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