shocking to those familiar with Whyte Avenue in Edmonton, but disconcerting all the same.

About fifteen minutes later, I was in a cab headed back to Verdun, chatting with a driver from Chateauroux, France, which is a mere 50 kms from where my brother lives. He talked about going to dances in the countryside when he was young. Then we talked about the English who buy up property all over France because they love the food and the life. He left me at rue Galt, my street, just outside the restaurant, le Belle Province, where a few remaining customers were huddled inside over video lottery machines, placing their final bets.

Wine, Whine

Yesterday I attended a party at the Canadian Centre of Architecture. I met several of my classmates there. All of Montreal's youngest and beautifullest were out in force, enjoying the free wine and music. I found it quite remarakable that a crowd primarily composed of 20-25 year olds were given almost free rein over a cultural gem like the CCA, whilst being plyed with unlimited booze between 8 and 10pm. All in the name of art. Good heavens.

People in Montreal have struck me, to this point, as being extraordinarily polite, civilized, friendly and, well, mature. I can't imagine the aforementioned event being staged in Edmonton. Art shows happen in Edmonton. Sure. Booze is served. Sure. Sometimes for free. But the CCA had ADVERTISED free booze far and wide and literally hundreds of people showed up. And it did not turn into a shit show.

What is incredibly refreshing about Montreal is the relative lack of machismo among the male citizens of the city. I've realized that living in Edmonton has left me with the vestiges of the "fear culture" that holds sway there. Especially in more recent years, Edmontonians have become extraordinarily fearful and hostile towards one another. Encounters with strangers are strained, awkward affairs. People generally avoid casual encounters on the street. Men exude aggression as they swagger down Whyte Avenue on a sunny afternoon.

The vibe here is just so relaxed by comparison. Even homeless people seem integrated into the tolerant and pleasant life of the street. The other day, I saw a rather grimy homeless fellow sitting on a step on la rue Saint Denis. Along came a beautiful young blond woman and sat down next to him and struck up a conversation. As long as I've lived, I've never seen that sort of thing happen in any other city. My friends up on Mont Royal even invited a homeless person in to spend the night with them the other day. People simply don't have the fear of the homeless -- or any other kind of "other" -- in Montreal.

This is terrible to confess, but the more I fall in love with Montreal, the more I fall out of love with Edmonton (was I ever in love? No, I think I decided in the last post that I never was). I had sensed for years that people in big cities didn't have to behave in the fashion that I saw displayed around me. But sometimes I doubted myself. I thought, "I'm looking for a better way that simply doesn't exist."

But it does exist. In fact, I think Edmonton is the exception to the norm. I don't see the kind of routine nastiness that Edmontonians relish on display in towns such as, let's say, Vancouver.

What has happened in Edmonton? I just don't get it. Why have people fallen so in love with trucks, strip malls, ugliness, fighting, being stupid? Surely, in their private hearts, people don't enjoy this kind of life. Surely, the constant fear and the pressure to conform and be aggressive and macho and guarded takes its toll?

This weekend, my best friend leaves Edmonton. The numbers are ever-thinning.

I am fascinated to find out what Edmonton will be like in five to ten years. As much as I dislike the place, it's impossible for me to stop caring.

Another Week in Montreal

There have been several social occasions this weekend that I have avoided. I feel myself instinctively needing a “breather.” Adjusting to a new home is fun, but one is so filled with doubts and dreams and new thoughts that it’s useful to slow down and take stock of them.

One thing is very apparent. I love Montreal. I have realized that a relationship with a city is a bit like a relationship with a life partner. I judged Edmonton too harshly. Why? Because Edmonton was not right for me. It’s a lot like when you know a relationship is going to fail, you start seeing almost all the negative aspects of a person and find it hard to see the good.

So there. I owe Edmonton an apology. It wasn’t you. It was me.

Having said that, the more I realize that Montreal is RIGHT for me, the more I realize how very WRONG Edmonton was for me. When I walk around Montreal, I get this feeling of, “Where have you been all my life?”

One of Edmonton’s – indeed Alberta’s – biggest selling points is the vast, beautiful sky. Yes, it’s awfully impressive. It matches the vastness of the prairie. Two massive straight lines against which the achievements of humans appear rather puny.
There is nothing to match that sky in Montreal. Even on a sunny day, like today, the sky can’t match Alberta’s. Often, the clouds press in, the buildings loom over, and you feel smothered by all the things jostling for your attention.

The fact is, I like that. I do not revel in the open spaces. I like crowded spaces. Spaces with lots of levels. I really enjoy Montreal’s undulations – even the multi-layered freeways. I like the confusion and the great mess of it all. It feels natural and somehow, correct.

I forgive all of Montreal’s flaws, the same way, when you truly love someone, you do so in spite of the flaws. (It would be hypocritical not to. We’re all flawed.) So for example, when Montreal’s metro breaks down (which is surprisingly often), I just shrug my shoulders and say, with only mild annoyance, “C’est la vie.” Whereas in Edmonton, this sort of thing would have infuriated me.

So when I say I love Montreal, I mean that I love her even though there is a lot that is bland, ugly, clumsy, poorly planned and irritating. Because Montreal is also architecturally stunning, effortlessly beautiful, glamorously gritty, delightfully seedy, and, above all, sexy. There is no better word to sum her all up.

Today I walked from my home in Verdun and north-eastwards to Concordia’s downtown campus. I passed through nearly every kind of ugly and beautiful and in between that Montreal has to offer. Verdun is not considered one of Montreal’s prized neighbourhoods. Indeed, among some, it has a pretty bad reputation. But just up the road, on l’avenue de l’eglise, I found a huge church that I’d never seen before.



Then, I walked into the industrial zone, across which the Canal Lachine cuts its way with sparkling charm.



I passed the Atwater Market and into the St. Henri neighbourhood, a lot of it poor, but much of it picturesque.



I finally arrived at the downtown metro station which I pass through almost every day.



When I walk around Montreal, the city lifts my spirits. The continual surprises work on my emotional state and by the time I get to my destination, I feel like I’ve had an experience. There is even a sort of narrative to the walks.

All this, and I haven’t even mentioned how much nicer people are generally in Montreal. That is a post for another day!

The challenge this year is finding a way that I can stay here forever.

Montreal and Montpellier

What do Montreal and Montpellier, France, have in common besides their first four letters ? Well, from my scant acquaintance with each, both have very lively centres and lots of beautiful young people walking around, keeping things vibrant and dynamic. Montpellier is near the Mediterranean and numbers about 200,000 people. Montreal is on the Saint Lawrence and numbers close to 4 million. Both have decent public transit. Montreal’s Metro, current infrastructure problems notwithstanding, efficiently covers a large area of the city and is fast and clean. There are also buses and suburban commuter trains. Montpellier for its part has trams and buses.

When I visited Montpellier this summer, I felt like I was going to have a nervous breakdown because I was foolish enough to drive a car into the town centre. I have since discovered that Montpellier is doing everything possible to deter this. Their plans are working. So much of Montpellier’s centre is made up of pedestrian-only streets, one-way streets, dead ends, and tramway-dedicated streets, that to drive in a car is sheer lunacy. I am not exaggerating when I say that it took over two hours for me to simply find a way to get to the hotel where Monika and I were staying. We circled around it and around it, but the direct path to its door seemed unreachable. Even when we eventually did find the hotel, we found that there was no parking, so we had to retrace our steps to the Place de la Comedie, find underground parking (at a cost of $30 per night) and walk the rest of the way on foot.

The tone of this might sound a bit like a complaint. It isn’t. I am in complete admiration of what Montpellier has done. Indeed, Montreal isn’t even that pedestrian friendly.

For anyone who hasn’t driven in an old European city, It’s hard to describe just how utterly different it is from driving in, say, Edmonton, Alberta. The skill level required just to park and stay alive is vastly higher. If Edmonton drivers tried out half their crazy shit in Montpellier, they would be dead or in jail. Simply put, I think most North American cities have made driving in town too easy. Driving is not supposed to be a relaxing, pleasant experience – unless you’re out in the country, the part of the world where the motorized vehicle truly comes into its own. In cities, driving should be so stressful and difficult that you only do it if absolutely necessary.

Here is Montpellier’s tramway – a modern marvel in the historic town centre.

Back from France

The three weeks holiday in France appears to have performed exactly the calming spell on my spirits that I needed. Since arriving in Montreal on Monday I have been more relaxed than I've ever been in my life. It's unnerving how calm I've been. I almost feel like I could zone out whilst writing this. I could take a doze here in the library and that would be very pleasant, I think. However, it pays to remember that if I drooled on myself, it would be embarrassing.

There is simply not time today for me to catch up with all that's happened, all that I've thought and done in August. What a month! I'm going to try to post some photos from France and sort of catch up in stages during these next few weeks before my studies at Concordia get overwhelming.

For today, I've picked a random picture. Doesn't this look like parts of Alberta? But it is in fact a plain south of Millau, France. I took it simply because of the unexpected resemblance to the south of the province I called home not so long ago!

Farewell Fest

Tonight I am celebrating with friends my final weekend in town. If you've stumbled across this and a) know me! and b) haven't received an invite, check in at Remedy Cafe on 109 street and 87 avenue between the hours of 5pm and 7pm, or at Garneau Pub, also on 109 Street (and about 85 avenue) between the hours of 7pm and closing time.

I really feel no choice but to leave Edmonton at this time in my life, regardless of how well things have gone for me personally of late. There are too many things in this town -- mainly related to politics -- that drive me insane. For example, my girlfriend's rent was just hiked from $460 to $1,100. I find this sort of thing completely unacceptable. I can't live in a place where the government stands by and lets ordinary Albertans get screwed this way.

The other day I read that the majority of city council are AGAINST investing in a major interchange at 23rd avenue and Calgary Trail. These jokers will never get it. Ever. They want a world class city? Well, sitting on 23rd avenue waiting for a freight train to cross does not equate to "world class" city. No major city in the world would allow this.

I think Edmonton could safely claim to offer a high quality of life during the 1990s. But since the boom really took off, that quality of life has been seriously eroded. The city seems to have elected for unchecked profiteering at the expense of everything else. Vast sections of land have been given over to unchecked development. I am only being slightly hyperbolic when I say that to my eyes, South Edmonton Common signals the end of civilization.

Here's another one. The provincial government has given $7 million in grants to golf courses over the years. Now I know $7 million isn't a lot in the grand scheme of things, but the question is, why give a penny? In many respects, golf, friends, is a shameful, shameful sport. Having a course here and there is acceptable, but to deliberately support a sport that so intensively wrecks the environment with its exhaustive use of pesticides and energy sucking lawnmowers... it's just not on.

Also, the government has given $100 million to the horse racing industry. That's mainly down to the fact that our former premier, Ralph Klein, loved horse racing. Why didn't they simply stage a photo-op where they take a bag of taxpayers' money and give it directly to their friends?

That's how Alberta -- including Edmonton -- is run. It's the fiefdom of an ignorant elite who hold the majority of the populace in utter contempt. This Tory government is the same government that hired spies to monitor the activities of landowners who legitimately had concerns about power lines being built on their land. It's the same government that deliberately witheld information about their use of taxpayer-funded government aircraft until AFTER the 2004 provincial election. It's the same government that allowed Direct Energy to start advertising electricity contracts before being approved to enter the Alberta market. I know not all governments are on the up and up, but folks, these guys are the biggest crooks of the lot. And even if they weren't crooked, their sheer incompetence should have turfed them from office years ago. Look at this place. Does it look like one of the richest jurisdictions on the earth? No! Four months after the end of winter, there is still trash blowing around the back streets in the Whyte Avenue area. I passed three brick structures built for flowers this morning -- none of them had flowers, all of them had been smashed. All of them have been smashed for months -- maybe years -- and yet they are never fixed. When somebody visits from an actual "world class" city they must scarcely be able to believe their eyes. They must wonder, what did all these folks do with their money that they allow the streets to resemble the cratered landscape of the moon?

Oh dear. This is now turning into a helluva rent. In any case, I thought long and hard about moving -- I had good reasons to stay. But in the end, all the above reasons -- and more -- were what compelled me to leave. I am leaving Edmonton and Alberta because frankly, I've reached the limits of my patience for the place.

All that said, I have had some terrific opportunities here that I might not have had elsewhere. My over three years with the Liberal Opposition taught me a fantastic amount. Ditto my all-too-short stay at the Alberta Teachers' Association. And I met so many great people here. The contrary-minded in Edmonton are great people. There is a bit of solidarity built, I think, in having opinions seemingly so far off the norm. It's all these people I look forward to enjoying a drink with tonight.

Building a sense of community

Yesterday was the Reality Rally -- a way of getting Edmontonians out of their homes and into a big picnic in the park. This was conceived as an event for Facebook users... a way to get them off Facebook for a while. In the eventual crowd of about 30 that showed up, there were quite a few non-Facebookers.

Given the glorious weather -- maybe too glorious at 30 degrees? -- it was surprising more people didn't show. Radio and TV were covering it, and my own Edmonton Journal article appeared Friday.

Nevertheless, it was a genuinely enjoyable afternoon. Here is the crowd starting to gather -- in this photo, only at half its eventual size.



As the event progressed, it became clear that we had a great mix of people here -- people who genuinely wanted to be sociable and meet others and have fun.

This was really a great way to celebrate my second last weekend in Edmonton. Thanks for organizing this rally, Matt!

In Calgary

Last week, I had some work to do in the mountains. This meant a short stop-over in Calgary. Despite its proximity, I hardly know Calgary. I must say from this short visit that Calgary seems to be doing many things a lot better than Edmonton.

1. LRT. Their system dwarfs that of Edmonton. I saw a sign on the extreme west end of the city that said that the LRT would be arriving in that community by 2008. This amazed me. The kind of timelines we’re used to in Edmonton are in the five to ten year range. The famous can-do attitude of Calgary is certainly reaping benefits when it comes to rapid transit.

2. Downtown. For a start, it is much bigger than Edmonton’s. It surprised me to see the great canyons between the rows of skyscrapers. Their downtown seemed almost as big as, say, Montreal’s. Plus, the preservation of many old buildings was heartening to see. In particular, I enjoyed Stephen Avenue. I have no clue why Edmonton has not developed a pedestrian zone like this. Please, give us somewhere that we can take refuge from the bikers. Not that I’ve got anything against bikers, of course. I just don’t know why they’re allowed to thunder up Whyte Avenue, deafening conversations every few minutes.

Here is Stephen Avenue:



3. Homeless. The issue has been well publicized, but seeing it for real is still disheartening. There were entire sections of the city where I saw nothing but homeless. Calgary has built a lot more shelters for them than Edmonton has, but I’m not sure this is the long-term solution needed.

Another thing I noticed about Calgary is that the “look” for males is more corporate. There did not seem to be as many big, beefy and aggressive-looking males.


I am glad I had a chance for one last trip to the mountains as well as a stay in Calgary before leaving Edmonton. It is now exactly two weeks to departure time.

A party to make Canada proud

This weekend I went to a birthday party for a Hungarian girl I know. It was hosted at the Garneau Pub. The employees had decorated the whole place, including the patio, with balloons and streamers. They had passed the hat and raised money for a camera, a camera case, and memory card. The birthday girl was visibly impressed. She's lived here only a year and must go home in only a few weeks. Everyone wanted her to enjoy her first ever "Canadian birthday" to the utmost.

It was quite the event. Such a warm evening and cold beer flowing liberally. I did not leave until 3 a.m.

Of Gambia and Games of Skill

Anyone who discounts sports as a low-brow waste of time is underestimating the great communal experience of going to a game. Yesterday, at the Commonwealth Stadium, I watched Austria take on Gambia in the FIFA under 20 World Cup. Most of the crowd were "neutrals," so it was fun picking a favourite and cheering them on. There were some teenage boys in front of us having a whale of a time, cheering for Gambia, making wise-cracks, generally entertaining those around them. They struck up a conversation briefly with the two young children behind them, extending the good cheer. They were never crude or threatening. The whole mood was fun. Enjoying sports and the sun.

Austria won 2-1 by the way.

And incidentally, out of completely idle curiousity, I looked up the weather in Gambia for today. As it so happens, the daytime high for Banjul, Gambia is 31. Which is exactly the same as for Edmonton.

Yukko!

A few months ago, the Edmonton Journal did an expose on food safety in city restaurants. The public reaction to the issue forced an opening up of the safety inspections, which are now available for anyone who wants to see them. Since then, occasionally an article appears like the one excerpted below, which is about the China Palace Seafood Restaurant:

Prosecutor Rob O'Neill said the violations found during many inspections included restaurant staff leaving raw meat out in improper temperatures and rinsing vegetables and noodles in dirty sinks where raw meat had been.

As well, inspectors found mouse droppings and fly infestations, dirty kitchen equipment, unsanitary dish rags and raw meat hanging over uncovered vegetable containers.
Inspectors also spotted mouldy sweet and sour sauce, leaking water, dripping oil, grills with encrusted grease and dust and unsanitary staff washrooms.
[Edmonton Sun. July 10, 2007]

All I can say is, Yukko!

Well, actually, that is not all I can say. This food safety issue is one of a host of issues that have been publicized by our local media, which would otherwise have gone unnoticed. Another big profile issue was the government jets zooming all over the province at vast expense -- the official records for which were witheld by government until AFTER the 2004 provincial election. And how about the story the Journal also broke on the government agency, the Energy and Utilities Board, that hired private investigators to spy on Alberta landowners? All coups for the good old print media!

I bring this up because the print media is in trouble. Todd Babiak had a column about this a couple of weeks ago. It was an alarm cry for anyone who cares about journalism's role in promoting a healthy democracy. The fact is, not enough people are paying attention to the news. How many people are subscribed to a newspaper these days? Of all the people I know in this town, I can think of only one subscriber. My father gets the Edmonton Journal. Nobody my own age -- including me! -- is subscribed to any local paper.

But look at why... Look at what I just did. I got an article online from the Sun and stuck some of it on my blog. The last time I subscribed to a paper, 1995, that would not have been possible.

Yes, Internet -- you are a temperamental monster, wreaking havoc on some cherished parts of our culture, yet liberating others.

I don't know where all this is going to lead us, but I do know this. In the same way that those who only travel a city from inside a car don't truly know it, those who never read about a community don't really know its politics.

ADDENDUM:
Sometimes I write something and it appears to wrap up nicely, but then on closer inspection, I realize it doesn't. I had to add something to this post because as initially written, it made an assumption I wasn't happy with. Reading is not the only way to find out what's going on. Of course. Radio and TV -- especially the CBC -- illuminate the issues of the day. It's partly a question of the rigour that the given medium gives to the issue. My point is, everyone should pay attention to a dependable media source on a fairly frequent basis. By dependable, I'm not wanting to get into left or right wing bias. I just mean something that will explore an issue in depth, not in a soundbite.

Where it's at

I’m posting some photos taken by my friend James Birkbeck who has captured Edmonton at its finest. These were taken on Canada Day. They are a timely reminder to me that, current council shenanigans notwithstanding, there are some things that the city has done well. Chiefly, the river valley, and the skyline that presides over it.


Below is an Edmonton oddity that people often make fun of: the High Level Bridge waterfall. I don't know the full story, but I gather that the waterfall was supposed to operate during all of the temperate months, but the engineers somehow messed up, because the system can only use treated water, not water from the river itself. Therefore, it's enormously expensive to operate, and hence is only turned on for very special occasions.


I say bugger the naysayers. I think the waterfall rocks. We need more weirdnesses like this and fewer mockers.

Also in the river valley is the neighbourhood of Rossdale, one of the nicest neighbourhoods in town. Rows of delightful terraced housing, in brick, built to last. I just don't know why Edmonton didn't continue developing in this kind of scale. It all looks so welcoming and liveable. Once you get out to, say, Terwilliger, the sterility of the place is unsettling. The city centre is definitely where it's at.

Canada Day

It was hot and sunny yesterday. A large group of us descended into the river valley and watched the fireworks display. The small hillside where we sat was teeming with small moths, a couple of which perched on my girlfriend's finger. They were joined later by a caterpillar.



After the fireworks, we trooped up Walterdale Hill with hundreds, possibly thousands, of other revellers. It's quite a sight to see so many people walking and not a single vehicle. I tried to imagine what it would be like if they closed down more roads for entire days during the summer -- a perpetual street party, perhaps? At the very least, it would be far more exciting than endless commuters stuck in traffic.

Edmonton City Council II: They Just Can't Stop the Gong Show!

I thought I'd get at least a short respite from marvelling at the ineptitude of Edmonton city council. But alas, no. I log into the Edmonton Sun website only to find that our council clowns are once again juggling turds. Instead of, ahem, running a city, they are now debating an idea (rejected in Toronto) to use public funds to pay for "Support our Troops" decals so that city staff can proudly display these on city vehicles.

This is a classic council gong show. They love to debate meaningless, nonsensical gestures such as these while throwing scads of cash around as if it were confetti, or bread for pigeons. Nothing flicks their Bic more than handwringing over the minutiae of a Cat Bylaw, or agonizing over what slogan best sums up Edmonton. Next they'll debate what should be Edmonton's official shrub or whether the Edmonton Oilers' locker room attendant should be honoured with a taxpayer-built statue.

Out here in reality, average Edmontonians are a little more worried about potholes threatening to swallow their cars whole than some decal on a city van!

Edmonton City Council: the Bunglers' Club

I really can’t figure out Edmonton’s city council. They just seem hell-bent on fucking up every decision, big or small.

I read in the Edmonton Journal yesterday that city council has allowed a ten-year contract to a bike rack provider to lapse. So now numerous bike racks are being removed from downtown and Whyte Ave. with no word on when they’ll be replaced. And this happens during the council’s declared Bike Month – a sign for which I pass every single day. Oh, the irony!

It’s almost impossible to count the number of city council failings. They are legion. Let me recall some of the past fifteen years’ highlights:

1. Winston Churchill Square. Council spent millions turning a pleasant, leafy square into a cement hellhole that in summer, reflects the glare of the sun and induces heatstroke. On the very day it opened, the cement was already cracked in many places.

2. South Edmonton Common. Whew! Where to begin? Council approved one of Edmonton’s largest retail developments mere blocks away from an existing retail development – Heritage Mall. In the process, killed the mall, and ensured that traffic at 23rd Ave and Calgary trail got ten times worse. Council now says it will cost $250 million or so building an interchange there. Why wasn’t this interchange built ten years ago? Come to think of it, why didn’t council think of this BEFORE approving South Edmonton Common?

3. Approving licenses to seemingly any new proposed bar on Whyte that wants one. What’s giving the city its biggest PR problem now? Violence and drunken shit-storms on Whyte. Congrats again council. You could’ve learnt a lesson from Calgary’s Electric Ave on this one. But I guess learning lessons isn’t what you get paid the big bucks for!

4. Seven or so new schools for Edmonton were just announced by the provincial government. Great. That’s roughly equal to the number of schools that city council has stood by and watch get closed down in the last decade – some of which were in the very same neighbourhoods that Mayor Mandel now wants to revitalize. Boy. Before approving developments in massive suburban sprawl areas – the very areas now needing schools – why didn’t we try finding a way to get families to live next to the schools that were already built? Could it be councillors are lazy? Stupid? Or in the pocket of big buck$$ developers! Or all three?

5. No new LRT station in ten years. Ten years during which the cost of financing infrastructure projects were half what they are now. There’s no excuse for this kind of backwards thinking. A wake-up call might have come in 1996-97, thereabouts, when deals were inked for multi-billion dollar projects up in the tar-sands, for which Edmonton is the major hub. But council, in its wisdom, decided to do nothing to prepare for the massive economic growth. On this one, they clearly followed the lead of the provincial Tory government.

Well, that’s enough for now! In other news, there has been some beautiful weather lately and soccer yesterday was great. I didn’t totally embarrass myself. Hoorah!

Crackberry

Experts say that an addiction requires treatment when it endangers your life and those around you. So what about the BMW-driving dimwit that I just saw at the intersection of 109th Street and Jasper Avenue? He was actually attempting to make a turn at a high-collision location at the same time as typing something into his Blackberry.

I think he needs help.

Soccer

Last Wednesday’s post about Brad Pitt was a total fabrication. It won’t happen again. This blog is committed to the whole truth and nothing but!

I was fending off some weird illness during the weekend that only finally lifted when I played soccer on Sunday evening. I’ve noticed that with these pick-up soccer games, which I’ve been enjoying for several years now, that more fun is had the more anarchic the vibe is. Whenever any particular player tries too hard to organize strategy, boy can it ever get tiresome.

To a small extent, that’s what happened Sunday, but thankfully, it was the opposing team that did this, not mine. What happened was, only eight regulars showed up, so when one of them dropped out, we were really shorthanded. So we asked about five or six players who had been using the field before us if they wanted to join in. They said yes, but because they play as a proper team together, they wanted to stay as a cohesive whole. OK, we said. They “borrowed” two of our players to even up the sides and the game was on.

I really felt bad for a guy called Byron on their team. His team-mates kept yelling for Byron to do this, Byron do that. The team was trying too hard to be organized. Although we lost track of the score, I’m pretty sure we got more goals than them. And I put it down to that team putting too much pressure on themselves and in particular, on poor old Byron.

I suffered the same experience myself last week. I joined a group of international students that I used to play with last year. When I came onto the field, “my team” decided to play me as a forward. I played horribly, so I got what seemed to be a demotion to midfield. Our team continued to suffer, conceding more goals. The Eastern European who had styled himself as leader then decided to demote me even further. He barked orders at me and three other defenders. We were to fan out in front of goal and play no further forwards than him. We were to act as his cover. What a strange strategy. Our play was awkward and stilted. It had no flow. Nobody wanted to take chances and run forwards. Things only improved when enough players left that the game was forced into being more open.

I’ve encountered this situation a few times now and I’ve noticed a common cause: a lack of women. If you have a few women on the team – as we almost always do on Sundays – then things are more laid back. Leave it to a group of men to play among themselves and this slightly discomfiting social hierarchy emerges, based on ability (or perceived ability).

The game is no fun when people take it too seriously.

Brad Pitt and the Rabbits

This is a story from quite a while back, from before this blog was started, but I thought it too exciting to keep to myself since it involves a CELEBRITY!

At the time, Brad Pitt was in town briefly, filming The Assassination of Jesse James by the Coward Robert Ford. I believe this film is being released this fall. I have a friend who has a friend who appears in this film so it was pretty exciting for me personally.

Anyway, the filming took place in Fort Edmonton Park. That day, I was walking around the river valley, doing, as is my wont, some pretentious activity called psychogeography. I had just witnessed the spectacle of some rather cute mammals called marmots frolicking on the river bank. If you’ve never seen a marmot, get thee to the Edmonton river valley post haste!

Anyway, with the memory of the marmots fresh in my mind, I turned then to see another mammal – this one larger, but in the minds of many women, far cuter.

Brad Pitt!

As you’d expect, he was wearing sunglasses so as to be inconspicuous. Ha! Inconspicuous? As if! There were two security people with him. What surprised me is that one was a man and the other was a woman. But you could tell that they were security people because both looked lean, tough and trained in highly effective fan-calming techniques.

It became clear that my solitary path was just about to cross that of Brad Pitt. Good grief! There he was, walking along, enjoying the weather, just like me.

Now, I could have blurted out the name of this friend-of-a-friend as some way of trying to establish a sort of distant kinship to the celebrity himself. But I didn’t want to do that. It seemed just the sort of thing that a snivelling celebrity-worshipper would do. I also contemplated just playing it cool and giving him a nod of my head and saying, “Hey Brad,” and then something like, “Looking forward to the new flick!”

But this feigned nonchalance also seemed pretentious in its own way.

I also contemplated saying nothing. But what the hell kind of story would it make for my friends if I said, “I passed Brad Pitt and then… and then… I did nothing!” I mean, come on! That’s like telling a very long joke without delivering a punch line.

So here’s what I did. And let me note in passing that while I actually spoke to Brad Pitt, we were so close that my shadow touched his. Our shadows briefly became two very elongated men engaged in a passionate smooch.

Me and Brad Pitt kissing!

(I anticipated how excited my girlfriend would be to know that, in a way, she too had kissed Brad Pitt by proxy.)

Anyway, here’s what I said to Brad Pitt – my one and only chance to speak to a world-famous celebrity:

“Excuse me, Mr. Pitt! What’s your favourite thing about Edmonton so far?”

Brad Pitt and his two security people stopped. Even though I was a total random stranger, the security people did not do anything to minimize my potential threat. They simply stared at me. Then the woman looked at Brad as if seeking his lead.

At that moment, from the long grass, a large rabbit emerged and dashed across the path about five feet from us. It was chased by another rabbit. Both rabbits’ noses were twitching violently. Brad Pitt looked at the rabbits and then turned to me.

In response to my question, he said, “The rabbits.”

He gave the kind of dazzling smile that only Brad Pitt can give. Oh, and maybe Matt Damon, I suppose, if we’re getting technical.

Our moment was over. His shadow pulled away from mine, the kiss ended, as well as my solitary brush with fame. Before this encounter, I really wasn't sure what -- if anything -- I had in common with Brad Pitt. Now I know.

The Long Goodbye

Just when I'd given up on the city... This morning is glorious -- in a uniquely Alberta glorious way. So much boastful blue sky. And I permitted myself to do nothing productive all weekend. Just walk around and spend time with friends and family. There's definitely a sense of community here that I'll miss when I go. It was so good showing up at Black Dog on Saturday for an afternoon folk jam, bumping into people, renewing acquaintances, and simply relishing the pints, and of course, the music.

Canadian Road Trip

Well I'm back. I didn't nod off at the wheel and go careening over the side of a cliff into a northern Ontario lake. Nor did a moose go smashing into the front of my car. I made it to Montreal successfully after three days' drive and made it back to Edmonton a week later after another three days' drive.

The weather was glorious for the Ontario leg of the journey. The Canadian Shield is the version of Canada that I think much of the world imagines. Lots of lakes, rock, trees, and animals. And it goes on for hundreds and hundreds of miles. Almost two of my three days travel were spent in Ontario and the wilderness seemed unending. Tiny towns here and there. A few fuelling stations. Not much more.

And... the voice of God everywhere. Yes indeed. I saw numerous signs proclaiming Jesus is Lord and signs decrying the evil of killing unborns while extolling the virtues of guns. Hmmm. And on the radio, Christian programming is available almost everywhere -- some of it broadcasted from the United States, some of it broadcast right here from Canada.

There is a nasty brand of Christianity disseminated by these radio shows. They focus on family, yes, which is good. But they seem to encourage family and self above everything, including any sense of community. There are entire "Christian" news shows devoted to helping individuals "achieve financial freedom." A Christian advice host, upon hearing about a divorced woman having fallen on hard times, said "God has not entrusted her with much money right now."

He gets involved in the affairs of your wallet, He does!

Meanwhile, the "news" provides stories that lament the oppresion of Christians in America. For example, a withdrawal of public funds to the boy scouts because that organization won't accept homosexuals. Proof, if any were needed, that religion is under attack from every quarter!

An advert came on for a new book called "No More Mr. Christian Nice Guy." The message was that men should be good even if it means not being nice. Now that sounds like the kind of advice that self-proclaimed "good" but not necessarily "nice" men like the now-deceased Jerry Falwell took to heart. Do we need more Falwells?

And let's not get started on the "Truth Project," which is an attempt by the group Focus on the Family to cast all scientific facts in a religious light.

After hours of this I was left with the impression that this North American brand of Christianity is highly intolerant, superstitious, greedy and selfish. Not once -- not once! -- was there a single call for Christians to go help people in need in their community. And this, to me, has always seemed the highest purpose of religion, to selflessly give to others. Not a single mention. Good grief.

Doubtless, these radio shows have done a profound disservice to the millions of practitioners in North America who DO give to their community, and give in spades. The civil rights movement to this day still is supported strongly by religious leaders such as Al Sharpton and Jesse Jackson.

But where was this alternative voice of Christianity?

It made me so thankful for the good old CBC, which -- praise be! -- is just as strong a presence from Alberta all the way to Quebec.

Life of the City

Here is my photo of the Palais des Congres in downtown Montreal. Nearby, there is a garden where water intermittently mists the plants and lawn. The water drifts like steam at a spa, but feels wonderfully fresh and cool.



Life in the city of Montreal seems very pleasant. A large number of people appear to really enjoy living here in a way that I think is not equalled in Edmonton. In the last few days, a resident here (I'm not sure who) said this about Alberta:

"Ah yes, we send you our assholes; you send us your artists."

Easy to see who has won in the exchange. Unless, of course, this is all hearsay!

Am I going to live here?

This is the Square Saint Louis in Montreal. I would give my arm to own property in this area. The bordering Avenue Laval is one of the prettiest streets I've seen in any city.



On second thoughts, I wouldn't give my arm. But I'd give a tooth, maybe.

Today I visited l'Oratoire St. Joseph. It's a building so vast that it overwhelms one's perspective. I took pictures, which I can't upload today, but I don't think they'll do the place justice.

The mishmash of architectural styles in Montreal seems to be the defining style of the city itself. Some streets are such a hodge-podge of this and that; it's almost like a deliberate attempt NOT to plan. I love it.

A matter of perspective

The cat in the following photo looked rather forlorn and lovable when I passed it. But when I looked at the photo afterwards, the same cat looked like it might be possessed.



The camera has altered my perspective on this furry fellow.

A while back, someone wrote to me, surprisingly disconcerted about the entire concept of psychogeography. He had read my Edmonton Journal article about it. I think he thought there was a club of pretentious fools in Edmonton, wandering the streets and giving fancy names to the things they do. I informed him that there is no such club. Toronto has a psychogeography club, but having talked to one of their most active members, I wouldn't say that their club suits the picture painted by this correspondent. In fact, the T.O. folks walked for a long while before even stumbling across the word psychogeography, and applied it as a bit of a joke.

My correspondent was also disconcerted by the thought of treating a mere walk as an "epic adventure."

But again, it's simply a matter of perspective. Personally, I think it enlivens a walk considerably to treat it as an epic adventure. And to tongue-in-cheek label it "psychogeography" after the fact. Why not? And if psychogeography encourages people to walk more and observe more, then, well, hurrah! It's all in good fun. Much like me pretending that this cat is silently conjuring a curse on all passersby.

Now to see if psychogeography will work from the road. Tomorrow, I start my drive to Montreal.

Crime File

Meanwhile, here is some news from today's Edmonton Sun:

Five people, including two women and two girls, face charges after a 39-year-old man was swarmed, beaten with his own golf club and slashed with a razor blade in an alley behind his north Edmonton home yesterday, police say. And if not for the quick actions of a neighbour, the victim may not have made it.

"It could have ended up in a homicide situation," said Edmonton police staff Sgt. Gail Denys, crediting a neighbour who came to the man's aid in the alley behind 118 Avenue and 87 Street shortly after the vicious 12:30 a.m. attack.

The victim had been inside his home when he heard the sounds of people hooting and hollering outside. Denys said he armed himself with a three wood and went outside to investigate. He ended up confronting five people.

"They basically swarmed him," said Denys. "They punched and kicked him" and clobbered him over the head with the club.

Once his attackers got him down, they sliced him with a razor blade from his right ear to his chin and slashed his head, Denys said.

A neighbour rushed out and pulled the man to safety. Police nabbed the group a couple of blocks away after they wandered nonchalantly from the bloody scene, Denys said. The neighbour who rushed out to the victim didn't want to speak with Sun Media, saying he feared retribution.

Others said they were surprised by the number of females, including two teen girls, involved in the attack.

"They're tough," said Kerry Surgeoner, 48.

"Women are tough."

His roommate, Bob Carlson, went even further.

"They're probably more violent than guys," he said. "The girls around here, they got that look in their eye. You say something to them, and they'll punch you out."

Naming things

A few posts ago, I claimed to have encountered cherry blossoms on the walk to work. I strolled past the same tree over the weekend, and my girlfriend informed me that it was, in fact, a lilac tree.



But I reckon there are some cherry trees around here! In fact, I think I've found some blossoming up the road in the same garden as the tulips:



It has become increasingly important to me to be able to name things that I see while I am going for walks. These things didn't trouble me much when I was younger. But now, especially given that I like to write about what I see, my poor grasp on these details frustrates me. It still frustrates me that I can't even be sure, one hundred percent, that those trees above are cherry trees. I've even researched this on the Interwebnet! They might be Evans cherry trees, which thrive locally, but I wouldn't put money on it.

It's sad that I can name dozens of cars, and I know the names for all sorts of technological appliances around my home and office, and I can rattle off names of film stars whom I've never seen in the flesh, and yet I can walk outside and see a tree, and 90 per cent of the time, have no idea what to call it.

This detachment from our natural world is, in my opinion, a mild disorder, and one to correct.

Edmonton's Fists

Some time late last week, a young and affluent man with a sporty car believed himself to have been cut off by the truck in front. He got out and confronted the truck driver, who was a small and frail man of about fifty years of age. The young man punched the older man in the face, smashing his glasses, and lodging fragments of glass into his eyelid. The older man went to ER for stitches.

This true story is taken from the life of my girlfriend's building caretaker. He is a Buddhist, although I don't really know if that really alters the meaning of the story. Seems to make it even more sad, to my mind.

I watched FUBAR for about the third time last night, an Alberta-made film that this time around seemed not just a comedy, but also a penetrating insight into the dark and violent Alberta psyche. It is funny but also rather chilling how nihilistic the main characters, Terry and Dean are. It's sad how often nights of revelry end up in violence, either man-on-man, or man-on-inanimate-obect, i.e. bus shelter. The scene in High River is particularly unnerving: a bunch of drunk locals essentially so bored that duking it out with their fists is a major form of entertainment.

In any case, those extremes aside, it is an ongoing irritation how a thin veneer of hostility smooths over most of the interactions between the citizens of this city -- especially the male citizens. It's why this time of year must truly be lived to its fullest, because it's one of the few times where I can routinely get outside and enjoy community pastimes such as soccer that rekindle a bit of hope in the local human spirit!

Tulips

I passed these on my walk to work this morning. I used my new Canon Powershot A570 to capture them. Now they are mine!



I also like this friendly neighbourhood cat. He came and said hello.

A few observations

1. “City losing pothole battle, little relief in sight” – Edmonton Sun front-page story
Visitors to Edmonton might be surprised to find the surface of our streets pockmarked with large holes. Some are so big that they can and will damage your vehicle. Especially if it’s a small vehicle. Maybe that’s why so many Edmontonians choose to drive trucks, which increasingly resemble the kind of vehicle you expect NASA to use for a Mars landing.

2. Nice Posse
There is a billboard on 109 Street, an advert for a western-themed bar called the Ranch. On the billboard is a woman with a cowboy hat, breasts that are clearly enhanced with implants, an exposed navel, and a big ol’ belt buckle. Cleverly emblazoned above her crotch are the words, “Nice Posse.” Somebody, thank God, has already written to the local See Magazine about this one, pointing out for the edification of most locals who probably merely guffawed and went on their way, that this is woman-hating, objectifying, crass garbage. A bar with a large advertising budget can buy a lot of space in our city. What it cannot buy is any sense of class, dignity or taste.

3. Cherry Blossoms
On my walk along 84 Avenue, there is what I believe to be a cherry tree, and just this week, it has burst into white blossoms. You detect the fragrance from twenty steps away. The memory of this makes 1 and 2 a little easier to take.

Drug Deals

Over the weekend, I watched what I’m fairly sure was a drug deal going down in the parking lot by my girlfriend’s apartment.

A man I’ll call the Smoking Man had been lingering outside the apartment building in his truck, doing nothing more than smoking a cigarette. Then a van showed up in the pay parking lot adjacent. The Smoking Man pulled out of the stall and advanced up the alleyway, now electing to park illegally in the alleyway behind Chapters. He turned off his engine, got out of his truck, and approached the van. I later saw the van drive down the alleyway eastwards. I assume the Smoking Man was inside it, buying drugs, but the tinted windows prevented a good view.

While he was gone, a security guard approached the Smoking Man’s truck, now vacant, and jotted down its license plate. About thirty seconds later, Smoking Man reappeared, running up the alleyway from the same direction in which the van had headed earlier. He gave a rueful smile to the security guard, then jumped into his truck and sped away – not without, of course, adding that delightful touch of machismo that grows in popularity daily – that spin of the wheels along the gritty pavement as you accelerate as fast as you can.

These elaborate manoeuvres are sure signs of suspicious – i.e. illegal! – activity. I like to think I’ve got a trained eye for these kinds of things in light of my three years’ residence just east of China Town. That neighbourhood, while at first glance seeming fairly innocuous, was nevertheless a Mecca for prostitutes and crack dealers. My friend Matt and I would occasionally sit on my balcony with a six-pack of beer and just watch the deals go down. It was a really good time.

You don’t get the flavour of a place only by walking around it; sometimes it is enough just to sit still and let the place move around you.

Canada Geese

Yesterday afternoon, crossing the High Level Bridge on the way back from work, I heard some strange hooting and honking. I looked in the sky in vain for the source of the noise. Then I looked down to the river. Finally I found the source of the avian articulations.

It was a pair of Canada geese, sitting on top of a supporting pillar of the light rail transit bridge.

Calluses

Our dealings with the physical world shape our own physiques. For example, I discovered this weekend that my soft bureaucrat's hands become sore after not even one hour of shovelling dirt. I was working in the EcoHouse garden at the university, helping with seeding and weeding, and also researching an article I'll be writing for the Edmonton Journal. I must say, I am better suited to writing than gardening.

These white hands of mine need to become callused.

When you look at the hands of the homeless people at George Spady shelter, you see the effects of their toil. From picking through dumpsters as well as from temp manual work in factories and construction, most of the clients' hands are rough, with dirt worn into the palms and dirt under the nails. A surprising number are missing entire fingers. Many have cuts and scars.

Life on the street can leave an indelible mark. A year, two years -- I'm not sure how long it takes, and maybe it's different for different people -- but after an indeterminate period of time, a person's physical state deterioriates towards being irreversible. The skin is so worn, the premature wrinkles so deep, the scars so numerous, that the street will likely keep its grip on that person even if he or she eventually finds a home. It seems that the greatest effort to help must be made for the youngest clients, or those who are only newly impoverished.

This weekend I met a woman who had been a high school teacher for thirty years. She took up crack cocaine when she was about sixty, after retiring. She had never done anything besides smoke cigarettes before. Then her husband died, and her crack use intensified. She used it every day for two years.

She had never seen the George Spady centre before this weekend. She was determined to get into treatment so that she would never have to see it again. Apparently, her psychiatrist recommended she spend a night there. Maybe that's what they call shock treatment.

And she witnessed one of the peaceful nights! No punch-ups, seizures, vomiting, urinating or shitting.

Crime File

Meanwhile, I feel compelled to include a few parapraphs from today's Edmonton Sun, about the sheer insanity going on at a north-end Edmonton bar early Sunday (or should I say late Saturday?)

The drama at the Belvedere nightspot at 13610 – 58 St., began about 3 a.m., when a man and his common-law wife – both in their early twenties – got into an argument, said EPS staff Sgt. Marc Cochlin. The domestic dispute spilled into the parking lot and escalated to the point where the husband brandished a knife, Cochlin told Sun Media. The wife suffered minor cuts to her hands in an apparent attempt to wrestle the knife away from her husband, Cochlin said, adding she had grabbed the blade but didn't require hospitalization.

As the couple fought outside, at least two men came to the woman's aid and got into a scuffle with her husband, Cochlin said. The husband is facing charges of assault with a weapon, assault and possession of a weapon. Around the same time, a brawl erupted nearby between "numerous people," Cochlin added. During that chaotic scene, a passing motorist parked his vehicle and offered "to lend assistance" - only to have his vehicle stolen by an unknown thief, Cochlin said. And while all that was happening, a man entered the bar and turned over a loaded .22-calibre handgun to a bartender, Cochlin said, adding no shots were fired. The man, who had been carrying the firearm in his boxer shorts, claimed his nephew was chasing him and asked the bartender to hang onto the gun.

Suburban living is clearly too boring for some of our citizens. They need to liven things up with some knife-wielding, gun-toting, and brawling.

A few hours after this, there was yet another incident for the crime file. Edmonton recorded its 12th homicide of 2007: the execution-style shooting of an as-yet unnamed victim in an urban style clothing store.

No Walking Anywhere

When it is so dismal outside, you don't feel that illness is making you miss much.

When you lie awake in bed for hours on end, even a Sealy Posturepedic mattress starts to feel like a slab of granite.

I remember like a distant dream the pleasant sun of Monday afternoon. Three big rabbits were hunched in the quadrangle of the university. They have turned from winter white to a sort of mottled grey.

The rabbits, or should I say hares, are one of Edmonton's delights. You see them everywhere nowadays.

Blinded

This is one of those mornings where you can be damn near blinded by the sunlight. There is something rather cruel about the sheer brilliance of this particular morning. See, yesterday was very drab and wet. And it was supposed to be the beginning of our local amateur soccer season. We were rained out.

My fingers are crossed for next week.

On Jasper Avenue today, I observed a bus driver bearing down on a cyclist like a trawler after a dolphin. Sad. The driver honked his horn several times. Then, at the intersection, where both had to stop and wait, the driver proceeded to glare at the cyclist. He shook his head several times. Because I found the driver's attitude abhorrent, I in turn glared at him.

Unfortunately, I don't think the driver saw my glare.

How full of anger our city is! It has become almost tangible.

And why is there still garbage blowing around everywhere? The excuse that the snow just melted will not cut it! Last week, I saw that a flowerpot had fallen from an apartment balcony, shattering on the pavement, spreading shards and dirt everywhere. The next day, it was still there. And the next.

There are newspapers with the same day's date on them, blowing around, presumably within hours of being discarded by the reader.

Plastic bags are ensnared in trees.

Shoes show up on telegraph wires.

There are smashed beer bottles in the street.

It has almost been elevated to the level of poetry, the diligent desecration of our home.

The Residents of 11054 - 86 Avenue are Bigots

Yesterday at about 7:30pm, my girlfriend and I were walking along 111 Street en route to the Garneau Safeway. This neighbourhood is on the doorstep of the University of Alberta campus. It is usually peaceful and pleasant.

We passed a large house where an end-of-year celebration was going on. There were lots of trucks parked out front, and in the yard, a hot tub set up, and eager young men arriving for some beer-soaked revelry.

Over the entrance to the hot tub was a handmade sign. It said:

NO FAGS.

This could only be interpreted as a warning to homosexuals. My girlfriend and I continued walking, now with considerable consternation about what we'd just seen. We wondered what should be done. We wondered whether the house in question belonged to a fraternity, in which case, it would be of considerable concern to the university itself.

In my books, a sign saying NO FAGS is akin to a sign saying NO NIGGERS. Only of course, the fratboys would never have affixed a sign saying NO NIGGERS. In most cases, they actually like black people. But homosexuals, they do not like.

Eventually, I decided that I would inform the police of the NO FAGS sign. We were not sure if they would do anything about it. We weren't sure if posting a NO FAGS sign is even illegal. But it seemed worthwhile at least inquiring.

Before going to the police, we returned to the scene of the crime with a camera. I furtively took two photos of the NO FAGS sign. I also confirmed that the house belongs to the FH fraternity. I have since looked this up on the Internet, and it would appear that FH stands for the "Farm House" fraternity, of which there are 30 chapters in North Amercica.

Having thus gathered some evidence, we drove to the police station. On the way, we happened to spot a couple of officers sitting in Starbucks. I joked to my girlfriend:

"If the police tell us that they're too busy for this, we'll say, 'No you're not, two of your officers are having coffee at Starbucks!'"

It turned out that the police station was closed. So the officers at Starbucks were, in fact, our only hope. We approached them tentatively. They listened to the details with considerable concern. They seemed to take it very seriously. We departed feeling triumphant. The police said they'd go down to the frat house and sort things out.

After dinner, at about 9:45pm, we passed the frat house again. The sign was still up. It was even more visible, in fact, because there were festive lights surrounding it. It was a glow-in-the-dark symbol of bigotry.

We went to Muddy Waters Cafe. I calmed my nerves with some red wine. I felt murderously angry by this point.

But something must have happened while we were in the cafe. Scarcely thirty minutes later, we went by the frat house a third and final time, and lo and behold, the sign was gone, and the party had ended. There was not a fratboy in sight. The entire residence was completely deserted.

In some places, prosperity fuels growing urbanization, sophistication and cultural awareness. In Alberta, it fuels avarice, aggression, and cruelty. The Edmonton of 2007 is a far meaner place than the economically becalmed Edmonton of the early nineties, or so it seems to me. Alberta has a kick-'em-when-they're-down mentality. The poor, marginalized and weak will always find large numbers of Albertans willing to make their bad situation even worse.

And to be frank, I don't think any marginalized group has it worse in Alberta than homosexuals.

City of Sunlight

In Edmonton's perennial search for a new slogan, I think it should consider "City of Sunlight." What does one seek in a slogan? To define the best a city has to offer; to advertise one of its more widely renowned characteristics. Well, Edmonton has a lot of sunlight to offer. And by a lot, I mean a hell of a lot. More than most other cities in North America. (I learned that on Wikipedia so it must be true!) Granted, a lot of our sunlight is accompanied by glacial temperatures. But whatever!

This morning, the sunlight is accompanied by a promising warm tinge to the air. Summer is definitely on its way.

That's the bright note on which I begin my post. Now for the whinging.

Yesterday, my girlfriend and I went to Julio's Barrio for some celebratory drinks. She had finished her exams. On our way in, a drunk girl was on her way out. She was literally shouting at her friends. Not because she was angry. Not because anyone's dress had caught on fire. Not for any real reason. No, she was shouting because she was drunk and wanted to shout.

One of the most important lessons we're supposed to learn when young is to consider the effects of our actions on others. i.e. don't lick your knife and then stick it in the butter; don't kick someone else's chair; don't pick your nose, etc.

These lessons, however, appear to have been long forgotten by a good number of the residents of our well-lighted city. Just Monday, at Interpol, I had to listen to a girl's angry defense of her friends' right to "dance," even though said "dancing" had elicited irritation from others. The problem with her defence was that it was completely spurious. For one, moshing is not dancing. Smashing into people and risking broken lips and noses cannot be called an art form. Also, nobody in the audience appreciated the "dancing."

Their "fun" came at the expense of everyone else's fun. Hence, it's a type of fun that is self-negating.

I'm also reminded of people's bubble-like existences almost every time I go to the gym. Aside from the steroid-crazed eyes of the jocks as they stare me down, there is the ever-present annoyance of the room that I will call the "abs" room. This is a small room with mats on the floor where people can stretch and do abdominal exercises. It's become an important room to me because I have developed chronic back problems that require a full regimen of embarassing contortions to ameliorate. In any event, it's one of those rooms where every voice stands out like a church bell on a quiet Sunday morning. If, say, three young women or men enter having a lively conversation, it can be deafening.

The correct etiquette, to my mind, for such an environment, is to bring your volume level down. But that's not what happens. The braying and whinnying continues. You can see the expressions of annoyance on the faces of the other patrons. But that is no deterrence to the loud-talkers.

Some days, to live in the city, is to live in a state of near-perpetual irritation.

I believe that a good deal of Edmontonians' poor social graces is a result of city planning that does such a poor job of encouraging people to mix together. People are cocooned in their homes and cars for so much of the time that the presence of the "other" confuses, bewilders or even angers them.

In an incident of road rage in Edmonton the other day, a 20 year old man and his 17 year old girlfriend got out of their car and stabbed another motorist. I have just reviewed the Edmonton Journal article about the incident. It's truly bizarre. The initial provocation appears to be that someone was cut off by a truck.

We increasingly settle our differences with shouting, punching, stabbing, or shooting in this city. While incidents of this kind happen in all big cities, that's no reason not to lament their occurrence here, and wonder if things could somehow be different.

We'll never get rid of the isolated incidents of total lunacy, but I can't help but think that when your city looks like a barnyard, people will tend more toward the animalistic extremes of behaviour. Even if the barnyard is basking in the sun.

Life in the Lego City

Along the path I walk to work, there used to be a house at 85th Avenue and 108th Street. There was little to distinguish this house from the others in the neighbourhood. It was small and peaceful.

Now the house is gone. Giant diggers came and removed it. This happened several months ago. I wait for the construction of whatever will replace it. Probably a condo building. We like condos in Edmonton!

There is a transitory feel to the development of this town, sort of like children playing with Lego. Let’s build this. Let’s demolish it. Let’s building something else. Oops, I got a booger on it.

Southgate Shopping Mall just commenced its second renovation project in under a decade. The old city hall and Edmonton Journal building were replaced in the 1990’s. Heritage Mall is now the new and exciting Century Park.

This might strike some as exciting. It strikes me as a bit unsettling.

It takes a long time for a disrupted area of land to settle down and for life to resume. Trees need time to grow. Flowers need to be planted. In a couple of decades, a new neighbourhood might start to feel comfortable and inviting.

Sadly, there are few parts of Edmonton that are ever given the chance to feel comfortable and inviting. It’s as if, every year or so, the restless arm of a child descends at random from on high and smashes a city block before any maturation can occur.

We are a restless culture.

In brighter news, Interpol chose humble Our-town to stage one of their shows last night. Aside from the neanderthals who decided to flail about like dying fish in a boat (moshing... at Interpol????), everything was magnificent. Interpol are gloomy, romantic, mysterious, and strangely amusing. The bassist looks like an Austrian prince, preening and strutting, hoping for a peasant girl to throw him an embroidered handkerchief. He gives Ben Stiller in Zoolander a run for his money.

Splashing in Puddles

This morning in Edmonton, the air gives you a cool, wet kiss on the cheek. The weather is foggy, and from the south bank of the river, you cannot see downtown. It has vanished completely in the grey mist. This is like January in Vancouver. Or January in England.

I've had to drive my car on account of a "surgery" this afternoon, which my girlfriend would rather I call a "procedure." I will be driving from work to 23rd avenue and 111 street, where a doctor will cut a cyst out of my left side.

It was laughably easy getting to work in the Golf. Many people in Edmonton complain about driving downtown. How could so many of them be so wrong? Driving downtown is a doddle. It's driving in the suburbs that is tough.

Today, I travelled from Whyte Avenue to Jasper in 15 minutes. This is about the same amount of time it used to take me to travel from the Commonwealth Stadium area to the legislature where I worked 2001-2004. In both cases, the driving is fast and hassle free. Left hand turns at intersections slow you down, but not much.

It's in the suburbs that the distances become rather absurd, and traffic, surprisingly, slows to a crawl in many places. Perfect example: would I rather be driving around South Edmonton Common or downtown? I'll take the latter, gladly, and let's go to the Creperie while we're at it for some tasty cuisine!

Yesterday, as I was driving to the grocery store, I had the pleasure of driving through puddles, spraying water everywhere. I was careful to ensure there were no pedestrians around, of course, otherwise I would be a total hypocrite in light of yesterday's posting.

I have to admit that when my car tires splash through puddles, I get a real thrill out of it. Jumping in puddles with your wellies on is also a delight.

Did you know that Edmonton's population density is 103 per square km, Winnipeg's is 130 per km2, Calgary's is 213 per km2, and Toronto's is 866 per km2? These stats were reported in this week's See Magazine, and I'm pretty sure I'm remembering the numbers correctly.

From an environmental perspective, this is reason for considerable consternation, but I've seen very few consternated people this morning.