Drivers seem to forget they're steering a death machine

Here is my latest IMHO article, as published by the Winnipeg Free Press

A lot of people in this town -- and elsewhere I'm sure -- tend to drive as if it takes no more attention than walking down the sidewalk. In virtually every other vehicle someone is talking on the phone, putting on makeup, fiddling with the stereo and/or slugging a beverage.
If I were an apologist mouthpiece for a wireless provider or a "productivity" lobbyist, I might diplomatically label this "multitasking." But as someone who shares the road with these idiots, I'm inclined to point out that they are abusing their privilege to drive -- to a dangerously vain extreme.

I am constantly amazed that driving, which has to be the most dangerous activity we do daily as humans, is looked upon so casually. Everyone behind the wheel operates a potential death machine -- among certain age groups auto accidents are the No. 1 killer -- and yet so many of us seem to view our commute as a vacation from an otherwise hectic day.

When you are 15 or 16 you can start to learn how to drive. If you enroll in Driver Education they show you some gruesome highway accidents and try and indoctrinate you into a cautious approach. However, within a week of being behind the wheel you will undoubtedly be left with the impression that the classroom portion of your education is about as practical as the formulas they are shoving down your throat in math.

Like anyone learning a new skill, young drivers will learn more from their experience on the road than from any instructor, however well qualified. While lethal carnage can only be expressed as a probability, rudeness, impatience and displays of passive-aggressive behaviour are constants. Is it any wonder that there are three generations of Winnipeg drivers who view a yellow light as an invitation to speed? Just try being a cautious driver in this city. People honk at you for doing the speed limit, jeer at you for using a signal, and use that two-car buffer you've given yourself to jockey between the faster-moving lanes.

Sadly, there is little motivation for people to change their driving habits as they age. Whereas a teenager's rebellious nature will be naturally tamed by the cruel forces of economic reality and a desire for social acceptance, no such reformatory provocations exist on the road. It is only the distant fear of a fine or brief suspension that keeps our streets from becoming the chaotic playground of reckless motorists young and old.

The dog-eat-dog mentality of our city's roadways would not stand in other public settings. For instance, would one cut off a person using a walker to get ahead in a queue at the bank? If someone politely asked to get by in a shopping lane where your cart was in the way, would you refuse them, or start pushing just quickly enough to impede them?

You might do these things, but generally your actions would be regarded as antisocial and unacceptable.

Yet when you are anonymously concealed behind the glass and steel of your vehicle, you become somehow superhuman. Anything goes, because you are gone already, turning the corner, out of earshot, and not really responsible for your actions. The moment in history when you might have been held accountable is already a distant memory.

I have a proposal to fix this gap between action and consequence. It is a concept that does not involve more police, harsher penalties or increased taxation. It is as simple as making everyone who owns a vehicle affix a "How's my driving?" sign to their rear windshield. Each decal would carry the person's home and/or office phone number, and the offended would be free to call and comment on the offender's atrocious driving.

Sure, there would be a few abuses, but would they be any worse than the distress we suffer daily at the hands of negligent, egocentric -- and sometimes downright belligerent -- Winnipeg motorists?


Although previously employed as a sign-maker, Ryan Kinrade does not stand to profit financially or politically from this scheme.

Dirty Scrabble

Last night, after a few drinks, Ren, Josey, Damon and I had a game of dirty Scrabble. Below is a photograph of the final board.
{Disclaimer: I would caution with anyone who has a sensitivity to dirty language that this is a post you may want to skip.}

The Theory of Enough

A good old-fashioned anti-establishment rant

I am no economist, and certainly not a sociologist. I have no idea why most people in our society are so consumed with consuming. I understand that the need to have status is very important to the majority of people, and for most acquiring material wealth is the simplest way to exhibit their status. Material comfort is also fundamental to most people’s view of their own security. Wealth is a guarantee that one will not starve or lack the necessities of life.

This is likely a biological imperative, built by centuries of roaming about in search of food and shelter. But even with the dawn of agriculture, and in our time the explosion of technology to produce everything from artificial light to devices capable of communicating over vast distances, there seems to have been no cap on the degree to which people require or desire wealth. In fact, people have grown more and more consumed with the idea. Corruption is rampant in the “developed” world, and no-one can seem to get enough. It is not enough to own a motorized vehicle, it has to be Hummer. It is not enough to own a home, it needs to be at least 2,500 sq. ft. with a two car garage.

It should be plain enough to everyone that their need to consume comes at a cost. Of course there is the obvious indebtedness that buying all this stuff will place an individual in; but debt, like money itself, is an abstract concept, and not easily understood. On the other hand the destruction of the resources used and disposed of to make up our “wealth” should be fairly evident: every tree we cut, every mountain we level in search of coal seams, every inch of arable land we plant, only to have its crop rot in a silo.

It is my belief that our desire to consume so rampantly is manufactured. Knowing, as we all must, that our present consumption creates a vacuum for future generations of our own children, there needs to be a more plausible explanation for why we behave like we do. Who would knowingly destroy the future of the only world we know for an instant gratification that is not, in truth, all that gratifying?

It is our leaders who have built this desire. They are the ones who glamourize wealth and make it the dream of mankind. Every glossy magazine and Hollywood blockbuster is chock full of images designed to make people want. They are the ones who ensure the ignorance of youth, who indoctrinate them into a hollow philosophy of rampant desire for objects only available to those willing to indenture themselves for the pride of ownership.

The most powerful man in the world is quite unashamed of his own ignorance, of the influence peddling that effects his every decision. He is bought and paid for, and couldn’t be prouder. The cabal that owns this most powerful puppet is a group who does not care for the future of earth, because they do not believe in it. It is the interest of the here and now that occupy them exclusively. It is how they appear to the world at large that dictates their actions. Obviously, they are flattered by the notion that they will effect history, but whether for the better or worse is irrelevant. As the famous P.R. saying goes: “Just make sure they spell my name right.”

I don’t care for the powers that be. I work on behalf of the democratic system, it is true, but always with a mind as to how it can be improved. To me there is nothing more important than learning how put the lives of all people ahead of all else. Economics is broken because it does not consider the human element, politics is broken because it only appeals to those who would use it to further their own agenda, which in most cases means the advancement of business interests over human life.

The industrial age was a useful and necessary era in human evolution, but the time has come to bury it, and the magnates it created. The world belongs to everyone: not the rich, not the strong, not the smart, but everyone. Those who were given gifts of brilliance and fortune need to place themselves before the unfortunate, need to walk in the streets of New Orleans and Bande Ache. To put your children in a gated community and send them to exclusive schools is the greatest disservice you can do to. Let them see the poor and the unwanted, let them know that their wealth and power comes at a cost. Teach them that they have enough, and that to want more is foolish, unnecessary and immoral.

Today You Came Into My Room

Here's another old entry. This one's a love poem. I won't say from when and where, because that is irrelevant, and revealing more than I want to. But it is one of many about the same subject, and I just feel like publishing it.

(August 1,199?)

Today you came into my room
and layed down on my bed
you let me stroke your hair
and play soft music
only it was not a dream.
We talked, but it was not
what we were saying
my heart was beating so fast
I can barely remember anything
but extreme satisfaction
and when you asked:
"are you ever satisfied?"
I wanted to laugh
and when you looked long
into my eyes
I wanted to kiss you.

Notes from Minaki

Since I have nothing new to say today I've decided to delve into the archives. The following writings come from a little red book I own. I'm not sure which Minaki trip they represent (i.e. what the exact year is) but it might be '93 since that is the next entries in the book deal with my trip to Europe in that year.

(I) July 2

There's an empty bottle of JD before me
And a thousand beer cans aft.
But it's not the drinking
Or the food, or anything tangable
It's the feeling
It's the feeling
Everything else only enhances
What already exists
It's the love, the freedom
the danger, the anger
It's solitary confinment
It's the 3 Stoned Guys
Beyond home
The stress is forgotten
Money is for joy, not for hoarding
There is dancing & singing
there is deep thoughts
& there is light too.
Life & death & beauty & nature & civilization
& love

(II)

Onto the dock there is reality
We are swimming to celebrate
But suddenly fear grabs us by the ankle
And pulls us down
But we beat it
And it only makes me feel more alive
There is shadows in the room
First I ignore them
then they make me scared
I try to sing them away
But they don't listen, they are deaf
Then I think about you
You save me
And my trip to the room is complete
Because I know why I'm here
I have conquored
My lonely fears
They no longer exist because
Even when I'm alone,
I'm no longer alone.

(III)

Paddle, drink, smoke, cook, eat, sit, talk, dance, sing, sleep, arise, smim, think, BE, love, hate, write, play, read, ride, lie, look, hear, party, enjoy, walk, FEEL, dress, undress, laugh, RELAX, forget, remember, fish…

These are a few of the things we do on our holiday at Minaki together, apart: one, or one of.

So it rains, we can live with this. The weather is not a factor (I'm just reminding myself about the rain).

—Here it comes again—

At the time it is, later it becomes a memory, and later still an experience.

Don't do anything on purpose let it flow. Struggling all week to get the shit together, and now we sit here and just foget it all, and Be, Feel, Relax.

(IV)

My gods are beyond reckoning
My gods are or have been alive
And there is not One
There are hundreds
They are human & animal
natural & scientific
artistic & thinking
Beautyful & uglyness
My gods come from history
and present future
They are inspiration and feeling
planning & reasoning
14 years ago I was a child
In a world that was only understood
through the eyes of my mother
Now my mother is gone
An the world is only understood
Through my own eyes
My own 6 senses
And my friends that help me on the path.

(V) (A map of the inside of the cabin)

This Picture Isn't in the Gallery (but it is especially good.)

To the Uninvited Dervish Who Erased My Valued Photos

stupid girl
how on earth did you manage
to erase all the pictures on my camera
you were the cursed guest
showing up a friend of a friend
of a friend

yes it is my fault
for leaving those
photos on there for so long
and in a deeper sense
who really cares
they’re just photos after all

but it is tragic that an annoying
little ditz like you,
with your gross orange mascara
and your big mouth
rid me of the photographic evidence
of my best friends and me
camping on a Mantario island in August

christmas party photo gallery

Here's a link to some super shots I took at our Christmas party on Friday. They are pretty fuzzy since I prefer not to use a flash; I refer to the style as "drunken impressionism." Enjoy.

Party Pictures

Punative Licensing Premiums

This is a letter I sent today to the Provincial Minister of Justice, whose juristiction includes the Manitoba Public Insurance Corporation (MPI).

Dear Mr. Mackintosh,

This letter is in regards to the $200 surcharge MPI plans to levy against my driver’s license following an at-fault accident I had with a company vehicle. I feel that this punitive fee is highly unfair, given the circumstances of my case, and is, in general, a very inappropriate way for the Public Insurer to collect revenue.

According to the MPI website:

Drivers who have had one at-fault accident and don’t hold a current and valid Manitoba (vehicle) registration, receive a $200 premium surcharge on their driver’s license. These drivers have a higher risk of causing other accidents.

I have had my driver’s license for 11+ years, in that time I have been involved in one accident. It occurred in my first year of holding a license (1994) when I lost the power to the brakes on my car and panicked. Since then I have driven vehicles large and small, commercially and privately, without incident. In those ten subsequent years I have received a total of two speeding tickets and two parking violations. I do not believe, given my driving record, that I am any greater risk for causing accidents than anyone on the road. I resent and reject the implication from the Public Insurer that this would be the case.

The circumstances of my particular case are as follows. I approached the driveway of the group home where I work, at a speed I felt appropriate to the driving conditions, which were somewhat slippery. Unfortunately, as I was making my turn I encountered a patch of black ice that took my wheels and guided them straight forward, over the curb, and into a bank of snow. Because of the cold conditions, and perhaps some previously unreported stresses, the front bumper cracked on impact. I was not driving irresponsibly, I did not damage anything or anyone else. My “fault” was merely to have an ordinary driving maneuver—which I have accomplished without incident thousands of times—become an accident of fate.

But in the Public Insurer’s eyes I am guilty, and deserve to be punished (to paraphrase the telephone agent who processed my initial claim). How else am I to learn, the logic goes, to drive responsibly?

MPI’s indiscriminant use of this punitive levy in my case only serves to engender my resentment for the Public Insurer and its overseers. I believe that MPI owes it to all Manitobans to be more sensitive to the facts of a case and act accordingly, especially when a good driver makes an honest claim. The Public Insurer is millions of dollars in the black right now—according to some critics, to a scandalous degree—they do not need my $200. In my opinion, they are unjustified in taking it, especially as a premium on top of my provincially granted driver’s license. It is highly inappropriate for the province and its insurance corporation to collude in this way in order to grab money they do not need or deserve.

Generally speaking, because this charge is levied regardless of the nature of the accident it encourages honest people to commit fraud in order to avoid MPI’s punitive measures. I believe this in itself is reason enough to reconsider its application. For instance, had I been aware that my honesty would cost me $200 beyond the $200 deductible I am already responsible for (not to mention the annual premiums paid by my company to insure its vehicle), it is doubtful I would have been as forthcoming as I was in this matter. Four hundred dollars represents a significant portion of my monthly income (approx. 35%), but had I, for example, claimed a hit and run I would not be stuck paying an additional "punishment" premium.

It should not be incumbent on Manitobans to lie in order to avoid a fee that in many cases is unjustifiable. If the Public Insurer is not receiving enough money to pay out claims (I’d like to see them make that argument) then let them increase premiums. Why should someone who needs to drive to keep his or her job, and who is demonstrably a good driver, but does not own a vehicle for economic and/or environmental reasons, be forced to subsidize the already over-stuffed coffers of the Public Insurer in this manner? They are punishing honest citizens like myself unfairly and it reflects very poorly upon them, and by extension, your government.

Sincerely,

Wherefore The Anger

You are a bunch of slaves
technophiles who can't stop
looking at your phones long enough
to see the spell you are under

I am burning with anger
for no particular reason at all
except that there must be very good reasons
that I am not fully aware of

After all why should your blindness
fill me with rage?
it is not really my problem
that you are misleading yourselves

If you want to chase your tails
like a bunch of kittens
while the world crumbles around you
what is it to me?

Maybe it's the Irish in me
my Papa too was a very angry man
I thank god though
that I am not drunk and violent like him

When I get pissed off
I swear like a sailor
and deny myself the pleasures of life
sometimes I write it down

What I don't do is go to the mall
and drown my sorrows
in some gadget that can scratch my ass
while playing Nina Simone

What I don't do is plan to bomb buildings
or commit some petty act of vandalism
I get no pleasure out of sharing my misery
although it is important to let it vent

Yes I am an angry person sometimes
but I hope that I will come to terms
with what it is that has upset me so
because I see myself as being better for it

Gouging the Ridership

A big kerfuffle has been brewing in Winnipeg since the city announced it would increase bus fares to $2 (up from $1.85) while eliminating reduced fares for seniors and students. One report said the city hopes to raise a mere $1.1 million by implementing these Draconian measures.

Typically the city raises transit fare by a nickel every January and, though none of the ridership is happy about it most pay the extra come-uppance. Now there is open talk of revolt. People writing in to the newspaper saying: “The hell with it, I’m gonna spend $150 on a good pair of walking shoes, and I’ll never take the bus again.” Of course this isn’t much of an option for the fine people of Ft. Richmond, or the elderly and child-rearing folks who are physically incapable of hoofing it.

The mayor and his cronies all drive cars and believe that $2 is fair market value for the bus service, after all it’s still cheaper than downtown parking. The mayor and his cronies also have full-time, good paying jobs, and can afford to be cynical about the poor, since in most cases they don’t vote anyway.

Furthermore the mayor doesn’t care a rip for greenhouse emissions, has no vision for the city, other than as a great place to do business, and tends to serve up staunchly Rightist cures for our city’s continual lack of cash flow. The pain and suffering he would commit the poor and environmentally conscious to in order to raise $1 million a year is an astonishing example.

I have a better idea. This summer’s explosion of gas prices proved how committed people are to keeping their cars on the road, no matter the cost. Talk about a captive audience! Now that prices are stable again why not slap on a surtax of say $.15 every time someone puts gas in their car. Sure, they’ll hate you for it, but they’ll pay. And as the GST has proven, no matter how unpopular a tax is, once it’s instituted no future politician will ever think of it as anything other than fair and necessary. Talk about a legacy Sam.

Internet people tend to be more intellegent?

This is a comment I sent to the webmasters of http://similarminds.com after participating in one of their IQ tests tonight.

Your test results page includes this sentence:

"The internet population tends to be more intelligent so your percentile might be higher if the test taking sample was perfectly random."

That's a pretty general claim, and I don't know if it's totally true. There are a lot of people of average intellegence who take these kinds of tests on the Internet all the time. People killing time at work is probably your main audience. On the other hand, there are undoubtedly millions of people who aren't on the Internet who possess the kind intellegence you are testing (namely Visual Pattern Fluid Intelligence). Please don't try to make me feel better with unsubstantiated claims about how I've been outdone by the Internet Intelligentsia.

Dude, I'm Sleeping!

What a weirdo you are.
Taking an upside down cat-nap
in an office chair.
Streached out as though you
were a person.

Raising a Stink

There is currently a proposal before the city to turn part of St. Boniface into a hog processing plant. The debate is primarily about the stink; but it forces me to wonder why I would continue to suppose that pigs raised and slaughtered the way they are good for me? It begs the veggie argument. When I think about all that blood and guts, all the antibiotics it's been pumped with, the miserable state of its existence.

Anyway, I continue to eat meat, knowing what I do about it, but I never sneer at a vegetarian. Some of the best people I know are vegetarians.

The whole meat thing is disgusting primarily because of how it is farmed in my opinion. I'm not against a good steak now and then. I just try not to think about the forced feedings, the crowded barn and that last and only trip the cow took: to the slaughter house. Was she marched to her doom, did she take a train or a semi, who put the bullet in her brain?

It's always "not in my backyard" when it comes to the slaughter house though, and St. B has always been the sacrificial benefactor of the meat plants. Because it is on the east side and the wind blows mostly from the west. Because the mushroom plant is already near by, and it's better to concentrate the stink. Because it is her destiny to be at the end of a very dirty bit of business.

That said, I'm all for having it even further east of the city altoghter. The wrong wind will send a wafft of that death right over the Red and into my life. Bleack hufft, pee-ew that is an awful. awful smell.

Reporting from the War Room

I cant concentrate on typing without looking, but I find that I know my way around pretty good. I can type just fine without looking. I can motor along, just looking up a tthe sky, although I;m still prone to quite a few mistakes.

I can't help but look down from time to time and cheat, it'w too hard to want to look
. I was trying to type a story I'd writen in an old workbook, but I wasn't getting the whole typing thing, I was very easily distracted. Some how it's a process of relaxation and attention. Two diffferent sides fothe brain trying to act in harmony. Actually three: the motor memory function. the right brain speller, and the left brain editor. Whatever. I really dont make that many mistakes when I'm really in the zen of it, but it takes a pretty powerful bit of attention/not attention to truly make the leap to blind proficiency.

Greater still is to tap the godhead. To be they unconscious consciousness. The conduit into whom those wonderful musical whiffs and verbal riffs infect a notion to boogie.

But I'm cheeting by lookingt again, and so all my ideas are evaporating. What do I see staring at the yellow-orange wall with the nail hole righ ahead? And type just for the sake of typing until something travels through me. Like an amp turned on waing for a chord to be struck, or a seed waiting for a rop of rain. Listening to such beautiful misery courtesy of Cobain, talking about Heroneomus Bosch and how he painted such fantastical, dark dream-realities. And his patron, who bought all of his mad, mad shit and kept it carefully for centuries, that we may know the condition of a man's inner-vision ages after he is gone.

Fridge Poem

Abstact #1

New Toy

Yes it's true, I always berate people for buying gadgets and tech toys; but sometimes I just have to be a hypocrite. Today I bought a tablet to do illustrations. This is my first sketch.

Awww...

Set your sights a little higher: let the bananas out of the bag

Here is my most recent article for the Free Press as it appeared in their electronic edition today.

ARE you the kind of person who puts bananas in a bag? Do you need them to double-bag your four-litre jug of milk -- you know, the one that comes with the handle? If so, you are the person I want to talk to today.
Bananas, nature's darn-near-perfect fruit, come with their own biodegradable wrapper. So do onions, avocados and dozens of other common produce items that somehow end up in those ubiquitous little plastic produce bags.

I've wanted to confront you in the supermarket before, but I'm kind enough to mind my own business. After all, it's your right to consume needlessly -- that's what this economy was built on, right?

Someday, I hope, the price of petroleum byproducts like plastic shopping bags will become as outrageous as gas is quickly becoming. Maybe then we can get back the option of good old recyclable/degradable brown paper bags. You might even be tempted to invest in a couple of canvas sacks to carry your stuff home in, rather than resorting to the double-bag. That would thrill me to bits.

Of course, you were raised to believe that plastic bags protect your food and provide a convenient way to transport your purchases from shopping cart to car trunk, and subsequently from carport to crisper. You never really questioned it. Just as you never questioned the pabulum you were fed about how buying lots of stuff is good for the economy and your sense of self-worth. But I am asking you to probe this wisdom for just a second. Suppose there were 20 million Canadians who used an average of five plastic bags per week to enclose items they were going to wash before they ate anyway. That's 7.8 billion little plastic produce bags per year, and that doesn't include the millions of larger white grocery bags those produce bags come home in.

What about all those take-away cups you get daily at the Timmy's drive-thru? You can keep your coffee a lot warmer, and our landfills and public spaces less put-upon, by purchasing a travel mug and using it.

Really, counter servants don't mind filling them up, and some places, such as 7-Eleven, will even give you a discount for not using one of their 40-year half-life foamy cups. Even the most outrageously priced travel mug seldom exceeds $10, an amount you can make back in under a month. On top of that, you'll never burn your hands on a coffee again.

You are the throw-away generation -- practising senseless patterns of over-consumption, in order to satisfy the whims of fancy that were cunningly implanted by malevolent multimillionaires. You are the ones who create a market for single-use cleaning products and nutritionally vacant instant food options. Apparently, you have no time to wash a rag or cook with ingredients.

The really sad thing is that you have given up your most spectacular gift as humans -- the ability to be resourceful and creative, building a better, smarter world through ideas -- in order to be convenienced.

You have been sold on the notion that we are here to gorge ourselves on luxury and entertainment, like some kind of latter-day Roman gentry.

Perhaps you believe, as the American president and his cronies do, that Armageddon is nigh, and that we might as well use everything up before God comes to smite this sinful world. Or maybe your mantra is as the bumper sticker has it: "S/he who dies with the most toys wins."

But I don't see things that way. I believe the only doomsday on the horizon is the one we create for ourselves. I believe that toys ought to be for children, and that adults should set their sights a little higher.

I see future people, our descendants, dealing with the consequences of our thoughtlessness and greed. I see your disposable culture luring the rest of the world into greater self-destruction and it makes me sick. I, for one, am proud to be inconvenienced from time to time, to use my brain instead of my wallet to solve a problem. I'm not too big on the salty, microwavable junk that passes for food in a lot of places, nor am I keen to buy a new video game console every two years to stay hip. That plastic shopping bag that's caught in your treetop is not mine.


Ryan Kinrade will now return to his rustic cabin on Walden Pond.

First Winter Ride

Today was the first ride of the winter. It started with a trip to MEC to find some goggles and other gear for the season. I got a pair of fleece pants and a "cyclist" ear-covering headband (presumably it's called this because it's a little thinner than the generic MEC ear-coverings and thus fits under the helmet better.) I also got a cheap but lifesaving garment called a "neck gaiter"—honestly, these guys know to make winter sound exciting—and some lobster snowmobiler mitts from Army Surplus.

The afternoon was quite warm and very slushy; I'm surprised I didn't get wetter on the outside. But I was way over dressed and soaked in my own sweat by the time I reached the house, having not invested in any "wicking" material. (Wicking is for sucks anyway.)

The ride home was under cold and windless. Ideal conditions. It felt really great to be out there, the chilled air is completely exhilarating. Winter riding much like cross-country skiing in that way. The roads were still very rutty in many places; un-plowed snow combined with the day's slush froze into some respectable obstacles, but I managed to make it home in 50 minutes, as timed by this playlist:

Remembrance Day Story

A few years ago I was lucky enough to spend a week or so alone with my grandparents. It was a fortunate time for me because Grandpa Clare was finally in a mood to share me the amazing story of his life at sea durring WW II with me, among other things. Here's a very inadequite attempt to paraphrase his story in honour of Remembrance Day. I appologize for any factual errors.

When war came Grandpa enlisted in the Navy. Maybe it was because he was a prairie boy and had never seen the sea. I’m not too sure what his motivation was, other than he wanted to serve his country and the war effort to the best of his ability. It was the same with a lot of men in his generation. I cannot really hope to understand the magnitude of their decision—in large part due to the sacrifice of veterans, and the abhorrence of war they preached so effectively upon their return from Europe and Asia—but I will always honour my grandpa, and all the men and women who answered the call in the name of Freedom.

Grandpa was lucky enough to have a good brain so that he passed all the IQ tests, and so forth, that they gave to determine in what capacity the men would serve. He and Nana came out to Vancouver for part of his training and enjoyed the city a lot; this is when they decided (or dreamed more like) that this is where they wanted to retire to.

Grandpa trained to go to sea in an anti-submarine boat. They used equipment and charts to track U-boats and destroy them if they threatened the convoys. This part of the conflict is known in the history books as The Battle for the Atlantic. He went to King’s College at Dalhousie (I think) to learn the anti-sub trade. He was one of the few guys that wasn’t fresh out of University. But because he was smart and hard working he finished near the top of his class and got to choose what ship he would serve on. He and Nana went to Quebec City while they waited for it to be built and equipped. He was hoping to have some time off there, but then he got called back for more training. Finally he and the ship were ready for active duty.

The first thing they did with the ship was to take it down to Bermuda to do some exercises. It was there that they discovered who was fit for the job, and who had to be reassigned. Every seaman had to know his role, and had to be sharp as a tack. As they were returning to Halifax the Communication Officer sent the wrong signal and had to be removed from the ship. There was no room for clumsy errors, even in friendly waters.

Grandpa’s ship guided the Merchant Navy vessels through the dangerous Atlantic crossing. He was good at his job and was fortunate to be able to come up from the lower decks after about two years to work with the officers. Grandpa’s unit was never responsible for the sinking of a sub, but they almost had one once off the coast of Ireland. A U-boat had collided with one of the ships in the convoy and had retreated into the neutral waters off the coast of the Irish Republic. They hunted for the sub all day until they were called back into the fold. About twenty minutes after they left they got word that the sub had been located and sunk.

Grandpa served right up to the end of the war. After V-day he continued to work on a different ship and told me a story of how that ship went to New York. The Canadian forces were treated like royalty in New York, and everywhere they went people wanted to talk to them and buy them drinks.

Luckily for me, and the rest of the Mc Burney clan, Grandpa made it back to Halifax alive and well in body and spirit, and was honourably discharged. Many of Nana and Grandpa’s friends and acquaintances were not so fortunate. Today is the day we remember them, and everyone else who has lost their life to defend the rights and freedoms of people the world over.

Letter to the Editor

Here's the text from a letter I sent to the Free Press. It was published as the "letter of the day" in Thursday's paper.

The Downtown BIZ’s persecution of building owners who allow graffiti to flourish (Angry Councillor Wants Graffiti Removed, Nov. 8) is typical of the intolerance they’ve displayed for anyone who exists outside societal norms (the “Feed My Addiction” campaign being an obvious example of this aversion)*. They would have our core become a monotonous and indistinct police-state in order to facilitate commerce.

But downtown Winnipeg does not belong to these zealots and their clientele, despite the economic prosperity they represent. It belongs to artists, anarchists, freethinkers, day labourers and the marginalized “street people” as well as the suits and suburbanites. The businesses at 91 Albert offer alternative services and perspectives that many Winnipegers identify with; all the more so because they do not conform to the totalitarian edicts of the BIZ and its lapdogs at City Hall. The graffiti on the building is indicative of this and deserves to be seen.

* Last year the Downtown Biz Launched a campaign to discourage panhandling using the slogan and image in the poster below. Personally I think the campaign is pretty offensive, not to mention sanctimonious.



Unfortunately I cannot publish a link to the original article because the Free Press is only available on-line to subscribers, and reprinting it would likely be a copyright infringement. But as you may infer from the letter, the story was about how a city councillor, on behalf of the BIZ, wants to create stricter "guidelines" to enforce the removal of graffiti from downtown buildings. 91 Albert is a privately owned building that houses a political bookstore/vegan cafe, a courier service/bike shop, and offices for various independent artists, writers and activists.

Kitten Returns Unscathed

He's alive. He must have been out for about two and a half hours, but he came back in one piece, if a bit chilly.

Kitten Flies the Coop

It seems our boy has gotten out for his first unsupervised romp. He’s not anywhere under-foot, as usual, nor even in his hiding spot (behind the upstairs tub). Nope, he is gone, out into the night alone. We have been of the opinion the Jean-Luc is too young to go outside by himself. For one thing he is still quite small, and there are plenty of big toms about. For another his road instincts are not to be trusted, any cat that is dumb enough to be repeatedly stepped on (because he has no respect for moving people) is a potential hit and run victim in my book. But he is becoming increasingly clever. He has taken to hiding behind the couch in the sun-porch and waiting for an opportunity to bolt. Perhaps this is what he did. Ren had some guests for dinner who are not fully aware of J.L.’s latest tricks, it’s possible he made a run when one of them opened that magical door to the outside. Of course J.L. does not understand that the world out there is dangerous, it looks plenty safe from his perch on the window sill. Actually all it is is a source of curiosity, and if there’s one thing cats are famous for…. In any case, there is nothing to be done now but hope that he comes back alive.

Seeking Academic Advice

Dear Melodie,

I contacted your office last year in search of some advising. At that time you told me I should apply for re-admission (I am a graduate circa 1994), a step I took a month or three back. Anyway, I think I'm finally ready to talk to you, or someone else in your office about continuing my studies—although to be perfectly honest I have no clue what I would be studying, nor to what end, except as a matter of personal interest and edification (i.e. I don't currently harbour any major career aspirations.) Nonetheless, I'd like to make an appointment at the nearest mutually acceptable date (should you be willing to advise such an ambivalent potential student). I am currently working days, but will switch to nights later in the month, so sometime in the second half of November (i.e. 14th or later) before 2 p.m. would be best.

Damn You and Your Rules

I didn't mean for this blog to turn into a big old bitchfest--life is to sweet to be complaining all the time--but then again I'm not really the type to write about the good times. Anyway, I was paying my bills today and I decided to check on how much I owe for my Visa. I got the "Cash Back" Visa because I vowed never to pay interest; I figured I'd get the one that paid me instead. I'm always for screwing the bank as profoundly as I can, but I sure didn't get the better of them on this round. Turns out there is some fine print somewhere on the ultra-complex user agreement they sent me stating that I would not recieve my whopping 1% cash back until I'd purchased more than $3,000 worth of stuff. For me that would mean using my credit card to buy just about everything, and I'm just not that conscientious. So now whenever I go to check my balance I am reminded of the futility of the whole "Cash Back" thing--what a joke.

Cancelling my Wired Subscription

Dear Wired,

I've seen your magazine become more about gadgets and less about issues--for shame. If I wanted to read about high-tech consumer goodies I'd subscribe to Gear or some other equally vapid men's magazine. I thought you guys wrote about important stuff, not just meaningless commercial B.S. Even at $13/year your magazine is no longer a bargain. Find yourself another sucker.

Sincerely,
The Disclaimer
XXX Home Street
Winnipeg, MB, CAN, R3G XXX

My Kitten Loves to Watch me Pee

My kitten loves to watch me pee
he has a strange fascination with the toilet—
I think perhaps he'd like to learn
how to use it himself.

But I'm afraid he'd be a water waster
his favorite part is watching it
flush down the bowl.

He gets right between my legs
and puts his paws on the rim
to see that water flush
into oblivion.

So much to explore
and try to comprehend
at his young age.

And so much energy…
at 2 am he'll be bouncing around
like an incredibly spry 7 year-old
entranced by a rubber band.

Chewing on the end of this pen
as I write—
like a maniac
but ever now and then
looking down to see
what I've written