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.
Monday, April 30, 2007
Friday, April 27, 2007
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.
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.
Thursday, April 26, 2007
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.
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.
Tuesday, April 24, 2007
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.
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.
Friday, April 20, 2007
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.
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.
Thursday, April 19, 2007
Collective Suffering
How glad I am now of my pessimistic prediction two days ago! I had been mentally preparing myself for the temporary return of winter, thus, I was not plunged into grief when I saw snow outside my window this morning.
Dealing with the reality of it, however, was certainly no walk in a shady Parisian park!
The descent onto the High Level Bridge from 109 Street is a nightmare for pedestrians right now. The entire pavement is at the mercy of cars and trucks spraying filthy slushy water everywhere. And by the pavement, I mean me, and anyone else on it.
I took this part of the trip at a swift jog.
Then, even on the High Level Bridge itself, there are occasional patches where again, pedestrians must fear the automobile. An Edmonton transit bus damn near soaked me right through. However, I leaped aside like a mutilated gazelle, avoided the spray, and even embarrassment!
My right shoe is no longer impermeable, so that's a downer.
It is unfortunate that the city can't do a little more to improve the experience of crossing this bridge. A wall between the pavement and the road would help. If it were about three feet high, it would still give pedestrians a view, but protect them from the evil spray!
Upon further reflection, I've realized that a three-foot wall would block motorists' view of anything beside the road on the bridge. Hmmm. Is that really so problematic? If they want a view, maybe they can get the hell out of their cars!
Dealing with the reality of it, however, was certainly no walk in a shady Parisian park!
The descent onto the High Level Bridge from 109 Street is a nightmare for pedestrians right now. The entire pavement is at the mercy of cars and trucks spraying filthy slushy water everywhere. And by the pavement, I mean me, and anyone else on it.
I took this part of the trip at a swift jog.
Then, even on the High Level Bridge itself, there are occasional patches where again, pedestrians must fear the automobile. An Edmonton transit bus damn near soaked me right through. However, I leaped aside like a mutilated gazelle, avoided the spray, and even embarrassment!
My right shoe is no longer impermeable, so that's a downer.
It is unfortunate that the city can't do a little more to improve the experience of crossing this bridge. A wall between the pavement and the road would help. If it were about three feet high, it would still give pedestrians a view, but protect them from the evil spray!
Upon further reflection, I've realized that a three-foot wall would block motorists' view of anything beside the road on the bridge. Hmmm. Is that really so problematic? If they want a view, maybe they can get the hell out of their cars!
Wednesday, April 18, 2007
Collective Responsibility
The change in weather was already apparent this morning. Much nastier edge to the wind on the High Level bridge. Just as I walked into the parking lot that serves my work building and others around Jasper and 109, one solitary drop of rain fell from the sky and landed on my nose.
None of its brethren in the sky joined it. At least not before I was safely indoors.
There was an ambulance trying to navigate its way through the 109 street traffic. It brought to mind an incident that occured over the weekend.
There I was, on the High Level bridge (again!), only in my car this time. Traffic had slowed to a crawl, which seemed odd. Traffic rarely crawls at 6pm on a Sunday. I eventually realized that there must have been an accident. I saw the flashing lights of an ambulance about 50 metres behind me.
Thereupon followed five minutes of the most awkward and sometime inept vehicular repositioning that I've ever seen. The rule of thumb for a situation like this is the following: all cars move to the right, and thereby free up a lane for the ambulance. This, however, does not always work well in pratice.
At one point, nothing stood between the ambulance and its destination save for two cars. One of them contained two women in their early twenties. For thirty seconds or so, their car simply sat there. They turned around. They looked back at the road ahead. They seemed shocked, stunned, clueless as to what to do next. I shouted at them but of course, that was silly, because my windows were closed and they would never have heard me.
Eventually... eventually they figured it out.
Driving has long fascinated me as one of the best examples of individualism's violent (literally sometimes) collision with the notion of collective responsibility. On one side, there is the great empowerment of having a powerful machine at your disposal that can take you almost anywhere. No schedules to keep, no bus stops to wait at, no strange passengers to divert your attention. On the other side, however, there is the knowledge that if you don't adhere to some pretty strict rules of collective responsibility, you could die. If you try to race the light as it changes to red, you might just collide with someone else racing out of the starting blocks as the light for them changes to green.
Edmonton has the worst vehicular accident rate of any city in Canada. Period. Year after year.
The curmudgeon in me says that it's yet another example of our limited sense of collective responsibility. Every man is a hero inside his Ford F150. That is, until his untimely demise - his face lacerated by the broken glass of his windshield.
In happier news, I stand to make a healthy profit when I sell my car prior to my move to Montreal. It appears that my Golf is worth about $20,000. Next task is finding a buyer.
None of its brethren in the sky joined it. At least not before I was safely indoors.
There was an ambulance trying to navigate its way through the 109 street traffic. It brought to mind an incident that occured over the weekend.
There I was, on the High Level bridge (again!), only in my car this time. Traffic had slowed to a crawl, which seemed odd. Traffic rarely crawls at 6pm on a Sunday. I eventually realized that there must have been an accident. I saw the flashing lights of an ambulance about 50 metres behind me.
Thereupon followed five minutes of the most awkward and sometime inept vehicular repositioning that I've ever seen. The rule of thumb for a situation like this is the following: all cars move to the right, and thereby free up a lane for the ambulance. This, however, does not always work well in pratice.
At one point, nothing stood between the ambulance and its destination save for two cars. One of them contained two women in their early twenties. For thirty seconds or so, their car simply sat there. They turned around. They looked back at the road ahead. They seemed shocked, stunned, clueless as to what to do next. I shouted at them but of course, that was silly, because my windows were closed and they would never have heard me.
Eventually... eventually they figured it out.
Driving has long fascinated me as one of the best examples of individualism's violent (literally sometimes) collision with the notion of collective responsibility. On one side, there is the great empowerment of having a powerful machine at your disposal that can take you almost anywhere. No schedules to keep, no bus stops to wait at, no strange passengers to divert your attention. On the other side, however, there is the knowledge that if you don't adhere to some pretty strict rules of collective responsibility, you could die. If you try to race the light as it changes to red, you might just collide with someone else racing out of the starting blocks as the light for them changes to green.
Edmonton has the worst vehicular accident rate of any city in Canada. Period. Year after year.
The curmudgeon in me says that it's yet another example of our limited sense of collective responsibility. Every man is a hero inside his Ford F150. That is, until his untimely demise - his face lacerated by the broken glass of his windshield.
In happier news, I stand to make a healthy profit when I sell my car prior to my move to Montreal. It appears that my Golf is worth about $20,000. Next task is finding a buyer.
Tuesday, April 17, 2007
Spring in Edmonton
Spring is a difficult season in Edmonton, as I'd imagine it is in many other Canadian cities. One day, the promise of summer seems real. The next day, we're right back into winter.
As I walked my usual path from home this morning, across the High Level bridge and onwards to work, I considered how dismal this walk is likely to be in approx. two days' time. Environment Canada forecasts rain and/or snow. And a high of plus 3.
At least the river has cleared of ice. That shows at least the worst is over.
I'm not going to bemoan the current messy state of our city, as the Edmonton Journal does almost on a daily basis. Of course it's covered in trash and looks horrible. What's curious is people are just waking up to Edmonton's ugliness only now. Just since -- well, since Stephen Mandel became mayor -- so far as I can tell.
Mandel is a refreshing change from the idiotic "boosterism" of Bill Smith. Mayor Smith squandered an entire ten years doing exactly nothing for this city. Mandel, even though powerless to make real change, at least acknowledges the very real problems Edmonton faces. Chief among them is this ugliness. How can you feel attachment to a city that seemingly takes no pride in itself? Edmonton: the city that perpetually lurches out of bed every morning with a hangover, dressed in sweats.
It's embarrassing to live somewhere knowing that were you to invite, say, a family member, they would arrive and have to spend their entire stay hiding their disappointment.
"Look, it's the world's biggest shopping mall!"
"Look, we have a river!"
"Look, a statue of Wayne Gretzky!"
"Look, our art gallery just added its 14th painting!" [Excuse the exaggeration.]
To be fair, if I wanted to show someone around town, and reveal Edmonton's livable side, I'd probably walk down into Riverdale on a nice summer day. We'd stop and look at the riverboat, and proceed along the river valley trail, which gives a nice view of the Hotel MacDonald. Maybe we'd wander the quiet streets of Riverdale itself and admire the leafy gardens and comfortable homes. Here, I could say, is one neighbourhood in town that takes pride in itself. Here is one place that you could say it is a genuine pleasure to live. Perhaps a cat would lazily stroll across the street like a pampered aristocrat, saying to itself, "You think this is your neighbourhood, but we all know it's actually mine."
Repeat same experience in Millcreek. Glenora. Maybe somewhere else I have not thought of. And that is the best of Edmonton.
As I walked my usual path from home this morning, across the High Level bridge and onwards to work, I considered how dismal this walk is likely to be in approx. two days' time. Environment Canada forecasts rain and/or snow. And a high of plus 3.
At least the river has cleared of ice. That shows at least the worst is over.
I'm not going to bemoan the current messy state of our city, as the Edmonton Journal does almost on a daily basis. Of course it's covered in trash and looks horrible. What's curious is people are just waking up to Edmonton's ugliness only now. Just since -- well, since Stephen Mandel became mayor -- so far as I can tell.
Mandel is a refreshing change from the idiotic "boosterism" of Bill Smith. Mayor Smith squandered an entire ten years doing exactly nothing for this city. Mandel, even though powerless to make real change, at least acknowledges the very real problems Edmonton faces. Chief among them is this ugliness. How can you feel attachment to a city that seemingly takes no pride in itself? Edmonton: the city that perpetually lurches out of bed every morning with a hangover, dressed in sweats.
It's embarrassing to live somewhere knowing that were you to invite, say, a family member, they would arrive and have to spend their entire stay hiding their disappointment.
"Look, it's the world's biggest shopping mall!"
"Look, we have a river!"
"Look, a statue of Wayne Gretzky!"
"Look, our art gallery just added its 14th painting!" [Excuse the exaggeration.]
To be fair, if I wanted to show someone around town, and reveal Edmonton's livable side, I'd probably walk down into Riverdale on a nice summer day. We'd stop and look at the riverboat, and proceed along the river valley trail, which gives a nice view of the Hotel MacDonald. Maybe we'd wander the quiet streets of Riverdale itself and admire the leafy gardens and comfortable homes. Here, I could say, is one neighbourhood in town that takes pride in itself. Here is one place that you could say it is a genuine pleasure to live. Perhaps a cat would lazily stroll across the street like a pampered aristocrat, saying to itself, "You think this is your neighbourhood, but we all know it's actually mine."
Repeat same experience in Millcreek. Glenora. Maybe somewhere else I have not thought of. And that is the best of Edmonton.
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